Arts, Faculty of
iSchool (Library, Archival and Information Studies)
DSpace
UBCV
Maestro, Lara
Master of Archival Studies - MAS
University of British Columbia
The creation, maintenance, transmission, and preservation of knowledge over time is common to human cultures around the world. Knowledge-keeping practices differ based on social and cultural context, and can take a variety of forms, including the oral, the embodied, and the written word. Archival studies is the discipline and profession that concerns itself with the management and care of knowledge in the form of records. However, archival theory originating in the European tradition, which is based on the custody of documents generated by bureaucratic states, has not traditionally considered records to include knowledge kept in forms other than the written word. Inspired by movements within the archival profession to expand the theoretical definitions that underpin archival work, this paper considers two examples of knowledge-keeping mechanisms – the bodong and Cordillera Day – in order to determine community-based approaches to the subjects of the record and the archives: the bodong system and Cordillera Day. It provides an analysis of how the bodong, an Indigenous socio-political system used in the Kalinga province of the Philippines, functions as a record among the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribes. It also provides an analysis of how Cordillera Day, an annual political and cultural event bringing together the various Indigenous tribes in the Cordillera region of Luzon, functions as a living archive. This exploration was conducted using unstructured interviews, participant observation, and content analysis during fieldwork conducted in the Cordillera region of the Philippines, primarily in Kalinga Province. The study concludes that the bodong and Cordillera Day function in such a way that they are analogous to established archival definitions of the archive and the record, but that they do not need to be understood as such by the community in order to be useful or successful. Further, this thesis finds that the recordkeeping practices of these Indigenous communities is inextricably linked with political struggles for the defense of ancestral lands and for self-determination. The study suggests that flexible and social-justice oriented interpretations of archival theory, such as were applied during the study, could open possibilities for archivists to better meet their custodial, ethical, and affective obligations.
ALTERNATIVE BECOMINGS, ALTERNATIVE BELONGINGS: CORDILLERA CASE STUDIES OF RECORDS IN CONTEXT by LARA MAESTRO B.A. (Hons), The University of British Columbia, 2010 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARCHIVAL STUDIES in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2019 © Lara Maestro, 2019 ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the thesis entitled: Alternative Becomings, Alternative Belongings: Cordillera Case Studies of Records in Context submitted by Lara Maestro in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Archival Studies Examining Committee: Jennifer Douglas, Archival Studies Supervisor Leonora Angeles, Community and Regional Planning, The Social Justice Institute Supervisory Committee Member iii Abstract The creation, maintenance, transmission, and preservation of knowledge over time is common to human cultures around the world. Knowledge-keeping practices differ based on social and cultural context, and can take a variety of forms, including the oral, the embodied, and the written word. Archival studies is the discipline and profession that concerns itself with the management and care of knowledge in the form of records. However, archival theory originating in the European tradition, which is based on the custody of documents generated by bureaucratic states, has not traditionally considered records to include knowledge kept in forms other than the written word. Inspired by movements within the archival profession to expand the theoretical definitions that underpin archival work, this paper considers two examples of knowledge-keeping mechanisms – the bodong and Cordillera Day – in order to determine community-based approaches to the subjects of the record and the archives: the bodong system and Cordillera Day. It provides an analysis of how the bodong, an Indigenous socio-political system used in the Kalinga province of the Philippines, functions as a record among the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribes. It also provides an analysis of how Cordillera Day, an annual political and cultural event bringing together the various Indigenous tribes in the Cordillera region of Luzon, functions as a living archive. This exploration was conducted using unstructured interviews, participant observation, and content analysis during fieldwork conducted in the Cordillera region of the Philippines, primarily in Kalinga Province. The study concludes that the bodong and Cordillera Day function in such a way that they are analogous to established archival definitions of the archive and the record, but that they do not need to be understood as such by the community in order to be useful or successful. Further, this thesis finds that the recordkeeping practices of these Indigenous communities is inextricably linked with political struggles for the defense of ancestral lands and for self-determination. The study suggests that flexible and social-justice oriented interpretations of archival theory, such as were applied during the study, could open possibilities for archivists to better meet their custodial, ethical, and affective obligations. iv Lay Summary The study of archives is the study of the management and care of knowledge in the form of records. Though recordkeeping is thought to be common across human cultures, unwritten knowledge is not usually considered a record within archives. This research challenges existing definitions of ‘the archive’ and ‘the record’ by studying two cases from the Cordillera region of the Philippines: the bodong peace pact system used in Kalinga Province, and Cordillera Day, an annual political event for the Indigenous tribes of the Cordillera. Interviews, participation, observation, and videos were used to research these two cases. The study found that communities use the bodong as a record, and Cordillera Day as an archive, and that their use is related to political claims over land rights and self-determination. v Preface “I” (Lara Maestro) am the sole author of the prologue and all five chapters of this original and unpublished work. My contribution to all chapters includes conceptualization, research design, data collection, data analysis, and writing. The field sites were chosen collaboratively in partnership with the Cordillera Peoples Alliance. This research received funding support from a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) Canada Graduate Scholarship Master’s Award #6566. Chapters 3 and 4 have been written to act as potential stand-alone manuscripts, with the possibility of future submission for peer-reviewed publication. This thesis was approved by UBC Research Ethics Board certificate # H18-00215. vi Table of Contents Abstract .................................................................................................................................... iii Lay Summary ........................................................................................................................... iv Preface ...................................................................................................................................... v Table of Contents ..................................................................................................................... vi List of Tables ........................................................................................................................... ix List of Figures ........................................................................................................................... x List of Abbreviations ............................................................................................................... xi Glossary ................................................................................................................................. xiii Acknowledgements ................................................................................................................ xvi Dedication ............................................................................................................................. xvii (What’s Past is) Prologue ......................................................................................................... 1 Land is Life: Traditional Knowledge, Culture, and the Transmission of Rooted Memory .................................................................................................................... 1 Indigenous Struggles for Self-Determination Across Time and Space .................... 3 0.2.1 January 10, 2019 – Wedzin Kwah (Morice River) .................................................. 5 0.2.2 February 21, 2018 – Baguio City, Philippines ........................................................ 7 0.2.3 April 24, 1980 – Bugnay, Tinglayan ....................................................................... 9 “If the River Become[s] Big:” The Living Legacy of the Chico Dam Struggle .... 10 Chapter 1: Introduction ........................................................................................................... 12 Archives and the Archipelago: An Introduction .................................................... 12 The Peopling of the Archipelago and the Emergence of Indigenous Identities ..... 19 Alternative Becomings: Orality, the Embodied Archive, and Talking Back to the State ........................................................................................................................ 26 1.3.1 Research Question ................................................................................................. 27 Thesis Structure ...................................................................................................... 29 Chapter 2: Methodology ......................................................................................................... 30 Introduction ............................................................................................................ 30 Research Paradigms and the (Re)distribution of Power ......................................... 31 Threads and Strands: Weaving Together Methodological Approaches ................. 35 vii Research Plan ......................................................................................................... 41 2.4.1 Restatement of Research Question ........................................................................ 42 The Research Journey ............................................................................................ 42 2.5.1 Positionality and the Research Process: The Passage of Personal and Political.... 43 Vetting and Validation: Relationships and the Research Opportunities they Afford ................................................................................................................................ 46 Region of Study: Kalinga Province (Cordillera Administrative Region, Philippines) ............................................................................................................. 48 2.7.1 Cordillera Day ....................................................................................................... 52 Data Collection Methods ........................................................................................ 54 Data Analysis: A Participatory and Political Endeavour ....................................... 58 Ethics at the Cultural Interface ............................................................................... 60 2.10.1 Ownership, Control, Access, Possession (OCAP®).............................................. 63 2.10.2 Additional Considerations ..................................................................................... 64 Chapter 3: “Because it’s Our Culture”: Indigenous Socio-Political Systems (ISPs) as Vehicles for Knowledge Transmission ................................................................................... 65 Introduction ............................................................................................................ 65 Archival Discomfort and the Textual Paradigm .................................................... 67 3.2.1 The Definition of a Record .................................................................................... 70 3.2.2 Expanding the Record Concept ............................................................................. 72 The Bodong, Past and Present ................................................................................ 74 3.3.1 Background – Juridical Context ............................................................................ 75 3.3.2 Components of the Bodong: Its Ritual Celebrations and its Rule of Law ............. 83 3.3.3 The Development of the Peace Pact: the Pagta as a Weapon for and Against the State ....................................................................................................................... 89 Form and Function: The Bodong As A Record ..................................................... 92 3.4.1 “Spontaneously and Organically Created” ............................................................ 94 3.4.2 “The Will to Generate” .......................................................................................... 99 Conclusion: From Living Document to Living Archives .................................... 103 Chapter 4: “Cordillera Day is Struggle:” Land Defense, Living Archives, and Preservation as a Political Act ........................................................................................................................ 105 Introduction .......................................................................................................... 105 What is an archive? It Depends on Who You Ask ............................................... 107 viii 4.2.1 Promising Possibilities for Living Cultural Archives: Societal Provenance and Communities of Records ..................................................................................... 112 4.2.2 Promising Possibilities for Living Cultural Archives: Performance Studies and the Repertoire ............................................................................................................ 115 Background: The Cordillera Peoples Alliance (CPA) and Cordillera Day .......... 117 The 34th Annual Cordillera Day: April 22-24, 2018 ............................................ 121 4.4.1 Cordillera Day and its Acts/Activities ................................................................. 123 Conclusion: The Archive is Alive ........................................................................ 142 Chapter 5: Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 144 Summary .............................................................................................................. 144 5.1.1 Revisiting Chapter 3 ............................................................................................ 144 5.1.2 Revisiting Chapter 4 ............................................................................................ 145 5.1.3 Implications for the Archive ................................................................................ 146 Moving Forward: Directions for Further Research .............................................. 149 Revisiting the Prologue: Coming Full Circle ....................................................... 150 Bibliography ......................................................................................................................... 153 ix List of Tables Table 4.1 Table showing schedule of events at the 34th Cordillera Day, April 22-24, 2018 ..................................................................................................124 x List of Figures Figure 2.1 Visualization of influential methodologies ............................................................37 Figure 2.2 Map of Cordillera Administrative Region with Baguio City .................................49 Figure 2.3 Map of four field sites ............................................................................................51 Figure 2.4 Chart of data collection breakdown ........................................................................52 Figure 3.1 Map of Kalinga province with Tabuk City ............................................................77 Figure 3.2 Photograph of Basao Surong taken from Ngibat ....................................................80 Figure 4.1 Photograph of Flag Dance at Cordillera Day, April 22, 2018 ..............................136 xi List of Abbreviations ACA – Association of Canadian Archivists BAYAN – Bagong Alyansang Makabayan (New Patriotic Alliance) BD CARE – Basao Dilag Community Association for Rural Empowerment BPO – Binodngan People’s Organization (Organization of Peace Pact Practicing Peoples) CAR – Cordillera Administrative Region CBPR – Community-based Participatory Research CLAMOR - Coalition for Land, Against Martial Law and Oppression CMAT – Cordillera Movement Against Tyranny CPP – Communist Party of the Philippines CPA – Cordillera Peoples Alliance DKK – Dap-ayan ti Kultura iti Kordilyera (Center for Cordillera People’s Culture) DOJ – Department of Justice FPIC – Free, Prior, and Informed Consent ICC – Indigenous Cultural Communities IPRA – Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act IPs – Indigenous Peoples KBC – Kalinga Bodong Congress KMP - Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas (Peasant Movement of the Philippines) MBCC – Matagoan (Zone of Peace) Bodong Consultative Council MBTELA – Metro Baguio Tribal Elders Association NCIP – National Commission on Indigenous Peoples NFA – Ngibat Farmer’s Association NM – National Minority NO – National Oppression NPA – New People’s Army PANAP – Pesticide Action Network Pacific PAR – Participatory Action Research PO – People’s Organization OCAP® – Ownership, Control, Access, Possession xii RCMP – Royal Canadian Mounted Police TACOUD – Tanglag Community Organization for Unity and Development TFW – Temporary Foreign Worker TIMBA – Timpuyog dagiti Mannalon ti Basao (Basao Farmer’s Association) TRAIN Law - Tax Reform for Acceleration and Inclusion UBC – University of British Columbia UNDRIP – United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples xiii Glossary Ab-abuyog – a practice of shared, communal labour, originally used to refer to the practice of farmers helping each other till their fields during the harvest. Allasiw – an exchange during the beginning of the peace pact process that indicates the willingness of both parties to negotiate a peace pact. Balangay – a boat; one of the first Indigenous terms the Spanish learned in the Philippines Barangay – a political unit similar to village, district, or ward; formerly referred to as a barrio, a barangay is the smallest administrative division in the Philippines. Hierarchically, barangays are subdivisions of municipalities and cities, which are further informally subdivided into puroks (zones) and sitios (territorial enclaves). Derived from balangay. Bayanihan – the spirit of unity and community cooperation in a communal effort; similar to ab-abuyog. Baybayin – an Indigenous script used primarily by the Tagalog peoples. Binodngan – a member of a tribe that practices the bodong. Bodong – an Indigenous sociopolitical system; also the name for the agreement emerging from that system, which governs territorial boundaries, right conduct, and sanctions in the relationship between two Kalinga tribes (bilateral peace pact), or between several tribes who have unified over a specific issue (multilateral peace pact). Also known as vochong, pudon, or pochon in Kalinga; bodong, peden or kalo in Abra; and peden, pechen, or fiayao in Mountain Province. Bugis – the territorial boundaries of a tribe. Dap-ay – an Indigenous sociopolitical system of governing elders practiced primarily in Mountain Province and areas in southern Abra and Ilocos; also the name for the circular gathering place where rituals and ceremonies take place. Also known as ator. Dornat – a peace pact renewal. xiv Fiesta – a party or festival. Gangsa – gongs. Hidit – an Indigenous sociopolitical system practiced in Ifugao. Igorot – a name for an Indigenous person of the Cordillera region. The etymology of the word is from the Filipino word Igolot, which combines golot or golod (‘mountain chain’) with the prefix i (‘people of’), meaning people of the mountains. Often mobilized as part of a political regional identity. Ili – a flexible term for belonging in space and to community; can mean both the community and the homelands of the community. Inom – the part of the peace pact process where the peace pact is formalized and celebrated. Also known as lonok. Kaigorotan - a collective term for Cordillera Indigenous peoples, where the singular noun referring to a person belonging to that collective is Igorot. Kulligong – land settled outside of the traditional homelands of a community, which are also included in the bodong as part of the ancestral domain of the community. Mambabatok – traditional Kalinga tattooist. Matagoan – Zone of Peace for Tabuk City. Multa – a fine related to the violation of provisions in the bodong agreement. Pagta – the formalized agreement setting out the terms of the peace pact. Palanos – a communal feast. Pangat – a tribal leader; the status of pangat is not achieved through election or assignment but through individual distinction bestowed by age, experience, kinship connections, wisdom, bravery, persuasiveness (measured through oratorial ability or credibility in delivering judgment or opinion) and access to resources (through wealth or economic resourcefulness). xv Panulat – pen; writing implement. Pattong – a style of gangsa where the player holds the gangsa in their left hand and strikes the gangsa in rhythm using a wooden stick held in their right hand, while standing. Sometimes described as tadok. Pattong salip – a communal activity incorporating both gangsa and dancing, where the gangsa players, often men, will dance in a circular formation around an inner circle of dancing women. Salidsid – a courtship dance. Salidummay - a generic term to describe a group of songs passed down orally in the Cordillera that share common characteristics such as rhythm, meter and lyrics. Salip – a courtship dance where a man, mimicking the movements of a rooster, attempts to woo a woman (the hen) using a gift of cloth or a blanket. Singlip – the meeting of tribal leaders and elders to negotiate the terms of the pagta. Also known as sildip, sunglip, hurchip, or simsim. Sipat – the initial token one tribe gives to another tribe, indicating their desire to cease tribal conflict and enter into a peace pact. Also known as warang. Sitio - a territorial unit, often rural, that forms part of a barangay. So-ob – a traditional celebration for a baby boy; nowadays a relatively rare occurrence. Sulat – writing. Tadok – a style of gangsa playing where the player dances simultaneously. Topayya – a style of gangsa playing where the player is seated, holds the gangsa on their lap and beats out the rhythms with their hands. Tungtong – an Indigenous sociopolitical system practiced in Benguet. Uggayam – a traditional chant/song performed in the Cordillera. Ullalim – a traditional Cordillera epic ballad. xvi Acknowledgements Without the support, assistance, time, resources, generosity, and expertise of many people, this thesis would not exist. My gratitude to you all, including everyone who participated in this project in any way, extends beyond what is possible to express on this page. First, my appreciation goes out to everyone at the CPA who accepted my research proposal and helped facilitated my research, with special thanks to Bestang Dekdeken and Renz for all your hard work organizing our stay. A very special thank you is reserved for Chandu Claver, who brought my proposal to the CPA and who provided indispensable advice before, during, and after my trip. The respect you inspire in people eased our journey in many ways. To everyone at CPA Kalinga (Delfin, Rose, Danny, Marlyn, Froilan, Moses and many others!), thank you for all your time and patience guiding us, teaching us, feeding us, and serving us all the sweet Kalinga coffee we could possibly drink. My heartfelt thanks to the people’s organizations and their representatives who hosted us in each location (BD CARE, TIMBA, NFA, TACOUD), especially: Juan, Roena and family; Vicente, Kistong, and Nikki; Libbay and family; Esther and Guido; and Maricris and her family. Your generosity in sharing your homes, your food, your time, and your conversation with us was a precious gift. Thank you, thank you to my Supervisor, Jennifer. I am beyond thankful for the emotional and intellectual labour you have given me throughout the long and winding road of this research project. Your patience and kindness have meant a lot to me. Tita Nora, you have always supported and believed in me and I can only hope that I will one day be able to repay you for all the assistance you have given me throughout the years. Maraming salamat! Last but not least, Trevor and Nanay – I could not have done this without you. If I have forgotten anyone, please forgive me. Rest assured my forgetfulness has nothing to do with the appreciation I have for you and everything to do with lack of sleep. It should go without saying that any errors in the finished work are solely of my own making. xvii Dedication For Trevor Without whom my stomach would have gone unfed, and my clothes unwashed. Needless to say, it’s my turn to clean the kitty litter. For Nanay I still want to be you when I grow up, but I would settle for being half as good. 14344. For the Filipino People Makibaka! Huwag Matakot! Kaigorotan, Lumaban! And Aiko Thanks for keeping me company. 1 (What’s Past is) Prologue1 Land is Life: Traditional Knowledge, Culture, and the Transmission of Rooted Memory It is a common adage to progressive observers of Filipino history that while the Philippines is rich, its people are poor.2 Since the time when Ferdinand Magellan, who headed the Spanish expedition to the East Indies, landed on Homonhon Island, in what is now Samar in 1521, most of the archipelago’s early relationships with imperial powers were motivated in one way or another by its land and the opportunities represented by it, whether in terms of its possibilities for generating capital or its strategic potential in military conflict. Contemporary socioeconomic inequalities in the country are inextricably linked to issues of landlessness and displacement, which have rendered joblessness and poverty the norm for the majority of the Filipino people. For the Indigenous peoples of the Philippines (known in the states’ terminology as Indigenous Cultural Communities/Indigenous Peoples or ICCs/IPs)3 who resisted the forces of colonization for longer than the rest of the populations of the islands, the defense of ancestral lands is the foundation for their assertions of self-determination. Land is the source of their livelihood, culture, and community; their knowledge is rooted in the stewardship of their ancestral domains. In the words of Macli-ing Dulag, Kalinga chief and martyr, “land is sacred. Land is beloved. From its womb springs our Kalinga life.”4 The defense of ancestral domains by Indigenous activists in the Philippines have made them a target for military forces and government-backed militias commonly deployed to protect agribusiness interests and development projects in Indigenous communities, part of a 1 Terry Cook, “What Is Past Is Prologue: A History of Archival Ideas since 1898, and the Future Paradigm Shift,” Archivaria 43 (1996): 17–63, https://doi.org/10.1088/0508-3443/7/5/302. 2 Benedict P. Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change (Baguio City, Philippines: Northern Media Information Network, 2017), 43. 3 Republic of the Philippines, Congress of the Philippines, “An Act to Recognize, Protect and Promote the Rights of Indigenous Cultural Communities/Indigenous Peoples, Creating a National Commission on Indigenous Peoples, Establishing Implementing Mechanisms, Appropriating Funds Therefor, and for Other Purposes,” Pub. L. No. Republic Act No. 8371, 25 (1997). 4 Mariflor Parpan-Pagusara, “The Kalinga Ili: Cultural-Ecological Reflections on Indigenous Theoria and Praxis of Man-Nature Relationship,” in Ti Daga Ket Biag/Land Is Life: Selected Papers From Three Cordillera Multi-Sectoral Land Congresses (1983, 1994, and 2001), ed. Joanna K. Cariño et al. (Baguio City, Philippines: Cordillera Peoples Alliance, 2009), 35. 2 growing global phenomenon of state repression against land and environmental defenders, as well as a national campaign to crack down on human rights defenders and critics of government.5 As a result, the Philippines is one of the most dangerous places in the world for Indigenous activists and land defenders. According to Global Witness, an international non-governmental organization working to support human rights and environmental activists and to expose conflict and corruption in relation to natural resource extraction, the Philippines in 2017 saw the second highest number of killings of defenders, second to Brazil (48 and 57, respectively), representing an almost 71% increase on 2016 numbers and “the most murders ever recorded in Asia in a single year.”6 The Global Witness report links almost half of those killings to “struggles against agribusiness.”7 Another report compiled by Pesticide Action Network Pacific (PANAP) in the same year found that more cases of land conflict (51) were recorded and more victims of land conflicts (61) were killed in the Philippines than anywhere else in the world.8 This is the backdrop against which I began to explore the knowledge transfer practices of several Indigenous communities in the Kalinga province of the Philippines’ Cordillera region. Learning the histories of land-based struggle among the tribes of the Cordillera is a necessary starting point to begin understanding the lived experiences and material conditions of contemporary Cordillerans. Without awareness of the land one cannot understand the knowledge that originates and is nurtured there; it is “the central determinant of the lifeways of people.”9 Land is the main determinant of the life of the organism, for land is primary environment and habitat. The relationship of the human organism to land, 5 Global Witness, “At What Cost?: Irresponsible Business and the Murder of Land and Environmental Defenders in 2017” (London: Global Witness, 2018). 6 Global Witness, 10. 7 Global Witness, 10. 8 PAN Asia Pacific (PANAP), “Land & Rights Watch Year End Report 2017” (PAN Asia Pacific (PANAP), 2017), accessed August 14, 2018, 7, http://files.panap.net/resources/PANAP-Land-and-Rights-Watch-Yearend-Report-2017.pdf. 9 Parpan-Pagusara, “The Kalinga Ili: Cultural-Ecological Reflections on Indigenous Theoria and Praxis of Man-Nature Relationship,” 32. 3 whether in subjugation or in self-determination, constitutes the infrastructure or societal group life. All others – religion, laws, all moral and cultural ways and relationships of the human organisms – are superstructures that reinforce and validate the basal substructure.10 The interconnectedness of land, livelihood, and knowledge in Indigenous knowledge systems has also been written about in a First Nations context by Heiltsuk librarian Kimberley L. Lawson, who described how the “holistic” nature of First Nations knowledge was expressed by her interview participants in contrast with Western epistemology: Many things that a Western worldview identifies as distinct and separate elements of culture such as spirituality, family and relationship with the land are seen by First Nations elders as inseparable from their whole culture. For example, traditional environmental knowledge is deeply spiritual as well as empirical.11 Attacks on land through resource extraction, usurpation, and forced displacement are therefore attacks on the very culture of the people themselves. Resistance to these attacks then necessarily includes the nurture of cultural knowledge, which includes the expressive forms of embodied knowledge that constitute “non-textual way[s] of remembering, recording and communicating culture, history and identity.”12 It is these cultural expressions, and the agents for their intergenerational transmission, which are the focus of this research. Indigenous Struggles for Self-Determination Across Time and Space Why is it important to be aware of localized land-based struggles when conducting archival research in affected Indigenous communities? What are the implications of overlooking the material conditions and political motivations of communities as somehow separate from trying to understand the mechanisms behind knowledge transfer and the relationship between community members and the information they value and interact with? It is my view that it is 10 Parpan-Pagusara, 33. 11 Kimberley L. Lawson, “Precious Fragments: First Nations Materials in Archives, Libraries and Museums” (Master’s Thesis, University of British Columbia, 2004), 38. 12 Jeannette Allis Bastian, “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation,” Archival Science 6, no. 3–4 (December 1, 2006): 276, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-006-9019-1. 4 impossible to separate the land-based knowledge of Indigenous communities from their relationship to specific lands, not only because that approach would remove that knowledge from its context (which runs counter to the archival principle of provenance), or because the relationship to the natural environment is foundational to understanding Indigenous epistemologies. It is also because ignoring the historical and contemporary land-based struggles of those communities would obscure how those movements have contributed to the deliberate long-term preservation of that knowledge as a political strategy. From a methodological perspective respect for land-based practices extends to the researcher acknowledging their own relationship to the communities in which the researcher is a guest, in this case meaning both the field sites where the research took place and the territories where the research was written. In the context of the Coast Salish territory where I reside, and specifically the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam) territory where the University of British Columbia is located, it has become common practice for a land acknowledgement to take place prior to the commencement of an event, to foreground the Indigenous territories of the event venue and to honour the sovereignty of the Indigenous peoples of those ancestral lands. While recognition and respect are critical to settler-Indigenous relationships, Indigenous activists have rightly challenged the rote, scripted, and perfunctory nature that many land acknowledgements have become, calling for settlers to move beyond a mere naming of the land to also pledging a commitment to the obligations they have to that land and to the Indigenous peoples of that territory;13 to paraphrase Anishinaabe writer and educator Hayden King, ‘here is where we are and this is what that compels us to do.’14 Decolonization is not a 13 Chelsea Vowel, “Beyond Territorial Acknowledgments,” Âpihtawikosisân (blog), September 23, 2016, accessed January 30, 2018, http://apihtawikosisan.com/2016/09/beyond-territorial-acknowledgments/. 14 “‘I Regret It’: Hayden King on Writing Ryerson University’s Territorial Acknowledgement | CBC Radio,” CBC Radio: Unreserved (Winnipeg, Manitoba: CBC Radio, January 18, 2019), accessed January 30, 2019, https://www.cbc.ca/radio/unreserved/redrawing-the-lines-1.4973363/i-regret-it-hayden-king-on-writing-ryerson-university-s-territorial-acknowledgement-1.4973371. 5 metaphor,15 and settler claims to solidarity must be materially linked to assertions of Indigenous rights. Indigenous struggles in defense of sovereignty, self-determination and the protection of their ancestral lands have been ongoing since the various points of imperialist first contact around the world. While it is not my intention to generalize a pan-Indigenous experience, there are marked similarities in how settler/imperialist conquest for capitalist accumulation has manifested itself in violence against global Indigenous peoples. State oppression, development aggression, government neglect, the double-edged sword of cultural appropriation and cultural genocide – these are common tactics used to forcibly dispossess Indigenous peoples of their land and rights. The following vignettes serve to set the scene for this thesis by situating the research both geographically and temporally, while highlighting the common threats experienced by Indigenous land defenders that informed my data collection and interpretation. The questions that were important to me to keep in mind throughout this thesis were: What are the ways that Indigenous struggles for land and rights are being enacted where I am right now? What were they in the place and time when I conducted my research? What were the historical watershed moments that determined the trajectories and contemporary lives of the Indigenous communities with whom I stayed? 0.2.1 January 10, 2019 – Wedzin Kwah (Morice River) It is early January 2019 and protest actions are rising around Turtle Island in solidarity with the Wet’suwet’en Nation, who are defending their rights and title to their ancestral territories from the encroachment of TransCanada, Chevron, and Enbridge – three oil and gas companies whose proposed pipelines would run right through their lands, posing a threat not only to the lives and livelihoods of the Wet’suwet’en people, but also to the natural environment and the non-human living beings of the area. In 2009 the Unist’ot’en clan established a checkpoint along the proposed pipeline route, which has been so effective at 15 Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang, “Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor,” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society 1, no. 1 (September 8, 2012). 6 frustrating the efforts of TransCanada’s Coastal GasLink Pipeline Project workers to clear the path that Coastal GasLink applied for an injunction ordering the Unist’ot’en to move and allow the company through. Despite the order, the Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs refused to dismantle the blockade, and a second camp was built in December 2018 by the neighbouring Gidimt’en clan. In response, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) was sent in as military reinforcement to protect the pipeline, and by extension to uphold national economic interests over Aboriginal title, another instance in a long tradition of Canadian repression of Indigenous resistance and sovereignty. In an effort to avoid the violence experienced by the land defenders at the Gidimt’en camp during the RCMP invasion the Unist’ot’en clan temporarily allowed Coastal GasLink to work behind the checkpoint gate. A statement from the website of the Unist’ot’en Camp succinctly describes the import and impact of the situation: There can be no question now that this is an issue of Wet’suwet’en Rights and Title. We have demonstrated that this fight is about more than a pipeline; it is about the right of Indigenous peoples around the world to exercise Free, Prior, and Informed Consent.16 Despite Bill C-262 reaching a second Senate reading as of November 29, 2018, intended to bring Canada’s laws into alignment with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), of which the principle of free, prior, and informed consent (FPIC) is a requirement, the hereditary chiefs of Wet’suwet’en Nation assert that genuine FPIC must abide by the Indigenous governance structures arising from within the community itself, not the elected chief and council, created as a by-product of the Indian Act, which granted approval Coastal GasLink.17 As a post on the Facebook page for the Gidimt’en checkpoint describes, in the absence of genuine FPIC and given the lack of respect for the Indigenous sociopolitical systems of the Wet’suwet’en peoples, the “RCMP’s ultimatum, to 16 Unist’ot’en Camp, “This Is Not Over,” Unist’ot’en Camp, January 10, 2019, accessed January 16, 2019, http://unistoten.camp/thisisnotover/. 17 Derrick Penner, “Wet’suwet’en Dispute Illustrates Complexities of Indigenous Law,” The Vancouver Sun, January 11, 2019, accessed January 16, 2019, https://vancouversun.com/news/local-news/wetsuweten-dispute-over-pipeline-deal-illustrates-complexities-of-indigenous-law. 7 allow TransCanada access to unceded Wet’suwet’en territory or face police invasion, is an act of war.”18 0.2.2 February 21, 2018 – Baguio City, Philippines On February 21, 2018, the Department of Justice (DOJ) filed a petition before the Manila Regional Trial Court that sought to declare the Communist Party of the Philippines-New People’s Army (CPP-NPA) a terrorist organization.19 Included in the petition was a terrorist proscription list naming 649 persons (organizations, associations and individuals) that the DOJ believed to be connected to the CPP-NPA, though the DOJ Secretary later admitted that the department did not verify or validate any names on the list before the petition was filed.20 Later, in that same year, when it was revealed that the list included the names of several high profile leaders of progressive groups and Indigenous land defenders, including Victoria Tauli-Corpuz (Kankanaey), current United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, and Joan Carling (Kankanaey), current Co-Convenor of the Indigenous Peoples Major Group on Sustainable Development, human rights groups labelled the petition a “virtual government hit list,” since tagging these activists as CPP-NPA “terrorists” (a phenomenon known as red-tagging) opened them up to military retaliation by state security forces and pro-government militias.21 Not only did the list include individual names and aliases, but it also contained lines for “John and Jane Does,” so that it would cover additional 18 Wet’suwet’en Access Point on Gidumt’en Territory, “ACTION ALERT - International Call to Action for Gidimt’en Access Checkpoint,” Facebook, January 5, 2019, accessed January 16, 2019, https://www.facebook.com/wetsuwetenstrong/posts/226308738314920?__tn__=K-R. 19 Lian Buan, “DOJ Formally Seeks Court Declaration of CPP-NPA as Terrorists,” Rappler, February 21, 2018, accessed January 28, 2019, http://www.rappler.com//nation/196548-doj-petition-cpp-npa-terrorist. 20 Mara Cepeda, “DOJ Didn’t Verify before Seeking Terrorist Tag for 649 People,” Rappler, August 6, 2018, accessed January 28, 2019, http://www.rappler.com//nation/208923-doj-did-not-verify-names-people-before-seeking-terrorist-tag. 21 Jodesz Gavilan, “PH ‘terror’ List a ‘Gov’t Hit List’ – Human Rights Watch,” Rappler, March 9, 2018, accessed January 28, 2019, http://www.rappler.com//nation/197769-philippine-terrorist-list-human-rights-watch. 8 persons identified at a later date;22 a similar tactic also used by Coastal GasLink in their injunction against Wet’suwet’en land defenders.23 As an organization identified on the ‘hit list,’ the Cordillera Peoples Alliance (CPA), an “independent federation of progressive peoples organizations [sic]…among [I]ndigenous communities in the Cordillera Region, Philippines”24 denounced the list as a “blatant attack by the despotic Duterte regime against human rights defenders and the Cordillera Peoples Alliance (CPA) and [their] communities,”25 objecting specifically to the addition of several high-profile activists for Indigenous rights and land rights in the Cordillera, including Tauli-Corpuz, Carling, Windel Bolinget (Kankanaey-Bontok), Beverly Longid (Kankanaey-Bontok), Joanna Cariño (Ibaloi), Jeanette Ribaya-Cawiding (Kankanaey), Jose Molintas (Ibaloi) and Sherwin de Vera.26 In an amended petition submitted on January 3, 2019, the DOJ removed the majority of the names on the list, including the names of Carling, Bolinget, Longid, Cariño, Ribaya-Cawiding, and de Vera (Tauli-Corpuz’s name had been removed earlier, along with Jose Molintas).27 While welcoming the removal, the CPA warns that activists remain vulnerable in the current political climate of the Philippines.28 22 Jhoanna Ballaran, “Human Rights Group Slams DOJ’s ‘Severely Defective’ List of ‘Terrorists,’” Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 9, 2018, accessed January 28, 2019, https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/974003/human-rights-group-slams-dojs-severely-defective-list-of-terrorists. 23 Unist’ot’en Camp, “This Is Not Over.” 24 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “About,” Cordillera Peoples Alliance, accessed January 28, 2019, https://www.cpaphils.org/about1.html. 25 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “URGENT APPEAL for the Support Against the Terrorist Proscription Of Indigenous Peoples Rights Defenders In The Cordillera, Philippines” (Cordillera Peoples Alliance, March 10, 2018), accessed January 28, 2019, https://www.protectioninternational.org/sites/default/files/2018-03-13-Appeal-for-support.pdf. 26 Kimberlie Quitasol, “600 ‘Terrorists’ Stricken off Revised DOJ Petition vs Reds,” Philippine Daily Inquirer, January 11, 2019, accessed January 28, 2019, https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/1071887/600-terrorists-stricken-off-revised-doj-petition-vs-reds. 27 Lian Buan, “Manila Court Clears 4 in DOJ’s Terror Tag Request,” Rappler, August 8, 2018, accessed January 28, 2019, accessed April 2, 2019, http://www.rappler.com//nation/209114-manila-court-clears-ocampo-baylosis-molintas-corpuz-terror-tag. 28 “CPA Welcomes Removal of Cordillera Activists on DOJ Terrorist Proscription Petition but Wary That Danger Remains,” Cordillera Peoples Alliance, January 11, 2019, accessed January 29, 2019, https://www.cpaphils.org/cpa-welcomes-removal-of-cordillera-activists-on-doj-terrorist-proscription.html. 9 When asked if she had concerns for her safety after the terrorist tagging, Tauli-Corpuz linked state repression of Indigenous activists to predatory development projects, recognizing that legal and extralegal measures against Indigenous land defenders are all too common: Unfortunately, being labeled a “terrorist” or “criminal” is a common challenge for Indigenous leaders around the world. The lands we have long protected and depended on are often targeted for industry, mining, logging, or agriculture without our consent – or designated as protected areas even though it is our sustainable management that has kept the forests standing. When we stand our ground and refuse to leave our ancestral homes, we often face criminalization.29 0.2.3 April 24, 1980 – Bugnay, Tinglayan In late evening of April 24, 1980, the villagers of Bugnay, a barangay in the municipality of Tinglayan in Kalinga province, were awoken by the sound of incoming vehicles. Bugnay was home to Macli-ing Dulag and Pedro Dungoc, both well-known activists in the opposition to the Chico River Basin Development Project, a proposed mega-hydroelectric project that, if realized, would displace Indigenous communities along the Chico River from Mount Data in Mountain Province to Tomiangan in Dupag, a barangay in Tabuk City, Kalinga’s capital. The vehicles carried armed government soldiers, who approached the homes of Macli-ing and Dungoc and demanded that the two men to open their doors and come out. One of the soldiers, on entering Dungoc’s house, fired at a blanket mistaking it for Dungoc, who suffered a bullet wound to his wrist. Dungoc would survive and go on to join the New People’s Army, where he remained a Red fighter until his death. The soldiers at Macli-ing’s house, upon seeing the man’s feet from underneath the front door, fired several times into the house from the outside. Macli-ing died instantly, having sustained ten bullet wounds. He was around 25 years old at the time.30 29 Terri Hansen, “Victoria Tauli-Corpuz Talks to Cultural Survival in Wake of Terrorism Charge by Philippine Government,” Cultural Survival Quarterly Magazine, March 12, 2018, accessed January 16, 2019, https://www.culturalsurvival.org/news/victoria-tauli-corpuz-talks-cultural-survival-wake-terrorism-charge-philippine-government. 30 Ma. Ceres P. Doyo, Macli-Ing Dulag: Kalinga Chief, Defender of the Cordillera (Diliman, Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 2015). 10 Macli-ing, as he is commonly and fondly known, was a pangat or tribal chieftain, and a vocal opponent of the dam project. He used his charisma and eloquence to bring together the different Kalinga tribes (even those with histories of intertribal conflict) to resist the militarization that accompanied the dam project. His leadership skills and his ability to unite the various Kalinga tribes against the dam made him a target for military forces and militia men sent into the Cordillera to suppress opposition to the project, ultimately leading to his death. His activism and martyrdom have made him a folk hero in the Cordillera, a symbol of Indigenous resistance and courage and an inspiration to subsequent generations of Cordilleran land defenders. April 24th is now known as Cordillera People’s Day, commemorated each year by the Cordillera Peoples Alliance as an event that acts as a “political and cultural platform for the people of the Cordillera for the defense of land, life and resources.”31 “If the River Become[s] Big:”32 The Living Legacy of the Chico Dam Struggle Aside from the ethical, epistemological and archival reasons for using a contextual, land-based approach to explore Indigenous knowledge transfer and maintenance practices in several Kalinga Cordillera communities, there is a tangible reason for why I felt it necessary to begin this thesis with an extended description of some of the events directly influencing its research and writing. Not only did I want to honour the continuing activism of the Indigenous peoples in the Cordillera and in what is currently British Columbia, but I also wanted to acknowledge the central determining factor that contributed to the contemporary lives of the communities I visited, without whom my ability to undertake this research project would not be possible. The impact of the Chico Dam Struggle (and the related opposition to the Cellophil Resources Corporation commercial logging projects in the neighbouring province of Abra), though relatively recent in the history of the Cordilleran 31 “Cordillera Celebrates People’s Day,” SunStar Philippines, May 20, 2015, accessed January 29, 2019., http://www.sunstar.com.ph/article/5332. 32 T20EA, interview by author, 2018. All participants are referred to using a unique participant code. Quotes attributed to participants are verbatim, unless the interview was documented using handwritten notes only. Interviews using handwritten notes will include a statement indicating as such in the relevant footnote. 11 people, cannot be understated. These struggles directly contributed to the creation of the Cordillera mass movement and the Cordillera Peoples Alliance, whose earliest campaigns included the consolidation of the various Cordilleran provinces as one region as it is recognized today. Further than that, without the success of Macli-ing Dulag, Pedro Dungoc, and countless other Cordilleran activists in halting the Chico Dam Project, the communities I visited along the Chico River would have been submerged along with the homes of numerous other Kalinga and Bontoc tribes whose ancestral lands lie along the river’s path. Plainly stated, without the resistance of the Cordilleran people, these sites would no longer exist. 12 Chapter 1: Introduction Archives and the Archipelago: An Introduction Archivists, when put in the position to describe the importance of their profession, are given to tying their activities to the ‘universal’ human “instinct for collective cultural self-preservation,” a sentiment whose allure is that it seems to include under its umbrella the whole of human memory- and knowledge-keeping practices in a manner that is unbiased as to the form or medium through which that preservation takes place. 33 The meaning, motivation, and mission behind the archival profession is often based on the belief that there is a fundamental human desire for the documentation and maintenance of knowledge, memory, and information, whose responsibility is seen to fall most appropriately within the purview of archivists. As an appeal to disciplinary worthiness this is not strictly untrue, and so one would be hard-pressed to find an archivist that does not subscribe to it; as Jenny Bunn, archival educator at University College London stated at a recent Association of Canadian Archivists (ACA) student chapter symposium, “When people ask me what I do, I say I reinforce the fabric of your reality.”34 It is not this paper’s intention to deny the hard work of archivists, records managers, and other information professionals, but there is a justified critique to be made about the profession’s inclination to “vocational awe” by justifying our existence through upholding structures based on grand narratives of identity, nationhood, unity, and belonging.35 Appeals to universality are just vague enough to elicit pride while glossing over the fact that while all cultures can be conceived of as records creators, the records of all cultures are not respected equally, nor given the same authoritative weight: as Shauna McRanor points out, “although 33 Adrian Cunningham, “Archival Institutions,” in Archives: Recordkeeping in Society, ed. Sue McKemmish, Topics in Australasian Library and Information Studies, no. 24 (Wagga Wagga, N.S.W: Centre for Information Studies, Charles Sturt University, 2005), 21. 34 Jenny Bunn, “Defining Lines: Evolution of the Archive Collection Policy in the UK Context” (Symposium Presentation, February 15, 2019). 35 Fobazi Ettarh, “Vocational Awe and Librarianship: The Lies We Tell Ourselves,” In the Library with the Lead Pipe, January 10, 2018, accessed April 14, 2019, http://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/. 13 aboriginal oral traditions may help to demonstrate the abstract concept of “records” as universal, actual oral records are likely to be presumed genuine or truthful only within their own local juridical context.”36 The privileging of certain records over others, or the records of certain communities over others, has been the source of much discussion in the archival profession. It is no longer controversial to discuss the gaps, slivers and silences present in the archival record.37 As Verne Harris notably stated, far from a comprehensive and impartial picture, archives offer at best only a “sliver of a sliver of a sliver” of society.38 What we care for is the “residue” that creators leave behind.39 There are many factors that contribute to the imbalance of perspectives present in traditional, Western archives, but a major source of archival discomfort is targeted towards knowledge that exists with no fixed materiality, that is, knowledge that is not held within a stable, physical carrier. The Eurocentric worldview offered through most North American archival education is marked by a noticeable silence when it comes to describing the records of cultures whose memory and knowledge transcend the use of the written word. As Gilliland et al. argue when speaking of Western archival education, “little or no space exists within this paradigm for cultures with nontextual 36 Shauna McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” Archivaria 43 (1996): 66. 37 There have been many articles written on this topic in the recent decades, especially within the community archives and human rights archives sectors. A selection of readings informing the author’s view include, but are definitely not limited to: Verne Harris, “The Archival Sliver: Power, Memory, and Archives in South Africa,” Archival Science 2, no. 1–2 (2002): 63–86, https://doi.org/10.1007/BF02435631; Rodney G S Carter, “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power , Archival Silences, and Power in Silence,” Archivaria 61 (Spring 2006): 215–33; Michelle Caswell, “Seeing Yourself in History: Community Archives and the Fight Against Symbolic Annihilation,” The Public Historian 36, no. 4 (2014): 26–37, https://doi.org/10.1525/tph.2014.36.4.26; Dr Andrew Flinn, “Community Histories, Community Archives: Some Opportunities and Challenges,” Journal of the Society of Archivists 28, no. 2 (October 1, 2007): 151–76, https://doi.org/10.1080/00379810701611936; Andrew Flinn, Mary Stevens, and Elizabeth Shepherd, “Whose Memories, Whose Archives? Independent Community Archives, Autonomy and the Mainstream,” Archival Science 9, no. 1 (2009): 71–86, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-009-9105-2. 38 Harris, “The Archival Sliver: Power, Memory, and Archives in South Africa.” 65. 39 Laura Millar, “The Death of the Fonds and the Resurrection of Provenance: Archival Context in Space and Time,” Archivaria 53, no. 1 (2002): 1–15. 14 mechanisms for recording decisions, actions, relationships, or memory, such as those embodied in oral, aural, or kinetic traditions.”40 Since most Western definitions of the concept of a ‘record’ include some element of fixity, which excludes practices of information and memory transmission whose nature is more fluid, the stories of those communities who rely on them are likewise obscured. In the case of the Philippines (which, despite formal national independence, remains a neo-colony of the United States) the foundation of the national archives, and by extension, the symbolic basis for the country’s burgeoning national identity, are colonial paper records established under the auspices of the occupying governments. The “nucleus” of the National Archives of the Philippines are those Spanish records that were ceded to the United States in 1898 as part of the Treaty of Paris,41 the same agreement that essentially sold the Philippines (along with Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and parts of the Spanish West Indies) to the United States for the paltry sum of twenty million US dollars. Recordkeeping was an essential tool of the imperialist project. It allowed Spanish colonial administrators to survey and control the native populations, construct the relationship between the ‘margins’ and the ‘centre’ (Spain), and to simultaneously create and imagine both the collectivity of the populations under colonial possession (for example, as members of a newly-conceived nation whose borders were drawn by imperial hands), and the individuality of the colonized person as a national subject (whose identity could be neatly categorized through such instruments as the census).42 40 Anne Gilliland et al., “Pluralizing the Archival Paradigm: Can Archival Education in Pacific Rim Communities Address the Challenge?,” The American Archivist 71, no. 1 (2008): 90. 41 Ricardo L. Punzalan, “Archives of the New Possession: Spanish Colonial Records and the American Creation of a ‘National’ Archives for the Philippines,” Archival Science 6 (2006): 387, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-007-9040-z. 42 ito M. Vergara, Displaying Filipinos: Photography and Colonialism in Early Twentieth Century Philippines (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1995); Vicente L. Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History, American Encounters/Global Interactions (Durham: Duke University Press, 2000); Vicente L. Rafael, “Parricides, Bastards and Counterrevolution: Reflections on the Philippine Centennial,” in Vestiges of War: The Philippine-American War and the Aftermath of an Imperial Dream, 1899-1999, ed. Angel Velasco Shaw and Luis Francia (New York: New York University Press, 2002), 361–75; Angel Velasco Shaw and Luis Francia, eds., Vestiges of War: The Philippine-American War and the Aftermath of an Imperial Dream, 1899- 15 These mechanisms of control via the archive continued and were further refined under the American administration. Beredo argues that the archive, as an “important and enduring technology of colonial rule…facilitated the entrenchment and normalization of the United States colonial administration in the Philippines.”43 The Americans framed their approach to governance in the Philippines as one of ‘Benevolent Assimilation.’44 Part of that policy, along with building roads and instituting public schooling, was the establishment of the archive. Though overshadowed by the American government’s other ‘benevolent’ projects, like roads and schools the archive was another institution that was as much about surveillance and control as it was a ‘public good.’ As the repository responsible for regulating and documenting the actions of the state, the archive served as the ‘behind-the-scenes’ machinery that allowed the American administration to run. The archive’s functions were essential to “the suppression of the ongoing Philippine revolution, the disposition of seized lands, and the development of the colonial economy.”45 Through the archive the Americans were able to streamline systems of land dispossession that had begun under the Spanish with the encomienda46 system and the Regalian Doctrine:47 among its tasks, the American colonial archive “collaborated with Bureau of Lands in attempts to register public 1999 (New York: New York University Press, 2002); Warwick Anderson, Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006); Nerissa Balce, Body Parts of Empire: Visual Abjection, Filipino Images, and the American Archive (University of Michigan Press, 2016). 43 Bernadette Cheryl Beredo, “Import of the Archive: American Colonial Bureaucracy in the Philippines, 1898-1916” (PhD Dissertation, University of Hawai’i, 2011), 4–5. 44 In his proclamation of December 21, 1898, President William McKinley used the term ‘benevolent assimilation’ to characterize the American approach to governance in the Philippines, where assimilation into American culture was framed as a benevolent act for the good of the Filipino people. 45 Beredo, “Import of the Archive,” iv. 46 A feudal system of land allocation where wide tracts of land were gifted as royal grants to clergy, colonial officials, and other ‘friends’ loyal to the Spanish government, effectively transforming the farmers and peasants who had historically worked the land into mere tenants. Amado Guerrero, Philippine Society and Revolution, Third Edition (USA: International Association of Filipino Patriots (IAFP), 1979), 6. 47 A feudal principle which dictates not only that all lands in the public domain are owned by the State, but also that all private title to land “must emanate, directly or indirectly” from the State. This legal concept, which remains enshrined in the current Philippine Constitution, states that “private title to land must be traced to some grant, express or implied, from the Spanish Crown or its successors, the American Colonial Government, and thereafter, the Philippine Republic.” Jaydee Marquez, “The Regalian Doctrine,” PHJURIS: Laws and Jurisprudence in the Philippines and Elsewhere (blog), August 4, 2015, accessed August 13, 2018, http://phjuris.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-regalian-doctrine.html. 16 lands, to settle natives on theretofore uncultivated arable land, and to settle disputes about privately-owned land.” 48 The importance of written recordkeeping to the imperial control was recognized in “Integración/ Internación: Urbanity, Urbanism and Their Discontents,” a 2013 exhibit produced by the National Archives of the Philippines, and summarized neatly in one of their exhibit texts titled “Instruments of Colonialism:” Essential to the governance of the Spanish colonial empire was the exchange of records and documents. Through orders penned on paper, distant possessions were administered by far-away monarchs and their officials. The flow of correspondence across seas was more than just a stream of words. It was really the instrument for the remolding and re-engineering of colonial subjects. Through letters, reports, edicts, charts and plans, colonizers were placing their stamp on their possessions.49 It is through the paper documents produced by colonial activities that Indigenous peoples were cast not only as “subjects of empire,”50 but also as the often unwitting and unwilling subjects of records, with their images, bodies, voices and words extracted to form archives that fell under the legal ownership of others, an embodiment of the colonial “citizen-state interaction” that continues to have present-day ramifications for Indigenous intellectual and cultural property rights.51 The colonizer-subject archival relationship was reproduced in colonies around the world. An example from Turtle Island is cited by the Nova Scotia Archives; in recognizing the role that language played in exerting colonial control over the Mi’kmaq, their resource guide to introduce users to the collection explains: 48 Beredo, “Import of the Archive,” iv. 49 “I. Exhibit Section Texts,” National Archives of the Philippines, 2013, accessed March 17, 2019 http://nationalarchives.gov.ph/integracion-internacion/i-exhibit-section-texts/. 50 Glen Sean Coulthard, “Introduction: Subjects of Empire,” in Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 1–24. 51 Terry Cook, “Mind Over Matter: Towards a New Theory of Archival Appraisal,” in The Archival Imagination: Essays in Honour of Hugh A. Taylor, ed. Barbara L. Craig (Ottawa: Association of Canadian Archivists, 1992), 54. 17 The new order was conveyed and perpetuated by the prevailing authorities, mostly through the medium of language, both written and spoken – the language that was built into treaties, policies and government records, articulated in colonial schools and churches, and everywhere embedded in the colonial culture that surrounded and threatened to engulf the Mi’kmaq. The government ‘paper trail’ generated by these activities has survived across time, and gives further shape to the patterns of administration and interaction – keeping track, drawing maps, assigning names and defining rights. Thus, much of the power of interpreting Mi’kmaq experience came to rest in the pens of people far removed from that experience.52 The written word needed to work in tandem with the imposition of colonial languages to fulfill the imperial project: “Language has always been the companion of empire,” said Spanish humanist Antonio de Nebrija in 1492, and its accomplice, the written word, “served as a recognized weapon in the colonial arsenal.” 53 Linguistic violence was an essential part of exerting dominion over the colonies, displacing Indigenous languages at the same time that Spanish and American soldiers were dispossessing them of their lands. Both written and non-written languages were the target of colonial destruction, beginning in the Spanish colonial period. Though not much has survived of pre-Hispanic writings of Indigenous communities in the Philippines, what remains is indicative of highly literate cultures. Vicente S. Hernandez, for example, describes accounts from missionaries who documented the correspondence and note-taking practices of pre-colonial cultures, noting that writing was a skill mostly practiced by women.54 William Henry Scott wrote that the conquering Spanish landed to find the inhabitants of the Manila Bay region “so literate in an [I]ndigenous script called baybayin that the missionaries printed Juan de Plasencia’s Doctrina Christiana in the Philippine script with wood-blocks in Tagalog in 1593.”55 The 52 “Mi’kmaq Holdings Resource Guide,” Nova Scotia Archives, September 30, 2002, accessed March 18, 2019, https://novascotia.ca/archives/mikmaq/. 53 Quoted in Kathryn Burns, “Notaries, Truth, and Consequences,” The American Historical Review 110, no. 2 (2005): 250, https://doi.org/10.1086/531318. 54 Vicente S. (Vicente Stabile) Hernandez, “Trends in Philippine Library History,” Libraries & the Culture 36, no. 2 (2001): 330, https://doi.org/10.1353/lac.2001.0034. 55 William Henry Scott, Prehispanic Source Materials for the Study of Philippine History, Rev. ed (Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1984), 53. 18 fragile nature of most writing implements, materials, and surfaces in use at the time probably contributed to their rarity today. It was only after colonization that the archipelago’s inhabitants used paper, pen and ink for writing. An early 17th century Spanish-Tagalog dictionary defines pen (pluma) as “Panulat: instrument with which they write, a pointed tool, knife, etc., from sulat because they write with it on bamboo, palm leaves and other things.”56 Mary Grace P. Golfo-Barcelona describes how writing material was comprised of what was available in nature: “letters were carved into the bamboo and wiped with ash to make the characters stand out more while sharpened splits of bamboo were used with coloured plant saps to write on more delicate materials such as leaves.”57 And while many of these sources were destroyed as part of the colonial mission, in many cases the Spanish actually reproduced these vernaculars to document and communicate with the locals.58 Taylor notes that colonial practices often worked to simultaneously document and destroy: “‘Preservation’ served as a call to erasure. The ethnographic approach to the subject matter offered a safe strategy for handling dangerous materials. It allowed, simultaneously, for documentation and disappearance.”59 While writing may not have been employed in a widespread manner, nor written records kept in a systematic way, their existence complicates binary notions of orality and literacy in Philippine precolonial history.60 Three-hundred and thirty-three years of colonization resulted in an enormous volume of records in the Spanish language of the time. While at first glance it appears paradoxical that the paper documents of colonization, created by the Spanish and consolidated under the 56 Scott, 55. 57 Mary Grace P. Golfo-Barcelona, “Towards a Master’s Program in Archival Studies at the School of Library and Information Studies (SLIS), University of the Philippines” (University of Manitoba, 2017), 26, https://mspace.lib.umanitoba.ca/bitstream/handle/1993/32220/Golfo-Barcelona_Mary%20Grace.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y. 58 Vicente S. (Vicente Stabile) Hernandez, “Trends in Philippine Library History,” Libraries & the Culture 36, no. 2 (2001): 330, doi:10.1353/lac.2001.0034. 59 Diana Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003), 41, http://GW2JH3XR2C.search.serialssolutions.com/?sid=sersol&SS_jc=TC0000390965&title=The%20archive%20and%20the%20repertoire%20%3A%20performing%20cultural%20memory%20in%20the%20Americas. 60 Punzalan, “Archives of the New Possession: Spanish Colonial Records and the American Creation of a ‘National’ Archives for the Philippines,” 382. 19 Americans (in a language the majority of contemporary Filipinos cannot read, no less), would serve the symbolic function of reinforcing the idea of a unified Filipino nation, upon further reflection it seems apropos. Archivist Ricardo L. Punzalan, writing about the foundation of the National Archives, comments on the irony that an inarguably colonial creation is “being used to propagate the concept of a nation and has contributed to the idea of nationalism,”61 but was not the nation itself a colonial construct, and an incomplete one at that? Historian Vicente Rafael asserts that Filipino nationalist historiography, “unable to find in the precolonial past a suitable source for establishing the archaic and therefore timeless stretch of the Filipino nation…has instead looked to the moment of rupture from Spanish colonialism as the ground zero of its historical becoming.”62 This view of history thus marginalizes Indigenous peoples twice: once by destroying precolonial written records and writing systems and relegating unwritten records to the era of prehistory, and a second time by neglecting to remember that not all peoples on the archipelago were subjugated by Spanish colonization, as is the case with the Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera. Further, by consigning Indigenous recordkeeping practices to the era of prehistory, this approach ignores the continuation of such practices to the present, which contributes to the discrediting of Indigenous claims to land and sovereignty that have been transmitted through such practices since time immemorial. Within these practices are the stories of alternative becomings, sources of specific understandings of collective identity that are not tied to the colonial record. The Peopling of the Archipelago and the Emergence of Indigenous Identities The Philippines is a resource-abundant and agriculturally fertile archipelago of about 7,641 islands, surrounded by the South China Sea to the west, the Philippine Sea to the east, and the Celebes Sea on the southwest.63 Within the country, the United Nations Development Programme estimates that there are 14 to 17 million Indigenous Peoples (IPs) from 110 61 Punzalan, 388. 62 Rafael, “Parricides, Bastards and Counterrevolution: Reflections on the Philippine Centennial,” 362. 63 CNN Philippines Staff, “More Islands, More Fun in PH,” CNN Philippines, February 20, 2016, accessed August 13, 2018, http://cnnphilippines.com/videos/2016/02/20/More-islands-more-fun-in-PH.html. 20 ethno-linguistic groups in the Philippines, mostly concentrated on the island of Mindanao and the Cordillera region of Luzon, where this research takes place.64 While acknowledging that state definitions of what constitutes Indigeneity are not always accepted by Indigenous peoples themselves (and more often than not, run counter to how Indigenous peoples view themselves and choose to recognize community belonging), it is useful to include a definition of how Indigenous Cultural Communities/Indigenous Peoples (ICCs/IPs) have been conceptualized in Philippine legal instruments. The language of Indigeneity, as opposed to the use of national/cultural/ethnic minority status that has also been ascribed to the historically uncolonized peoples of the Philippines, is based on identification with the global Indigenous rights movement, contemporary popular usage, and recognition through statutes such as Republic Act No. 8371, colloquially known as the Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act (IPRA), though both terms are still used interchangeably by individuals identifying as such (despite some slight differences in definition).65 The Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act defines ICCs/IPs as: A group of people or homogeneous societies identified by self-ascription and ascription by others, who have continuously lived as organized community on communally bounded and defined territory, and who have under claims of ownership since time immemorial, occupied, possessed and utilized such territories, sharing common bonds of language, customs, traditions and other distinctive cultural traits, or who have, through resistance to political, social and cultural inroads of colonization, non-indigenous religions and cultures, became historically differentiated from the majority of Filipinos.66 The Act further includes the descendants of populations who inhabited the country pre-contact or pre-conquest who retain some or all of their “social, economic, cultural and 64 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) Philippines, “Fast Facts: Indigenous Peoples in the Philippines,” February 2010. 65 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 63; Floor van der Hout, “Indigeneity in the Cordillera (Philippines): On the Friction between Localities and Universalities” (Bachelor Thesis, Utrecht University, 2014). 66 Republic of the Philippines, Congress of the Philippines, An act to recognize, protect and promote the rights of Indigenous Cultural Communities/Indigenous Peoples, creating a national commission on Indigenous Peoples, establishing implementing mechanisms, appropriating funds therefor, and for other purposes, 3. 21 political institutions, but who may have been displaced from their traditional domains or who may have resettled outside their ancestral domains.”67 This definition, while attempting to be inclusive and respectful of the autonomy of Indigenous communities to define themselves through “self-ascription and ascription by others,” still places more emphasis on the expressions of ongoing ‘traditional’ or ‘original’ culture that differentiates ICCs/IPs from non-Indigenous Filipinos, rather than community-assigned bonds of kinship and belonging. This type of definition can be problematic in that it sets up a binary between Indigeneity as ‘traditional’ (read: belonging to the past) and non-Indigeneity as ‘modern’ (read: belonging to the present) which obscures the existence of living Indigenous communities whose cultures have continued to adapt and change (although it should be pointed out that the protection and preservation of culture against their appropriation and corruption by outsiders is a legitimate facet of the Indigenous struggle, and this language has been employed by some of this project’s participants to this effect). Another critique of this definition is that privileging descent (as a vague concept), as well as the cultural ‘products’ of a community as constituting Indigeneity rather than the bonds of inter-group kinship and relationships leads to an overly broad umbrella under which most contemporary Filipinos could claim Indigenous identity, regardless of whether or not they belong to a recognized IP community. To that end, for the purposes of clarity this thesis makes a distinction between IPs and descendants of ICCs/IPs, recognizing that Indigeneity is based on more than state recognition, genetic material and self-ascription.68 67 Republic of the Philippines, Congress of the Philippines, 3. 68 The distinction between being an Indigenous person and being a descendant of Indigenous people is informed by the discussions originating within Indigenous communities in Mexico and Central America in response to the co-optation of Indigenous identity into mainstream Chicano discourse (see Hernandez, Jessica. “How the Chican@ Discourse Silences Indigenous Peoples from Mexico + Central Americans.” Medium (blog), February 19, 2019, Accessed March 13, 2019. https://medium.com/@jessicabhdz/how-the-chican-discourse-silences-indigenous-peoples-from-mexico-central-americans-b72b5897ad26; Bautista, Romario. “My Thoughts on Indigeneity, as an Indigenous Person.” Dichos de Un Bicho (blog), February 24, 2019, Accessed March 13, 2019. http://dichosdeunbicho.com/my-thoughts-on-indigeneity-as-an-indigenous-person/.) My understanding of Indigenous identity construction through kinship, nationhood, and relationality are informed by the many, many Indigenous scholars, journalists, writers, and thinkers from all over Turtle Island who have written and commented on the subject, including but not limited to Kim Tallbear, Robert Jago, Allicia Elliot, Chelsea Vowel, Audra Simpson, Rebecca Nagle, Adrienne Keene, and many others. 22 In order to understand how ICCs/IPs fit into the cultural and political landscape of the contemporary Philippines, it is necessary to examine briefly the peopling of the archipelago and the forces of imperialism and colonization that have shaped the demographic differentiation of the country today. Several models of migration have been proposed to explain early human settlement in the archipelago, one of the earliest and most well-known being American anthropologist Henry Otley Beyer’s wave migration theory, which posited that there were roughly four waves of human migration to the islands, first aided in their arrival overland by the formation of early land bridges and later over water by seafaring vessels called balangay (the origin of the word barangay, meaning boat, which suggests the significance of water to early Indigenous settlers, which references a local unit of governance). Using Beyer’s own terminology, historian William Henry Scott summarized wave migration theory thus: First came the Java Man, and then the “little people” – Australoid Sakai, Negritos, and Proto-Malays – followed by two waves of Indonesians – Type A and Type B – with a smaller wave of Papuans, who were succeeded in turn by separate Northern and Southern Malay waves, and finally the Jar Burial People.69 Years of research following Beyer’s early twentieth-century theorizing have cast doubt on wave migration theory, though it remains popular among lay Filipinos. Problematic racial framing aside, Scott contended in as early as 1994 that “it is probably safe to say that no anthropologist accepts the Beyer Wave Migration Theory today.”70 More recent migration theories based on linguistic analysis, archeological artifact and fossil evidence, and genetic analysis have suggested patterns of movement converging on and passing through the islands from multiple directions. Recent archaeological findings further debunk Beyer’s hypothesis.71 69 William Henry Scott, Barangay: Sixteenth Century Philippine Culture and Society, 1995th ed. (Quezon City, Philipines: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1994), 10, http://archive.org/details/BarangaySixteenthCenturyPhilippineCultureAndSociety. 70 Scott, 11. 71 Florent Détroit et al., “A New Species of Homo from the Late Pleistocene of the Philippines,” Nature 568, no. 7751 (April 2019): 181, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-019-1067-9. 23 Regardless of how people eventually came to settle throughout the archipelago, the islands – once inhabited – became home to great sociocultural as well as biological diversity, as evidenced by the range of governance systems that existed among its different communities before Spanish colonization, from communal, semi-communal, semi-slave, and Islamic feudal systems of organization.72 Early Spanish invaders took advantage of the “absence of political unity” among the islands’ heterogeneous groups to colonize them through divide-and-rule tactics, helped along by the establishment of Catholicism and feudalism. By the time the Treaty of Paris was signed in 1898 the Spanish had entrenched colonial and feudal rule over most of the archipelago, with the exception of those lands of the Indigenous peoples that the Spanish failed to subdue.73 For the Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera (collectively and colloquially known as the Igorot),74 their resistance to Spanish occupation resulted in their historical differentiation from the majority of Filipinos, forming the basis of their identity as Indigenous Peoples. In this case, colonization acted as the “trigger process that brought the dichotomy of the Filipinos into the ‘majority’ and ‘minorities.’”75 Prior to Spanish colonization most evidence shows that there was little to separate lowlanders from highlanders, as the Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera are sometimes known.76 William Henry Scott’s study of early Spanish records, along with analyses of common cultural practices and beliefs and linguistic similarities, revealed support for the supposition that “some considerable portion of the ancestors of the present mountain population is 72 Guerrero, Philippine Society and Revolution, 3–4. 73 Guerrero, 6. 74 The use of the word “Igorot” as a self-ascription has a long and storied history. Its use in this research and its use by the participants in this study will be dealt with in more detail further on in the paper. 75 Nestor T. Castro, “A Peek into Cordilleran History, Culture, and Society: In Search of Self-Determination,” in Macli-Ing Dulag: Kaling Chief, Defender of the Cordillera (Diliman, Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 2015), 65. 76 William Henry Scott, Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays, 2005th ed. (Baguio City, Philippines: A-Seven Publishing, 1993), 7. 24 derived from coastal groups who withdrew from the lowlands to escape Spanish control and demands for labor and tribute.”77 Given the heroic opposition to colonial occupation embodied by Indigenous peoples around the country, it is remarkable that most textbooks on Filipino history decline to mention the communities that were never brought under the yoke of Spanish rule. Lack of “representational belonging” in national history is part of the erasure that Indigenous peoples face in mainstream Filipino society,78 rendered succinctly by Scott on his treatise on the importance of recognizing the role of Igorot independence struggles within a people’s history of the Philippines: Meanwhile, during those three centuries when Spanish firearms never really conquered the lofty liberty of the Igorots, they were paying a heavy price for their independence. Moving off into more remote parts of the Cordillera, they had to pit their brawn and brains against raw nature and sterile soil…While Graciano Lopez Jaena was ornamenting the Spanish press with his graceful prose, and Jose Rizal was hobnobbing with European scholars in a half dozen foreign languages, their illiterate Igorot compatriots were being exhibited in the Philippine Exposition along with the other native plants and animals…It was a heavy price to pay for liberty. And it is a price not yet fully paid. For even their descendants who are congressmen, professors or bishops must send their children to government schools where they dutifully stare at textbooks which say they are different from all other Filipinos because of migration. But never a word about their 350-year resistance to foreign aggression.79 Despite these attempts at “symbolic annihilation,”80 the “defence of Igorot independence” is the source of much pride for contemporary Cordillerans,81 with the current generation of activists tracing a direct line from the bravery of their ancestors’ resistance against Spanish 77 Ford Eggan, “Foreword,” in On the Cordillera: A Look at the Peoples and Cultures of the Mountain Province (Manila: MCS Enterprises. Inc., 1966), vii. 78 Michelle Caswell, Marika Cifor, and Mario H Ramirez, “‘To Suddenly Discover Yourself Existing’: Uncovering the Impact of Community Archives,” The American Archivist 79, no. 1 (2016): 56–81; Josen Masangkay Diaz, “The Subject Case: The Filipino Body and the Politics of Making Filipino America” (Ph.D., University of California, San Diego, 2014). 79 Scott, Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays, 39. 80 Caswell, Cifor, and Ramirez, “‘To Suddenly Discover Yourself Existing’: Uncovering the Impact of Community Archives.” 81 Scott, Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays, 1. 25 colonizers to the struggles against development aggression and state fascism that exists to this day.82 It was only with American occupation at the beginning of the 19th century that the peoples of the Cordillera were brought into the body politic of the new nation state.83 Attracted by the profitability of the area’s rich natural resources and aided by missionary and military agents, the Cordillera was a priority target for the American regime.84 One reason for the relative success of the Americans in contrast with the Spanish was the co-optation of Indigenous sociopolitical systems (ISPs) and Indigenous leaders into the colonial political apparatus in the region.85 Differentiation between upland Cordillerans and lowland Filipinos was not only entrenched but also encouraged by the Americans as another iteration of the divide-and-rule strategy used by the Spanish centuries before: the Americans “encouraged and reinforced the mistrust of the minorities on the lowland Christian groups. Thus, the cultural differences between the Cordillerans and the lowlanders were maintained and, to a certain extent, even institutionalized.”86 As the Cordillerans were subsumed into the same national sociopolitical hierarchy as the majority of Filipinos, their experiences of state oppression – unique to their status as national minorities – were compounded by the effects of socioeconomic stratification as experienced by the rest of the country’s citizens, bringing their struggle for self-determination alongside mainstream Filipino social justice movements towards “freedom from foreign domination and for genuine democracy.”87 This confluence of political interests, resulting in the linkage between Indigenous self-determination and national democratic movements in the Philippines, created the organizing structure that scaffolded my research in the Kalinga province of the Cordillera. 82 TC14Anon, interview by author, 2018. 83 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 37. 84 Solang, 70. 85 Castro, “A Peek into Cordilleran History, Culture, and Society: In Search of Self-Determination,” 66; Miguel Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, Second Edition (Baguio City, Philippines: Unique Printing Press, 1998), 18. 86 Castro, “A Peek into Cordilleran History, Culture, and Society: In Search of Self-Determination,” 66. 87 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 29. 26 Alternative Becomings: Orality, the Embodied Archive, and Talking Back to the State The aim of this research is to explore memory- and knowledge-keeping practices in Filipino Indigenous communities that provide alternative narratives of belonging to those promoted through official state records. By seeking these alternatives, which are specific to their own community context, this thesis challenges the traditional archival orientation towards grand narratives about the universal nature of knowledge creation, memory keeping, and cultural belonging. In sidestepping these tendencies towards generalization, I examine the ways in which specific Indigenous communities use and transmit their valuable cultural knowledge in ways that the archival discipline has not historically considered part of the archives, but which nevertheless serve functions or exhibit qualities of ‘recordness.’ Catherine Hobbs, in speaking of personal archives, notes that creators may be creating records regularly as part of their everyday needs, without ever thinking of them as such. To that end, she reminds archivists that we should: Seek to see documenting and archival behavior as emerging from human life rather than as recordkeeping in any narrow sense: as a modus operandi and not an end in itself. By viewing documents in this expanded sense, we do not see the record’s recordness as the central issue, and we embed our notions of personal documents with less of the vision of the archival world and more of the context of the document’s creation and use.88 Though describing a slightly different context of creation, I believe that investigating knowledge sharing practices within specific community contexts with a focus on record functions could reveal hitherto unexplored archival possibilities. Part of what this research reveals is that there are stories that lie outside the accepted national origin narrative, that exist as ‘alternative becomings’ for the various Indigenous communities in the Philippines, stories that serve as sources for specific understandings of collective identity. Alternative becomings are intersections of possibility where histories can be made 88 Catherine Hobbs, “Chapter 10: Reenvisioning the Personal: Reframing Traces of Individual Life,” in Currents of Archival Thinking, ed. Terry Eastwood and Heather MacNeil (Santa Barbara: Libraries Unlimited, 2010), 225. 27 known beyond the context of their relationship to colonization, and by extension, the birth of the nation state. They ‘talk back’ to historiographic narratives originating in empire.89 These intersections become especially helpful in the context of making claims on the state, as they establish legitimacy based on being “the first peoples of the land;”90 as Franke Wilmer states, “the indigenous voice speaks critically to the narrative (some would say myth) of the nation-state – the hierarchical, incorporative, coercive state that exists, in part, to facilitate the process of creating economic surplus on an international scale.”91 The knowledge present within these alternative becomings, as alluded to in the prologue, are intrinsically tied up with the assertion of claims on the state, because they are part and parcel of the set of rights that inhere to Indigenous communities: the right to land, livelihood, resources, and self-determination. 1.3.1 Research Question The central concern informing this research is the exploration of how cultural knowledge is transmitted in the context of Indigenous communities in the Cordillera, specifically among the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribes of the Kalinga province. How do the communities transmit knowledge and memory over time in a way that is useful or meaningful for them? What, if any, are their conceptions of ‘record’ and ‘archive’ and what knowledge do they hold that can be considered analogous to those concepts? What functions does that knowledge serve and what claims does it make? How can local understandings of records and archives influence Western archival theorizing on the definition of the record? Essentially, by drawing analogies between established archival theory and specific cases of recordkeeping practices in highly-localized, non-Western contexts, this thesis challenges and expands Eurocentric conceptualizations of archives and records that are limited by notions of fixed materiality. 89 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, 2nd ed. (London: Zed Books, 2012), 8. 90 Smith, 115. 91 Franke Wilmer, The Indigenous Voice in World Politics: Since Time Immemorial, Violence, Cooperation, Peace 7 (Newbury Park, California: Sage, 1993), 194. 28 1.3.1.1 Research Approaches This project approaches the study of community knowledge use and transmission from two directions. The first path took an internal look at life within several communities to explore what pieces of knowledge were considered invaluable to community identity and therefore important to transmit intergenerationally, and how these were passed on. The framework for this avenue of inquiry was built around the bodong, the Indigenous sociopolitical system (ISP) that governs life and relations in the Kalinga province, where this research takes place. The bodong is a collective set of customary laws, each representing a “fragment” of cultural knowledge,92 what one participant referred to as the “constitution and bylaws” of the community.93 As a whole, the bodong can be viewed as a, if not the, major agent of knowledge transmission for Kalinga tribes. How the bodong functions, is conceived of, and enacted within Kalinga tribes will be dealt with in more detail in Chapter 3. The second path endeavored to analyze how political activism has been deliberately mobilized as an agent of transmission by the Indigenous rights movement in the Cordillera, through a study of a specific community event bringing together communities from around the region, where the intersections of possibility offered by alternative becomings are performed on the ground. The event is the annual Cordillera Day celebration centred around April 24th (Cordillera People’s Day), the commemoration of the heroism of Macli-ing Dulag and the other Indigenous leaders who took part in the Chico Dam Struggle, and the legacy of activism that forms the basis of the Indigenous rights movement in the Cordillera. I regard the event as an example of what archival theorists have variously termed a “living archive,” or a “cultural archive.”94 For progressive Cordilleran people, Cordillera Day represents a living archive of struggle, a deliberate retaliation against symbolic (and literal) annihilation. By participating in, and observing how, Indigenous communities in the Cordillera region engage with each other at the annual Cordillera Day activities, this research explores how the 92 Lawson, “Precious Fragments: First Nations Materials in Archives, Libraries and Museums.” 93 BD01MD, interview by author, 2018. 94 Jeannette A. Bastian, “The Records of Memory, the Archives of Identity: Celebrations, Texts and Archival Sensibilities,” Archival Science; Dordrecht 13, no. 2–3 (2013): 122, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-012-9184-3. 29 limits and boundaries of Western-derived archival concepts such as ‘the record,’ ‘the archives,’ and ‘the creator’ can be tested. Chapter 4 will engage more deeply with the event as an agent of knowledge transmission and ponder the potential that “key sites” of celebration and ceremony have to complicate, challenge, or expand archival theory. Thesis Structure Chapter 2 is a detailed description of the research paradigm, methodological approach, and methods used to undertake the research, as well as a reflection on the ethical challenges and limitations of the research project. Chapter 3 will study the ways that these expressions reinforce the infrastructure of Cordilleran culture, using the example of the Kalinga bodong, or peace pact, system. Chapter 4 will use the framework of one event, the annual Cordillera Day celebration commemorating the assassination of Macli-ing Dulag and honouring his legacy of struggle, to explore how “the relationships between collective memory, records, community and identity as expressed through a particular celebration” could constitute a “living archive.”95 The Conclusion will reflect on the archival implications of the research findings, query the appropriateness of applying archival theory across different ways of knowing, and reiterate the linkages made throughout the paper between Indigenous rights, activism, and the politics of knowledge production, and pose possibilities for future scholarship. 95 Bastian, 122. 30 Chapter 2: Methodology Introduction Performance, presentation, ceremony, ritual – Western archival theory has had an uneasy relationship with these and other processes of knowledge organization and dissemination that are ephemeral in nature. Most accepted definitions of what constitutes a ‘record’ (the central archival unit of significance) rely on some method of ‘fixing’, ‘recording’, ‘transcribing’, or otherwise lending materiality to an experience of knowledge or information before it can be comfortably arranged, described, classified, curated, or catalogued. Studies of potential records that defy these definitions are therefore few and far between, so comparable projects from which to learn of useful methodologies are scarce. One of the few writers in archives to propose a close, critical look at how ephemeral cultural practices may be incorporated into archival theorizing about memory and belonging is Jeanette Allis Bastian, notably in her ruminations on the place of Carnival on the United States Virgin Islands: That paradigm [of a cultural archive] theorizes that if an annual celebration can be considered as a longitudinal and complex cultural community expression, then it also can be seen dynamically as a living archive where the many events within the celebration constitute the numerous records comprising this expression. While some of these records may be the traditional fixed variety, others may be mobile, transient, ephemeral—dances, oral performances, costumes, folklore—but all belong, have a place and may be completely comprehended within a coherent past and present understanding of the social dynamic in which the celebration resides. The celebration and the community are one.96 Although Bastian opened a door through which to begin considering the implications of a “cultural archive,” there have been few studies that deal directly with how such events can be understood, or function as, archives.97 Lacking examples from within archival scholarship that can be used as methodological models, it is left to subsequent studies, such as this 96 Bastian, 122. 97 Two examples of such research can be found in Jeannette A. Bastian, “‘Play Mas’: Carnival in the Archives and the Archives in Carnival: Records and Community Identity in the US Virgin Islands,” Archival Science 9, no. 1–2 (June 2009): 113–25, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-009-9101-6; Diane Daly, “Community, Ephemera, and Archives” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Arizona, 2016). 31 project, to take an interdisciplinary approach, learn from related theories, and step through that door. This chapter is intended to lay out the methodological approach of the research project through a broad-to-narrow course, beginning with situating myself within overarching paradigms, continuing to methodology, research design, methods, and ethics. Since the process of investigating methodological possibilities has been, first and foremost, a personal journey involving an assessment of the values I want to carry with me in this research, as well as a reflexive evaluation of my own role as a researcher, this section adopts an explicitly subjective narrative style. As will be made clear throughout this section, I see this approach as part of a broader striving towards a research style that pushes against disciplinary tendencies towards neutrality and objectivity in the positivist tradition, and attempts instead to locate the archivist-as-researcher as an engaged actor with their own individual positionality, working within a set of negotiated social relationships. Research Paradigms and the (Re)distribution of Power The central concern of formulating a research methodology involves determining which approach is appropriate to the research question, to the ethical, moral, and philosophical standpoint the researcher takes, and to the personal and external limitations of what the researcher can realistically deliver. Choosing the appropriate methodologies and attendant methods to explore this research question within a discipline that tends to advocate practice over intellectual theorizing has a protracted process.98 In the same way that dominant approaches to research grounded in positivism have had to be challenged by alternative paradigms of knowledge production,99 the “prevailing relations of power” in archival studies resulting from its own positivist roots have also had to be confronted.100 In this way the challenge of situating myself in research, and archival research in particular, has operated on 98 Elisabeth Kaplan, “‘Many Paths to Partial Truths’: Archives, Anthropology, and the Power of Representation,” Archival Science 2, no. 3 (2002): 209–20. 99 Patricia Maguire, Doing Participatory Research: A Feminist Approach (Amherst, Mass: Center for International Education, School of Education, University of Massachusetts, 1987), 9–10. 100 Harris, “The Archival Sliver: Power, Memory, and Archives in South Africa,” 63. 32 two levels: not only a struggle against mainstream research approaches, but also a struggle to expand the orthodoxy of the archival discipline. Patricia Maguire contends that paradigms not only provide “a “place to stand” from which to view reality,” but also to “shape the form and purpose of investigating social reality.”101 In considering which values I wanted to carry with me to build a foundation upon which to stand, I focused on three elements that I believe to be non-negotiable to research that aims to speak back to dominant narratives of power from the position of communities that have been pushed to the margins: participation, solidarity, and justice. I will briefly explain my justification for choosing these three values as the pillars of my research paradigm, acknowledging that enacting them on the ground has been a challenging process. Some specifics of how these values played out in the conduct of my research will be addressed in the relevant case studies later on in the paper, while the constraints I faced in putting these values into practice in the research process will be addressed at the end of this chapter when detailing the ethical challenges and limitations of my research design. Participation is a critical factor for communities who have traditionally been viewed by research as always only ‘objects’ of inquiry. Linda Tuhiwai Smith (Maori) emphasizes that, time and again, research “has been taken for granted that indigenous peoples are the ‘natural objects’” of inquiry.102 This reductive and dehumanizing perspective is linked to the very real processes of political disempowerment; as Maguire summarizes: “By treating people as objects to be counted, surveyed, predicted, and controlled, traditional research mirrors oppressive social conditions which cause ordinary people to relinquish their capacity to make real choices and to be cut out of meaningful decision making.”103 Traditional approaches to research with Indigenous peoples, like archival narratives relating to Indigenous peoples, are usually of and about Indigenous communities; research that aims to stand alongside Indigenous peoples in the realization of political autonomy means supporting Indigenous 101 Maguire, Doing Participatory Research, 10. 102 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 122. 103 Maguire, Doing Participatory Research, 30. 33 peoples in the telling of stories by and for those communities. As Smith states, “Every issue has been approached by indigenous peoples with a view to rewriting and rerighting our position in history. Indigenous peoples want to tell our own stories, write our own versions, in our own ways, for our own purposes.”104 Since I am a non-Indigenous Filipina residing and studying in Canada, and therefore an outsider seeking to do research within Filipino Indigenous communities, the element of solidarity is critical for the rewriting and rerighting of Indigenous stories. Solidarity involves understanding where my goals and positionality have the opportunity to intersect with the goals of the community I aim to work with. I understand solidarity to be the working together of constellations of political activity, which cluster around shared experiences and realities, but which connect through concurrent struggles against oppression, and for liberation. Solidarity is a fraught concept, and some claims towards solidarity have been rightly criticized as selectively advantageous. Smith writes about how Indigenous activism has occasionally engaged in “often uneasy alliances with other marginalized groups in society” that were “always regarded by indigenous groups as “problematic,” but sometimes seen as necessary.105 Smith quotes Donna Awatere Huata (Maori), who argues that white supremacy, which has organized across class lines, must be answered by Maori-Pakeha alliances that can organize across Indigenous/settler communities: “These alliances are necessary because changes cannot occur with the Maori on our own. White people have cut across class barriers to unite on the basis of white hegemony; that is, white domination of the Maori. To overcome this requires a restructuring of the white alliance.”106 Maguire challenges dominant research paradigms that emphasize objectivity and neutrality by concluding that the researcher is always “consciously or not, … in quiet collusion with either those who have power or those who don’t.”107 To attempt neutrality, in this respect, is 104 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 29. 105 Smith, 115–16. 106 Donna Awatere Huata, Maori Sovereignty (Auckland, N.Z: Broadsheet, 1984), 34. 107 Maguire, Doing Participatory Research, 25. 34 to be complicit in oppression through research. ‘Neutral’ research positions attempt to disguise the power dynamic between researcher and researched through ‘impartial’ detachment; alternative paradigms propose active participation in support of the lives and struggles of those peoples with whom the researcher is in alliance. As an outsider who must contend with the voyeuristic legacy of positivist research, it is incumbent on me to think critically about my motives, actions, and ways of relating in research, to be honest about the context within which I am working (academically, geographically, sociologically, relationally), and to be supportive in community transformation. Acting in solidarity involves colluding in the takedown of oppressive systems, which explicitly leads to an overall orientation towards social justice. Within archives, there has been a growing movement of archivists who approach their work with a political responsibility to enact social justice, as part of an acknowledgement that archives have never been politically neutral,108 but rather, they “have always been politicized as centers of power within society.”109 This approach to archiving is congruent with research frameworks that recognize research as “an activity that has something at stake and that occurs in a set of political and social conditions.”110 Archival relationships which not only acknowledge archival work as inherently political, but that also choose to work in solidarity with Indigenous communities, must also support those communities’ struggles, which are primarily in the service of self-determination. To struggle, as Smith points out, is to seek social justice.111 A significant factor in the struggle for self-determination is the erasure of Indigenous voices and perspectives in the telling of their stories and histories. Archivists, uniquely positioned as information professionals who trade in the representation and organization of historical knowledge, have the potential to help redress how Indigenous 108 “‘Archives Have Never Been Neutral:’ An NDSA Interview with Jarrett Drake,” National Digital Stewardship Alliance - Digital Library Federation, February 15, 2017, accessed February 16, 2017, http://ndsa.diglib.org//2017/02/15/archives-have-never-been-neutral-an-ndsa-interview-with-jarrett-drake.html. 109 Randall C. Jimerson, “Archivists and Social Responsibility: A Response to Mark Greene,” The American Archivist 76, no. 2 (Fall/Winter 2013): 337. 110 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 5. 111 Smith, 199. 35 peoples have been “represented or excluded from various accounts” in the construction of history.112 These three elements of participation, solidarity, and justice, would fit comfortably into what is deemed as the “Critical” research paradigm, which is defined as a viewpoint that sees reality as being “structured by arrangements of power that require social change.”113 These values, however, also occur and overlap throughout other research paradigms. Eve Tuck (Unangax̂) and Marcia McKenzie recognize that postmodern, materialist, and Indigenous research approaches are “often also ‘critical’ and that approaches can be mixed together or taken up at different times by the same researcher with strategic aims of having the research ‘be of use’ in particular settings or times.”114 Threads and Strands: Weaving Together Methodological Approaches Part of navigating the process of choosing a methodology involves engaging with the language of research, whose vocabulary can sometimes be opaque, vague, misused, or misunderstood. The problem of language and definition is exacerbated by cross-pollination of concepts across different disciplines; sometimes the way that vocabulary is used, borrowed, and repurposed results in definitions becoming untethered from their original meanings. Academic jargon can attach itself to research trends, such that words and terms that carry a certain cachet are in danger of being applied too widely to situations where they are inappropriate. It has been a journey for me to find the right words to describe the stance I wanted to take with my research, without also appropriating vocabulary that would result in misrepresentations of the project’s processes, the role of participants, and the terms of engagement for everyone involved. Here, I heed Sonya Atalay’s (Anishinabe-Ojibwe) warning that labels are too often applied by scholars to their work “without recognizing that the meanings and practices associated with these forms of research are specific and distinct,” 112 Smith, 29. 113 Eve Tuck and Marcia McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods (New York: Routledge, 2015), 77. 114 Tuck and McKenzie, 76. 36 which risks taking away the “potency” of established methodologies.115 As Atalay states, “definitions matter, and grounding one’s practice within a theoretical framework is important so that we can understand who is engaging with whom, to what degree, and for what purpose.”116 Definitional integrity requires an honesty of terms. This challenge has been further complicated by the fact that what some authors refer to as methodology, others describe as method, and vice versa.117 Many authors feel the need to set out which definitions of ‘methodology’ and ‘methods’ they are employing to clarify their distinction between the two.118 I will be using Cecile Badenhorst’s formulations of those terms, with methodology being part of the researcher’s philosophical stance (how they see the world), and methods being the step-by-step processes of data collection.119 Just as researchers may engage in multiple research paradigms, there are a variety of methodological approaches influencing a researcher that determine which are “the best fit for a given research question or scope and particular place.”120 Since an assessment of any single methodology did not seem entirely appropriate to describe my research approach, I have taken on Tuck and McKenzie’s invitation for researchers to “make additions and adjustments, or to build their own heuristics for thinking through how one’s theory, methodology, and methods of research align with or are influenced by their epistemological, ontological, and axiological assumptions.”121 It has been most useful for me to visualize methodologies as existing ‘in orbit’ around the central research question, where there are 115 Sonya Atalay, “Engaging Archaeology: Positivism, Objectivity, and Rigor in Activist Archaeology,” in Transforming Archaeology: Activist Practices and Prospects, ed. Lee Rains Clauss et al. (London; New York: Routledge, 2014), 48, https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315416533. 116 Atalay, 48. 117 Tuck and McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods, 79. 118 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 144; Margaret Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and Contexts, Reprint edition (Toronto Buffalo London: University of Toronto Press, Scholarly Publishing Division, 2010), 25. 119 Cecile Badenhorst, Writing the Methodology Chapter in a Dissertation (Newfoundland and Labrador: Memorial University of Newfoundland, 2015), accessed December 11, 2017, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6ZoCuzixao. 120 Tuck and McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods, 75. 121 Tuck and McKenzie, 76. 37 relationships between different methodologies, and relationships between those methodologies and the research, but where the levels of ‘connectivity’ (or gravitational pull, if you will) differ in strength based on how appropriate those methodologies are to describing my research approach. A detailed explanation of this research metaphor is explained in the Figure 2.1 and the subsequent analysis. Figure 2.1: Visualization of Influential Methodologies. These methodologies and the connections between them are informed by their descriptions in Eve Tuck and Marcia McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods (New York: Routledge, 2015). Dashed lines indicate weaker connections while solid lines indicate stronger connections. Source: Image created by author using draw.io. 38 Participatory research methodology is a “research style” that “argues in favor of the possibility, the significance, and the usefulness of involving research partners in the knowledge-production process.”122 Methods associated with such methodologies are “geared towards planning and conducting the research process with those people whose life-world and meaningful actions are under study.”123 Participatory research methodology is often paired with action research (participatory action research or PAR), to describe processes where people engage collaboratively to analyse an issue or problem, and together design and develop a practical solution to address and change that situation.124 PAR often overlaps with community-based participatory research (CBPR), where community members come together to share power and resources to find solutions to community problems that are informed by action.125 Though participatory and community-based methodologies are both “Western-constructed research processes” originating in the Verstehen tradition, there are several openings where such approaches can be considered compatible with Indigenous or decolonizing methodologies.126 Margaret Kovach (Nêhiýaw/Saulteaux) asserts that because Indigenous methodologies “encompass characteristics congruent with other relational qualitative approaches” there is sufficient “common ground for Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers to understand each other.”127 One such point of connection is through the valuing of the strengths and knowledge of participants as partners in the production of research, which when combined with 122 Jarg Bergold and Stefan Thomas, “Participatory Research Methods: A Methodological Approach in Motion,” Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research 13, no. 1 (January 30, 2012): 2. 123 Bergold and Thomas, 2. 124 Sarah Banks et al., “Everyday Ethics in Community-Based Participatory Research,” Contemporary Social Science 8, no. 3 (2013): 264, https://doi.org/10.1080/21582041.2013.769618; Alan Bryman, Social Research Methods, 4th ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 397. 125 Banks et al., “Everyday Ethics in Community-Based Participatory Research,” 264. 126 Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies, 24. 127 Kovach, 25. 39 decolonizing methodologies would result in the centring of Indigenous voices. In Rajjan Datta’s study with the Laitu Khyeng Indigenous community in Bangladesh, he identified five key responsibilities of using PAR as a non-Indigenous researcher partnering with Indigenous co-researchers: empowering participants, knowledge ownership, relationality, holism, and centring Indigenous voices. These responsibilities align with decolonizing approaches that recognize Indigenous ownership over their cultural knowledge; value the spiritual and holistic interconnectedness of the relationships between people, land, and justice; and take an explicitly political stand for the rights of the participants towards sovereignty. Another intersection between these methodologies is the emphasis on relationality and reflexivity as a researcher. A critical piece of participatory methodology is self-reflection about one’s own position in relation to the research, to the other research partners, and to the location where the research is taking place.128 This involves making clear the relationships of each participant to each other and to the research. This is in direct contradiction to the traditional research orientation towards neutrality, which positions the researcher as separate and distinct from the research ‘subjects.’ In participatory research, locating oneself becomes an important step to producing and validating knowledge because “personal location contributes to the production of meanings.”129 In Datta’s words, “a person’s mind, self and society construct relations and acts relationally … it is the researcher’s responsibility to make a space to rethink their identity and challenge ways of being”130 because they have an indelible effect on the research process. In a similar way, enacting a decolonizing research agenda involves identifying your relationship to the land and to the people on it, how you came to be where you are, your ancestors, and your ethics and motivations;131 through such “form of introduction you locate yourself in a set of identities which have been framed 128 Bergold and Thomas, “Participatory Research Methods”; Ranjan Datta et al., “Participatory Action Research and Researcher’s Responsibilities: An Experience with an Indigenous Community,” International Journal of Social Research Methodology 18, no. 6 (November 2, 2015): 581–99, https://doi.org/10.1080/13645579.2014.927492. 129 George J. Sefa Dei, “Knowledge and Politics of Social Change: The Implication of Anti-Racism,” British Journal of Sociology of Education 20, no. 3 (1999): 397. 130 Datta et al., “Participatory Action Research and Researcher’s Responsibilities,” 583. 131 Melissa Adams et al., “Talking with First Nations Archives” (Webinar, February 23, 2017). 40 geographically, politically and genealogically.”132 In Section 2.5, I will provide a positionality statement to locate myself in relation to the people, places and political movements that I encountered as part of my research. Though my research is influenced by the above methodologies, it cannot be said to belong squarely to any of them. While participation by community members will be integral to the organization, representation, and interpretation of the themes that reveal themselves in regards to their community’s knowledge, I am reluctant to label this project as PAR given that I cannot guarantee that there will be a transformative result through the project, nor am I comfortable asserting a role for ‘capacity-building’ in Western archival processes that may be inappropriate for the documentation and preservation of localized knowledge. I am similarly wary of using CBPR to define this research, as the research question and the request for collaboration were both initiated by me as an outsider. While it is possible to have outsider initiators of community-based PAR approaches, these approaches usually rely on the outsider making a commitment to live and work permanently or semi-permanently within the community to generate a beneficial outcome.133 Given the limited time and resource commitments I have as a graduate student, a true community-based or PAR approach may be unreasonable. In a similar vein, as a non-Indigenous person coming from a decidedly Western discipline, applying approaches that have also originated in Western knowledge systems, it is improbable for me to consider this research to be part of a truly decolonizing methodology. While there are many ways my research is ‘unlike’ these methodologies, it is the ‘like’ aspects that connect them that serve as the overarching influence over my research approach. This research is also influenced by postpositivist/interpretivist methodologies such as narrative inquiry.134 Narrative and storytelling methodologies can be well-suited to the task of 132 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 216–17. 133 Leonora Angeles, “Feminist Demands, Dilemmas, and Dreams in Introducing Participatory Action Research in a Canada-Vietnam Capacity-Building Project,” in Feminist Community Research: Case Studies and Methodologies, ed. Gillian Laura Creese and Wendy Mae Frisby (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2011), 48. 134 Tuck and McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods, 78. 41 research to enrich the archival discipline, since archives are themselves tools of memory making and the constructions and representations of the past. These methodologies emphasize the role of narrative in “how humans come to know, understand, and make meaning in the social world, while also making ourselves known, understood, and meaningful in the world.”135 One function of archives is to act as repository for those narratives. As Joan M. Schwartz and Terry Cook have pointed out, “Archives validate our experiences, our perceptions, our narratives, our stories.”136 The past, after all, is just a story we tell ourselves,137 and archives have traditionally had a very limited mindset about the types of stories they have considered valuable. Indigenous cultures with long traditions of orality, for example, have not found mainstream archives particularly welcoming or amenable to their telling of their own stories. Archivists have begun to realize the necessity for archivy138 to challenge the silencing and erasure of marginalized voices in their holdings through the telling of different stories, in order to learn from, and be responsive to, the needs of their communities.139 It seems only appropriate that storytelling methodologies be used in the service of research that is itself about storytelling. Narrative methodologies will be involved in the data collection and documentation aspects of this research project. Research Plan Before describing my research journey I will briefly return to my research question and explain how I planned my research project in order to answer it. 135 Tuck and McKenzie, 82. 136 Joan M. Schwartz and Terry Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” Archival Science 2, no. 1–2 (2002): 18. 137 Spike Jonze, Her (Warner Bros., 2013). 138 “Archivy” is defined as the discipline of archives. Society of American Archivists, “Archivy,” SAA Glossary of Archival and Records Terminology, accessed April 17, 2019, https://www2.archivists.org/glossary/terms/a/archivy. 139 Terry Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community: Four Shifting Archival Paradigms,” Archival Science; Dordrecht 13, no. 2–3 (2013): 114, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-012-9180-7. 42 2.4.1 Restatement of Research Question As stated in Section 1.3.1, the central concern informing this research is the exploration of how cultural knowledge is transmitted in the context of Indigenous communities in the Cordillera, specifically among the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribes of the Kalinga province. By drawing analogies between established archival theory and specific cases of recordkeeping practices in highly-localized, non-Western contexts this thesis challenges and expands Eurocentric conceptualizations of archives and records that are limited by notions of fixed materiality. By exploring this question, I contribute to the limited archival scholarship available regarding living/cultural archives and records lacking stable material manifestations. I proposed to answer this question through a study of two sites of active knowledge creation and transmission: the bodong peace pact, an Indigenous sociopolitical system used by tribes in and around Kalinga Province, and Cordillera Day, an annual political and cultural gathering for Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera. I conducted fieldwork at five locations in the Cordillera: I studied the bodong in Basao Dilag, Basao Surong, Ngibat, and Tanglag; and I studied Cordillera Day in the City of Baguio. Data was collected through unstructured interviews, participant observation, and publicly available videos of Cordillera Day. The Research Journey The research project takes the form of a series of case studies in four Indigenous communities in the Kalinga province of the Philippines, culminating in participation at the annual Cordillera Day event held during April 22nd to April 24th. Cordillera Day commemorates the death of Kalinga Chief Macli-ing Dulag and celebrates the continuing legacy of Indigenous activism in the Cordillera. This section describes how the research design was a result of my personal journey as a researcher, how I first came to the research idea and the geographical, disciplinary, political, social, and generational factors that influenced that journey. It will also outline the relationships that introduced me to the 43 communities I worked with and the ethical responsibilities that my positionality has conferred upon me in the relationships I built through this research.140 2.5.1 Positionality and the Research Process: The Passage of Personal and Political The eventual undertaking of the research project was the product of several years of discussion, brainstorming, and support from people in my life dating before my entry into the iSchool at UBC. In 2015, as a former dancer and new iSchool student, I found myself in a position where I was encountering multiple sources from the dance world that were raising archival questions: a former boss from a dance studio introduced me to a book by dance anthropologist Lori Henry about travelling across Canada looking at cultural memory through the lens of dance;141 an aunt sent me a story about Ligaya Fernando Amilbangsa, who won the Ramon Magsaysay award for her work preserving ethnic dance forms in the southern Philippines,142 and Dr. Leonora Angeles (now a member of my supervisory committee) told me about an Art History talk she attended that spoke about the archival instability of dance performances. The questions arising from these interactions convinced me that there was something to the combined inquiry into the performance of cultural memory and archival preservation that could encompass multiple interests into a personally meaningful project. The exploration of the transmission of cultural knowledge through movement and dance would later become the basis for my Social Science and Humanities Research Council proposal focusing on Indigenous communities in the Philippines. At the same time, as a Filipina immigrant who grew up in family with a history of activism, it was important to me that the project also have a political dimension and contribute in some way to scholarship that advanced issues of human rights and social justice in the Philippines. A 2010 visit to the Philippines had allowed me to visit several Indigenous communities in the 140 A brief positionality statement exists in my thesis proposal, and will be further expanded as a separate section in the finished work. 141 Lori Henry, Dancing Through History: In Search of the Stories That Define Canada (Vancouver, BC: Dancing Traveller Publishing, 2012). 142 Jim Gomez, “Filipino Wins Magsaysay Award for Work to Save Ancient Dance,” The Philippine Star, August 31, 2015, accessed April 11, 2017, http://www.philstar.com/headlines/2015/08/31/1494451/filipino-wins-magsaysay-award-work-save-ancient-dance. 44 Cordillera as part of the International Conference on “Indigenous Peoples Rights, Alternatives and Solutions to the Climate Crisis,” and had connected me with the CPA, “an independent federation of progressive peoples organizations [sic], most of them grassroots-based organizations among indigenous communities in the Cordillera Region, Philippines.”143 The motivation to seek a research site that incorporated political struggle through the use of embodied cultural measures within communities with ancestral traditions of knowledge production and transmission encouraged me to reach out to fellow activists in the organizations I volunteered with in Vancouver to inquire whether such a project would interest Indigenous communities with member organizations in the CPA. In Section 2.6, I will describe the research relationships that allowed me to conduct this research project in more detail. As a non-Indigenous Filipina settler in Coast Salish Territory I am a part of a diaspora whose movements and migration are dictated by the forces of global imperialism. My mother and I migrated from the Philippines first to Mi’kmaq territory before moving to Coast Salish lands. Unlike many Filipinx people who eventually settle in what is currently known as Canada our pathway to migration was through family sponsorship, not through contractual labour from the Temporary Foreign Worker (TFW) program. Through the TFW program, Canada is one of the primary beneficiaries of the Filipinx diaspora, using the more affordable labour of migrant workers to fill the gaps left by inadequate social services for the care of children, the elderly, and those with high medical needs, as well as jobs in low-paid sectors such as the fast-food industry. Filipinx labour migration to Canada is highly gendered, with women predominantly coming in to fulfill caregiving positions. The legacy of colonization and its resultant landlessness, joblessness, and poverty is a root cause of the mass migration of Filipinxs from the Philippines, including IPs who face unique national oppression in the form of development aggression and threats to their sovereign rights. At the same time, when we arrive in countries like Canada, our allowance to enter, our abilities to live, labour, and provide financial opportunities for our families back home are predicated on negotiation with 143 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “About,” Cordillera Peoples Alliance, 2004, accessed January 28, 2019, http://www.cpaphils.org/about1.html. 45 the settler colonial state, which has itself forcibly displaced and dispossessed the Indigenous peoples here of their land, livelihood and resources. To borrow from Sri Lankan novelist Ambalavaner Sivanandan, whose famous phrase “we are here because you were there” described the movement of immigrants and refugees from the Global South to the imperial centre of the UK, not only are we here because you were there, but we are also here because you are here.144 Knowing the ways that colonization has framed relationships of people, places, and possibilities in my own life make it imperative for me to lay out how those relationships have allowed this research project to take place. 2.5.1.1 A Note on “We,” “Our,” and “Us:” The Silent Companions of Research Part of the process of accurately documenting how the research unfolded is to be honest about how it took place, including all the actors that made it possible. This includes not only the network of individuals that guided the project on the ground from beginning to end (the “scaffolding,”145 in the words of anthropologist Renato Rosaldo; the “silent infrastructure of fieldwork”),146 but also my partner who travelled alongside me. As a recording assistant, everyday helper and fellow traveler, Trevor took on a lot of the necessary emotional labour of being a research companion, from setting out snacks and coffee for interview participants, to taking notes, to listening to my ideas as I thought aloud, to soothing the tears and emotional episodes that accompanied the sometimes challenging nature of being in the field. It would also be dishonest not to mention the burden that was taken off me as a single woman to be travelling along with a man, especially in a country where the legacy of colonization has resulted in layers of patriarchy, entrenched gender roles, and conservativism. I do not doubt that it would have been more difficult for me to have the freedom of movement I had without him, or the ease of acceptance we had if we had not been a heterosexual couple. My choices, from where to stay, to where I could go 144 Ambalavaner Sivanandan, “Catching History on the Wing,” Institute of Race Relations (blog), November 6, 2008, accessed March 31, 2019, http://www.irr.org.uk/news/catching-history-on-the-wing/. 145 Renato Rosaldo, The Day of Shelly’s Death: The Poetry and Ethnography of Grief (Duke University Press, 2013), 110, https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822376736. 146 Ann-Christin Wagner, “In Praise of the Scaffolding,” Allegra (blog), July 12, 2018, accessed September 24, 2018, http://allegralaboratory.net/in-praise-of-the-scaffolding/. 46 unaccompanied, to how much alone time I could have, would have been far more constrained had it not been perceived that I had the safety of a male companion, especially as an obvious foreigner. In this way, I was privileged in my ability to insulate myself from being completely at the whim of other people’s decisions. When writing about the research project, my use of collective pronouns indicates my inclusion of Trevor in my work, a silent but nevertheless indispensable partner. Vetting and Validation: Relationships and the Research Opportunities they Afford My and Trevor’s stay in each community was negotiated at a variety of levels, beginning with an introduction from a pre-existing personal connection. It was important to me that my visit was mediated by an Indigenous organization that was politically active in upholding Indigenous rights in the region, since an important factor in my research was my desire to work in solidarity with groups actively working towards social justice. Fortunately, I was able to rely on personal and organizational relationships to deliver my proposal to the Cordillera Peoples Alliance. It had always been my intention to approach the CPA first to propose my project, not only because I had integrated with several communities through the CPA during my last stay in the Philippines, but also because I knew that the CPA's purpose was one that aligned with my political purposes, namely a commitment to "the promotion and defense of indigenous peoples' rights, human rights, social justice, and national freedom and democracy."147 In the context of Filipino grassroots political organizations, there is a clear network of organizations that are all united towards the broad goal of achieving genuine national democracy in the Philippines. Among these organizations there are hierarchical levels of oversight. In order to conduct research within a community, permissions must be granted on multiple levels. In our case we had to be accepted by a committee at the regional level of the 147 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “About,” 2004, accessed January 28, 2019. 47 CPA, then passed on to a provincial chapter, and further passed down to the specific people’s organizations within each community. In Vancouver I am a member of Migrante BC, a Filipino migrant rights organization. Migrante BC is a member organization of Migrante Canada, itself a chapter of Migrante International, "a global alliance of over 100 organization in more than 22 countries,” which acts as an umbrella network for organizations that actively defend the rights and welfare of overseas Filipinx migrants.148 Migrante BC is also an allied organization of BAYAN (Bagong Alyansang Makabayan/New Patriotic Alliance) Canada, an alliance of progressive Filipino organizations in Canada. The Chairperson of BAYAN Canada is Constancio "Chandu" Claver, a Bontoc-Kalinga physician who sought refugee status in Canada following an attempt on his life that resulted in the murder of his wife, Alyce Omengan-Claver on July 31, 2006. At the time of his attempted assassination he was the Chairperson of the Kalinga chapter of BAYAN Philippines, and the Vice Chair of the Kalinga chapter of the Cordillera People's Alliance. Chandu was kind enough to present my research proposal to the Secretary General of the CPA, who brought it up for discussion with the organization at their International Solidarity Commission meeting. At the meeting they narrowed down the location of my research to the province of Kalinga and came up with suggestions for which communities would be the best fit for my research, based on my proposal. They asked me my thoughts on those suggestions, and when they received my agreement on their ideas, they were passed on to the Kalinga chapter of the CPA. The local chapter oversaw the creation of the research itinerary and were responsible for liaising with the representatives of the people’s organizations in each community, who would be the guides and hosts within each field site. Pre-existing political affiliations helped us negotiate various levels of organizational permissions in order to organize our stay. It was through these relationships that we were allowed into the communities we went to, bypassing government-regulated avenues imposed 148 “About Us,” Migrante Canada, accessed September 24, 2018, http://migrantecanada.wixsite.com/migrantehome/about-us. 48 on most tourists and foreign visitors (put in place mostly as means of revenue generation for a handful of government officials) and that ultimately had a significant bearing on the ways that people interacted with me and Trevor. By virtue of our presence in their communities alongside fellow community members, with the knowledge that we were vouched for by well-respected figures known to the community, people accepted that we had had prior vetting in order to be there. The relationships we relied on to facilitate our visits imbued us with a level of pre-placed trust; these relationships were often more important and meant more to people than research ethics certificates, consent forms or written letters of introduction. More often than not when our hosts introduced us to potential participants, they would invoke Chandu’s name. During one interview when the participant questioned why we had not gone through approval by the National Commission on Indigenous Peoples (the agency of the national government which, while formally responsible for managing Indigenous rights in the Philippines, has an often contentious relationship with progressive Indigenous organizations in the country), upon hearing that we knew Chandu, was immediately more reassured and accepting of our presence.149 The tacit approval of the research endeavour by Chandu and other members of the CPA was an enormous privilege and endowed our work with a responsibility that I do not take lightly and by which I hope to do right in this research. Region of Study: Kalinga Province (Cordillera Administrative Region, Philippines) The Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR) of the Philippines is located in Northern Luzon, the second-largest island in the Philippines. Luzon is home to the second-largest population of Indigenous groups in the Philippines (33%), after Mindanao in the South (61%).150 The region is divided into six provinces and home to seven major ethnolinguistic groups: the Bontok (Mountain Province), the Ibaloi and Kankanaey (of Benguet province), the Ifugao (of Ifugao province), the Isneg (of Apayao province), the Kalinga (of Kalinga 149 N13MPA, interview by author, 2018. 150 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) Philippines, “Fast Facts: Indigenous Peoples in the Philippines,” 1. 49 Figure 2.2: Map of Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR) (bounded in orange) showing City of Baguio (orange circle). Source: Image created by author using OpenStreetMap. province), and Tinggian (of Abra province).151 A map of the Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR) showing each province, as well as the region’s biggest city, the City of Baguio, can be seen in Figure 2.2. The mountainous terrain of the region gave the inhabitants of the area the collective and widely-used, though not always preferred, name of “Igorot,” from the Filipino word Igolot, which combines golot or golod (“mountain chain”) with the prefix i (“people of”).152 Though some community members may self-identify as Igorot, especially as a means of identifying themselves as part of a collective political identity, identifying someone by their tribe or province of origin is generally more appropriate.153 151 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 21; Castro, “A Peek into Cordilleran History, Culture, and Society: In Search of Self-Determination,” 62. 152 Cristina B Villanueva, “The University of the Philippines Baguio Cordillera Studies Collection Library and UP Baguio Cordillera/Northern Luzon Historical Archives in the Dissemination of Indigenous Knowledge for Indigenous Peoples,” in Indigenous Notions of Ownership and Libraries, Archives and Museums, ed. Camille Callison, Loriene Roy, and Gretchen Alice LeCheminant (Berlin: De Gruyter Saur, 2016), 288. 153 Villanueva, 288. 50 The CPA Kalinga chapter put forward two initial options as field sites within the province: to stay within one community to study their knowledge systems and practices, or to study a kulligong, a territory of a community that lies outside of the traditional bugis, or boundaries, of a community’s ancestral territory.154 A kulligong is usually set up inside or near larger urban centres, as a way for the community to extend the opportunities for livelihood of its members. While either option was favourable for me, it was later decided that both options would be worked into our itinerary as a way to more evenly spread out the burden for our care to a variety of hosts. It was decided that we would stay primarily with the Basao tribe, a community whose bugis is traditionally located in the municipality of Tinglayan (known as Basao Surong), but who settled some land on the outskirts of Tabuk City as a kulligong (known as Basao Dilag) in the 1990s. CPA Kalinga chose the Basao tribe as the main hosts because they are known to be particularly steadfast in their cultural practices. In addition to staying with the Basao tribe it was determined that we would make a quick detour to Ngibat, a barangay of the Butbut tribe located on the opposite mountainside facing Basao Surong, across the Chico River. Barangay Tanglag in the municipality of Lubuagan was added as a final field site after Cordillera Day. The location of each field site can be seen in Figure 2.3. 154 Glenn Rees Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape” (Master’s Thesis, Bethel University, 2007), 99. 51 At each field site our stay was hosted and facilitated by representatives from the local people’s organization in that location: BD CARE (Basao Dilag Community Association for Rural Empowerment) in Basao Dilag, TIMBA (Timpuyog dagiti Mannalon ti Basao) in Basao Surong, NFA (Ngibat Farmer’s Association) in Ngibat, and TACOUD (Tanglag Community Organization for Unity and Development) in Tanglag. The data gathered at these field sites was supplemented by interviews that took place in Tabuk City in between travel from one site to the other, in Baguio City during and after Cordillera Day, and in Manila. Figure 2.4 offers a breakdown of the data gathered in each location. Figure 2.3: Map showing four field sites: Basao Dilag, Basao Surong, Ngibat, Tanglag (red circles, labelled in red) and the city of Tabuk, the capital of Kalinga province. Source: Image created by author using OpenStreetMap. 52 2.7.1 Cordillera Day In addition to investigating how cultural memory practices functioned in the four field sites in the Kalinga province, I was also interested in how Cordillera Day as an event acted as an agent for knowledge transmission and cultural preservation. Cordillera Day, led by the CPA, is a series of events in late April which began as a memorial to Macli-ing Dulag, a Kalinga elder and martyr who was killed by government soldiers for his leadership role in opposition to the proposed Chico Dam project, which the government eventually abandoned after widespread mobilizations by the Indigenous communities in the area. This is in contrast to the more recently created July Cordillera Day events, which were initiated by the government to commemorate the establishment of the Cordillera Autonomous Region, which many activists in the Cordillera view as an attempt to divert attention from the overtly political Figure 2.4: Chart showing breakdown of data collected (number of interviews, number of people involved in the interviews) divided by location. Basao Dilag• 5 interviews• 7 people (including interpreter)Basao Surong• 5 interviews• 5 people (including interpreter)Ngibat• 3 interviews• 5 people (including interpreter)BPO General Assembly (Tabuk)• 4 interviews• 4 peopleCPA Kalinga (Tabuk)• 4 interviews• 5 peopleTanglag• 3 interviews• 13 peopleManila/Baguio• 2 interviews• 2 people 53 nature of the CPA-led event.155 Each year Indigenous communities continue to come together to address political issues affecting the Cordillera peoples, and to renew their commitment towards self-determination through a combination of political actions and cultural presentations. Cordillera Day occurs as either a centralized celebration, with one main location, or a series of decentralized events in each province. Centralized Cordillera Day celebrations can take place anywhere in the region. The choice of location is dependent on contemporary issues facing the region: there is always a “particular focus per celebration, in consideration to burning regional issues, and major national and international developments as well as the urgent issues of [the] host community.”156 For example, if a particular province is facing heightened threats of intimidation around a specific campaign, the CPA may decide to hold the event there to lend support to the province from all over the region. When Cordillera Day is held in the provinces they are usually held in small barangays, and in order to host the visiting delegations, everyone has to work together to build the amenities that will serve as the celebration venue, sleeping accommodations, kitchen, and washing areas for the many visitors. The spirit of working together for communal benefit, called ab-abuyog in Ilocano (similar to bayanihan in Tagalog), is an important aspect of Cordillera Day, with each provincial delegation volunteering their time, resources, skills, and creativity to contribute to the operation of the event’s activities. During our visit in 2018, as a response to “intensifying attacks against peoples’ rights in the region and the country,” a centralized Cordillera Day celebration was held in Baguio City under the title “Cordillera Peoples’ Caravan Against Tyranny” with the theme “Unite to resist Tyranny! Assert our right to self determination!”157 Though we arrived at the event as part of the contingent from the Kalinga province, we participated at the event alongside the international contingent made up of visitors from Taiwan, the US, Canada, and Australia. Since 2018’s event was held in Baguio there was no need for the usual preparations of 155 Philippine Daily Inquirer, “What Went Before: Cordillera Day,” Philippine Daily Inquirer, April 22, 2017. 156 “A Background on the Celebration of Cordillera Day,” Cordillera Peoples Alliance, accessed January 30, 2019, https://cpaphils.org/a-background-on-the-celebration-of-cordillera-day.html. 157 Windel B. Bolinget, “Cordillera Day Invite,” February 28, 2018, accessed January 30, 2019. https://cpaphils.org/a-background-on-the-celebration-of-cordillera-day.html. 54 building a venue or accommodations for the visiting contingents, which made that year’s celebrations slightly different from previous years. Data Collection Methods Methods that take into account participation in research design are highly contingent on specificity and context. Because of this, such strategies cannot offer a set of prescribed or canonical methods, but are better suited to suggest processes that might result in collaborative decision-making around appropriate methods. As Jarg Bergold and Stefan Thomas advise, “the dictum of process orientation and the appropriateness of the method to the subject under study is even more important in participatory research than in other approaches to qualitative research.”158 As important as product may seem to be, within this research framework, and in the context of the guiding research questions, process is just as, if not more, significant. As Smith says, “in many projects the process is far more important than the outcome. Processes are expected to be respectful, to enable people, to heal and to educate. They are expected to lead one small step further towards self-determination.”159 The focus on process and specificity suits the exploratory nature of this endeavour. Involvement in community through participation, observation, and conversation opens up opportunities for engaging in, and uncovering, process. The primary methods of data collection used in this research project, unstructured interviews and participant observation, were based on those strategies, supplemented by content analysis of written community documents, texts published by the CPA and related organizations and individuals, and audiovisual recordings, particularly of Cordillera Day. These recordings included videos of past and present Cordillera Day activities made publicly available by the CPA, those videos I captured as a participant at Cordillera Day and other community events I took part in, and audio recordings of songs and other oral traditions released by groups and individuals involved in Indigenous activism in the Cordillera. 158 Bergold and Thomas, “Participatory Research Methods,” 2. 159 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 218–19. 55 Accessing conversation in an ethnographic setting can be part of a narrative approach to data collection, as it can be considered a “non-structured method of gathering knowledge.”160 While the interview format is the most readily acceptable method of data collection in qualitative research, the formalized character of interviewing can sometimes set up barriers between researchers and participants;161 the absence of formal structure in conversation can help mitigate such barriers. Conversation is one method of “privileging … story in knowledge-seeking systems [by] honouring ‘the talk.’”162 Instead of guiding participants towards expected paths, simply talking can allow a conversation to ‘breathe’ and allow process to unfold more naturally.163 It was challenging to try and let conversation flow freely during an interview when each session was bookended by the necessity of documenting consent and agreement, which was sometimes viewed as an odd concept in a culture with a strong oral tradition. More than once, the process of gaining informed consent was greeted with some variation of “But I already told you I’m okay with it,” implying that because they had already verbally agreed to be interviewed, the rest of the consent process was redundant (a similar reaction was common when asking permission to take a photograph or video recording). In addition, while common practice for interviews is to record them in some way, many of this project’s participants preferred not to be audio recorded, so interview data was collected using mainly handwritten notes, and audio recordings when allowed. The use of written documentation and recorded media in general were not the preferred modes of conducting relations among participants. The tension between upholding Western behavioural research ethics requirements in social interactions in non-Western contexts where orality is much more welcome than writing/recording is one I will address further in Section 2.10. Interviews were conducted in English, with the assistance of an interpreter for Ilocano (the lingua franca of the Cordillera region), or in a Kalinga language variant, as required. Some 160 Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies, 51. 161 Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies, 139–40. 162 Kovach, Indigenous Methodologies, 99. 163 Kovach, 99. 56 interviews incorporated a combination of English, Ilocano, Tagalog (the language that forms the basis of the Philippine national language, Filipino) and the participant’s tribal dialect. Language use was often dictated by age and location; for example, elders in Tanglag were more proficient in English as an alternative language to their own dialect than in Ilocano or Tagalog, a by-product of their education with American missionaries as children, while youth in Basao Dilag spoke Tagalog if they could not find the appropriate word in English, the result of widespread use of Tagalog in mainstream national media and entertainment. Participants were chosen primarily through snowball sampling in the field sites and purposive sampling outside the communities to access participants with particular expertise and knowledge of the movement for Indigenous activism in the Cordillera. Within each field site our hosts and facilitators, who themselves were participants, served as the gatekeepers who introduced me to other prospective participants. Often they would bring friends and neighbours to the home where we were being hosted for interviews, or they would bring us to the homes and locations of people they thought we should talk to. Sometimes participants were interviewed simply because they were nearby and our hosts would invite them over to talk. As strangers and foreigners in each community we attracted a small amount of curiosity, so it was not uncommon for people to casually drop by as an interview was taking place and want to contribute their thoughts. In Basao Dilag, for example, we were hosted with a family whose home was a site of regular community gathering, so we would often meet people as they drifted in and out of the space. Snowball sampling was the most appropriate method in the field communities since the short period of time spent in each barangay did not allow for enough trust-building for more directed sampling methods. And while I acknowledge the high possibility of sampling bias in such an approach, that result is also a consequence of the choice I made to ground my research orientation in political activism. Our stay was facilitated from start to finish by groups and individuals involved in activism for Indigenous and national democratic rights in the Philippines, so the fact that most of the participants introduced to me were people who either sympathized or were similarly involved was not an unintentional risk, but something I welcomed and cultivated. In addition, though this method offers the least amount of researcher control, it allows for that control to rest in the hands of 57 the communities themselves, which is one way in which I was able to allow for community participation in the research process despite my limited time in the field. Purposive sampling was employed to include the voices of those experts who could provide additional context on the environment and history of the struggle for Indigenous rights in the Cordillera, from the perspective of those who were full-time, long-term activists, or involved in academic scholarship in the area (or both). Expert sampling is also said to be “particularly useful where there is a lack of empirical evidence;”164 which can be the case in the Philippines, where not only do many individuals with lived experience as activists and expertise in Indigenous knowledge make their livelihoods in grassroots organizations or in their own communities instead of in academia, but also where progressive academics, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous, find their work (and lives) under threat through harassment, intimidation and ‘red-tagging’ (a tactic where organizations and individuals that criticize the government are targeted as ‘fronts’ for, or involved in, the Communist Party of the Philippines and its armed wing, the New People’s Army).165 This is not to say that there is a lack of documentation on Indigenous knowledge, Indigenous activism, or Indigenous life in Cordillera communities. Many people in the communities were exceedingly generous in lending me copies of community documents that would have been difficult for me to access otherwise, such as barangay statistics, written copies of bodong pagta, transcripts of oral traditions, books on the Kalinga or Igorots from their own personal collections, and physical copies or electronic files of research that they or their family members had done in their communities. I also took advantage of the resources available at the CPA Kalinga office in Tabuk City, including publications of the CPA and its affiliates, the research available at the Cordillera Studies Centre at the University of the Philippines-Baguio (especially its collection of student theses and dissertations) and the 164 Lund Research Ltd., “Purposive Sampling | Lærd Dissertation,” Lærd Dissertation, 2012, accessed April 16, 2019, http://dissertation.laerd.com/purposive-sampling.php#typical. 165 Satur Ocampo, “Government Ramps up Red-Tagging, Gets Broad-Range Ripostes,” The Philippine Star, March 2, 2019, https://www.philstar.com/opinion/2019/03/02/1897890/government-ramps-red-tagging-gets-broad-range-ripostes. 58 collection at the Kalinga Provincial Library and Archives, also in Tabuk. Many of these sources provided invaluable information that would have been challenging if not impossible to access outside their respective locations. Data Analysis: A Participatory and Political Endeavour Handwritten notes and audio recordings were transcribed in preparation for coding. Any Tagalog responses were transcribed as is, but several videos and interviews conducted entirely in Ilocano were translated and transcribed after our return to Vancouver by Chandu Claver. All transcripts were entered into NVivo software for coding. Multiple rounds of coding were performed on the research data using a combination of participant-supplied codes and researcher-derived codes. Part of the research plan involved presentations of the data to community members and the facilitating organization so that emergent themes and concepts arising from the data in the preliminary stages could be validated with participant feedback. Two presentations of the data were given, one after our visits to Basao Dilag, Basao Surong, and Ngibat, before Cordillera Day, and one after Cordillera Day and visiting Tanglag. These presentations were part of the “pre-coding” process of data analysis.166 My initial intention was for members from each community to be in attendance, but it proved understandably difficult for many community members to travel from their barangays, some of which were quite remote, to the CPA Kalinga office in Tabuk City for the presentations. Only those community members who lived nearby and could attend (as was the case for some residents of Basao Dilag), as well as CPA Kalinga members (several of whom were also interviewed), were able to participate and give their feedback. Participant-supplied codes were informed by the comments given at each presentation, which enriched and clarified the themes identified from a preliminary survey of the research data. They were also informed by the presentations we attended before our integration into the various field sites. As a pre-condition of our entry into the communities we attended two educational discussions: one on the regional political situation given by the head office of the 166 Johnny Saldaña, The Coding Manual for Qualitative Researchers, Edition 3: Ebook (SAGE, 2015). 59 CPA in Baguio City and one on the provincial situation given by the Kalinga provincial chapter in Tabuk City. Since many of my participants were likewise CPA members, or otherwise aware of or engaged in Cordillera issues, many of them were speaking in a common political lexicon that includes standardized language and terminology to which we were also introduced through the two educational discussions and subsequently through additional sources. The vocabulary of that political lexicon formed the basis for many of the codes that came out of the data. I consider these codes to be participant-supplied, either because the participants themselves used that language or they were referring to phenomena that were, explicitly or not, related to issues with established descriptors originating within popular political language. For example, issues facing the Cordillera region generally and the Kalinga province specifically are often categorized under the following themes: ‘development aggression’; ‘state fascism, militarization, and human rights violations’; ‘historic government neglect’; and the ‘commercialization of Indigenous culture’. These themes later became useful for grouping concepts together that were emerging from the data. The data was also coded using the process of coding cycles described in Saldaña’s The Coding Manual for Qualitative Researchers. It was through this process that researcher-derived codes were revealed. An “Initial Coding” approach was used for the first pass at the data, incorporating a variety of coding methods, including “Descriptive Coding” to identify common topics and “Concept Coding” to tease out meanings suggested by larger units of data. Descriptive codes isolated topics describing practices and processes, such as ‘dance’, ‘tattoos’, ‘special occasions’, ‘Cordillera Day’. The basis for some concept codes were the political themes identified through the educational discussions we took part in, while others originated in the themes identified in the preliminary data presentations that were refined by participant input, such as ‘spirituality’, ‘hospitality’, ‘unity’, ‘oral traditions’. A second round of coding employed “Eclectic Coding” to refine the diversity of first cycle methods in order to identify the salience of specific concepts. Since many of the concept codes identified in the first cycle were related to participants’ “values, attitudes, and beliefs, representing [their] perspectives or worldview,” they were subsumed and elaborated using 60 “Values Coding.”167 These values are what inform the cultural practices, expressions, and beliefs that are passed on through the bodong, the Indigenous sociopolitical system (ISP) that governs Kalinga societies, which will be covered in Chapter 3. At the same time, because many of the participants are involved in social justice work that actively struggles against power imbalances in Philippine society, their responses were often framed in oppositional terms that reflected patterns of conflict, change, or culture shift, embodying terms such as ‘Activists vs. National Oppression’, ‘Individualism vs. Collectivism’, ‘Tradition vs. Modernity’, ‘Indigenous vs. non-Indigenous’, ‘Youth vs. Elders.’ These became the basis of “Versus Codes” that explained and expanded the political underpinnings of the data. The struggles of Kalinga people specifically, and Indigenous peoples in the Cordillera generally, are a major driver for the preservation and maintenance of Indigenous knowledge. Chapter 4 will deal in more detail with knowledge preservation as a political strategy in the defense of land, life, and resources. Ethics at the Cultural Interface In Worimi archivist Kirsten Thorpe’s 2019 article on “Transformative Praxis – Building Spaces for Indigenous Self-Determination in Libraries and Archives,” she mobilizes Martin Nakata’s conceptualization of ‘the cultural interface’ to call attention to the fact that “one of the major challenges of progressing Indigenous priorities in the library and archive sector is the collision that exists between Indigenous and Western methods of managing information, archives, and knowledge.”168 Bearing in mind the specificity and context of my fieldwork experience, I found this statement also held true for the interaction between Western research ethics and the values of the Kalinga communities I was in. Even in cases where human research ethics regulations have attempted to atone for the violent and destructive practices of research’s colonial legacy, there are fundamental ways in which the “clash of ways of 167 Saldaña. 168 Kirsten Thorpe, “Transformative Praxis – Building Spaces for Indigenous Self-Determination in Libraries and Archives,” In the Library with the Lead Pipe, January 23, 2019, accessed April 2, 2019, http://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2019/transformative-praxis/. 61 knowing, being, and doing” play out in research relations.169 For example, enhanced processes of consent, instituted as a way to remediate the legacy of research as a practice of knowledge theft and protect individuals who have not historically been given the choice of participation, can create challenges when that consent is most commonly recognized in a written format. As I alluded to previously, one of the discrepancies between what is considered ethically necessary or common research practice, such as the documentation and recording of social interaction and agreement through written or technological means, was not always preferred by participants. In many cases, our prior vetting and network of relationships to people in positions of trust was enough to establish agreement to participate, with written consent appearing as ‘overkill’. Participation is another such value that is meant to represent positive shift in the research process, from one where research is something done with, by, and for people instead of something done to people. While participation was a core value of this research, and a key means of including and encouraging participant agency in the research process, the idea of participation is not above criticism, and can often signify an undue burden on the part of those asked to participate. The question of participation then becomes ‘who is participation for?’ Increased participation can result in increased control by the participant over how they, or their community, are represented, but that control is accompanied by greater responsibility. It was made clear to me through the course of my research that because participation requires an expenditure of labour (often emotional, but also domestic or even physical) and resources, the benefit of participation often lies with the researcher, not with the one given the ostensible privilege of participating. After all, if I as the researcher am given the privilege of a richer, deeper understanding of the participant experience, then it is I who stands to benefit from the academic opportunities that privilege affords, since academic attribution is not always desired by or shared with the research community. The choice to participate should also make room for the agency not to participate.170 Allowing for the willful denial of participation resulted in adjustments being made to the research plan to 169 Thorpe. 170 Sara Ahmed, “Willfulness as a Style of Politics,” in Willful Subjects (Durham, NC, 2014), 157. 62 accommodate various levels of participation based on what people were equipped or willing to give. Small adjustments included sticking to more of a prescribed interview script if participants did not enjoy the lack of structure and conversational freedom required in an unstructured interview, while larger ones included changing the intention of the preliminary data presentations so that it was open to anyone who wanted to and could attend, instead of just to interview participants, the majority of whom could not participate due to time and resource constraints. Other Western research values that did not translate easily to my research setting were privacy and confidentiality. It is usually expected that what is said in an interview will be kept confidential, including from other community members; in contrast, many of my participants not only did not seem to mind that other community members would come in and out of our interview sessions, but instead they seemed to welcome the interjections and observation of their friends and neighbours. The privacy of individuals is usually held sacrosanct in Western contexts, but had less salience in community contexts where it is more common for people to be involved in other people’s business. In addition, research ethics usually advocate for strict measures to be put in place to protect the identity of those who may be put at risk through the opinions they share in the course of their participation in research. One would typically assume activists to be in this category, especially within the context of oppressive government regimes, but in this case, the opposite often held true. While not everyone consented to individual attribution, most of the long-term, full-time activists did so because they saw it as part of their duty as activists to be public and vocal in their opposition to injustice. In their cases, their candour was not a sign of trust that I would treat their statements confidentially so much as a conferment of responsibility upon me to amplify their voices and help raise awareness of the issues facing their communities. While I have retained their voices, I have made the decision to withhold the names of all participants in this thesis, choosing instead to refer to participants using a unique participant code. I made this decision upon reflection of my institutional requirements to make the final product open-access through UBC’s online thesis and dissertation repository, cIRcle. Since I am unable to change anything in the document once it has been 63 accepted into cIRcle, I chose to err on the side of confidentiality, if any participants who initially chose to have their identities made public should change their minds in future. Remaining accountable to that responsibility is something I hope to continue to do in the following chapters. 2.10.1 Ownership, Control, Access, Possession (OCAP®)171 As part of my ethical obligation to the communities that worked with, I incorporated the OCAP® (Ownership, Control, Access, Possession) Principles into several aspects of this project. OCAP®, which is administered by the First Nations Information Governance Centre/Le Centre de gouvernance de l'information des Premieres Nations, were conceived as a political response to tenacious colonial approaches to research and information management,” providing a set of guidelines with which to resist the extraction of knowledge and information that is emblematic of many projects directed to Indigenous communities.172 These Principles arose in a specific First Nations context, but their value can be extended – as is culturally appropriate, and with adaptation – to research with other Indigenous communities. One recommendation for implementing OCAP® is to “negotiate written agreements or memoranda or understanding that spell out the research relationship with your community/organization and your research partners.”173 As mentioned in the previous section, the use of written documentation is not the customary or preferred method of formalizing agreements among the Kalinga peoples, so an executed memoranda was not created for this research project. However, in the interests of my own accountability, I 171 OCAP® is a registered trademark of the First Nations Information Governance Centre (FNIGC). For more information please visit their website: www.FNIGC.ca/OCAP. Link accessed April 15, 2019. 172 Brian Schnarch, “Ownership, Control, Access, and Possession (OCAP) or Self-Determination Applied to Research: A Critical Analysis of Contemporary First Nations Research and Some Options for First Nations Communities,” Journal of Aboriginal Health; Victoria 1, no. 1 (January 2004): 80. 173 Indigitization, “B3: Ownership, Control, Access and Possession (OCAP).Pdf,” in Indigitization Toolkit, 2, accessed February 11, 2018, http://indigitization-toolkit.sites.olt.ubc.ca/files/2012/04/B3.pdf. 64 drafted a letter in lieu of a formal research agreement so that the community could have a copy of my own stated commitments to them. Another way that I implemented OCAP® was by leaving copies of the image and video data (those not subject to confidentiality) with the CPA Kalinga office. A final copy of this thesis (in electronic and hard copy) will also be deposited at the office and with any research community that wishes to have a physical copy of their own. In the interests of accessibility I will also write a version of my thesis in language suitable for a lay person to understand, which will be translated into Ilocano and distributed to the office and to each research community, so that the products of this research can be returned to the communities where the knowledge belongs. The CPA Kalinga office, as the representative for the communities I visited, will have final decision-making powers of the ultimate retention and disposition of the research data, past the five-year period that I am required to maintain the data at UBC. 2.10.2 Additional Considerations In addition to incorporating OCAP® into the research project, I also tried to bring my commitments to social justice and solidarity into the administration of the project, and not just its delivery. To that end, I included financial support, in the form of donations, to CPA Kalinga and to each people’s organization into my research budget. I hoped that these donations, while nominal due to a limited budget, contributed to a redistribution of the benefits of research funding to the communities where research took place. 65 Chapter 3: “Because it’s Our Culture”: Indigenous Socio-Political Systems (ISPs) as Vehicles for Knowledge Transmission Introduction Practiced for generations, the Bodong is as old as the memory of every Kalinga, ingrained and interwoven in their social and material culture as their way of life.174 The bodong is an Indigenous sociopolitical system (ISP), one of several currently practiced in the Cordillera and the primary system of intertribal governance in the Kalinga province. The literal translation of bodong means “bound together,”175 which is an apt description for how the peace pact “establishe[s] and maintain[s] bilateral and peace relations between two villages or tribal communities” through a formalized, mutual agreement.176 Like protocols, treaties, and other instruments of customary law, the bodong is an assertion of Kalinga sovereignty, akin to the laws of any other nation. In the words of one participant: “The bodong means the governance of the tribe. Like the country, there is a government, so the tribe, there is a bodong.”177 Along with other ISPs such as the dap-ay/ator (practiced primarily in Mountain Province and areas in southern Abra and Ilocos), hidit (found among the Ifugao), and tungtong (used in Benguet), the bodong originates in the subsistence economies that predate colonization in the Cordillera. The late Kankanaey writer and activist Benedict Solang attributes the continuing use of ISPs as a testament to their effectiveness in structuring relationships and communicating values appropriate to Indigenous communal societies: They nurture relatively self-reliant independent villages. They foster direct democracy, values of sharing and responsible stewardship of resources, and require ili/tribal discipline. They have persisted to the present, though with 174 Kalinga Bodong Congress, Inc., “Pagta (Law of the Bodong),” 2013, iii. 175 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 47. 176 Johnny T. Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” in Dunong at Batas: Documenting Indigenous Wisdom and Customary Law (Baguio City, Philippines: Tebtebba Foundation, 2010), 93. 177 BD01JD, interview by author, 2018. 66 some transformations, because they contribute to, and enhance the common good [emphasis added].178 The bodong can therefore be considered an example of a particular carrier of the values, expressions, and practices that constitute community knowledge in Kalinga societies. These instances of community knowledge, being primarily oral and embodied, represent an interesting dilemma for archival theory. While archivists are quick to note that the “instinct for cultural self-preservation” is a universal trait present in human societies across space and time, the Western archival canon does not typically address knowledge without fixed materiality as records. As McRanor notes, by promoting the “contemporary Western view that objectified records are the only agents having the capacity to perpetuate trustworthy evidence of action, archivists have tended to devalue the traditional record-keeping practices of “non-literate” societies.”179 This paper takes the view espoused by McRanor and others (notably, other archivists working in the arena of Indigenous records and community archives)180 that “irrespective of the information carrier used to create, transmit, or preserve records, all societies appear to institute controlled procedures to provide for trustworthy evidence of action through time.”181 178 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 35. 179 Shauna McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” Archivaria 43 (1996): 65. 180 A non-exhaustive list of such thinkers includes Mary Ann Pylypchuk, “The Value of Aboriginal Records as Legal Evidence in Canada: An Examination of Sources,” Archivaria 32, no. 0 (January 1, 1991), http://archivaria.ca.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/index.php/archivaria/article/view/11760; Gilliland et al., “Pluralizing the Archival Paradigm,” 2008; Verne Harris and Sello Hatang, “Archives, Identity, and Place: A Dialogue on What It (Might) Mean(s) to Be an African Archivist,” in Archives and Justice: A South African Perspective (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2007), 215–37; Bastian, “‘Play Mas’”; Michelle Caswell et al., “Implementing a Social Justice Framework in an Introduction to Archives Course: Lessons from Both Sides of the Classroom,” Interactions: UCLA Journal of Education and Information Studies 8, no. 2 (2012): 1–30; Bastian, “The Records of Memory, the Archives of Identity”; Jeannette A. Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory,” in Identity Palimpsests: Archiving Ethnicity in the U.S. and Canada, ed. Dominique Daniel and Amalia S. Levi, Litwin Book Series on Archives, Archivists and Society, number 6 (Sacramento, CA: Litwin Books, 2014), 15–33; Kirsten Wright, “Broadening the Record and Expanding the Archives,” Archives and Manuscripts 42, no. 2 (July 30, 2014): 219–21. 181 McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” 1996, 65. 67 This chapter will study the bodong as a means to address the central research question: how can the concept of ‘recordness’ as a persistent material entity in Western archival theory be expanded by exploring how cultural knowledge is transmitted in the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribes? Viewing the bodong as a uniquely Kalinga framework for studying this question, this chapter describes how the bodong is used to transmit knowledge and memory over time, how it contributes to Kalinga concepts of what constitutes recordness, and how the Kalinga use the bodong in a way that transmits knowledge that is useful and meaningful to them. In order to analyze the bodong through an archival lens, I first give an overview of how archives have historically viewed records lacking a fixed materiality, how archival theory has defined records, and calls from archivists to expand that definition beyond notions of fixity. Second, I provide a brief account of the juridical context of the bodong and trace the development of the bodong system over time, including its origins and the forces that have affected changes in its use. Third, I propose ways in which the bodong fulfills the functions of a record (or, more accurately, a series of records) within Kalinga society and discuss the implications of that proposal on archival perspectives on Indigenous records in general, and their implications for Kalinga cultural knowledge in particular. Finally, I connect the cultural practices transmitted through the bodong to the preservation of Indigenous knowledge via the living archives of struggle that is Cordillera Day. Archival Discomfort and the Textual Paradigm As discussed in Chapter 1, archival theory has tended to take a Eurocentric view of records that upholds the primacy of the written word, thus ignoring or minimizing the role that ‘non-textual’ records have played in the organization and governance of non-Western societies. This is due in large part to the association of traditional archives with the state apparatus. The European archival tradition traces its lineage to the records managers whose function was to support the workings of bureaucratic societies dating back to ancient times.182 When such 182 Luciana Duranti, “The Odyssey Of Records Managers Part I: From The Dawn Of Ci,” ARMA Records Management Quarterly; Prairie Village 23, no. 3 (July 1989): 3; Luciana Duranti, “The Odyssey Of Records 68 societies generated records, they were characterized by their ability to uphold the concepts of perpetual memory and public faith,183 in other words, they were valued for their capacity to provide evidence of government transactions and decision-making. Of the early role of archivists in such societies, Terry Cook writes, Most of these archives focused on the older official records of the state, and so the initial role of the professional archivist became defined as guardian or keeper of the juridical evidence of government agencies.184 Developments in early archival theory are thus tied to the concept of records as evidence, and archivists as keepers of that evidence. Maintenance of a record’s evidential value, in other words, a record’s ability to provide “information about the origins, functions, and activities of their creator,”185 required that the link to a record’s original context of creation be kept intact. Fundamental archival principles, such as the principle of provenance and respect des fonds (the preservation of a record’s context of creation and ties to its creator) and the principle of original order (the preservation of the original arrangement and organization of records as determined by the creator) developed to maintain that evidentiary link: These principles were designed so that archival records were arranged, described, and maintained to reflect the context of their creation, rather than rearranged (as earlier) by subject or theme or place, thereby destroying their contextual validity and meaning in favour of their informational content. In this new contextual approach, the properties of records as evidence of actions could rightly be (re)established and defended.186 In order to preserve the “integrity of archives,” the archivist had to maintain the essential characteristics of archives: impartiality, authenticity, naturalness, interrelatedness, and Managers: Part II: From The Middle A,” ARMA Records Management Quarterly; Prairie Village 23, no. 4 (October 1989): 3. 183 Luciana Duranti, “The Concept of Appraisal and Archival Theory,” American Archivist 57, no. 2 (1994): 331. 184 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community,” 106. 185 Society of American Archivists, “Evidential Value,” SAA Glossary of Archival and Records Terminology, accessed April 15, 2019, https://www2.archivists.org/glossary/terms/e/evidential-value. 186 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community,” 106. 69 uniqueness.187 The archivist’s job was to describe a record, not interpret it; interpretation was seen as the realm of the researcher or historian; “Archives thus became defined as a descriptive science whose purpose was to illuminate that contextual origin of records, so that their properties as evidence would not be tainted.”188 The challenge for archivists arises in relation to records that require mediation in order to be made legible. Materiality, or fixity, is a precursor to legibility, since without it there is no stable entity from which a record’s value or characteristics can be judged. Records of the written word can be read; they can ‘speak for themselves’ without requiring archival interpretation. Records that have no fixed state, no stable materiality, cannot always speak for themselves. Using the example of memory texts (a concept defined in Section 3.2.1), Ketelaar speaks of these types of records as “interacting agents in a network of social groupings:” “For Ketelaar, ‘Memory texts do not “speak for themselves” but only in communion with other agents.’”189 The archivist is the agent that must speak for the record. The nature of description is therefore changed, since it can no longer be objective or impartial (if such a thing was possible to begin with). Absent the fixed presence of the record itself, the description must stand in its place; descriptive interpretation and intervention is therefore necessary. To apply one’s own interpretation is to insert one’s own subjectivity into an ostensibly objective act, thus “consciously and arbitrarily alter[ing] the societal record.”190 We can therefore link the archival discomfort with ‘non-textual’ records to professional claims of archival objectivity, for how can an archivist be deemed impartial and objective if they must interpret a record that cannot ‘speak’ for itself? To be clear, this is not a problem that solely affects records without a fixed materiality, but all records whose meanings must be mediated 187 Duranti, “The Concept of Appraisal and Archival Theory”; Terry Eastwood, “What Is Archival Theory and Why Is It Important ?,” Archivaria 37, no. Spring (1994): 122–30. 188 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community,” 106. 189 Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory,” 25. 190 Duranti, “The Concept of Appraisal and Archival Theory,” 344. 70 in order to be made explicit; photographs191 and totem poles192 are just two records which have a fixed presence, but which archivists have struggled to understand and appreciate. Recorded oral histories have also been the recipient of archival discomfort on the grounds of being impartial for the related reason of purposeful creation, even though they have the literal ability to speak.193 3.2.1 The Definition of a Record Current definitions of what constitutes a record continue to promote its inherent quality as a fixed entity. The Society of American Archivists (SAA), for example, includes the following in their set of definitions for ‘record’: 1. A written or printed work of a legal or official nature that may be used as evidence or proof; a document. 2. Data or information that has been fixed on some medium; that has content, context, and structure; and that is used as an extension of human memory or to demonstrate accountability. 3. Data or information in a fixed form that is created or received in the course of individual or institutional activity and set aside (preserved) as evidence of that activity for future reference.194 The central theme in these three definitions is of a record having “fixed content, structure, and context.”195 Fixity is the crux of a ‘record’ in the traditional archival definition, and an automatic disqualifier for other sources of memory, knowledge, and information that exist in a more fluid state. Even writers who have attempted to question the various concepts of ‘record’ being debated in archival literature have posited alternatives that still include an 191 Joan M. Schwartz, “Coming to Terms with Photographs: Descriptive Standards, Linguistic ‘Othering,’ and the Margins of Archivy,” Archivaria 54, no. 0 (January 1, 2002); Tim Schlak, “Framing Photographs, Denying Archives: The Difficulty of Focusing on Archival Photographs,” Archival Science 8, no. 2 (June 1, 2008): 85–101, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-009-9081-6. 192 McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” 1996. 193 F. Gerald Ham, “The Archival Edge,” The American Archivist 38, no. 1 (1975): 5–13. 194 Society of American Archivists, “Record,” A Glossary of Archival and Records Terminology, accessed February 6, 2017, http://www2.archivists.org/glossary/terms/r/record. 195 Society of American Archivists. 71 element of fixity; for example, Geoffrey Yeo’s definition of records as “persistent representations of activities, created by participants or observers of those activities or by their authorized proxies” still relies on a record’s “capacity to endure beyond the immediate circumstance leading to [the record’s] creation.”196 All of these definitions seem to refer to records as ‘recorded information’ having an “exteriority” – a medium or a carrier which is in some way tangible.197 Methods of data transmission such as oral testimonies, ceremony and performance, when measured against the above definitions, are then excluded from the archival record, along with the stories of those communities that use them. Jeanette Bastian applies the term “memory texts” to archives that encompass “non-textual way[s] of remembering, recording and communicating culture, history and identity,”198 a phrase she borrows from Congolese philosopher and poet V.Y. Mudimbe, who coined it in his study of genesis myths among the Luba people. Of memory texts, Mudimbe says, “strictly speaking, it is not history. On the other hand, it cannot be reduced to a purely mythical legend. It is beyond what those two concepts imply.”199 Mudimbe’s quote speaks to a way of conceptualizing knowledge that does not fit easily within Western ideas of what constitutes reliability or authenticity in the historical record, akin to how Tuck and Mackenzie discuss place-based research methodologies: within Indigenous epistemological and ontological paradigms “knowledge is not just mental, but physical, emotional, spiritual.”200 In archival literature, these types of records are often discussed in the context of their use in Indigenous communities, and have 196 Geoffrey Yeo, “Concepts of Record (1): Evidence, Information, and Persistent Representations,” The American Archivist 70, no. 2 (September 1, 2007): 337, https://doi.org/10.17723/aarc.70.2.u327764v1036756q. 197 Harris and Hatang, “Archives, Identity, and Place: A Dialogue on What It (Might) Mean(s) to Be an African Archivist,” 231. 198 Jeannette Allis Bastian, “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation,” Archival Science 6, no. 3–4 (December 1, 2006): 276, doi:10.1007/s10502-006-9019-1. 199 V. Y. Mudimbe, Parables and Fables: Exegesis, Textuality, and Politics in Central Africa (Madison, Wis: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 89. 200 Tuck and McKenzie, Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods, 77. 72 also been referred to as “traditional cultural expressions” (TCE)201 or Indigenous knowledge (IK).202 Archivists like Verne Harris and Sello Hatang have argued for decades that existing archival models are reluctant to “engage indigenous conceptualizations of orality not as memory waiting to be archives, but as archive already,” indicating a need for alternative archival frameworks that consider these ‘texts’ as always, already, record.203 3.2.2 Expanding the Record Concept The call to expand the definition of ‘record’, thereby “reinterpreting the structure as well as the substance of the archives,”204 has been discussed in archival circles for several decades, though it seems to have grown louder and more urgent in recent years due to a number of developments. One segment of the profession where this challenge has been increasingly vocal are those archivists who identify with the social justice possibilities of archival work. Much of the discourse around the necessity for such a reinterpretation among these archivists comes from an acceptance of the idea of archives as complicit in power, traditionally elevating some stories (while silencing others) through the privileging of certain types of records. Rodney G.S. Carter describes this as the type of silencing that occurs “when an individual speaks but they have no authority behind them … Due to a lack of power, the statements are not heeded, they are not recognized as speech acts or as records and are denied a place in the archives.”205 The end result of this type of silencing means that “some can afford to create and maintain records, and some cannot; that certain voices thus will be heard 201 Terri Janke and Livia Iacovino, “Keeping Cultures Alive: Archives and Indigenous Cultural and Intellectual Property Rights,” Archival Science 12, no. 2 (2012): 155, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-011-9163-0. 202 P. Ngulube, “Managing and Preserving Indigenous Knowledge in the Knowledge Management Era: Challenges and Opportunities for Information Professionals,” Information Development 18, no. 2 (2002): 95–102, https://doi.org/10.1177/026666602400842486. 203 V. S. Harris, Exploring Archives: An Introduction to Archival Ideas and Practice in South Africa, 2nd ed (Pretoria: National Archives of South Africa, 2000), 92–93. 204 Jeannette Allis Bastian, “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation,” Archival Science 6, no. 3–4 (December 1, 2006): 278, doi:10.1007/s10502-006-9019-1. 205 Rodney G S Carter, “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power , Archival Silences, and Power in Silence,” Archivaria 61 (Spring 2006): 218. 73 loudly and some not at all; that certain views and ideas about society will in turn be privileged and others marginalized.”206 Another area of the discipline where archivists are exploring a broader definition of the ‘record’ is the realm of born-digital documents. While at first glance born-digital records and memory texts seem unlikely bedfellows, they represent similar types of difficulties for traditional archival processing: like memory texts, born-digital records often require additional mediation, since they can lack the metadata to speak for themselves; both born-digital records and memory texts are often made in collaboration, so that creatorship cannot be determined in the manner of sole authorship by an individual or a corporation; the nature of born-digital records can also be considered ‘fluid,’ or ‘ephemeral,’ as their mobility in a digital environment means that they can be transferred and transmitted to multiple locations, or even made to disappear; and like memory texts, born-digital records also complicate the textual/non-texual binary. Further, the way we communicate in a digital environment has threatened the primacy of the written word, which has the potential to force a reconceptualization and revalorization of the ‘unwritten.’ Kirsten Wright summarizes archive’s discomfort with ‘non-traditional’ records as follows: In terms of displaying and providing access to records, as Barbara Reed recently highlighted, the emphasis in archives has been on the record-as-document or ‘record object’, rather than considering the transaction which created the record. Often this emphasis is appropriate, although the transactional aspect of the records is then at best obscured, or, more likely, ignored altogether. However, when dealing with born-digital material and non-traditional records, the lack of attention to the transaction becomes particularly problematic.207 When the transactional and relational nature of a record becomes obscured, so does its context and its provenance, which has significant implications for describing that record – how is it possible to provide an accurate representation of fluid ‘texts’ when the part of their 206 Joan M. Schwartz and Terry Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” Archival Science 2, no. 1–2 (2002): 14. 207 Kirsten Wright, “Broadening the Record and Expanding the Archives,” Archives and Manuscripts 42, no. 2 (July 30, 2014): 219. 74 identity that allows them to be carriers of information is erased? Furthermore, for non-fixed records, their representation through arrangement and description may be the only stable way to access their evidence through time. Their entry into traditional archives is only allowable through mediation by description, which again opens up deeper considerations on the role of the archivist as a neutral party in providing access to documentary heritage. Context is therefore paramount to the understanding of records that do not fit squarely into the archival mold. This is, in itself, not a strange concept to archival theory. Archivists have long understood that archival documents are “created in a particular legal and social context; they can only be interpreted with knowledge of that context.”208 The issue arises when the European archival tradition encounters records originating outside the European context and attempts to envelope them into that model, even though this practice of decontextualization contradicts established archival theory’s preoccupation with the context of creatorship as the indicator of provenance. As Shauna McRanor so effectively points out in her analysis of Aboriginal oral traditions: “Aboriginal oral traditions are not Western and, therefore, cannot be assessed for veracity based on Western requirements for authenticity and reliability. Furthermore…this thinking does not follow the precepts of archival theory.”209 With McRanor’s words of caution in mind, this chapter demonstrates how the bodong functions as a series of records within the specific juridical context of Kalinga societies, and how the bodong can, on its own terms, complicate the binary understandings of orality vs. literacy, textual vs. non-textual, that uphold contemporary archival approaches to records. The Bodong, Past and Present This section outlines the background of the bodong system, including a brief account of debates around the origins of the institution, a description of the components of a bodong (its 208 Peter Horsman, “Taming the Elephant: An Orthodox Approach to the Principle of Provenance” (The FIrst Stockholm Conference on Archival Theory and the Principle of Provenance, Stockholm, Sweden, 1993), 56. 209 McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” 1996, 67. 75 laws and provisions, as well as the celebrations and activities that accompany its enactment), and changes/challenges to the bodong over time. 3.3.1 Background – Juridical Context210 The province of Kalinga became its own political entity after the separation of the joint province of Kalinga-Apayao in 1995. The name Kalinga is used for both the name of the province and the ethnolinguistic group to which the many tribes of Kalinga belong.211 The most popular explanation for the etymology behind the word Kalinga is that it is derived from the Gaddang word ‘kalinga’ and the Ibanag word ‘Kali-nga’, both terms used to describe headhunters, denoting the fearsome reputation of Kalinga tribes as warriors.212 An alternative etymology includes one supplied by Miguel Sugguiyao, one of the first Kalinga authors to write about Kalinga tribes, who maintained that it was Lieutenant Governor Walter Franklin Hale, the first American administrator of Kalinga, who named the province in 1907, after a misremembering of the word ‘kalliñga’ (meaning constant warfares) mentioned throughout the “Ullalim of Banna and Laggunawa,” a romantic oral epic ballad of two mythical heroic figures of the ancient past.213 An oral history of the peopling of Kalinga, given by a Mr. Camilo Pascual and documented by Mary Constancy C. Barrameda, traces the name Kalinga from the term kakalingera (“the plural for those at enmity”), referring to the 210 Duranti defines a juridical system as "a collectivity organized on the basis of a system of rules." This system of rules includes positive law and all other "conceptions and notions of binding law. Says Duranti, "Because a legal system includes all the rules that are perceived as binding at any time and/or place, no aspect of human life and affairs remains outside a legal system." An understanding of juridical context is therefore necessary to understanding any aspect of life originating from that context. Luciana Duranti, “Diplomatics: New Uses for an Old Science, Part II,” Archivaria 29, no. 0 [January 1, 1989]: 4–17. 211 This paper uses the term Kalinga to refer to the ‘ethnolinguistic group’ to which belong the various tribes whose homelands are included within the province of Kalinga. While some records, such as the state-sponsored unified pagta, refer to these same communities as ‘sub-tribes’ of the Kalinga ‘tribe’, I prefer to use the terminology used by participants themselves, acknowledging that even within communities the terms used to describe hierarchical units of identity may differ (the issue of whether Kalinga was the tribe and each group within considered a sub-tribe, or whether each group was a tribe that belonged to the larger Kalinga ethnolinguistic group, was a source of discussion between participants at one of the feedback sessions, resulting in the final definition of terms that I use here). 212 Cordillera Schools Group, Inc., “The Kalingas,” in Ethnography of the Major Ethnolinguistic Groups in the Cordillera, 2005th ed. (Quezon City, Philippines: New Day Publishers, 2003), 116. 213 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 25. 76 origin story of Gaddang and Madayog, who cursed their daughter’s illegitimate children.214 Stallsmith notes that what these stories have in common is that they describe names applied by outsiders to the tribes that would later be described as Kalinga peoples, and that they all derive from stereotypes of Kalinga tribespeoples as violent and perpetually in conflict, stereotypes that are still used to discriminate against Kalinga tribes to this day.215 Billiet and Lambrecht consider the name Kalinga to be “a misnomer to the extreme, for it is devoid of any geographical, ethnic, and cosmic basis,” but it has nevertheless has gained salience among the peoples who now claim the name for themselves.216 The current Kalinga province is a land-locked area located within the Cordillera Administrative Region of the Philippines. It is divided into eight municipalities (Balbalan, Lubuagan, Pasil, Pinukpok, Rizal, Tanudan, Tinglayan, and Tabuk City) and 152 barangays (Figure 3.1). The current population of Kalinga province includes not just Indigenous tribes belonging to the Kalinga ethnolinguistic group; migration from other parts of the country have resulted in an influx of Tagalogs, Ilocanos, and other Filipinos to the province. 214 Mary Constancy C. Barrameda, ed., Roots of Peace... Seeds of Hope... Journey for Peacemakers (Tabuk City, Philippines: Cultural Heritage Research Centre (CHRC) - St. Louis College Bulanao (SLCB), 2006), 10. 215 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 114. 216 Francisco Billiet and Francis Lambrecht, The Kalinga Ullalim: Ifugaw Orthography, 2001st ed. (Baguio City, Philippines: Immaculate Heart Printhall, 1970), 26. 77 Tribal affiliation follows linguistic and geographic lines, corresponding to the estimated 39 ethnic dialects spoken in the province. Tribes often span multiple barangays, with the home community usually bearing the name of the tribe. For example, the dialect of the Basao tribe is Basao, and the tribe is split between the home community of Basao (Surong) in Tinglayan and the kulligongs of Dilag (Basao Dilag) and San Juan (Isla Basao) in Tabuk. Likewise, the dialect of the Tanglag tribe is Tanglag, with the tribe’s home community of Tanglag located in Lubuagan and the kulligong of New Tanglag in Tabuk. The Butbut tribe is stretched across five barangays: Butbut Proper, Bugnay, Buscalan, Loccong and Ngibat. Since Kalinga is a dialect continuum, there is a high degree of mutual comprehension between tribes. Figure 3.1: Map of Kalinga province (bounded in orange) showing its eight municipalities, including Tabuk City (orange circle). Source: Image created by author using OpenStreetMap. 78 Differences in inflection, tone, accent or terms exist (such as the switching out of sounds from one letter to another in words used by different tribes, as with the famous Butbut tattoo artist/mambabatok known variously as Whang-od or Fang-od, depending on dialect), but many participants described all Kalinga peoples as speaking the same language (a sentiment reported by other researchers in the province).217 Regardless of where tribe members currently reside, they are all considered to still be part of the same ili. Ili as a general term refers to “place,” but it is not fixed to a certain geographical space. Instead, it is a “relative term that, depending on context, can refer to a cluster of houses, a community comprising one peace pact holding unit, a province, or a nation.”218 Ili can be understand simply as a unit of spatial and social belonging, one which expands and contracts based on the specific relational context that is understood to exist between people. Community belonging through this lens need not be limited by the geographical boundaries of a specific location, but by the social constructs of place that are determined by relationships. For example, how Kalingas choose to introduce themselves is usually based on their identity relative to the other person: when speaking to other Kalingas they will identify themselves first by their tribe; to other Cordillera people they may describe themselves simply as Kalingas; and when relating to non-Kalingas also living in the province, Indigenous Kalingas often make use of a “highlander-lowlander dichotomy,” referring to themselves as highlanders and other inhabitants of the province as lowlanders.219 The use of the collective term Igorot often indicates the claiming of a political identity, which will be described in more detail in Chapter 4. A common material reality of each of the communities we visited was geographic, and therefore socioeconomic, isolation. With the exception of Basao Dilag, being a kulligong of the Basao tribe near Tabuk City, all of the communities we visited were located in the upland areas of Kalinga province, accessible for the most part only by steep grade foot trails carved 217 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 124. 218 Stallsmith, 132. 219 Stallsmith, 5. 79 into the mountainsides (a notable exception being Ngibat, which is also accessible to the National Road via a farm-to-market road open to motorcycles). The foot trail to Basao Surong starts at the sitio220 of Masua along the National Road that connects Tabuk City, Kalinga to Bontoc, Mountain Province, and involves crossing a metal footbridge over the Chico River. Before such bridges were built over the Chico River it was necessary for community members of the various mountain tribes to ford the river on foot; Ma. Ceres P. Doyo, a journalist who covered the killing of Macli-ing Dulag, recalls visiting Macli-ing’s home barangay of Bugnay in the aftermath of his death, following a storm which had collapsed the footbridge, and having to cross the river on the back of her Kalinga escort.221 It took two Canadians of average fitness around an hour to trek from Masua to Basao Surong, and about double that to hike down the same footpath back down to the road and up the opposite mountainside on the other side of the river where the barangay of Ngibat is located, almost exactly opposite from Basao Surong. The two communities face each other on opposing sides of the river, and since they are almost at the same elevation, one can view Ngibat from Basao Surong and vice versa. At night it is even possible to hear sounds drift from one barangay to the other, as we did one night in Ngibat when the sound of the gongs following a so-ob222 ritual could be heard echoing from the other mountain. Like Basao Surong, the barangay of Tanglag lies on the east bank of the Chico River, so the hour-long trek to the village involves both a steeper downhill trek to a footbridge over the river before turning slightly uphill to Tanglag itself. 220 A sitio is a territorial unit, often rural, that forms part of a barangay. 221 Doyo, Macli-Ing Dulag: Kalinga Chief, Defender of the Cordillera. 222 Typically, a so-ob is a celebration for a baby boy and is nowadays a relatively rare occurrence. In this case the celebration was requested by the parents because the baby was sick, in an effort to bring him good health. 80 When traversing the footpaths that lead to each barangay, locals, especially children, put foreigners to shame, but their familiarity and ease with the walkways do not diminish the difficulties that community members have due to lack of accessibility to their homes. Pedestrian-only accessibility means that everything entering and leaving the village must be carried in via human power, including building supplies and equipment, plumbing and electrical infrastructure, any foodstuffs that cannot be homegrown, and any community members who are sick, disabled, or who otherwise cannot make the trek on their own. Since most of the highland population of the province find their livelihood and subsistence through farming, fishing, or forestry, when it comes time to sell their crops or catch, they are economically constrained by the amount of product they can physically carry.223 Several participants spoke of the results of their harvest spoiling before they were able to bring them to town to sell. The lack of transportation infrastructure in these remote communities is a particular manifestation of the historic government neglect of Indigenous peoples in the Cordillera. These lived, material conditions affect most aspects of everyday life in these communities including their beliefs, cultural practices, systems of intra- and intertribal governance, and orientations towards activism. 223 Handwritten notes from T19TACOUD, interview by author, 2018. Figure 3.2: Photo of Basao Surong (cluster of houses in the middle of the photo) across the Chico River, taken from Ngibat. Source: Image by author. 81 Kalinga lived materiality relates to the bodong in particular because of the protection the bodong affords to the source of each tribe’s livelihood: the land. The Kalinga province has the distinction of being known as the “rice granary of the North,” due to its prodigious levels of rice production, and this is a source of great pride for Kalinga farmers.224 The province’s nickname and reputation for rice production was the first thing one of our hosts mentioned by way of introduction to Basao Surong. In addition to fields and farmlands, the province is also rich in fishery, mineral, and energy resources, and the area is a particular target for hydroelectric development projects due to its abundant waterways. The protection of these resources, especially farmlands and harvest areas, through the maintenance of territorial boundaries and intertribal relationships, is one of the foundations for the creation of the bodong, or peace pact, system. 3.3.1.1 Contested Origins: The Political Implications of the Peace Pact’s Past As indicated in the first quote opening this chapter, many Kalingas consider the bodong to be a uniquely Kalinga invention whose use can be traced back to time immemorial, or at the very least has been around for centuries, and “painstakingly developed” from that time to persist to this day.225 Proponents of the continuation of the bodong tie its sustainability to its legacy of allowing for “peaceful relations and co-existence of villages and tribal communities.”226 Consider, for example, the following passage written by the Kalinga Bodong Congress: The Kalingas, up to the present, maintain and actively practice the indigenous system of governance – the “Bodong” literally translated as “Peace-Pact”. It has been an institution maintaining peace and harmony as well as establishing relationships and alliances between and among kalinga villages which later expanded to some areas in Mountain Province, Abra, Apayao and even some neighboring towns of Cagayan and Isabela.227 224 Dexter A. See, “Kalinga among Top 7 Provincial Rice Producers per DA Awards,” Manila Standard, May 23, 2018, accessed April 4, 2019, http://manilastandard.net/lgu/luzon/266371/kalinga-among-top-7-provincial-rice-producers-per-da-awards.html. 225 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 47. 226 Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 92. 227 Kalinga Bodong Congress, Inc., “Pagta (Law of the Bodong),” iii. 82 Though the bodong (also known as the vochong, pudon, or pochon in various parts of the province) has spread to other provinces, mainly through peace pacts between Kalinga tribes and non-Kalinga tribes in Abra (where it is known as either the bodong, peden or kalon) and Mountain Province (where it is known as peden, pechen, or fiayao), it is among Kalinga tribes that its use is the most active, leading one participant to propose that it is the bodong that distinguishes Kalinga tribes unique among the Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera.228 Early anthropological accounts of Kalinga society by foreign scholars such as Barton and Dozier (Santa Clara Pueblo) agree that the peace pact is an Indigenous Kalinga institution, though they differ in their estimations of when the bodong developed and speculations about what prompted its development.229 In contrast to the view that that the bodong is a homegrown tradition unique to the Kalinga peoples, some authors have theorized that the bodong is a relatively recent invention. Bacdayan claims, for example, that while there were ritual relations between Kalinga tribes prior to the arrival of the Americans, any pact-making mechanisms were “weak, unstable, and very simple,” arguing that “the peace pact institution as it is structured and operates today is a recent development of this century,”230 nurtured by the Americans in order to more efficiently govern the Kalinga peoples. Here I agree with Stallsmith in that whichever view one holds (of the bodong as an Indigenous system widely used since time-immemorial or an innovation formalized during American occupation), that view is motivated in large part by one's political perspective: "Kalinga perceptions about the authenticity and pre-historic origins of the bodong inform their opinions about its future;” those who argue for self-determination and self-governance of Indigenous peoples are more likely to see the bodong 228 Handwritten notes from N11OB, interview by author, 2018. 229 Barton thought of the bodong as a relatively recent development, albeit predating the Americans, while Dozier posited that the bodong was a result of interaction with Western culture dating back to the Spanish period. Roy Franklin Barton, The Kalingas: Their Institutions and Custom Law, First AMS edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1973), 167; Edward P. Dozier, The Kalinga of Northern Luzon, Philippines (New York ; Chicago: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967), 82. 230 Albert Somebang Bacdayan, “The Peace Pact System of the Kalingas in the Modern World” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University, 1967), 60, https://search.proquest.com/docview/288081642/citation/AC2D877C4BE6470CPQ/1. 83 as a longstanding tradition.231 It is indicative of the sample of participants I questioned that all of them considered the bodong a time-honoured institution that had been passed down from a long line of ancestors, and likewise, without exception, they all considered it an important part of their cultural heritage, something they hoped would continue to be passed down to subsequent generations. They differed on their opinions about its current strength and many discussed threats to its continuation, but none of them wavered on its importance. As one participant notably said, “it is our inheritance.”232 3.3.2 Components of the Bodong: Its Ritual Celebrations and its Rule of Law As a sociopolitical system, the bodong can be conceived of as having two different components, both of which are essential to its functioning: first, the ritual celebrations that give the bodong physical presence in communities and the cultural activities of exchange that symbolize the peace pact; and two, the laws and provisions that make up the substance of the agreement between the tribes, known as the pagta. While cultural expressions are an intrinsic part of the bodong, they will only be dealt with briefly in this chapter and will be covered in more detail in Chapter 4. The substance of this chapter is focused instead on the pagta and how it contributes to the ‘recordness’ of the bodong.233 3.3.2.1 The Bodong Celebrations There is no meaning to the bodong without cultural activities.234 The whole of the bodong is made up of a series of practices that fit the interpretation of what Bastian terms ‘memory texts’: there is the pagta, a largely oral tradition, defined by Shauna McRanor as “the intergenerational process of creating, transmitting, and preserving essential cultural knowledge;”235 and there are the ritual performances of oral, aural and kinetic 231 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 26. 232 BD01RD, interview by author, 2018. 233 Recordness is defined as having the quality, or function, of a record, even if whatever is being referred to has not traditionally been thought of as a record. 234 Handwritten notes from BS06Anon, interview by author, 2018. 235 McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” 1996, 65. 84 mechanisms that embody the bodong’s physical presence, such as the gangsa, salip, salidummay, ullalim and uggayam/oggayam.236 The totality of these practices can be thought of as constituting instances of ‘orality.’ As many authors have said, including Hatang and McRanor, orality almost always includes some element of performance or ceremony. I use orality to refer to knowledge that need not be bounded by a material ‘exteriority’ (that is, it need not be captured and fixed to be understood and used) but that also does not preclude fixation (McRanor has used the term ‘material manifestations’ to describe the physical forms that carry knowledge within oral knowledge systems).237 Using the language of orality complicates the binary between textual/non-textual and preliterate/literate – orality does not imply the exclusive use of oral records, nor does it imply the exclusion of the textual. As Kimberley Lawson (Heiltsuk) points out, orality is not the antithesis of literacy – both are present in many cultures.238 The same holds true for traditional archives. Alistair Tough found in his study of Malawian colonial records that many records they treated as textual were themselves transcriptions, or surrogates, if you will, of collected oral testimony.239 The rituals and cultural practices associated with a bodong celebration are an intrinsic part of the peace pact system, as indicated by the participant quote in the beginning of this section, but while the laws of the pagta continuously operate in the background of Kalinga life, the actual celebrations that are part of enacting them are a rare occurrence. There was no bodong celebration occurring in the communities I was visiting during my fieldwork; in Ngibat and Basao the last bodong celebrations they remembered occurred in 2017.240 Stallsmith’s study of music and place-making during a Mangali-Sumadel peace pact celebration made use of the recordings of another researcher since he was not able to witness one in person, and his 236 Anne Gilliland et al., “Pluralizing the Archival Paradigm: Can Archival Education in Pacific Rim Communities Address the Challenge?,” The American Archivist 71, no. 1 (2008): 90. 237 Harris and Hatang, “Archives, Identity, and Place: A Dialogue on What It (Might) Mean(s) to Be an African Archivist,” 231. 238 Lawson, “Precious Fragments: First Nations Materials in Archives, Libraries and Museums.” 239 Alistair G. Tough, “Oral Culture, Written Records and Understanding the Twentieth-Century Colonial Archive. The Significance of Understanding from Within,” Archival Science 12, no. 3 (2012): 245–65, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-011-9162-1. 240 Handwritten notes from N12NLA-EAY-LBW, BD15MD, interview by author, 2018. 85 colleague had only attended one such celebration in nine years of doing research in the area.241 One reason for the infrequent occurrence of bodong celebrations may be because the process for establishing and maintaining a bodong can be time-consuming and laborious. It can take months or years for a bodong to be fully realized, as even scheduling a mutually convenient meeting date for the two tribes to meet can be difficult, let alone factoring in the time for the actual negotiation of the terms of the pagta, since most of the activities that are necessary for installing a bodong take place over multiple days.242 There are four general stages that must be followed to establish a bodong: 1) the sipat (also: warang) or “peace overture,” whereby one tribe gives another a gift or token as a “declaration of a unilateral ceasefire;” 2) if the other tribe accepts the token and returns one of their own (known as allasiw), this symbolizes their willingness to enter into negotiations; 3) the singlip (also: sunglip, hurchip, or simsim) is when the two parties meet to negotiate the terms of the agreement; and 4) the bodong celebration itself (the inom or lonok) when the terms of the peace pact are formally laid out in the pagta and announced to the two communities with much fanfare and ritual activity. A peace pact renewal ceremony may take place in the event of a breach or violation of the peace pact, or if some time has lapsed since the pact was originally laid down; this renewal is called the dornat, dolnat, or chornat.243 A dornat also happens when a peace pact is transferred to another bodong holder, as when the current peace pact holder dies or grows too old to keep up the duties of a peace pact holder. Though women may be chosen to become bodong holders outright, many women become bodong holders when their male relatives or spouses pass on their responsibilities to them.244 241 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 46. 242 Stallsmith, 50–52. 243 Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 94. 244 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 52. 86 At celebratory events, such as weddings or the bodong inom/lonok, there are always gongs, or gangsa, and where there are gangsa, there is always dancing.245 Gangsa-playing and dancing are very closely interrelated and almost always happen simultaneously, so that some terms used to describe them do not distinguish between the two (an example is tadok, which means dance, but which also describes the act of playing the gangsa and dancing at the same time).246 In Kalinga the gangsa are played in two ways: pattong style (which has also been described as tadok), where the player holds the gangsa in their left hand and strikes the gangsa in rhythm using a wooden stick held in their right hand; and topayya style, where the player holds the gangsa on their lap and beats out the rhythms with their hands. In the former, the players, often men, will dance in a circular formation around an inner circle of dancing women; this is called the pattong salip. The salip is also performed as a courtship dance, where a man, mimicking the movements of a rooster, attempts to woo a woman (the hen) using a gift of cloth or a blanket. The salip is sometimes conflated with the salidsid, another courtship dance comprised of similar movements. Any combination of the above, and more, may be present at a bodong celebration.247 Also usually present at a bodong celebration are the performance of songs like the salidummay and spoken epics such as the ullalim and the uggayam. While the salidummay, ullalim, and uggayam may exhibit differences in their melodies, rhythms, and the skills required to perform them, they share the element of adaptability of content, which makes them ideal for a number of events, including the bodong. Salidummay is a generic term for a group of songs that share common characteristics such as “the use of anhemitonic-pentatonic 245 It is important to note here that gangsa may only be employed during times of celebration; if a community is in mourning it is considered highly inappropriate and disrespectful to hear and play the sounds of the gangsa. See: Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 63; Michael Gonzalez, “Dancing with the Kalinga: Homage to a Brave Past,” Positively Filipino: Online Magazine for Filipinos in the Diaspora, May 2, 2018, accessed April 7, 2019, http://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/dancing-with-the-kalinga-homage-to-a-brave-past. 246 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 59; R. Matilac, F. Prudente, and R. Obusan, accessed April 7, 2019, http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:CZL0TH1d7OoJ:nlpdl.nlp.gov.ph:81/CC01/NLP00VM052mcd/v1/v27.pdf+&cd=11&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=ca. 247 Matilac, Prudente, and Obusan. 87 scale…hexatonic or diatonic pitch system and duple/quadruple meter rhythm,” and which typically contain a refrain that includes the phrases ‘dang dang ay si dang i lay, insinalidummay,’ ‘ay ay salidummay, salidummay diway,’ ‘ela ela lay’ or their variations.”248 The adaptability of the salidummay format has helped elevate it among the tribes of Northern Luzon, since lyrics can easily be composed to suit a variety of occasions and purposes. It has notably been employed as a popular vehicle for activist themes and progressive cultural work and has been used as the name for the musical group of Dap-ayan ti Kultura iti Kordilyera (DKK), the cultural workers’ organization under the CPA. This will be taken up in more detail in Chapter 4. The ullalim and uggayam, in contrast, are more in the vein of sung epics, or ballads, and are performed extemporaneously, with the singer composing the lyrics around the themes prompted by the event. Many participants expressed that the ullalim and uggayam required much more talent and reported few people in each community who remained able to perform them (mostly elders). As one participant indicated, “it’s very rare to be good at the uggayam and ullalim. They are hard because while the tune is the same as in the past, the lyrics change – they are occasion-specific and hard to understand. Words are pronounced differently than when they are spoken.”249 The ullalim and uggayam take much more skill to understand, let alone perform, due to the creative liberties that singers employ to shape the language of the song to suit its form and content: Due to the liberal use of techniques like syllable elision, reduction, and duplication, the ullalim differs from spoken speech to the extent that the listener must acquire an ability to understand the singer’s words. For this reason, many Kalinga young people who are fluent in their mother tongue still find it difficult to understand the ullalim.250 The difficulty in understanding the ullalim and uggayam may seem like a detriment to the audience, but it can actually become an advantage: since the audience is required to stay silent and pay attention to understand the song’s message, they often end up listening more, a 248 Michiyo Yoneno-Reyes, “Salidummay’s Hybridity and Congregational Singing,” Humanities Diliman: A Philippine Journal of Humanities 7, no. 1 (April 12, 2010): 26. 249 Handwritten notes from N11OB, interview by author, 2018. 250 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 28. 88 consequence I will return to in Chapter 4.251 I was privileged to witness several performances of the ullalim and uggayam, mostly at events (the annual meeting for the BPO and Cordillera Day), but also on our first night in Basao Dilag, when our first interviewee, a peace pact holder and elder, welcomed us to his community.252 3.3.2.2 The Pagta The bodong’s overall function is to ensure the harmonious coexistence of tribal communities by mediating conflict peacefully as an alternative to tribal war. The primary way it does so is by establishing mutual agreement for territorial boundaries, which is essential to the maintenance of community livelihood, since “place is linked to boundaries, boundaries are linked to land use, land use is linked to food, and food to life itself.”253 It is a prerequisite of every pact for each tribe to establish the boundaries of their ancestral land. The agreement of mutual respect for the boundaries of each other’s sovereign territory includes respect for the tribe’s rights of territorial governance; in exchange for that respect each tribe promises to take responsibility over protecting members of the partnering tribe within the boundaries of their own territory, guaranteeing their safety and security. The pagta are known as the law of the bodong (also described by one participant, a peace pact holder himself, as the “constitution and bylaws” that govern the relations between the two tribes), and its first provision is to set out the bugis (the respective areas covered by that particular bodong) to which the pagta refers.254 The pagta also establishes the responsibility for upholding the bodong onto the chosen peace pact holders of each ili. The peace pact holder is not elected, but instead chosen according to their social standing and the relative wealth of their family, since a bodong celebration requires a significant contribution of material resources by the peace pact holders, including 251 Handwritten notes from T19TACOUD, interview by author, 2018. 252 BD01MD, interview by author, 2018. 253 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 101. 254 BD01MD, interview by author, 2018 89 animals for butchering and food for feasts.255 A peace pact holder will typically not hold more than one peace pact because of the expense of organizing bodong activities. During the time of the research, participants estimated that there were around 45 peace pacts in Basao and 75 peace pacts in Butbut. Peace pact holders are usually those who have achieved the status of pangat, or tribal leader, a distinction bestowed not only by access to resources (through wealth or economic resourcefulness) but also by age, experience, bravery, wisdom, oratorial ability, and kinship connections. The other provisions of the pagta may differ based on the relationship and discussion of the two tribes, but after the establishment of the bugis and the responsibilities of the bodong holder, the pagta typically outlines the “conditions by which mutual respect for territory, life, honor [sic] and property are to be observed,” which may include a description of specific crimes and their penalties for violation, including the multa (fine) required (usually given in livestock or its monetary equivalent).256 3.3.3 The Development of the Peace Pact: the Pagta as a Weapon for and Against the State It is impossible to overstate the impact that the Chico Dam Project and the Indigenous resistance that arose to oppose it on the historical trajectory of the Cordillera tribes. The four proposed mega dams would have spanned Kalinga and Mountain Province, with two of the dams located in the areas of the communities I visited: Dam III was to be located in Tinglayan, near the Basao and Butbut tribes, and Dam IV would have been in Tomiangan, Tabuk, near the villages of the Tanglag tribe. Despite the guaranteed destruction of the Indigenous communities along the proposed path of the World Bank-funded dam project, the Marcos dictatorship was eager to push through with its completion in order to generate business for export-oriented energy and mining interests: Experts predicted that the electricity the Chico dams would produce would save US$39 million a year in oil payments. However, it would dislocate 100,000 Bontok and Kalinga inhabitants in the villages and tribal 255 BS06Anon, BD15MD, interview by author, 2018. 256 Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 93. 90 communities along the Chico river valleys and destroy over 341,000 hectares of rice terraces, swidden farms, burial grounds, plantations and other resources. It would also mean the loss of their indigenous [sic] culture and identity because they would be uprooted from their established communities, permanent villages and ancestral homelands. As it meant virtual ethnocide, the Kalingas and Bontoks fought to stop the construction of the four megadams along the Chico River.257 With the threat of the Chico Dam Project, tribes all along the banks of the river began to utilize every tool at their disposal to combat the possibility of their displacement. One community leader, describing the time of the Chico Dam struggle, had this recollection: During the Chico Dam struggle, the administration of President Ferdinand Marcos, all binodngan [peace pact practicing people] meet together to discuss and focus their support to cooperate and fight to oppose that dam. So the dam is not continued because there are many way to – what you call that, all binodngan will fight, as a petition, rally, and use also extralegal, just like, they are buying a gun to fight. And also, they proclaim to all the binodngan, not go to work, if there is a project destroy the community. So that the contractor or government will hire other, will hire to the other people are not binodngan [emphasis added].258 As this statement indicates, tribespeople acted collectively to fight the project with many means: they wrote petitions, they staged rallies, they met with the government to present their demands. Government pushback against the opposition was swift and brutal, so villagers employed extralegal means, such as dismantling the building camps at the project sites and joining the armed struggle of the New People’s Army (NPA), who allied with the villagers in their resistance to the dam.259 During this time, the bodong was transformed from a bilateral agreement to a multilateral pact of affected villages and tribal communities and a new pagta was declared in 1975. The provisions of the multilateral pagta included: “a) prohibition against working on the dam projects; b) prohibition against compensation or revenge for anyone killed while working in the dams; c) prohibition against selling goods to 257 Sawadan, 95–96. 258 BD02DLO, interview by author, 2018. 259 T21EBD, interview by author, 2018. 91 the National Power Corporation.”260 In 1982 those provisions were expanded so that members of the NPA and the Armed Forces of the Philippines would be excluded from the protection and retribution mechanisms of the pagta.261 A similar multilateral pagta was employed by the Tinggians in the province of Abra during the opposition to the Cellophil Resources Corporation logging concessions. Despite the bodong’s application as a weapon against development aggression and state oppression (or perhaps because of it), the state has also attempted to co-opt the institution to suit its own ends. This is nothing new; in fact, one of the reasons that the Americans were more efficient than the Spanish in making inroads in Kalinga may have been due to their active encouragement of the bodong system as a way for Kalinga tribes to settle their own affairs, albeit under the watchful eyes of the colonial state.262 State intervention into the bodong continues to this day, through the creation of a unified, codified pagta that the government hopes will standardize peace pacts across the province. The codified pagta, created by the Kalinga Bodong Congress (KBC) and the Matagoan (Zone of Peace) Bodong Consultative Council (MBCC) aims to extend the protections of the pagta to non-binodngan within the boundaries of the capital city of Tabuk and to standardize the provisions of the pagta, including the fines and punishments it metes out for certain crimes. Many tribespeople are wary of this proposition since it transfers the power over negotiation from tribal leaders to the government, and because it negates the character of the bodong as a formalized agreement between two tribes, effectively diminishing the authority of tribes to conduct their affairs as sovereign nations.263 The local government also provides funds in exchange for facilitating bodong activities in the city, which has the effect of commercializing the peace pact, since it introduces financial incentives for adopting the codified pagta. This encourages the formation of political dynasties among peace pact holders, instead of the cyclical changeover that tends to occur with the passing down of peace pacts among elders and tribal 260 Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 97. 261 T19TACOUD, interview by author, 2018. Also: Sawadan, 97. 262 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 18. 263 TC16DB, interview by author, 2018. 92 leaders, since administering a bodong can now be a business opportunity instead of a responsibility to govern.264 In exchange for funding, the state often sends representatives to bodong activities, where they track attendance in order to determine return on investment, a convenient way to surveil attendees and determine proponents of, and opponents to, local government politicians. In this way, the state has taken advantage of the financial constraints many communities face in order to hold bodong activities for the purposes of inserting their influence into the bodong process.265 Another reason why binodngan are suspicious of the unified pagta, which attempts to codify the bodong laws after a Western legal model, is that the bodong and its pagta are considered “a living law and to codify it is to fossilize it.”266 The nature of the pagta as an unwritten instrument will be covered in the following section analyzing the bodong as a series of oral records. Form and Function: The Bodong As A Record Although archivists are generally quick to point out that “the keeping of archives constitutes a significant aspect of mankind’s experience in organized living,” the acceptance of archives for records not originating within bureaucratic governments has historically been lacking.267 Even textual records of personal creators have found difficulty being seen as legitimate in relation to the majority of governmental and organizational records that dominate the traditional archival sphere.268 As McRanor has shown, “although aboriginal oral traditions may help to demonstrate the abstract concept of “records” as universal, actual oral records are likely to be presumed genuine or truthful only within their own local juridical context.”269 264 T14Anon-FW, interview by author, 2018. 265 Handwritten notes from TC14Anon-FW, interview by author, 2018. 266 Mary Constancy C. Barrameda, “Mainstreaming Bodong Through Matagoan,” Agham Tao 17 (2008): 2. 267 Ernst Posner, “Excerpt: Archives in the Ancient World,” Visible Language 7, no. 2 (Spring 1973): 171. 268 Hobbs, “Chapter 10: Reenvisioning the Personal: Reframing Traces of Individual Life,” 215. 269 McRanor, “Maintaining the Reliability of Aboriginal Oral Records and Their Material Manifestations: Implications for Archival Practice,” 1996, 66. 93 So how does one assess the validity270 of Indigenous orality as record without trapping it within an archival “straightjacket” of Eurocentric values and definitions, not unlike the legal straightjacket that constrained the Gitksan and Wet’suwet’en adaawk (oral histories) in Delgamuukw v. The Queen.271 Even comparing the bodong to its nearest fixed equivalent would seem to diminish the “narrative richness” that resonates around it in its original context, the “social situation, physical space and landmarks, items of material culture, and so on,” that give the bodong its presence in the lived reality of Kalinga peoples.272 To that end, this paper is not so much concerned with how the bodong is a record in the recognizable archival sense, but how it functions as a record within its own unique juridical context. In order to explore this concept, I take direction from Hobbs’ work around personal archives and Mary Ann Pylypchuk’s piece examining the value of Aboriginal records as legal evidence in Canada. Hobbs demonstrates the value of personal archives by bypassing intentional ‘recordness’ as proof of value, and instead, exhorting archivists to seek to see documenting and archival behavior as emerging from human life rather than as recordkeeping in any narrow sense: as a modus operandi and not an end in itself. By viewing documents in this expanded sense, we do not see the record’s recordness as the central issue, and we embed our notions of personal documents with less of the vision of the archival world and more of the context of the document’s creation and use.273 The call to recognize the context of creation and use is echoed by Pylypchuk, who details the process by which orality can be analyzed within archival constraints: To analyse an oral document as an archival document and a record, the principles of archival and diplomatic science must be applied within a predominantly oral juridical system. When an oral document has been spontaneously and organically created or received, and used, by a creator in the course of a practical activity, and when the will to generate the oral document, the document’s intellectual formation, and its consequences are all 270 Validity is defined here as the ability to act within that juridical context. 271 Val Napoleon, “Delgamuukw : A Legal Straightjacket for Oral Histories?,” Canadian Journal of Law and Society 20, no. 2 (August 8, 2006): 125, https://doi.org/10.1353/jls.2006.0025. 272 Harris and Hatang, “Archives, Identity, and Place: A Dialogue on What It (Might) Mean(s) to Be an African Archivist,” 229, 231. 273 Hobbs, “Chapter 10: Reenvisioning the Personal: Reframing Traces of Individual Life,” 225. 94 foreseen by an oral society’s rules, then the oral document may be considered to fulfill the function of a record within that juridical system.274 Both Hobbs and Pylypchuk emphasize that it is through a document’s movement through cycles of creation and use that documents not usually considered records can be imbued with recordness. The process that Pylypchuk outlines can therefore serve as the starting point from which to begin exploring the bodong’s function in the Indigenous knowledge system of Kalinga societies. I view Pylypchuk’s process of tracing oral recordness as being split into two components: 1) the quality of spontaneous and organic creation in the course of a practical activity; and 2) the social, spiritual, and cultural context that determine all aspects of its existence. 3.4.1 “Spontaneously and Organically Created” The Kalingas have their culture that gives primacy to community consensus decision-making, community egalitarianism and cooperation. Their substantive and procedural laws are derived from their customs and traditions. While the modern legal system has secularized the rule of law, the Kalingas’ worldview of the interconnectedness of the sacred and the material realms enables them to seek justice in a fast, far and humane way. Ultimately, justice for them is the restoration of peace, order and harmony in the community.275 The quality of spontaneous and organic creation can be applied both to the origin of the bodong, and to the practices that bring it to life. Most of the participants I interviewed considered the bodong a natural by-product276 of the human instinct to seek safety. My interviews with participants indicated that, at least in their tribes’ modern memory, no one could recall a time when the bodong had not been in existence; no one I interviewed knew when it began or knew of anyone who remembered a time before the bodong. However, 274 Pylypchuk, “The Value of Aboriginal Records as Legal Evidence in Canada,” 54. 275 Barrameda, “Mainstreaming Bodong Through Matagoan,” 3. 276 Naturalness is one of the fundamental characteristics of a record and refers to the “natural accumulation” of records created, received and maintained by the creator in the regular course of business. A record is therefore a natural by-product of its interaction within the recordkeeping system of its creator. Naturalness implies that the archive can serve as an accurate reflection of the activities, functions, and transactions of the creator. Traditional archives value natural accumulations over artificial accumulations such as collections because naturalness implies impartiality. Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community”; Eastwood, “What Is Archival Theory and Why Is It Important ?”; Duranti, “The Concept of Appraisal and Archival Theory.” 95 though no one could tell me when the bodong was created, they were able to describe how it came about. One participant in Basao Dilag explained the origins of the bodong as lying in the barter system between tribes: when travelling to other communities to trade, individuals were often at risk of harm or attack from other tribes; in order to provide protection along their journey, their tribe would exchange gifts with another tribe to start a treaty process that would ensure safe passage between their territories for their tribespeople. In short, the bodong was the organic development277 of a response to the need for peace and safety.278 This account is supported by research on the history of the bodong from the Binodngan People’s Organization (BPO), an association of peace pact practicing elders who advocate for the maintenance of the bodong as a means for the peaceful resolution of intertribal conflict: Originally the bodong was forged between between two tribes occupying territories that were adjacent to or near each other. But in the course of their trading activities, the members of certain tribes found themselves traveling through the territories of other tribes and sought to forge pacts with them in order to ensure their safe passage. Thus, tribes enlarged the scope of their peace pact according to the extent of their trade and travel. This accounts for the existence, dating to Spanish colonial times, of bodongs between distantly located communities.279 As the benefits of the bodong were revealed, the practice of the peace pact spread to villages that were further and further, apart, reaching its current extent of the whole of Kalinga and communities bordering the province in Abra and Mountain Province. As the peace pact system grew, it also became increasingly formalized, so that by the time of Barton’s study of the bodong in 1940, he considered the bodong to be akin to the treaty system, given that they share a similar format and function, both having a set of “general and particular provisions,” 277 “Organic development” is related to “natural accumulation.” Archivists are fond of metaphor: archives are often spoken of as a Darwinian evolutionary inevitability to which records accrue as in nature or biology. Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community,” 103. 278 Handwritten notes from BD15EL, interview by author, 2018. 279 Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 92. 96 and allowing for “sanctions for enforcing them.”280 Some participants did choose to employ the language of treaties when speaking of the bodong.281 Certainly, peace pacts can be thought of as binding, formalized agreements between sovereign tribes. The bodong developed as a bilateral agreement between two tribes to respect each other’s territorial boundaries and to provide protection for tribe members when they cross into the ili, or territorial jurisdiction, of the other tribe. The primacy of land in intertribal relations is built into the bodong through the pagta, which sets out the rules and regulations included under the bodong. Written examples of pagta, such as the ‘unified’ pagta established by the Kalinga Bodong Congress, define the bugis covered by the bodong in the first article: The Bugis of the Bodong is the territorial jurisdiction of an ili as defined in their respective Pagta which includes all lands and natural resources owned, occupied and possessed since time immemorial by the members of the subtribe, by themselves or through their ancestors, communally or individually in accordance with their customs and traditions. It encompasses ancestral lands, private properties, forests, pasturelands, agricultural lands, residential lands, hunting grounds, burial grounds, bodies of water, mineral deposits, including the airspace and the subterranean resources [emphases in original].282 The emphasis on territorial jurisdiction also reveals another practical aspect of the bodong, which is to bolster, mobilize, and make claims to ancestral land. The bodong, through the pagta, therefore has the function of expressing land ownership, an objective that was important in the past, but which now is a crucial assertion of sovereignty in opposition to threats of encroachment by predatory development projects and government land-grabbing. The pagta’s potential to act as proof of land ownership may have factored into its new written iterations, as tribal communities are increasingly tasked with proving their ancestral land rights, evidenced in this quote by Kalinga leader Macli-ing Dulag, who played a pivotal role in the Chico Dam Struggle: 280 Barton, The Kalingas: Their Institutions and Custom Law, 185. 281 BD15MD, BD15EL, interview by author, 2018. 282 Kalinga Bodong Congress, Inc., “Pagta (Law of the Bodong),” 1. 97 You ask if we own the land and mock us saying, ‘Where is your title?’ When we ask the meaning of your words you answer with taunting arrogance, ‘Where are the documents to prove that you own the land?’ Titles? Documents? Proof of ownership? Such arrogance to speak of owning the land when we instead are owned by it. How can you own that which will outlive you? Only the race owns the land because the race lives forever.283 The pagta, which is the legal and regulatory substance of the bodong, is the document that is created in the course of the bodong negotiations, or the singlip. In its original form, as befitting its creation within an oral tradition, it was an exclusively oral document; it is only relatively recently that the pagta began to be written down. The Basao tribe, for example, only started to write down their pagta in the 1970s, though lowland communities had begun documenting their agreements earlier.284 Prior to that time the laws of the pagta were entirely contained in the minds of the elders and tribespeople, as this Basao peace pact holder recounts: “Since the Kalinga peoples begin the bodong, the law is not written. It’s memory – they memorize the kinds of laws.”285 The ability to memorize and orate become extremely important in such a system (one reason why skillful public speaking became a measurement of leadership ability). Sugguiyao comments that it is “amazing to note that in the past the ‘Pagta’ was never written down, yet its provisions have always been remembered and adhered to.”286 Writing in 1994, Roberto Medina Benedito observed that the major change to the bodong since the time Barton did his fieldwork in Kalinga in 1916 was the union of the oral tradition with their written skills as far as making the pagta is concerned although not all Kalinga villages write them. And the most unlikely feature from the time they began to write it down (for those who write them), in the 1960’s during Bacdayan’s fieldwork, is perhaps the adoption of the English language with which to write it. This reflects the adoption by the entire Philippine nation of English as a second language and 283 Doyo, Macli-Ing Dulag: Kalinga Chief, Defender of the Cordillera, 5. 284 Handwritten notes from BS06Anon, N13MPA, interviews by author, 2018. 285 BD01MD, interview by author, 2018. 286 Sugguiyao, The Kalinga Hilltribe of the Philippines, 56. 98 the successful penetration by the Americans of this isolated region when the Philippine archipelago was once its colonial stronghold in Asia.287 Even with the increased usage of written pagtas, the bodong continues to complicate the boundary between orality and literacy. For example, there are general provisions that are thought to be so widely accepted and understood that they remain unwritten; community members are expected to remember and carry them forward even though they are not included in the written version of the pagta.288 Even now that the pagta is written the first introduction that tribespeople have to the bodong is through oral transmission: children learn it from their elders or older family members,289 and as they grow up and begin travelling to other communities, they are reminded of the pagta so that they do not do anything that will affect the peace pacts they have with other communities.290 In some communities, they have bodong conventions in school where elders come to teach students about the bodong,291 and at bodong celebrations, the pagta is read aloud in front of the two tribes to remind them of what laws are included in the bodong.292 The interplay between written and unwritten, oral and literate, is one way that the bodong complicates the binaries that usually dictate archival theory and practice. Michael Clanchy, writing about memory and the written record in medieval England, referred to this interplay as one of “literate mentalities:” a term he used to describe the profound shift in culture and in thought processes which the spread of literacy brought about…For Clanchy, medieval literate mentality had several facets. One was a slowly developing trust in documents…Furthermore it led to a change in the articulation of thoughts and memories. It allowed for interaction between oral and literate forms in the idea of reading as an auditory activity, with texts read aloud (messages, proclamations, sermons, auditing of accounts). Finally, it incorporated the 287 Roberto Medina Benedito, “The Kalinga Bodong: An Ethnographic Moment in Legal Anthropology” (Ph.D., State University of New York at Buffalo, 1994), 91. 288 Bacdayan, “The Peace Pact System of the Kalingas in the Modern World,” 79; Sawadan, “Forging Peace Pacts to Protect the Land,” 93. 289 Handwritten notes from N11OB, interview by author, 2018. 290 Handwritten notes from N12LA-EAY-LBW, interview by author, 2018. 291 Handwritten notes from N11OB, N13MPA, interviews by author, 2018. 292 BC01MD, interview by author, 2018. 99 interaction between word and image (in wall paintings and manuscript illuminations for example).293 In the transmission of the bodong in Kalinga society, The telling is as important as the writing, the doing as central as the recording, the memory passed down through bodies and mnemonic practices. Memory paths and documented records might retain what the other “forgot.” These systems sustain and mutually produce each other; neither is outside or antithetical to the logic of the other.294 As may already be evident, archivists are fond of metaphor: records are spoken of as ‘residue,’ archives as ‘slivers.’ One of the most enduring metaphors in archives is the analogy between archives and nature/biology (even the trajectory of a record is referred to as its life cycle). When we speak of records as being created “spontaneously” or “organically” we uphold their value as impartial evidence of its creator’s intentions. In the case of the bodong, its development can be charted as a necessary, and thus natural, outgrowth of land defense among Kalinga communities. However, the bodong is not fixed and static but responsive; it has changed and developed over time to adapt to community needs. Again, the bodong contributes to the much-needed blurring of the definitional boundaries between fixed and fluid. 3.4.2 “The Will to Generate” The bodong celebration is an event accompanied by a series of cultural activities, which include the beating of gongs, the singing of songs, the performance of dances, the recitation of epic story songs and ballad poetry, and the butchering of animals for feasts of food and drink, which all work together to bring the peace pact to life. This is the social, spiritual, and cultural environment in which the bodong reaches community agreement. These activities happen throughout the multi-day affair; Stallsmith noted eight separate musical “scenes” as part of his analysis of the Mangali-Sumadel bodong celebration which took place over three 293 Helen Lacey, “Pragmatic Literacy and Political Consciousness in Later Medieval England / L’écriture Pragmatique. Un Concept d’histoire Médiévale à l’échelle Européenne,” Les Cahiers Électroniques d’Histoire Textuelle Du LaMOP (CEHTL) 5 (2012): 44–45. 294 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 35–36. 100 days. As the quote at the beginning of this section signifies, to Kalinga tribespeople, the bodong would be meaningless without these activities. When describing a bodong celebration, the participants mentioned that there was usually no set order to the performances of songs and dances. Instead they are called by an emcee, who is a community leader specially designated to decide the program of the events.295 The emcee has knowledge of who has the skills and oratorial ability to execute certain songs and will pinpoint those in the audience who must perform. The emcee must also have the skills to call the performances in such a way that there is a “rotation” of expressions, where those playing the gongs and dancing will give way to those singing, in a regulated manner.296 The function of the emcee also reveals the installation of a bodong as a communal act. Even though it is only elders or tribal leaders that take part in the singlip and negotiate the terms of the pagta, it must have agreement from the tribe as a whole, which is embodied through their participation in the celebration: “If the emcee call them to participate in singing of the ullalim or salidummay, they do it because that’s the part of the activities of the bodong celebration.”297 Participants described how, when called to perform by the emcee, they were obliged to do as asked, indicating that there is audience recognition of their required attendance and participation in the activities put on as part of the bodong celebration; they cannot merely observe, but must actively take part.298 As one youth said, “We should always participate with that because it’s our culture, as iKalingas.”299 In their participation, the people of both tribes indicate their collective will to generate the bodong. This collective will is also reflected in the resource sharing that takes place as part of holding a bodong celebration. Though the peace pact holder and the peace pact holder’s family are 295 BS07VW, interview by author, 2018. 296 BS01MD-JD, interview by author, 2018. 297 BD02DLO, interview by author, 2018. 298 BD02DLO, interview by author, 2018. 299 BD04RD, interview by author, 2018. The prefix “i” in front of “Kalingas” means “ people of” or “ dwellers in,” so “iKalingas” would mean “as people from Kalinga.” Scott, Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays, 44. 101 expected to contribute the lion’s share of expenses for food, drink, and entertainment, the whole village is supposed to work together to share the responsibility of being hospitable hosts to their guests. Benedito explains that to the Kalinga tribespeoples, this sharing is “a sign of everyone’s willingness to share in the cost of internal stability and peace, as well as their consent and endorsement of the pagta [emphasis in original].”300 In our time with each community, we witnessed, and participated in, the gangsa and tadok several times, mainly in the form of the pattong salip. And while these activities were omnipresent, and obviously meaningful, the participants I talked to had less to say about them or their meaning in the context of celebration. Numerous participants would mention the salip, or the salidsid, and how important the gangsa are, but their importance seemed to be tied to their integration with an event of note instead of as a separate entity, which may be an indication that, just as there is no meaning to the bodong without cultural activities, there is no meaning to the cultural activities without the event they are a part of. The fact that salidummay, ullalim, and uggayam are usually composed in relation to the specific themes of the event during which they are performed supports that assumption. These activities cannot be removed from the context of their performance and assumed to retain the same meaning, because they are “more than mere objects of space or sound that exist apart from the people who form and create them.”301 As Stallsmith summarizes, “the music performances of the bodong celebrations are not mere reflections that help us glimpse the deeper, more “real” aspects of Kalinga culture or worldviews [emphasis in original];”302 they are not representative of any perceived ‘deeper’, symbolic meaning, but are in fact the site where active meaning-making and knowledge creation and transmission happen. This environment is where the intellectual formation of the bodong gains its salience. Learning to play the gangsa during the bodong does not teach a child about their culture, it is their culture, made real and alive through the bodong celebration, as this participant quote encapsulates: “that is in-born for us. It’s a culture, it’s a culture. If the people will born, if he at least nine years, 300 Benedito, “The Kalinga Bodong,” 77–78. 301 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 4. 302 Stallsmith, 3. 102 they know how to play gongs. If he see them playing the gongs, they know how to follow. It’s the culture of the people.”303 The bodong celebration is also where violations of the bodong are laid out to remind the tribespeople of the consequences should they breach the provisions of the pagta. Participants reported that one reason the bodong is preferred to the criminal justice system is because with the bodong the possibility of resolution and retribution is swift: So the bodong system is very important to the tribe of Kalinga because all problems between tribes and other tribes settled very well, not like the system of the judicial or court, government court. The government court have many discussion, so the bodong will not have many discuss if there is a problem because there is a constitution and bylaws that we are follows. So the one binodngan make a crime. They read, they read the constitution and bylaws of the bodong, to see if how much punishment or penalty that he give to the victim. For example, if I made a crime to other binodngan, all leaders of the two tribes will meet to discuss that. So he read the constitution and bylaws, if he see that I am paying 10 carabaos, it equivalent to 3,000 pesos in Philippine money, so I will pay that, because I am the one who violence that rules.304 One reason why it is so important for everyone to be in attendance to assent to the bodong is because this system of community-derived justice requires agreement to function properly. The bodong is only effective if it is imbued with the belief, and therefore the power, of both tribal communities. Another way of seeing community power and agency enacted through the bodong is through the use of Diana Taylor’s framework of ‘scenario,’ which she positions as a “paradigm for understanding social structures and behaviors that might allow us to draw from the repertoire as well as the archive.”305 Scenario has five components: 1) physical location (scene); 2) the embodiment of social actors; 3) formulaic structures that determine set-up and action/behaviors; 4) the possibility of transmission through a multiplicity of forms, including 303 BD02DLO, interview by author, 2018. 304 BD01MD-JD, interview by author, 2018. 305 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 27. 103 “writing, telling, reenactmet, mime, gestus, dance, singing [emphasis in original];”306 5) the involvement of actors in relation to the act, as “participants, spectators, or witnesses, we need to ‘be there,’ part of the act of transfer;”307 and 6) the reactivation of the past, not as a duplicate or faithful surrogate, but as something that is continually remade in the present. Applying that framework to the bodong, we can set the scene as both the physical location of the bodong celebration and the symbolic site of meeting and negotiation, where the two tribes are the social actors who fulfill their roles within the structure of the event. The event, while not necessarily following a standardized schedule, has mandatory elements that must be included at every bodong celebration. The acts of knowledge transfer during the bodong take many forms, including writing, telling, dance, and singing. At the bodong celebration every actor is expected to ‘be there’ to witness and participate in the acts that give the bodong its authority and power. Finally, each bodong ceremony is a reactivation of the original peace pact, a reiteration of the tribe’s responsibilities, not merely a reminder. Conclusion: From Living Document to Living Archives Through tracing the historical trajectory of the bodong system among Kalinga communities, including the changes in its development and use over time, this chapter attempts to establish the ways in which the bodong functions as a series of oral records governing tribal life. Though the Basao, Butbut, and Tanglag tribespeople I interviewed may not speak of the bodong or the pagta as records, they nevertheless view it as the overarching sociopolitical system that provides the organizing logic for their community values, knowledge, and customary law. It not only serves as a vehicle through which knowledge and memory are transmitted, but itself is a site of knowledge-keeping and memory-making. The bodong is not only a carrier for Kalinga cultural expressions and practices to be performed and passed on but is itself a piece of living Kalinga culture. Since its iteration as a multilateral peace pact it has also begun to influence the political and cultural life of other Cordillera peoples. Its success as a mechanism for collective action is in many ways a model of possibility for the 306 Taylor, 31. 307 Taylor, 32. 104 Indigenous movement uniting the various tribes and ethnolinguistic groups of the Cordillera under the banner of Igorot resistance, which will be expanded on in Chapter 4. If we return to the words of Benedict Solang from the beginning of this chapter, we can view the bodong’s continuing presence as a testament to its use and functioning as a record within Kalinga society, “persist[ing] to the present, though with some transformations, because they contribute to, and enhance the common good.”308 The bodong, as one participant summed up, is the “centre of unity.”309 Since the time of the Chico Dam struggle, that centre has continued to pulse, the living, beating heartbeat of the Kalinga peoples. 308 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 35. 309 BD02DLO-JD, interview by author, 2018. 105 Chapter 4: “Cordillera Day is Struggle:” Land Defense, Living Archives, and Preservation as a Political Act Introduction Cordillera Day is not just about beating the gongs and dancing, it is not like Panagbenga,310 it is not a festival. It is not just a gathering. Cordillera Day is struggle.311 It was still dark at 4:30 in the morning of April 22, 2018, when the first of two buses carrying the Kalinga Cordillera Day delegation (plus two Canadians) pulled up to Pacday Quinio Elementary School, the site of the 34th annual Cordillera Day. For the next few days the elementary school grounds, including its classrooms and outdoor theatre space, would serve as both the accommodations for the celebration’s 1,500 delegates and the venue for the event’s various activities. This event, commemorating the history of Indigenous political resistance in the Cordillera and supporting the present-day struggles of the Cordillera people, has been organized by the Cordillera People’s Alliance (CPA) since 1985. Cordillera Day (known colloquially as ‘Cordi Day’) is the largest and most important political event in the Cordillera Region. The quote opening this chapter, taken from the opening remarks of CPA Chairperson Windel Bolinget at the 33rd annual Cordillera Day held in Sitio Bolo, Balantoy, Kalinga in 2017, hints at the significant cultural and informational role the event plays in the lives of progressive peoples, not only in the Cordillera, but throughout the Philippines. Though it involves commemorating the life of Kalinga martyr Macli-ing Dulag, it is not just a memorial; though it involves giving and sharing cultural performances, it is not just a celebration; though it includes speeches and workshops, it is not just an educational discussion; and though it includes political mobilizations it is not just a march or a rally. 310 Panagbenga (also known as the Blooming Flowers Festival) is an annual festival held in Baguio City celebrating the season when flowers come into bloom. The name is derived from a Kankanaey term term meaning “season of blooming.” “Panagbenga Festival 2019.” Love Pilipinas (blog). Accessed April 12, 2019. https://lovepilipinas.com/event/panagbenga-festival/. 311 Cordillera Day 2017 Part 2, YouTube video (Sitio Balantoy, Balbalan, Kalinga, 2017), sec. 6:43, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-R-WVpXG3g. 106 Cordillera Day encompasses all these things and more: it is a social, cultural, physical and emotional embodiment of Indigenous political resistance while simultaneously serving as a vehicle for the reproduction and preservation of that same resistance through time. The CPA, through Cordillera Day and its various campaigns, also facilitates the construction of a regional identity that popularizes Kaigorotan312 collectivism based on shared experiences of national oppression,313 reclaiming the Igorot identity from the derogatory connotations of the word dating back to Spanish times.314 Further, as a space for unity and solidarity, Cordillera Day serves as a physical and temporal anchor for the various individuals, groups, and political movements whose perspectives, campaigns, and political goals intersect with those of the CPA and its members organizations. In her keynote address at the 11th CPA Congress, Ibaloi activist Joanna K. Cariño underscored the importance the event had accrued in the collective memory of progressive Cordilleran people when she described the event as “an institution in itself.”315 One of the most significant contributions of Cordillera Day to the movement for the Indigenous rights of Cordilleran people (and the related movement for national democracy) is the mobilization of memory for the purposes of political aspiration. The rationale for Cordillera Day can be distilled into the idea that the past informs the present and provides possibilities for the future: through their involvement in Cordillera Day participants are helping to bring into being their vision for a just future. If archives, as Joan M. Schwartz and Terry Cook assert, are “social constructs”316 that contain “the evidence of what went before,”317 and further, if archives can accommodate such 312 A collective term for Cordillera Indigenous peoples, where the singular noun referring to a person belonging to that collective is Igorot. 313 Benedict P. Solang, “Genuine Regional Autonomy and the Common Good: Elders Uphold Identity and Self Determination,” Binnadang, December 2016, 33. 314 Scott, Of Igorots and Independence: Two Essays, 55. 315 Joanna K. Cariño, “Resist the Fascist US-Duterte Regime, Courageously Advance the Struggle for Ancestral Land, Self-Determination and National Democracy!” (Keynote Address, December 9, 2017), 4. 316 Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” 3. 317 Schwartz and Cook, 18. 107 modern and postmodern paradigms as memory, identity, and community as well as evidence,318 then there seems to be an adequate opening for the consideration of events such as Cordillera Day to inhabit the role of an archive within a community, or intersection of communities, based on the purposes and functions it serves. Bastian has used the term “living cultural archive” to describe an event or celebration that acts as a “longitudinal and complex cultural community expression,” and Cordillera Day certainly fits comfortably under that broad umbrella.319 But perhaps more importantly than conforming to the definitions set by Western archival scholars, the participants and organizers of Cordillera Day themselves consider the event to be an archives. Explaining archival studies to people outside archives is a notoriously difficult endeavour, but in speaking about my research project to CPA members during our initial educational discussion on the regional situation and issues facing the Cordillera, the concept of purposeful memory-, identity-, and community-creation through an event like Cordillera Day was immediately understood: “Yes,” agreed one of our facilitators, “Cordillera Day is a living archive of struggle.”320 In order to support the assertion of Cordillera Day as a living cultural archive, this chapter first gives an overview of archival theorizing around the definition and functions of an archive, before moving on to developments in archival theory that open up possibilities for thinking of Cordillera Day as a living archive. Second, I provide contextual background on the CPA and its role in Kaigorotan activism in general, and in organizing Cordillera Day specifically. Third, I describe our experience at the 34th annual Cordillera Day celebration in Baguio City and analyze how specific ‘acts’ taking place during the event uphold the definition of Cordillera Day as an archive. What is an archive? It Depends on Who You Ask In the context of Western archival education, one of the first lessons prospective archivists are taught is the basic definitions for the terms that provide the structure upon which the rest 318 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community.” 319 Bastian, “The Records of Memory, the Archives of Identity,” 122. 320 Conversation during educational discussion at CPA Regional Office, Baguio City, 2018. 108 of our archival knowledge is built. Naturally, one of the first definitions learned is that of the term ‘archives.’ A list of terminology made available by the iSchool at the University of British Columbia provides the following definitions of archives: 1. The whole of the documents made and received by a juridical or physical person or organization in the conduct of affairs, and preserved. Synonymous with the term fonds. a. A juridical person is defined as an entity having the capacity or potential to act legally and constituted either by a collection or succession of natural or physical persons or a collection of real properties; b. A physical person is defined as a human being, as opposed to a juridical person, acting in his or her own right in relations with other persons; c. An organization is defined as i. A system of interrelated social relations; ii. A social system that has an unequivocal collective identity, and exact roster of members, a program of activity, and procedures for replacing members. 2. An agency or institution responsible for the acquisition, preservation, and communication of archives selected for permanent preservation. 3. A place in which archives selected for permanent preservation are kept.321 If one were to measure Cordillera Day as a potential archive against these definitions of archives, the resulting conclusion would be that Cordillera Day does not fit within traditional archival notions of the concept. Regarding the first definition, while the CPA is an organization in the recognized terminology of this definition, and though they are the lead organization for Cordillera Day, the event operates through the collective actions of many other agents, including other groups, and a host of individuals. In addition, considering the treatment of embodied or performed knowledge by traditional archival theory that was 321 UBC School of Library, Archival and Information Studies, “Select List of Archival Terminology,” 3, accessed April 13, 2019, https://slais.ubc.ca/files/2014/07/Archival_Terminology.pdf. 109 discussed in Chapter 3, it is unlikely that the cultural activities and performances taking place as part of Cordillera Day would be accepted as documents. A flexible interpretation of the second definition, could consider Cordillera Day a vehicle for preservation and communication, but Cordillera Day is only concerned with the preservation and communication of specific cultural perspectives and manifestations, not of archives in general, and that purpose is far from the only function of the event. And while Cordillera Day can be conceived of as a site for the social construction of place,322 and it also chooses to take up space in place in very purposeful ways, one suspects the third definition is meant to be taken literally, not figuratively. These definitions can be traced back to the origins of the European archival tradition, which lie in the recordkeeping practices of early government bureaucracies. Duranti breaks down the etymology of the term archives as a derivation of the Greek noun archeion (meaning “government palace, general administrator, office of the magistrate, records office, original records, repository for original records, authority”), rooted in the verb archeio, (meaning “I command, I guide, I govern”), which both share the root arche (meaning “origin, foundation, command, power, authority”).323 Taken together, the word archive and its derivatives have become the accepted terms for “the designation of documentary bodies administratively created, for the repositories in which they are preserved, and for the persons entrusted with their care.”324 Movements within archives, spurred by postmodernism and the ‘archival turn’ of increased interest in archives from disciplines such as cultural theory and history,325 resulted in a reconfiguration of the term ‘archive’ from the literal meaning of its bureaucratic origins to its 322 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 30. 323 Duranti, “The Odyssey Of Records Managers Part I,” 6. 324 Duranti, 6. 325 Many archivists have written about the archival turn, including Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory”; Ann Laura Stoler, “Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance,” Archival Science 2 (2002): 87–109, https://doi.org/10.1007/BF02435632; Eric Ketelaar, “Archival Turns and Returns: Studies of the Archive,” in Research in the Archival Multiverse, ed. Sue McKemmish, Anne J. Gilliland, and Andrew J. Lau (Clayton, Victoria: Monash University Publishing, 2016), 228–68. 110 symbolic meaning as “a central metaphorical construct upon which to fashion…perspectives on human knowledge, memory, and power, and a quest for justice.”326 The influence of postmodernism on archival theory,327 though rather late in comparison to other academic disciplines, resulted in a shift of archival theoretical discourse from, as Cook notes: product to process, from structure to function, from archives to archiving, from the record to the recording context, from the “natural” residue or passive by-product of administrative activity to the consciously constructed and actively mediated “archivalisation” of social memory.328 A growing literature of archival writing began to question the “pre-modern” understanding of archives as evidence and archivists as the impartial custodians safeguarding that evidence.329 An example of this is the 2002 thematic double issue of Archival Science on “Archives, Records, and Power,” which compiled a series of essays meant to “demonstrate that the theories, principles, nature, and historical evolution of “archives” as institutions and of “records” as documents – collectively “the archive” – are neither universal across space nor stable across time.”330 Though context has always been important in determining provenance (the origin of records) and original order (the organization of records), two fundamental principles of archives, postmodernism elevated its importance by expanding context to include its “cultural and societal dimensions.”331 Definitions of archive following these internal developments are much more amenable to understandings of events and celebrations as constituting archival entities. As noted in Terry Cook’s above quote, 326 Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” 4. 327 A small sample of the archival theorists writing about postmodernism include Brien Brothman, “Orders of Value: Probing the Theoretical Terms of Archival Practice,” Archivaria 32, no. 0 (January 1, 1991), http://archivaria.ca.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/index.php/archivaria/article/view/11761; Harris, Exploring Archives; Terry Cook, “Archival Science and Postmodernism: New Formulations for Old Concepts,” Archival Science 1, no. 1 (2001): 3–24, https://doi.org/10.1007/BF02435636; Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory”; Tom Nesmith, “Reopening Archives: Bringing New Contextualities into Archival Theory and Practice,” Archivaria 60, no. 1 (2005): 259–74. 328 Cook, “Archival Science and Postmodernism: New Formulations for Old Concepts,” 4. 329 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community,” 107. 330 Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” 5. 331 Nesmith, “Reopening Archives: Bringing New Contextualities into Archival Theory and Practice,” 260; Jennifer Douglas, “Origins: Evolving Ideas about the Principle of Provenance,” in Currents of Archival Thinking, ed. Terry Eastwood and Heather MacNeil (Santa Barbara: Libraries Unlimited, 2010), 23–43. 111 postmodern definitions of archives tend to emphasize their function as opposed to their structure, so that we may now view as archive any process or entity that “validate[s] our experiences, our perceptions, our narratives, our stories.”332 Scholarship around community archives (notably by Andrew Flinn, Michelle Caswell, and Marika Cifor), especially as they intersect with issues of social justice333 or activist archives/archivists,334 has also contributed to expanded definitions of what an archive is by 332 Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” 18. 333 Rodney G S Carter, “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power , Archival Silences, and Power in Silence,” Archivaria 61 (Spring 2006): 215–33; Anthony W Dunbar, “Introducing Critical Race Theory to Archival Discourse : Getting the Conversation Started,” 2006, 109–29, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-006-9022-6; Randall C Jimerson, “Archives for All: Professional Responsibility and Social Justice,” The American Archivist 70, no. 2 (2007): 252–81, https://doi.org/10.2307/40294571; Michelle Caswell et al., “Implementing a Social Justice Framework in an Introduction to Archives Course: Lessons from Both Sides of the Classroom,” Interactions: UCLA Journal of Education and Information Studies 8, no. 2 (2012): 1–30; Wendy M Duff et al., “Social Justice Impact of Archives : A Preliminary Investigation,” 2013, 317–48, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-012-9198-x; Michelle Caswell, Archiving the Unspeakable: Silence, Memory, and the Photographic Record in Cambodia (University of Wisconsin Press, 2014), https://muse.jhu.edu/book/28810/; Ricardo L Punzalan and Michelle Caswell, “Critical Directions for Archival Approaches to Social Justice,” Library Quarterly: Information, Community, Policy 86, no. 1 (2016): 25–42; Michelle Caswell, Marika Cifor, and Mario H Ramirez, “‘To Suddenly Discover Yourself Existing’: Uncovering the Impact of Community Archives,” The American Archivist 79, no. 1 (2016): 56–81; Marika Cifor, “Affecting Relations: Introducing Affect Theory to Archival Discourse,” Archival Science; Dordrecht, 2016, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-015-9261-5; Jimmy Zavala et al., “‘A Process Where We’re All at the Table’: Community Archives Challenging Dominant Modes of Archival Practice,” Archives and Manuscripts 45, no. 3 (September 2, 2017): 202–15, https://doi.org/10.1080/01576895.2017.1377088. 334 Diana K. Wakimoto, Christine Bruce, and Helen Partridge, “Archivist as Activist: Lessons from Three Queer Community Archives in California,” Archival Science; Dordrecht 13, no. 4 (2013): 293–316, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-013-9201-1; Michelle Caswell, “Seeing Yourself in History,” The Public Historian 36, no. 4 (November 1, 2014): 26–37, https://doi.org/10.1525/tph.2014.36.4.26; Caswell, “Seeing Yourself in History,” 2014; Stacy Wood et al., “Mobilizing Records: Re-Framing Archival Description to Support Human Rights,” Archival Science 14, no. 3–4 (2014): 397–419, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-014-9233-1; Alexandrina Buchanan and Michelle Bastian, “Activating the Archive: Rethinking the Role of Traditional Archives for Local Activist Projects,” Archival Science; Dordrecht 15, no. 4 (2015): 429–51, http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy.library.ubc.ca/10.1007/s10502-015-9247-3; Michelle Caswell and Marika Cifor, “From Human Rights to Feminist Ethics: Radical Empathy in the Archives” 81, no. Spring (2016): 23–43; Caswell and Cifor; Elena Carter, “‘Setting the Record Straight’: The Creation and Curation of Archives by Activist Communities. A Case Study of Activist Responses to the Regeneration of Elephant and Castle, South London,” Archives and Records 38, no. 1 (January 2, 2017): 27–44, https://doi.org/10.1080/23257962.2016.1260532; Michelle Caswell et al., “‘To Be Able to Imagine Otherwise’: Community Archives and the Importance of Representation,” Archives and Records 38, no. 1 (January 2, 2017): 5–26, https://doi.org/10.1080/23257962.2016.1260445; Michelle Caswell et al., “Imagining Transformative Spaces: The Personal–Political Sites of Community Archives,” Archival Science 18, no. 1 (March 1, 2018): 73–93, https://doi.org/10.1007/s10502-018-9286-7. 112 ceding control over what is defined as ‘community’ and what is defined as ‘archive’ to the community in question, so that whatever a self-defined community decides is appropriate to collect or accrue in order to fulfill its purposes is considered a community archive.335 Particularly important to this research is Flinn’s characterization of politically-motivated community archives, those which are “driven more by a political agenda in which the preservation and use of historical materials might play a role in serving a set of political aims (be they educational, commemorative, empowering, or transformative).”336 Because of its role in preserving cultural values and practices for the purposes of asserting Indigenous ancestral land rights and self-determination, I consider Cordillera Day to fit very comfortably within Flinn’s concept of the politically-motivated community archive. In addition to postmodern and community archives scholarship, this chapter owes a significant debt to theorizing around societal provenance and communities of records, as conceptualized by Jeanette Bastian, and Diana Taylor’s scholarship around performance studies, particularly her work regarding archives and the repertoire. Since the work of these two scholars have defined much of my approach to exploring Cordillera Day as a living archive, they will be discussed in more detail in the following section. 4.2.1 Promising Possibilities for Living Cultural Archives: Societal Provenance and Communities of Records Bastian’s writing on collective memory in the archives was a major source of inspiration in the early development of this research. She has been one of the most vocal proponents of the expansion of archival definitions to include the “dynamic actions, transactions and 335 Flinn, “Community Histories, Community Archives”; Flinn, Stevens, and Shepherd, “Whose Memories, Whose Archives? Independent Community Archives, Autonomy and the Mainstream”; Mary Stevens, Andrew Flinn, and Elizabeth Shepherd, “New Frameworks for Community Engagement in the Archive Sector: From Handing over to Handing On,” International Journal of Heritage Studies 16, no. 1–2 (2010): 59–76, https://doi.org/10.1080/13527250903441770; Andrew Flinn, “Archival Activism: Independent and Community-Led Archives, Radical Public History and the Heritage Professions,” InterActions: UCLA Journal of Education & Information Studies 7, no. 2 (November 2011): 1–20; Andrew Flinn, “Other Ways of Thinking, Other Ways of Being. Documenting the Margins and the Transitory: What to Preserve, How to Collect,” in Craven, Louise, Ed. What Are Archives?. Abingdon, GB: Routledge, 2016. ProQuest Ebrary. Web. 7 April 2016. Copyright © 2016. Routledge. All Rights Reserved., ed. Louise Craven, February vols. (Aldershot, Hampshire: ASHGATE e-BOOK, 2016), 109–28, http://site.ebrary.com/lib/ubc/detail.action?docID=10257439. 336 Flinn, “Archival Activism,” 8. 113 interactions” through which cultures create, receive, maintain, and transmit knowledge.337 Bastian’s work was my first scholarly introduction to the possibility of a “living cultural archive,” a model for understanding community recordkeeping that does not accommodate “oral, aural, or kinetic traditions” only when affixed to materiality,338 but which allows those records to “thrive in dynamic form within the communities that live them.”339 The theory of an alternative cultural archive represents a radical departure from the Western archival tradition, but unfortunately, there have been few examples of archival scholarship that have attempted to describe how cultural archives work in practice. One example is Diane Daly’s PhD dissertation on the use of ephemera as commemorative community expressions in the annual All Souls Procession in Tucson, Arizona, in which she “retheorize[s] the archive as collective action to construct, efface, and build community around history, supporting the notion that the more collective, or massive, or spectacular the telling of a story, the better it competes to become a history.”340 Bastian herself proposes a few examples of alternative archives where one could find some aspects of cultural archives (monuments, South African memory cloths, The Jamaica Gaily News, and the reclaimed colonial land records of the territories of the Noongar peoples),341 but her most in-depth analysis of the concept focused on Carnival in the United States Virgin Islands. In order to suggest a possible framework for the acceptance of cultural performances as part of a cultural archive, she experimentally measures Carnival against three elements of records: structure, content, and context. She concludes that those elements are but a few features of recordness that could be used to apply to cultural archives, but it is up to the archivist to be willing to recognize and accept cultural performances as “analogous to records.”342 337 Bastian, “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens,” 282. 338 Gilliland et al., “Pluralizing the Archival Paradigm,” 2008, 90. 339 Bastian, “The Records of Memory, the Archives of Identity,” 124. 340 Daly, “Community, Ephemera, and Archives,” 11. 341 Bastian, “The Records of Memory, the Archives of Identity.” 342 Bastian, “‘Play Mas,’” 122. 114 Particularly important for this analysis is ‘societal provenance’ as conceptualized by Terry Cook, Tom Nesmith, and Michael Piggot, and later taken up by Bastian to relate to her concept of ‘communities of records.’343 Bastian takes the concept of societal provenance, with its focus on the social context behind a record’s making and maintenance, and extends it towards an understanding of a community of records, where the community itself is both a record creating entity and a memory frame that contextualizes the records it creates. While the community or group is the creator of its memory through the records it creates, these records and memories also define the group.344 To paraphrase William J. Mitchell by way of Joan M. Schwartz, communities make records, but communities are also made through records.345 Bastian also links record-making and remembrance to the project of identity construction, and maintains that communities of records must “mirror” and “parallel” the activity of the community itself, meaning that if the community’s activities are primarily written, oral, or performative, then its records will take that same shape: Conceptualizing communities of records makes the assumption that the need to record and remember in some format is a feature of all societies and that it is through the relationships between records and memory that communities define themselves and establish their identities. The actions of communities, expressed in a wide variety of prescribed ways that may be written, oral, or performative, also act as mirrors where records and actions reflect one another in documenting and forming the memory of the community. Communities of records are also aggregates of records in all forms generated by multiple layers of actions and interactions between and among the people and institutions within a community. These layers of records and memories parallel the active life of the community itself.346 343 Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory,” 23. 344 Bastian, 24. 345 Joan M. Schwartz, “‘We Make Our Tools and Our Tools Make Us’: Lessons from Photographs for the Practice, Politics, and Poetics of Diplomatics,” Archivaria 40 (1995): 40–74. 346 Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory,” 24. 115 4.2.2 Promising Possibilities for Living Cultural Archives: Performance Studies and the Repertoire Diana Taylor’s research on archives from the point of view of performance studies is consistent with Bastian’s idea of a living cultural archive incorporating embodied culture. Taylor’s interest in performance studies is rooted in its ability to challenge the dominance of the written word in Western epistemologies and instead contribute to the “revalorizing [of] expressive, embodied culture,” as a “system of learning, storing, and transmitting knowledge.”347 She traces the invalidation of “nonverbal practices – such as dance, ritual, and cooking, to name a few – that long served to preserve a sense of communal identity and memory” in the Americas to Spanish colonization and the Christianizing mission, which viewed existing practices of knowledge transmission to be dangerous and idolatrous.348 Of course, undermining Indigenous epistemological systems also served the parallel function of dispossessing Indigenous communities of their claims to land and sovereignty by nullifying the legal weight of those practices, a process of literal and symbolic displacement that Indigenous communities experienced globally through colonization.349 Importantly, Taylor complicates the supposed binary between written/spoken and textual/nontextual practices; not only did performative practices exist within the Church itself, but Indigenous communities also often had their own forms of writing. Instead, she asserts that the real “rift” is between “the archive of supposedly enduring materials (i.e., texts, documents, buildings, bones) and the so-called ephemeral repertoire of embodied practice/knowledge (i.e., spoken language, dance, sports, ritual) [emphases in original].”350 Taylor defines the repertoire as an epistemology that “enacts embodied memory:” performances, gestures, orality, movement, dance, singing—in short, all those acts usually thought of as ephemeral, nonreproducible knowledge. Repertoire, etymologically “a treasury, an inventory,” also allows for individual agency, referring also to “the finder, discoverer,” and meaning “to find out.” The 347 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 16. 348 Taylor, 18. 349 Taylor, 19. 350 Taylor, 19. 116 repertoire requires presence: people participate in the production and reproduction of knowledge by “being there,” being a part of the transmission. As opposed to the supposedly stable objects in the archive, the actions that are the repertoire do not remain the same. The repertoire both keeps and transforms choreographies of meaning.351 Here Taylor takes direct issue with that definitional constant in Western archival theory, the concept of fixity as an aspect of persistence (see Chapter 3 for an extended discussion on this phenomenon). Archival preoccupations with fixity can be viewed as a safeguard against loss, which Taylor views as an ultimately doomed proposition, since things can “disappear” from the archive as well;352 conversely, knowledge that is performed is ephemeral but can persist through processes of replication and repetition. Further, as several authors have identified,353 the archival project can be characterized as “a history of loss.”354 I see my analysis of Cordillera Day functioning as a living, cultural archive contributing to Taylor’s overall goal of supporting the study of performance as phenomena that “participate in acts of transfer, transmitting memories and social identity.” Taylor’s use of ‘scenario’ as a way of activating the combined possibility of the archive and the repertoire make clear how performance can support political claims and aid in the transmission of traumatic memory (See Section 3.5 for an analysis of the bodong peace pact system using the framework of scenario).355 Taylor and Bastian’s scholarship, alongside the voices of research participants, will be used to set the stage for my analysis of Cordillera Day as a living cultural archive comprised of a repertoire of embodied knowledge, which is discussed in the following section after a brief overview of the CPA and its campaigns. 351 Taylor, 20. 352 Millar, “The Death of the Fonds and the Resurrection of Provenance: Archival Context in Space and Time,” 6. 353 Harris, “The Archival Sliver: Power, Memory, and Archives in South Africa”; Schwartz and Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory”; Stoler, “Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance”; Carter, “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power , Archival Silences, and Power in Silence”; Bastian, “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens.” 354 Antoinette Burton, “Thinking beyond the Boundaries: Empire, Feminism and the Domains of History,” Social History 26, no. 1 (January 1, 2001): 60–71, https://doi.org/10.1080/03071020010004417. 355 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 51. 117 Background: The Cordillera Peoples Alliance (CPA) and Cordillera Day The Cordillera Peoples Alliance is an “independent federation of progressive peoples organizations [sic], most of them grassroots-based organizations among indigenous communities in the Cordillera Region, Philippines,” which operates for “the promotion and defense of indigenous peoples’ rights, human rights, social justice, and national freedom and democracy.”356 What began in June 1984 in Bontoc, Mountain Province with the Cordillera People’s Congress, which formed the CPA as a network of 27 organizations, has since grown into a federation of 297 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and people’s organizations (POs) throughout the region. They are now the “largest legal mass base of Cordillerans.”357 As part of their overarching call for the defense of ancestral domain and for self-determination, over the years the CPA has launched a number of “sustained information drives, advocacy activities, campaigns and direct actions and local struggles on indigenous peoples’ rights and related issues.”358 Its program can be distilled into eight platforms: 1. Organizing and strengthening indigenous communities and sectors in the Cordillera region for the broadest unity, cooperation, action and peoples’ empowerment; 2. Public information campaign; 3. Education and training; 4. Research; 5. Cultural renewal and promotion of progressive culture; 6. Promoting tribal peace and unity; 7. Networking, solidarity and advocacy; 8. International solidarity; 9. Socio-economic services.359 356 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “About,” 2004, accessed January 28, 2019. 357 David Hyndman, “Organic Act Rejected in the Cordillera: Dialectics of a Continuing Fourth World Autonomy Movement in the Philippines,” Dialectical Anthropology 16, no. 2 (1991): 175. 358 Cordillera Peoples Alliance, “About,” 2004, accessed January 28, 2019. 359 Cordillera Peoples Alliance. 118 One of the most inspiring aspects of CPA’s leadership through its various member organizations is the tangible difference it makes in the everyday lives and material conditions of Cordilleran people. The regional situation for the majority of Indigenous Cordillerans has been marked by development aggression related to resource extraction; state fascism, militarization and human rights violations; historic government neglect; and the commercialization and corruption of Indigenous culture by the state. The CPA concretizes their call for the defense of land, life, and resources by providing programs and services that respond to the needs of Cordillerans. These needs are too often ignored or denied by the government, such as healthcare initiatives that aim to train and empower people’s organizations within communities to run their own health programs and contributing to research and development that supports rural industrialization through culturally appropriate methods and technology. Amidst government attempts to discredit the CPA and other progressive NGOs and POs via the process of ‘redtagging’ (sowing fear by proclaiming grassroots organizations as ‘fronts’ for the Communist Party of the Philippines-New People’s Army [CPP-NPA]), the CPA maintains its broad base of mass support through these demonstrations of their active commitment towards bettering Cordilleran communities. A testament to the CPA’s growth over the past three decades, and the recognizable, material benefit that they provide in communities through their work, is evident in the statement by a former Baguio-based academic, who was close friends with Benedict Solang, a long-time Kankanaey activist, respected elder and member of the CPA Advisory Council, who died suddenly on January 26, 2018. Solang’s work with the CPA brought a large crowd to his wake, so big that “not even the old politicians of Baguio can match it.”360 During the wake, she was amazed at the way the crowd was roused and unified through songs and chants that everyone appeared to know, saying “that’s how they also get to be part of that big community who are understanding the message. You don’t have to call it politicizing, because it is the real analysis. So that’s, I believe in cultural revolution! It can happen that 360 QC22RRB, interview by author, 2018. 119 way! But you don’t have to call it revolution, it’s usually part of the everyday life of getting to know what is happening.”361 The origin of the CPA is inextricably tied up in the creation of Cordillera Day, since the founding members of the CPA were mainly those Indigenous activists who had led the opposition to the Cellophil Resources Corporation logging project and the Chico Dam Struggle. Cordillera Day began as a commemoration for slain Kalinga chief Macli-ing Dulag, one of the most influential voices against the Chico Dam project. Macli-ing (as he was more commonly known) was assassinated by government forces on April 24, 1980. From 1980 to 1984, progressive Cordillerans recognized April 24th with Macli-ing Memorial events to commemorate the anniversary of his death. In 1985 the CPA took over the lead in organizing the Macli-ing Memorial, which was renamed Cordillera Day to symbolize the “broadening of the Cordillera mass movement encompassing all the provinces of the Cordillera,”362 and which has since evolved into the largest “annual political and solidarity event of the militant people’s movement in the Cordillera.”363 The CPA has organized Cordi Day every year since then. Current iterations of Cordi Day are celebrated as occasions to “commemorate and draw inspiration from the heroism of Macliing and other Cordillera martyrs,” as well as to foster bonds of national and international solidarity. Each year has its own theme/focus, “in consideration to burning regional issues, and major national and international developments as well as the urgent issues of [the] host community.”364 As mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, the CPA, through Cordi Day, has also contributed significantly to the formation of the collective regional identity of Kaigorotan. Recognizing that the various tribes of the Cordillera all faced common regional issues, despite their unique ili/tribal/ethnolinguistic affiliations, the CPA spearheaded a campaign for the right for self-determination in the form of regional autonomy, in the process raising 361 QC22RRB, interview by author, 2018. 362 “A Background on the Celebration of Cordillera Day.” 363 “A Background on the Celebration of Cordillera Day,” 1. 364 “A Background on the Celebration of Cordillera Day,” 2. 120 the consciousness of individual Cordillerans from that of their immediate tribal context to an extended Kaigorotan worldview. This campaign eventually succeeded in receiving government recognition of the unique character of the region in 1987, with the establishment of the newly-named Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR). However, provisions for self-determination are still limited in the current national political situation, which is why the CPA continues to fight for genuine regional autonomy. A succinct explanation of the “three levels of identity and exercise of self-determination” that are recognized and affirmed by the CPA in its assertion for Indigenous rights within the movement for national democracy are explained below: 1. First, as Cordillera peoples from diverse ili/tribes/ethnolinguistic groups who are the national minority or Indigenous people, 2. Then as Cordillera people of both the Cordillera national minority or Indigenous people together with non-Indigenous peoples, 3. And third, as a national Filipino identity because Cordillera people, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous, are Filipinos.365 The political identification of progressive Kaigorotan with the national democratic movement is unique to the Filipino context. In settler-colonial countries like Canada, for example, nationalist narratives are in violent opposition to the recognition of Indigenous sovereignty and cannot envelope ideas of Indigenous self-determination easily, if at all (though this is currently being attempted through mobilizations of the concept of ‘reconciliation’, to varying levels of ‘success’). This relationship of political unity between the Kaigorotan and national democratic struggles is based on the historic trajectory of colonization in the Philippines and the contemporary character of the nation as a continuing neocolonial entity: American colonization “effectively integrated [the Cordillera] into the mainstream Philippine society, and [the region] is thus affected by the operations of the same pyramid structured Philippine society,” which is recognized as being perpetrated by the 365 Solang, “Genuine Regional Autonomy and the Common Good: Elders Uphold Identity and Self Determination,” 33. 121 “ruling elite,” not by the majority of Filipinos. 366 Therefore, the movement for the rights of IPs (Indigenous Peoples) and NMs (National Minorities, sometimes used interchangeably with IPs, but also including the minority Muslim populations of Mindanao) is seen as inextricably linked with the liberation of the majority of impoverished and oppressed Filipinos. How Cordillera Day, as one of its functions as a cultural archive, upholds Igorot identity and its unity with the national democratic movement will be addressed in more detail in the following section. The 34th Annual Cordillera Day: April 22-24, 2018 The title for the 2018 celebration of the 34th annual Cordillera Peoples Day was dubbed “Cordillera Peoples’ Caravan Against Tyranny,” focused around the theme “Unite to resist Tyranny! Assert our right to self determination!” Held as a centralized celebration in Baguio City (as opposed to decentralized celebrations held in each province), the event attracted 1,500 participants, including delegates from each province, as well as representatives from other parts of the Philippines (Ilocos Region, Cagayan Region, Central Luzon, Southern Tagalog, National Capital Region, provinces in Visayas and Mindanao) and from other countries (USA, Canada, Australia, Timor Leste, Belgium, Japan, the Netherlands). As a jumping off point from which to begin my exploration of Cordillera Day as a living cultural archive, I will provide a set of two statements about Cordillera Day to provide more context on the event. At the second feedback session that I had with CPA Kalinga after Cordillera Day, I presented my initial assessments of the event, focusing on what Cordillera Day does (its functions, its intended purposes) and how it does those things (the mechanisms by which those functions and purposes are achieved). By thinking about Cordillera Day this way, I began to see how it served the purpose of a living cultural archive in the minds of its participants. My assessment was augmented by incorporating the feedback of CPA Kalinga members and research participants, resulting in the co-creation of the Cordillera Day statements found below: 366 Solang, Dap-Ay Discourse Uno: Activist Perspective of Cordillera History and Social Change, 63. 122 Question 1: What does Cordillera Day do? Cordillera Day: • Commemorates the death of Macliing Dulag and pays tribute to other Cordillera heroes and martyrs; • Affirms the particular principles and struggles of the Cordilleran people for the defense of their ancestral domain (land, life, and resources) and self-determination; • Builds unity and solidarity among the different Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera, among Indigenous peoples in the Philippines and abroad, and among all progressive Filipinos; • Connects local and regional issues with national and international situations; • Advances the struggle for social justice, genuine development and peace, freedom and democracy. Question 2: How does Cordillera Day do these things? Cordillera Day achieves these goals by: • Holding workshops and educational discussions on major issues affecting both Indigenous peoples and other Filipinos; • Presenting speeches about the regional and national situation and challenges and experiences and lessons from struggles in defense of Indigenous peoples’ rights and human rights; • Announcing solidarity messages from different sectors and organizations, in the Philippines and abroad; • Synthesizing lessons into resolutions and plans for action; • Direct mass action; • Cultural presentations.367 Starting from this basic premise (What does Cordillera Day do? How does it do those things?), we can already see how Cordillera Day fulfills the functions of archives enumerated by various archival scholars, for example, by reinforcing Cook’s archival paradigms of 367 Lara Maestro, “Thesis Assessment” (April 29, 2018). 123 memory, identity, community, and perhaps even evidence. These concepts will be taken up further in the following section analyzing the different ‘acts’ that take place as part of Cordillera Day and how they uphold Cordillera Day’s status as a living cultural archive. 4.4.1 Cordillera Day and its Acts/Activities More than just a gathering, Cordillera Day is a political statement on present realities by the militant Cordillera peoples' movement. It carries with it the historical advances of the mass movement for self determination and national democracy. It is the affirmation of principles and struggles for defense of the ancestral domain and for self determination and pursues what the Cordillera martyrs and heroes have fought for. The solidarity and camaraderie forged during celebrations serve to enhance the particularity of the Cordillera peoples struggle and to inspire others. At the same time, it strengthens the unity of the Cordillera peoples with other indigenous peoples and sectors across the region, and at the national and international levels. The struggle for the peoples' aspirations for social justice, genuine development and peace, freedom and democracy are still far from over. Macliing Dulag and all our other martyrs did not die in vain. Cordillera Day and our continuing campaigns and struggles shall be raised to a higher ground until our aspirations become a reality.368 Cordillera Day as an event is made up of several different elements, which are remixed and repeated as needed to create a coherent experience. The program for the 34th annual Cordillera Day in 2018, showing these various elements, is reproduced in Table 4.1. 368 “A Background on the Celebration of Cordillera Day.” 124 Table 4.1: Table showing schedule of events at the 34th Cordillera Day, April 22, 24, 2018. Original source: CPA paper program, table by author. 34th Cordillera Day Programme, April 22-24, 2018 April 22, 2018 April 23, 2018 April 24, 2018 7:00am Registration 5:00am-7:00am Breakfast & Cleaning of Surroundings 5:00am-6:30am Breakfast 10:00am Community Dance (Pattong) Opening Ritual (Ibagiw & Metro Baguio Tribal Elders and Leaders Assembly) 7:00am One Billion Rising Against Tyranny 6:30am- 8:00am Travel from venue to City centre 8:00am- 12:00pm Pattong Briefing for Simultaneous Activities 1. Protest action at the City centre 2. Workshops: • Charter Change, Federalism and Genuine Regional Autonomy • Small Scale Mining • Development Aggression and Tyranny • Impact of TRAIN Law on Peasants • Indigenous Peoples Education (IPED) • Community Mapping • On Indigenous Peoples and IP Rights • Jeepney Operators and Drivers • Cordillera Youth Summit • Legal Clinic on Human Rights Violations • International Forum and Solidarity Exchange • Cultural Workshop • Storytelling with children 8:00am-8:30am Assembly 11:00am Ecumenical Service Pattong 8:30am- 12:00pm March Against Tyranny 12:00pm Lunch 12:00pm Travel back to venue 1:00pm Pattong Flag Dance and Acknowledgement of Delegates 1:00pm Lunch 2:30pm- 6:00pm Launching of Cordillera Movement Against Tyranny (CMAT) Orientation of Movement Against Tyranny (MAT) (Teodoro Casiño, BAYAN National Council Member, MAT Secretariat) Tyranny in the Cordillera (Windel Bolinget, CPA Chairperson) Cultural Presentation: Chumno Presentation of the CMAT and Formation of CMAT Convenors Solidarity Messages Presentation, Affirmation and Signing of Cordillera Declaration of Unity Against Tyranny Cultural Presentation 1:30pm Welcome Remarks (Representatives from the Barangay, Pacday Quinio Elementary School, Ibagiw, Indigenous Peoples Mandatory Representative, Tontongan Ti Umili) 2:00pm Opening Remarks and Cordillera Day 2018 Rationale (Windel Bolinget, CPA Chairperson) Pattong 2:30pm Keynote Address (Judy Taguiwalo, Alliance of Concerned Teachers National Vice Chair, University of the Philippines Diliman Professorial Lecturer) Solidarity Messages 125 34th Cordillera Day Programme, April 22-24, 2018, cont. April 22, 2018 April 23, 2018 April 24, 2018 3:00pm Concert: Samiweng iti Maysa a Tignay Dap-ayan ti Kultura iti Kordilyera (DKK) and Friends 12:00pm Lunch 6:00pm Tribute to Cordillera Heroes and Martyrs Closing Remarks 1:00pm Pattong National Situation and Challenges (Rafael Mariano, Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas Chairman Emeritus, Coalition for Land, Against Martial Law and Oppression [CLAMOR] Co-Convenor) Cultural Presentation: Taiwan Delegates 7:00pm Dinner 6:00pm Dinner 8:00pm- 11:00pm Solidarity Evening 7:00pm- 10:00pm Solidarity Evening and Film Showing 2:15pm Cordillera Situation and Challenges (Santos Mero, CPA Vice Chairperson for Internal Affairs) Cultural presentation: Apayao delegates 3:15pm Presentation of Workshop Results and Synthesis Pattong 4:15pm Lessons of the Cordillera Mass Movement and Present Challenges (Joanna K. Cariño, CPA Advisory Council Member, SANDUGO Co-Chair Cultural Presentation & Pattong: Anti-Open Pit Mining Kids Solidarity Messages 5:00pm Cultural Production: Oktubre by Sining Banwa 6:30pm Dinner 7:30pm- 10:00pm Solidarity Evening 126 The elements making up Cordillera Day can be organized into broad categories according to the Cordillera Day statements co-created by me, CPA Kalinga, and several research participants. These broad characterizations are: educational activities (workshops, discussions, speeches, report backs), cultural presentations (community dance [pattong], solidarity evenings, film showings, concerts, theatrical productions [Oktubre, a play by the theatre group Sining Banwa]), shows of solidarity and unity (solidarity messages, flag dance), direct mass action (the March Against Tyranny and subsequent rally, protest action), and a fourth category not mentioned during the feedback session, ritual/ceremonial acts (ritual sacrifice, ecumenical service). These elements do not have strict boundaries; some acts may straddle more than one category; for example, solidarity evenings are acts which convey solidarity through cultural performance. All of these elements are included at every Cordillera Day, though each year may differ according to emphasis. In 2018, for example, there was a deliberate emphasis on educational discussions, which is why the bulk of the second day of the program was dedicated to educational workshops. In contrast, Cordillera Day in 2017 incorporated many more cultural presentations, with each province contributing at least one performance during the event. This section will take a closer look at the different elements of Cordillera Day and, using archival theory as the primary reference points, show how they support Cordillera Day as a living cultural archive. 4.4.1.1 Educational Activities Cordillera Day is…a venue to unite as a region on pressing issues. It is a venue of learning and sharing among organizations and movements not only from among the Cordillera region but even as far as other peoples movements [sic] from other countries.369 The educational activities enacted as part of Cordillera Day take a variety of forms and serve a variety of purposes. ‘Educational’ is applied broadly and is used here to describe any activity that transmits information that is meant to broaden the consciousness of the audience. As an example of Flinn’s independent, politically motivated community archive, Cordillera Day is involved not only in “reclamation and celebration,” but also in “reflection and explanation,” which can become a “significant tool for discovery, education, and 369 BC23AS, email interview by author, 2018. 127 empowerment.”370 The educational activities that are part of Cordillera Day serve as awareness-raising and outreach tools for those participants whose political consciousness is just being awakened, or who are interested in learning more about the issues facing their communities. Education is one of the primary motivations that brings people to attend the event, as can be seen in this comment from a Kalinga participant at Cordillera Day in 2017: What I expect from Cordillera Day 2017 is to be able to learn more about the present conditions of our community, especially regarding our struggle against the destructive projects proposed by the government, in connection with the updates on the national situation and the Peace Talks which is being conducted at the present [English subtitles translated from Ilocano].371 The educational activities also act as a means of commemorating Cordillera heroes and martyrs, especially Macli-ing Dulag and others in the anti-Chico Dam struggle, and connecting past struggles with contemporary issues facing Cordillera communities. Through such acts of memorialization, Cordillera Day contributes to making and maintaining memory around the activist events that serve as the origin of the CPA and which spur the continuation of the legacy of Indigenous resistance in the Cordillera. Importantly, as an annual event Cordillera Day produces and reproduces these memories in order to increase their salience, since memory requires repetition to maintain itself, especially if under threat. The narrative around social justice and progressive politics in the Philippines is contentious, and human rights defenders and their campaigns are often publicly maligned. Countering these narratives is another job of memory work, since ownership of the historical narrative is contingent on the claims that memory either supports or rejects. As Matt K. Matsuda writes, No history can be pure event, pure evolution; each is rather a repetition, a return to a story which must be retold, distinguished from its previous tellings. The past is not a truth upon which to build, but a truth sought, a re-memorializing over which to struggle. The fragmentary, disputatious, self-reflexive nature of such a past makes a series of “memories” – ever imperfect, 370 Flinn, “Archival Activism,” 9. 371 “Peace Talks” is in reference to the negotiations between the Government of the Republic of the Philippines (GRP) and the National Democratic Front of the Philippines (NDFP) on behalf of the CPP-NPA Cordillera Day 2017 Part 2, sec. 2:04. 128 imprecise, and charged with personal questions – the appropriate means for rendering the “history” of the present.372 Cordillera Day is an interesting example of memory negotiation, in light of government attempts to sanitize Macli-ing Dulag’s image by profiting from his status as a folk hero while distancing themselves from their responsibility for his death. A similar process is occurring in Canada around the memorialization of Métis politician Louis Riel who was executed for leading two rebellions against the Canadian government. As CPA Chairperson Windel Bolinget declared at the unveiling of the monument dedicated to the heroes of the anti-Chico Dam struggle in 2017, Why is this government so shameless that they would celebrate Macliing and Pedro Dungoc Memorials tomorrow and on the 25th when they were the ones who killed Macliing Dulag? The government and its armed forces killed, they caused the deaths of Pedro Dungoc Sr., Ama (father) Lumbaya and our martyrs. They did not die for their selfish interests. They died for us, the people. Therefore, it is our responsibility as a people to carry on the struggle that they started. It is our responsibility and honor if our heroes’, our forefathers’ struggle continues. This is the lesson. Again, as Macliing Dulag had taught us, “What is the most precious thing to man? Life. If life is threatened, what ought a man do? Resist! This he must do, otherwise he is dishonored and that is worse than death” [English subtitles translated from Ilocano].373 As one of my participants, a long-time cultural worker and activist, explained, one of the reasons why the continued celebration of Cordillera Day remains important is to counter these conflicting claims to progressive Cordilleran history.374 By constructing historical events as the shared legacy of militant Cordilleran activists, Cordillera Day asserts the CPA’s claims as the rightful political heirs to the Cordillera’s progressive past, in opposition to claims by the state and other actors. This claim supports, and is supported by, the mobilization of a collective Igorot identity around similar struggles, 372 Matt K. Matsuda, The Memory of the Modern (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 15. 373 Cordillera Day 2017 Part 1, YouTube video (Bugnay, Tinglayan, Kalinga, 2017), sec. 11:45, accessed April 13, 2019.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRp3_-4cfIc&t=40s. 374 BC23AS, email interview by author, 2018. 129 while at the same time leaving space for the unique identities of different tribal communities engaged in those struggles. Cordillera Day can thus be viewed as a site for the negotiation of identity as well as memory. Memory and identity are thus connected in the political project of Cordillera Day. As Matsuda states, “if history is the story, then memory is the part of the past which, in its intimate connections to things and people, seems to lend dignity to the identity of a group.”375 4.4.1.2 Cultural Presentations Cultural forms have always been integrated into our activities and protest actions. Traditional forms of song and dance such as the salidummay, uggayam and ullalim are infused with new revolutionary content and popularized. Other cultural forms depicting the people’s problems and resistance are also creatively developed by progressive cultural workers such as the Dap-ayan ti Kultura iti Kordilyera (DKK) [emphases in original].376 Another way that memory is transmitted through Cordillera Day is via the performance of cultural presentations, which like educational activities have varied styles and purposes, but all have in common their character as embodied/enacted knowledge. Within a living archive, memory is not a “passive or reactive faculty of storage and retrieval,” it is something that acts.377 As with the bodong celebrations, these cultural presentations form an intrinsic part of the delivery of Cordillera Day and are experienced as a cohesive whole. However, I will be isolating specific instances of cultural presentations to discuss them separately in more detail, with the caveat that, in reality, they work in tandem with each other and with the other elements that make up Cordillera Day. They must be taken together to understand the full context of Cordillera Day as a living archive made up of a community of records, but some types of cultural presentations have affordances that others do not, which make their use unique. In addition, many of these cultural presentations serve a symbolic and a social function. 375 Matsuda, The Memory of the Modern, 15. 376 Cariño, “Resist the Fascist US-Duterte Regime, Courageously Advance the Struggle for Ancestral Land, Self-Determination and National Democracy!,” 4. 377 Matsuda, The Memory of the Modern, 8. 130 As can be seen in Table 4.1, the schedule of events for the 34th Cordillera Day was designed so that educational moments and cultural moments are spread out evenly throughout the program. A recurring presentation is that of the pattong, a community dance involving the playing of gangsa and dancing. Since all the tribes of the Cordillera are represented at Cordi Day, either the emcee would call out one provincial delegation to lead the pattong in the tradition of their province, or everyone would mix and perform the pattong according to the style they were familiar with. The pattong serves as a point of unity, a way to physically affirm the act preceding it through participation. As Taylor notes, the performance of the repertoire “requires presence: people participate in the production and reproduction of knowledge by “being there,” being a part of the transmission.”378 Pattong are scheduled to punctuate important parts of the schedule, such as beginnings and endings of each day or half-day, or points of synthesis and resolution, like the workshop results report-back on Day Two, and the launching of the Cordillera Movement Against Tyranny on Day Three. Another symbolic function of the pattong is its visible articulation of the various Indigenous tribal cultures and communities present at Cordillera Day, which again has implications for feelings of unity. In addition to the symbolic functions of the pattong as a means to enact agreement and assert Indigeneity, it also serves several social functions. Not only does getting people up and moving keeps them engaged and energized, but the sound and movement used in the pattong carry far past its immediate setting,379 so that the organizers are easily able to call people back that may have wandered away, or signal the need to return to the event and pay attention. The use of songs at the 2018 Cordillera Day took primarily two forms: the recitation of extemporaneous singing in the style of an ullalim or uggayam, or the performance of composed singing, usually accompanied by live or recorded music. The recitation of the uggayam and the ullalim function more like speeches than like songs, even though participants refer to them as songs and they carry within them their own melody that differs from the sound of everyday speech; they occur as part of the regular program of speech- 378 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 20. 379 Stallsmith, “The Music of a Kalinga Peace-Pact Celebration: Making Place Through the Soundscape,” 109. 131 making, instead of being seen to supplement it. As one participant informed me, if one is tasked to make an oral statement, it is the individual’s choice what format that oral statement will take: “Maybe they can do that ullalim and uggayam, so that is, if you want it in uggayam, you can do that, and then if you want it in a direct oral statement, you can do that. It’s just, it’s a part. Either uggaayam or oral statement.”380 Functionally, it appears that speeches and these types of recitations achieve the same purpose of edification or education. However, uggayam and ullalim are considered more meaningful or “powerful” modes of communication because to use them is to use Cordilleran culture. As one cultural worker explained, Cultural forms in the Cordillera especially the traditional chants and melodies have been very powerful as tools of protests ever since the anti-chico river dam [sic] struggle started. Leaders, elders, women and youth used the chants to present their positions during the said struggle. Uggayam, ullalim and other chants were given a new meaning. Leaders instead of speaking in meetings and community gatherings used these chants to unite the village people in one position and to challenge the National Power Corporation and the state security forces to stay out of the land. Community chants were then sang in unison by villagers to affirm what their leaders say.381 Composed singing is another important part of Cordillera Day, but it takes place in a different scenario during the schedule of events, namely, as a recognized performance for entertainment, rather than primarily educational, purposes. This does not mean that these songs do not transmit lessons, or that they are purely for entertainment, rather it is their accessible character that affords them the ability to rouse, inspire, and agitate their listeners. This accessibility has made song forms like the salidummay extremely popular and useful in the militant mass movement: “Even in contemporary struggles against corporate mining and energy, various traditional melodies of salidummay were given a progressive and militant meaning by the women and the leaders themselves.”382 380 TC18RN, interview by author, 2018. 381 BC23AS, email interview by author, 2018. 382 BC23AS, email interview by author, 2018. 132 Salidummay in particular are embedded into the social consciousness of Cordillerans. The familiar lyrical and melodic phrases are easy to repurpose to suit a variety of contexts and contents, which is one reason they are such a popular vehicle for protest songs. So popular that the name of the musical group formed by DKK, the CPA’s cultural unit, is also Salidummay.383 Here, Michiyo Yoneno-Reyes succinctly explains some of the affordances of the salidummay format that help explain its popularity: Features of elements like spontaneity, formulaic vernacular lyrics and compositional anonymity, that have made Baguio-based activist leaders construe the singing of salidummay as “well locally grounded” and, thus, “traditional.” At the same time, the simplified Western features in pitch and rhythm—which facilitate group mass singing and that is necessary for singing in social movements—must have been regarded practical. Moreover, the presence of several common tunes known in a wide area of Northern Philippine communities could have made salidummay a convenient ideological tool for claiming ethnic identity which advocators of pan-Cordillera identity project.384 As Reyes makes clear, the salidummay has been mobilized as a tool for identity-creation and activism, which makes it integral to the project of Cordillera Day as a living archive for the purposes of memorializing and arousing struggle. In addition to community dances and songs, Cordillera Day also includes presentations of dramatic and theatrical performance that can be understood within the broad tradition of agitprop, “proletarian/protest/propaganda/street/activist plays” which utilizes artistic methods in order to educate and elevate the political consciousness of the audience.385 Most Cordillera Days include community-based performances of this type, though in 2018 the CPA also welcomed a volunteer theatre troupe to stage a more formal musical production. Community-based theatrical performances at Cordillera Day are often based on the issues 383 For an analysis of the songs of Salidummay and how they promote the Indigenous and national democratic struggle through their songs, see Jose Kervin Cesar Belmonte Calabias, “A Marxist Ecocritical Analysis of the Songs of the Salidummay Cultural Group from Their Albums SAlidummay, Elalay, Dongdong-Ay, Diway, Ay-Ay Salidummay and Chuwassi” (Bachelor Thesis, University of the Philippines Baguio, 2013). 384 Yoneno-Reyes, “Salidummay’s Hybridity and Congregational Singing,” 27. 385 Doreen G. Fernández, Palabas: Essays on Philippine Theater History (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1996), 139. 133 facing the Cordillera region or specific issues facing a province. Sometimes they are around general themes or around historical events, such as a retelling of Macli-ing Dulag’s life. In keeping with the educational approach of Cordillera Day in 2018, there were fewer theatrical performances during the program, but since the 2017 event was recorded, we have evidence of the theatrical performances that took place during that year. A sampling of such performances in 2017 included “We are Kaigorotan,” which depicted Igorot resistance to American imperialism (symbolized by a young man wearing a Stars and Stripes top hat and a black cloak), “Dams and Energy” from the Ifugao delegation, “Mining Plunder of Ancestral Lands” from Benguet, “Militarization and Peace Zone” from Mountain Province, “Just Peace and Continuation of the Peace Talks” from Baguio, “Lessons from the Resistance against the Cellophil Resources Corporation” from Abra, “Call for Intensifying the Struggle for Self-Determination,” and “Lessons from the Anti-Chico Dam Struggle and Militant Tradition in Defense of Land, Life and Resources” from Kalinga. Because most, if not all, of the cultural performances I have seen take place at Cordillera Day are displays of Igorot resistance, there is also within them the presence of violence and historical trauma from militarization, extrajudicial killings, forced disappearances, and other acts of state fascism and repression. The archive thus contains instances of traumatic memory that have been used by performers for the purposes of political awakening and social change. In Taylor’s study of how trauma studies and performance studies intersect in the context of the movement around the disappeared in Argentina, she found five points of intersection that revealed how performance can transmit traumatic memory: 1. Performance protest helps survivors cope with individual and collective trauma by using it to animate political denunciation. 2. Trauma, like performance, is characterized by the nature of its ‘‘repeats.’’ 3. Both make themselves felt affectively and viscerally in the present. 4. They’re always in situ. Each intervenes in the individual/political/ social body at a particular moment and reflects specific tensions. 5. Traumatic memory often relies on live, interactive performance for transmission. Even studies that emphasize the link between trauma and 134 narrative make evident in the analysis itself that the transmission of traumatic memory from victim to witness involves the shared and participatory act of telling and listening associated with live performance. Bearing witness is a live process, a doing, an event that takes place in real time, in the presence of a listener who ‘‘comes to be a participant and a co-owner of the traumatic event.”386 Through such theatrical political displays, participants can channel feelings of trauma into action; by doing so they not only participate in the creation of politicized memories, but they also transmit the experience of those memories onto the audience, who become accountable to the performance by bearing witness to it. Performances of trauma therefore activate the affective potential of living archives to create social change: to bear witness to (and, in the case of cultural presentations where there is no ‘fourth wall’, to participate in) someone else’s pain means no longer being able to shut one’s eyes to it. Marika Cifor writes that Affect is a central component of social justice work and aims. Struggling against injustice in part is about how affects move us into a different relation to the social norms that we wish to contest or the injury we wish to heal. Affect offers the possibilities of new forms of attachment to others.387 Mobilizing affect is one way that archives, including – and maybe especially – living cultural archives, transform trauma into strength and solidarity through performance. In Taylor’s words, “by emphasizing the public, rather than private, repercussions of traumatic violence and loss, social actors turn personal pain into the engine for cultural change.”388 4.4.1.3 Shows of Solidarity and Unity Solidarity, with its associations with unity, cooperation, and community, is one of the important pillars of Cordillera Day, since solidarity is the means through which consciousness is raised beyond the confines of one’s own context. Solidarity at Cordillera Day facilitates the connection of tribal issues with provincial issues, provincial issues with regional issues, regional issues with national issues, and national issues with international 386 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 165–67. 387 Cifor, “Affecting Relations,” 8. 388 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 167–68. 135 issues. By facilitating that connection across groups and across different levels of individual identity, it allows participants to envision their role within the larger whole of the movement. It enables collective participation in the struggle, because it reveals how individual liberation is related to, and inseparable from, the liberation of others. It can express itself as unity arising between members of the same group, or it can manifest across groups based on shared responsibilities and interests; thus, it has a strong relationship with identity and how identity is expressed within and among communities of people. In my observations, solidarity is enacted at Cordillera Day primarily through the activation of empathy and the creation and maintenance of affective relationships. Caswell and Cifor speak about empathy as something that is inherently embodied, since it is through embodiment that we “are inextricably bound to each other through relationships, that we live in complex relations to each other infused with power differences and inequities, and that we care about each other’s well-being.”389 It is through empathy that affective relationships between the self and others, and between “bodies and discourses,” are made manifest, which is crucial for the realization of solidarity.390 Affect allows us to locate ourselves within systems, not only of inequality, but also of resistance and possibility. The lens of affect theory is therefore indispensable when working with issues that are central to archives committed to enacting social justice, such as “representation, identity, bodies, accountability, collective memory, and community empowerment;”391 these are also issues at the forefront of Cordillera Day. While there are multiple levels of identity where solidarity is possible at Cordillera Day (at the level of ili, ethnolinguistic group, regional identity, national identity, and across national borders), three of the most visible affective relationships of solidarity performed at the event are: the relationship between the various ethnolinguistic groups/provinces (the relationship among Kaigorotan), the relationship between Kaigorotan and non-Igorot Filipinos (solidarity 389 Caswell and Cifor, “From Human Rights to Feminist Ethics: Radical Empathy in the Archives,” 31. 390 Caswell and Cifor, 11. 391 Cifor, “Affecting Relations,” 10. 136 of the Cordilleran struggle with the struggle for national democratic liberation), and the relationship between Filipinos and non-Filipinos (international solidarity). One vocal way that these relationships are performed is using chants, which are repeated throughout the event. Chants are uniquely salient examples of the performance of affective relationships, since they are designed to “catch on:”392 their brevity, memorability, and repeatability prime them for preservation and survival, hence the fact that some chants have been passed down decade after decade. The chant “Long live international solidarity,” for example has been translated into multiple languages and is used by progressive peoples’ movements around the world. Another way that these relationships are made visible is through the flag dance, which invites the various groups and organizations in attendance to raise their flags and banners while the pattong is being played, as in Figure 4.1. 392 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 174. Figure 4.1: Photograph of Flag Dance at Cordillera Day, April 22, 2018. Original source: Image by author. 137 National and international solidarity at Cordillera Day is performed in two main ways: through the reading of solidarity messages and the exchange of cultural performances during solidarity nights. Solidarity nights, which involve the sharing of performances from both hosts (in this case, the Cordilleran people) and guests (non-Igorot Filipinos and international delegates), are a common feature of Filipino political events. They are the site of reciprocity and mutual exchange, whereby guests will express thanks to their hosts by gifting them with a performance of some kind. Solidarity nights are scenarios that reveal the significance attached to embodied/enacted knowledge, while at the same time revealing the affective relationships that are possible through the shared participation in embodied/enacted knowledge. While it is by no means required that attendees perform, the act of performing can be extremely meaningful to the host and can carry the same value as the gifting of a tangible object. This process of mutual exchange is also in play when visiting a tribal community, where they may also host a solidarity night or another event where guests are encouraged to share a performance. For example, when Michiyo Yoneno-Reyes visited a Banao, Kalinga village to take part in two palanos, or communal feasts, and conduct research on the Banao varieties of salidummay, she and her assistant also contributed songs as part of the program. One participant in Tanglag still remembers fondly visitors from years ago, because the visitors sang a song as a “remembrance” of their time in the community.393 In one of my interviews, I participated in this exchange both by singing a song and witnessing the sharing of songs by others.394 Like a tangible gift, the memory of the song persists long after the visitor has left. 4.4.1.4 Direct Mass Action Direct mass action is a vehicle through which many other cultural performances can be carried, and thus shares much of its archival potential with these other acts. Similar to Bastian’s observation of Carnival as a “highly structured and tightly organized” tradition 393 T21MCB, conversation with author, 2018. 394 T21ED-AB-MCB, interview by author, 2018. 138 “following a prescribed path,”395 mass actions in the Philippines are highly ordered and arranged political mobilizations bringing together various sectors under the umbrella of shared causes and issues. Within each mobilization is an internal logic: marchers are purposefully organized so that all members of a group or sector march together in a pre-defined order. The ordering of a march is a display of solidarity and unity. Unity within sectors is emphasized through sector-specific chants, banners, placards, clothing, and other visible symbols of community belonging, so that faith-based groups may be differentiated from health care groups, who are in turn differentiated from Indigenous organizations. Solidarity is made visible not only through the optics of different sectors and groups coming together to share a common goal, but also through the intersections of identity that marchers slip into and out of during the duration of the march, since, of course, many individuals have affiliations that span different communities of belonging. A common organizing convention places international delegates at the forefront of a march, not only as a visible signal that the issue at hand is known and supported by members of the international community, but as a practical deterrent to violence; since the armed forces of the state have no compunction towards using violence to quell local protest, and do so with impunity, the rationale is that they may hesitate if faced with the possibility of creating an international incident by harming a foreign national. Notably, our experience as marchers in 2018 differed from our previous experiences taking part in protest in the Philippines. Recent high-profile deportations and blacklisting of international human rights activists led organizers to protect the international delegation by pulling us out of the line-up, in an attempt to minimize any harassment we might face when trying to leave or re-enter the country. As a visible means of combatting national meta-narratives that minimize, misinterpret, or malign Indigenous peoples, the March-rally Against Tyranny served the educational purpose of asserting and inserting minority narratives into the public consciousness in a way that 395 Bastian, “‘Play Mas,’” 120. 139 cannot be ignored, since its intention was to disrupt the status quo.396 A march-rally is a means of reclaiming place and taking up space, both literally and symbolically, something which is achieved jointly by amassing bodies in a physical location, but also through making claims on the senses of sight and sound. As Taylor notes, performance protest intrudes, unexpected and unwelcome, on the social body. Its efficacy depends on its ability to provoke recognition and reaction in the here and now rather than rely on past recollection. It insists on physical presence: one can participate only by being there [emphasis in original].397 The visibility of thousands of bodies moving as one proclaims presence in defiance of erasure, not just the erasure of symbolic bodies that comes with lack of representation or marginalization, but also the erasure of physical bodies through disappearance or death. At the same time, chants, speeches, songs, and other forms of oral cultural performance are mobilized to take up space in the soundscape, projecting the presence of the marchers beyond physicality. Both physical and audible representations of selfhood and sovereignty have the effect of saying ‘we are here, and we are not going anywhere.’ Political protest in the Philippines can also be highly theatrical. Similar to Taylor’s study of the escraches or acts of public shaming used by Argentina’s children of the disappeared, marches also “constitute a form of guerilla performance”398 intended to confront onlookers who must contend with their own participation in the events, however unwanted: what is their stance on the issue? Do they agree or disagree? Are they complicit? What is their civic/moral/ethical responsibility? These questions of accountability through witnessing and participation play out in the streets through which a living archive moves in the same way that they occur within the boundaries of traditional archives, but their context makes them feel more immediate and emotionally salient. In a typical performance, “behaviors and actions can be separated from the social actors performing them. These actions can be learned, enacted, and passed on to others;” in the social context of protest, where resistance is 396 Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory,” 18. 397 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 188. 398 Taylor, 164. 140 always an allusion to trauma, and where bystanders become unwitting participants, the transmission “more closely resembles ‘contagion’: one ‘catches’ and embodies the burden, pain, and responsibility of past behaviors/events.” 399 4.4.1.5 Ritual/Ceremony The inaugural moment of colonialism in the Americas introduces two discursive moves that work to devalue native performance, even while the colonizers were deeply engaged in their own performative project of creating a “new” Spain from an (idealized) image of the “old”: (1) the dismissal of indigenous performance traditions as episteme, and (2) the dismissal of “content” (religious belief) as bad objects, idolatry. These discourses simultaneously contradict and sustain each other. The first posits that performances, as ephemeral, nonwritten phenomena, cannot serve to create or transmit knowledge. Thus, all traces of peoples without writing have disappeared. Only divine revelation, according to Durán, can help observers like himself recount the past by fitting it into preexisting accounts (such as the biblical). The second discourse admits that performance does indeed transmit knowledge, but insofar as that knowledge is idolatrous and opaque, performance itself needs to be controlled or eliminated. I would argue that remnants of both of these discourses continue to filter our understanding of contemporary performance practices in the Americas...400 The performance of ritual and ceremony at Cordillera Day represents an interesting case study in the negotiation and accommodation of Indigenous and non-Indigenous epistemologies. Taylor’s study of colonization and performance in the Americas has implications for the Philippines because it was also colonized and Christianized by Spain. Even though the Indigenous peoples of the Cordillera resisted Spanish incursion, American colonization resulted in the incorporation of Western religious epistemology into the daily life of many contemporary Cordillerans. At the same time, Indigenous spiritual practices remain strong and continue to be practiced widely. Cordillera Day opened with a performance of two opening rituals, that of the Ibaloi, represented by elders from the organization Ibagiw and the Metro Baguio Tribal Elders and Leaders Assembly (MBTELA) and an ecumenical service held jointly by 30 priests, pastors, seminarians, and church 399 Taylor, 167–68. 400 Taylor, 33–34. 141 workers. While outsiders may experience a disconnect from the seemingly mutually exclusive belief systems of both practices, this is an accurate representation of spiritual belief structures as experienced by many contemporary Cordillerans. The incursion of Christianity into tribal communities did not always signal the destruction of existing practices; sometimes existing practices integrated or otherwise accommodated foreign belief systems within pre-existing ontologies and mythologies. These integrative moves can be viewed as acts of resistance to assimilation, a way to continue tradition under the watchful eye of the colonizer. Taylor describes a similar phenomenon that took place in the Spanish colonies of the Americas: Indigenous performances, paradoxically, seem to be transferred and reproduced within the very symbolic system designed to eliminate them: Roman Catholicism. Religion proved a vital conduit of social (as well as religious) behavior. The transfers occurred not just in the uneasy tensions between religious systems but within the religious systems themselves. It was not long before the very friars who had boasted of early spiritual victory over the conquered suspected that these new converts were in fact worshipping their old gods in a new guise.401 Some participants also talked about evidence of this type of accommodation in their own communities. One participant spoke of a spiritual leader who maintains an active group of followers around traditional spiritual beliefs: every Sunday, the woman holds services for her followers, and when her service ends, they leave to go attend the Christian church of their choosing.402 The presence of both an ecumenical service and an opening ritual speak to the value that Cordillerans have found in both spheres of belief. It is also a means to display the solidarity and support of various faith-based organizations for the struggles of Indigenous peoples in the Cordillera. The living archive of Cordillera Day is therefore flexible and adaptable to the coexisting, and potentially competing, narratives that are housed within it. 401 Taylor, 44. 402 TC18RNM, interview by author, 2018. 142 Conclusion: The Archive is Alive In the beginning of this chapter, I opened by asking the question, ‘What is an archive?’ In the manner of the postmodern archival theorists whose works have informed my exploration of Cordillera Day, I would like to conclude the chapter by proposing that a more useful question to ask is ‘What does an archive do?’ Through this chapter, I hope to contribute to the research and theorizing of other scholars who have worked to open up archival theory to the realm of embodied/enacted knowledge. Taking my cue from their work, I have found connections, intersections, and meeting points between established conceptualizations of the archive and people’s experiences of Cordillera Day, to show how Cordillera Day functions as an archive to the communities who participate in it. By mapping Cordillera Day’s purposes, and the means through which it achieves those purposes, against established archival theory, I have set the foundation for the consideration of an annual political and cultural event as a living cultural archive, a community of records that both generates collective memory and is made by collective memory. As a living archive of struggle, Cordillera Day commemorates and memorializes legacies of Indigenous Cordilleran resistance while simultaneously creating, maintaining and preserving the continuation of that resistance. This iterative archival process is evidenced by this testimony from a long-time cultural worker and activist: For me, Cordillera Day has been a benchmark for my activism. It was an occasion that lead me to commit my passion for benefit of my people and for the national democratic aspiration. Like me, there are also many young Igorot and non-Igorot that are and can be inspired by the Cordillera Day to serve the people.403 Statements like these, which speak to the transformative power of Cordillera Day, align it with our highest expectations for what an archive should achieve: it serves as a conduit for the creation and maintenance of memory, identity, and community;404 it actively engages in 403 BC23AS, email interview by author, 2018. 404 Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community”; Bastian, “Documenting Communities Through the Lens of Collective Memory.” 143 the collection of evidence to expand the historical record;405 it fulfills affective relationships;406 it converts trauma to political action and social justice;407 it educates and raises awareness;408 it participates in outreach and public service;409 and it is used. Traditional archives could only hope to have such a high rate of community engagement. As Flinn attests, it is those community archives that are the most thoughtful, the most rigorous and critically reflexive, both local and class-based and those more obviously tied to an agenda of political transformation and anti-discrimination [that] are capable of profoundly influencing and changing the lives of whose who are involved with them.410 As Cordillera Day prepares to enter its 35th year, it is poised to continue its legacy as not only the largest and most well-attended political event in the Cordillera region, but as a living archive of struggle which continues to uphold the fighting spirit of Macli-ing Dulag. 405 Ham, “The Archival Edge”; Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community.” 406 Caswell and Cifor, “From Human Rights to Feminist Ethics: Radical Empathy in the Archives”; Cifor, “Affecting Relations.” 407 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire. 408 Flinn, “Archival Activism.” 409 Patricia J Rettig, “An Integrative Approach to Archival Outreach: A Case Study of Becoming Part of the Constituents’ Community.,” Journal of Archival Organization 2748, no. April (2007), https://doi.org/10.1080/15332740802174175; Wakimoto, Bruce, and Partridge, “Archivist as Activist.” 410 Flinn, “Archival Activism,” 9. 144 Chapter 5: Conclusion Summary In Chapter 1, I introduced my research project as an exploration of how cultural knowledge is transmitted through the bodong peace pact system and Cordillera Day. My research sought to find out whether drawing analogies between established archival theory and specific cases of recordkeeping practices in highly-localized, non-Western contexts has the ability to challenge and expand Eurocentric conceptualizations of archives and records that are limited by notions of fixed materiality. Through unstructured interviews, participant observation, and content analysis during fieldwork conducted in the Cordillera region of the Philippines, primarily in Kalinga Province, as well as through using an analysis informed by archival studies and other relevant disciplines, I was able to map numerous connections between established archival definitions of records and archives and community understandings of how their cultural practices functioned as sites of information creation, knowledge-keeping and memory-making. My analysis concludes that, from the functional perspective, the bodong is analogous to a series of records, and Cordillera Day is analogous to an archive. A more detailed summary of the findings related to each chapter continues below. 5.1.1 Revisiting Chapter 3 In Chapter 3, I explored how the bodong system was used by Kalinga communities, for the aim of making connections between established archival definitions of a record and how the bodong functioned in Kalinga society. I included a brief history of the European archival tradition and how it has affected theoretical perspectives on the definition of records, as well as an overview of more recent development in archival theory that have challenged those earlier conceptions. By using the work of archival scholars conducting research into Indigenous records, primarily Indigenous oral testimonies, as a jumping off point, I analyzed the bodong as a record using an overall framework supplied by Mary Ann Pylypchuk. Although Pylypchuk was concerned with the possibility of using Aboriginal oral records as legal evidence, and I was more concerned with the social, cultural, and memory-making characteristics of records, her approach of analyzing oral documents within the juridical context of their creation was also useful for my case study. I focused on two particulars of 145 Pylypchuk’s approach: 1) the record as a product of spontaneous and organic creation; and 2) the record as a product of the society’s will and the society’s rules. In order to address the first criteria, I studied the history of the bodong, from the various theories around its conception to more recent changes in its formation and deployment. I concluded that the bodong surfaced out of identified needs from the community, namely, the need for safety and the need for a mechanism to assert sovereignty and mediate dispute. As time has passed and the Kalinga people find their lands increasingly encroached upon by corporations and government projects, the bodong has also changed to respond to those practicalities. In order to address the second criteria, I studied the format of the bodong, its pagta, and its events. I concluded that the bodong is generated by the will of a tribe in the pursuit of self-governance and the maintenance of intertribal peace. I argued that the bodong takes a form that is deemed socially, culturally, and legally appropriate to the people negotiating its existence, and that the provisions it sets out, including the consequences for its breach, are empowered through community agreement and belief. My overall finding is that the bodong can be considered analogous to a series of records. 5.1.2 Revisiting Chapter 4 In Chapter 4, I explored how Cordillera Day is mobilized by the progressive Indigenous peoples’ movement in the Cordillera in a way that functions as a living cultural archive. I began by looking at how established definitions of archives have changed over time through the influence of intellectual movements such as postmodernism and the archival turn in the humanities. I was especially influenced by Terry Cook’s formulation of the four archival paradigms (evidence, memory, identity, and community); Andrew Flinn’s research on politically-motivated/activist community archives; Jeanette Allis Bastian’s related theories of societal provenance and communities of records, especially her commitment to seeing the possibilities for archivy in cultural events; and Diana Taylor’s work on how performance studies can contribute to archival studies through the recognition of how archives and the repertoire of embodied/enacted knowledge can work together to transmit knowledge, memory, identity, and values. I conducted an analysis of the schedule and content of the events of the 34th Annual Cordillera Day in 2018, breaking down the activities that took place during the events into five categories of acts: 1) educational activities; 2) cultural 146 presentations; 3) shows of solidarity/unity; 4) direct mass action; and 5) ritual/ceremony. Through my analysis, I found that Cordillera Day satisfies the function of an archive in multiple ways: it serves as a conduit for the creation and maintenance of memory, identity, and community; it actively engages in the collection of evidence to expand the historical record; it fulfills affective relationships; it converts trauma to political action and social justice; it educates and raises awareness; it participates in outreach and public service; and it is viewed by the community as accomplishing all of the above functions, in the same way as an archives would. Further, it serves the function of a politically-motivated community archive, à la Flinn, because it does these things in the service of seeking justice and transformative change for Indigenous peoples in the Cordillera. My overall finding for is that Cordillera Day can be considered a living, cultural archive. 5.1.3 Implications for the Archive What does it mean to archival theory if the bodong and Cordillera Day can be considered record and archive? I hope what this research shows is that there is a well-established basis for the consideration of these types of knowledge-keeping practices, utilizing diverse forms of transmission ranging from oral to written to kinetic, as worthy of archival value and study. There are many points of accommodation and intersection between established archival theory and oral/performative knowledge practices; it is not considered a stretch to view such acts as record or as archive, in fact, scholars outside archives often make claims extending the terminology of the archive to their own fields of study. I suggest that moving beyond our disciplinary prejudices and using more flexible and social-justice oriented interpretations of archival theory, such as were applied during the study, could open possibilities for archivists to better meet their custodial, ethical, and affective obligations. In addition to answering my research question, this research also posed some ancillary questions that have import for how archives conduct themselves. 5.1.3.1 Thinking Big vs. Thinking Small: Supplanting Grand Narratives with Narratives of Specificity One of the rhetorical questions that this research brought up for me was whether grand narratives around the role of archives in nation-building could be challenged by studying 147 records in the context of a specific community. The importance of archives is often tied to their ability to bolster grand notions of nationhood, unity, and belonging. What happens to archival practice when we eschew these notions of nationhood, national unity, and belonging to instead focus on how specific indigenous communities create, maintain, and transmit knowledge and memories over time? What are the implications of using archival theory to counter generalizability by instead focusing on specificity? What do we lose by analyzing records only as they are understood by one community context? What do we gain? Through the course of this research project, I began to think of generalizability and specificity as flexible concepts. For example, my Kalinga participants were very clear to identify themselves first and foremost via their tribal affiliation, maintaining that there were some differences between tribes, but in the next breath, they would make a statement about Kalinga culture that generalized a practice, or a value, or a belief, as common to all Kalingas. Negotiations of different levels of identity occurred all the time, and without self-consciousness. The concept of ili is another good example of this: where you say you are from, or which identity you claim, is based on your relationship with the person who is asking. Are they from your province? Are they Kaigorotan, but not from your province? Are they from another part of the Philippines? Generally speaking (another generalization), the amount of distance between the asker and the one being asked determines the response: greater distance requires a more generalized identity (to another Kalinga: your tribe; to another Igorot: your ethnolinguistic group; to a non-Indigenous Filipino: Igorot). This emphasizes to me that generalizations and specificity are only useful as relational concepts: perhaps it is not very useful to use the examples of the bodong, or Cordillera Day, to make claims to grand narratives about what it means to be Filipino, but it might be useful in the study of similar knowledge-keeping and memory-making practices in the Cordillera. The same holds true for using the concept of Indigeneity: in some situations, it may be appropriate to mobilize a collective Indigenous identity, but most of the time specificity is preferred; as always, context is key. 148 5.1.3.2 Resisting the Archival Urge to Assimilate Another rhetorical questions that this research initiated was around the risk of assimilating all knowledge under the purview of archives: how can archival research resist all-encompassing archival assumptions? There is a real danger of misunderstanding records in cultural context if they continue to only be viewed from the lens of traditional archival knowledge. While some communities may find it empowering to understand their records through the language and mediation of archival theory (e.g., they may find benefit in the element of recognition or authority that comes with defining one’s records as an archives), records need not be considered archives to be meaningful, symbolic, significant, or useful. The archival discourse in North America remains a largely Eurocentric area of study and theorizing; when speaking about records that originate outside this context, archivists need to be mindful that they are not superimposing values or meanings onto them from the outside. For this reason, I have tried to frame my exploration of the bodong and Cordillera Day as one that is based on community responses and perspectives – how does the community treat this practice? How do they talk about this practice? I also tried to avoid making one-to-one statements about the bodong and Cordillera Day: instead of assuming that the bodong is a record, I explored its aspects of recordness; instead of assuming that Cordillera Day is an archive, I explored how it fulfilled the functions of an archive. In both cases, I shifted focus away from asking what the practice is (is it a record? Is it an archive?) and instead focused on what it did, and how it did it. There is a lot of nuance that I, as an outsider, would not be able to explain about the bodong or Cordillera Day, so I am uncomfortable making statements that would label either practice with external terminology; this way, I can leave the door open for the community to decide for themselves how they would like to define their own cultural practices. Diana Taylor’s study of the archive and the repertoire is a useful reminder here that archivists should be careful of trying to assimilate everything they encounter as ‘part of the archive:’ What is at risk politically in thinking about embodied knowledge and performance as ephemeral as that which disappears? Whose memories ‘‘disappear’’ if only archival knowledge is valorized and granted permanence? Should we simply expand our notion of the archive to house the 149 mnemonic and gestural practices and specialized knowledge transmitted live?411 As always, questions breed more questions, ones that are beyond this thesis to answer. On that note, I will let Taylor have one last word: “there is an advantage to thinking about a repertoire performed through dance, theatre, song, ritual, witnessing, healing practices, memory paths, and the many other forms of repeatable behaviors as something that cannot be housed or contained in the archive.412 Archivists working in communities have found that definitions of collective recordkeeping activity should be as “broad, non-prescriptive, and as inclusive as possible,” while recognizing that there are a variety of reasons why people may or may not describe their activities as ‘archives.’413 It is a community’s right to decide whether something they create is an archive, a record, or not. Moving Forward: Directions for Further Research While this thesis attempted to answer one exploratory research question, it also unearthed many more. Some suggestions for further research include explorations of the rhetorical questions listed in Section 5.1.3.1 and Section 5.1.3.2, or more involved examinations into the ethics of archival research, as in Section 2.10. Of course, as a very brief study of two well-established (and, in the case of the bodong, very old) cultural practices, more research would be welcome in the field of archives for either of these sites, or another site utilizing similar forms of oral, embodied performance as knowledge transmission. One possible avenue for future research involves investigating the interplay of gender roles and expectations for women in the bodong system. Another fruitful exploration would be to delve deeper into the continued intergenerational viability of the bodong and study youth opinion on the age-old institution. It might also be interesting to compare discourses of Indigeneity and representations of Indigenous identity at Cordillera Day with other, less politicized 411 Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire, 36. 412 Taylor, 37. 413 Flinn, “Archival Activism,” 7. 150 cultural events in the region, to see how their approaches to cultural preservation/resurgence might differ. Revisiting the Prologue: Coming Full Circle In Section 0.1, I shared the assertion, made by many Indigenous scholars,414 that attacks on land through resource extraction, usurpation, and forced displacement are also attacks on cultural values, practices, and belief systems, leading me to conclude that Indigenous resistance to these attacks then necessarily includes the reclamation, resurgence, and nurture of cultural knowledge. The reverse is also true: Indigenous cultural practices cannot experience a cultural resurgence that is not accompanied by a land-based political resurgence that recognizes the holistic nature of place-based epistemologies and ontologies. Perhaps even the word ‘reverse’ is inaccurate, since land and culture are not two sides of a coin but an integrated “ecology” of being and knowing.415 The preservation and protection of cultural practices, if divorced from the context of political struggle for land rights and self-determination, are at risk of co-optation through neoliberalism, settler-colonialism, and consumer-capitalism. Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg scholar, writer and artist Leanne Betasamosake Simpson summarizes this process of depoliticization as a worrying trend in the discourses around cultural resurgence: In the context of settler colonialism and neoliberalism, the term cultural resurgence, as opposed to political resurgence, which refers to a resurgence of story, song, dance, art, language, and culture, is compatible with the reconciliation discourse, the healing industry, or other depoliticized recover-based narratives. I get worried when I hear the state and its institutions using the word resurgence. Cultural resurgence can take place within the current 414 Including, but definitely not limited to Parpan-Pagusara, “The Kalinga Ili: Cultural-Ecological Reflections on Indigenous Theoria and Praxis of Man-Nature Relationship”; Glen Sean Coulthard, Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), https://muse.jhu.edu/book/35470/; Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, “Land as Pedagogy: Nishnaabeg Intelligence and Rebellious Transformation,” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society 3, no. 3 (November 21, 2014), http://decolonization.org/index.php/des/article/download/22170; Leanne Betasamosake Simpson, As We Have Always Done (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017); Cariño, “Resist the Fascist US-Duterte Regime, Courageously Advance the Struggle for Ancestral Land, Self-Determination and National Democracy!” 415 Parpan-Pagusara, “The Kalinga Ili: Cultural-Ecological Reflections on Indigenous Theoria and Praxis of Man-Nature Relationship,” 33. 151 settler colonial structure of Canada because it is not concerned with dispossession, whereas political resurgence is seen as a direct threat to settler sovereignty. From within Indigenous thought, however, the cultural and the political are joined and inseparable, and they are both generated through place-based practices – practices that require land.416 The information creation, knowledge-keeping and memory-making sites of the bodong and Cordillera Day are inextricably linked with political struggles for the defense of ancestral lands and for self-determination. The ways that progressive Cordilleran peoples have mobilized both the bodong and Cordillera Day as acts of deliberate self-representation linked to movements for land defense and self-determination differentiate them from other Filipino events which merely seek to promote cultural presentations as entertainment for tourist dollars. There is a rich tradition of ‘festivalizing’ events in the Philippines: no matter the occasion or subject matter, it seems there is a fiesta for it.417 Both the bodong and Cordillera Day have their ‘festive’ corollaries: there is a Bodong Festival, which celebrated its third year in 2019, and the annual government-sponsored July 15th Cordillera Day holiday celebration commemorating the date when the Cordillera Administrative Region was created. Both events are sanitized and depoliticized celebrations which aim to assimilate Cordilleran culture into mainstream Filipino culture in a way that does not threaten the state apparatus. To use the Canadian terminology of ‘reconciliation,’ these events are an attempt to reconcile, in other words, to render consistent, “Indigenous assertions of nationhood with the state’s unilateral assertion of sovereignty over Native peoples’ lands and populations.”418 In contrast, progressive peoples’ participation in the bodong system and Cordillera Day deliberately eschews reconciliation with the state. In doing so, they make possible alternative narratives of becoming and belonging that are context-specific and politically explicit. While the bodong has always been concerned with issues of territory, resistance to development projects injected new life into the institution by using it as a means to solidify a unified 416 Simpson, As We Have Always Done, 49–50. 417 “List of Festivals in the Philippines,” in Wikipedia, March 24, 2019, accessed April 17, 2019, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=List_of_festivals_in_the_Philippines&oldid=889193399. 418 Coulthard, Red Skin, White Masks, 107. 152 Indigenous political resistance. As a result, the land, life, and resources of hundreds of thousands of Indigenous tribespeople remain in existence. Cordillera Peoples Day has always been a political project based on the struggle for self-determination and the defense of ancestral lands, explicitly promoting the performance and visibility of cultural presentations as an inextricable part of the Indigenous peoples movement, for indeed, self-determination is “the collective mandate of a people to community and culture,” the material basis of which is “land and the democratic participation of the individuals in communal creativity with the land.”419 Cultural resurgence, as Leanne Simpson affirms, must be a part of political resurgence. Archives, as a potential partner in cultural resurgence, must also be political. As a consequence of that, archivists must concern themselves with the struggles and the everyday concerns of the people whose knowledge we aim to care for. Towards that purpose, I will end with this: Matagu Kalinga! Matagu takun lusan! [Long live the Kalinga! 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Thesis/Dissertation
eng
Archival Studies / Library and Information Studies
Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
Graduate
Alternative becomings, alternative belongings : Cordillera case studies of records in context
Text