Cultural commercialism

BEHIND THE SCENES

Alfred P. Dizon

SAGADA, Mountain Province -- Over the years, local folks here cut trees to build houses or use as firewood.  That is why when the total log ban law was enacted, people said their cultural tradition, practiced over the years, was waylaid.
    The ‘panagsasaad’ (time to build houses) was during the early part of the year usually in April. Some decades ago, people started to use power chain saws to cut trees. Some reasoned they needed it for their livelihood and reduce the drudgery of cutting trees in the forest using 2-man saws.
    The “cultural tradition” became a commercial or money-making venture as pine wood was used to build hotels and inns to cater to tourists, who had started to arrive in droves. Others sold the pine wood, it was whispered. 
    Blame it on “development and progress.”  Indigenous peoples are no longer the mythologized and romanticized museum pieces some people want them to be. They are now influenced by modern capitalist worldviews.
Cordillera local singers now even stream online western songs with lyrics translated to kankanaey or Ibaloi with the same tune and passed off as indigenous.
    Even the law that was passed to protect the rights of indigenous peoples, Republic Act 8371, the Indigenous People's Rights Act (IPRA) of 1997, has created and institutionalized a regulatory mechanism where indigenous people's resources and cultures are assumed to be subject to capitalist commoditization.
    Any outside or external parties are allowed to exploit, use or turn indigenous lands, resources and cultural practices as capital for some money-making venture as long as they seek permission from the community and the National Commission on Indigenous Peoples (NCIP) and the “free, prior, informed consent” (FPIC) process from indigenous folks and IPs approved of such projects or endeavors.  
    Those who venture on such, like hydro-power corporations, are also required to share a portion of their earnings or revenues with the indigenous community.
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Lately, there was this talk and noise in social media opposing the “commoditization of the culture” of indigenous peoples triggered by the brouhaha surrounding Nas Daily's reported appropriation of indigenous Kalinga tattoo artist Whang-od as part of his online content, and for which he would be profiting.
    Whang-od lives in Tinglayan, Kalinga a two to 3-hour ride from Sagada.
    The fact is Whang-od had already been commoditized a long time ago. She was already turned into a tourist attraction, presumably with her consent and the consent of her community, on almost daily basis.
    Commoditizing a cultural ritual or process such as native tattooing will always dislocate the natural logic of the act. In its organic embodiment, tattoos were worn by Kalinga male warriors as a symbol of their courage and by Kalinga women as adornment to amplify their femininity.
    This is a far cry from the current rituals, where tourists flock to Buscalan, Tinglayan, waiting in line to be tattooed. It had become consumerist ritual, an income-generating activity that presented itself as a form of cultural tourism, of people wanting to be marked and branded for reasons that have long been so detached from what tattoos used to mean to the Kalingas.
    This is a reality that even indigenous peoples have come to accept, take part in and own. The forces of modernity and capitalism are such that there is now only a limited option to ensure their culture will not die in the face of commoditization. Indigenous artifacts are gawked at in museums or sold to the highest bidder. IPs now turn to cultural tourism where they have at least some control, but in some if not most cases, they don’t.
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Take the yearly Panagbenga or Flower Festival in Baguio City. The unique culture of the different tribes in the Cordillera and lately, the lowlands are presented in dances or other forms of artistry.
    Different cultures are presented for money-making activities. Hotels, restaurants and big or small-time businesses profit. Some complain like the environmentalists who talk of Baguio surpassing its “carrying capacity” or cultural “purists” who say they don’t want culture commercialized. Despite this, visitors came up to the summer capital to enjoy festivities before the Covid pandemic struck.
    When money talks nowadays, culture is oftentimes compromised.