BENCHWARMER

Ramon S. Dacawi
What’s in a name?

My ading (younger brother) Joel Aliping just e-mailed me a part of the latest of the off-and-on exchange posted on the bibaknets website over the refusal of some Ifugaos, Kalingas and Ibalois to be also identified as Igorots.

Before last year’s end, somebody mailed me a letter addressed to Rev. Delbert Rice, an American missionary in Imugan, Sta. Fe, Nueva Vizcaya. It was signed by Mayor Lopez Pugong, other town officials and elders of Tinoc, Ifugao. They refuted Rice’s long stand that their rightful tribal name is Kalahan, not Kalanguya. They said “Kalahan” means “people from the forest” while “Kalanguya” is their rightful tribal name.

Fermin Balasuit, a former comptroller of Kalahan Educational Foundation founded by Rice, summed up what appears to be the prevailing sentiment of those who trace their roots to Tinoc ( which they call Kalanguya Homeland) on their choice of tribal name – or ethnic identity:

“Pastor Rice lives in the forest and mountains of Imugan; therefore isn’t he also I-kalahan? He, I or anyone who lives in the forest can be called I-kalahan. But not everyone is Kalanguya. In his case, he’s an American and can never be Kalanguya.”

I am an Ifugao (from “ipugo”, meaning “from the hill”) by blood, of the Tuwali sub-tribe, a Baguio boy by place of birth and upbringing, and a Cordilleran by region. I am an Igorot (which means from the mountains). I’m also a Filipino and an Asian – or Oriental, if you want to call me that.

Joel’s roots are in Baguio and Bauko. He’s an Igorot, Cordilleran, Filipino, Asian, and, I guess, a naturalized American. He’s not my “ading” by blood but I’m his “manong” (elder brother), In the same token, I’m “ama” (father) to Paul and Jenelyn Balanza, and “lolo” to their kids Sunshine and Paulo. Even without the blood, I’m their kin.

Baguio journalist Peppot Ilagan, my elder brother who had gone up to the great newsroom in the sky, used to proclaim on this mortal plane his being an Igorot – not by blood but by choice, heart and sentiment.

Fact is, he’s more Igorot than many of us who, by blood, are supposed to be, for his contributions to regional development – as a journalist who advocated for the establishment of a Cordillera Region.

Even without any trace of tribal DNA in his blood, Fr. Francis Lambrecht, the Belgian missionary priest, was more Igorot and Ifugao than I am or will ever be, for his scholarly work in anthropology that recorded - for future Igorots and Ifugaos - our vanishing cultural heritage.

Fr. Lambrecht and Peppot needed no adoption papers or tribal name or plaque, or an ethnic costume we give visiting national politicians to don, out of respect – and/or hope for development attention from those who wield political power.

We Filipinos seem not to mind being tagged as such, in the name of King Philip II of Spain, to whom Roy Lopez de Villalobos unilaterally offered these islands we now proudly call Philippines. Europeans who colonized Down Under are comfortable being identified as Australians, from “australis”, a Latin word which means “southern”.

The late Cordillera titular head Sergio Kawi helped work out the name “Applai” as collective tribal name for those coming from western Mt. Province, earlier referred to as Northern Kankana-ey. “I-applai” means “from the west”.

No problem really, unless we don’t want to be called by a term we feel is imposed on us, with all its negative connotations. If we push for a change of name, from “Filipino” to “Maharlika” (which means “noble”), so be it. Personally, I’m comfortable with my Spanish name as I am with my Ifugao surname.

It was in Thailand that I was reluctant to identify myself as Filipino. That was after expat folksinger and Baguio boy Rey Jimenez reminded radio journalist Bobby Angel and me to secure our wallets. Rey was then guiding us for an evening stroll through the streets of Pat-pong, Bangkok’s red light district. There, we found foreign men in coat-and-tie sitting infront of girlie bars and turning the pages of photo albums of performers inside.

“Kitaen yo ti pitaka yo; adu ti pickpocket ditoy, manong,” Rey warned us. “Nagappuan da ngay?,” I asked. “Pilipinas”, he answered, suppressing a grin. Coming in from a conference in Chiang-Mai, we asked a cabbie to bring us to a decent yet inexpensive hotel. Opening up, he asked from were we were. Told him we’re Filipinos and he turned quiet. He brightened up and resumed talk when I told him we’re also “chao khao”. It means “people of the hills”, the collective term mainstream Thais use to refer to the hill tribes.

The cabbie delivered us to a three-star Bangkok hotel which we knew was dangerous to our wallets. “Ba-amon no adda ngin-ngina na ta ipadas ta met a nga ag-hotel nga agbayad,” I told Bobby, adding Rey could lead us to a cheaper place the following morning.

When the lady at the desk saw our passports that revealed our citizenship, she treated us formally.- and, I guess, with reserve and caution. We checked out the following morning, lying to the receptionists that a rich Thai friend insisted on hosting us. I whipped out some crisp P20 bills which I distributed to the hotel staff as tokens of our gratitude. They thanked us profusely, more so when I told them we’re chao khao.

We introduced ourselves as chao khao to another cabbie who brought us to a much-cheaper inn. “You really chao khao?; chao khao have good heart,” he said, pointing to his heart.

In Chiang Mai, Bobby and I ventured into a Mhong tribal village. “Kasla da met kailiak nga Ibaloi, ta napupudaw ken napipintas da,” Bobby said of the women and children. "Kasla da Ipugao ta adu singkit, kasla kaniak,” I told him.

On the way back, our mainstream Thai guide blamed the hill tribes for forest denudation through their swidden farming culture. I suppressed the urge to tell him of the Karen tribe’s belief in the sacredness of trees. I wanted to ask him about reports of military officers involved in deforestation through the teak lumber trade in the 1980s. (to be continued. e-mail:rdacawi@yahoo.com for comments).