by Almira Astudillo Gilles
This month, I’m in the Philippines to visit family and for cultural projects. Since I’m here for only four weeks, I’ve limited my out-of-Manila trips to the really necessary ones (for a weaving project) and to places I had not visited before. This trip, I’ve already been to South (Cotabato), will travel to the Visayas (Iloilo) and North (Ilocos). As you can imagine, these three regions have their own distinct languages, cultural practices, and weaving traditions. I’ve been to Iloilo and Ilocos before, so I have a good idea of how these areas differ.
One thing that I often think about when I traverse the Philippines is how regionalism affects national identity and unity. When we introduce ourselves to each other outside the Philippines, we often ask, “Tagasaan kayo?” (Where are you from?) When we find that we are from the same province, we zero in on specific towns. God help us if we are adjacent geographically—we immediately pounce on naming everybody we know, hoping for a familiar name. Failing that, we resort to nostalgia.
Remember that large market in the heart of town, where they would sell the freshest fish? It’s now been replaced by a supermarket. We revel in shared experiences, take pride in everything local, believing that our experience is unique and notable. I know someone who visited the U.S. for the first time and I eagerly toured them around, showing off landmarks and pointing out curiosities. All throughout, she would say, “Hmmph, we have that at home (in the Philippines) too.” Not surprisingly, I shortened the tour.
How does our strong sense of regionalism, this intense pride in local culture, serve national unity? One advantage is that it facilitates local governance and adherence to community norms. But how does this translate nationally? Referring to our weaving traditions, for example, there is a wide variety in the use of color, patterns, and motifs. I would argue, however, that although the representations of certain objects are different, we see the same things: a bird in flight, cascading water, pointed mountains. We see our surroundings through the lens of our own experiences, but our experiences are the same.
In interviews, weavers and embellishers use different names for common objects according to their dialect, but their descriptions of context spring from a universal truth. We scale heights, we cross rivers, we harvest from our land. We forge relationships, we suffer loss, we fall in love. And though competition does exist (some Filipinos will argue that personality traits differ between regions), I would rather focus on our national traits of hospitality, good cheer, and generosity. That’s what makes us Filipino. The responsibility of the media to foster unity is paramount. So is education, and while there may be some merit to localizing the language of instruction, standards should remain universal and with an eye to increasing understanding. So next time someone asks you, “Saan kayo sa atin?” feel free to share and take joy in our differences and similarities.
Almira Astudillo Gilles (almiragilles@gmail.com) describes her heart’s work as conservation in two areas: indigenous cultural heritage and natural resources. Her cultural heritage work includes a John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation grant for Art and Anthropology Project: Portrait of the Object as Filipino, an international artist exchange. She was the founder of 10,000 Kwentos (“Stories”) at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, a model of direct community engagement with the museum’s Philippine ethnographic collection.
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