Tag Archives: The Philippines

Defiance Through Design

Defiance Through Design:
The Legacy of Filipino Art in Activism and Resistance

By Shloka Chodhari, High School Junior, New Jersey

Abstract:
Resistance against tyranny is a widely discussed topic, especially in light of current global conflicts and elections. My research reveals that Filipino art is deeply intertwined with activism and resistance against foreign rule. It demonstrates the powerful role of Filipino art in the fight to freedom. My article aims to educate readers on this connection, highlighting how indigenous art forms have served as platforms for defiance and cultural preservation for centuries.

The Philippines is a Southeast Asian archipelago consisting of 7,641 islands in the western Pacific Ocean. The country is known for its vibrant cultural tapestry woven from the traditions of its diverse indigenous communities. Prior to the arrival of Spanish colonizers in the 16th century, Filipino art was deeply rooted in animistic beliefs, nature, and mythology. Woven textiles, pottery, and wood carvings showcased motifs and told stories that were passed down through generations. This produced many vibrant patterns and designs that were not only aesthetically beautiful but also served as valuable symbols of protection and good fortune. One such design, the “Sarimanok,” was a mythical bird that frequently appeared on textiles.

IMAGE: Majestic Sarimanok: Symbol of Prosperity and Myth / Photo courtesy by Ruben HC 2017

Pre-colonial Filipino art embodied “Kalikasan,” a term used by the indigenous people of the Philippines referring to the interconnectedness between humans and the environment. For example, the intricate ‘okir’ designs and carvings served to remind viewers of the harmonious relationship one has with the world and their ancestors. Unlike in many other indigenous societies, Kalikasan was not fulfilled through a passive or solely spiritual/ religious connection with nature but by actively caring for her physically. Thus, many Filipino art pieces serve to inspire individuals to take a hands-on approach toward preserving and respecting nature. Kalikasan is alive and well today in the Philippines. Environmental activism in the Philippines isn’t just a contemporary response to pollution or climate change but part of a long-standing tradition of actively caring for nature. This is evident in the Writ of Kalikasan within the Constitution of the Philippines, which provides the Filipino people the right to a “balanced and healthful ecology in accord with the rhythm and harmony of nature.”

“Kalikasan: Pre-colonial Filipino art, such as intricate ‘okir’ designs, embodies the deep interconnectedness between humans and the environment.” / Photo Courtesy by J. Bulaong 2020

When Spain arrived, they aimed to Christianize Filipino society, leading to the suppression of indigenous art, which they viewed as inferior and embodying heretical values. In its place, they forced indigenous artists to produce Catholic iconography. They believed that compelling the inhabitants to create Catholic art would not only civilize them but also instill in them Christian virtues.

Despite the suppression, indigenous art persisted, serving as a form of “resistance” against colonization. During this period, the Estilo Hispano-Filipino, a fusion of Spanish and indigenous artistic styles, became prominent across architecture, painting, and sculpture. In architecture, the Estilo Hispano-Filipino style manifested in the construction of churches as well as government buildings where Spanish Baroque elements blended with indigenous architectural techniques and materials.

This fusion acted as a form of resistance to colonization by embedding indigenous culture and motifs into the very Christian imagery that the Spanish sought to supplant indigenous culture with. This led to indigenous culture becoming intertwined with Christianity, making it much more difficult to root out. The Santo Niño de Cebu best illustrates this. It was a 30 cm tall sculpture of the Christ Child holding a globe and a scepter created by Flemish artists. When the ruler of Cebu, Rajah Kulambu, and his wife were baptized, she was christened as Juana and was presented with the Santo Niño. Their baptism marked the first conversions to Christianity in Filipino history. Upon converting, Juana asked for the Santo Niño to take the place of her former idols. Afterward, Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese explorer who claimed the island of Cebu for Spain, left, resulting in a 40-year period in which the Santo Niño was left solely in the
hands of the indigenous Filipino people.

When the Spanish returned 44 years later, they found the Santo Niño to have its original clothes replaced with indigenous clothes made specifically for its tiny frame, and the painting from its face and nose had faded a bit. The latter was due to how in indigenous Filipino culture, body parts of religious constructs were touched to initiate the healing powers the natives believed that they possessed.

Original image of Santo Niño de Cebu: A Divine Symbol of Faith and Heritage / Source:Wikipedia

The natives gave it a new origin story with themes and motifs that were undeniably indigenous and lacked a trace of Spanish involvement. Local artists would reproduce many local variants of this sculpture, each including indigenous features, such as rounder faces, flat noses, and specifically shaped eyes. During the struggle for national independence, Filipinos chanted, “Long live the Katipunan! Viva Santo Niño!” In the minds of the Spanish, by introducing images such as the Santo Niño, they sought to rewrite Filipino culture in their own image. This backfired spectacularly when the natives leveraged the universalist pretenses of Christianity to make the Santo Niño their own, rooting their independence movement in the very ideas the Spanish sought to use to control them.

After gaining independence from the United States in 1946, indigenous art forms had a resurgence fueled by a growing sense of cultural identity. However, attitudes towards indigenous arts varied depending on the political climate. During Ferdinand Marcos’s authoritarian rule (1972-1986), many artists faced persecution for their political views, such as Bienvenido Lumbera (1932-2021). Lumbera was a renowned Filipino poet and critic known for his significant contributions to Philippine literature and his critical stance against the Marcos regime. Lumbera’s work revolved around themes of social justice as well as national identity; he was particularly known for his critiques of Marcos’s authoritarian rule. His outspoken
personality and political beliefs led to his imprisonment when Marcos declared martial law. His poems, such as “Tales of the Manuvu,” contain criticisms of the regime’s human rights record. Lumbera’s work, employing symbolism drawn from indigenous Filipino culture, resonated with the masses.

Similarly, Jose Tence Ruiz (1956-), known for his avant-garde style, created many works that criticized the Marcos regime. One of his most notable pieces was called “Brutalism,” which used abstract forms to symbolize the harshness of dictatorship. This infuriated the regime and led to efforts to suppress his works. Bienvenido Lumbera employed most of his art through poetry. The messages of these works of art formed the foundation of resistance movements. Symbolism of indigenous Filipino art through posters and murals was ubiquitous during the People Power Revolution of 1986, during which millions gathered wearing the same color in a mass protest. The themes of resilience through indigenous art allowed for unity amongst the public, leading to the collapse of the regime.

“Exploring Cultural Heritage: Bienvenido Lumbera’s Masterful Blend of Filipino History and Artistic Expression” Publisher: University of Santo Tomas Pub. House, 1997

“Royal Decay: José Tence Ruiz’s ‘Granduchess’ Examines the Intersection of Power, Opulence, and Corruption” Lot 622: Jose Tence Ruiz (b. 1958)

The history of Filipino art in resisting tyranny showcases the immense power within the agency of artists. Foreign hegemonic forces often reproduce elements of the cultures they seek to dominate, aiming to legitimize their rule and pacify any aspects of it that could promote resistance. In contrast, native artists resist colonization or tyranny by intentionally incorporating symbols and motifs of their native culture into the art forms of the oppressors. This strategy undermines colonial rule by taking the universal moral
and religious pretensions of the colonizers and turning them against them, leveraging these to preserve particular forms of cultural autonomy. Over time, this autonomy outlasts the colonizers, eventually enabling national liberation.

This enduring legacy of artistic resistance underscores the vital role of cultural expression in the struggle for freedom and self-determination. The strength and adaptability of Filipino society highlight how indigenous art serves as a physical manifestation of every person’s right to freedom.
Author:
Shloka Chodhari, Arts Associate, The Lawrence CXLIII
Editor, Lawrenceville Science Reports, and High School Junior, New Jersey.

Both the author and publisher would like to thank all the artists and art sources for the five reproductions included in this article.

Sources:
Marin, M. (Ed.). (2021). *Transmission image: Visual translation and cultural agency.* Duke University Press
History of Philippine Art | Sutori
PHILIPPINE HISTORY (aboutphilippines.org)
Understanding Authoritarianism and Corruption in the Philippines | Psychology Today
Authoritarian powers are back in the Philippines, here’s how to fight them – Interviews | IPS Journal (ips-journal.eu)
A writer’s truth: The legacy of National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera – University of the Philippines (up.edu.ph)
The Relevant and Irreverent Jose Tence Ruiz—Positively Filipino | Online Magazine for Filipinos in the Diaspora
The Philippine Literature and Arts in the Post-War Era (1946-1972) (sinaunangpanahon.com)
Booklet-Guide-2022-1.pdf (santoninodecebubasilica.org)

The Grotto

By Angelie Tumaghap Martzke, Michigan.

Iloilo Province in Panay, Philippines.

“My dad said he saw something in here yesterday,” Reeza said. “Amelia, when did you get here? Do you have insects in America? Ants? Worms? Caterpillars?”

 “I got here a few days ago. Yeah, we have bugs.” I replied, trembling. “Do you like them?”

 “Yeah, they’re cute. You might see a few in here today.”

Do I really want to go in there with all these slimy, creepy bugs? Yuck, I thought. But she seems nice and I’m finally meeting someone my age.

We were standing as tall as the grotto, a small cavern of rocks my grandparents gathered years ago from the Panay Gulf beach across the street. It was a house for various statues of animals carved by a local artist from the village. A frog, a turtle and a carabao stood strong, stationary, and well-preserved from the scorching Philippine sun. Reeza gently placed her left hand on the arch to peer inside. I did the same with my right hand, feeling secure touching the coarse, solid entrance.

“It smells in here. It’s been rainy this June.” Reeza pointed to the cracked ceiling as she carefully knelt in between the statues. “How long are you going to be here with your grandpa?”

“It’s cooler in here. I’ll be here until Sunday. Then to my aunts’ for school,” I replied, ducking my head in and kneeling on the prickly, pebbly ground. I gently wiped the sweat pouring off my forehead now that we were away from the morning sun. I wondered when I’ll stop sweating and get used to the heat like everyone else here.

We surveyed the black, grainy floor. My right hand unknowingly grabbed something furry and squishy on the grotto wall.

I let out a piercing yelp.

“What is it?”

“It was just moss. Sorry,” I said.

We returned to exploring the darkness. Then a deep, rumbling call echoed inside.

“Have you been to the beach?” Reeza asked. “Let’s go there tomorrow morning and see if the fishermen caught some sharks. I want a picture with it.”

Yuck, I thought. Sharks seem slimy.

Tookoo! Tookoo!* Big, bulging eyes glowed towards me.

“Eeeek!” I screamed and we hurriedly stepped back.

A gecko the size of my arm scampered out of the cavern, climbing up and blending in with the banana trees behind the grotto.

“He’s harmless,” Reeza replied. “He’s usually inside a house. He sleeps during the day and is up at night looking for bugs to eat.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Maybe cooling off,” Reeza said. “Do you guys have geckos where you come from?”

“None in Michigan.”

“We’re used to them. They’re everywhere here.”

House Geckos? Shark fishing? Bugs everywhere? Will I fit in?

We stooped back into the grotto. My gaping mouth caught the salty sweat running down my forehead. I swallowed and breathed deeply, relieving the cottonball feeling stuck in my throat. Reeza waved me in.

“I can’t. Bugs creep me out and I’m scared of geckos, sharks and whatever else is here,” I said, lowering my head towards my flip-flops. “Maybe I should just go home now.”

“Oh!” Reeza gasped, her finger pointing at me.

A gust of wind whistled and relieved us from this tropical heat. I slowly eyed the right side of my face without moving a muscle in my body. Something was dangling, gently caressing the side of my cheek.

“Run!”

We squealed, bumping into one another on the way out. We bolted out of the grotto and leapt across the front yard. My heart was pounding, my legs were wobbling forward, one after the other. Somehow, we managed to reach the driveway. We collapsed on the cement, panting, and clutching our heavy chests.

“Look!” I yelled, pointing to her back.

Reeza shrieked and pranced in a circle, her hands waving up in the air. She’s a girl on fire. As I peeled the snakeskin off from her shirt, she slumped down and brushed her body with her hands.

“Thank you,” Reeza said, panting.

We examined this leathery object.

“It’s actually soft.”

“So pale and long.”

“My teacher last year brought snakeskin to school. She told us that snakes molt or shed their skin in one piece. They do this when they’re growing,” I said.

“I didn’t know that,” Reeza replied, tilting her head. “Snakeskins don’t scare you, but geckos and little bugs do?”

“I guess not,” I said, giggling. “I’m just not used to the ones you have here. Not yet anyway. Snakeskin is one thing, but a real snake is…”

“Gross.”

“Jinx.”

We sat, laughing and crying with the snakeskin in between us.

I wonder what else we have in common, I thought.

“Do you like soccer?”

Playing Soccer in Pototan, Iloilo Province, the Philippines.

“I love soccer!” Reeza said, beaming. “Let me get my ball and see if anyone else wants to play. I’ll be right back.”

  • Author’s Note: Tookoo! Tookoo! is the sound that a lizard makes.

Photos and story by Angelie Tumaghap Martzke, Michigan. She adds: “I was born in the Philippines and grew up part of my childhood there in my grandfather’s house... This story, set in the Iloilo Province, is inspired by my actual experiences there. Since I was 9-years old, I have gone back every two to three years and continue to speak my language of Kinaray-a. My background is in Social Work, receiving my Master’s degree in Social Work from Columbia University in 2008. I have worked with teens and adults providing individual, family and/or group therapy.”