PHILIPPINES | When Superstition Supports Sustainable Farming

The lack of mechanization on farms is generally believed to be the main reason why Philippine farmers have fallen so far behind their ASEAN neighbors in terms of production costs.  While most Asian countries began using heavy machinery in their fields during the 60’s and 70’s, wide integration in the Philippines has only really begun in the last decade. Prohibitive costs and potentially displaced laborers has been cited as one of the main causes for this resistance, but  in the 1960’s, Maximo D. Ramos had different observations.

In “The Creatures of Philippine Lower Mythology”, Ramos’ dissertation on the spirits and beings throughout the archipelago, is filled with strange and wonderful superstitions.  Many of these he attributes  to early animist belief structures that evolved into polytheistic religions, and were eventually absorbed into Catholicism – much to the chagrin of the Spanish colonizers.  Leading the pack of believers in these superstitions were the farmers.  In fact, you can’t go more than a few pages in Ramos’ work without encountering a story or recounted tale about some poor farmer who upset the spirits inhabiting the field he was working.   Ramos surmises a direct link between lack of progress in one of the country’s biggest industries—agriculture—and what the folk believe concerning the creatures of lower mythology. Further pinpointing the blocks to progress on the farms, he quotes Diosdado P. Amihan.“Another ailment which impedes the acceleration o f progress in agriculture in this country is superstition. Our farmers still cling to superstition. To them, doing away with these beliefs would mean little production and the occurrence of pests and diseases of plants. In fact, it is for this reason that modern ideas and methods in agriculture have not been welcomed  by the common farmers. It is for this reason too that the extension services of our government have not shown [enough] accomplishments, for the rural farmers entertain doubts and suspicions on the outcome. With almost 55 years devoted to the enlightenment of the Filipinos in the different phases of education, we still cannot say that our country has advanced so much in the agricultural field. The situation, therefore , is a challenge to every teacher.” (“Indolence and Superstition in Our Rural Communities,” Agricultural and Industrial Life, X X I I (January ,1960), 34.)

Fear of spirits inhabiting trees and earth in the Philippines dates back to the earliest records.  These superstitions are documented in many of the Spanish records as well as every anthropological study done in the 20th century. Yet for some reason, it is often ignored as one of the deterrents to modern agriculture.  Ramos gives several examples of workers warning farmers against mechanization. In one story, workers told a farm owner not to put his new  tractor path going past a certain tree. When the farmer did anyway, the tractor stopped working for a large part of the day every time it passed. Eventually, due to growing expenses,  the farmer moved the path and did not have any further problems with the equipment. He also recounted stories where workers opposed the use of mechanical tools because the sound would disturb the spirits living in the fields and other nearby trees. In another example, workers refused to clear a tree from the farmland. When the farmer took the axe to the tree himself, he came down with a serious fever.

We can’t deny that we are heading down an unsustainable path when it comes to providing food security and textiles for our rapidly growing populations around the world.  Our tendency over the past several decades has been to increase farm yields by implementing heavy machinery.  Unfortunately, this heavy machinery also results in more permanent damage to the soil. There are a host of natural, chemical, and biological reasons for soil degradation and erosion, but efforts are now being made to ensure that we can provide yields for today’s needs, as well as future generations. David R. Montgomery,  a professor of geomorphology at the University of Washington and the author of Growing a Revolution: Bringing Our Soil Back to Life writes: “We need to reframe our agricultural policies and subsidies. It makes no sense to continue incentivizing conventional practices that degrade soil fertility. We must begin supporting and rewarding farmers who adopt regenerative practices.”  

Agroforestry is a land use management system in which trees or shrubs are grown around or among crops or pastureland. This intentional combination of agriculture and forestry has varied benefits, including increased biodiversity and reduced erosion. This technique is being successfully implemented in Sub-Saharan Africa as well as parts of the United States. Curiously, this is something the Philippines has been doing all along through accommodating mythical spirits and superstitions surrounding them. Early animist societies and modern day farm workers couldn’t tell you the science of why this works, but they knew it did.  It is not inconceivable that early civilizations had a philosophical understanding of agrophysics which they explained in the spiritual realm.

Predicting the weather, knowing when to plant, and other practices are historically rooted in superstition around the world.  Just because the current scientific paradigm doesn’t recognize what could be regarded as the spiritual dimension, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Our interpretation of ancient beliefs is limited to our current acceptance of the physical world.  As modern science advances, we are easily drawing parallels to general understandings from early belief systems. Our animist ancestors believed that everything was connected and that you could not take away without giving back.  They created a sustainable life in their surroundings.  Science is now proving that everything has an energy and that everything is actually connected – not just in theory, but based on the physics of reality.  When we replace early understandings of animated spirits with our modern scientific understanding of energy, it doesn’t sound so farfetched.

I’m not suggesting we start appeasing spirits by sacrificing chickens and pigs before we plough a field, but if we are unfortunate enough in the future to find ourselves in a serious food crisis and agroforestry is part of the solution, Philippines farmers  may find themselves  ahead of their ASEAN neighbors  – thanks, perhaps in part, to superstition.

PANAY LEGEND: The Bubog Tree

It started with the cutting down of the bubog tree that stood at the corner of Tasyo’s rice field. The tree stood like a massive palace. Its branches spread out evenly like an umbrella. The tree was as old as Tasyo himself, his father once told him.

To farmers during the day, at planting or harvest time, this was much sought as a refuge from sun or rain although there were stories that the tree was enchanted. Some claimed it was the rendezvous of fairies. Others said it was the abode of malignos (evil spirits).

If you looked at the tree from a distance, there were times when your vision was deceived. As in a mirage you seemed to be looking at a well-built, restful house of extraordinary size, complete with curtains and potted plants. People who had experienced this phenomenon usually observed that this happened to them between high noon and two o’clock in the afternoon. Though it was broad daylight, they would grow afraid. They would hasten away, lengthening their steps and then running away in fear.

On dark nights the tree was well lighted with thousands of fireflies. What a beautiful sight it was! The tree looked like a gigantic Christmas tree. People said these were not fireflies at all but fairy lights.

There was a night (and this had happened to many) when Tidang was disturbed in her mending. She was listening to a familiar tune, beautifully played as by an orchestra, when a soft silver voice floated into her room. Where could it be from? “Is there a dance at Tenyente Isoy’s again?” she asked herself as Tasyo, her husband, had already gone to sleep. She rose and opened her window. Her hair rose as she beheld the bubog tree lighted with fireflies like a beautiful palace. The music came from its direction. “They are dancing,” she thought, and closed the window nervously for she was afraid.

A neighbor once told Tasyo of a moonless night when he passed by the tree. All around had been quiet. All he could hear was his footsteps on the soft grass. Then when he got near the bubog tree, he was struck with fright to see the leaves trembling and rustling as if a gigantic hand had shaken the tree. The traveler tried to run but could not. He wanted to shout for help but his tongue seemed stuck in his throat. It was many minutes before he was finally able to move his limbs and run away without looking at the frightening tree.

But Tasyo did not believe in any of the stories he had heard about the bubog tree. He was not like his father. He was modern in his thinking and so did not believe in fairies as Tidang did. He said the tales were all disparates (nonsense). In spite of his wife’s violent opposition, he cut down the tree because he said it shaded the rice plants and stunted them. Furthermore, he said that he did not like the unpleasant odor of the bubog blossoms. To prove that there was no tamawo, he rolled up his sleeves and started cutting down the big bubog tree against the protests of his wife.

Now Tasyo was sick. Two or three days after he cut down the tree, he fell ill. His joints became swollen and ached severely. He could not move without moaning. His wife had given him all kinds of medicine and an injection for swollen joints, but the ailment stayed on. Tidang grew tired of going to and from the hospital. In addition, they did not have enough money left to continue Tasyo’s stay there; the medicine cost so much.

“Why do not we try Itok, the babaylan?” she told Tasyo, who was now amenable to any kind of treatment provided he could get some relief. At night he could see, with his semiconscious eyes, fearsome people with clubs cooping to his sickbed and clubbing him all over his body. Shouting, “There they are again!” Tasyo would lapse into unconsciousness. How strange, thought Tidang.
When Tasyo was taken home, Tidang called for Itok, the babaylan. Itok was famous in the neighborhood for having cured a child who had been frequently ill. The child’s parents had been accustomed to consult a doctor without much success, but for a pasanag (fee) of a few pesos Itok had put an end to the child’s frequent sickness. From that time on the child did not fall ill again.

“That is easy,” said Itok when he was consulted by Tidang. “I see, some mischievous spirits are after Tasyo. If you want to see him cured, it will not cost you much. Give me only a pasanag of seven pesos and follow what I tell. Have on hand seven pomelo leaves, seven dried fish, seven chickens, seven alupe (ground sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves and boiled in water), seven tobacco leaves, seven regular-sized bananas, and seven young ears of glutinous corn. Also prepare a young pig for the daga (offering). We will do it on Tuesday. That will be the himatayon (waning of the moon). We will take Tasyo to the stump of the bubog tree he cut down. We will ask for the forgiveness of the tamawo and promise that the act will not be repeated. You see, the fairies did not want that tree cut down. To us human beings it appeared only as a tree. We did not know that it was a fairy palace. One of the fairies was hurt when Tasyo cut down the tree. You know, when the fairies are hurt, they will return ten times the harm inflicted on them.”

“All right, I will have those things ready by Tuesday,” said Tidang.

Itok cautioned Tidang that his service should be regarded with respect and good faith, that nobody should scoff at it. Otherwise worse would happen to Tasyo and nothing would help him again. Tidang agreed and told the onlookers, some men of the neighborhood, not to be skeptical while the babaylan was working his incantations. A shed was put up to protect the sick man from the sun. The onlookers sat around the bed where Tasyo was laid. Tasyo was haggard. He had been sleepless several nights because of the unbearable pain all over his body. Nov he was like a spectre, pale and worn out, ready to die.

Itok put his red headband around his head, took off his shirt, and strapped a red girdle around his waist. Taking a chicken by the neck with his left hand, he cut the neck with his right. Blood spurted out and the young fowl flapped its wings and then grew still. Itok smeared his naked body with the blood and chanted: Sarawak, Sarawak, itindi, itindak, an raot ilagsak sa maligno ro nasaktan (Please, please, cast out the anger of the hurt spirit). While saying this, he skipped around the sick man seven times. Then he went around the bubog stump seven times and cut the chicken in two.

“Build fires in seven different places,” he ordered Tidang. Tidang did as she was told. When the seven fires burned around the bubog stump, he took the seven pomelo leaves and dropped one at each fire. Then he picked up a brass gong shaped like a plate. He held it by a string and, dancing around the fires, he beat the gong. Harayo-harayu maligno masuko, igpatawad an nakasayup ha iyog pangayu (Go away, you hurt spirit, we implore you to forgive the offender), he chanted rapidly, repeating it several times as he went around each fire. After this he took the six remaining chickens and cut their throats one after another. He took each chicken around the tree stump seven times, seeing to it that the blood fell at each step so that in the end a circle of blood formed around the stump. “Now cook them. No salt. Just boil them in water,” Itok instructed Tidang.

Tidang dressed the chickens and cooked them in water minus the salt. While she was cooking, Itok took the young pig which had been tied and dragged it to the tree despite its squeals. It screamed for freedom as if it knew its imminent fate. Itok knelt on it and, unsheathing his plamingko (sharp knife for butchering), thrust it into the pig’s heart. Deep the knife went and blood flowed like wine on the ground.

Pasaylu-pasaylo, pasayloha ang kalag nakaanduna han inyo patawadpaangka, malignong mabalaka (Forgive, forgive the man who has trespassed into your dwelling and pardon him, kind spirit), he chanted. When the pig no longer moved, he chopped its head off with one blow and divided the body into seven parts. Taking one part with him at a time, he danced around the tree seven times. This time the chanting was like a wild song from the Negros voodoos. It had a wild note rising high in pitch in staccato with increasing tempo, and, as the dance went on, going down in a dum-dum-dum like the snoring of a sleepy drum. By this time the fires were dying. Itok picked up the seven dried fish and placed each one on a fire. The smell rose and mixed with that of the burnt pomelo leaves.

Taking his gong again, he danced around the fires clockwise seven times and then counter-clockwise seven times more. His lips were now quivering in staccato as they uttered incomprehensible words.

Tasyo was quietly asleep by this time. From his expression, he was relaxed and feeling better. Pain seemed to have vanished from his body as Tidang watched him from time to time while she tended the fires under the cooking chickens.

Itok placed the seven pieces of the pig’s body on seven different kalalaw (bamboo baskets for winnowing rice). On each of them he placed a piece of alupe, a piece of banana, and some boiled young corn. Then, taking seven plates, he placed a boiled chicken on each. This in turn he placed on the kalalaw. Next he picked up the dried fish, half cooked, and put a piece on each kalalaw.

The sun was way up in the sky now. The heat was streaming on the naked body of Itok. The blood of the chickens had dried and cracked on his chest like reddish-brown paint. He danced around the tree and then around the sickbed of Tasyo, beating his gong with his plamingko, chanting his incantations to beg the tamawo to forgive Tasyo and restore him to health. He invited the tamawo to feast on the offered food and forget everything.

Itok’s body was streaming with perspiration. He was panting, but his lips were busy with the prayers to the tamawo to give back Tasyo’s health. While this went on, a group of young men and women, strangely attired, came along the ricefields from a distance. They were a jovial group, giggling in their talk and full of jokes. Then one of them spotted Itok dancing like a madman. “Look at that man,” a prankish girl said, pointing to Itok who was stamping about, beating his gong with his plamingko, and from time to time shouting his incomprehensible and ludicrous song. When the others in the group saw Itok, they burst into lerrific laughter. One of them slipped from the bank, fell into the water, and wet her skirt. At this more laughter arose and the onlookers around Tasyo’s bed were disturbed. They turned toward the babbling young men and women and laughed when they saw the wet skirt of one of them.

“There, there!” shouted Tasyo, writhing in excruciating pain. “There they are again, running toward me with their clubs.” He tossed this way and that to evade the clubbings. Every time he seemed to be hit, he uttered a painful yell and after a few minutes grew quiet again. He fell unconscious.

Itok continued his incantations and dancing. Tidang was at her husband’s bedside. Taking his hand, she became cold all over. There was no pulse. She took the other hand and felt the pulse too. None either. Then she laid her hand on his motionless chest. No more heartbeat. Incredulous still, she laid her ear close to Tasyo’s breast. She could only hear her own heart beating loudly in great dread.

Then she laid her head on his still breast and shouted in grief. “He is dead! Itok, he is dead!” Tidang wailed like a child and the noise of the gong faded as the onlookers stood around to see Tasyo motionless and still.

Glancing toward the river bank where they, for a few minutes, had seen the laughing group of young men and women in queer attire, they were surprised to find them gone. They could not have gone back the way they came or else the onlookers would have seen them in the distance. If they had come any nearer, they would have been there by now, but they had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them.

 

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