Analyzing the Annals:My Thirty Years of Research on Bikol History
DR. NORMAN G. OWEN
A Lecture for the Inauguration of the
Institute of Bikol History and Culture
Ateneo de Naga University, City of Naga
15 February 2002
Honorable guests, ladies & gentlemen
It is almost exactly thirty years since I first came to Kabikolan. I had already been studying the region in the archives of the United States, Spain, and Manila for some time but had never actually set foot here. In September 1972, my wife and I flew down to Legazpi City with PAL in an old Fokker Friendship, and our first view of Mount Mayon was from almost directly over its smoldering crater, an awe-inspiring sight. Later that month we came to Naga for the fluvial procession that closes the Peñafrancia festival – but we never saw it for that was the tragic year the bridge collapsed, just downriver from where we were standing. The following week, when we were back in Legazpi again, waiting at the airport, we heard that martial law had been declared.
My first trip, then, was not an entirely felicitous one. Still I came away with some abiding impressions, which subsequent visits have only reinforced. One was of the sheer physical beauty of the green landscape, the blue skies, and the majestic mountains of Kabikolan. The other was of the boundless hospitality and graciousness of the people, from representatives of the Church and members of the urban elite to ordinary Bikolanos.
On later visits I came down by rail or by road. I still remember the old “Bicol Express,” which took 14 hours overnight from Manila to Naga with a stop in the middle of the night at Sipocot where passengers for Camarines Norte changed trains and local women sold hot salabat on the platform – even under martial law, when a curfew was supposedly in force. Later there were air-conditioned buses, a distinct improvement in terms of speed but at the expense of being forced to watch endless videos from the BetaMax mounted over the drivers’ head. Nowadays I usually fly, but only when nature allows. In the Fall of 2000, I was, like many others, left stranded here by Typhoon Reming which cut off all flights. So I started back to Manila on a distinctly non-airconditioned bus. After several hours, we finally reached a point where the roads were flooded, so I had to continue my journey on an army truck and then on what they called a “skate” along an old abandoned rail line from Hondagua to Lopez in Quezon Province! I’ve never come to Kabikolan by boat, but otherwise I’ve experienced most kinds of transportation the region has to offer.
When I’ve visited, sometimes I’ve stayed in hotels, sometimes in other quarters. More than once I have been a guest right here at the Jesuit residence at Ateneo de Naga, thanks to the hospitality of the fathers. And sometimes I’ve stayed with friends, whether old or new. I particularly recollect 1983, my first visit to Tigaon where I was hoping to research in the parish records. I knew no one at all in the town, and there were no hotels, but the parish coadjutor, Father Felix Barela, took it upon himself to walk me (and carry my suitcase) over to the home of Godofredo and Elisa Clavecilla Rueda. He simply introduced me as a visiting American scholar in need of a place to stay, and suddenly I had a home in Tigaon not only for the night but even for the rest of my visit and subsequent trips to that town. Thus, although I am delighted to be invited here today to help inaugurate the Institute for Bikol History and Culture, I am not wholly surprised since I have learned to expect such a welcome here.
But I am not here today to talk about physical journeys in Kabikolan, pleasant though these reminiscences are, but about intellectual journeys in Bikol history. When I began studying the subject I tried to learn from those who had gone before me. Some of these were pre-war scholars who had already departed the scene, such as Mariano Goyena del Prado whose Ibalon provided an excellent introduction to local traditions, and Elias M. Ataviado whose Lucha y Libertad was, and remains, the definitive study of the revolution in Albay. But I also had the chance to meet many active scholars, including Mrs. Leonor Dy-Liacco who is still with us, and Attorney Luis General, Jr. who, alas, is not.
Above all there were two giants of Bikol history whom I would like to honor today. The first of these was Father James J. O’Brien, an Irish-American Jesuit who taught for many years right here at the Ateneo de Naga before failing health forced him to return to Manila. He was a lovely man who devoted most of his life to the Bikol region and its culture. I was often told by Bikolanos, speaking with evident pride, that this foreign priest “speaks Bikol better than we do!”
Father O’Brien was a humble man who openly acknowledged that he had no formal training in the discipline of history and gladly welcomed those of us who did. But his love for the subject was enormous, and like any great teacher he managed to share this love with his students. His textbook, The Historical and Cultural Heritage of the Bicol People, is notable not only for his own essays and those of his fellow scholars but also for the contributions of several Ateneo de Naga students who wrote about their own home towns, thus preserving for posterity local traditions that otherwise might have been lost. To me, Father O’Brien epitomizes the importance of enthusiasm in the writing of history, a contagious love for the subject itself and everything it represents.
The other great giant of Bikol history in those days was Dr. Domingo C. Abella, at that time Director of the National Archives in Manila. He was, as you all know, descended from the Abella family of Naga, which provided three of the fifteen “Bikol Martyrs.” Although his training was as a medical doctor, he devoted himself to being a historian of Kabikolan. He was a formidable figure, renowned for his rigorous professionalism.
In 1954 Dr. Abella had published what was supposed to be the first volume of the Bikol Annals, a detailed study of the bishops of the see of Nueva Caceres from its origins in the 16th century to the present. (Unfortunately it lost money and he never went on to complete the other projected volumes of the Annals.) This was the first major work of Bikol history based primarily on archival research, rather than on local memories and legends; it upheld modern standards of scholarly documentation, so its readers could identify the exact source of every quotation or assertion of fact.
These two themes – enthusiasm and professionalism – continue to characterize much of the research that has taken place over the past three decades. On the “professional” side, some excellent archival studies have been written by Spanish scholars, especially Franciscan friars. They may never have been to Kabikolan, but they are scrupulously dedicated to the truth about their predecessors who served as parish priests in this region centuries ago. Though they may not display an open affection for this place and its people, you can rely on what they say about the Bikol past.
At the same time, and quite rightly, the amateur study of Bikol history also continues. The past should never become the exclusive preserve of those who have the time and training to pursue it professionally. Through oral history and the recording of local traditions, through essays and newspaper articles retailing the findings of professional historians to a wider audience, these enthusiasts play an important part both in the intellectual development of the subject and in fostering a local appreciation for history.
In my own doctoral dissertation, which later grew into my monograph, Prosperity without Progress, I tried to combine Father O’Brien’s enthusiasm with Dr. Abella’s professionalism. I am pleased to see that Filipino scholars have also followed this formula as well: scholarly rigor in the service of genuine affection for the subject. Dissertations by Luis C. Dery and Henry Totanes, among others, show what can be achieved when a Bikolano’s devotion to his homeland is filtered through the discipline of a top university history department. Beyond the walls of academe, I have been particularly impressed by the research of Father Francisco Mallari whose two volumes of collected essays, Ibalon under Storm and Siege and Vignettes of Bicol History, represent highly refined analysis of archival materials. Occasionally what begins as amateur enthusiasm can rise to professional standards, as in Evelyn Caldera Soriano’s study of the Arejola brothers. This began as scarcely more than a family legend retold at a local history conference right here in 1990 and ended almost a decade later in a scholarly monograph published by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts.
But what about the “annals” themselves, what these men and women have written. How has Bikol history evolved? What did we know then, and what do we know now?
Thirty years ago I could read a number of stories about the founding of towns, but these were mostly based on local traditions and legends rather than documentary evidence. I also discovered certain episodes and aspects of the Revolution in Kabikolan, mostly through Ataviado. Dr. Abella provided a list of the Bishops of Caceres with some biographical information, but most of them were Spaniards; we knew next to nothing about the Filipino clergy or what the Church meant to ordinary Bikolano believers. In 1972, that was about the extent of our historical knowledge.
Today we can cast our eye over a far wider range of historical evidence and analysis. A much more detailed history of the Revolution has emerged, not only in Albay but also in Sorsogon (thanks to Dery) and in Ambos Camarines (thanks to Soriano and others) as well. Father Mallari has described and documented the attacks on coastal settlements by Moro raiders in the 18th and 19th centuries as well as the Spanish-organized efforts at coastal defense. I would like to think that I have contributed to the study of the economic history of the region, particularly the rise and fall of the abaca trade. And at various conferences on local history and in the pages of various journals, many other scholars have provided other bits and pieces, colorful tiles with which we can hope to construct a bigger picture, the mosaic of Bikol history.
Yet if we look at this mosaic as it presently appears, we may notice large blank areas, significant gaps in what we know. From Epic to History by Danilo Madrid Gerona, published by Ateneo de Naga in 1988 is a good short synthesis of our knowledge, accessible and affordable; I hope you all have read it. But today I would like to focus on another, more ambitious, effort: Bikol Maharlika, by Jose Calleja Reyes, published in 1992. This is much bigger and more lavish: a “coffeetable” book of over 400 pages with copious illustrations. It cost me around P4000 a decade ago, so I suspect most of you do not own copies! But even such a volume as this, drawing extensively on the studies of other scholars, as well as the author’s own research, does not tell us everything about Bikol history.
First, Reyes cites archeological research for clues to the ancient past, but this chapter is necessarily brief. Then, relying primarily on a handful of surviving 16th-century sources, he goes on to depict Bikol society at the time of the Spanish conquest. The Bikolanos were skilled boat-builders and gold-workers, doughty warriors who nevertheless were quickly conquered and converted by conquistadores and friars. Reyes also combines colonial accounts of indigenous religion with the legends recorded in the 19th century poem we know as “Ibalon” to construct a plausible account of what most Bikolanos believed 500 years ago.
His knowledge – our knowledge – of the political and economic systems of the time, on the other hand, is extremely limited. We do not really know what the “states” or “tribes” of Kabikolan were like, how many there were, or how they interacted with each other. We have no idea of whether they were conscious of any collective “Filipino” or “Bikol” identity. Beyond rice, gold, and ships, we know little of what they produced or traded; we do not know who controlled land, or who worked the lands of others, and on what terms. (Judging by what we know of other Philippine societies at the time, it is probable that most Bikolanos were in some kind of slavery or servitude; only the elite would have qualified as “maguinoo” or “maharlika.”)
At least the first conquest and the evangelization of Kabikolan are reasonably well documented. Our knowledge of the next two hundred years or so of history is very much sketchier, however. Almost all that Reyes records for this period is the role of Bikol shipyards in constructing Spanish ships – especially the great Manila galleons, many of which were built in shipyards along the Sibuyan Sea coast – and the impact of Moro raids. Yet this would have been the era in which towns were formed, landholding patterns, established, and the conceptual world of most Bikolanos, radically transformed. Of this cultural transfiguration we know almost nothing except for the origins of the devotion of Nuestra Señora de Peñafrancia.
Our ignorance of this period is not surprising, of course. In fact in the history of the Spanish empire as a whole, the period from 1650 to 1750 is sometimes referred to as the “forgotten century” since there seems so little of interest in the archives.
But the same excuse does not hold for the closing stages of Spanish rule. The Philippine National Archives, comparatively poor for the era before 1765, are incredibly rich thereafter. There are thousands upon thousands of documents there; those of us who have begun exploring them have still just scratched the surface. This was a time when Kabikolan started to become “modern”; when education expanded; when rules and regulations over landholding and the exploitation of forests were imposed; when the commercial development of abaca created for the first time a class of genuinely wealthy Filipinos in the region; when local elections were held and powerful political families learned how to manipulate the system for their own ends.
Yet beyond the abaca boom, Reyes scarcely mentions these19th-century developments, but focusses on a poem composed locally on the eruption of Mount Mayon in 1814 and the verse of Father Bernardino Melendreras. Then comes the Revolution, which takes pride of what took place here as in almost every Philippine history book. There are chapters on José Ma. Pañganiban, the 15 Bikol Martyrs, the “freedom fight” between 1896 and 1902, and General Vicente Lukban.
The American period, like the Spanish, is known more for its start and its finish than for the intervening years. The conquest of Kabikolan by the United States, like its Spanish counterpart three centuries earlier, is well covered as is the brave Bikolano resistance. The building of schools can be seen as a kind of parallel to the Spanish establishment of churches, in each case introducing a foreign cultural presence which the Bikolanos soon came to accept as their own. But the next recognized “historical” event comes only forty years later – at least until Henry Totanes finishes writing the history of the American era. The Japanese occupation offers a scenario of vicious brutality and epic heroism, the latter symbolized by Wenceslao Q. Vinzons. Reyes enlivens his account of the period with his personal reminiscences; though they are interesting, they are not really incorporated into any larger attempt to assess political, social, and economic changes in Bikol society.
And then, with the Liberation of 1945, Bikol history virtually comes to end. Reyes does not actually stop his book there (as Gerona does), but most of his last seven chapters are on culture rather than history, although he does reflect on regional poverty in one chapter on the Bicol River Basin Development Program. But anyone who wants to know what has happened in Kabikolan since 1945, about the Huks and the NPA, or martial law and “People Power,” or even about that contemporary Bikol cultural icon, Nora Aunor, will not find it in Bikol Maharlika – nor, so far as I know, in any other text. Apparently the recent history of Kabikolan is still to be written, except in short journalistic essays.
Please do not misunderstand me. I am not here to criticize Jose Calleja Reyes or his admirable book. In fact I chose to discuss it precisely because it is the most extensive account of Bikol history and culture of which I am aware. Many of its silences are not the fault of Reyes, but of the field itself. The fact is, we know a fair amount about the 16th century, the Revolution and Filipino-American War, and World War II, but not a lot about the years before, after, or in between these critical periods.
So my hope for the new Institute that we are inaugurating here today is that it will be a place where we can study all of Bikol history, not just a few events that we have designated in advance as “historical.” Certainly there is much more for us to learn about the conquest and conversion of the Bikolanos, about their participation in the Revolution, and about their resilience under Japanese occupation. I don’t want to discourage any of you who may already be undertaking research on one of these topics. But there is so much more to history than this!
About a decade ago I wrote some words that eventually became part of the Preface of The Bikol Blend, and I hope you will forgive me for quoting myself here:
Despite all these efforts, much remains to be done. Above all, Kabikolan still lacks a political history. We do not even have published lists of provincial governors for the colonial period …, much less any analysis of their changing powers and policies. We would surely benefit from detailed studies of the careers of some of the top colonial and ecclesiastical administrators who served in Kabikolan, such as Bishop Francisco Gainza or Colonels JosĂ© Ma. Peñaranda and Harry Hill Bandholtz.
Worse, we know almost nothing about the evolution of the Bikolano elite…. To cite only the most obvious case: who were the Imperials? Where did they come from? What were their changing economic and political bases over time? How did they manage to remain as local leaders through Spanish colonialism, the revolutionary Republic, American colonialism, the Japanese occupation, and all the ups and downs of postwar politics?
Besides these questions, still largely unanswered, there are many more, not just about famous men, but broader issues of social history. For example, where did today’s Bikolanos originate, and when and why did they settle where they did? We know that many Bikol families are descended from immigrants to the region, some from the Tagalog provinces, some from the Visayas, some from overseas. How were they assimilated into local society? The Abellas, for example, are descended from Manuel de San Francisco, from Catanauan, Tayabas, who came to Naga in the 1850s. (I was fortunate enough to find documentation on him in the Archivo Histórico Nacional in Madrid, and to share it with Dr. Abella in 1972.) But we don’t know why he migrated here or how long it took the Abellas to be accepted as Bikolanos.
Even within Kabikolan itself there was constant movement. A study of the parish records of Tigaon reveals that two hundred years ago there were a significant number of settlers arriving there from Tabaco district in Albay, for example. Who were they, why did they move to Partido, and what happened to them there?
Other questions center on the ordinary life of ordinary people, rather than the elite. At what age did Bikolanos marry on the average? The Tigaon records, again, suggest that during the course of the 19th century brides tended to marry younger, presumably because high abaca prices meant that young couples (and their parents) could afford the ceremony and other expenses sooner. Was this pattern widespread, and did it continue into the 20th century? How have other Bikol marriage customs evolved over time? When and where was the institution of pagmanugang (“bride-service”) practiced, and when did it end? And what kind of roles in the public sphere – outside the house – did women, the Bikolanas, play over time?
In the realm of economic history, we might ask about the effects of the Great Depression on Kabikolan, or, a generation later, the impact of “miracle rice.” In the cultural arena, we could try to measure how, and to what extent, Tagalog (“Pilipino”) has displaced the Bikol language here, or look at the role of movies and komiks. What has happened to older forms of Bikol theatre, such as “moro-moros” and Passion plays? A gifted British anthropologist, Fenella Cannell, has written an eloquent analysis of the role of beauty contests in contemporary Bikol society. Surely historians should be able to find some room for such economic and cultural developments in their own studies.
I would like to see the Institute for Bikol History and Culture open itself to all these possibilities. I realize that in a physical sense, it may have only one door, since it must be situated in a secure venue with limited access, perhaps only one well-guarded entrance. The materials it holds are precious, and should be well kept and preserved for the benefit of all. Intellectually, however, I hope that it, like the house of history itself, will be an open forum with many doors and many rooms, not just a single gate to enter or a single kind of “approved” history to write. I would like it to welcome both professionals and amateurs, both Bikolanos and outsiders, so long as they are serious researchers. Let historians, students of literature, genealogists, folklorists, and anthropologists all come along, and benefit from each other’s company.
Let me finally suggest one possibility that may come as a bit of a shock because it tends to contradict what many people expect of history. And that is to not simply select from the past those elements that are praiseworthy and inspire patriotism, but also to try and understand the awkward and embarrassing events as well as the heroic ones, the failures as well as the successes.
Some of you may feel uncomfortable with this suggestion. It may not seem compatible with your Filipino patriotism or your pride in your own Bikol heritage. But this ought not to be a problem. All Americans learn in school about great presidents like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. When we grow up, however we also read about other not-so-great presidents, including some who have been impeached – and others who probably should have been. We proclaim the United States as “the home of the free and the land of the brave,” but when we are honest with ourselves, we also acknowledge the terrible institution of slavery as part of our national heritage. Yet for all her faults we still love our country. Why should Bikolanos be any less forgiving of their motherland?
What might some of these inglorious aspects of Bikol history be? Let me mention a few possibilities:
* We know that Bikolanos fought bravely against the Spanish, the Americans, and the Japanese. But we should also recognize that in these times of conflict, other Bikolanos did not choose the path of resistance. When the Philippine Revolution broke out in 1896, the province of Albay volunteered to send help to suppress it. During the Filipino-American War, some leading officials in the revolutionary government slipped away and defected to the American side. And the leading Bikolano politician of the inter-war period, Pio Duran, is scarcely mentioned today outside the municipality that bears his name because he was such a notorious collaborator in World War II.
* When political history is mentioned at all, senators, congressmen, governors, and mayors tend to be portrayed as local heroes. Many of them were doubtless men and women of virtue who truly deserved their plaudits. But should we not also recognize the fact of political corruption, which has been around for at least two hundred years in Kabikolan? As early as 1809, there were allegations of undue influence in Libmanan town politics. In 1889-90, the outcome of virtually every local election in Albay province was disputed, so hotly in fact in Cagsaua that they had to elect and re-elect, a new gobernadorcillo three times in two years. Most notoriously, in 1916, the year of the first senatorial election in Philippine history, it was the Bikol senate race – alone in the entire country – that was eventually thrown out because of convincing claims of irregularities on both sides. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I suspect that there are some good stories to be told, stories which all history-lovers should enjoy. Such knowledge does not just feed our idle curiosity, however; it also helps us reflect on the perennial question: what happens when democracy goes wrong?
* A century ago, Kabikolan was among the most prosperous regions in the Philippines. Albay, riding a wave of high abaca prices, was said by some to be the richest province in the country. The whole region was a magnet for immigrants: Tagalogs, Visayans, Chinese, Spaniards, Americans. But over the last half-century, Kabikolan has been poor, and attracts few outsiders; instead many of its sons and daughters have been forced to migrate elsewhere to make a living. What went wrong? Colonialism undoubtedly bears some of the blame, but not all of it. Bikolanos need to examine the question of historical responsibility.
I am certainly not suggesting here that such shadowy valleys be studied at the expense of the more glorious heights of Bikol history. Some of you may not wish to do research on these topics, and that is fine, so long as you leave room in the house of history for others who do. For all of us should want the whole story of the Bikol past to be told. Three and a half centuries ago, when Oliver Cromwell was Lord Protector of England, he was asked by the man who was painting his portrait how he wanted to look. Cromwell replied thus:
I desire you would use all your skills to paint my picture truly like me, and not flatter me at all; but remark all these roughnesses, pimples, warts and everything as you see me, otherwise I will never pay a farthing for it.
I desire you would use all your skills to paint my picture truly like me, and not flatter me at all; but remark all these roughnesses, pimples, warts and everything as you see me, otherwise I will never pay a farthing for it.
So here we are today, inaugurating a new Institute that represents what we hope will be another step on the long road to a mature Bikol history. We should be proud of it and grateful to those who have contributed to its establishment. But we should also remember that in the end, it is an institution – buildings, books, and by-laws – and institutions themselves don’t write history. People do. And if these people, whether Bikolanos or outsiders, are helped by this new Institute to go on combining the enthusiasm of Father James J. O’Brien with the professionalism of Dr. Domingo C. Abella, we can all rejoice. We can then look forward to a Bikol history more comprehensive, more complex, and more complete than we have now. So let us start down that road together.
Source: Ateneo de Naga UniversityÂ