Kulaman Burial Jars at Silliman University

I’ve been to the Silliman University Anthropological Museum a few times now, and my main purpose in going there is, of course, to see the limestone burial jars from Kulaman Plateau, my hometown. The first time I saw the jars, I was not as awed as I was when I saw the jars in the University of San Carlos Museum in Cebu. It must be for two reasons. First, the ones in San Carlos were the very first Kulaman jars I saw in person, and second, the pieces in the Silliman collection are fewer and less ornate. Nonetheless, the Silliman collection has its own charm. It contains items that cannot be found in other museums.

I counted 15 items in the Silliman collection—5 large jars with lids, 4 small jars with lids, 1 small jar without a lid, and 5 lids. Since picture taking is not allowed inside the museum, I decided to sketch the jars. I was able to do the large ones only since the museum was about to close when I did it, and I was not so enthusiastic about my output. I do not and cannot draw.

The large-sized Kulaman jars in Silliman University Anthropological Museum. These jars, more or less one meter high, are normally used to contain the bones of adult dead persons. I'm sorry for the awful illustration; picture taking is not allowed inside the museum.

If I may digress a little, I used to draw when I was a kid. I could draw fairly well. I won a municipal-level poster-making contest or two when I was in elementary, and I reached the regional schools press conference in high school as an editorial cartoonist. I stopped, however, when I was fifteen, when I was old enough to gauge that my outputs were just decent at best and it would be better if I channeled my creativity into other mediums, though that time I had not yet fully realized that the medium should be writing.

Back to sketching the burial jars, I’m glad I did it because I noticed that one jar has curved engravings. Usually, the bodies of Kulaman jars are adorned with straight vertical or diagonal lines, sometimes forming large diamonds. The patterns on this one jar look like fat intertwined 9’s and 6’s.

In my quest for the burial jars, I discover more things than I expect and do things I won’t in other circumstances. Of course, those things are not really bucket list–worthy, but I’m having fun. I wonder what I’ll do next.

Kulaman Burial Jars in Dumaguete

Perhaps I’m really fated to see the burial jars of Kulaman with or without much effort. I am now based in Dumaguete City, specifically at Silliman University, which happens to be one of only two universities that conducted studies on the burial jars (the other one being University of San Carlos in Cebu City). Since November last year, at the start of the second semester, I’ve been a graduate teaching fellow at Silliman. I’m on something like a scholarship. I’m taking up masteral classes for free, and in exchange, I have to teach two undergraduate subjects.

I learned that Silliman was in need of a graduate teaching fellow on the third week of November. In a hurry, and without really expecting to be accepted, I sent my resume through email. As I’ve said, it must be fated. I was asked to come here in Dumaguete that very week. I asked permission from the company I’m working for in Cebu City, and after some serious negotiations, I was allowed to keep my job and work from home. So here I am now, walking inside the campus of Silliman on weekdays, just a few hundred meters away from a group of Kulaman burial jars.

The burial jars, along with other artifacts from other parts of the country, are housed on the second floor of Kalayaan Hall, which serves as the Silliman University Anthropological Museum. The jars were taken away from Kulaman Plateau in the late 1960s. In 1965–66, Samuel Briones, a graduate student at Silliman, led the exploration. Manuel Maceda of the University of San Carlos had gone to Kulaman Plateau first, but Briones went to a different spot. While Maceda conducted his study in the hamlet of Menteng, which is part of the municipality of Senator Ninoy Aquino today, Briones went to Salangsang , a village in the municipality of Lebak.

Kalayaan Hall, perhaps the most iconic building in Silliman University,

houses the Kulaman jars on its second floor.

In 1967–68, two foreign anthropologists conducted further research in Salangsang: Edward B. Kurjack, of the University of Miami, and Craig T. Sheldon, of the University of Oregon. They were the ones who, through carbon dating, found out that the jars are about 1,500 years old. Kurjack and Sheldon were affiliated with Silliman, but I’m not sure what role the university specifically played in their research. They might be graduate students enrolled in Silliman or just conducted their thesis through the help of the university. I will find out in the next months, for Kurjack and Sheldon had some papers about the jars published in Silliman Journal. I’ll look for copies of those papers in the school library.

I was able to visit the museum on the first or second week of December. Too bad, taking pictures is not allowed there. I had a digital camera with me, and truth be told, I was tempted to steal some shots. The CCTV camera, however, was just two or three meters away from the limestone jars and its red dots menacing, so I kept my hands where they should be. Besides, I don’t mind waiting for the right time for me to take pictures. I believe time will come when circumstances will allow me to openly say to people, “Hey, I’m writing a book on the burial jars. Allow me access to this and that.” For now, though, I’m happy enough as an obscure blogger.

The Manoba in Lumad Society

(Blogger’s note: The following is an excerpt from Defending the Land: Lumad and Moro People’s Struggle for Ancestral Domain in Mindanao, specifically pp. 119–121. The publishers welcome and even encourage the reproduction of the book in part or in its entirety, so I am posting this excerpt here without prior permission. Not a single word has been changed, and the style of the text as they appear on the book has been preserved. For citation details about the book, see Webliography.)

Lumad women face similar problems and constraints as do other Filipino women. They, too, grapple with issues of double burden, non-recognition, and disempowerment. Lumad women, however, do face more difficulties than do other Filipinas; the culture and tradition that characterize Lumad societies often limit the options, roles and status that Lumad women can take on in their communities. One case in point is that of the women in Manobo society.

The Manobo family is characteristically patriarchal. The male dominates in all facets of family and community life. He shares very little interest in household responsibilities with his wife. He spends his time smoking, chewing betel nut, gambling or drinking and leaves practically all chores to her, including her preparing the ingredients for his betel chewing.

Plowing the field is man’s work of course, but the attendant hilamon (clearing of the field) is the woman’s responsibility. Husband and wife work together in planning or harvesting the crops, unless she is heavy with child. When she is pregnant, he will ask a young son or a male nephew to do her tasks.

In public gatherings, Manobo women are mere observers. Their role is to serve food to the guests or entertain women visitors. They do not participate in the discussions, though sometimes they give advice to their male kin behind the scene.

It is a common sight for a Dulangan Manoba to sling her child in a malong around her shoulder while going up and down the house to gather firewood. The Manoba does the household chores despite how tired she is; in contrast, the husband is often a few meters away, perhaps playing cards with other males. She fetches water from a spring or creek no matter how heavy the container is or how far the source of water would be.

The Manoba is not free to go anywhere she wants without permission of the husband. If the wife leaves the household due to marital spat, she waits for him to fetch her. Her father may intervene and ask her to return home while imposing a fine on the husband. But if she refuses to return, her family must return the dowry. If the family cannot return the entire amount, the husband may opt to replace her with her younger sister. However, he must not touch her if she is a mere wisp of a girl. These means of resolution are the result of antang-antang.

The females in the community hardly participate in any social gathering or meeting. When she makes an appearance, the males around hardly notice her presence. If she responds to queries that males failed to answer properly, she does not get recognition. In responding, she does it almost inaudibly and outside the circle of male Manobo respondents.

Sometimes she simply makes her inaudible comments while in the kitchen or squatting on the ground outside the hut. The Manoba is only able to freely express her ideas in the presence of other Manobas or with children.

The lowly status of the wife may be because the Manobos marry through parental arrangement, where dowry or bride payment changes hands. Dowry in effect relegates the bride to being treated as a commodity. Such lack of esteem for the women sometimes takes the form of using the wife as a guarantee for the husband’s gambling debt. In such cases, he deposits her in the abode of the sultan or the datu until he pays the debt.

Lately, there are improvements in the Manoba’s awareness of her role in the community. It is not a big leap, but it is a start says Ida Dakias, the fifth wife and widow of the late Sultan Tagenek Dakias of Kulaman. Ida attended seminars on women’s concerns in semi-urban centers such as Tacurong and Isulan. She echoed the subjects of help and herbal medicine to the other Manobas and even injected some radical ideas on women’s rights. Now, Manobas start to react to male dominance in the household and in community affairs. Yet they understand that the cultural practice, being deeply imbedded, may take some time to change. This new realization will hopefully allow them to get the respect and dignity they deserve from their community.

Polity of the Dulangan Manobo (Part 2 of 2)

(Blogger’s note: The following is an excerpt from Defending the Land: Lumad and Moro People’s Struggle for Ancestral Domain in Mindanao, specifically pp. 117–18. The publishers welcome and even encourage the reproduction of the book in part or in its entirety, so I am posting this excerpt here without prior permission. Not a single word has been changed, and the style of the text as they appear on the book has been preserved. For citation details about the book, see Webliography.)

The Dulangan Manobos in Kulaman, Sultan Kudarat have a simple and functional political set-up easily understood by the ordinary Manobo constituents.

The position of sultan is unusual in a non-Muslim aggregation. It has its legendary beginnings in the marriage of Shariph Kabungsuan, an Islamic leader, to Tabunaway, a Manobo princess. Their male descendants became Sultans and the sultanate was institutionalized even in Manobo settlements up to the present. However, the assembly of datus must acknowledge the sultan, even if the position is hereditary.

At the top of the political structure in Mnaobo community is the Sultan, the highest-ranking tribal leader. He lords over the datus and presides meetings, especially in their antang-antang—an assembly of tribal leaders to discuss and resolve community issues. He also signs legal documents of government agencies in representation of the entire tribe.

He judges conflicts that arise among members of the family or among Manobo residents of different barangays. He also performs marriage and other rites when the occasion arises. He presides over the legislative process of the community or among tribal leaders in a meeting called for the purpose. Aware of the existing conditions of the community that abet changes in societal practices, he urges respect for cultural traditions. He is the unifying factor of all datus and of all the members of the tribe.

When there is no direct heir to the position such as a son, a close male relative may become a Sultan. The chosen one must show ability to handle situations and to command the respect of his constituents. The datuship is also a hereditary position. In the absence of an heir, the closest male relative may be a successor.

The datu is the second highest-ranking official of the tribe. He assists the sultan in community or tribal matters. He performs marriage or burial rites and their consequent celebration in the absence of the sultan. In the local sitio or barangay where he resides, he settles family and community problems in an antang-antang. As such he elicits respect and loyalty from the company. There may be several datus in a small community. In such a situation, the eldest and the most respected datu heads the village antang-antang.

The tribal chieftain acts as the adviser of the community. He heads the tribal council and leads in community projects such as constructing a tribal hall. The Sultan and Datu of the community select him via consultation with the other Manobos of the village.

Each community has a tribal council consisting of six members who have indeterminate tenure and serve for as long as they effectively deliver their job. Not doing well in their task is reason enough o change the council member. The council may choose a woman or two as a member to take care women’s affairs.

At present, there are nine datus in the sitio, namely, Datus Angked Talombo, Hindot Abog, Lantig Labe, Felipe Ilas, Kaleb Imbog, Buat Uba, Glem Katel and the informant himself. They meet once a month to engage in antang-antang.

Some of the children attended school in far away Kulambo. They learned the value of education, but were not able to go beyond secondary school due to financial constraints.