Sacred Katuiran: Decolonial Sensibility in the Katipunan Papers An ‘indigenist hermeneutic’ of nineteenth-century Tagalog revolutionary texts

A thesis submitted for the degree of

Master of Indigenous Studies

at the

University of Otago, Dunedin

New Zealand

Pia Cristóbal Kahn

February 2018 ABSTRACT

Indigenous meanings and renderings tend to be forgotten and buried, and even erased, by non-indigenist interpretations and translations. This is a case study of an ‘indigenist hermeneutic’ approach to a re-translation of the “Kartilya” and other selected texts authored by members of the Katipunan, a nineteenth-century revolutionary movement against Spanish colonial rule in the Philippines. The Tagalog word katuiran, which is often translated to ‘reason’, in support of a prevailing narrative in Philippine historiography that credits the European Enlightenment for primary Katipunan ideas, becomes central to the research as intertextual analyses unearth a variety of its forgotten meanings and usages, and concomitant mistranslations. A comparative conceptual analysis of katuiran and the Māori word tikanga opens up a viable hypothesis for an expanded indigenous meaning of katuiran, that necessitates the re-translation of many passages and other principle ideas of the

Katipunan. This re-translation results in a re-narration that depicts an indigenous nineteenth-century ‘decolonial’ Tagalog movement that sought to delink from European constructs epistemically, ethically and politically; and thus, a re-narration that offers a challenge to a ‘European Enlightenment narrative’ for the Katipunan revolution.

ii I dedicate this work to my father, Adrián, and my mother, Teresita.

iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am grateful to friends and colleagues who have inspired me to embark on this research journey, and who have given time, energy, suggestions and interesting conversations throughout my research process and stay in Dunedin, New Zealand. My warm thanks go to Jaha Cummings, who challenged me with the task of translation and prompted shifts in my thinking; Deo Cuerdo, with his natural and poetic understanding of the Tagalog language; Daniel Hernandez, whose feedback reminded me to re-examine Tikanga Māori; Peter Russell, who organised writing days and retreats at the Puketeraki Marae in Karitane, whose hosts were welcoming and generous; Henry Johnson and Vivienne Anderson, who organised the Education, Migration and Translation Research Symposium hosted by the Centre for Global Migrations at the University of Otago; Elizabeth Guthrie-Higbee, who encouraged me to present my research at the Education, Migration and Translation Conference at the University of Otago; Tonga Karena from the National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago; Tony Cooper, Course Adviser at the University of Otago; Sylvia Frain; Iman Nezami; MacDonald Paul Gourlie; Andrew Rudolph; and last, but not least, the administrative staf f and faculty at the University of Otago’s Te Tumu School of Māori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies for their kindness and support, namely Robyn Russell, Perau Warbrick, and my adviser Poia Rewi, whose valuable inputs have helped bring clarity and ease of presentation to this thesis.

iv Hē iti te kupu, Hē nui te kōrero.

“Although the word is only small, the meaning is great.”

Māori proverb

v Table of Contents

Abstract …………………………………………………………………………………………….……..………..………ii

Acknowledgements ……………………………………………………………………………………….……………iv

Table of Contents ……………………………………………………………………………………………….……….v

Introduction Children of the Land:

An Indigenist Reading of the Katipunan Papers ………………………………………..1

Chapter Two Indigenist Hermeneutics:

Unveiling the ‘indigeneity of being’ through translation ……….……………………12

Chapter Three Congress of the Children of the Land: Key Words, Names and Titles

Katipunan, Anak and Bayan ……………………………………………………….……….……45

Chapter Four Reason din maman! The mistranslation of katuiran ……………………….………………..72

Chapter Five Sacred Katuiran:

Re-locating katuiran in the indigenous world …………………………….……………..98

Chapter Six Conclusion: Katuiran as a decolonial option …………………………..………..……..125

GLOSSARY ….…………………………………………………………………………………..……………….…….133

BIBLIOGRAPHY ……………………………………………………………………………………..………….…139

APPENDICES

Appendix A: The “Kartilya” (Original Tagalog text)

Katipunan ng manga A. N. B.:

Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito ………….………………………..…….173

Appendix B: English translation of the “Kartilya”

Congress of the Children of the Land:

To those who wish to join this congress ………………………………………178

vi Introduction

Children of the Land:

An Indigenist Reading of the Katipunan Papers

The Katipunan revolutionary movement of nineteenth-century Philippines always held a fascination for me, even as a child. Its secrecy, rebellion, its creativity and ingenuity in forging its own symbols, and the historical dramatic narratives and depictions of its leaders and members, inspired and touched an innate sense of justice in me as I observed a society that still bore the scars of transgenerational trauma experienced under the American and

Spanish colonial periods of its history.

So, as an adult, when confronted with the task of re-translating one of the

Katipunan’s major documents, the Kartilya, into English, it was not as a stranger to the texts and symbols of the movement, nor to its language, Tagalog. I saw in the endeavour an opportunity for those who shared the same heritage but who could not speak the Tagalog language, to be informed and inspired by a work of moral philosophy that came from within their heritage, and not outside of it, which is often the case for descendants of the colonised.

The process of re-translation gave rise to an exploration, not only of Austronesian linguistic cognates, but general, ostensibly Austronesian, world-views embedded or implied in the meanings of words. These explorations led to a questioning of, and an offering of an alternative interpretation to a prevailing notion in Philippine historiography that the

Kartilya and other Katipunan writings, and the Katipunan movement itself, were essentially influenced by European Enlightenment ideas. This standard, ‘evolutionary’ narrative

1 assumes that the writings of a small, educated segment of the Philippine population, called ilustrados (‘the educated/enlightened’, from the Spanish term for the Enlightenment,

Ilustración), managed to stir up nationalist and separatist feelings among the tens of thousands who joined the Katipunan movement to fight in a war of liberation from Spanish rule, via a translation, so to speak, of their ideas from Spanish to the native language,

Tagalog. Adhering to this standard narrative, independent scholar Jim Richardson, whose exhaustive compilation of Katipunan documents in The Light of Liberty: Documents and Studies on the Katipunan, 1892-1897 (2013), was touted as “the most important book of our time” in a leading Manila newspaper (Nery, 2013), writes:

To emphasize Enlightenment influences on Katipunan thinking, some say, effaces the originality of documents like the Kartilya, which may be found in the nuances of their Tagalog and their resonance with the native psyche, familial bonds, folk Christianity, indigenous dissident traditions, and so on. Such arguments may be true up to a point, but often they seem nebulous, reliant more on wishful assertion than on substantiating chapter and verse. The Tagalog words that resound the loudest in the Kartilya, beyond doubt, are the equivalents of the Enlightenment’s defining watchwords Liberty (Kalayaan), Equality (lahat ng tao’y magkakapantay), Fraternity (kayong lahat ay magkakapatid), Reason (Katuiran), Progress (Kagalingan), and Enlightenment itself (Kaliwanagan). Most, perhaps all, of the Tagalog equivalents had already been employed by ilustrado writers like Rizal and Del Pilar before the KKK [Katipunan] was founded. The revolutionary originality of the Katipunan lay not in its idiom, but in its objective and its deeds (Richardson, 2013, p. 131).

Richardson here mainly refers to historian Reynaldo Ileto’s groundbreaking study of popular ‘religiopolitical’ movements in the Philippines that resonate with the Katipunan movement in terms of language and mentalities (1979, p. 5; Ileto, 1984, p. 19), suggesting indigenous constructs, if not foundations, for Katipunan thought. Although not denying any knowledge of Enlightenment ideas on the part of Katipunan authors, Ileto nevertheless asserts that the standard ‘Enlightenment-narrative’ gives an incomplete picture of the

2 Katipunan, whose language and practices, like the use of anting-anting or amulets (Ileto,

1979; Escalante, 2017), cannot be explained by an Enlightenment philosophical framework.

The Katipunan texts, moreover, are not written in the Spanish language, but in the Tagalog language, which, like any other language, “carries with it the history of its speakers and expresses a unique way of relating to the world” (Ileto, 1979, p. 10). The privileging of this

Enlightenment-narrative in historical accounts of the Katipunan has also resulted in a lack of close readings of the Katipunan texts (Ileto, 1979). As regards Richardson’s perspective,

Ileto attributes it to a lack of sufficient knowledge of Philippine culture to justify “a discussion on consciousness” (Ileto, 1984, p. 26).

Although this re-translation project was not undertaken to challenge or support either of these opposing perspectives, the re-translation process has unavoidably engaged the issues raised by both, and has thus emerged with a challenge to the ‘Enlightenment- narrative’ that is more substantive and more convincing than I had expected to find. My

findings not only challenge Richardson’s thesis, they also show that in spite of his assiduous and admirable work of translating more than 70 newly examined Katipunan documents from the Archivo General Militar de Madrid — his adherence to, or perhaps, captivation by, the Enlightenment narrative, causes him to mistranslate, and even erase, crucial words and meanings in the Katipunan literature that indubitably indicate that the central points in

Katipunan thought are indigenous and indigenist, and most certainly not grounded in the

European Enlightenment framework.

There is an implicit ‘diffusionism’ in Richardson’s point of view, as well, whereby

Europe is deemed a centre from which ideas and inventions spread out to peripheral, non-

European cultures (Battiste & Henderson, 2000) that adopt or assimilate these ideas

3 passively, or with some modification or ‘indigenisation’ to match local conditions. It does not seem to occur to Richardson and other like-minded commentators that non-European cultures could be using European wordings and conceptions to gain legitimation or a hearing among Europeans who can comprehend or consider nothing else but their own constructs; or, that they are using these European concepts for the purpose of critiquing, redefining or transforming (if not outright ‘correcting’) these concepts, from within their coexisting, non-

European worldviews, to thereby generate anti-European, and in this case, anti-European

Enlightenment understandings. Perhaps so accustomed to the epistemicidal tactics of colonialism, these ‘diffusionist’ commentators merely assume that indigenous peoples have nothing left to go by, that even the ideas of freedom and equality have to be imported.

This perspective also imputes a lack of integrity and originality to indigenous peoples who are ‘biting the hand that feeds’ them by using the concepts of the oppressor to liberate themselves from the oppressor, not unlike the proverbial criticism of Occupy activists using

Apple computers to protest capitalism and corporatism. The perspective also ensures the continual ‘presence’ and affirmation of the oppressor’s identity as the superior culture in the subaltern’s consciousness. There is also the suggestion that the imbibing of superior Western concepts by an allegedly less inventive group or culture can be regarded as compensations for the pillage of their resources by colonial powers (Battiste & Henderson, 2000).

Indigenist Approach

The point of departure of this research is decidedly ‘indigenist’ on a fundamental and philosophical level. At the fundamental level, the indigenist approach works on a recognition that the source text to be translated is a creation of indigenous people in their

4 own language and constructs, and that it is their voices and lived histories recorded and embedded in their language that needs to be privileged in proffering an understanding and translation of their text. In semiotics, this approach is a focus on “the locus of enunciation” (Mignolo, 2007), or the answer to “Who is speaking?”, “when, why and what for”, rather than on the enunciated — “what is being said” or the subject of enunciation

(Finlay, 1988, p. 111; Mignolo, 2012, par. 8; Cosmopolis#1, 2017, 36:24). This focus is unavoidably political, as coloniality and its benign face, European modernity, has variably affected the locus of enunciation; this research approach lines itself with Indigenist

Australian scholar Lester-Irabinna Rigney’s pronouncement that “Indigenist research is research that gives voice to the voiceless” (Rigney, 1999, p. 42).

On a philosophical level, this approach assumes what I’ve come to refer to as an

‘indigeneity of being’ — a way of being-in-the-world that can be recognised as inhering in the linguistic and non-linguistic expressions of indigenous peoples, and that reveals itself in a pluritopic hermeneutic phenomenological process of translation and interpretation.

‘Pluritopic’ refers to decolonial theorist Walter Mignolo’s conception of a hermeneutic that questions “the Western locus on [sic] enunciation masked as universal and out-of-concrete- space” (Tlostanova & Mignolo, 2009, p. 18), not for the purpose of affirming cultural relativism or diversity, but to emphasise an asymmetry of power relations and control of knowledge production between the coloniser and the colonised, and to stress that other types of truth have a right to exist and be made visible (Tlostanova & Mignolo, 2009).

This hermeneutic is also an ‘indigenist hermeneutics’, as it is particularly guided by an understanding of themes in the ‘indigeneity of being’, the most significant of which is the valuing of, and even desire for, the unity of the human being with its natural environment

5 (Royal, 2002). The theme denotes a sense of rootedness, kinship, and even identification, with nature that is oppositional to the separation from nature and “ecological hierarchy” which characterises colonial epistemology and ontology (Grosfoguel, 2012; decolonialgroup,

2012). This particular theme will be alluded to throughout the translation process, especially in the analyses of key words in Chapter Three, “Congress of the Children of the Land: Key

Words, Names and Titles: Katipunan, Anak and Bayan”, and in the section titled “Noble teachings” in Chapter Five, “Sacred Katuiran: Re-locating katuiran in the indigenous world” in which I refer to Katipunan leader Andres Bonifacio’s moral embodiment of the bayan or homeland.

This indigenist hermeneutics also hypothesises an ‘indigeneity of being’ that can be gleaned in al human languages at one point in their histories, as a reflection of the fundamental commonality of humans as living and breathing, and being indigenous to the lands and waters of this planet — “a general indigeneity to the Earth (Kahn, 2017). In this view, I am influenced by Seneca historian John Mohawk (2008), who spoke of the need for a larger umbrella under which to understand ‘re-indigenization’, and that it is “not necessarily about the Indigenous people of a specific place; it’s about re-indigenizing the peoples of the planet to the planet” (p. 259). In the translation process, themes in the ‘indigeneity of being’ were helpful in addressing issues of ‘untranslatability’ as they heightened an awareness of lost, forgotten, ignored or buried ‘indigeneities’ or ‘senses of indigeneity’, not only in the reception, understanding and translation of words and sentences in the source text, but in the possibilities of meaning construction in the intended target language as well — in this case, English. After all, the English language is a creation of people indigenous to Europe; it may have “lost its Mother”, as an elder of Métis author Maria Campbell declared (Dutt,

6 2001, p.2; DiNova & Pine, 2015, p. 364), but an English word like “land”, for example, has the potential to be read with an indigenous sense, sans its modernist semantic development into a commodity. This indigenist hermeneutical outlook underlies a discussion of a hermeneutic phenomenological framework for translation and re-translation in Chapter Two, “Indigenist

Hermeneutics: Unveiling the ‘Indigeneity of Being’ through Translation.”

Recovering Katuiran from the Ashes of ‘Reason’

It was not foreseen at the outset of this research that working with the word katuiran would constitute the bulk of the translation and re-translation process — but in the end, such work made perfect sense.

Katuiran has almost always been translated to ‘reason’ in texts involving the

Katipunan. Apart from the occasional ‘strange’ feeling that I would get when encountering this translation, I personally did not have any problems with it, for ‘reason’ (and related concepts) was the only meaning for katuiran that I knew. But browsing through Richardson’s collection (2013), I came across a less known piece that I had not planned on translating. It was a short satire titled, ¡Katuiran din naman!, which, in its very first English translation,

Richardson chose to translate to “Reason yet Again!” The odd title prompted an examination of the piece, leading down a path of hermeneutic suspicion that traversed two chapters involving a discussion of at least eight texts containing the word katuiran. Various usages of the word katuiran (including archaic ones, like ‘legality’) are used in the re- translations in Chapter Four, titled “Reason din naman!: The Mistranslation of Katuiran”; and unrecorded meanings, and a possible, wider range of meanings of katuiran akin to the Maori concept of tikanga, as a system of values and practices, are restored, to my own wonderment,

7 in the chapter that follows, Chapter Five, “Sacred Katuiran: re-locating katuiran in the indigenous world”.

Richardson almost always (mis)translates katuiran to ‘reason’, sometimes outright removing the word’s syntactical place from his translations, and once not translating it at all when its meaning could not be matched with ‘reason'. By the end of my analyses of katuiran,

I found that ‘reason’ was hardly ever meant by the Katipunan in their use of the word.

Though the manifold meanings of katuiran were ‘erased’ by the translations of Richardson and others, it now seems that it is ‘reason’ that is being ‘erased’ by these re-translations, challenging the narrative of the European Enlightenment’s fundamental influence on the

Katipunan by removing its idolised watchword from the Katipunan texts.

Decoloniality and the Tagalog ‘Light’

The revolution instigated by the Katipunan is often lauded as “East Asia’s first anti- colonial nationalist revolt” (Miller, 2014, p. 79). The word ‘nationalist’ can be disputed, but the influence and intended reach of the Katipunan was definitely archipelago-wide.

Nevertheless, it can also be argued that the ideas expounded by the two main authors of the

Katipunan texts — the co-founder and Supreme, or Highest, President during the war of liberation, Andres Bonifacio, and his intellectual righthand and Secretary of State, Emilio

Jacinto (Guerrero, Encarnacion & Villegas, 2003) — were not only anti-colonial, but

‘decolonial’. The concept of ‘decolonial’ or ‘decoloniality’ was delineated by scholars from

South America in the 1990s onward, upon the recognition that ‘decolonisation’ by way of the expulsion of colonial administrations from ex-colonies — whether through independence movements on the part of the colonised, or financial and legal considerations

8 on the part of the colonisers — did not release these former colonies from the dictates of a colonial matrix of power that continues to dominate their economic and political lives via a control of knowledge production and dissemination on a global scale. This control has been effected by the assumption that knowledge originating from the colonial powers in Europe is non-embodied, universal and unqualified by biographical and geohistorical agendas or prejudices, and is the only legitimate path to Truth and Universality (Grosfoguel, 2009).

Decoloniality is a delinking from this assumption to reconstitute or provide an opening to other ways of knowing and producing knowledge (Mignolo, 2011); it is an “epistemological decolonization" (Quijano, 2007, p. 177). Unlike the likewise indigenous, but European- educated elite of the colony (referred to as ilustrados), who communicated in Spanish, believed in and used modern European constructs as they agitated for reforms from the colonial government, Bonifacio and Jacinto, though educated and well-read in European thought, chose to use the Tagalog language in their ideological constructions and communications, and espoused ideas that pointed to a restoration of their own way of living and thinking — in Bonifacio’s words, “our own sensibility” — that delinked from the

European horizon of meanings and definitions of freedom, enlightenment and equality.

Most of all, they rejected the colonisers’ valuation of the colonised person’s (sub)humanity and asserted a definition of human dignity that defies the racism that is constitutive of

European coloniality. This issue of race was not contended with in European struggles for liberation from monarchic despotism, and is therefore a crucial point in holistically understanding Katipunan ideology as set apart and delinked from European political tradition and idiom. With the one epistemic move of using Tagalog for the revolutionary

9 movement, Bonifacio and Jacinto shifted to a different “geography of reasoning” (Open

University, 2015) and won the support of thousands for their revolutionary movement.

So what at first seem like ‘equivalences’ of European concepts are ultimately not; and this was becoming increasingly evident throughout the re-translation process. The author of most of the Katipunan’s well-known texts, Emilio Jacinto, framed his ‘version’ of

‘enlightenment’ using the word kaliwanagan, which simply means ‘light’, in a beautifully simple, and to my mind, ‘indigenist’, concrete, and nature-based distinction between light that brings clarity of vision, and light that dazzles and blinds. It is a subtle jab at modernity and the European ‘Enlightenment’ itself, and its ‘dazzling’ appearance and achievements.

‘Enlightenment-narrative’ enthusiasts often like to mention the reading material found in

Bonifacios’s den by Spanish guards — Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, Carlyle’s History of the

French Revolution, etc. (Gripaldo, 2015; Richardson, 2013) — to imply the ‘influence’ of the

Enlightenment, as if reading always involves enchantment and the abandonment of one’s own native epistemological framework. Chapters Four and Five tackle powerful passages in

Bonifacio’s famous tract, Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should

Know) in connection with the concepts of katuiran and pagdaramdam; and in Chapter Six,

“Conclusion”, I further point out Jacinto’s epistemological independence in his re-translation of the word ‘rights’ that eschewed the ilustrados’ use of the word karampatan, as evidenced by their translation of the Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen (The Declaration of the

Rights of Man and of the Citizen) to Ang mga Karampatan ng Tawo (Almario, 1993), in favour of katuiran — a master stroke asserting the Katipunan’s own way of thinking and its taking of the decolonial option.

10 Katuiran took centre stage in the results of this research, exceeding the expectations of this researcher. It is hoped that this attempt to have a clearer and expanded concept of the Tagalogs’ ‘sacred katuiran’ provides a different framework for understanding the central concepts of the Katipunan and its decolonial, de-linking from European Enlightenment constructs and the coloniality of being.

11 Chapter Two

Indigenist Hermeneutics:

Unveiling the ‘indigeneity of being’ through an indigenist translation

This chapter is a description and narration of the re-translation project as a phenomenological process, that is, as a process that involved a lived experience of a translating researcher at the border of two languages and therefore, two worlds or cultures

— of the indigenous Tagalog, and of English. The phenomenological approach is evident on two levels — on the level of interpreting and writing about the particular research process itself, which involves the lived experience of the researcher within her historical setting; and on the level of the act of translation, where the interpretation of texts involves an imagining of the lived experiences of the authors of the text in order to glean their meanings. This phenomenological approach is ‘hermeneutic’, in that it involves interpreting “a type of experience by relating it to relevant features of context… especially social and linguistic context” (Smith, 2013). This is why this chapter devotes much space in providing a narrative of the genesis and geopolitical background of the project, the texts, the research process and the researcher, in the sections, “Genesis”, “Perspective”, “Philippines”, ”Spanish conquest and colonisation”, “The Tagalogs”, and “My background as a bilingual researcher”.

The section, “Natural Translation and Biculturalism” connects this historical situatedness with the experience of translation, and the experience of the need for re-translation. The subsequent sections, “Non-casual Translation as Research”, “Etymological Strategies”,

“Intertextual and Conceptual Analysis”, and “Speaking out loud — translating the paralingual” describe the translation and research methods used once translation research

12 commenced. The section, “Faithful to what?” discusses theories of language and translation implicit in the desire to translate a text ‘faithfully’; and the final section discusses the concept of ‘indigeneity of being’ that is unveiled in the process of translation and becomes a clue for an ‘indigenist hermeneutic.’

But before all else, I provide a brief, and rather simplified, explanation of the type of phenomenology that informs this research, Martin Heidegger’s hermeneutic phenomenology, in the two sections, “Phenomenology” and “Hermeneutic Phenomenology”.

Phenomenology

Phenomenology, in a very broad sense, is a discipline concerned with the study of the structures of human consciousness and experience (Mastin, 2008; Smith, 2013). The discipline was developed by a twentieth-century European philosophical movement that saw various understandings and formulations in the works of Edmund Husserl, Martin

Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Maurice Merleau-Ponty, to name a few. In the particular formulation of Heidegger (1962/2002), phenomenology is defined as a discourse (-logy, logos) that makes manifest, or lets “that which shows itself in itself” (phenomena) to be seen or perceived (p.279-284). For Heidegger, phenomena are not ‘appearances’, which is a derivative concept that always refers to something else, being appearances of something. Phenomena instead is that which is usually forgotten, and unexamined, perhaps because it is taken for granted; it is hidden, not because it is ‘behind’ things in the world, but it is constitutive of them (Heidegger, 1962/2002). It ultimately reveals ‘itself in itself’ as existence, or ‘be-ing’.

The verbal character of ‘be-ing’ is what is strongly meant here, rather than the noun ‘being’, that denotes ‘entity’ (Heidegger, 1962/2002). The phenomenology of a lived experience then,

13 makes manifest a way of be-ing, or ways of be-ing (ontologies/existences), involving the various elements of that experience, most fundamentally and importantly, the way of being of the experiencer (Dasein), who makes this way of being manifest in the act of writing, speaking or ‘making known’, through the use of language.

Hermeneutic Phenomenology

Since lived experiences always occur in a context, hermeneutics as the “art of interpretation in context” (Smith, 2013), is the appropriate stance or research method towards the understanding of and discourse on life experiences. Lived experiences are immersive, situational and historical, and “self-reflexively rebounding onto the experiencing self” (Farin, 2014). To understand and interpret lived experiences, what must be avoided is a subject-object schema, where “What exists are subjects and objects” (Heidegger, 1999, p. 62), through which a study or research is framed, as it is in traditional philosophy, or even

Husserl’s phenomenology, where the ‘consciousness’ of the experiencer (‘the researcher’) is regarded as the subject, or ‘ego’; and the ‘contents of consciousness’ (thoughts, feelings, meanings, language, etc.) are the objects of study. In philosophical hermeneutics, the human being and his or her be-ing, is not a singular entity to be conceptually considered in isolation, but is in relation to everything around him/her. For Heidegger, “There is a prior belonging together of ‘subject' and ‘object’” (Farin, 2014).

Interpreting is constitutive of a person’s way of being-in-the-world; it is in the nature or existential situation of humans to be interpreting beings, relying on constant interpretation for everyday and formal understandings. Interpretation is the “first-order, original understanding, expression, dissemination, explication, and communication of

14 meanings, messages, and intimations” (Farin, 2014). A person is always in a ‘hermeneutical situation’ that is ‘handed-down’, that is already full of meaning, to which he is ‘thrown’, as a condition of his existence: this situation is the “ensemble of past and present understandings, persuasions, interpretive strategies, discourse formations, available conceptualities, and paradigms” (Farin, 2014) that becomes a point of departure for the experiencer’s future interpretations.

The hermeneutical situation is also “the totality of ‘presuppositions’ that needs to be clarified and made secure beforehand” in the explicit task of interpretation as research method (Heidegger, 1962/2001, p. 275). It was Heidegger’s (1962/2001) contention that there is no such thing as a presuppositionless interpretation. The following sections present the hermeneutical situation, and reflections on presuppositions, from, and with which, this re- translation research was undertaken.

Genesis of the research

The genesis of this project was a personal wish to possess a copy of the Kartilya as a pocketbook that I could carry and read for my contemplative and recreational pleasure while riding on a train, or waiting for someone in a public place, the way some might carry a portable book of sayings or quotations, a book of Buddhist sutras, or a copy of the Christian

Bible. I envisioned a bilingual publication with the original Tagalog text and its English translation, or possibly, a bilingual edition with a Filipino — that is, the national, standardised Tagalog — translation for those with difficulty understanding nineteenth- century Tagalog; or a trilingual edition including all three languages. The additional motive was to make the document accessible to modern Filipinos in the Philippines and abroad.

15 I suggested this project to a publisher with the stipulation that he commission a new translation, as my initial and superficial impression was that the current translations available in textbooks and in the internet did not accurately capture the nuances, sensibilities, rhythms and even proper or accurate word meanings of the indigenous language. The English translations in particular took on a preachy tone that evoked images of North American Christian church pulpits rather than young indigenous insurgents in a tropical country suffering the weight of colonial oppression.

The publisher considered my suggestion, searched and examined the translations he easily found in the internet. To my surprise, he proposed that I do the re-translation myself, for it was I who deemed the translations inadequate from my own perspective. I protested, pointing out my many years of living outside of the Philippines, and lack of professional experience in the area of translation, as hindrances or personal limitations for the task. But his insistence was predicated on what he referred to as my ‘perspective’. For surely, the language immersion and professional experience of the scholars and translators whose translations we had both read and deemed ‘inaccurate’, ought to have sufficed for adequate translations, had ‘immersion’ and ‘professional experience’ been enough criteria for the task.

Although, uneasy at first, I subsequently accepted this ‘assignment’ as a challenge, and as an exercise to see if I could produce the type of re-translation that would satisfy my own vague ideas of what an adequate translation would be. I also welcomed the opportunity to deepen my understanding of the text and its language, instinctively sensing that

“translation is the true way of reading a text” (Calvino, 1982, p. 2); to sleuth and discover related cognates in other Austronesian languages; to pursue a personal interest in

Austronesian cultures; and to enjoy the excitement and pleasure of translation, which is

16 described by translation theorist Peter Newmark (1988) as having “its own excitement”, and a pleasurable “play” aspect that one finds in solving jigsaw puzzles, mysteries and other games (p. 8).

Perspective

What did the publisher mean by “perspective”? Even if he did not mean anything beyond the fact that I was not comfortable with the existing translations coming from a vaguely conceived aesthetic preference, this ‘perspective’ would be one that he assumes to have been formed by my own personal and professional experiences with the languages, literatures, cultures and the histories pertaining to the text that came under our concern and consideration. This subjectivity in turn is located in a wider historical situation and setting of the text — that of colonial and postcolonial Philippines, and the Tagalog people and language.

The Philippines

The modern state known as the Philippines, and officially as “The Republic of the

Philippines”, is a sovereign, unitary constitutional republic that was granted independence by the United States government in 1946. It is located in the far eastern portion of the geopolitical region known as Southeast Asia, north of Indonesia, and south of Taiwan. Its territory is an archipelago of more than 7000 islands, with approximately 106.5 million inhabitants speaking more than 100 indigenous Austronesian languages and dialects, plus settler and immigrant languages like English, Spanish, Fukienese and Hindi. The earliest known fossilised human remains in the islands are dated 67,000 B.P (Mijares et al., 2009),

17 but recent excavations of butchered animal bones indicate human occupation as early as ≈

700,000 B.P. (Greshko, 2018; Daley, 2018; Ellis-Petersen, 2018).

The country’s name, Philippines, is an English rendering of the Spanish word,

Felipinas, a name first given to two islands in the archipelago by a Spanish expedition led by

Ruy Lopez de Villalobos in 1543 (Blair & Robertson, 1903/2004). The name honoured the then Prince Philip/Felipe of Asturias, who later reigned as Philip II of Spain over an empire that reached the height of its power and influence in the sixteenth century (Philip II of

Spain, 2015). The Spanish explorers’ act of naming islands as they encountered them — regardless of whether they had landed on or occupied them, or whether they were even welcomed or killed by the inhabitants of those lands — was in accordance with the remarkably ethnocentric Church-sanctioned decision to demarcate all non-Christian territories in the world, known and unknown, for exploration and possession by the two leading European sea powers at the time, Spain and Portugal, through the world-changing

1494 Treaty of Tordesillas (Treaty of Tordesillas, 2005). As Spanish navigators explored and extended their control over the islands surrounding Felipinas/Filipinas, this name was eventually applied to the entire archipelago, including those areas that resisted Spanish control and presence.

Spanish conquest and colonisation

Before the naming of Filipinas, expeditions to the islands by Spanish navigators led to friendship and tributary/protectionate treaties with the inhabitants, although there were cases of Spaniards being treated with hostility, and even killed, supposedly from the prodding of their Portuguese rivals who had previously explored the islands (Blair &

18 Robertson, 1903/2004). But attempts to force Christian conversion also led to battles and deaths, like the Battle of Mactan, where the first European to cross and name the Pacific

Ocean, Ferdinand Magellan, was slain by Lapulapu’s warriors in 1521 (Andrews, 2012).

Spanish colonisation of the islands began in earnest some forty years later, with Miguel

Lopez de Legazpi’s blood compact with a Rajah (‘King’) of Visayan-speaking peoples, named

Sikatuna. The blood compact involved both parties making a small cut on their arms to draw a few drops of blood that they mix with water or wine in a cup, and drink by turns to the last drop. The mixing of blood signified kinship. The Visayans then assisted Legazpi’s venture into the northern island of Luzon, which was already known for its prosperity.

Luzon’s entrepôt, Manila, saw Chinese and Ryukyuan junks (Scott, 1992; Potet, 2013), and the highly priced Luzon Jars, the trade of which the Japanese Imperial Regent or kampaku, Hideyoshi, forced a monopoly on (Ocampo, 2012). Luzon’s mercenaries and wealthy merchants were sighted and noted in various parts of the Malayan Archipelago

(Reid, 1995). Spanish arrivals remarked on the Luzon natives’ use of their own script, high level of literacy, various degrees of Islamisation, casual use and measurement of gold, and knowledge of Malay, the trade language of the Southeast Asian region (Scott, 1997; Reid,

1988; Potet, 2013).

Spanish alliances with the Rajahs of Luzon were thereafter quickly seen by the latter as detrimental to their polities’ interests, and numerous squashed revolts marked Spanish

Filipinas for three centuries. Manila was made the capital of the Spanish East Indies in the

Pacific, which included the island of Formosa (present-day Taiwan), Palau, parts of the

Moluccas or Spice Islands (present-day Maluku and North Maluku in Indonesia), the

19 Marianas Islands, and the Caroline Islands, which were also named Nuevas Filipinas, or New

Philippines.

Spain’s military control of Filipinas ended with the massive, Manila-based Katipunan uprising in the late nineteenth century, and Spanish colonial dominion in the Pacific eventually ended with Spain’s defeat in the Spanish-American War of 1898 — a defeat that forced them to cede and sell their Pacific possessions to the United States and Germany.

The Philippines thereafter was controlled by the United States until the end of the Second

World War in 1946.

The Tagalogs

Although Luzon was inhabited by several ethnolinguistic groups, sixteenth-century chroniclers of the Southeast Asian region seemed to equate the Luzon natives they called

‘Luzons/Luzones’ to Tagalogs, “a nominally Muslim commercial people trading out of

Manila” (Reid, 1995, p. 336). References to ‘Luzons/Luzones’ and to a ‘king of Luzon’ also link these people to the island of Borneo and to Bruneian nobility, with one Portuguese chronicler remarking that the Luzones were “almost one people’ with the Malay of

Brunei” (Reid, 1995, p. 336; Potet, 2013). Linguist Jean Potet (2013) identifies sixteenth- century Manila as a “Muslim outpost” (p. 30), whose junks to Malacca took the Borneo route; and notes that Brunei was an important transmitter of mostly Islamic goods and customs from Western Asia to the Philippines (p. 40).

Historian Vicente Rafael (1988/1993), writes that there is no record of ‘Tagalog’ as a distinct category of Luzon inhabitants prior to Spanish arrival in the Filipinas archipelago; and Potet (2013) cites a seventeenth-century chronicler who wrote that the Tagalogs referred

20 to themselves as Tao, or ‘people, human’ in their language (Potet, 2013). They also referred to their language as “wikantao”, or ‘language of people’ (Potet, 2013, p. 281). This suggests that

Tagalog is an exonym that was used after the Spanish arrival to identify a people who referred to themselves as Tao, and the language they used. It is also useful to point out that there is an indigenous people who call themselves Tao, on the island of Taiwan just north of

Luzon; and that the use of an indigenous word for ‘people’ or ‘human’ as an endonym for one’s group is shared by many indigenous peoples, like the Innu and Inuit in Canada and

Greenland (Tanner, 1999; ‘The Inuit”, n. d.), the Ainu in Japan, and the Amis people in

Taiwan who identify themselves as Pangcah, or “human-being" (Kim & Lee, 2017).

The etymology of the word ‘Tagalog’ is uncertain, but many scholars believe that the word is a conjunction of the prefix taga-, which means ‘from’ as in ‘native of’; and, either ilog, which means ‘river’, or alog, which means ‘ford’ (Potet, 2013). The name highlights the riverine settlements and way of life of a people who travelled and transported their goods through the numerous estuaries and tributaries flowing to the Manila Bay. This way of life was shared by other groups whose appellations likewise contained references to rivers and bodies of water.

This research treats the Tagalog language as an indigenous language, and the Tagalog people — those who claim descendancy from Tagalog ancestors from the traditional Tagalog regions — as ‘indigenous people’. This view is not in line with the Philippine state’s definition of indigenous peoples (IPs). In his report on legal issues pertaining to Philippine indigenous peoples and natural resources, Samson Pedragoza (2012) states that “in general, all Filipinos, with the exception of a few who traces [sic] their roots back to some other foreign lands such as China and others, are considered indigenous to this archipelago,” but

21 notes that the current Philippine state does not recognise groups that have “converted to non-indigenous religions and cultures such as Islam and Christianity” as “indigenous peoples” (p. 14). Although it can be argued that the state’s official definition:

peoples who are regarded as indigenous on account of their descent from the populations which inhabited the country, at the time of conquest or colonisation, or at the time of inroads of non-indigenous religions and cultures, or the establishment of present state boundaries, who retain some or all of their own social, economic, cultural and political institutions, but who may have been displaced from their traditional domains or who may have resettled outside their ancestral domains (Philippines: The Indigenous Peoples Rights Act of 1997, Ch. 2 sec. 3h). can be interpreted to include the majority of the Philippine population, in practice, the state policies, which ultimately discriminate on the basis of religion, separate those considered ‘indigenous’ from the rest of the population to form a ‘cultural minority’ (Pedragoza, 2012). Pedragoza (2012) writes, “The controversy lies on what to call the majority of the population that have assimilated their culture with those introduced and imposed by colonisation but are no less indigenous to this archipelago which comprises [sic] the majority who converted to Islam and Christianity (p. 15).”

This intracolonial divide-and-conquer situation within the Philippine state manifests itself in the ongoing official project of creating and promoting a “Filipino culture” and

“Filipino language” (using the non-indigenous, Spanish appellation “Filipino”), that universalises indigenous Tagalog concepts, customs and meanings, to the marginalisation, inferiorisation and erasure of the languages and perspectives of other ethnolinguistic groups, some of whom continue to protest this “Tagalog linguistic imperialism” (Tan, 2012), where schoolchildren are ridiculed and penalised for speaking their mother tongues in their own

22 homeland and whose languages have become endangered (AFP, 2012; Molina, 2012;

Headland, 2002; “24 languages in Philippines”, n. d.; Simons & Fennig, 2018).

The indigenist perspective of this research is an ‘epistemic disobedience’ to the ongoing intracolonial universalising Filipinist project in government and academia. When it references “Filipino psychology” in Chapter Five, “Sacred Katuiran: Re-locating katuiran in the Indigenous World”, it is for the indigenous Tagalog concepts that the field has appropriated for its study.

My background as a bilingual researcher

I am personally from the Tagalog region. I have Tagalog, Spanish and Chinese ancestry, which reflects the colonial and settlement history of the region.

I was raised bilingually in Manila, with English as the dominant language in my home and educational institutions. Both my parents have ancestry from the major Tagalog provinces of Bulacan, Tarlac, Cavite and Quezon; as well as from Spain and unknown

Chinese origins. I can describe my early cultural orientation as ‘postcolonial USAmerican’, as the content of my parents’ schooling was US-centric, and a consciousness regarding the use of unadulterated ‘proper’ English was instilled in our home, and was given preference over Tagalog — although it was in turn instilled in us that if were to speak the latter, we had to do so with the same consciousness of correctness and propriety we gave English.

My orientation was also somewhat paradoxically ‘nationalist’, for though the political and educational institutions of the society followed US models, government policies were strongly geared towards building a ‘national consciousness’ that stressed the teaching and promotion of native cultures, and a bilingual educational policy that mandated the

23 instruction of “social studies/social sciences, music, arts, physical education, home economics, practical arts and character education” in the standardised form of Tagalog called ‘Pilipino’ — which was changed to ‘Filipino’ in 1987 (The 1987 Constitution of the

Republic of the Philippines, Article XIV, sec. 6) — and of “science, mathematics and technology subjects” in English (Espiritu, 2015, sec. 2). This bilingual policy is mandated to this day.

I received my primary education in a private school founded by Belgian Catholic nuns. The school was known for strict standards, with its high school offering subjects in

French and philosophy, and its elementary levels taking a very serious and exacting approach to the teaching of the standardised Tagalog called Pilipino.

Their ‘purist’ approach to the teaching of Pilipino disallowed the use of Spanish or

English loanwords, and in time instilled in me a respect and admiration for the language, as well as a habitual preference and search for a proper indigenous word before choosing a loanword in speaking and writing in the language. This academic training augmented my household habits that already emphasised the preference for an ‘unmixed’ way of speaking, and discouraged the hybridisation of language use, which was perceived as disrespectful and

‘lazy’. Although these ‘rules’ were easily transgressed in the company of friends, it created a consciousness of language as a coherent system worthy of respect and deliberate consistency and integrity in its usage.

For a few years of my primary education, my school went beyond the government requirements and taught even math and science subjects in Pilipino, but this nationalist

‘experiment’ was discontinued, perhaps due to the paucity of schoolbooks and other materials published in Pilipino. Over time, purist Pilipino gave way to the hybridised

24 ‘Filipino’ that was envisioned to assimilate ‘contributions’ from other native languages, but which in actuality relies heavily on the transliteration of English words. This development continues to produce a hesitation, even a sense of alienation, in me whenever I engage in communication in Filipino, because of my early conditioning. It is an alienation I have also noticed among Tagalog speakers raised outside the political and educational centres in

Manila.

It is with this background of consciousness of what is ‘indigenous’ in a language and what is not, that I came to this project.

Natural Translation and Biculturalism

When I embarked on this translation and the research connected to it, I did not look into theories of translation. Translation seemed a straightforward task: does one ask one’s self how to translate? Are we not often translating in life, whether intralingually or interlingually? And do we not simply change, modify, learn or discover different approaches and levels of intensity depending on the complexity or style of the text that is to be translated — during the process of translation itself?

I assumed the ‘naturalness’ of translation, especially in a bilingual person such as myself — the 'natural translation’ that researchers Brian Harris & Bianca Sherwood (1978) define as the “translating done in everyday circumstances by people who have had no special training for it”, and which they hypothesise to be an 'innate skill” among bilingual people (p.

155).

Natural translation seems to be a part of a bilingual, or even a multilingual person’s

‘being-in-the-world’ — a part of their everyday reality, when confronted with more than one

25 language in their vicinity. One can argue that on a global scale, most non-English speaking societies will be involved in some manner and degree of translating due to the ubiquitousness of the English language in the media, in music and film, in the internet, and in almost every other kind commodity.

As a Philippine-born bilingual researcher with personal, educational and professional experiences in both the USA and the Philippines, my encounter with translations involving

English and Tagalog would be a casual part of my life; the need for translation or improving on a translation would likewise be a casual matter, and easily undertaken.

When reading English translations of the Kartilya, my reliance on the English text was total, as the Tagalog original was in the style of the nineteenth century, and was not a natural read — it was to some degree, foreign. I expected to read the English text as my only

‘copy’ of the original; the ‘translation’ I engaged in mentally while reading it, was on the level of cultural translation, that is, in contextualising the English words into what I imagined as the cultural milieu and range of meanings that the Katipunan author and his audience were living. My presuppositions at this juncture, have to do with a certain valuation on language, the Katipunan movement, what accuracy of translation means, and the meanings I am familiar with in the languages and cultures I have lived in. My natural, ‘everyday’ type of comportment towards the texts — that is, my reading them without a consciousness of them as works of translation, or without an expectation of critiquing or assessing their accuracy and merit, that is, as if I were reading any other book in English within my reach

— belied a pre-understanding that made the reading and comprehension possible, or even desirable, in the first place. In phenomenological language, this tacit, pre-understanding is in terms of a totality of references (Stahl, 2005) of my being-in-the-world at that moment —

26 bilingual and bicultural, reading for a purpose, and with a consciousness and tacit expectation of what lies before me, of possibilities.

Understanding develops into interpretation when it experiences a breakdown or encounters a difficulty (Stahl, 2005). A famous example used by Heidegger (1962/2001) is the the normal life experience of using a hammer where the person using it is not conscious of the hammer as a hammer, and is more oriented towards the larger totality of references involved in its use at that moment — he is merely ‘living’ at that moment. He becomes conscious of it as a hammer only when it ceases to function properly, and there is a breakdown in the everyday flow of an expected set of activities within that space and temporality. He becomes conscious of the being of the hammer: it now stands out of the total experience, it is revealed as regards to its being and its aspects, its malfunction, its parts, weight, etc.; it becomes interpreted as a hammer. In my case, my reading of the translations of the Kartilya broke down in my noticing an awkwardness in rhythm or syntax, a sensing of cultural incompatibilities between concepts, and inaccuracies in word translations. These were mostly vague impressions, but it was at the juncture of having them that I became an interpreter: I became conscious of the translations as translations; they stood out, revealed themselves and were interpreted as needing re-translation. But I also became conscious of myself as bilingual and bicultural, and these aspects of my being that came to bear in my assessments. My interpretations were therefore circular and hermeneutic in this manner.

Non-casual Translation as Research

27 The instinctive approach I took once I began to consciously translate the Kartilya, on the whole, matched translation theorist Peter Newmark’s (1988) description of the translation process: it begins with a general and close reading of the original text to understand the content and analyse it “from a translator’s point of view” (p. 24). General reading will involve reading other texts, like encyclopaedias and other references; and close reading will involve understanding the words used within and outside their context

(Newmark, 1988). Implicit in “understanding the text” is knowing the intention of the text or its author, identifying its readership, distinguishing the text style (whether it is a narrative, a dialogue, a speech, etc.), the stylistic scale (formal, informal, slang, etc.), quality of writing, and cultural aspects, such as metaphors, allusions, neologisms, technical and institutional terms, and ‘untranslatable’ words (Newmark, 1988). With regard to the translation itself in the target language, consideration as regards the target readership and setting of publication are also analysed (Newmark, 1988).

Many of these ‘steps’ can be done intuitively, or may be unnecessary, according to

Newmark (1988), but it is necessary to identify what could be a problem, and it is only for problems in practice that any translation theory would be useful: “Translation theory is pointless and sterile if it does not arise from the problems of translation practice, from the need to stand back and reflect, to consider all the factors, within the text and outside it, before coming to a decision” (Newmark, 1988, p.22). I already had an extensive background as regards the settings, readerships and so on of the Kartilya, and from my general and close readings of the text, it became clear from the outset that the problems were mainly with regard to ‘untranslatable’ words. So my first impulse was to hone in on those Tagalog words that seemed to not have been given their proper equivalences in English, like katipunan and

28 bayan, to analyse them conceptually by scanning for alternative meanings in numerous dictionaries that can be found online, including de Noceda & de Sanlucar’s Vocabulario de la lengua tagala published in 1754 and reprinted in 1860, and Sofronio Calderon’s Diccionario

Ingles-Español-Tagalog / Con partes de la oracion y pronunciacion figurada (1915/2007) a trilingual dictionary for English, Spanish and Tagalog published in 1915 and made available by Project

Gutenberg. These sources were enormously helpful in finding old usages of Tagalog words. I searched for related cognates and concepts in other, related, languages of the Austronesian linguistic family, but also looked into other non-Austronesian languages to gain a sense or feel for language differences, and to hypothesise on influences, borrowings and diffusion via historical migrations and trade. I also consulted other sources that used or analysed the same words in various contexts — whether in the fields of historiography, cultural studies, literature or linguistics. Among these sources are general sources and comparative anthologies on Austronesian linguistics and cultures by specialists such as linguist Robert

Blust, and anthropologists Thomas Reuter and James Fox of the Comparative Austronesian

Project in Canberra; and ethnographic analyses of Philippine, Malayan and Austronesian connections by historian Zeus Salazar.

Over time, I used independent scholar Jim Richardson’s The Light of Liberty as my primary source for the Katipunan texts and their English translations. Published in 2013, the book is a compilation of 73 Katipunan documents that were recovered by Spanish authorities at the height of the Philippine Revolution in the years 1896-97, and thereafter archived in the Archivo General Military de Madrid. The compilation is the first and only one of its scope, consisting of announcements and minutes of meetings of the Katipunan, organisational documents, letters, essays and poems in their original Tagalog, including a few

29 of the already known and published works of the movement’s leaders, Andres Bonifacio and

Emilio Jacinto, and of course, the Kartilya. Many of Richardson’s translations are re- translations themselves, and his translation of the Kartilya in particular, references prior translations (Richardson, 2013).

Etymological Strategies

Heidegger explicates meanings of concepts by tracing their meanings to their roots, or original notions. This practice goes against current beliefs in linguistics, which has the term “etymological fallacy” to refer to “the faulty argument that the ‘true’ or ‘proper’ definition of a word must be its oldest or original meaning” (Nordquist, 2016); the contention is that the only reliable guide to a word’s meaning is its use in the present, since the meanings of words change over time.

This issue of etymological fallacy was one that I was mindful of from the start because etymological analysis was my immediate response to the task of translating the

Kartilya and other Tagalog words that I encountered in my research. It is not uncommon for people to use an etymological strategy to explicate the meaning of a word. Is the majority of mankind misguided in making use of etymology for the purposes of explication?

Linguist Christopher Hutton (1998) argues that the idea of “etymological fallacy” is itself a fallacy — a fallacy that ignores the ubiquitous use of etymology in political ideology and literature; and in “countless philosophical, theological and political contexts in which meanings of words are debated” (p. 199). He argues that it is impossible to separate etymology from meaning for the simple reason that we cannot avoid looking at prior usages of words whenever we encounter semantic problems (Hutton, 1998).

30 My opinion on this phenomenon of looking at the etymology of a word is that, whenever confronted with the question of the meaning of a word, the person experiencing this cannot help, at this moment, but consider the word as a word in itself, and as they do, the word reveals its etymological features. The word, whose meaning they may not have had to confront or consider in the ‘everydayness’ of their lived experience of using language, now stands out to be considered, and reveals itself as itself, in its intrinsic and bare lexical form.

Looking at the word in this way may reveal a meaning that is no longer in use, but which can still be useful for understanding the word, even if this understanding simply lies in detecting cultural misuse or historical misinterpretations, or semantic shifts or evolution. In a colonial context where renaming, redefining, destroying or erasing the linguistic and non-linguistic resources of the colonised is constitutive of the colonial project, etymological strategies are indeed crucial in the recovery and reconstruction of word meanings.

Intertextual and Conceptual Analysis

Intertextuality is defined as “the various links in form and content which bind any text to other texts (Chandler, 2011). Richardson’s compilation of Katipunan texts (2013) provided an excellent, and convenient opportunity for intertextual analysis in the search for word meanings. Since the authors of the Katipunan texts were like-minded in their aspirations and ideations, the meanings for the words they used would be consistently related and interwoven within the various texts. I also made use of intertextual analyses by the historian Reynaldo Ileto and Tagalog literary critic Virgilio Almario, both of whom placed Tagalog word meanings in Katipunan works within the general history of Tagalog literature in the nineteenth century.

31 My discovery of various meanings of the word katuiran, was especially serendipitous, as intertextual analysis led to a comparative conceptual analysis with the Maori word tikanga.

Two chapters, Chapters Four and Five, were devoted to the study of katuiran as the range of meanings expanded and gave a new significance to this re-translation project.

Speaking out loud — translating the paralingual

At times it was necessary to speak phrases out loud when I was not sure of their meaning, ‘performing’ them to some extent, to ‘feel' their meaning. The author’s choice of syntax of a phrase, and the inflections and accents it prompts in the translator, can assist in determining its meaning. In his paper proposing a translation of the kinesthetics of reading,

Scott (2011) brings attention to the paralinguistic aspects of reading for translation, such as

“pausing, loudness, tone, intonation, patterns of emphasis, tempo, and . . . the involvement of language with the other senses.” Schmidt (2014) reflects that translation “makes evident the way in which language is rooted in utter particularity and is localised in the body . . .

This relation of language and the body, a kinship that cannot be severed, belongs to all language; however, it easily hides when one speaks one’s native language.” A hermeneutic approach that uncovers what is ‘hidden’ is truly a useful one for translation.

“Faithful” to what?

Eugene Nida in Theories of Translation (1991) commented on the propensity of some professional translators to deny that they have any theory of translation. “In reality, however, all persons engaged in the complex task of translating possess some type of underlying or covert theory, even though it may be still very embryonic and described only as just being

‘faithful to what the author was trying to say.’” (Nida, 1991, p. 19).

32 By judging certain translations as inadequate, I was already adhering to theories of translation, however implicit.

Since ancient times, the central problem of translation was whether to translate literally or freely, or as Peter Newmark (1988) illustrates it, “the spirit, not the letter; the sense not the words; the message rather than the form: the matter not the manner.” (p. 45).

There are degrees of ‘freedom’ with this trope, ranging from the word-for-word translation, to the literal, the faithful, the semantic, to the adaptation and free translation (Newmark,

1988). Word-for-word translation is normally used as a precursor to translation, to understand the mechanics of the source language; literal translation treats lexical words singly and out of context; faithful translation “attempts to be completely faithful to the intentions and the text-realisation” (Newmark, 1988, p. 46) of the source writer, preserving even structures that might be considered ‘deviant’ or ‘abnormal’ in the source language; semantic translation will be more flexible in deviating from equivalence for aesthetic purposes; and adaptation and free translation are more suitable for creative works like comedies and plays, where plots and characters will be retained, but with culturally different names and setting (Newmark, 1988).

My translation process utilised the first four modes of translation, starting with word-for-word and literal translations that helped me to understand the structures and meanings of sentences and words while translating. Faithful and semantic translation composed the bulk of the translation process and involved comparative conceptual and intertextual analyses and intensive reading on culturally related topics. I always translated

‘cold’ without referring to the existing translations as much as possible, and avoided referring to existing translations until after my translation of any passage was complete, or

33 only when there was a difficulty with finding a proper word. I did this to be open to as wide a range of possible meanings un-influenced by the existing translations; referring to them only when encountering a difficulty gave me an idea of whether the other translator had a similar problem, and how they solved it.

Behind all these steps, however, were subconscious layers of what I understood to mean ‘faithfulness to what the author was trying to say’. Implicit in this ‘faithfulness’ is a view of language as not merely an instrument of communication, but a creation of a culture, and a carrier of that culture (Thiong’o, 1986/2004). Kenyan novelist Ngugi wa Thiong’o

(1986/2004) sees the use of language as originating in the way of life of a community that is built on relations in the process of creating wealth and the “means of life, like food, clothing, houses”, using Marx’s term, “the language of real life” (p. 13) to refer to the human activities and relations that are generated from the basic necessity of communities to cooperate and co-produce what they need for sustenance, and divide work among themselves. Production then, is a language in itself and is an expression of relationship and communication. The speech aspects of language is an imitation of this ‘real life’; the verbal signposts reflect this production-as-communication, and facilitate it. Written language, which is a much later development, is in turn, an imitation of the verbal, and is composed of representations of sounds. To translate a text faithfully entails translating the culture and its ways of producing meaning that the language of the text carries.

But this culture is also existing in a particular place and time of a text’s writing; translation in the case of the nineteenth century Tagalog texts involved an imagining of ways of life that included colonial and non-colonial aspects that were in negotiation and confrontation with each other. My position as re-translator involved choices based on a

34 discernment of these aspects and their dynamics within the texts and in their contemporary translations. I became more aware of “translation as erasure” and as “a mechanism for expanding the epistemic territory of modernity” (Vazquez, 2011, p. 27). Issues of untranslatability in this case have less to do with ‘cultural’ differences than the colonial difference that places forms of understanding of colonised peoples in the exteriority of modernity and its “parameters of legibility” (Vazquez, 2011, p. 27). ‘Faithful translation’ on this level of understanding takes on a liberatory function where indigenous concepts and forms of understanding are restored from their invisibility in modernising translations, and begin to re-exist and carry equal value — a political “equivalence”, if you will — among other existing translation choices. Re-existence is facilitated by a 'resistant' translation

(Venuti,1995) that displays a syntactic fidelity to the Tagalog text that has a disrupting effect on the norms of fluency in the English language. This ‘foreignization’ of the translated text signals the texts’ otherness to the reader (Venuti, 1995), and hopefully sustains a consciousness of a pluriversal world of many truths to the monoglot reader. Re-translation in this sense becomes a ‘decolonial ‘translation.

It was also important to consider the general orality of Tagalog culture and the implicit orality in texts propagated for the purpose of revolutionary organising and combat.

Orality generates a creative lexicality recorded in memory rather than in texts (such as dictionaries), and is less concerned with exactness or standardised grammatical usage; this consideration was played out in translation choices: in Chapter Five, for example, I interpret

Bonifacio’s use of the word pagdaramdam as a stylistic variant of another word, pakikiramdam, although Tagalog dictionaries will generally have a different meaning for the former.

35 The consideration of orality is also a reminder of the kinaesthetic aspect of language. Translation involves the entire body — “the feelings and affects that are mobilized in the process of ‘linguistic’ translation” (Mignolo, 2014, p. 32). Linguist Clive Scott (2014) calls for a “multi-sensory translation” that captures reading as a “psycho-sensory response to the mechanics of language” (p.217). Reading aloud, in particular, is “a physical tasting of language, that in articulating words we roll them around in our mouths, engage lips, tongue, teeth, alveolar ridge, palate” (Scott, 2014, 222). As I mentioned earlier, reading out loud facilitated an intralingual translation to capture sense, intent, emotion and other markers of meaning. ’Faithfulness’ on this level seeks to capture an integration of mind and body in the production of meaning among indigenous peoples. In the words of Hawaiian educator

Manulani Aluli Meyer (2003):

Body and Mind are not separate. Na'auao teaches us this. Na'auao in Hawaiian means wisdom. It is a poetic term that refers to the stomach region, which also refers to the idea of feeling, emotion, and intelligence. It actually means "enlightened intestines." It is a richly metaphoric way in which we refer to knowledge and emotion. Na'au is also the word for heart. Viscera, intelligence, wisdom, heart. We do not simply think with our bodies; we are our thinking, but not in the Cartesian sense (p. 59).

Upon deeper reflection, what Nida (1991) refers to as the “very embryonic” idea of being “faithful to what the author was trying to say” (p. 19), may really not be so ‘embryonic’ for a translator with an indigenous/indigenist frame of mind. In an indigenous/indigenist framework, the phrase ‘being faithful to what an author is trying to say,” is already full of meaning formed by generations of interwoven senses and understandings — or 'theories', if you will — of sound and movement, of kinship and communal empathy, of spiritual communication and inheritance, of body-mind epistemology, and other ‘indigeneities’ that have been hidden or erased by modernity. As Lumbee scholar Bryan M. J. Brayboy asserts

36 “our stories are our theories”, and “are real and legitimate sources of data and ways of being” (in Almeida 2014, p. 158).

Indigenous peoples ‘say’ with more than words. There is a realm of the unsaid from which they speak and write, and from which much will not be recorded in their written texts. It is the task of the translator to use their words as access points to their way of thinking, or experiences of thinking, which is their own response to a way of being in the world. Translation here then is not a matter of replacing their words with English words, but of “moving up” to their way of thinking and “disappearing in them” (Heidegger, in Groth,

2017, loc. 2309). We are less concerned with producing a replica of the source text, or an equivalence of it, than of reviving a way of thinking in what the hermeneutic philosopher

Heidegger calls a “thoughtful translation” and at times, “authentic” or “legitimate” translation that is an “awakening”, revealing rather than concealing the source author’s way of thinking (Groth, 2017). The legitimacy of a translation hinges on whether access to the author’s experience of thinking (feeling, etc.) has been gained (Groth, 2017). This legitimacy is marked by a translator’s being carried over to the way of thinking of a source text, rather than his way of thinking taking over the source text (Groth, 2017). In such a case, the translating language cannot help but be transformed; the notion of an existing natural equivalence between the source and target languages is a matter for discovery, and not an assumption.

Indigeneity of Being and Indigenist Hermeneutics

In the course of the research a way of be-ing, or “being-in-the-world” showed itself to my interpretation. It showed itself in the ‘untranslatability’ of many Tagalog words; through

37 every English word choice, it seemed that Tagalog indigeneity sought to assert itself, as if to say, “No, this is not quite the word for it.” Indigeneity then, is not about this or that cultural idea, artefact, custom or meaning. It is, simply put, a way of being, that cannot be the same for each person or collective of persons related in a shared historical situation. Heidegger’s analysis of Dasein, or human existence, for instance, had as its point of departure, a

European horizon of meanings, concepts, concerns and historical experiences. When unrelated languages like English and Tagalog are considered for the transference of meanings, the problem of ‘untranslatability’ indicates a cultural untranslatability, or the untranslatability of a way of life and its embodiment of particular meanings and concerns.

Indigenous peoples (IPs) have time and again shown ways of living and being that are different, and often contrary to European understandings. This existential difference is indicated by what I call the “indigeneity of being”.

Analogous to Heidegger’s conception of Dasein, this indigeneity of being is not always manifest to our consciousness, and in the general ‘colonial’ and ‘uprooted’ character of modern life, is mostly forgotten. But it reveals itself ‘in itself’ to our consciousness, in the process of hermeneutical reflection, and in the interpretation of linguistic texts, most especially, and most readily, of texts in the languages of the generally accepted political category of ‘indigenous peoples’. I make this qualification, because the word ‘indigenous’, in its literal usage, is relative or particular to a place, making all peoples, cultures and languages indigenous to some place. But in their shared humanity, all people are indigenous to the planet. So I submit that an indigeneity of being can be found or detected in all life expressions, but like Heidegger’s concept of be-ing, it can be hidden, forgotten, covered-up, trivialised, distorted or erased by carelessness, incompetence, misunderstandings, and

38 mistranslations by way of exogenous influences or a colonisation of meanings. The latter can be accompanied by various types of epistemic violence or epistimicide via genocide (the destruction of bodies as carriers of knowledge), and the destruction of non-human knowledge sources.

‘Indigeneity of being’ is mainly a philosophical description of a way of being and existing that is marked by a unity between humans and their natural environment; a

‘rootedness’, if not in physicality, in consciousness — in a consciousness of ancestral origins and the origins and places of living things; an egalitarian approach to all living beings in the web of life, including mountains, bodies of water, animals, stones and plants along with humans; a whole-body way of learning and knowing that eschews the European divisions and standards of credibility between the mind and body; the non-division between ‘culture’ and ‘economy’; an inherently spiritual approach and understanding of all aspects of life; and other features that will be discussed in future research.

In this research the ‘indigeneity of being’ became a hermeneutic clue for the untangling and uncovering of meanings in texts. I call this an ‘indigenist hermeneutic’. The hermeneutic is not indigenous to this or that place, nor does it refer to any particular indigenous group or groups. It is ‘indigenist’ in that it leans towards finding indigeneity embedded, not only in words and sentences of texts, nor in a language in general, but in customs, events, lived experiences and systems of living or thinking. In hypothesising an

‘indigeneity of being’ that can be gleaned in al human languages at one point in their histories, the indigenist hermeneutic addresses the issue of ‘untranslatability’ not only by recovering forgotten, ignored or buried ‘indigeneities’ or ‘senses of indigeneity’ in a source text, but by mining for equivalent forgotten and colonised ‘indigeneities’ in the intended

39 target language to expand its possibilities for meaning construction. In this manner, the

‘indigeneity of being’ is treated as the ‘natural equivalence’ in translation — not an equivalence between languages, but an equivalence on the level of human experiential possibility.

An indigenist hermeneutic liberates as it restores the indigenous meanings and epistemologies of the oppressed, by “rewriting and rerighting”, to use Māori scholar Linda

Tuhiwai Smith’s phrase, their position in history (Smith, 1999, p. 28), as it also humanises the language of the oppressor by reconnecting it to its own lost indigeneity and possibilities for indigeneity in its construction of meaning and knowledge in translation. Indigenist translation puts “the Mother [the land] back” (DiNova & Pine, 2015, p.364), into the target language of this re-translation project, English, so that it may more faithfully convey the messages of indigenist authors.

Tagalog indigeneity

Most of what is currently known about the Tagalog people and the Tagalog language are from the accounts of non-indigenous sources, whether Spanish, Portuguese or Chinese.

Spanish colonists of Luzon considered the indigenous cultures in various degrees of

Islamisation heathen and would surely have destroyed remnants of them, as they destroyed the cultural artefacts and written materials of Southern Spain when they reconquered it from Islamic rule. The numerous indigenous revolts and battles that marked the colonial period also resulted in the deaths and exile of many of the Luzon elite and other natives who were carriers and custodians of the native cultures. It was, and, is to the benefit of the

Tagalogs then, that in 1603, the Spanish King decreed that every missionary in the

40 Philippines be required to have the necessary competence and knowledge of the native languages in which they were to teach the Christian religion (Rafael, 1988/1993). It was two centuries later that a Royal Decree in 1863 made the universal teaching of Spanish in the colony compulsory (Blair & Robertson, 1907/2016), although an educational reformist like

Jose Rizal could still comment in 1890 that Spanish or ‘Castilian’ was still “completely forbidden” to schoolboys (Thomas, 2012, p. 160). One might say that the Tagalog language is the only artefact of the precolonial Tagalog culture that has survived intact.

Notwithstanding that the Spanish missionaries dominated the language in such a way that they wrote the grammars using Latin categories (Rafael, 1988/1993), the native words, their usages, and the history of meanings they carry, survive, passed down privately through families. Regardless of its changes, the Tagalog language can still be mined for possible original meanings, and therefore, possible glimpses into a precolonial, and non-colonial world.

“This world is something being encountered as what we are concerned about and attend to…” (Heidegger, 1988/1999, p. 66), and among those things in the world that we encounter, or are given to us (the German phrase for ‘there is’ is ‘es gibt’, which literally means ‘it gives’) in our existence, is language.

Like other entities, or phenomena, in our horizon of lived experiences, that unfold themselves as they are presented to us, language reveals itself to us. In Heidegger’s words,

“Language speaks” (Heidegger, 1975/2001, p. 188).

It is language that tells us about the nature of a thing, provided that we respect language's own nature. . . . Man acts as though he were the shaper and master of language, while in fact language remains the master of man. Perhaps it is before all else man's subversion of this relation of dominance that drives his nature into alienation. That we retain a concern for care in speaking is all to the good, but it

41 is of no help to us as long as language still serves us even then only as a means of expression. Among all the appeals that we human beings, on our part, can help to be voiced, language is the highest and everywhere the first (Heidegger, 1975/2001, p. 214).

Perhaps we can then paraphrase the Heidegerrian idea that language is the house of

Being (Heidegger, 2001, p. 1), or that language is where Being dwells, to propose that it is in the Tagalog language, that Tagalog being dwells or can be found.

Conclusion

The re-translation project unfolded in a phenomenological manner — as a development from an everyday experience of reading existing translations with a practical

“everyday know how” (Guignon, 1993), and with pre-understandings and presuppositions coming out from my hermeneutical situation. A ‘breakdown’ in the reading and ‘natural translation’ process occurred as translations were deemed inaccurate, prompting a project to re-translate. Translation then became non-casual, conscious and pre-theoretical: without consulting any manuals on translation, I proceeded intuitively, and later found that my translation process matched descriptions of translation procedure by translation theorist

Peter Newmark (1988). My efforts to construct a ‘faithful’ translation of the texts using intertextual and conceptual analyses, etymological strategies and a performative or 'speaking out loud’ approach, were ultimately grounded on a theory of language as a carrier of culture

(Thiong’o, 1986/2004), and a consciousness of an ‘indigeneity of being’ which I not only gleaned as embedded in the language of the texts, but upon reflection was the grounding of my own pre-understanding of fidelity and ‘equivalence’ as a speaker with ancestral roots within the Tagalog ethnolinguistic group. This grounding, rooted in generations of

42 interwoven experiences and understandings of sound and movement, of kinship and communal empathy, of spiritual communication and inheritance, of body-mind epistemology, and other ‘indigeneities’, contains within itself stories as ‘theories’ and insights that are relevant to translation, or any research involving indigenous culture. Translation studies scholar Anthony Pym (2009) historicises the paradigm of equivalence and suggests that it ”was suited to Western notions of ‘nation’, of ‘big’ vernacular languages and cultures and the printed, fixed source text“ (2:16). It would behoove indigenous peoples and cultures with strong oral traditions and different geopolitical experiences to honour and articulate their own understandings of ‘fidelity’ and translational equivalence as they struggle to preserve, recover or revitalise their language systems within the hegemonic epistemic structures of modernity and colonialism. This would be a decolonial move that can address the erasing and incorporating effects of modernising translations that exteriorise subaltern epistemologies while expanding modernity’s epistemic territory (Vazquez, 2011). In line with this purpose, my translation process favoured what Venuti (1995) called a ‘resistant’ translation that disrupts norms of fluency in the target language, English, to signal the

‘foreignness’ of the source text.

Within a wider philosophical hermeneutic framework, I call a hermeneutic translation that uncovers an ‘indigeneity of being’ an ‘indigenist hermeneutics’. I hypothesise that an ‘indigeneity of being’ inheres in all human languages and expressions, attesting to the general indigeneity/indigenousness of all humans to the planet. This basic commonality, however hidden, forgotten or erased from language and consciousness in varying degrees, is a thematic key in addressing issues of ‘untranslatability’, fidelity and equivalence in this translation project. This hermeneutic view stands on hermeneutic

43 philosopher Martin Heidegger’s view of translation not as a transaction between two texts or languages, or a carryover of meanings between one language to another, but an event of the carrying over of the translator to a source author’s experience of thinking. This event consists in a conversation between the translator and the source text (Groth, 2017) followed by, or simultaneous with, writing in the target language. Untranslatability within this event is addressed by the transformation of the target language as a result of the translator’s own transformed way of thinking and being; equivalence in its commonsensical and practical use is informed by this transformation; and the a faithful translation is ‘thoughtful’, legitimate or authentic as it gives the reader access to the source author’s experience of thinking and feeling.

Indigenist translation is liberatory as it revives rather than conceals, restores rather than takes over a way of thinking and being, while it indigenises the language receiving and expressing this revival or ‘awakening’. In the indigenous ‘postcolonial’ context, an indigenist translation is a “rewriting and rerighting” (Smith, 1999), as it allows indigenous meanings, knowledges and values to re-exist in written history. Tagalog indigeneity has been concealed for more than 400 years of colonialism, neocolonialism and modernising translations and ways of life. Artefacts from the precolonial Tagalog era are almost nonexistent, but the

Tagalog language has remained, albeit under Philippine nationalist efforts to conceal it under the colonial name of ‘Filipino’. This nationalist culture and linguistic policy has invisibilising effects on the translation of old Tagalog texts and the interpretation of indigenous peoples’ histories in the Philippine Archipelago. An indigenist hermeneutic approach to the translation of Tagalog texts recognises how the Tagalog language ‘speaks’ and reveals Tagalog ‘being’.

44 Chapter Three

Congress of the Children of the Land:

Key Words, Names and Titles

Katipunan, Anak and Bayan

This chapter is devoted to a re-translation of the standard, full name of the

Katipunan that was used in most Katipunan documents — Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan.

This name has been translated in numerous ways. In the section, “Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan” I present seven differing translations which display various combinations of the key words, katipunan, anak and bayan. I analyse each word and its translation separately, in the sections titled, “The word ‘Katipunan’”, “The word ‘Anak’”, and “The word ‘Bayan’”.

In the section, “The word ‘Katipunan’”, I provide arguments for re-translating the word katipunan from the existing choices (’association’, ‘society’ and ‘assembly’), to

‘congress’, in order to convey the aspirations and functions of the organisation by the title alone. For this purpose, I refer to various uses the word in the Katipunan’s ‘foundational documents’ — the earliest dated documents in Jim Richardson’s compilation (2013). There are also meanings of ‘congress’ that lend themselves to being used by indigenous organisations like the National Congress of Australia's First Peoples, the National Congress of American Indians (NCAI) in the USA; and the National Indigenous Congress (Congreso

Nacional Indígena, CNI) in Mexico. I present these towards the end of the section, “The word ‘Katipunan’”.

45 The word anak is restored to its non-gendered Austronesian meaning in the section,

“The word ‘Anak’”. Arguments for this ‘restoration’ refer to accounts of the active and necessary participation of women on and off the battlefield, and the strong feminine and motherly components in Katipunan morality and mythology. Notions associated with anak are also layered with meanings of the word bayan found in poems and other texts to discuss the ‘motherland’ trope, and to restore the ‘land' and ‘home’ components in the use of the word, as well as its feminine associations as nurturer, in the section, “The word ‘Bayan’.

In the final section, “The “Kartilya””, I discuss the word kartilya and its non-use by the Katipunan, and use all three retranslated key concepts to provide a complete translation for its title, which uses the abbreviated Katipunan ng mga A. N. B., and the subtitle, Sa May nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito.

“Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan”

The name Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan, was also sometimes written as Katipunan ng manga Anak ng Bayan (using the archaic manga), and as the abbreviated Katipunan ng mga A.

N. B. in various Katipunan documents. There are historical references to extended variations of the name that included the qualification, ‘Kataas-taasang’, meaning ‘Highest’, and other adjectives, like, Kagalangagalangang (‘Most Respected’), or Kamahalmahalang (‘Most Noble’, ‘Most

Important’), but these appellations were not common in the texts.

The name of the organisation has been translated in various ways. Jim Richardson

(2013) translates the name to ‘Association of the Sons of the People’, stating that he is following a “consensus” (p. xxi); a Wikipedia article gives ‘Society of the Children of the

Nation,’ (Katipunan, 2017); a Tagalog language scholar and instructor Nenita Pambid-

46 Domingo (2011) translates it to ‘Society of the Children of the Country’; a textbook by educator M.C. Halili (2004), shows ‘Society of the Sons of the People’; the Encyclopedia of the

Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars (Ross, 2009) refers to it as ‘Association of the

Sons of the Country’; Southeast Asian scholar Willem Wolters, (2004), in Southeast Asia: A

Historical Encyclopedia, fom Angkor Wat to East Timor provides ‘Society of the Children of the

People’; and a more recent article by the historian Rene R. Escalante (2017) translates the name to “Assembly of the Children of the People.” I believe this list more or less exhausts the various combinations of common translations for the key words that compose the full name of the Katipunan used in the “Kartilya”: katipunan, anak and bayan. For the word katipunan, we encounter three choices: ’association’, ‘society’ and ‘assembly’; for manga anak, which means ‘the children’ (anak without the article manga, is the singular ‘child’), we are given ‘sons’ and ‘children’; and for bayan, we are given ‘people’, ‘nation’ and ‘country’.

The word ‘Katipunan’

Among Jim Richardson’s compilation of Katipunan documents (2013) are

‘foundational documents’ (composed of three) that had not been previously studied and translated. Philippine history books have always dated the founding of the Katipunan in July of 1892, but these newly unearthed documents reveal its founding date to be seven months earlier. This information somewhat changes the public narrative that portrays the

Katipunan as a reaction to the arrest of the iconic Philippine reformist and novelist Jose

Rizal. At the very least, it gives more credence to assertions that the Katipunan had a distinct and independent ideology from the ilustrado reformists, whose writings were traditionally regarded as the source of Katipunan ideas.

47 In reading these documents, I was surprised to find that the word katipunan, which was written in the old orthography as catipunan, was offered a Spanish translation in parentheses — congreso — by the author(s) themselves. In the document entitled Casaysayan, which means ‘history’ or ‘narrative’, a list of grievances against the Spanish colonial administration are listed. One grievance, numbered ’10’, is followed by my translation:

[line 1] 10. Ayao caming payagang malajoc sa manga Catipunan (Congreso) at magcaroon nang pinacacatau na maquiharap sa manga Cortes, magtangol at tumutol sa ngalan namin ng aming catoiran, mag sumbong ng manga camaliang quinacamtang cusa ng mga pinuno, mag saysay nang aming caapihan sa alin mang calabisan nila at jumingi nang maga nauucol sa icaguiguinjaua nitong malayong Capuloan.

[line 1] 10. Does not allow us to be entered into Congresses and have representatives to face the Cortes (Spanish Parliament) to defend and protest in the name of our rights, to report misdeeds purposely committed by rulers, to describe our oppression as a result of any of their abuses, and to request for whatever pertains to the welfare of these remote Islands (Richardson, 2013, p. 7). [Translation provided by researcher.]

The word Cortes refers to the Spanish Cortes, or Parliament, to which the colony had representation in various periods between 1810 and 1837. It is always pluralised in Spanish

(“las Cortes”), hence the Tagalog plural “manga Cortes”. But it may also be referring to the

Parliament, in addition to other types of courts or tribunals, given the specifics of the grievance. The Spanish word ‘corte’ could refer to tribunals or courts of justice (Calderón,

1915; Corte, n. d.).

The word Catipunan, also capitalised, reappears in the grievance numbered ’13’, but without offering a Spanish equivalent in parentheses:

48 [line 2] 13. Sabihing tumatatua sa Religion Catolica ang alin man sa amin na mag calat ng sulat na pauang nag jajayag at tuloy nag susumbong lamang ng manga camaliang quinacamtan ng naturang Catipunan (Richardson, 2013, p. 7).

The word Catipunan here was translated to ‘organisation’ (uncapitalised) by Richardson

(2013, p. 16).

The foundational document Casaysayan clearly shows that there is more than one way to understand or use the word c/katipunan. The two meanings or usages are only a few paragraphs apart: ‘Congress/Congreso’ in grievance number ’10’, and another meaning in grievance number ’13’. The former needed to be qualified or explained in parenthesis, and the latter had no qualification of specification, as if it were used in the regular, common way.

The root word of katipunan is tipon, which means ’to gather, collect, assemble, meet’; the prefix ka- generally denotes connection/association through a sharing of whatever is meant by the verb or noun it precedes. The suffix -an generally denotes a place, in the concrete or abstract, as in a state of being. The use of both affixes with a root word indicates a place or state of being or a quality. The word katipunan can be understood to be a place

(concrete or abstract), or state of being, of a conglomeration, gathering or gatherings of persons or things connected through these gatherings. So the word katipunan can mean what are referred to in English as ‘associations, societies, gatherings, companies, organisations’.

But, as in any language, nuances and word choices can be based on many considerations; some clearly indicated by linguistic context, whereas others are more subtle, requiring some knowledge and investigation into the literary, cultural and historical contexts in which the text is written.

49 We have already seen how the word katipunan was used to refer to the “Catholic

Religion” without qualification in the Casaysayan document. This is no doubt due to the fact that it had been used to name religious organisations and charity organisations (Almario,

2016) throughout Philippine colonial history prior to the founding of the Katipunan, such as the Catipunan nang Sagrada Familia (Catipunan of the Holy Family) and the Catipunan nang

Laguing Estacion (Catipunan Devoted to the Stations of the Cross) (Ileto, 1979).

It might be useful then, to translate the passage pertaining to the grievance numbered ’13’ thus:

[line 2] 13. Says that he is ridiculing (‘laughing at’) the Catholic Religion, whoever among us that distributes writings that purely express and in effect, only complain about the wrongdoings committed by such Congregation (Richardson, 2013, p. 7). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Although congregation can have non-religious uses, it is commonly defined as “an assembly of persons brought together for common religious worship”; in specific reference to the

Roman Catholic Church, it is “a community of men or women, either with or without vows, observing a common rule” (Congregation, 2017).

The Tagalog literary critic Virgilio Almario (1993) suggests that there is a significance in the Katipunan founders’ choice of the word katipunan for its name, in lieu of several other word choices in the language that signify an association of people, like ‘kasamahan’,

‘kapisanan’, ‘kalipunan’, etc. The Katipunan documents do show the use of one of these other words to refer to subgroups within the organisation, like Kapisanan, which was translated to

‘Assembly’ by Richardson (Richardson, 2013). Almario (2016) also points out that the word katipunan was used with non-religious meanings in a translation of the Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen (The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) that was

50 passed by France’s National Constituent Assembly during the first phases of the French

Revolution in 1789. This translation, titled, Ang Mga Karampatan ng Tawo used the word katipunan to refer to ‘corps’ (‘body’, as in group of individuals) in Article 111; and

’societé’ (‘society’, as in ‘the public’) in Article V (Almario, 1993/2013; Bibliothèque nationale de France, 2018).

Almario (1993) also suggests that the use of the word katipunan may have been a

‘playful’ oppositional reference to its use for religious organisations of the time (Almario,

1993). But from what can be gleaned in Reynaldo Ileto’s (1979) ground-breaking analysis of millenarian movements in the Philippines, and the symbolism and language they shared with the Katipunan, it may not have been a ‘playful’ reference at all, but rather a deliberate use of the concepts and language of religious societies to more effectively gain a wide following among the native people.

In the two documents appended to the Casaysayan, titled Pinagcasunduan and Manga

Daquilang Cautosan, all of which I here translate as ‘Narrative’, ‘Consensus’, and ‘Principal

Decrees’, respectively, we find the capitalised word Catipunan again, but with the descriptive

Cataastaasang (‘Highest/Supreme’), as in Cataastaasang Catipunan. The Principal Decrees especially lays out what the C/Katipunan is to be:

[line 3] Isinasaysay na ang manga Capuloang ito ay jumijiualay sa . . . magbujat sa arao na ito at ualang quiniquilala at quiquilanlanin pang Puno at macapangyayare cung di itong Cataastaasang Catipunan.

[line 4] Ang Cataastaasang Catipunan ay tumatayo magbujat ngayon at siya ang magjajauac nang manga daquilang capangyarihan dito sa boong Capuloan” (Richardson, 2013, p.11).

My partial translation:

51 [line 3] It is declared that these Islands are separating from . . . from this day forward and does not and will not recognise any Ruler or sovereign that is not this Supreme Catipunan.

[line 4] The Supreme Catipunan is established from hereon, and it will hold the highest powers in the whole Archipelago (Richardson, 2013, p.11). [Translation provided by researcher.]

This is evidence that the Katipunan was conceived as more than a mere ‘association’, or ‘society’ of like-minded individuals with common goals. The intention was for the

Katipunan to be a government — the highest government authority in the islands — with executive, legislative and judicial powers. The Katipunan did operate as a government

(Guerrero, Encarnacion & Villegas, 2003) for those who joined the movement: “It had constitutions and regulations, and a defined structure of councils and branches. It chose its presidents, secretaries and other officeholders by elections, for specified terms. It kept records of its meetings, and collected subscriptions” (Richardson, 2013, p. xv).

The last paragraphs of the Pinagcasunduan (Consensus) writes:

[line 5] Sa pag ganap nang aming manga ipinangusap at pinagcasundoan ay nanumpa cami sa jarap nitong cagalang galang na Cataast. Catipunan, dajil sa aming bayan sa caniyang manga sugat na aming dinaramdam, sa caniyang icaguiguinjaua at sa cami ay nag aasal majal na ipag tatangol at gagauing mapilit ano mang mangyare na siya ay mag sarili at majuialay at di naming papayagang malupig pang muli nang nag jajauac ngayon at nang iba pang Cajarian na mangajas lumupig, at sa ganitong banal na hangad, ay aming isinasagot, sa pag ganap, ang aming catuaun, bujay at manga cayamanang jinajauacan at jajauacan pa.

[line 6] Sumusumpa din naman cami na aming gaganapin at ipagaganap ang mga cautusang sa juli ay inilagda at pinag caisajan nang mga guinoo na naga jajarap sa

52 Cataastaasang Catipunang ito, na aming iguinagalang at ipinagdidiaung sa . . . ica . . . ng Enero isang libo ualong daan at siyam na puo at dalaua (Richardson, 2013, pp. 10-11)

My translations:

[line 5] In the fulfilment of what we have discussed and agreed upon, we swore in front of this most honourable Supreme Catipunan, for the sake of our homeland, whose wounds we lament, for her relief, that we are acting at great cost to defend and urgently accomplish, no matter what happens, that she become independent and separated, and we will not allow her to be subjugated again by those holding her now and by other Kingdoms who dare to conquer, and to this righteous purpose, we serve, for its fulfilment, our bodies, lives and possessions we hold and will hold in the future.

[line 6] We also swear that we will fulfil and execute the decrees which in conclusion were signed and agreed upon by the gentlemen that face this Supreme Catipunan who we respect and celebrate in . . . on the . . . of January one thousand eight hundred and ninety two” (Richardson, 2013, pp. 10-11). [Translation provided by researcher.]

In light of what has been discussed, I find the words ‘society’ and ‘association’ inadequate in describing and naming the Katipunan organisation and the movement. The appellations “Highest/Supreme Association” or “Highest/Supreme Society”, moreover invoke notions of elitism that colonialists like Francis St Clair (1902) latched on venomously to attack the Katipunan: “The words Supreme Society express the idea of supreme social situation, of a society formed of noteworthy people . . . Opinion is divided as to the origin of the word katipunan, . . . which signifies very select association” (St Clair, 1902, pp. 37-38, fn.). St.

Clair is completely of f the mark in his interpretation. The principles laid out by the

Katipunan were specific and repetitive about the principle of equality among their

53 members, regardless of economic status, education or appearance (Richardson, 2013).

‘Society’ in the sense of ‘the wider community’, or ’the public’, as shown earlier in connection to a translation of the Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen (The

Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) (see p. 7), is more apt, but the name’s phrase, ‘society of the’ would create a redundancy.

The word katipunan can refer to and be translated as different types of groupings and assemblages in different contexts. Although there is great sense in the non-translation of the word katipunan to produce a ‘foreignised’ translation already existing in historiographical sources, our attempts to grasp the word’s literal and non-literal meanings for the purpose of translation is helpful in understanding and describing the nature of the organisation itself.

In light of the foregoing discussion, I conclude that the word katipunan, which simply means ‘gathering’ or ‘assemblage’, was commonly used for any type of assemblage of people or things, but may have been strongly associated with religious organisations during the colonial period, because, given the religious character of Spanish colonisation, most large gatherings in the colony would have been of a religious nature. The founders of the

Katipunan may have chosen the word precisely for its religious connotation to camouflage and protect its secrecy and non-religious agendas, and to indicate preliminarily to those intending to join it, that the degree of belief, loyalty, commitment, and devotion that the organisation required for membership was no different from what characterised their religious organisations.

In consideration of its ideals, objectives and governmental functions, I propose the use of the words “congress” or “assembly” as a translation for C/Katipunan in these documents and in the name of the group itself, but with a preference for ‘congress’, to

54 highlight the senses of “(often in names) a political society or organisation” (Congress, 2017), and “an association usually made up of delegates from constituent organisations” (Congress,

2017). The latter sense especially highlights the fact that the Katipunan, as its longer name indicates, was the highest or supreme Katipunan among all other smaller,

‘katipunans’ (referred to as ‘councils’ and ‘branches’); and that Andres Bonifacio was referred to as the Supreme, or Highest President, among other presidents of their own councils, from various parts of the archipelago that came together in large meetings. Comparable indigenous organisations, like the National Congress of American Indians (NCAI) in the

USA; and the National Indigenous Congress (Congreso Nacional Indígena) (CNI), described as

“an organization of communities, nations, towns, neighbourhoods and indigenous tribes of

Mexico,” (National Indigenous Congress, 2018), come to mind.

My complete translation, then, of the previously quoted passages from the Principal

Decrees (Manga Daquilang Cautosan) and Consensus (Pinagcasunduan) would go thus:

[line 3] It is declared that these Islands are separating from . . . * from this day forward and does not and will not recognise any Ruler or sovereign that is not this Supreme Congress. [*Spain was considered an ‘unmentionable’ by the Katipuneros]

[line 4] The Supreme Congress is established from hereon, and it will hold the highest powers in the whole Archipelago (Richardson, 2013, p. 11). [Translation provided by researcher.]

[line 5] In the fulfilment of what we have discussed and agreed upon, we swore in front of this most honourable Supreme Congress, for the sake of our homeland, whose wounds we lament, for her relief, that we are acting at great cost to defend and urgently accomplish, no matter what happens, that she become independent and separated, and we will not allow her to be subjugated again by those holding her now and by other Kingdoms who dare to conquer, and to this righteous purpose, we

55 serve, for its fulfilment, our bodies, lives and possessions we hold and will hold in the future.

[line 6] We also swear that we will fulfil and execute the decrees which in conclusion were signed and agreed upon by the gentlemen that face this Supreme Congress who we respect and celebrate in …. on the …. of January one thousand eight hundred and ninety two (Richardson, 2013, pp. 10-11). [Translation provided by researcher.]

I also see in the etymology of the word ‘congress’ — “from com- ‘together’ + gradi ‘to walk,’ from gradus ‘a step’” (Harper, 2017) — a keeping with the symbolism of the ‘walk’ or

‘pilgrimage’ (lakaran in Tagalog, from the root word lakad, ‘walk’) depicted in Tagalog literature of the passion of Christ (Tag. pasyon), which Ileto (1979) has interpreted to be a connected notion, if not the basis, of the Katipunan’s proclaimed arduous journey of revolution towards liberation.

The word ‘Anak’

Looking further into the name of the Katipunan, the organisation is also qualified as

“ng manga Anak ng Bayan”. “Ng” means ‘of’ and ‘manga’ is the plural form of the article ‘the’.

“Anak”, which means ‘child’ or ‘children’, in Tagalog and other related Austronesian languages is not gendered, and yet translators continue to translate this word as ‘Sons’. The founders and military leaders of the Katipunan were male, but the organisation had a women’s chapter and women fought on the battlefield. (Halili, 2004; Richardson, 2013; Alvarez in

Ileto, 1979). The passage below, which is a translation of a firsthand account of a Katipunan official of the revolution, is especially descriptive of women’s active involvement in the

Katipunan — an involvement that went beyond cooking and feeding the members, hiding documents (Halili, 2004), sewing and embroidering flags and uniforms, camouflaging

56 meetings as parties (Halili, 2004) and even disguising male members as women, when necessary (St. Clair, 1902). The official, General Santiago Alvarez, describes a respite in the

fighting after the liberation of a particular town from Spanish control in 1896:

The people were truly happy, free to enjoy life in all sorts of ways. Food was plentiful; all things were cheap . . . The women’s stores were open all night; singing, dancing, feasting beneath the trees, gambling and cockfighting everywhere, served to make them forget the impending sacrifice of their lives and blood. But at the first sign of fighting, all the men and women would straighten up and grab their weapons of war (in Ileto, 1979, p. 135). (my emphasis)

Most visual depictions of the Katipunan are overwhelmingly masculine in flavour and presentation. These depictions belie the extent and depth of feminine influence, not only on the concrete realities of the Katipunan, but on its foundational cultural ideology. The

Katipunan’s use of the ‘mother’ and mother-child relationship as metaphors in their ideology, is so extensive, that it almost seems literal.

The first lines of the first foundational document we’ve already discussed, entitled,

Narrative (Casaysayan) read:

[line 7] Pag sasaysay ng mga cadahilanan ng pagjuialay ng Capuloang ito sa nag aanquing Yna.

[line 8] Ang umudioc sa amin na jumiualay sa E… ay ang malabis niyang ugali, matigas na loob, cataqcsilan at iba pang manga carumaldumal na gua na jindi dapat gamitin ng sino mang Yna sa alin mang anac, gaya ng manga sumusunod: . . . (Richardson, 2013, p. 6).

My translation reads:

[line 7] An exposition of the reasons for separating these Islands from the Mother that claims it.

57 [line 8] What incited us to separate from S… are her abusive ways, hardness of heart, treachery and other detestable actions that should never be used by any Mother on any child, like the following: . . . (Richardson, 2013, p. 6). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Truly the mother trope for homeland (‘motherland’) or for the earth itself (“Mother Earth’) exists in possibly every culture’s literary traditions. But it is quite ubiquitous in Philippine political literature, from pre-Katipunan to contemporary times, as shown by Pambid-

Domingo (2011) in her essay, “Dios Ina (God the Mother) and Philippine Nationalism”. Ileto

(1979) also examines this metaphor as a central idea in Katipunan ideology, connecting it with the Christian images and stories of the Virgin Mother Mary and her infant Jesus that pervaded the literary and cultural lives of the colonised natives, who were described by

Spanish observers at the onset of colonisation in the sixteenth-century as literate and “so given to reading and writing that there is hardly a man, and much less a woman, who does not read or write in the letters of the island” (Scott, 1994, p. 210).

According to Scott (1994), the literacy rate was high enough to induce Spanish missionaries to print books of catechism in the native Tagalog script, most notably the

Doctrina Christiana en lengua Española y Tagala (Christian Doctrine in the Spanish and Tagalog languages), which was published in 1593. It was the first book to be published in the colony

(Scott, 1994). A religious epic verse known as the pasyon was first composed and published in the Philippines in the eighteenth-century (Ileto, 1979). From the Latin passionem, “suffering” and Spanish pasión (in English passion), the pasyon epic tells of the suffering and death of

Christ, beginning from his entry into Jerusalem to his crucifixion. A second version based on the first was published in the nineteenth-century and became known as the Pasyon Pilapil, after a presumed author named Pilapil (Ileto, 1979).

58 The pasyon was performed in religious plays called the cenáculo every year during the

Holy Week of the Christian calendar, but it was memorised, recited, chanted or sung by the colonised natives even outside religious settings and festivals (Ileto, 1979). The oral performance and transmission of these stories seemed to echo, if not repeat, the behaviour of the natives as regards their own precolonial oral traditions at the beginning of Spanish contact. A priest, Fray Diego de Bobadilla, in the seventeenth-century, recounted:

All the religion . . . is founded on tradition . . . That tradition is preserved by the songs that they learn by heart in their childhood, by hearing them sung in their sailing, in their work, in their amusements, and in their festivals, and better, yet, when they bewail their dead . . . (Ileto, 1979, p. 25)

Compared to its eighteenth-century precursor, the Pasyon Pilapil contained significant changes that reflected generations of inevitable modifications and additions by performers, copyists and audiences (Ileto, 1979). One significant change that Ileto mentions was its broader historic scope — its telling of the Christ story starts from ‘the beginning of time’ and ends on Judgment Day, rather than from his entrance into Jerusalem to his crucifixion, which is the standard time frame covered by the pasyon in Catholic tradition.

Another change was the use of “powerful images of transition from one state or era to another, e.g. darkness to light, despair to hope, misery to salvation, death to life, ignorance to knowledge, dishonour to purity, and so forth” (Ileto, 1979, p.19). No doubt, these themes exist universally in many cultures, but given the colonial restrictions and control of reading material in the colony as well as the Spaniards’ decision to learn the local languages rather than teach Spanish to the natives, the latter may have only been mining these metaphors from their own precolonial oral traditions, or if not, were continuing the exercise of centuries-old creative literary practices on the story of the pasyon. These may have been

59 practices and abilities they never lost, even while they did lose or suppress the content of their ancestral spiritual beliefs and cosmogonies. The transformation of the pasyon seemed to have been the result of natives’ assimilation of the Christ story into the structures of their precolonial, indigenous worldview and oral traditions.

Another change in the structure of this pasyon was the “extraordinary development of scenes in which Mother Mary plays a dominant role . . .” (Ileto, 1979, p.18). This discussion is not a study of the details of the Pasyon Pilapil, but it is noteworthy that the Virgin Mother’s role is expanded in the text in such a way that she is featured in a verse addressed to the

figure of Judas. Judas is castigated for not reflecting on the “obvious pampering” given to him by “the beloved Virgin”, who always remembered him, “whatever food was in the house”

(Luna & Sons, 1949, p. 66). This is without doubt a unique addition to the Christ story: what is universally known among Christians as Judas’ error — his betrayal of Jesus — is augmented with the error of forgetting the Virgin’s motherly love, whose role as a mother in the New Testament was to Jesus and his brothers, not to Judas. The reader seems to be taken into a strange, alternate cosmology of non-linear time, with its own moral parameters, and asserting a value system that reminds one that every human being, no matter how he is represented — good or bad — was born of a mother and was nurtured into adulthood by a mother.

Ileto attributes this expansion of the Virgin’s motherly role to the “society’s preoccupation with the bonds between mother and child” (Ileto, 1979, p. 18), but does not speculate further on its cultural origins. This ‘preoccupation’ with motherhood is evident enough in the passages from the Katipunan foundational documents that we have already

60 examined, as well as in the poems and other literary works of Katipuneros (Katipunan members) like Procopio Bonifacio, whose poem reads:

Oh Mother Spain, we are asking for forgiveness We Filipinos who are your children The time has come to be removed From your lack of care, your bad mothering (in Ileto, 1979, p. 128).

In Katapusang Hibik ng Filipinas (‘Final Sobs of Filipinas’), the Supremo (Supreme President) of the Katipunan, Andres Bonifacio, writes to Spain:

Among mothers you have no equal Indulging a child in torment and suffering; When it prostrates and sobs before you Your remedy is pain (in Almario, 1993, p. 145).

There is, therefore, a strong feminine presence, if not influence, on the Katipunan worldview, and the translation of the non-gendered indigenous word Anak to ‘Sons’, has the effect, intended or not, of rendering this influence silent or invisible.

The word ‘children’ may have been avoided by some translators because of its connotation of innocence, ignorance and vulnerability, which contradict the images of the

Katipuneros (Katipunan members) as fierce adult revolutionary warriors filled with indignation and revenge. Indeed, this image has been enforced by popular images of

Katipuneros shouting and brandishing bolos (knives of indigenous construction) in schoolbooks and in films. It is, however, an image that Tagalog scholars like Almario (1993) rue as serving to highlight the Katipuneros’ lack of education — the implied inferiority that caused them to act on emotions untempered by cultivated intellects, by ’reason’. This depiction has historically provided a convenient contrast to the educated (in Spanish, ilustrado) natives who hesitated to revolt, producing a binary that pro-colonialists used well

61 into the twentieth century. One such colonialist, Francis St Clair (1902), portrayed the

Katipunan as “swearing hatred and destruction to everything of a character or nature

Spanish and sowing the seed of a race-hatred… “ (St Clair, 1902, p. 39).

This type of imaging of the Katipunan is extremely interesting in light of the fact that they did see themselves as children abused and neglected by a ‘false mother’ (Ileto,

1979) — Mother Spain, or Madre España. St. Clair (1902) also quotes a Katipunan president as affirming that his organisation pursued the people’s “release from the yoke of the step- mother Spain” (p. 82), noting that the Spanish word for step-mother, madrasta, also meant

“anything disagreeable” (p. 82, fn.). Colonial Spain, furthermore, through its missionaries, promoted this image of child-like indigenous peoples, and fostered their spiritual and material dependence. The revolutionary mythos was based on a discovery that Spain was not their ‘true mother’, and that it was time to ‘change’ the mother and reclaim the real one.

Their true mother was the Bayan, their Inang (‘Mother’) Bayan, who was suffering, and their revolution was to free her from oppression and abuse.

One also has to acknowledge that while Spain’s abusive ways were detested in the

Katipunan foundational texts, there were other writings that emphasised love (pag-ibig), especially pag-ibig for the Bayan, as the highest principle, equal to love for the Creator. The highest official of the Katipunan, the Supremo, Andres Bonifacio, was also a poet and artist who wrote: “Reflect within yourself, on how a fervent faith in the Creator, is love for one’s native land, because this is a true love for one’s fellow human beings” (in Richardson, 2013, p. 127).

Bonifacio’s well-known poem, Pag-Ibig sa Tinubuang Bayan (“Love for the Homeland”), moreover, begins thus:

62 [lines 9-12]Aling pag-ibig pa ang hihigit kaya sa pagkadalisay at pagkadakila gaya ng pag-ibig sa tinubuang lupa? ¿ alin pag-ibig pa? Wala na nga; wala. What other love could surpass In purity and nobility Like love for the homeland? What other love? None at all; none (in Richardson, 2013, p. 195). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Another Katipunan leader, Emilio Jacinto, the author of the Kartilya, wrote in

Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness):

[line 13]Sa lahat ng damdamin ng puso ng tao ay wala ngang mahal at dakila na gaya ng pag-ibig. [lines 14-17]Ang tunay na pag-ibig ay walang ibinubunga kundi ang tunay na ligaya at kaginhawahan. Sa aba ng mga Bayang hindi pinamamahayan ng wagas at matinding pag-ibig! Sa pag-ibig nunukal ang kinakailangang pagdadamayan at pagkakaisang nagbibigay ng di-maulatang lakas, maging sa pag- aabuluyan at pagtutulungan ng isa’t isa, maging sa pagsasanggalang ng mga banal na matwid ng kalahatan. O, sino ang makapagsasaysay ng mga himalang gawa ng pag-ibig?

[line 13] Of all the feelings in the heart of people there truly is none more precious or noble than love. [lines 14-17] True love does not result in anything but true joy and well-being. Woe to those Homelands where a pure and intense love does not dwell! From love springs the necessary compassion and unity that give inexplicable strength, whether in (people) contributing and helping each other, or in protecting the sacred rights of all.

63 Oh, who can describe the wondrous feats of love? (in Almario, 1993, pp. 171-72) [Translation provided by researcher.]

Richardson’s compilation of Katipunan documents (2013) furthermore shows a number of official letters with closing phrases such as “accept my tight embrace, brother”, or

“accept this embrace and my Loyalty, Commitment and Peace” (Richardson, 2013, pp. 45-6).

The Katipunan was not only bent on removing colonial rule, it had ideals of neighbourly love that they could live and practice. The Katipunan official, General Santiago

Alvarez, describes this period of the liberation in one town in 1896:

The people were truly happy, free to enjoy life in all sorts of ways. Food was plentiful; all things were cheap; there were no perversities, no robberies, no thefts, no pickpockets. Everyone had love for his fellow men, and in every place the Katipunan’s teaching of brotherly love held sway. Frightful threats of death, like the whistling cannonballs, were viewed calmly as everyone simply ducked to avoid them. And with hope in the grace of God, the children, elders, women and men had no fear of death . . . no news of the enemy’s advance was ever cause for fear . . . The cannon bursts were no longer feared and even came to be regarded as fireworks in a celebration (in Ileto, 1979, p. 135).

So this popular image of fierce fighters and the words, ‘sons of the people’ do not provide a complete narrative of the Katipunan. The Katipunan were not merely seeking revenge and authoritarian power for themselves. It was not a small group of male rulers and fighters who were the progeny of the community (“sons of the people”) fighting for the rest of the people: it was the people. It was conceived as a body to which all the people — male and female — of the islands belonged; all the people who fought together to free the land of their birth and growth — their ‘mother’ — from a foreign power. That it was the highest authority, meant that the people themselves were the highest authority. The Katipunan envisioned itself as a government of the people, by the people and for the people.

64 The word ‘Bayan’

In his preliminary notes on his translations of the Katipunan documents, Richardson

(20130) mentions the impossibility of knowing for sure if the word ’bayan’ is being used to signify ‘people’ or ‘nation’, acknowledging that the word could mean either or both. Other authors like Pambid-Domingo (2004) choose the word ’country’.

As we have seen, the word bayan is often associated with and appended to the word

‘mother’, as in Inang Bayan/Inangbayan in the Katipunan ideology. The bayan was invariably seen as the ‘mother’ who nourishes and gives birth to anak, or children. Being born to a mother was not enough; a mother’s love and how she raises her child was of paramount issue in this worldview.

Bonifacio speaks of the greatest love as the love for one’s homeland, in his poem, Pag-

Ibig sa Tinubuang Bayan (Love for the Homeland) (in Richardson, 2013). Bonifacio uses the word ‘lupa’, literally, the ‘soil’ from which one has grown, or that was ‘tinubuan’ (‘place that is grown from’; the root word ‘tubo’ means ‘to grow’). In another stanza he writes:

[lines 18-23] ¡Ay! ito’y ang inang Bayang tinubuan, na siyang una’t tangi na kinamulatan ng kawiliwiling liwanag ng araw na nagbigay init sa lunong katawan.

Sa kaniya ay utang ang unang pagtanggap ng simoy ng hanging nagbibigay-lunas . . .

[lines 18-23] Ah! This is the mother Bayan from which (or whom) we’ve grown, the first and only origin

65 of the pleasing light of the sun that gave warmth to the soft body.

To her we owe our first receiving of the whiff of wind that heals… (in Richardson, 2013, p. 196). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Like katipunan, bayan can be used for different meanings in different contexts; but in the

Katipunan ideology or worldview, more often than not, bayan is the physical land — the soil, the sun, the wind — that the child or infant encounters at birth and which gives nourishment and healing. Consistent with the importance given to the idea of the unification of people and land or nature in indigenous worldviews (Royal, 2002), the ‘land’ is regarded as a mother who abundantly feeds, cares for, and pampers humans with the fruits of her soil, the shade of her trees, her fresh waters for fishing, drinking and bathing, the ground for standing, walking, running, laying and receiving the rays of the sun, the fresh air, and the rain from the sky. Bayan is the land that includes people, because of this nurturing symbiosis.

The bayan, then, is not just one’s place of origin, or birth, as in the Latin and Spanish natio / nacio (for nacion > nation), to mark citizenship, but the place on which one has grown, tinubuan. One grows in a particular way in relation to the land of one’s growth, so to speak. I therefore, opt to use the words ‘land’ and ‘homeland’ for bayan in different literary contexts, rather than the non-existent ‘growth land’ or ‘growth soil’, which are literal equivalences of

‘tinubuang bayan’ and ‘tinubuang lupa’. Bayan is the land where one is grown, or raised, and a child is raised in a home, thus ‘homeland’.

66 The word bayan is related to the old Tagalog word for ‘female’ (babayi) and has been suggested to be a contraction of the word ‘bahayan’ (Odal-Devora, 2000), which means

‘settlement’, or a place with many bahay, or houses. And it is a female who is the ‘maybahay’ or the one who ‘has a house’, a common reference to ‘wife’. The straightforward connection to the idea of house and home, and the lexical connection with the female are consistent with the Katipunan’s literal and symbolic use of the Tagalog words bayan and anak discussed so far. There is less of a consideration of ‘kind’, ‘race’, or ‘breed’ of people, as the word

‘nation’ can imply, but more of an emphasis on home, land, and place. And, of course, the mother/motherland-child relationship.

The term ‘Mother Nation’ most often connotes a nation in relation to its colonies or dependencies, or a nation from which others evolve (Mother Nation, 2017); or are appended to. In the Katipunan context, ‘mother nation’ was Spain, or, in the colonial phrase of the time, Madre España, the mother of many colonies. In a telegram sent by the Governor

General of Filipinas to the Colonial Minister in Spain soon after the Katipunan was discovered in August 1896, the Katipunan was described as a “vast organization of secret societies . . . with anti-national tendencies . . .” (St. Clair, 1902, p. 11). Perhaps the assumption that the Katipunan was envisioning the establishment of a nation, or another nation in place of Spain, or in the style of Spain, should be reconsidered.

As for the third option to use the word ‘country’ for bayan, I am inclined towards what I see as an ‘indigenistic’ analysis of the concept of ‘country’ by ethnographer Geoffrey

Benjamin (2015), who sees in the colloquial use of the word ‘country’ for nation-state as one that “directs our attention away from such . . . things as kinship or sodality towards the more abstract . . . idea of a state’s territory, thought of simultaneously as population and

67 map. In this way the place-based, landscape-founded linkages that sustained individuals and social groupings in most premodern social formations are ruptured” (Benjamin, 2015, p. 570).

These insights definitely invite more questions as regards the political vision of the

Katipunan, and the degree or level of their indigenous consciousness and indigenist agendas.

The manner with which they used the indigenous Tagalog language indicates to me that

‘land’ and ‘homeland’ are the proper translations for the word bayan.

The “Kartilya”

The document popularly referred to as the Kartilya, curiously enough, does not have the word “kartilya” in it. The Tagalog word kartilya is transliterated from the Spanish word, cartila, which means ‘primer’ (Cartilla, n.d.), or a book of elementary principles (Primer,

2010).

It is noteworthy that the Katipunan documents — letters, minutes, circulars, etc. — in Jim Richardson’s exhaustive compilation (2013) — do not refer to this text as a kartilya/ cartila, but as a pahayag, a Tagalog word that can mean, in this context, an ‘announcement’,

‘declaration’, ‘manifesto’, ‘communication’ or ‘notice’ (Google Translate, 2018;

TagalogTranslate.com, 2018; Tagalog-Dictionary.com, 2016). The word kartilya, furthermore, in contemporary Tagalog/Filipino usage almost always exclusively refers to this particular historical document, and is rarely, if ever, used to refer to anything else, unless it is a text modelled on, or alluding to it. That the document came to be known as a ‘kartilya’, may be owing to how it was perceived by Spanish speakers and translators in the colony, whose terminologies dominated the chronicling of Katipunan-related events.

68 Among the Katipunan documents in Richardson’s compilation (2013), this “Kartilya” is only referred to twice — in the minutes of a Supreme Assembly meeting held in

December of 1895, and in a meeting held on January 25, 1896. In both instances, it is referred to as “pahayag sa mga may nasang makisanib…” and “pahayag sa may mag nasang makisanib” (Richardson, 2013, p.79, 155), or “announcement to those who wish (or ‘have a wish’) to join,” and never “kartilya/cartila". The word pahayag in other Katipunan documents is often translated to ‘manifesto’, and Gripaldo (2105) merely refers to all texts disseminated by the Katipunan as ‘manifestoes”; but the ‘Kartilya’ has never been referred to, in my knowledge, as a ‘manifesto’, though it could be regarded that way. There is an allegory written by the Katipunan leader, Emilio Jacinto, that was plainly titled Pahayag, and this was correctly translated as ‘Manifesto’ by a Spanish translator, but perhaps to avoid any confusion between Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito and Jacinto’s allegory, ‘kartilya' has been used to refer to the former years after the Katipunan revolution.

The “Kartilya" is a primer, that presents the principles and teachings of the

Katipunan and their requirements for entrance and membership. The “application form” that is sometimes published with it as an attachment, is referred to separately in the minutes of the Katipunan meetings as “ang pinagsulatan ng panunumpa sa pagpasuk” and “ang pinagsulatan ng panunumpa sa pagkakapasuk” (Richardson, 2013, p.79, 155), which both mean

“that on which a pledge is written upon entrance.” In keeping with the indigenous language of the Katipunan, and the organisation’s perception of this document as a pahayag, from hereon I will choose to refer to the “Kartilya” by its subtitle, Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito where possible; and to apply the results of this chapter’s completed discussion of key words, by translating its full title, Katipunan nang manga A. N. B.: Sa may nasang

69 makisanib sa katipunang ito, to ‘“Congress of the C.O.L. (Children of the Land): To those who wish to join this congress.”

Conclusion

This chapter shows that the words katipunan and bayan will have different meanings in different contexts, no different from how the word ‘group’ in English, for instance, can mean any type and size of conglomeration or gathering of things and people, or how the

English word ‘land’ can conjure various types of feelings and images that range from uninhabited property, to a town or community. The word anak does not have this characteristic in the Katipunan context.

This re-translation process also shows that histories and associations behind words do provide richer meanings that overlap, and decisions on which word to choose depend on which connotations the translator would like to be most salient in her translation, in keeping with other information provided by the context.

How a thing is called — or named — is the first communication of its nature or qualities. For readers who do not speak or understand the Tagalog language, the existing translations of the full name of the Katipunan would give impressions that do not adequately convey what the organisation was about. The re-translation of the key words, katipunan, anak and bayan, have come together to retranslate the name of the Katipunan organisation to ‘Congress of the Children of the Land’.

This re-translation of the Katipunan nang manga Anak ng Bayan from ‘Association of the Sons of the People’ to ‘Congress of the Children of the Land’, changes the depiction of the movement from one that seems masculinist and focused on war, to one that is

70 universally inclusive, focused on love and nurturance, highly organised, politically and legally minded, operating on a degree of consensus and egalitarianism, and most important of all, indigenist in its perception of its relationship to the land. In the following chapters, I analyse concepts in Katipunan thinking that illustrate the indigenist nature of the

Katipunan movement in a deeper way.

I end this chapter with a quote from the memoir of the Katipunan General Santiago

Alvarez, who lived to tell his story in 1927:

From the highest leadership of the Katipunan, to the lowest was the unified respect for kindredship and equality, investing blood and life against the King, to establish our own and free Government, that would rightfully have the People govern the People, and not just one or two persons (Alvarez, 1992, p. 319, as cited in Chua, n.d.)

It is important that these essential qualities be conveyed by the name of the organisation and movement, and I trust that my re-translation is a move in that direction.

71 Chapter Four

¡Reason din naman!

The mistranslation of katuiran

The title of this chapter is a play on another title and its faulty translation.

The title in question is “¡Katuiran din naman!,” and belongs to one of the Katipunan texts featured in the first and only issue of the Katipunan newspaper called Kalayaan

(‘Freedom’). This paper featured five other articles that are credited with increasing the recruitment of tens of thousands of natives to the revolutionary cause in a span of five months before the outbreak of war (Richardson, 2013). Jim Richardson (2013) translates this title to “Reason yet again!”

It was this mistranslation that stood out for me among the Katipunan texts in

Richardson’s compilation, The Light of Liberty (2013). I sought to investigate this mis- translation for its potential to lead me to other inaccuracies in the other texts that would affect the overall interpretation of the Katipunan movement. And this investigation did lead to that.

It is the key word in the title — katuiran — that is the object of mistranslation.

Although the word, and concept behind it, has been discussed in reference to other texts and events pertaining to the revolution by historiographers like Ileto (1979), and literary critics like Almario (1993), I have not come across a discussion on the particular article,

¡Katuiran din naman!, perhaps because the original Tagalog version of this article was

72 published less than a decade ago, along with its very first English translation by Richardson

(2013). This chapter then, is devoted to an investigation towards an understanding of katuiran.

I begin this chapter with an explanation of the semantics of the word katuiran in the section “Katuiran". I then analyse the use of the word in the text, ¡Katuiran din naman!, followed by its analysis in the text Pinagcasundoan in the sections, “‘Katuiran’ in ¡Katuiran din naman! (Real Justice!)” and “Katuiran" in the Pinagcasundoan (Consensus)”. In both documents, katuiran is, without a doubt, mistranslated in Richardson’s translation, resulting in losses of meaning, awkward logic and sentence structures.

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog is the most discussed and analysed in the entire

Katipunan literature, along with the “Kartilya”, perhaps because the word katuiran is used in this document many times. I divide my analysis of the use of katuiran in this text, into two sections separated by several points of discussion. The first section, “‘Katuiran’ in Ang Dapat

Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs should Know) — Preliminary notes”, presents the text with a critique of Richardson’s (2013) translation. This section is followed by relevant analyses of katuiran in other texts, in the sections, “‘Katuiran’ in Casaysayan

(Narrative)”, and “‘Katwiran’ in Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness)”, which then spur a discussion of significant points in Katipunan philosophy in the subsequent sections, “A

Moral Epistemology — distinguishing between ‘light’ and ‘glare’”, “Differences between the

Tagalog/Katipunan Enlightenment and the European Enlightenment”, and “Back to

‘Katuiran'”. I then end the chapter with a return to, and a a re-translation of the same passages of Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (lines 5-9) discussed earlier, in the final section,

73 “‘Katuiran’ in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs should Know) — a re- translation”.

“Katuiran"

The word katuiran (spelled katwiran/katuwiran in modern Tagalog) has as its root word, tuwid, which means “straight” (Almario, 1993). As I have discussed in the previous chapter, the affixes ka- and -an augmented to a Tagalog word transform it to refer to a quality or place/state of being pertaining to that word; in the case of katuiran/katwrian, the adjective tuwid, ‘straight’ becomes the quality of being straight, or ‘straightness’. Related meanings in the non-visual or non-material sense, would be ‘uprightness’, ‘righteousness’, ‘justice’,

‘reasonability’, ‘right’, ‘legality’, ’reason’ (as in ‘cause’. ‘justification’ or ‘argument’), and

‘reason’ as a mental function, or logic (Calderon, 1915/2017). The antonyms of ‘straightness’ and related meanings would be ‘crookedness’, ‘waywardness’, ‘lack of justice’, or

‘unreasonableness’.

“Katuiran" in ¡Katuiran din naman! (Real Justice!)

The article titled, ¡Katuiran din naman!, relates a story that was, according to its author, both “astonishing and infuriating” (Richardson, 2013, p. 188), but unfortunately commonplace. The story is about a lieutenant of native or indigenous ancestry who was in his house listening to charges made by two women regarding a Spanish priest. This priest then appeared at his window, verbally abused and shot the lieutenant three times with a revolver, grazing his forehead. Convinced that the priest meant to kill him, the lieutenant managed to wrest the revolver, and, with the help of the two women and his family, tied the priest to prevent him from doing further harm. The household was then visited by some

74 justices of the peace who proceeded to apprehend the entire family, including the children and elderly, while allowing the priest to return quietly to his convent. One of the native women who was a complainant to the lieutenant was thereafter convicted of offences; and it was furthermore discovered that she was the priest’s concubine.

The article ends on a sarcastic note:

[line 1] Tignan ngayon ng bayan ang kabaitan, kalinisan at kapakumbabaan ng mga pinupoon niyang kahalili ng Dios.

[lines 2-3] At tignan din naman ang gawa ng nagaakay sa kaniya sa landas ng katuiran, na ang maglilingko’y ipinagtatangol at pinapagdurusa ang nilulupig nito. At salamat kung ito’y sukat na; malapit na mangyari, ayon sa mga alingawngaw at dating ugali, na ang teniente del barrio at ang anak na babaing nito… ay itapun ang isa sa ibang pulo, at ang isa sa iba; sapagka’t ito’y siyang kinakailanagan sa mga ayaw papatay sa ama ng kalulua (Richardson, 2013, p. 187).

This is my partial translation:

[line1 ] Now let the people look at the goodness, virtuousness and humility of those vicars of God that rule them.

[lines 2-3] And look at the actions of those who guide them on the path of katuiran, where the minister is defended and those he oppresses are put on trial. And we can give thanks if this were enough, but according to rumour, and to previous custom, the lieutenant and his daughter . . . will be banished to separate islands; because this is what is deemed necessary by those who do not want the father of souls to be killed (Richardson, 2013, p. 187). [Translation provided by researcher].

The passages are riddled with sarcasm, with the author of the article underlining words to emphasise perceived ironies. It is the “lieutenant” who gets punished, and the priest who attempts murder and breaks his vows of chastity is regarded as a “father” of souls who “guides” the people as a “vicar of God”. Everything in the story is the opposite of what

75 should be, including the “justice” that was meted out in the end. The title, ¡Katuiran din naman!, furthermore contains the Tagalog expression ‘din naman’, which, like the expression

‘man din’, can convey irony, the closest translation of which is the sarcastic ‘really’, ‘indeed’, or ‘real __ ’. The expression ¡Katuiran din naman! sums up all these ironies, especially the outcome of the story, sarcastically. The proper translation of the title, therefore, is the ironic

“Real Justice!” or “Justice Indeed!”

But Richardson (2013) translates ¡Katuiran din naman! to “Reason yet again!” He also translates the first two lines of the passage quoted above as:

[line 1] Now the people can see the goodness, propriety, and humility of the lords who are the representatives of God.

[line 2] And also to be seen is a duty to lead the people on the path of reason, to support and defend them and to punish whoever oppresses them (Richardson, 2013, p. 188). [Richardson’s translation.] (my emphasis)

Richardson maintains the sarcasm of the first line, but completely misunderstands the syntax and purport of the second, and transforms what is meant to be sarcastic into a moral prescription. Significantly, he translates the phrase ‘landas ng katuiran’ to ‘path of reason’. But given the literary and narrative context of the line, and its reference to a man of the cloth, ‘the path of katuiran’ is more properly translated to the biblical or moral phrase

‘the path of righteousness’, for guiding people on the path of reason is hardly ever associated with the role of priests, but guiding them on the path of righteousness is. Hence, my translation thus:

[line 2] And look at the actions of those who guide the people on the path of righteousness, where the minister is defended and those he oppresses are put on trial. [Translation provided by researcher].

76 As previously shown, ‘katuiran’, can mean different things in different contexts, with ‘reason’ being just one of these possible meanings. But it is very clear that as regards the article titled

¡Katuiran din naman! that this most significant word katuiran means ‘justice’ in its title, and

‘righteousness’ in its last paragraph.

I find Richardson’s mistranslations in this particular article significant, for they exemplify more saliently than his other mistranslations how an insistence on the overarching influence of the European Enlightenment with its emphasis on and zeal for the use of the human faculty of ‘reason’, on Katipunan ideology — an influence that Richardson

(2013) believes trumps any other possible cultural underpinnings — leads to a translation that is inadequate at best, and idiomatically odd or ridiculous, at worst. What is clearly a satirical article becomes a prescriptive one, and with an odd title. Perhaps it is Richardson who is guilty of relying on “wishful assertion than on substantiating chapter and verse” (Richardson, 2013; see my Introduction, p. 2) — a charge he directs at those who de- emphasise the European Enlightenment’s influence on the Katipunan in favour of indigenous ways of thinking — when he more often than not translates katuiran/katwiran to

‘reason’ when other native meanings are clearly more appropriate, as in the case of ¡Katuiran din naman!

At any rate, these very obvious mistranslations lead us on the path of suspicion as regards his other translations of katuiran in the other Katipunan texts, which are less obviously off the mark, but now deserve more scrutiny.

“Katuiran" in the Pinagcasundoan (Consensus)

77 The foundational document of the Katipunan titled, Pinagcasundoan (“Consensus” or

“Agreement”) gives an example of katuiran usage. The document, like many contracts or agreements, begins with a preamble composed of recitals or ‘whereas clauses’ that provide a context of the agreement. The recitals or clauses begin with the Tagalog equivalent, Yamang, which I translate as ‘inasmuch as’. The twelfth clause uses the word katuiran twice; in the

first instance it is capitalised with its old spelling, Catoiran, and in the second instance it is not:

[line 4] Yamang hindi natatala sa alin mang Catoiran na ang sino man ay macapag jauac at cumamcam ng jindi niya lupa o pag aare, ay caming may areng tunay at tubo sa lupang ito na linupig at quinamcam may tunay na catoiran, huag na ang maningil nang pautang dajil sa manga gauang yaon, cun di na lamang jingin na isarile sa amin ang boong Capangyarihan sa manga Capuloang ito, bucod pa sa cami ay jindi nag cacailangan na pangjimasucan at pamunoan nang taga ibang lupa, cun ang guinagaua, gaya ngayon, ay pauang pag inis, pag lait, pag api, pag iring at pag patay.

[line 4] In as much as it is not inscribed by any type of Legality that anyone can possess or expropriate land or property that is not his, that we, as the true owners and natives of this land that was conquered and seized, who have true rights to it, should not charge a reparation for such acts, if not simply demand our own Sovereignty over all these islands, apart from the fact that we do not need to be encroached on and governed by those from other lands if all that they do, like today, is vexate, insult, enslave, despise and murder (Richardson, 2013, p. 10). [Translation and highlights provided by the researcher.]

Richardson translates the passage thus:

[line 4] Considering that no Reason can be registered why anybody should seize and confiscate land or possessions that are not hers and that we are the true owners and natives of this oppressed and subjugated land, there is no cause according to true Reason to have any debt as a result of what has happened. Our only desire is to have our own independent and complete sovereignty in these islands. Moreover, we do not

78 need the interference or direction of people from other lands, because if that happens, like now, the result is frustration, humiliation, enslavement, scorn and slaughter (Richardson, 2013, p. 19). [Richardson’s translation.] (Researcher’s highlights.)

Because Richardson insists on using the word ’reason’ for both instances of the word katuiran here, the result is a first line [line 4] that has the effect of conveying a kind of naiveté about the motives and legal tactics of conquerors and land-grabbers. Even if this idea of ‘Reason’ (capitalised) is exulted as an idealised moral or high principle (in the sense of

‘justification’), it then diminishes in importance when, in the following clause, it merely points out that the true owners of the land should have no debt to those who seized the land from them — an idea arrived at more from an ordinary notion of ‘reason’ with a lower case ‘r’, than any exulted principle. The oddness of this argument from “true Reason” (which he capitalises, although in the original, it is not), moreover, renders the powerful assertion of an idea of prior or first settlement, of being “the true owners” of the land, flat, as the assertion seems to serve no other purpose than to argue for an exemption of natives from any debt to their usurpers: a disturbing depiction of natives who do not have a larger sense of right and wrong to realise that, as rightful owners of land, having financial debts to land- grabbers ought to be the opposite of their moral concerns. Furthermore, in Richardson’s translation, the assertion of true or prior land ownership isn’t even presented as a justification for having sovereignty over the islands, which is relegated to a mere ‘desire’ on the part of the authors, while there is actually no word in the passage that could be translated to ‘desire’. Finally, the errors in comprehension force Richardson to translate one sentence into three, with the last sentence being oddly gratuitous and out of context. The overall fragmentation of ideas does not follow the logic and style of the document.

79 In my re-translation, I use the meaning ‘Legality’ for the first instance of Katuiran

(capitalised). It is an uncommon, if not ‘extinct’ usage, but can be found in Calderon’s

(1915/2007) Diccionario Ingles-Español-Tagalog (English-Spanish-Tagalog Dictionary). As regards the second instance of katuiran, which is not capitalised, what is missed in Richardson’s translation is the reference to land rights — one of the crucial issues, if not the primary issue, of indigenous peoples’ anti-colonial struggles — in the context of the the authors’ claim, on behalf of the people, to be “true owners and natives” of the land. What is also missed is the idea of natives charging pautang (literally ‘loan’ or ‘credit’) or reparations for the usurpation of the lands that they own. This latter idea would only make sense within a general notion or consideration of ‘Legality’, and therefore, justice, not ‘Reason’. As in the article ¡Katuiran din naman! the idea of katuiran as justice seems to repeatedly elude

Richardson, when the fight for justice is all over strewn in the Katipunan documents filled with depictions of everyday cruelties and racism. The fight for justice is at the heart of all anti-colonial uprisings. If the modern Tagalog word for justice, katarungan, cannot be found in the Katipunan documents, it is because this equivalent was coined in the twentieth century by Tagalog writer Lope K. Santos and his colleagues (Almario, 2011), several decades after the Katipunan revolution. The introduction of the neologism had the effect of katuiran/katwiran being exclusively used for meanings to do with ‘reason’ and ‘reasoning’, but only in the twentieth century.

So, this second mistranslation that we’ve just seen in the document Pinagcasundoan shows us that it is “Reason, yet again!” that leads Richardson to mistranslate.

80 “Katuiran" in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs should

Know) — Preliminary notes

In contrast to ¡Katuiran din naman!, which does not, and cannot allow for the translation of katuiran to ‘reason’ without losing the tone and complete import of the article, as well as to the passage in Pinagcasundoan, which we have already discussed, the document

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know) seems to, at first glance, allow for the use of the word ‘reason’ as a translation for katuiran.

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog is one of the more famous polemical pieces of the

Katipunan, the authorship of which is commonly attributed to the founder and eventual

‘Supreme Head’ of the movement, Andres Bonifacio. The rousing piece provides a narrative of the archipelago’s experiences from the time before Spanish colonisation to the time of the author’s writing, that portrays the islands’ precolonial prosperity and trade relations with other islands like Japan, its natives’ widespread literacy and use of a native script, sense of morality, and general ease of life, as all having been halted and corrupted by an alliance with the Spanish. The Spaniards are depicted as having broken agreements and promises, and returning the blessings of the natives’ hospitality and friendship with treachery, cruelty,

‘a wrong religion’ (maling pagsampalataya), and moral corruption (Richardson, 2013). After listing the grave offences and abuses in eloquent and pathetic imagery, the author asks, “Ano ang nararapat nating gawin?” (Richardson, 2013, p. 190). ‘What must we do?’, or more literally,

‘What is the right or fitting (nararapat) action for us to take?’

The question is then followed by the rallying call:

[lines 5-9] Ang araw ng katuiran na sumisikat sa Silanganan, ay malinaw na itinuturo sa ating mga matang malaong nabulagan ang landas na dapat nating tunguhin, ang

81 liwanag niya’y tanaw sa ating mga mata, ang kukong nag akma ng kamatayang alay sa ating [sic] ng mga ganid na asal. Ytinuturo ng katuiran, na wala tayong iba pang maaantay kundi lalut lalung kahirapan, lalut lalung kataksilan, lalut lalung kaalipustaan at lalut lalung kaalipinan. Ytinuturo ng katuiran, na huag nating sayangin ang panahon sa pagasa sa ipinangakong kaguinhawahan na hindi darating at hindi mangyayari. Ytinuturo ng katuiran ang tayo’y umasa sa ating sarili at huag antain sa iba ang ating kabuhayan. Ytinuturo ng katuiran ang tayo’y mag kaisang loob magka isang isip at akala at ng tayo’y magkalakas na maihanap ang naghaharing kasamaan sa ating Bayan.

[lines 5-9] The sun of katuiran that rises in the East, is clearly pointing to our eyes that have long been blinded, the path that we have to take; its light makes visible to our eyes, the claws that mete out the deaths offered to us by the savage ones. Katuiran teaches us that there is nothing more that we can expect than greater hardship, much more treachery, much more disdain, and much more enslavement. Katuiran teaches us not to waste time in hoping for the promised comfort and prosperity that will not come and will not happen. Katuiran teaches us that we should depend on ourselves and not entrust our lives to others. Katuiran shows us that we must unite our hearts, minds and beliefs so that we can have the strength to pursue the evil that reigns in our Homeland (Richardson, 2013, p. 190). [Translation provided by researcher.]

I’ve already shown how the same word — like katipunan in the Casaysayan (Narrative) of the foundational documents; and katuiran in ¡Katuiran din naman! and in Pinagcasundoan

(Consensus) — can have different meanings and be translated into different English words within the same text or passage. This passage from Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog is no different.

Richardson, for his part, uses only one meaning, ‘reason’, for all the instances of the word katuiran in the entire passage.

82 [line 5-9] The sun of reason that shines in the East clearly shows, to our eyes, long blind, the way that must be taken; its light enables us to see the claws of those inhuman creatures who bring us death. Reason shows that we cannot expect anything but more and more suffering, more and more treachery, more and more insult, more and more enslavement. Reason tells us not to waste our time waiting for the promised prosperity that will never arrive. Reason tells us that we must rely upon ourselves alone and never entrust our livelihood to anybody else. Reason tells us to be one in sentiment, one in thought, and one in purpose so that we may have the strength in confronting the evil that reigns in our Country (Richardson, 2013, p. 192).

This translation seems to work, but in the context of the moral outrage and dramatic imagery, not only in this passage, but in the entire text, the use of the word, ‘reason’ still does not fully capture the full import of katuiran and actually has a dampening effect on the emotional phrases that it precedes and follows. It is important to note that the

Enlightenment thinkers’ zeal for the power of ‘Reason’ and independent thought, which grew from the scientific and technological achievements within the European continent and had two to three centuries of development, was not and could not have been experienced or shared in the same manner by the distant Filipinas colony even more restricted than any

European country in its imbibement of Enlightenment ideas not only legally, but linguistically. The teaching and use of the Spanish language was not universal, (Rafael, 2001;

Mojares, 2006) much less French, German and English, the languages of the foremost

Enlightenment thinkers. The Austronesian languages of the islands furthermore distanced the natives from making equivalent linguistic associations and understandings with Indo-

European words and concepts. The writers of these Kalayaan articles, however steeped in, or at least, familiar with Enlightenment ideas, would have been cognisant of the possible non-responsiveness of the many to unfamiliar words and meanings that they used in their

83 writings; their aim was to rally people to a cause. Introducing a new meaning and valuation of katuiran as “Reason” in the sense of ‘rational thought’ in this public paper, would not have served their purpose. What was effective was to appeal to those values and ideas that already existed deep within the mores of the people, and therefore, deep within their language. The fact that the publication of Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog and other articles like it in the

Kalayaan paper in 1896 succeeded in recruiting thousands of new members to the revolutionary cause, as attested to by some witnesses (Richardson, 2013), just shows that the emotionally dampening meaning of ‘reason’ could not have been used in these articles.

“Katuiran" in Casaysayan (Narrative)

No historiographer would deny the influence of the events and ideas of the European

Age of Enlightenment on European colonies. This is a given, considering that the affairs — and fate — of the colonies, especially their economic survival, depended on the changing policies and historical fortunes of the colonial powers. What has often been overlooked are the independent and coeval timelines of historical and cultural evolution, and ideational constructs of the colonised, the majority of whom would not have had the necessary geographical and cultural grounding to fully understand Enlightenment values and concepts.

How they appropriated European ideas and processes — if and when they did so — largely depended on the indigenous languages with which they received, thought and articulated such, and through which they had inherited and incorporated meanings from literary and oral traditions unrelated to European culture. How and when they appropriated also depended on their own vision and objectives. Appropriation can serve to introduce a new idea or perspective, or it can be used to augment and legitimise an old indigenous idea

84 devalued or ignored because of colonial conditioning. Appropriations can therefore result in completely different or unexpected transformations of meanings, since they involve a decontextualisation from their European origins and cultural and semantic milieus.

A grievance, numbered ’11’, listed in the foundational document Casaysayan

(Narrative) indicates the restrictions on study and exposure to Enlightenment ideas experienced by the natives:

[line 10] 11. Jindi cami bigyang layao na maca licja o magcalat ng ano mang libro o casulatan sa aming uica na icamumulat namin sa gauang magaling at icaliliuanag ng manga pag-iisip gaya ng manga Artes y Ciencias at iba pang jindi banal; caya ganoon ay upanding cami ay manatili sa cabulagan, at cung acayen saan man ay juag macaaninao ng catoiran at iba pang mga carangalan.

[line 10] 11. We are not given the freedom to create or distribute any books or writings in our own language that introduce us to excellent works and enlighten our thinking, like the Arts and Sciences and other things secular; this is to keep us in blindness, and if we are guided towards anything, it is not towards the understanding of reason and other principles (Richardson, 2013, p. 7). [Translation provided by researcher].

Although the authors of this passage refer to ‘reason’ when they use the word katuiran, they readily admit that they have an insufficient understanding of it because of their lack of freedoms under the Spanish. It is not a stretch to extrapolate that many others would have had even less familiarity with this concept, and that to use this concept in manifestos and rallying calls would have had little value for the movement. This state of affairs also explains why this is the only indubitable reference to katuiran as ‘reason’ in the Katipunan documents.

“Katwiran" in Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness)

85 What gets to be written and what captures the imagination of the many, can be two different things. Emilio Jacinto, who is commonly referred to in Philippine history textbooks as the “Brains of the Katipunan” (Santa Romana Cruz, 2017) authored most of the literature that laid down the principles and philosophy of the Katipunan. A few of these were in the Kalayaan paper that was circulated and caused the exponential increase in

Katipunan numbers. In an essay that was not included in the paper, Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness), Jacinto expounds at length on key concepts, one of which - kalayaan - he admits is still new to many and incompletely understood (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993). It is therefore, legitimate to suppose that whatever Enlightenment meanings that might have been attached to kalayaan and other key principles in the published articles, would have had to be explained on some other occasion, as in the essay that was not published in the newspaper, like the Liwanag at Dilim. The meanings attached to the key words in the published articles, then had to be accessible through an indigenous, non-Enlightenment imagination. But even in Liwanag at Dilim, as we recognise Enlightenment ideas in Jacinto’s thinking, perhaps through the French philosopher Montesquieu’s ideas of virtue, the meaning of katwiran still does not translate to ‘reason’:

[line 11] Ay! Kung ang ating dinudulugan at hinahainan ng puspos na galang ay ang maliwanag at magandang asal at matapat na loob, ang kahit sino ay walang magpapaningning pagkat di natin pahahalagahan, at ang mga isip at akalang ano pa man ay hindi hihiwalay sa maliwanag na banal na landas ng katwiran.

[line 11] Oh! If that for which we reserved and offered the fullest respect is what is clear and good behaviour and honest intentions, no one would try to dazzle, because we would not give it value, and any thoughts and beliefs about anything would not be disconnected from what is clearly the holy path of katwiran (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 167). [Translation provided by researcher.]

86 Note the phrase, “banal na landas ng katwiran”, which means “holy (or sacred/divine) path of katwiran,” hardly an epithet the Enlightenment philosophers would have used for ‘reason’.

This also contrasts with the passage already discussed from the Casaysayan [line 10], which refers to “the Arts and Sciences and other things secular”; the Tagalog phrase for ‘secular’ is

“jindi banal”, with ‘jindi’ (modern spelling: ’hindi’ ) meaning ‘not’, to therefore mean “not holy

(or sacred/divine).” Katuiran or catoiran in the Casaysayan passage is within the realm of what is “not holy”, and therefore refers to ‘reason’; while in Jacinto’s Liwanag at Dilim, it has a path that is holy. In the latter, katuiran then means something other than ‘reason’.

A Moral Epistemology — distinguishing between ‘light’ and ‘glare’

The passage from Liwanag at Dilim is to be understood within the context of what can be called a moral epistemology that Jacinto explains using natural experiences of liwanag, or “light”. He makes a distinction between light that overpowers and impairs one’s perceptions, and light that clarifies one’s vision. The former he terms ningning (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993), which can be translated to “dazzle, glitter, sheen, brilliance, gloss” or

“glare”:

Glitter is blinding and destroys one’s vision. Light is needed by the eyes, to be aware of the truth about many things. A glass shard, when hit by the glare of sunshine is dazzling; but it injures the hand that zealously picks it up. Brilliance is deceptive. Let us seek light, and not be seduced by glitter. This has proven to be a bad habit. A brilliant carriage passing by pulled by fast horses? We salute it and think in our minds that a noble person is aboard. But he could be a thief; perhaps underneath the show of nobility and ornaments lies hidden a treacherous heart.

87 A poor person passing by carrying a load with difficulty? We smile and inwardly ask: Where could he have stolen it? But we clearly see from the sweat on his forehead and his exhausted body that he lives through hard work and genuine fatigue. Oh! Our habits have been gripped by the worship of glitter and the rejection of light (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 166).

The reference to glitter is redolent of the old proverb, “Not all that glitters is gold” conveying that not everything that looks or is considered precious or valuable is so; it is also about the deceptive nature of appearances in general. But we might also see in it

Montesquieu’s idea of virtue as a contrast to “a society of false appearances where untruth,

flattery and dissimulation play a major role” or his confrontation of “apparent glories and prestiges with a consideration solidly established on virtue” (Dornier, 2013). But it is

Jacinto’s special genius to frame these moral reflections within an indigenist framework that never leaves the natural world as a source of wisdom.

Diferences between the Tagalog/Katipunan ‘Enlightenment’ and the European

Enlightenment

This moral epistemology marks the difference between Jacinto’s notion of

‘enlightenment’ and the European conception of the same. Tagalog Enlightenment as espoused by Jacinto, expressed by the Tagalog word, Kaliwanagan (ka- “of”, ‘about’, liwanag

‘light’, -an ‘quality, place/state’), is more about a clarity and freedom from the deception of impressive appearances and their fruits, rather than about reason as a release from superstition and fear. The Tagalog does not need to be enlightened in the Spanish sense of ilustrado, or “educated”, in the manner of those gripped by the Ilustración, or the Spanish

Enlightenment, in order to see the truth of things. He needs to distinguish between that

88 which gives clarity and that which merely dazzles and therefore, blinds. Consider this statement about the ilustrados as the “maningning” men in the foundational document,

Casaysayan (Narrative) in grievance numbered ’18’:

[line 12] 18. Nangag papangap na manga lalaquing maningning (ilustrados) may pinag aralan at conoai,y manga majal, datapoa,i, labis ang manga cabastosan at dito y maquiquita . . .

[line 12] 18. Would profess to be brilliant men (ilustrados) with education and supposedly noble, but extreme in rudeness and here it will be seen . . . (Richardson, 2013, p. 8). [Translation provided by researcher.]

The paragraph proceeds to cite examples of rudeness where Tagalogs, even those as educated as the Spanish, are treated as subhuman (the wording is: ibinibilang na alangan sa canilang pag catauo, which is literally, ‘counted as dubious/pending in their humanity’): they are not even offered a seat in any gathering, especially in the homes of Spaniards, whereas when the situation is reversed, when Spaniards enter the homes of Tagalogs, they are received warmly and with respect, almost as if they were Gods; and in spite of this, Tagalogs, regardless of age or rank, are addressed with the informal Spanish tu rather than usted, and even insultingly called negro (“black”) or chongo (“monkey”) (Richardson, 2013, p. 8). The author of this passage remonstrates:

[line 13] Ganito caya ang naquiquicapatid? Jindi cung ganoon ang naquiquiqpag galit at jumajamon nang auay o guerra.

[line 13] Is this the way to be a brother? Not if that is the way of inciting anger and starting a fight or a war (Richardson, 2013, p. 8). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Clearly, being educated or ilustrado, is just “dazzle” that blinds and hides the truth about a person’s character. In the manifesto (pahayag) popularly known as the Kartilya, or

89 primer, of Katipunan principles, which was also written by Jacinto, the fifth paragraph declares that the knowledgable are equal to those who aren’t:

[line 14] Maralita, mayaman, mangmang, marunong, lahat dito’y magkakapantay at tunay na magkakapatid.

[line 14] Poor, rich, uneducated, knowledgable, all are equal here and true brethren (Richardson, 2013, p. 131). [Translation provided by researcher.]

In the Katipunan framework, education, and therefore the use of one’s intellectual faculty of

‘reason’ to attain it, is pointedly not deemed as important as other values, and does not occupy the place of primary importance that it does in the European Enlightenment.

Back to “Katuiran"

And what are those other values?

There is, of course, kalayaan, or freedom, which is a neologism attributed to the nineteenth-century Tagalog journalist and activist, Marcelo H. del Pilar (Almario, 1993). But as mentioned earlier, Jacinto admits that the word and concept is new to the people, many of whom, do not have a full understanding of it. But he does relate the idea to katwiran, which is a familiar word:

[line 15] Kung kaya may katwiran ay dahil may kalayaan.

[line 15] If there are katwiran, it is because there is freedom (Jacinto, n. d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Here, katwiran are rights, a usage already seen in the Casaysayan (Narrative) text [line 4]. The sentence is within a section of Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness) that discusses the concept of kalayaan in connection with katwiran as ‘rights’:

90 [line 16] Ang kalayaan ng tao ay ang katwirang tinataglay na talaga ng pagkatao na umisip at gumawa ng anumang ibigin kung ito’y di nalalaban sa katwiran ng iba.

[line 16] The freedom of people is their inherent human right to think and do what they desire if this is not in conflict with the rights of others (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Then the meaning of katwiran shifts in the third paragraph to something different:

[line 17] Kung sa tao’y wala ang Kalayaan ay dili mangyayaring makatalastas ng puri, ng katwiran, ng kagalingan, at ang pangalang tao’y di rin nababagay sa kanya.

[line 17] If a person has no Freedom, it will not follow that he would know honour, katwiran, and well-being, and the word tao (“human”) would not fit him (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher]

Keeping in mind the root word of katwiran — tuwid, which means, ‘straight’ or ‘right/ upright’ — the word ‘rightness’ or ‘righteousness’ fits very well with the other words —

‘honour’ and ‘well-being’ — within the sentence:

[line 17] If a person has no Freedom, it will not follow that he would know honour, rightness, and well-being, and the word “human” would not fit him (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher.]

And in the following passage, where bayan refers to the towns or pueblos — the settlements created under Spanish colonisation — katwiran is perceived as “dwelling”, so to speak, in the heart, and not in the intellect:

[line 18] Ay! Kung sa mga Bayan ay sukat nang sumupil ang kulungan, ang panggapos at ang panghampas katulad din ng hayop ay dahil sa ang mga A.N.B. [Anak ng Bayan] ay di tao, pagkat ang katwiran ng pagkatao ay namatay na sa kanilang puso.

[line 18] Oh! If in the Towns, it has become fitting to discipline with the prison, the rope, and the bat, as with animals, it is because the Children of the Land are not

91 people, because the katwiran of being human has already died in their hearts (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Katwiran in this passage alludes to a standard of what it is to be a human being — the rightness or ‘right way’ of being human. My re-translation:

[line 18] Oh! If in the Towns, it has become fitting to discipline with the prison, the rope, and the bat, as with animals, it is because the Children of the Land are not people, because the way of being human has already died in their hearts (Jacinto, n.d., in Almario, 1993, p. 168). [Translation provided by researcher.]

My translation of katwiran for this passage has changed from ‘rightness’, to ‘right way’ to

‘way’, showing the various ways in which the same concept can be transferred to English. I present more of these types of nuances in the next chapter, which explores other meanings for katuiran.

In the same essay, Jacinto quotes a nineteenth-century Tagalog poet, Francisco

Balagtas; Jacinto desires that these poetic lines would never apply to the Homeland:

[lines 20-21]Kaliluha’t sama ang ulo’y nagtayo at ang kabaitan kimi’t nakayuko.

[lines 20-21] Perfidy and bad thoughts stood tall And goodness was timid and bowed (Jacinto, n.d., Almario, 1993, p.175). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Tagalog poet Almario (2011) provides the complete stanza from which these lines were taken:

[lines 20-23]Caliluha,t, samâ ang ulo,i,nagtayô At ang cabaita,i, quimi,t, nacayuco Santong catouira,i, lugami at hapô

92 At luha na lámang ang pinatutubo.

[lines 20-23] Perfidy and bad thoughts stood tall And goodness was timid and bowed, Sacred katuiran was prostrate and worn And only tears were allowed to grow (in Almario, 2011, p. 37). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Katwiran in the Tagalog literary tradition that Jacinto alludes to is connected once again to what is “sacred”, as in his own essay, Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness) [line 11 above].

Katwiran then is not a faculty of the mind, as ‘reason’ is generally understood to be, especially in the context of the understandings and principles of the European

Enlightenment. Katwiran is in the hearts of the Tagalogs, and other indigenous (katutubo) people that the Katipunan included in their moral and political vision.

“Katuiran" in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs should

Know) — a re-translation

We’ve seen how katuiran/katwiran is almost always a moral value or virtue in the

Katipunan writings; in some instances, it is a political right; and only once is it ‘reason’, as a principle or procedure of knowledge acquisition.

In referring to the passage from Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog [lines 5-9] that was preliminarily discussed, Ileto is right to comment that ‘reason’ “does not quite bring out the root meaning of katuiran, which is “straightness” (Ileto, 1979, p. 106). But the English word

“right” does. “Right”, whether in the physical or moral sense, like katwiran, has roots indicating ‘straightness’, as listed in an etymology dictionary:

93 the Old English riht "just, good, fair; proper, fitting; straight, not bent, direct, erect," from Proto-Germanic *rekhtaz (source also of Old Frisian riucht "right," Old Saxon reht, Middle Dutch and Dutch recht, Old High German reht, German recht, Old Norse rettr, Gothic raihts), from PIE root *reg- "move in a straight line," also "to rule, to lead straight, to put right" (source also of Greek orektos "stretched out, upright;" Latin rectus "straight, right;" Old Persian rasta- "straight; right," aršta- "rectitude;" Old Irish recht "law;" Welsh rhaith, Breton reiz "just, righteous, wise”) (Harper, 2017).

The first line [line 5], which begins with the phrase “The sun of katuiran that rises in the east…”, is, I believe, a literary allusion to a biblical verse. As discussed in the previous chapter, religious themes and language pervaded the lives of the natives in the Spanish colony, as these were the only types of literature allowed by the colonial administration; the natives, moreover had a predisposition towards verbal expression in the memorisation of poetry and songs in their language. The allusion to biblical phrases in Katipunan manifestos would have had an emotive effect, and would have evoked fitting themes of redemption and transformation.

Here is a verse 4:2 of the book of Malachi in the Old Testament of the Christian bible:

1. “The day of judgment is coming, burning like a furnace. On that day the arrogant and the wicked will be burned up like straw. They will be consumed—roots, branches, and all. 2. But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture. On the day when I act, you will tread upon the wicked as if they were dust under your feet,” says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies (Malachi 4:1-2, New Living Translation).

The Latin Vulgate, which is “the definitive and officially promulgated Latin version of the Holy Bible in the Catholic Church” (“Vulgate”, n.d.) uses the phrase Sol Iustitiae, "Sun of

94 Justice” (Boniface, 2016; “The Prophecy of Malachias”, n.d.); and the Douay-Rheims 1899

American Edition translates Malachi 4:2 from the Vulgate thus:

But unto you that fear my name, the Sun of justice shall arise, and health in his wings: and you shall go forth, and shall leap like calves of the herd.

One bible commentator states, “Malachi gives us a promise of the victory of Good over Evil, of Justice over Oppression, Mercy over Violence, Humility over

Arrogance” (Pilgrimage 2000). These themes resonate with Katipunan ideals. I have therefore, chosen to use the word ‘justice’ for katuiran in the first line of the passage from

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs should Know):

[line 5] The sun of justice that rises in the East, is clearly pointing to our eyes that have long been blinded, the path that we have to take; its light makes visible to our eyes, the claws that mete out the deaths offered to us by the savage ones. (Richardson, 2013, p. 190). [Translation provided by researcher.]

Regarding the same passage Almario (1993/2013) suggests that the meanings of ‘straightness’ in the physical and visual, moral and rational (as in ‘reasonable’) senses, all meet in the word katuiran. Although I do not completely disagree with the use of the word ‘reason’ for lines

6-9 of the passage, I opt to use ‘rightness’ for these lines to emphasise the moral dimension of katuiran that I believe ultimately dominates any association with ‘intellect’ in the passage:

[lines 6-9] Rightness teaches us that there is nothing more that we can expect than greater hardship, much more treachery, much more disdain, and much more enslavement. Rightness teaches us not to waste time in hoping for the promised comfort and prosperity that will not come and will not happen. Rightness teaches us that we should depend on ourselves and not entrust our lives to others. Rightness shows us that we must unite our hearts, minds and beliefs so that we can have the strength to pursue the evil that reigns in our Homeland (Richardson, 2013, p. 190). [Translation provided by researcher.]

95 Conclusion

The understanding of the meanings and usages of the word katuiran in Katipunan texts is crucial in the elucidation of the overall vision and moral philosophy that underpinned the Katipunan political movement. Translations like Richardson’s, where katuiran is more often than not, interpreted as ‘reason’ understood and highlighted within the structural framework of the European Enlightenment, continues to mislead non-Tagalog speakers who rely on translations for understanding the Katipunan, as well as contemporary

Tagalog speakers whose use of a modernised and standardised Tagalog known as the Filipino language, removes them from the older and traditional understandings embedded in the

Tagalog language.

The use of etymological and intertextual analysis, literary and biblical allusions placed within the historical and linguistic situation of nineteenth-century Tagalogs, has brought about a re-understanding and re-translation of katuiran and its related concepts as a primarily moral, and to the Tagalogs, a “sacred” concept of ‘rightness’, ‘righteousness’ and

‘justice’. Within this constellation of meanings is the concept of human rights, for which the word katuiran is also used.

If any Enlightenment ideas are to be argued as weaving into the texts of the

Katipunan, the works of Rosseau and Montesquieu come to mind, but not in the advocacy of katuiran as ‘reason’, but for katuiran as ‘justice, righteousness and rightness’ — and yet, these concepts have to be understood within experiences rooted in colonial realities foreign to Rosseau and Montesquieu, and in indigenous worldviews rooted in Tagalog land and expressed in the Tagalog language. “Justice” to the Tagalog, is therefore justice not only against oppressors/colonisers, but against coloniality itself and the racism that constitutes it.

96 Katuiran as the faculty or principle of reason associated with the cultivation of the intellect and the study of secular matters is a meaning used only once in the Katipunan documents as part of a list of the revolutionaries’ grievances against Spanish rule. The reception and interpretation of such a meaning by prospective readers of Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know), a work that called them to action, is therefore doubtful.

I explore this deeper indigenous stratum of meanings in the next chapter, “Sacred

Katuiran: re-locating katuiran in the indigenous world”.

97 Chapter Five

Sacred “Katuiran"

Re-locating katuiran in the indigenous world

In the previous chapter, I presented a re-translation of an important passage in the text, Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know), that uses the word katuiran several times. The English word ‘reason’ has been heretofore used to translate katuiran, even by the historiographer Reynaldo Ileto, who admitted that ‘reason’ “does not quite bring out the root meaning of katwiran, which is ‘straightness’ (Ileto, 1979).” In my re- translation in the previous chapter, I used the English word ‘rightness’ to convey a more general principle that I believe the author, Andres Bonifacio, is referring to in his polemic

— a concept defined as “the quality or state of being morally good, justified, or acceptable” (Oxforddictionaries.com, 2018); rather than ‘reason’, which is defined as “the power of the mind to think, understand, and form judgements logically” (Oxford dictionaries.com, 2018). ‘Rightness’, unlike ‘reason’, moreover, has the same root meaning of

‘straightness’ inhering in katuiran, since the etymology of the word ‘right’, is

‘straight’ (Harper, 2018).

As a principle then, it is rightness, and not reason, according to Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog, that is teaching or showing the native Tagalogs that they can no longer hope for change, but can only expect more suffering under Spanish colonisation. It is rightness that shows them that they should all unite and act as one to eliminate the wickedness that was ruling the islands.

This passage on rightness is then followed by this message:

98 [lines 1-2] Panahun na ngayong dapat na lumitaw ang liwanag ng katotohanan; panahon ng dapat nating ipakilala na tayo’y may sariling pagdaramdam, may puri, may hiya at pagdadamayan. Ngayon panahon nang dapat simulan ang pagsisiwalat ng mga mahal at dakilang aral na magwawasak sa masinsing tabing na bumubulag sa ating kaisipan; panahon na ngayong dapat makilala ng mga Tagalog ang pinagbuhatan ng kanilang mga kahirapan.

[lines 1-2] It is now time that the light of truth ought to be known; the time that we should make it known that we have our own sensibility, have honour, have self-respect and compassion. Now is the time we should begin revealing the noble and exulted teachings that will destroy the thick veil that blinds our minds; the time is now for Tagalogs to recognise the source of their suffering (Richardson, 2013, p. 191). [Translation provided by researcher.]

What does Bonifacio mean by “we have our own sensibility” (tayo’y may sariling pagdaramdam) which is translated as “we have our own feelings” by the scholar Jim

Richardson (2013)? And what are the noble and exulted teachings that he refers to, but does not lay out in this particular article?

In this chapter, I investigate these questions with a deep exploration of the intricate word concepts of pagdaramdam and katuiran. In the sections “Pagdaramdam”, and

“‘Pagdaramdam’ as a variant of ‘Pakikiramdam’”, I analyse the concept of pagdaramdam etymologically and grammatically, and compare this with a pivotal concept in the field of

Filipino Psychology, pakikiramdam (de Guia, 2005). I then identify pagdaramdam as used by

Bonifacio, as a lexical-semantic variant of pakikiramdam.

In the section “Our ‘own’,” I interpret the modifier “our own” in Bonifacio’s message above, as a reference to an independent and different way of thinking founded on an indigenous body of knowledge.

99 In the sections, “An expanded understanding of ‘Katuiran'”, “‘Katuiran’ as a rite or ritual”, “‘Katuiran’ as purpose”, and “Recovering meanings”, I re-examine the concept of katuiran. I am led to this re-examination by synchronous and serendipitous reflections and

findings. Firstly, the notion of pagdaramdam connotes a way of discerning propriety and rightness in social situations — or of katuiran (rightness, propriety, justice) in the realm of social relations. Secondly, I discover that the word katuiran is used in unexpected ways in two heretofore unexamined Katipunan documents in Richardson’s compilation (2013) — a baptismal certificate and a proclamation written by Bonifacio, titled, Mararahas na manga

Anak ng Bayan (Fierce Children of the Homeland). I did not find these meanings in Tagalog dictionaries from 1860 to the present, or in contemporary Tagalog usage. Thirdly, I explore the notion of tikanga, from Te Reo Māori, a language belonging to the same Austronesian family of languages as Tagalog, for its similar root meanings to katuiran. This exploration assists in deciphering these newly found meanings for katuiran, and expands its range of interpretation, not only as a lexical unit, but as a broader cultural framework encompassing theoretical and practical dimensions, akin to Tikanga Maori. I call this framework Katuirang

Tagalog.

In the sections, “Bonifacio at the border of coloniality,” “Noble teachings”, and

“Embodied Knowledges”, I interpret Bonifacio as a critic of European modernity who sees through its deceptions and rejects it in favour of returning, not only to the Tagalogs’ own body of teachings and epistemology, but its own ‘modernity’ — the progress and ease of life it enjoyed in an Asian commercial network the Spanish wanted to be a part of and control.

My perspective on this is informed by the concepts of ‘coloniality’ and ‘border thinking’ developed by Latin American scholars like Walter Mignolo, Nelson Maldonado Torres and

100 several others; as well as the concept of 'coevalness' as espoused by the anthropologist

Johannes Fabian. Although an exposition of these concepts is beyond the scope of this chapter, my application of them in this analysis rests on the understanding that Bonifacio’s perspective is not merely about the Tagalogs' de-linking from Spain politically, but also psychologically and epistemologically. His being at the border of colonisation (the physical and geographical conquest of the islands) and coloniality (the non-physical framework of control) is demonstrated by his ability to assess and critique both sides of the equation — the colonised and coloniser.

Finally, I offer a re-translation for the preamble to the Katipunan manifesto (pahayag) titled, Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunangiIto (To those who wish to join this congress), also known as the “Kartilya” — the document that occasioned my re-translation project — with its defining phrase, “Katuiran at Kaliwanagan”. The re-translation is based on the discussions presented in the previous and present chapters.

“Pagdaramdam”

The second clause in line 1 of the passage quoted above [lines 1-2] reads: “. . . panahon ng dapat nating ipakilala na tayo’y may sariling pagdaramdam . . .”

The root word of pagdaramdam, is damá, “feeling”. Various word constructions and inflections from this base, like damdam, madama, damdámin, pagdama, pakiramdam, among several others, denote ‘to feel’, ‘feelings’, ‘sense’, or ‘sentiment’. Damdámin can also mean ‘a personal opinion’ about something, and pagdamá can also mean ‘perception’ or

‘understanding’ (Google Translate, 2018). The English word ‘feeling’ can denote “a consciousness or vague awareness . . a sentiment; attitude; opinion” (Feeling, 2018); ‘sense’

101 can also mean “a mental discernment, realization, or recognition” (Sense, 2018); and

‘sentiment’ can refer to “a thought influenced by or proceeding from feeling or emotion” (Sentiment, 2018).

In the document titled Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (“To those who wish to join this congress”) known as the Kartilya, or the primer for those who wish to join the

Katipunan that we discussed earlier, there is a use of another verb inflection for damá, nakikiramdam:

[line 3] Kung ang hangad ng papasuk dito’y ang tumalastas lamang o mga kalihiman nito, o ang ikagiginhawa ng sariling katawan, o ang kilalanin ang mga naririto’t ng maipagbili sa isang dakot na salapi, huwag magpatuloy, sapagkat dito’y bantain lamang ay talastas na ng makapal na nakikiramdam sa kaniya, at karakarakang nilalapatan ng mabisang gamut, na laan sa mga sukaban. (my emphasis)

[line 3] If the purpose of the applicant is to merely gain information or secrets, or benefits to his own person, or to identify who are here in order to sell them for a handful of money, let him not continue, because here, one’s mere intentions are known by the many who are watching him, and who readily administer an effective remedy suited for traitors (Richardson, 2013, p. 132). [Translation and emphasis by researcher.]

Here, I translate the phrase “nakikiramdam sa kanya” as “watching him”. Although the phrase literally translates as “feeling him”, it connotes the use of other senses and faculties in a holistic thinking-and-sensing; the contemporary idiom, “feeling him out”, is the closest in meaning, but inappropriate historically. The usage of the verb nakikiramdam in this passage indicates a way of knowing, finding out something or gathering information.

102 “Pagdaramdam” as a variant of “Pakikiramdam”

Related to this verb nakikiramdam is its noun derivative pakikiramdam, which just refers to the faculty or ability for this act of feeling, sensing and gaining information.

Pakikiramdam has been identified and extensively analysed as a highly valued social skill in the area of Filipino Psychology, a burgeoning field that pioneered the ‘indigenization’ of psychology in the Philippine setting in the 1970s (Pe-Pua & Protacio-Marcelino, 2000).

Pakikiramdam has been described or defined in this field as “knowing through feeling” (de

Guia, 2005), “shared inner perception” (Enriquez, 1992, in Pe-Pua & Protacio-Marcelino,

2000), and “feeling for another’’ (Mataragnon, 1987, in Mansukhani, 2005). The use of pakikiramdam is seen as reflecting Filipinos’ propensity for non-verbal and indirect communication (Pe-Pua, 2000). Independent researcher Katrin de Guia (2005) has called pakikiramdam “a pivotal interpersonal value”, and a skill that “may well be regarded as the cognitive style of Filipinos” (p. 4).

I interpret Bonifacio’s use of the word pagdaramdam in line 1 above, as a stylistic variant of pakikiramdam, that conveys that same combination, or whole-body use of one’s senses, feelings, perceptions and thoughts to gain information, knowledge and insight.

Although the contemporary usage of the particular word pagdaramdam has come to solely refer to feelings of displeasure, regret, umbrage or resentment (Google Translate, 2018;

Calderon, 1915/2007), I suspect that, like katuiran, pagdaramdam, has lost its more general and ‘positive’ connotations and denotations in the passage of time. For in the passage quoted above from Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog, the author seems to suggest that pagdaramdam is a moral trait or capacity, as it is mentioned alongside other moral principles,

103 such as puri (honour), hiya (self-respect) and pagdadamayan (compassion), that the Tagalogs should show that they are in possession of.

I have opted to translate this use of the word pagdaramdam to ‘sensibility’, as it conveys an ability that includes more than the capacity to feel. Various definitions of

‘sensibility’ from different sources are given as: 1) “an acute perception of or responsiveness toward something, such as the emotions of another” (Burrell, 2013); 2) “mental responsiveness; discernment; awareness” (Collins English Dictionary, 2014); 3) “an understanding or ability to decide what is good or valuable, especially in connection with artistic or social activities” (Cambridge Dictionary, 2018); 4) “emotional consciousness, capacity for higher feelings or refined emotion” (Harper, 2018); and 5) “Often, sensibilities. capacity for intellectual and aesthetic distinctions, feelings, tastes, etc.” (dictionary.com,

2018).

Translating pagdaramdam to ‘feelings’ then, as Richardson (2013, p. 192) does, tends to diminish pagdaramdam from a general capacity or ability, to particular affects with regard to a particular situation; but it also diminishes it as a value, much less a moral value, in a modern linguistic world where ’feelings’ are more often understood to be mere reactions to external influence, rather than an internally activated sense for learning. In this (English) linguistic world, feelings also tend be regarded as less valuable or less reliable than thinking, or the rational/logical faculty, in the quest for knowledge or information, and in the day-to-day assessment of life situations — if they are not seen as outright inimical to it. The English word ‘feelings’ in this context, therefore does not capture what the Tagalog word pagdaramdam wishes to convey as a valuable faculty of feeling-as-knowing, judging or learning.

104 “Our own…”

Bonifacio could have urged the Tagalogs to show that they “have sensibility, have honour, have self-respect and compassion,” (“may pagdaramdam, may puri, may hiya at pagdadamayan”) and would have still been able to convey a moral message of resisting a colonial racism that depicted them as uncivilised, savage and heathen without Spanish influence and guidance. But he specifically modifies ‘sensibility’ with the word ‘own’ (sariling) to write “may sariling pagdaramdam” or “have our own sensibility”; he does not use this qualifier for the other traits. Granted, ‘sensibility’ may be the only word in the sentence that could be modified appropriately with the word ‘own’, but for the author’s general meaning, the modifier would not have been necessary. Unless he meant to convey something different.

Calling on the natives to show that they have their own sensibility, their own pagdaramdam, could be a declaration of an independent use or practice of their own faculties of knowing and learning, a use without the guidance or influence of the colonisers who themselves did not demonstrate the proper use of these faculties, if they had them at all.

But it is the sentence that follows this that suggests that Bonifacio’s use of “own” could refer to a way of feeling, sensing, and knowing that distinctly belongs to the Tagalogs

— their own “cognitive style”, to use de Guia’s words (2005, p. 4). For when Bonifacio calls for the Tagalogs to begin revealing “the noble and exulted teachings that will destroy the thick veil that blinds our minds”, at this point, we realise that he is not only talking about the independent use of one’s sensibility, but the disclosure of a set of ideas and teachings that have heretofore been hidden from the world, making the qualifier “own” refer to something more substantial than an autonomous activity. Related to the independent use of

105 one’s sensibility may be a different kind of sensibility, stemming from a different and alternate set of teachings — perhaps an autonomous knowledge and epistemology.

The general context of this message shows that the word ‘feelings’ would not have been adequate for line 1. Modified with the word ‘own’, the phrase, ‘own feelings’ appears pleonastic, and something of a non sequitur, where Tagalogs are being told that “it is now time” to show that they have what all human beings possess as a function of biology.

Although the use of the word ‘feelings’ in this passage can suggest the value, or even nobility, that the Tagalog culture may have placed on them, the implication of feelings as reactive rather than active, wilfully induced, agents for the purposes of learning, or the implication that the natives acted on ‘feelings’ alone, and not on a holistic way of knowing and making judgments, not only give an incomplete depiction of the native culture, but risks re-iterating orientalistic stereotypes about the revolutionaries.

An expanded understanding of Katuiran

In the previous chapter, I discussed interpretations of the word katuiran that belie its current translations as ‘reason’. I showed that more often, katuiran in the Katipunan documents refers to rightness, or a sense of rightness in its most general sense, encompassing moral, political and aesthetic values, including the notion of ‘rights’, as ethical or legal claims. I showed that there was only one instance in the Katipunan documents where katuiran without doubt meant ‘reason’ in the sense touted by European thinkers in the European historical period or movement known as the Age of Enlightenment or the Age of Reason. Katuiran as ‘reason’ in the Katipunan documents was furthermore referred to as a

106 ‘principle’ that the natives were not allowed to learn or be exposed to, which explains why this meaning is almost never used for katuiran in the documents.

Conceptually re-positioning katuiran in the indigenous world, its true home, rather than the modern, colonial European Enlightenment framework — re-indigenizing it — we

find an equivalent notion among the Tagalogs’ fellow Austronesian language speakers, the

Māori of Aotearoa (New Zealand), who have the notion of tikanga. Like katuiran, tikanga denotes correctness, propriety, justice, fairness, and righteousness (Moorfield, 2018). Like katuiran, tikanga has a root word, tika, with similar meanings:

1. (verb) to be correct, true, upright, right, just, fair, accurate, appropriate, lawful, proper, valid. 2. (verb) to be straight, direct, keep on a direct course. 3. (modifier) correctly, directly, fairly, justly, straight - indicates a direct path. 4. (noun) truth, correctness, directness, justice, fairness, righteousness, right (Moorfield, 2018).

The same source provides several constellations of meanings for tikanga:

1. (noun) correct procedure, custom, habit, lore, method, manner, rule, way, code, meaning, plan, practice, convention, protocol — the customary system of values and practices that have developed over time and are deeply embedded in the social context. 2. (noun) correct [sic], right. 3. (noun) reason, purpose, motive 4. (noun) meaning, method, technique (Moorfield, 2018). (my emphasis)

These definitions open up possibilities for an elucidation of katuiran in two documents in Jim Richardson’s compilation of Katipunan writings (2013). In these documents, the word katuiran is used in ways that have not yet been discussed in this thesis, and that are not currently evident in contemporary or modern Tagalog usage, nor in widely available dictionaries of the Tagalog language.

107 “Katuiran" as a rite or ritual

The first document is a certificate of baptism, or pagbibinyag, which evidences that the Katipunan government officiated in individual milestone events during the war of liberation against Spanish rule and that the natives increasingly looked to them as replacements for the former colonial authorities in the midst of war. This certificate, which is signed in February 1897, indicates the names of those officiating, the infant’s parents, chosen godparent, and the infant’s chosen name. It also briefly describes a ceremony that includes a ref lection on the “commandments of the Sacred cause of the

Katipunan” (Richardson, 2013, p. 292) [my translation]. The last paragraph of the certificate reads:

[line 4] Inilathala sa M. A. N. B. itong Banal na katuirang pagbibinyag at inilagda itong kasulatan na tinataktakan at pinagtalaan ng Pinunong kabuoan ng M. S. Sa lahat ng ito, akong M. N. Kalihim ay nagpapatotoo.

[line 4] Issued by the Children of the Land this Holy rite of baptism and signed this certificate that is sealed and noted by the overall President of the High Council. I certify all this as the High Secretary (Richardson, 2013, p. 292). [Translation provided by researcher.]

(M. A. N. B. stands for Manga Anak ng Bayan, or “Children of the Land”; M.S. stands for Mataas na Sanguinian, or “High Council”; and M. N. stands for Mataas Na, or “High”)

In this passage the pagbibinyag, or baptism, is referred to as a katuiran. We can only conclude from this that the word katuiran, like the Māori word, tikanga, can also to refer to a procedure or practice, or, in this case, a rite or ritual; this usage for katuiran no longer exists in contemporary Tagalog.

108 Richardson (2013) does not offer a translation for this certificate.

“Katuiran" as purpose

The second document is a proclamation written in March 1897 by the Supreme Head of the Katipunan, Andres Bonifacio. Titled, Mararahas na Manga Anak ng Bayan, or “The

Fierce Children of the Land” its ending message reads:

[line 5] Kaya mga kapatid, igayak ang loob sa pakikipaglaban at paasaasahan ang pagtatagumpay, sapagka’t na sa atin ang tunay na katuiran at kabanalang gawa; ang kastila, iyang kasuklamsuklam na lahing dito’y napasuot, ang tanging ipinaglalaban, ay ang maling katuirang panggagaga at panlulupig dito sa di nila bayan.

[line 5] So brothers, prepare yourselves in the fight and expect triumph, because true rightness and virtuous action are on our side; the Spanish, that contemptible race that inserted its way here, are fighting only for the vicious purpose of usurpation and oppression here in a land that is not theirs (Richardson, 2013, p. 303). [Translation and highlights provided by researcher.]

The passage confuses at first, for in the first clause katuiran as ’rightness’ is meant; while in the second clause, katuiran is qualified with ‘wrong’ (maling) — maling katuiran; this phrase in turn describes actions — “usurpation and oppression” — that cannot be considered morally right. Mali in Tagalog can also mean ‘bad’ or ‘vicious’ (Lingvosoft, 2018;

Google Translate, 2018), and this latter meaning is more appropriate in a context where moral acts are being emphasised and compared, and where acts of usurpation and oppression are mentioned after a damning description of those who do them, the Spaniards.

The fact that a katuiran can be described as ‘true’ or ‘real’ (tunay), and also ‘wrong’, as in morally wrong, or ‘vicious’, indicates that, like the baptismal rite, katuiran can be something neutral, like a method, procedure, custom or purpose, which can be carried out

109 properly or not, or for the right purpose or not. We can also consider katuiran akin to the

English words ‘morality’ and ‘morals’, which by themselves, unmodified, can signify something good and desirable, but can take on an opposite meaning when preceded by words like ‘wrong’, ’bad’ or ‘vicious’.

In contemporary Tagalog usage, katuiran has maintained its meaning as ‘reason’ in the sense of ‘justification’, and yet this meaning would not be a proper translation for the context. The Maori meaning of tikanga as ‘motive’ or ‘purpose’ suggests a highly probable and suitable translation of katuiran in this passage, a meaning which I have not encountered in the Katipunan texts heretofore. This usage is not listed in any Tagalog-English dictionaries, save for one that was published in 1915, the Diccionario Ingles-Español-Tagalog /

Con partes de la oracion y pronunciacion figurada, which matches katwiran with the Spanish motivo, or ‘motive’.

Richardson’s translation of this passage drops the use of katuiran altogether, and paraphrases:

[line 5] Therefore, my brothers, gird yourselves to fight and be assured of victory. Our side is in the right. Ours are noble deeds. The Spaniards, that contemptible race that found its way here, are fighting for the wrong. They are here usurping and oppressing a nation that is not theirs (Richardson, 2013, p. 304).

The word katuiran is rendered invisible by Richardson’s hegemonically inclined translation, in which katuiran must be subsumed under the banner of European ‘reason’ and

‘modernity’, or not be acknowledged at all. If it cannot be translated to ‘reason’ or ‘rights’, it will be left out altogether, in effect, silenced. Like the people that colonialism displaces, subjugates and silences, Richardson’s ‘colonial’ translation silences word meanings by displacing or erasing them from their syntactic positions.

110 Recovered meanings

So, from a general principle of moral ‘rightness’, ’correctness’ and ‘justice’, katuiran reveals itself to also mean purpose, procedure, rite or ritual, in the Katipunan writings. Due to katuiran’s straightforward correspondences with most definitions of tikanga, we can extrapolate that one comprehensive definition of tikanga as “custom, habit, lore, method, manner, rule, way, code, meaning, plan, practice, convention, and protocol — the customary system of values and practices that have developed over time and are deeply embedded in the social context,” in definition 1 above (Moorefield, 2018), might also apply to katuiran.

The Tagalogs would surely have had a ‘system’ of customary values developed over time as a result of their relationship with the lands of their settlement, before the Spanish arrival.

This system would have been dominated, suppressed and even erased, by hundreds of years of Spanish colonisation. Snippets of the system survive here and there — in customs that continue to this day, like the burial of the placenta after childbirth, or hanging it in a part of the family house; in the numerous stories and legends that have passed down orally through family lineages; and in the indigenous languages and dialects that continue to be used to this day. These practices and languages would, and do, have inherent notions of their correct, right, proper or tuwid execution, motive, purpose or justification.

Aotearoa (New Zealand) anthropologist Hirini Moko Mead, in his exposition of

Tikanga Maori (2003), clarifies that tikanga can be understood on the conceptual level, and at the level of practice. This re-translation journey has showed us that katuiran can be understood on both levels as well. Mead inclines to describe Tikanga Maori as the “Maori ethic” (Mead, 2003, p. 6); I assert that Katuiran, in turn, can be seen as a Tagalog ethic, a

Katuirang Tagalog.

111 Bonifacio at the border of coloniality

When Bonifacio writes in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs

Should Know), that “It is now time that the light of truth ought to be known,” that “Now is the time we should begin revealing the noble and exulted teachings…”, he means to restore

Katuirang Tagalog.

The Tagalogs’ own way of thinking and feeling, pagdaramdam, is valuable because it is by this that the Tagalogs discern what is right or wrong, what is tuwid, or ’straight’; in short, what is in accordance with Katuiran. Bonifacio wants to begin revealing (simulan ang pagsisiwalat) the noble and exalted teachings that will destroy the thick veils over Tagalog minds. Bonifacio recognises here the colonisation of Tagalog minds, that aspect of colonialism that is mental and epistemic — epistemic colonialism. When he refers to “noble teachings”, he cannot be referring to teachings from the European Enlightenment, because to begin revealing, implies something long buried and hidden, something suppressed and withheld. The ‘world’ to which the Tagalogs’ “noble teachings’” are to be revealed, is the dominating European culture, for whom Enlightenment ideas are already well-known, and to whom Enlightenment ideas would not need to be revealed. Bonifacio wants to reveal then, the Tagalogs’ own noble and exulted teachings.

The ending clause of the entire passage reads, “the time is now for Tagalogs to recognise the source of their suffering” [line 2 above]. One can quickly assume that, given the historical context in which he is writing, Bonifacio is simply and simplistically referring to the Spaniards as the Tagalogs’ source of suffering. But on closer reading, given the phrase’s position in the paragraph, one realises that Bonifacio is referring to the suffering of the mind; the Tagalogs suffer from the suppression of who they really are — their nobility

112 and sense of morality, their own epistemology, their customs and practices — their sacred

Katuiran.

Bonifacio knows that this is all still alive, but hidden during the 300 years of Spanish rule. Like Balagtas, the nineteenth-century poet he so admired (Almario, 2011, 1993/2013), he felt that sacred Katuiran (Santong Katuiran) was prostrate (lugami) and weary (hapô) (Almario,

2011, p. 37). But not erased. 1896 was the time for its ’revelation’ or ‘exposure’ (pagsisiwalat)

[see line 2 above].

“Noble teachings”

But where are these “noble and exulted teachings”?

A European epistemic point of view would assume that these teachings have to be written, dated and authenticated as coming from the period before Spanish colonisation, to be considered native ‘teachings’. But indigenous peoples’ epistemologies do not only involve written knowledge, but for the most part involve learning through their bodies. As Inuit educator Peesee Pitsiulak-Stevens states, “I believe we carry our values in our bodies. We carry our culture in our bodies” (in Meyer, 2003, p. 57). Indigenous people embody their cultures’ teachings: they carry, express and learn these teachings, in, on and through their bodies, in the form of memories, stories, manners, ornaments, customs, languages and ways of being and living that have been passed down to them by their ancestors.

Indigenous peoples’ knowledges are also very much tied to their land and all that is experienced on it — the sun, air, water systems. For Hawaiian educator Manulani Aluli

Meyer (2008), land is an epistemological idea that “engages knowledge and contextualizes knowing” (p. 4). People are shaped by their geographies, through and in their thoughts,

113 senses, feeling, movements and values. They not only learn about the land, but they learn fom the land, being “in full dialogue” with what the place and the people on it have to teach

(Meyer, 2008; 2001). This close interaction with the land is why translators of Tagalog are often in a dilemma when translating the word bayan. Richardson (2013) expressed that it was impossible to know for sure whether the word bayan is being used to signify ‘nation’ or

‘people’, but acknowledged that it could connote either one or both. But does bayan, from the point of view of indigenous peoples ever really mean ‘nation’? Even if taken from the

Katipunan point of view, is the modern European concept of ‘nation’ central to the meaning of bayan? The reason why the meaning of the word as used by Katipuneros remains uncertain for many translators is because the indigeneity of Tagalog word meanings assert themselves within the structures of the Tagalog language and its usage, in such a way that what might be considered equivalent exogenous concepts start to lose potency and relevance. Sociologist Anthony Smith (2004) observes that the modernist conception of the

‘nation’ is ethnocentric -- i.e. grounded in Western political tradition. It is often myopically taken to be the norm, and used as the yardstick for understanding the ‘modern’ nation, when there are numerous non-Western conceptions of nations that express a relationship to land as not one of mere territorial occupation, birth and citizenship, but as predicated on ancestral connections and other, cherished considerations (Smith, 2004). The European

‘modern nation’ concept is assumed by, if not imposed on, the Katipunan idea of bayan, even though the Katipunan’s will to separate from Spain, as shown by its literature, involved a political, as well as cultural, and most crucially, epistemological, separation and de-linking that suggests a re-emergence of the Tagalogs’ own timeline outside the European progressivist narrative of modernity.

114 Bonifacio’s narrative depicts the Tagalogs as being open to European ‘modernity’ upon the arrival of the Spanish in the sixteenth century:

[line 6] Sa mabuti nilang hikayat na di umano, tayo’y aakain sa lalung kagalingan at lalung imumulat ang ating kaisipan, ang . . . nagsisipamahala ay ng yaring nalamuyot sa tamis ng kanilang dila sa paghibo.

[line 6] By their skilful persuasion that they would allegedly guide us to greater well- being and a greater awakening of our minds, the . . . rulers happened to be seduced by the sweetness of their tongues’ beguiling (Richardson, 2013, p. 189). [Translation provided by researcher.]

But ‘modernity’ proved deceptive. Bonifacio writes:

[lines 7-8] Ano ang nakikita nating pagtupad sa kanilang kapangakuan na siang naging dahil ng ating pag gugugol! Wala kung din pawang kataksilang ang ganti sa ating mga pagpapala at mga pagtupad sa kanilang ipinangakung tayo’y guiguisingin sa kagalingan ay bagkus tayong binulag, inihawa tayo sa kanilang hamak na asal, pinilit na sinira ang mahal at magandang ugali ng ating Bayan; Yiminulat tayo sa isang maling pagsampalataya at isinadlak sa lubak ng kasamaan ang kapurihan ng ating Bayan; . . .

[lines 7-8] What are we seeing as fulfilment of their promises that were the reason for our expense! Nothing but pure treachery as a reward for our blessings, and instead of fulfilling their promise to wake us up to excellence, we were blinded, they infected us with their debased conduct, forcibly ruined the noble and beautiful customs of our Land; They introduced us to a wrong faith and cast into a pit of depravity the honour of our Land; . . . (Richardson, 2013, p. 190) [Translation and emphasis provided by the researcher.]

Bonifacio rejects this ‘modernity’ and calls for a restoration of the Tagalogs’ own

‘modernity’, so to speak, which was a life in complete abundance (lubos na kasaganaan), in active commercial engagement within an Asian trade network that Europeans so wanted to

115 enter and control. The Katipunan calls for a restoration and a return to a former life and morality that was interrupted and corrupted by European modernity, through the European nation, Spain. The translation of bayan to ‘nation’ in the modern sense, can therefore not be assumed in the Katipunan’s ideology.

In Chapter 3, I showed how the choice of ‘people’ as a translation for bayan, in crucial phrases, like the full name of the Katipunan — Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan — rendered invisible the ‘land’ component in the word bayan. The fact that the meaning of bayan can, not only mean either people or land, but a combination of both, points to an indigenous historical worldview that sees people as a part of the land, and the land as their mother, their nurturer. This is in line with Maori researcher Charles Royal’s findings on “the special significance or weight behind the idea of the unification of the human community with the natural world” in indigenous worldviews (Royal, 2002, p. 3).

It is no wonder then, that in the midst of experiencing slander and disdain from rivals and detractors, Andres Bonifacio declared to a friend, “…di ako ang kanilang hinamak, kun di ang boong Bayan” — “It is not I that they malign, but the entire Homeland” (in

Almario, 1993/2013, p. 85).

Embodied Knowledges

This embodiment by the people of the accumulated teachings produced through eons of interactions with their natural environment and and with each other, is key in deeply understanding Bonifacio’s perspective in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog. The Tagalog people continue to exist after more than 300 years of Spanish rule, and it is through the embodiment and expression of their virtues and way of knowing — their pagdaramdam

116 (sensibility), puri (honour), hiya (self-respect) and pagdadamayan (compassion) — that they reveal the noble and exulted teachings of their Bayan, or Homeland. It is this collective rising up of Santong (Sacred) Katuiran (Rightness) from its prostrate and weary position expressed through the living bodies of the people — and not through a written records required by European modernity — that will destroy the thick veil that has been blinding their minds; through this collective expression, they will realise that it is the cowering of their sacred Katuiran that is the source of their suffering.

Separating from Spain is the first step out of this suffering, but the ultimate responsibility for the future lies in the habits of mind and character of the people, in how they use their perceptions and sensibilities, in how they eschew glitter or ‘dazzle’ in favour of the clarity of truth and Katuiran. To paraphrase from the decolonial thinker Frantz

Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth (1963, p. 48), the Tagalogs do not need to claim that they have a set of ‘noble teachings’, or that they represent these teachings, they are these teachings; and it is time for them to stand up from their cowering position and to show these teachings as expressed through their bodies. Bonifacio’s message, like that of his fellow Katipunero, Emilio Jacinto, is morally focused, with an ontological slant. Both thinkers demonstrate the noble teachings of their culture in how they lived their lives, how they organised and conducted the Katipunan revolution, and in what they wrote, as living embodiments of the teachings of the Homeland.

117 The True Path of “Katuiran and Kaliwanagan”

So when the preamble of the Katipunan manifesto (pahayag) titled, Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (To those who wish to join this congress), also known as the

“Kartilya” reads:

[line 9] Ang kabagayang pinaguusig ng katipunang ito ay lubos na dakila at mahalaga; papagisahin ang loob at kaisipan ng lahat ng tagalog (*) sa pamagitan ng isang mahigpit na panunumpa, upang sa pagkakaisang ito’y magkalakas na iwasak ang masinsing tabing na nakabubulag sa kaisipan at matuklasan ang tunay na landas ng Katuiran at Kaliwanagan.

[line 10](*) Sa salitang tagalog katutura’y ang lahat nang tumubo sa Sangkapuluang ito; sa makatuid, bisaya man, iloko man, kapangpangan man, etc., ay tagalog din.

[line 9] The matters that are being pursued by this Congress are absolutely weighty and significant; the unification of the hearts and minds of all tagalogs (*) through one strict oath, so that in this unity, they may be empowered to demolish the thick veil that blinds the mind, and to discover the true path of Katuiran and Kaliwanagan.

[line 10] (*) The word tagalog signifies all who have been raised in this Archipelago; that is, even visayans, ilokos, kapangpangans, etc., are tagalog as well (Richardson, 2013, p. 131) [Translation provided by researcher.] we know that the phrase Katuiran at Kaliwanagan, does not correspond to “Reason and

Enlightenment” in the European sense. The phrase “true path”, may even be a decolonial jab at the European Enlightenment, for we have seen in the Casaysayan (Narrative) documents

(Chapter 4), how “enlightened” ilustrados were depicted as capable of being prejudiced, racist and disrespectful towards their fellow human beings, in spite of their ‘enlightenment’, and could therefore, not be following the ‘true path of enlightenment’. The fact that Katipunan philosopher Emilio Jacinto makes a careful distinction between light that dazzles and blinds,

118 and light that brings clarity (also discussed in Chapter Four), further shows that the

Katipunan thinkers were not necessarily linking or aligning themselves with European notions of ‘enlightenment’. It is important to take note of an epistemic colonialism that universalises and de-situates provincial or local categories of thought — in this case,

European — and projects them onto areas of different geopolitical-epistemological foundations (Grosfoguel, 2013). The ideas, or the terminologies in Europe may have stimulated or triggered the expression of latent notions in Tagalog thinkers within their own already existing, or coeval, or even ‘older’ Tagalog epistemologies, but they did not equate them.

I’ve already used ‘Rightness’ and ‘Justice’ as a translation for Katuiran in other texts.

As for Kaliwanagan, it is interesting to note that the word is not translated to

‘enlightenment’ in the Tagalog-English dictionaries available online. Words like ‘light/the light’, ‘clarity’, ‘clearness’, ‘elucidation’ and ‘spirit’ are provided (Calderon, 1915/2007; Google

Translate, 2018); and Google Translate (2018) shows additional words like ‘lucidity’, ‘fineness’,

‘intelligibility’, ’refulgence’, ‘fluorescence’, ‘simplicity’ and ‘lightness’. ’Enlightenment’ is furthermore, translated as pagpapaliwanag, pagtuturo (‘explanation’, ‘instruction’) (Calderon,

1915, 2007), emphasising its educational aspect, as does its Spanish translation, ilustración, from which the word ilustrado (‘educated’) is derived. That the Katipunan did not regard education as a prerequisite or a guarantee of kaliwanagan, further supports the view that kaliwanagan did not mean ‘enlightenment’ in the European sense. The implication is that kaliwanagan is not so much achieved by additional knowledge or education, but by not being taken in by dazzling or impressive appearances.

119 The previous chapter discussed the distinction that Katipunan philosopher Emilio

Jacinto, made between ningning, ‘glitter’ or ‘glare’, and liwanag, or ‘light’ [lines 12-25, Chapter

Four]; the former blinds and deceives, but the latter clarifies and aids in the awareness and contemplation of the truth of things. It is in the context of this contrast that we must understand the word kaliwanagan, which is an inflection of liwanag. Kaliwanagan is more about clarity and things being evident and perspicuous, rather than about ‘reason’, and things being ‘rational’. It is more concerned about deceptions in general, notably in social and moral appearances; rather than superstitions. Superstition was the preoccupation of

European Enlightenment thinkers and proponents, and targeting it as the “enemy of reason” was commonplace in Enlightenment thought (Allison, 2012), with the preeminent

Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant defining enlightenment as “deliverance from superstition,” and “the blindness in which superstition places us” (Kant, 2015, p. 888).

Whereas for Kant, superstition creates a kind of “mental blindness” (Allison, 2012, p. 234) that causes people to render their reason passive, and dependent on another’s guidance; for

Bonifacio, it was plainly the Spaniards’ foreign influence that blinded the minds of the

Tagalogs [see line 8 above].

To decolonise Richardson’s and others’ translation of the phrase Katuiran at

Kaliwanagan, and to prevent it from being confused with European Enlightenment conceptions, I am opting to translate Kaliwanagan as ‘Light’, to coin the phrase, ‘Rightness and Light’. The preamble to Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (To those who wish to join this congress) will then read:

[line 9] The matters that are being pursued by this Congress are absolutely weighty and significant; the unification of the hearts and minds of all tagalogs (*) through one strict oath, so that in this unity, they may be empowered to demolish the thick veil

120 that blinds the mind, and to discover the true path of Rightness and Light (Richardson, 2013, p. 131). [Translation provided by researcher.]

The “thick veil that blinds the mind”

The recurrent phrase, “the thick veil that blinds the mind”, is found in both the Ang

Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know) at the beginning of this chapter [lines 1-2], and the just discussed Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (To those who wish to join this congress) in the previous section [line 9]. In the first document, it is conveyed that it is the “noble teachings”, or Katuirang Tagalog, revealed and expressed through the living, embodied expressions and actions of the Tagalogs, that will demolish the veil that blinds. In the second document, it is “the unification of the minds and hearts of the

Tagalogs" that will embolden them to demolish that veil. This is because all those virtues — sensibility, honour, self-respect and compassion — pertain to social relations. Practiced collectively, all these expressions will reveal themselves to be Katuirang Tagalog — the living, embodied expression of a system of values and practices — that has been hidden and prostrate. By expressing their noble virtues and teachings together, the Tagalogs will be enabled to see and “discover” this “true path of Katuiran at Kaliwanagan”, that was always there, and their own, but suppressed or denied in favour of what they were deceived into thinking was better or superior.

Conclusion

The word katuiran has proven to be rich with meaning and rich in meanings, obscured, overlooked, or purposely or unpurposely made invisible by mistranslations, and pre-conceived or predetermined interpretations. The uncovering of its meaning(s) is a

121 culmination of close readings, discussed in two chapters, of passages from eight documents in the Katipunan collection, namely, ¡Katuiran din naman! (Real Justice!), Pinagcasundoan

(Consensus), Casaysayan (Narrative), Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness), Kasulatan ng

Banal na katuirang pagbibinyag (Certificate of Holy rite of baptism), Mararahas na Manga Anak ng Bayan (The Fierce Children of the Homeland), Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know) and Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (To those who wish to join this congress).

The process of deciphering its meanings within the context of these passages — meanings that denote justice, rightness, righteousness, rights and reason — led to an uncovering, and possibly, a recovery, of other, presumably forgotten meanings, that expanded the notion of katuiran to one that made it uncannily similar, if not equivalent, to the Māori concept of tikanga,, which refers to an entire system of values and practices that include customs, procedures, rites, protocols, habits, methods, techniques, rules or conventions and the meanings, motives, purposes, reasons and standards that relate to them.

For the purposes of translation, it was rightful and laudable indeed, to salvage, so to speak, the word katuiran from colonising epistemological frameworks that distort its meaning, and to give voice to the indigenous minds and voices that used the word in their documents with specific intentions. But to find straightforward correspondences with a related concept in another language that went beyond general linguistic kinship exceeded the expectations of this researcher. It raises the legitimate question of whether Bonifacio was referring to this body of knowledge and customs rather than to an abstract moral principle of rightness, in his famous tract, Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the

Tagalogs should Know). I am inclined to believe so. At any rate, the concept of what I posit

122 to be a Tagalog ethic that I call Katuirang Tagalog is a cultural artefact worth exploring for future research. At this juncture, Katuirang Tagalog provides an exciting and more promising heuristic to an accurate understanding of the ideas and goals of the Katipunan as an indigenous and indigenist movement, than the European Enlightenment philosophical framework.

This chapter, which is an extension of the examination of the concept of katuiran in

Chapter Four, was prompted by the persistent translation of katuiran in Andres Bonifacio’s

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog (What the Tagalogs Should Know) in contemporary historiographical sources to ‘reason’, in spite of qualifications and admissions regarding its inadequacy or untranslatability (Ileto, 1979; Blanco, 2009). It was also prompted by the fortuitous discovery of two uses of the word katuiran that are found in two Katipunan documents in Richardson’s compilation (2013) that are unaccounted for in several Tagalog dictionaries, and even in contemporary Tagalog usage. So while Chapter Four deals with meanings of katuiran that are already found in Tagalog dictionaries and contemporary usage, but which are nevertheless ignored in favour of a ‘rational’ European Enlightenment reading, this chapter confronts usages of katuiran that are contemporarily non-existent.

This chapter aimed to find a broader notion of katuiran that encompasses both known and unknown usages by re-locating it in an indigenous framework of meaning and knowledge production using comparative semantics with another Austronesian language, Te reo Māori, of the Māori people of Aoteraroa (New Zealand) in conjunction with a closer reading of a passage in Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog [lines 1-2 above] that succeeds the paragraph where katuiran is used several times. The process involved examining the word katuiran within its Austronesian linguistic home, and within a wider range of indigenous meanings —

123 that is, by re-indigenising it, rather than examining it from a world or vantage point of

European meanings. The objective of achieving a wider scope of meaning for katuiran was achieved satisfactorily enough to be able to re-translate a crucial passage in the Sa may nasang makisanib sa katipunang ito (To those who wish to join this congress), popularly known as the “Kartilya”, the re-translation of which was the original impetus for this thesis.

124 Conclusion

Katuiran as a decolonial option

Hermeneutics is in part the practice of historical retrieval, the re-construction of the historical context of scientific and literary works. Hermeneutics does not re- construct the past for its own sake; it always seeks to understand the particular way a problem engages the present. (International Institute of Hermeneutics, n.d.)

The ‘Kartilya’ is the most known and studied Katipunan text in the Philippines

(Richardson, 2013); most schoolchildren and university students in that country today will have read the Kartilya, both in its original Tagalog, and in an English translation. As a

Philippine national with Tagalog ancestry, born and raised bilingually in English and Tagalog in the Tagalog city of Manila, I revisited the document via its English translations as an adult and perceived the text as a timeless classic of Tagalog political and moral thought the re-translation of which could bring reading pleasure to those unknowledgeable about

Tagalog, much less nineteenth-century Tagalog. Realising that there were inaccuracies in current translations, I casually suggested an updated translation be published in pocketbook form to a publisher, who, to my surprise, assigned me the task of re-translation. Initially hesitant, since I was and am not an experienced or professional translator, I nevertheless embarked on the re-translation project for the purposes of enriching my own understanding of the Kartilya text, and its historical background. I approached the re-translation project directly and intuitively, without preconceived ideas on translation methods or theories, but with a background of appreciation for literary texts in both English and Tagalog; some experience in teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL); life and work experience in Tagalog and English-speaking countries; a knowledge of Philippine politics,

125 culture and history; and an avid interest in Austronesian cultures and languages. My methods nevertheless corresponded to translation procedures described by translation theorist Peter Newmark (1988), which were characterised by general and close readings, preliminary word-for-word and literal translations leading to faithful and semantic translations. On another level, my process matched a hermeneutic phenomenological process that involved historicist understandings, etymological strategies, intertextual analyses, comparative analyses of cultural concepts, and paralingual, body-based translational techniques, which unveiled an ‘indigeneity of being’, the recognition and understanding of which facilitated a translation that liberated Tagalog linguisticality from hegemonic interpretations that erased its indigenous and indigenist meanings.

Results

Significantly, my re-translation process replaced the un-revolutionary connotations in the translation of katipunan to ‘association’ and ‘society’, the epistemically sexist translation of anak to ‘sons’, and the modernist and land-denying translation of bayan to ‘nation’,

‘country’ and ‘people’. More substantially, the indigenist hermeneutical approach attempted to resolve the seemingly ‘untranslatable’ katuiran by relocating it in a different cosmos of meaning that suggests a Tagalog way of being-in-the-world that existed at one point in

Tagalog history — a cultural ethic that involved a “thinking-and-doing” involving a coherent system of principles, legalities, methods, rites and purposes woven together by an apprehension and valuing of ‘straightness’, justice, rightness, propriety and correctness. My hypothesis is that this way of ‘thinking-and-doing’ was expressed by just one word, Katuiran, the way the Māori people’s own “customary system of values and practices”, of “procedure,

126 custom, habit, lore, method, manner, rule, way, code, meaning, plan, practice, convention, protocol . . . that have developed over time and are deeply embedded in the social context”

— was capture by their word, Tikanga (Moorfield, 2018). The Māori have kept this all- encompassing notion of their Tikanga Māori intact and have come to understand it as a

Māori ethic; but the word katuiran in contemporary Tagalog usage has been passed down, dwindled through time, to a handful of meanings — a shadow of its former self — giving rise to mistranslations and misunderstanding of some of the most important documents in

Tagalog history. This indigenist hermeneutics suggests that this Tagalog ethical system of values and practices is the long lost, “sacred katurian” lamented by the nineteenth-century

Tagalog poet Francisco Balagtas, as “prostrate and weary” (in Almario, 2011, p. 37) under colonialism, and not just a principle of justice, or the use of a mental faculty. Indeed, a re- reading of Bonifacio’s classic, crucial lines of exhortation to revolution in the Ang Dapat

Mabatid ng mga Tagalog with this expanded meaning of katuiran signalises the deep historical and cultural resonances that may have touched long buried spaces in the hearts and minds of his readers, moving them to actions that forever changed the course of their history. I submit the notion of a Katuirang Tagalog as a possible framework in Tagalog cultural studies; and through this, its restoration to contemporary Tagalog “thinking-and-doing”, in fulfilment of Bonifacio’s call for its revelation in embodied expression and practice.

Correlates of Katuiran — Kaliwanagan and Kalayaan

Apart from the words, katipunan, anak, bayan, and katuiran, the re-translation process also illuminated correlates of katuiran — kaliwanagan and kalayaan.

127 Kaliwanagan is a correlate of katuiran, as it also offers a device for knowing and judging, by promoting a self-awareness of one’s own enchantment with dazzling appearances and distinguishing this from a true clarity of apprehension and understanding. This epistemic device, when no longer translated and understood as the European notion of

‘enlightenment’, with its disembodied application of ‘reason’, can be a valuable contribution to Tagalog pedagogy, and to a general Filipino pedagogy, not only for the provision of ethical guidelines for everyday living, but a general critique to hegemonic modernity and coloniality in Philippine life.

De-linking from the European geography of reasoning Emilio Jacinto defines the notions of ‘freedom’ or ‘liberty’ in terms of katuiran and grounds them in indigenous ways of thinking and understanding. He uses the word katuiran to translate human ‘rights’, rather than the karampatan used in translations of the Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen

(The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) that were disseminated by

Europeanised Filipinos (ilustrados) of the time (Almario, 1993/2013). Karampatan comes from the root word dapat, which is generally used to mean ‘should’, ‘must’ or ‘ought’ (Calderon

1915/2007), but it also means ‘fitting’, ‘just’ and ‘right’ (Google Translate, 2018; Calderon

1915/2007). Jacinto’s master stroke of tying the notions of ‘freedom’ and ‘rights’ to katuiran, evidences that he is not interested in a mere translation or transfer of European ideas on human rights to a native setting; he lexically embeds the notion of freedom into what was most probably already a system of non-colonial values and practices of a Tagalog community, with an inherent epistemology of whole-body knowing, sensing and doing what is ‘right’ or

‘tuwid’. Jacinto was not a ‘copycat’ as existing translators and interpreters seem to suggest.

On the contrary, he took the decolonial option of de-linking from colonial systems of

128 thought, and instead, clarifying and building on the indigenous systems of knowing and being that were already in place, but suppressed in their expression.

The Kartilya

This new set of understandings exhibited in the re-translation of the words katipunan, anak, bayan, katuiran, kaliwanagan and kalayaan in the Kartilya text are the most obvious changes in the text’s re-translation, and the most crucial semantically. Given that these key words are rich with meanings and histories that may no longer be obvious to a modern

Philippine society steeped in westernisation, the changes in the retranslated Kartilya may require or prompt epistemological shifts in the minds of contemporary readers who have accepted the Enlightenment ‘slogans’, supposedly evident in the Kartilya text. Whether or not these shifts are welcomed, or prove persuasive, it is my hope that these shifts at least inspire an appreciation of Tagalog indigeneity and a pondering on the ‘indigeneity of being’ itself, which I think is crucial in an archipelago whose natural resources are in critical condition. When the understanding of a love for the bayan, or homeland, is universally shifted from a love for an abstract, imagined community, to a love for the land, as the nurturer of all living beings, as immediately perceived with the senses, feelings and breath of one’s humanity, or pagkatao, then perhaps the urgency of caring for and giving back to the natural world that sustains human lives will be fully grasped, in the light of clarity, and with a judgement informed by a sense of what is right, or tuwid. Perhaps we can be guided in this by a meaning for the word bayan published as late as 1860 as “espacio que hay de aqui al cielo” or

“the space there is from here to the sky” (de Noceda, 1754/1860, p. 44).

129 The Kartilya itself could not have been written without a whole-body apprehension and understanding of katuiran: katuiran was its author’s guiding principle as was this translator’s. Readers of this re-translation can also likewise use their katuiran to form their own opinions and contribute to the conversation. Hermeneutics feeds reflection and self- reflection, and interpretations are constantly in revision and in dialogue.

At the very least, the primary idea that emerges out of this re-translation of the

Kartilya, is that the study of the Kartilya — and of the objectives of the Katipunan movement itself — would be incomplete without an expanded understanding of Katuiran that includes its less commonly used, and long-lost meanings that the word ‘reason’ can hardly capture.

A completed translation of the Kartilya and its Tagalog original are provided for in the

Appendices that follow.

Reflections on further research: Katuiran as a Tagalog hermeneutic

It can be said that Katuiran itself was a guide to interpretation and translation, for detecting errors in translation and mis-usages entails a cognisance of what is tuwid, ‘right’, or ‘correct’, linguistically. This awareness of what is tuwid or not, in any kind of text — linguistic and non-linguistic — is a whole-body epistemology: a way of learning, judging and assessing that would be useful in pedagogy. Katuiran in this way is a Tagalog hermeneutic — of the ethical, aesthetic, linguistic and manifold aspects of Tagalog life. Perhaps this is what it most likely was before the imposition of Spanish Christianity in the islands. The revival of this ethic as a hermeneutic, and as first order of being, learning and doing would be an interesting cultural and political development in the Philippines. (As an aside, the

130 restoration and normalisation of the use of katuiran to mean ‘justice’, rather than the modern katarungan, in public discourse, and referring to today’s Philippine Congress as a katipunan, could have the potential of triggering a moral revaluation and awakening.)

Potentials of an Indigenist Hermeneutics

So what does this case study of the translation of the Kartilya suggest? It is hoped that this research has shown that indigenist hermeneutics can recover indigenous meanings beyond what is needed in the translation of particular texts. It has the potential for recovering concepts, customs and practices, and whole philosophical systems — ethical, epistemological and aesthetic — that have been forgotten and erased by modernising translations that serve to expand the borders of European Enlightenment-based epistemology, spread its enchantment and, in the words of the Katipunan, blind the hearts and minds of those it dominates.

It is hoped that this recovery of ways of being, doing and thinking, can help in the restoration and healing of societies still suffering from the wounds of colonialism and coloniality. Increased understanding, reflection and the addition of new viewpoints are beneficial for societies needing alternatives to the modern paradigm. In the case of this researcher, an indigenist hermeneutic for the study of Tagalog texts and Philippine sociopolitical realities has just begun. I look forward to further studies of Andres Bonifacio and Emilio Jacinto as decolonial thinkers, and to an expansion of Tagalog sources available to me.

Finally, indigenist hermeneutics can bring an understanding and memory of what it means to be ‘indigenous’ — to be rooted, and in constant dialogue and interaction with a

131 natural environment that sustains life, to be using one’s own body epistemology, and to distinguish between lifestyles and ways of thinking-and-being that are compatible with an

‘indigeneity of being’, which in our times, lies prostrate and denied before the altar of global commodity consumption and the accumulation of waste that is currently polluting our shared planet. Indigenist hermeneutics can uncover, reveal, and enunciate what needs to be discussed in our time; it strives to give “voice to the voiceless” (Rigney, 1999, p. 42), where the ‘voiceless’ are not only human beings, but non-human beings, languages and systems of thought and living that have been set aside, inferiorised, forgotten or erased. This hermeneutic can allow for their revival, reconstruction and re-existence, and, as their expression transforms colonial and colonised languages and systems, for the general re- indigenisation of human life and consciousness.

132 GLOSSARY

TAGALOG WORDS alog — ford -an (suffix) — denotes place, state, quality; equivalent to -ence, -y, -place ang — the anak —- child anting anting — amulet aral — teaching, lesson babai (archaic: babayi; modern: babae) — female, woman, girl bahay — house bahayan — settlement, literally ‘place of houses’ related: maybahay — wife, literally ‘has/possesses/there is a house’ bayan — homeland, land, town, settlement, land, nation (modern), country (modern) related: Inang Bayan / Inangbayan — Mother Land / Motherland banal — holy, sacred, virtuous, righteous, divine, religious, spiritual, godly, pious bolo — knives damá — to feel, to sense; noun. opinion related: pagdaramdam — noun. feeling, way of feeling, faculty of feeling, sensibility, regret, remorse pakikiramdam — way of feeling and sensing for information, faculty of feeling, sensibility damay — verb. implicate, involve; noun. sympathy, condolence, help, something given as/to help see: pagdadamayan — compassion, mutual sympathy, mutual cooperation hapô — weary, worn hiya — shame, self-respect, shyness, embarrassment ilog — river ina — mother iwi — to nurse, take care of, breed, educate; noun. possession, territory, holding

133 ka- (prefix) — denotes connection: connection to, connection through kaliwanagan — light, the light, clarity, clearness, elucidation, spirit, lucidity, fineness, intelligibility, refulgence, fluorescence, simplicity, lightness root word: liwanag — light, shine related: pagpapaliwanag — explanation, instruction, enlightenment kalipunan — association, conglomerate, society, group, sphere, tribe, federation kapisanan — community, guild, club, association, league, circle kartilya (from Spanish) — primer kasamahan —- companions, colleagues, friends, guild kataastaasan — highest, supreme, uppermost root word: taas — n. height katipunan (old spelling: catipunan) — assemblage, gathering, assembly, congress, congregation root word: tipon — to gather

Katipunan — Congress, Assembly Katipunero — male member of the Katipunan katuiran (alternate spellings: katwiran, katuwiran) — straightness, rightness, righteousness, justice, right, claim, title/entitlement, reason, justification legality (old, in Calderón, 1915/2007) rite, ritual (old, in Richardson, 2013) purpose, way (old, in Richardson, 2013) root word: tuwid — straight, correct, right, just, proper, reasonable, sane lakad — walk, errand lakaran — walk, journey, pilgrimage root word: lakad — walk, errand landas — path lugami — prostrate lupa — soil mali — wrong, incorrect, bad, vicious maling katuiran — wrong motives, wrong purpose

134 may — has, posesses; ‘there is’ manga (modern spelling: mga) — plural ‘the’ mga (archaic: manga) — plural ‘the’ na (preposition) — that nag- (prefix) — past tense verb marker nang — archaic form of possessive ng: of, by; adverb ‘when’ ng (archaic: nang) — possessive marker: of, by -ng (suffix) — adjective marker, equivalent to ‘that is’ or ‘-ful' ningning — dazzle, glitter, glare, gloss, brightness, brilliance, effulgence, irradiance pagdaramdam — noun. feeling, way of feeling, faculty of feeling, sensibility, regret, remorse root word: damá — to feel, to sense modern variant: pakikiramdam pagbibinyag — baptism, circumcision (old/colloquial, according to Potet, 2013, pp. 122-23) root word: binyag — initiate pagdadamayan — compassion, mutual sympathy, mutual cooperation root word: damay — verb. implicate, involve; noun. sympathy, condolence, help, something give as/to help pahayag — communication, announcement, declaration, manifesto, notice root word: hayag — announcement, revelation; adjective. manifest, known, conspicuous, open to public view pag-ibig (alternate spelling: pagibig) — love, passion pagsisiwalat — revelation, exposure, disclosure pagtuturo — pointing, teaching, instruction root word: turo — verb. point, teach; noun. teaching panimulang aklat — introductory book, primer pasyon (from Spanish) — passion (Christian epic) puri — honour, pride, reputation santo (from Spanish) — adjective. sacred, holy; noun. saint supremo (from Spanish) — highest chief, leader or head, top head taga- (prefix) — from, native of

135 Tagalog — literally, ‘from the river/ford’ taga- (prefix) — from, native of + ilog, ‘river’ / alog, ‘ford’ tao — person, people, human, human being archaic: tawo tinubuan — grown from root word: tubo — to grow

TAGALOG PHRASES din naman — but also, surely, real . . . (can be sarcastic, ironic) variation of: man din — but also, too (ironic, humorous) Katuirang Tagalog (neologism) — Tagalog ethic landas ng katuiran — path of righteousness, path of rightness lubos na kasaganaan — complete abundance mahal at magandang ugali ng ating Bayan — the noble and beautiful customs of our Land maling katuiran — wrong motive/purpose, bad motive/purpose masinsing tabing na nakabubulag sa kaisipan — the thick veil that blinds the mind pahayag sa mga may nasang makisanib — communication/ announcement to those who wish to join pahayag sa may mag nasang makisanib — communication/ announcement to those who have a wish to join simulan ang pagsisiwalat — begin revealing, begin disclosing, begin exposing tinubuang bayan — land of one’s growth,’ growthland’; land where one is raised; homeland tinubuang lupa — soil of one’s growth, ‘growthsoil’ tunay na landas — true path

TAGALOG TITLES

Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog — What the Tagalogs Should Know Ang Mga Karampatan ng Tawo — The Rights of a Person (translation of the Déclaration des Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen /The Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen

136 Casaysayan (modern spelling: Kasaysayan) — Narrative Cataastaasang Catipunan — Highest Congress Catipunan nang Laguing Estacion — Congregation Devoted to the Stations of the Cross Catipunan nang Sagrada Familia — Congregation of the Holy Family Dios Ina — God the Mother Kasulatan ng Banal na katuirang pagbibinyag — Certificate of Holy rite of baptism Katapusang Hibik ng Filipinas — Final Sobs of Filipinas Katipunan ng manga Anak ng Bayan (aka. Katipunan ng manga A.N.B.)— Congress of the Children of the Land/Homeland; Assembly of the Children of the Land/Homeland ¡Katuiran din naman! — Real Justice! Liwanag at Dilim — Light and Darkness Manga Daquilang Cautosan — Principal Decrees Mararahas na Manga Anak ng Bayan — The Fierce Children of the Homeland Pag-Ibig sa Tinubuang Bayan — Love for the Homeland Panitikan ng rebolusyon(g) 1896 — Literature of the (1896) Revolution Pinagcasundoan — Consensus Sa May Nasang Makisanib sa Katipunang Ito — To Those Who Wish to Join this Congress Santong Katuiran — Sacred Rightness

SPANISH WORDS cartila — primer Felipinas/Filipinas — former name of the present Philippines; literally ‘isles of Philip/Felipe’ ilustrado — enlightened, educated La Ilustración — The Enlightenment (Spanish Enlightenment) madrasta — step-mother, expression for “anything disagreeable” (St Clair, 1902, p. 82, fn.) pasión — passion, from Latin passionem, “suffering” supremo — verb. supreme, top, paramount, uppermost Supremo — noun. Commander-in-Chief

137 SPANISH NAMES and TITLES

Congreso Nacional Indígena — National Indigenous Congress Diccionario Ingles-Español-Tagalog / Con partes de la oracion y pronunciacion figurada — English- Spanish-Tagalog Dictionary / With parts of the sentence and figurative pronunciation Doctrina Christiana en lengua Española y Tagala — Christian Doctrine in the Spanish language and Tagalog Madre España — Mother Spain

MĀORI WORDS and PHRASES

tika — 1. verb. to be correct, true, upright, right, just, fair, accurate, appropriate, lawful, proper, valid. 2. verb. to be straight, direct, keep on a direct course; 3. modifier.correctly, directly, fairly, justly, straight - indicates a direct path; 4. noun. truth, correctness, directness, justice, fairness, righteousness, right (Moorfield, 2018). tikanga — 1. noun. correct procedure, custom, habit, lore, method, manner, rule, way, code, meaning, plan, practice, convention, protocol - the customary system of values and practices that have developed over time and are deeply embedded in the social context; 2. noun. correct [sic], right; 3. noun. reason, purpose, motive; 4. noun. meaning,method, technique (Moorfield, 2018).

Tikanga Māori — the Māori way

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172 APPENDIX A — THE “KARTILYA” (Original Tagalog text)

KATIPUNAN NANG MANGA A. N. B.

SA MAY NASANG MAKISANIB SA KATIPUNANG ITO

Sa pagkakailangan, na ang lahat na nagiibig pumasuk sa katipunang ito, ay magkaroon ng lubos na pananalig at kaisipan sa mga layong tinutungo at mga kaaralang pinaiiral, minarapat na ipakilala sa kanila ang mga bagay na ito, at ng bukas makalawa’y huag silang magsisi at tuparing maluag sa kalooban ang kanilang mga tutungkulin.

Ang kabagayang pinaguusig ng katipunang ito ay lubos na dakila at mahalaga; papagisahin ang loob at kaisipan ng lahat ng tagalog (*) sa pamagitan ng isang mahigpit na panunumpa, upang sa pagkakaisang ito’y magkalakas na iwasak ang masinsing tabing na nakabubulag sa kaisipan at matuklasan ang tunay na landas ng Katuiran at Kaliwanagan.

(*) Sa salitang tagalog katutura’y ang lahat nang tumubo sa Sangkapuluang ito; sa makatuid, bisaya man, iloko man, kapangpangan man, etc., ay tagalog din.

Dito’y isa sa mga kaunaunahang utos, ang tunay na pag-ibig sa bayang tinubuan at lubos na pagdadamayan ng isa’t isa.

Maralita, mayaman, mangmang, marunong, lahat dito’y magkakapantay at tunay na magkakapatid.

Kapagkarakang mapusok dito ang sino man, tataligdan pilit ang buhalhal na kaugalian, at paiilalim sa kapangyarihan ng mga banal na utos ng katipunan.

173 Ang gawang lahat, na laban sa kamahalan at kalinisan, dito’y kinasusuklaman; kaya’t sa bagay na ito ipinaiilalim sa masigasig na pakikibalita ang kabuhayan ng sino mang nagiibig makisanib sa katipunang ito.

Kung ang hangad ng papasuk dito’y ang tumalastas lamang o mga kalihiman nito, o ang ikagiginhawa ng sariling katawan, o ang kilalanin ang mga naririto’t ng maipagbili sa isang dakot na salapi, huag magpatuloy, sapagkat dito’y bantain lamang ay talastas na ng makapal na nakikiramdam sa kaniya, at karakarakang nilalapatan ng mabisang gamut, na laan sa mga sukaban.

Dito’y gawa ang hinahanap at gawa ang tinitignan; kaya’t hindi dapat pumasuk ang di makagagawa, kahit magaling magsalita.

Ipinauunawa din, ang mga katungkulang ginaganap ng lahat ng napaaanak sa katipunang ito ay lubhang mabibigat lalung lalu na, kung gugunitain na di magyayaring maiiwasan at walang kusang pagkukulang na di aabutin ng kakilakilabot na kaparusahan.

Kung ang hangad ng papasuk dito, ang siya’y abuluyan o ang ginhawa’t malayaw na katahimikan ng katawan, huag magpatuloy, sapagkat mabigat na mga katungkulan ang matatagpuan, gaya ng pagtatangkilik sa mga naaapi at madaluhong na paguusig sa lahat ng kasamaan; sa bagay na ito ay aabutin ang maligalig na pamumuhay.

Di kaila sa kangino paman ang mga nagbalang kapahamakan sa mga tagalog na nakaiisip nitong mga banal na kabagayan (at hindi man), at mga pahirap na ibinibigay ng nagharing kalupitan, kalikuan at kasamaan.

Talastas din naman ng lahat ang pagkakailangan ng salapi, na sa ngayo’y isa sa mga unang lakas na maaasahang magbibigay buhay sa lahat; sa bagay na ito, kinakailangan ang lubos na pagtupad sa mga pagbabayaran; piso sa pagpasok at sa buan buan ay sikapat. Ang

174 salaping ito’y ipinagbibigay alam ng nagiingat sa tuing kapanahunan, bukod pa sa mapagsisiyasat ng sinoman kailan ma’t ibigin. Di makikilos ang salaping ito, kundi pagkayarin ng karamihan.

Ang lahat ng ipinagsaysay at dapat gunitain at mahinahong pagbulaybulayin, sapagkat di magaganap at di matitiis ng walang tunay na pagibig sa tinubuang lupa, at tunay na adhikang ipagtangkilik ang Kagalingan.

At ng lalong mapagtimbang ng sariling isip at kabaitan, basahin ang sumusunod na

MGA ARAL NANG KATIPUNAN NG MGA A.N.B.

Ang kabuhayang hindi ginugugol sa isang malaki at banal na kadahilanan ay kahoy na walang lilim, kundi damong makamandag.

Ang gawang magaling na nagbubuhat sa pagpipita sa sarili, at hindi sa talagang nasang gumawa ng kagalingan, ay di kabaitan.

Ang tunay na kabanalan ay ang pagkakawang gawa, ang pagibig sa kapua at ang isukat ang bawat kilos, gawa’t pangungusap sa talagang Katuiran.

Maitim man at maputi ang kulay ng balat, lahat ng tao’y magkakapantay; mangyayaring ang isa’y higtan sa dunong, sa yaman, sa ganda…; ngunit di mahihigtan sa pagkatao.

Ang may mataas na kalooban inuuna ang puri sa pagpipita sa sarili; ang may hamak na kalooban inuuna ang pagpipita sa sarili sa puri.

Sa taong may hiya, salita’y panunumpa.

175 Huag mong sasayangin ang panahun; ang yamang nawala’y magyayaring magbalik; nguni’t panahong nagdaan na’y di na muli pang magdadaan.

Ipagtanggol mo ang inaapi, at kabakahin ang umaapi.

Ang taong matalino’y ang may pagiingat sa bawat sasabihin, at matutong ipaglihim ang dapat ipaglihim.

Sa daang matinik ng kabuhayan, lalaki ay siyang patnugot ng asawa’t mga anak; kung ang umaakay ay tungo sa sama, ang patutunguhan ng iaakay ay kasamaan din.

Ang babai ay huag mong tignang isang bagay na libangan lamang, kundi isang katuang at karamay sa mga kahirapan nitong kabuhayan; gamitan mo ng buong pagpipitagan ang kaniyang kahinaan, at alalahanin ang inang pinagbuhata’t nagiwi sa iyong kasangulan.

Ang di mo ibig na gawin sa asawa mo, anak at kapatid, ay huag mong gagawin sa asawa, anak, at kapatid ng iba.

Ang kamahalan ng tao’y wala sa pagkahari, wala sa tangus ng ilong at puti ng mukha, wala sa pagkaparing KAHALILI NG DIOS, wala sa mataas na kalagayan sa balat ng lupa; wagas at tunay na mahal na tao, kahit laking gubat at walang nababatid kundi ang sariling wika, yaong may magandang asal, may isang pangungusap, may dangal at puri; yaong di napaaapi’t di nakikiapi; yaong marunong magdamdam at marunong lumingap sa bayang tinubuan.

Paglaganap ng mga aral na ito at maningning na sumikat ang araw ng mahal na

Kalayaan dito sa kaabaabang Sangkapuluan, at sabugan ng matamis niyang liwanag ang nangagkaisang magkalahi’t magkakapatid ng ligaya ng walang katapusan, ang mga ginugol na buhay, pagud, at mga tiniis na kahirapa’y labis nang natumbasan.

176 Kung lahat ng ito’y mataruk na ng nagiibig pumasuk at inaakala niyang matutupad ang mga tutungkulin, maitatala ang kaniyang ninanasa sa kasunod nito.

SA HKAN. NG ______

AKO’Y SI______

TAONG TUBO SA BAYAN NG______

HUKUMAN NG ______ANG KATANDAAN KO

AY______TAON, ANG HANAP BUHAY______

ANG KALAGAYAN______AT NANANAHAL-

NAN SA ______DAAN NG______

Sa aking pagkabatid ng boong kagalingan ng mga nilalayon at ng mga aral, na inilalathala ng KATIPUNAN ng mga A.N.B. ninais ng loob ko ang makisanib dito. Sa bagay na ito’y aking ipinamamanhik ng boong pitagan, na marapating tangapin at mapakibilang na isa sa mga anak ng katipunan: at tuloy nangangakong tutupad at paiilalim sa mga aral at Kautusang sinusunod dito.

______ika ______ng buan ng ______

______ng taong 189__.

Nakabayad na ng ukol sa pagpasok.

ANG TAGA INGAT NG YAMAN.

177 APPENDIX B — ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF THE ‘KARTILYA’

CONGRESS OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LAND

TO THOSE WHO WISH TO JOIN THIS CONGRESS

As a requirement, so that all that who are wishing to enter this assembly, will have complete faith in and understanding of the goals being pursued and the teachings being upheld, it is proper that these things be introduced to them, so that tomorrow and the day after they would not repent, and will fulfil their duties willingly.

The matters that are being pursued by this congress are absolutely weighty and significant; the unification of the hearts and minds of all tagalogs (*) through one strict oath, so that in this unity, they may be empowered to demolish the thick veil that blinds the mind, and to discover the true path of Rightness and Light.

(*) The word tagalog signifies all who have been raised in this Archipelago; that is, even visayans, ilokos, kapangpangans, etc., are tagalog as well.

Here one of the foremost edicts is genuine love for the land where one was raised and complete cooperation with each other.

Poor, rich, ignorant or educated, all here are equal and true brethren.

Once anyone becomes disruptive here, he shall be forced to renounce the careless behaviour, and submit to the authority of the sacred commands of the congress.

All acts contrary to nobility and decency are detested here; this is why with regard to these matters the life of anyone who desires to join this congress is subject to assiduous reporting.

178 If the purpose of the entrant is to merely gain information or secrets, or benefits to his own person, or to identify those who are here in order to sell them for a handful of money, he should not continue, because here, one’s mere intentions are known by the many who are watching him, and who readily administer an effective remedy suited for traitors.

Here it is actions that are sought and actions that are observed; so he who will do nothing, though skilled in speech, should not apply.

It is also to be understood, that the obligations being fulfilled by all who are adopted by this congress are considerably weighty, especially if one remembers that it will be unavoidable that that there is no wilful neglect that will not be met with terrible punishments.

If the desire of the entrant is to receive financial aid or the comfort, ease, and pampered tranquility of the body, he should not continue, because heavy responsibilities will be encountered, such as helping the oppressed and an aggressive prosecution of wickedness; these matters come to a troubled life.

It is not unknown to anyone all the misfortunes that threaten tagalogs who can think of these sacred matters (or not), and the sufferings meted out by the reigning cruelty, crookedness and wickedness.

It is also understood by everyone the need for money, which for now is one of the primary strengths that can be relied on to bring everything to fruition; in this matter, the absolute fulfilment of dues is needed; a peso upon entry and every month thereafter.

Information about this fund is reported by the treasurer periodically, apart from being accessible to anyone who inquires at anytime he wishes. This fund cannot be moved if not agreed on by the majority.

179 All that has been recounted here must be reflected on and calmly contemplated because these cannot be accomplished or endured without a genuine love for the native soil, and genuine zeal to support Well-being.

And for the further consideration of the mind and conscience, read the following

TEACHINGS OF THE CONGRESS OF THE C. O. L.

A life that is not spent on a great and holy cause is a tree without shade, if not a poisonous weed.

A good deed that comes from personal ambition, and not from a genuine desire to bestow beneficences, is not kindness.

True piety is charity, love for one’s fellow human being, and the measurement of one’s every act, deed and speech according to true Rightness.

Whether black or white the colour of their skin, all people are equal; it will happen that one is surpassed in learning, in riches, in beauty… ; but not surpassed in humanity.

One who has an inner nobility values honour over ambition; one who has a debased character values ambition over honour.

For a person with shame, his word is an oath.

Do not waste time; riches that are lost will be restored; but time that has passed will not pass again.

Defend the oppressed, and struggle against the oppressor.

The intelligent person is careful with every utterance, and learns to keep in confidence what needs to be kept secret.

180 On the thorny path of life, the man guides his spouse and children; if he who guides moves towards wickedness, the destination of the guided is wickedness as well.

Do not look on woman as a mere thing for amusement, but as a partner and comfort in the hardships of this life; give complete deference to her delicateness, and remember the mother from whom you emerged and who nursed you in infancy.

What you do not want to be done to your spouse, child or sibling, do not do to the spouse, child and sibling of another.

Human dignity is not in being a king, not in the sharpness of a nose, or whiteness of face, not in being a priestly VICAR OF GOD, not in a high station on the surface of the earth; the pure and genuinely worthy person, even if raised in a forest and comprehending only his own language, is he who has a good character, has integrity of speech, has a good name and honour; who won’t allow himself to be oppressed and to partake in oppressing; who knows how to empathise and to care for the land of his growth.

When these principles disseminate and the sun of precious Freedom brilliantly rises upon this abject Archipelago, and bursts its sweet light on a people united as one race and one family in endless joy, the lives spent, the weariness, and the endured hardships will be more than recompensed.

If all this is fathomed by he who desires to apply and thinks that he can fulfil the duties, he can register his intention in the following.

TO THE TRIBUNAL OF ______

I AM ______

A PERSON RAISED IN THE TOWN OF ______

DISTRICT OF ______MY AGE IS ______

181 YEARS, MY LIVELIHOOD______

STATUS ______AND RESIDING AT ______STREET OF ______

From my understanding with complete soundness of mind, of the objectives and principles, that are made known by the CONGRESS of the C. O. L., it is my will’s desire to join here.

In these matters, I implore with great respect that I be deemed worthy to be received and counted as one of the children of the congress: and therefore promise to fulfil and to submit to the doctrines and Laws obeyed herein.

______the ______of the month of

______of the year 189___.

Paid entry due.

THE TREASURER.

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