“Sshhh… Keep Quiet and Don’t Go Under the Trees!”

BELIEF IN CRITICAL HOURS

NOTE: This is the third installment of my 1995 essay on folk beliefs associated with trees and forests that I sharpened a bit and retitled  “Of Fireflies and Forest Fairies” in the hope that its form and content, let alone its call for appreciating  indigenous knowledge systems and practices, would make for pleasant reading and not turn off visitors of http://isinay-bird.blogspot.com. Oh yes, if you have queries, complaints, suggestions, or whatever, you’re welcome anytime to prick my balloon via the comments section of this site or, if you are shy (like me), you can pour out some lines and send them to charlzcastro@gmail.com or charlz1951@yahoo.com.

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any rural communities in the Philippines consider certain times of the day – usually high noon and twilight – as sacred and/or critical. During such hours, it is taboo to go outdoors, climb a tree, build a fire in the fields, throw rocks in the thickets, or engage in vigorous activities like chopping wood. 

The belief is that spirits are active and prone to doing harm to human beings, especially gallivanting kids, during those particular hours.

I recall how in my boyhood days in an upstream barrio of Dupax del Sur, Nueva Vizcaya, the womenfolk often warned us hyper-kinetic boys from straying too far from the village lest the kumaw (called sipay or manunupot in Tagalog) would get us, put us inside the langgotse (rice sack), bring us to a rangtay (bridge) being constructed in the towns of Bambang or Bayombong downstream, and use our blood as atang (food offering) to the spirits guarding the area, so that the bridge won’t easily be washed out when the Me-et or the Magat River went berserk during heavy rains. 

For some time that scare-tactic worked. And so at least, many a bayyek (tadpole) in the carabao pond, many a tuwwato (dragonfly) along the mountain trail, many a bambannagaw (chameleon) by the riverside, and many a pirruka (bulbul) in the bignay or the samak tree have been spared from some naughty kids’ itchy hands and from their slingshots’ raring-for-action mode. The deep parts of the river that we called lipnok similarly became quiet for a while as no right-minded fellow would go take a dip there without the company of big uncles.

Pretty soon, however, we noticed that the rusty trucks that we suspected to be those of the kumaw were hauling gigantic lawaan and bagtikan logs – not naughty kids – from the blue forests further upstream of the barrio. And pretty soon it was open season again for us mango-munching, bird-hunting and river-loving lads.

But then someone revived stories of the marmarna (roving spirits) or the di makitkita (unseen beings) who roamed aplenty at high noon.  Some of my Isinay relatives talked of seeing tiny footprints  –  believed to be that of the dwarf and long-haired lampong   – on carabao trails in hilly areas where not so many kids go. As if on cue, a couple of mysterious deaths of people we knew – one under a bitnong tree, another in his kaingin – also started to go around. It didn’t take long, indeed, before we kids  avoided engaging in raucous outdoor play again or using our ubiquitous slingshots during the hours that Ilocanos call agmatuon (namalintur in Isinay; literally “time when the sun is directly overhead”). 

I’m not sure if such a belief was intentionally nurtured to ensure peaceful and worry-free noontime siesta for the Hispanized farm folk. I suspect however that the warnings about diurnally active ghosts were also meant to give mango-owning neighbors – when the fruits are in season -- time out in guarding their heavily laden trees from slingshot-happy kids on perpetual search for ripe fruits to target. 

In retrospect, I tend to believe now that in my childhood the belief has somehow helped extend the expiry dates of certain birds, reptiles, and other wilderness creatures. 

Holy Week Blues

Photo from

http://www.swpc.noaa.gov/primer/primer.html

I don’t know how it is in other rural communities in the Philippine archipelago, but at least in southern Nueva Vizcaya, the enforcement of  the “noontime curfew” was  at its strictest during cuaresma or Lenten season.  For, indeed, it would not be only us malleable adolescents who would observe the ngilin (literally “fasting and abstinence”) but also our basi-loving uncles. If at all they would go out, it would only be to bring the carabao to the river, not to the kaingin.

Thus, no matter how the gurgling song of the clear and cool river was luring us... no matter how sweet it would be to run after the grasshoppers sunning by the side of the carabao grazing field... no matter how seductive were the love calls of the alimuken (bleeding-heart pigeon) or the “come and get me if you can” shrieks of the kilyawan (oriole), it was “stay where you are” command for us. 

For a couple of hours or so, even our enemy tsakuk (Philippine coucal) would have peace taunting us uncircumcized boys with its “kukukukuk… supput… supput” song as the good boys among us would hang our slingshots by the post and do our share in husking the corn, shelling the peanuts, drying the tobacco leaves, baby-sitting kid sisters, squashing the fleas of the dog, or shooing away the neighbor’s hen and her dozen chicks from ruining the newly sown tomato seeds.

If we happened to be in the uma or in the taltalon, we would be expected to have taken the carabaos to their favorite mudhole or bamboo-shaded “parking lot” by then. Then we would join our old folks in the kalapaw (farm hut) to while away the witching hour often by nursing one’s leech bites or squeezing out the thorn of the kwantung (spiny amaranth) lodged in somebody else’s foot. 

More often than not, while doing our “foot surgery” or corn-husking chores , we would get a generous dose or litany of reminders (almost always in reference to our Olympian slingshot skills) the likes of but not limited to: 

“Why don’t you go after the uwak that raided the ripe papaya and banana, instead of the meatless, harmless and sweet-singing sitsitik? Why not pull the barsanga (a weed) or bain-bain (makahiya) off the upland rice patch in the uma instead of combing the hills all day for pugo nests? And why not learn how to make rama (fish aggregating bamboo-cum-river stone contraption) or weave pasiking (rattan backpack) instead of challenging the kids in the ballasiw (other side of the river) to a fight?”

The same curfew would be imposed at dusk when the night cicadas start to sing and it is time to inventory the chickens up in the tamarind or caimito trees and to kindle the dalikan (earthen stove) for supper. In case we needed to go out to urinate or to dump rubbish in the abandoned tupig pit, we would caution the spirits by saying “bari-bari…,” “kayu-kayu….” or “tabi-tabi…”

And when we would eat outdoors whether noon or dark, we would remember to invite the unseen beings who are guarding the place – river, big tree, mountain, farm – by saying “Mangantayo, apo…” (come, let’s eat)  or like what my grandfather himself had been mumbling, “Ne, bagiyo….” (hey, here’s your share). Failing to do such would invite the wrath of the guardian spirit and it would give you stomach ache or some such trouble.

In the Cordilleras

Prill-Brett (1986) relates a similar belief in critical hours among the Bontok Igorot: “There are designated times of the day, from 11 AM to noon and from 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM, that are believed to be dangerous for walking mountain trails. These designated times are dusk and the hottest part of the day, times when malevolent spirits that push people over the mountainsides are believed to be roaming around.”

Beliefs like that, Prill-Brett says, are based on the “assumption  that for activities there is a proper time and place to be observed and respected in order to be in harmony with the supernatural beings in the area.” The said belief is the Bontok’s way of structuring their relationships with the environment, since they perceive themselves to be sharing the land with these supernatural beings who hold them responsible for the stewardship of the land.

Looking back, it would appear now that many forest areas -- especially the Benguet pine (Pinus kesiya) remnants that go tinder-dry and fire-attractive in the sweltering months of March-May -- have been spared from despoliation as a positive result of the reprieve brought about by such belief in sacred and critical hours. 

If summed up over the years, those seemingly insignificant “idle times” or times spent doing nothing would have otherwise been used to engage in forms of spirit-harming activity like chopping down saleng trees for use in the fireplaces of Baguio and La Trinidad, or clearing runo-covered hillsides for growing cabbage, strawberry and snap beans.

(NEXT: Belief in Haunted Places. FORTHCOMING: Belief in Unfit or Disfavored Trees; What’s Next for Folk Beliefs?; Appendix: Isnegs Declare Lapat to Conserve Natural Resources)

Of Fireflies and Forest Fairies (Part 2)

PUTTING A HANDLE TO BELIEF SYSTEMS

Folk beliefs, like fireflies, are not only getting rare and elusive; the few that by dint of luck have weathered the ravages of time and the corrosive effects of ridicule by nonbelievers are also not “researcher friendly” now.

Let me take you down memory lane, nevertheless, as regards the  types of tree-associated or forest-related folk beliefs that used to be with us or at least within our reach when many of us were still small.

A few words of caution: 

Depending on which side of the forest you stand, some of them may be outright funny. Some ridiculous. Some are naïve, some even seemingly stupid.

And yet, some are also ingenious. Some are products of common sense. Some are very useful.

Some are wise and wonderful.

Such descriptions are, of course, not a helpful way to put a handle to belief systems. So I came up with five categories by which we could get to know them better.

First is belief in the Divine presence. Second is belief in sacred sites. Third is belief in critical hours. Fourth is belief in haunted places. And fifth is belief in unfit or disfavored trees.

Charlz Castro behind two tamarind trees believed to be haunted by residents in Sinagat (near Carolotan), Dupax del Sur, Nueva Vizcaya. [Photo taken in 2008 by Delia F. Castro]

1. BELIEF IN THE DIVINE PRESENCE

In many forest communities, the Divine is often seen as a pervasive, diffuse spirit present through the cosmos, the earth, and natural phenomena. This belief is common throughout Southeast Asia, particularly among tribal societies that have not yet been significantly “contaminated” by the intrusive teachings of the religious sects. The belief has led many people to view or perceive nature not as a raw material for human consumption to be manipulated in whatever way people choose but as an entity filled with spirit presence and, as such, must be respected.

For example, among the T’boli of Mindanao, McDonagh (1986) reports that “each river, tree or mountain has its own spirit.” Just like the American Indians of yesteryears, much of the T’boli religious ritual is thus geared to pleasing or appeasing such spirits. The people are intent on attracting the blessings of the good spirits and warding off destruction from the evil ones. “Cosmic phenomena like eclipses, and natural destructive phenomena like earthquakes and typhoons, are seen as punishment for encroaching on the domain of the spirits by altering the natural world significantly.” In such cases, even the simple matter of cutting down a tree demands the appropriate rituals to recognize the rights of the spirit world.

In a similar vein, June Prill-Brett (1986) tells that Bontok villagers view their Cordillera land as a gift from the entutong-cho (“the one in the highest”). To them land is the source of all life: “It belongs to no one or to everyone.” Thus they have reverence for it. “The luta (soil) is invoked during oath-swearing rituals (sapata) whenever a person is accused of a crime where there are no witnesses and the spirits of the dead are invoked to witness and punish the wrongdoer.”

Some years back, I happened to join a hiking trip to the second highest mountain of the Philippines, Mount Pulog in Kabayan, Benguet. In one tiny village on the way up, our group of Manila- and Baguio-based mountain enthusiasts (or ecotourists, if you may) was admonished by an elderly Kalanguya who spoke in Ilocano: “Mapankayu ngem pangngaasiyu ta dikayu aglalaaw.” (Go but please don’t make noise.) The mountain, the senior uplander explained, is home to the Igorot god Kabunian and desecrating it may bring untoward incidents to the climbers as well as to the adjoining upland villages.

In her book, Peasants in the Hills, Violeta Lopez-Gonzaga (1983) described why, unlike most migrant damuong (lowlanders) whose land-speculation and cattle ranching have pushed the indigenous people of Mindoro to take refuge in the remote in the remote uplands of the island, Buhid-Mangyan swidden cultivators have not been so keen on exploiting vast areas of Mindoro’s forest lands for their subsistence. According to her, the Buhid consider land as “mostly a free and unlimited good to be extracted from the forest, but they use it with restraint and deference to the complex of spiritual powers that traditionally dominate the Buhid’s universe.”

Among such spiritual forces is one that has human attributes, the afu-daga. This spirit is thought to have direct control of the Buhid world and his acts are manifest in physically observable phenomena such as soil erosion (believed to be the result of the spirit’s own swiddening activities) and earthquakes or floods (believed to be afu-daga’s expression of wrath over man’s failure to uphold the moral order). Though the afu-daga may be infuriated, the Buhid still conceive of him as their turok (literally “support post”), believed to be capable of dispensing good to people and withholding duwat, that is, anything that is bad, wicked, destructive, or upsetting the balance of the Buhid’s physical universe such as starvation, war, sickness, or death.

[NOTE: To align this essay’s inclusion in this Isinay Blogsite, we may add here that we Isinays in Dupax also had our share of belief in divine or spirit presence. For instance, we were wary of climbing old tamarind and starapple trees  if at night we would see them aglow with hundreds of fireflies (kulalanti in Ilocano; i^irung in Isinay) – we believed the trees were home to a banij (ghost) and the fireflies were its playmates.]

2. BELIEF IN SACRED SITES

This category is similar to the belief in Divine presence except that it refers more to places considered as taboo or considered off-limits to ordinary mortals and casual uses. Which means that the areas in question are utilized for special purposes or occasions only and unwarranted intrusions may invite the ire of lesser but still quite powerful spirits or deities dwelling in them.

June Prill-Brett (1986) says that among the Bontok, specific localities within the village territory are considered sacred. One is the papatayan (“where sacrifices are offered”). This is usually a group of pine trees above the village where rice cultivation rituals are performed on village rest days. The Bontoc elders believe the guardian spirits of the village who live in the papatayan communicate a prognosis on village welfare through the butchering of sacrificial animals and the attendant reading of their bile sacs and gall bladders. Cutting trees or even branches from this site, Prill-Brett says, is punishable by fines and supernatural sanction, the latter usually invoked.

Also located above the village, according to Prill-Brett, is a sacred grove called peray specifically intended for weather ceremonies. “Whenever storms hit the village with winds strong enough to damage rice crops, a ceremony is performed at this site by the village hereditary priest (pumapatay). This ceremony is believed to stop the strong winds and calm the storm.”

Prill-Brett adds that a third sacred grove is located above the entrance of the village, and this is for feast of merit and fertility (chuno), provided to the village by upper-ranking Bontoc families.

A similar belief in village guardian spirits exists in certain parts of Northeastern Thailand. Rathakette et al. (1985) wrote of the Thais’ belief in the existence of the phi pu ta, spirits that dwell in certain wooded areas. “It is considered taboo,” they say, “to exploit, modify, or remove anything from such sacred groves.”

Not even a leaf litter could be taken away and neither grazing nor hunting is permitted in forest areas with phi pu ta, Rathakette et al. say. “Ignoring the taboo invites supernatural punishment by ghosts and other nefarious deities, and disaster is believed to ensue. Unintentional breaking of the prohibition requires the guilty to expiate the moral crime by requesting a diviner to conduct special prayers and offerings to the spirit ancestors.”

Rathakette’s group says that prohibiting the exploitation of spirit-owned areas resulted in the preservation and protection of many undisturbed  patches  of forest vegetation in various parts of Northeastern Thailand.

In Mindoro, not only certain forest groves but also unusual tree formations and burial sites, frequently in the densest part of the forest, are rigorously  avoided both for swiddening and settlement by the Buhid Mangyan (Lopez-Gonzaga, 1983). Members of this indigenous cultural community believe that human encroachment on these areas would unleash the maleficent forces.

I once had the privilege in 1995 of conversing with Yaom Sumbad, one of the key actors in Violeta Lopez-Gonzaga’s book Peasants in the Hills. He confirmed that such practice of leaving burial sites and certain groves untouched  indeed exists not only among the Buhid but also among the other Mangyan groups in Mindoro.

“Ang libingang Mangyan ay sari-sari,” Yaom said in perfect Tagalog. “Merong ilalagay sa puno na di abot ng hayop at hinahayaang maagnas. Meron ding binabakuran. Sa mga Hanunoo, ililibing at pagkatapos ng anim na buwan ay huhukayin at dadalhin sa kuweba.” (Mangyan burial sites vary. There are those placed on trees that could not be reached by animals, and allowed to rot. Some are fenced. The Hanunoo bury their dead then dig them up after six months then transfer them in caves.)

The Buhid leader also revealed that sacred sites are not confined to forests. Forest spirits also dwell in springs, he said. “Ang paniniwala namin na taong-gubat, yung mga di nakikita nandun din sa bukal. Ang sabi ay huwag umihi o tumae sa bukal. At magpasintabi ka sa kanila. Tabi-tabi! Makikiraan….” (We forest dwellers believe that unseen beings also dwell in springs. They prohibit us from urinating or defecating on springs. If you go near, you have to ask their permission.  Say excuse me! Ask permission to pass.)

And what would happen if you show disrespect to such sacred sites? Yaom said: “Kung iihian o taehan mo ang mga ito, babalikan ka nila. Magkakasakit ang ari mo.” (If you pee or defecate on springs, the spirit guards will retaliate. Your sexual organ will get sick.) (Yaom Sumbad, personal communication, 1995)

Apart from wooded areas and springs, other sites are considered by indigenous people to have sacred or ethnically vital associations and are therefore left unmolested. These include mountain peaks, tribal hunting grounds,  places of worship, tribal land boundaries, and sites where sacrificial food and drink are offered to ancestor spirits.

In Barlig, Mountain Province, terrace farmers consider it bad practice to convert kaka-iw (ancestral woodlot) and family hunting grounds into payyu (terraced ricefields) no matter how fertile and suitable these areas are for growing rice (Delia Fiadchongan-Castro, pers. comm., 1995). This respect is the same as that accorded to family burial sites which are often located in steep slopes. This tradition of forest upkeep probably explains why until today this town on the slopes of Mount Amuyao is still the most forest-rich among all the towns of Mountain Province.

In Abra, the Banao, Gubang, and Mabaka tribal people practice an off-season for hunting, fishing and tree cutting in areas they call lapat. I was able to interview two Abrenian natives about this in 1995, Bernard Balansi and Jeremias Tiggangay. The lapat, they say, is part of the grieving ceremonies of the bereaved family of a village leader. During the burial, the family of the deceased will declare a portion of a forest or creek or river or hunting ground off-limits to users and  nobody would be allowed to cut timber, catch fish, gather food items, hunt wildlife.

Balansi and Tiggangay (pers. comm., 1995) said the lapat is an age-old tradition in Abra as well as in the adjoining province of Apayao meant to limit irresponsible use of forests and other natural resources. I failed to verify this, but I had the inkling that the more influential or popular the dead person is, the bigger the area to be declared as lapat would be, and the longer the prohibition would stay. (A more detailed description of this practice is found in Appendix 1.)

[NOTE: For this post, I hasten to add that when I was growing up, we outdoor-loving kids avoided certain patches of forest remnants, no matter how irresistible the calls of the birds in their branches were, and no matter how inviting were the ripe fruits of their anonas trees and sapang groves, if stories went around that tiny footprints – believed to be that of the malevolent lampong (dwarf) --  were seen in the area, or that a guy once became sick and crazy (nambilaw) when he didn’t listen to the warnings and went to gather firewood in the sacred site.]

(NEXT: Belief in Critical Hours; Belief in Haunted Places. FORTHCOMING: Belief in Unfit or Disfavored Trees; What’s Next for Folk Beliefs?; Appendix: Isnegs Declare Lapat to Conserve Natural Resources)

Of Fireflies and Forest Fairies (Part 1)

{Or Enchanted Trees, Sacred Groves and Forest Fairies: A Sampling

of Folk Beliefs Associated with Trees and Forests}

By CHARLES P. CASTRO

NOTE: This piece was originally written as a term paper on Environmental Communication at the UPLB Institute (now College) of Development Communication, then presented as a discussion paper in the Seminar-Workshop on the Application of Indigenous Knowledge Systems in Sustainable Upland Development held Oct. 17-19, 1995 at the UPLB College of Forestry, College, Laguna, Philippines. It was later published as a popular article in the Diliman Review, a quarterly journal (previously magazine) of the College of Arts and Letters, College of Social Sciences and Philosophy, and the College of Science in UP Diliman. At the time, I was serving as University Researcher at the UPLB Forestry Development Center and, on part-time basis, was taking graduate courses in Development Communication and Environmental Studies at the University of the Philippines Los Baños. I'm posting the essay here because it does not only say something about my Dupax childhood, it also puts on record my strong views about Nature and rural people. (The photo of fireflies amidst trees here was borrowed from http://www.firefly.org/firefly-pictures.html )

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WHEN WAS the last time you have seen fireflies?

Don’t look now but I started with this rhetorical question to plug on the idea that fireflies and folk beliefs have a number of things in common.

First is that we don’t see much of the two anymore.

In the case of fireflies, many bad things have happened to them – pollution in the air, for instance, then destruction of their habitat, disruption of their life cycles, and dwindling sources of whatever food it is that nurtures these insects.

As for folk beliefs, same problems – pollution by intrusive technology, destruction of the sites associated with their use, disruption of their fruitful existence by purveyors of miseducation, and diminishing number of nurturing believers and practitioners.

I also thought of fireflies because, just like much of our folk beliefs, they bring nostalgia. They evoke images of those sweet yesteryears when, yes, grass was green and roses were red and you and I were young and alive and there was beauty in the twinkling stars and paradise could be found underneath the friendly neighbor’s guava or mango trees.

When we get to see fireflies flickering and cavorting and swarming the way fireflies normally do atop some geriatric or flowering tamarind tree, we would believe among other things that they were the playmates of some invisible and supernatural friends. And, indeed, if you were alone and brave and in the middle of the night stared closely and long enough, the myriad of flickering tiny lights would morph into an evanescent yet quite distinct figure, the likes of the outline of a long-haired maiden clad in flowing white.

WHY THE CONCERN FOR FOLK BELIEFS

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HERE ARE still remnants of the notion that folk beliefs and related indigenous knowledge systems and practices (IKSPs) have no scientific basis. Many of us belittle them as nothing but superstition and stupid concoctions fit for gullible dwellers in areas that have not been sufficiently reached by evangelizers, educators, and modernization.

Fortunately, there are local as well as international agencies working in the environment and natural resources sector that are showing keen interest on IKSPs to which folk beliefs belong. For example, the Rio Declaration explicitly calls for their respect and recognition. If this development means anything, it could only be the fact that we’re now realizing the immense value of this erstwhile ignored treasure trove of wisdom in improving life on Planet Earth and in increasing the chances of humans themselves to survive.

Yet the growing concern for IKSPs may have come a little late. For one thing, these nuggets of wisdom are rapidly vanishing, and frittering away beyond our reach and far beyond the enjoyment of our children. In other words, IKSPs are going… going… going… just like, well, the fireflies that formed magical moments in the youthful years of many of us who have been blessed to live during that era when kids were not yet Nature-starved.

Don’t ask me why this snapshot  appears biased for indigenous systems. I have been foraging and ruminating on belief systems and traditional practices for well over a decade now, partly because of my inclinations as a leaf-lover. And partly due to my involvement in social forestry and upland development where IKSPs should never be ignored.

So far, my distillations include the following:

1. Belief systems are “windows” that we could use to review our history as a country that is well endowed with natural resources – and to mend our environmentally disruptive ways. For instance, they could indicate that their originators and earlier advocates, the early Filipinos, did have very deep respect and love for Mother Earth or Inang Kalikasan.

According to Celso Roque (a pioneer of environmentalism in the Philippines), earlier Filipinos – such as the Ifugaos and the Kalingas of the Cordillera, the Maranaws and the Tausogs of Mindanao, and the swidden cultures of Mindoro and Palawan – have developed systems of ecological adaptation to their environment, and that some of these successful systems are still extant in the Philippines. In a paper presented in the First Seminar on Philippine Environmentalism (jointly sponsored by the FDC, DENR and PCARRD in 1988), Roque said:

“These systems of use and management of natural resources were learned through empirical testing over centuries of trial and error. While most of these have no basis in theoretical science, their merits have been demonstrated by the stability of the ecosystems that they worked. However, the most important feature of these indigenous systems is their total integration with the political economy of the society. The system of use of natural resources has become an indistinguishable component of a seamless cultural fabric.” (Roque, 1988)

2. Indigenous knowledge systems are pathways we could try in our search for ways by which human beings could live in harmony with God’s Creation and not subdue or exploit Nature for the sake of short-term material growth. They may be one golden key towards finding solutions and powerful allies to minimize, retard, forestall, ward off, or even annihilate humanity’s emerging nightmares, ranging from widespread famine and starvation, balding hills and festering fields,  and loss of species and biodiversity, to dying lakes and drying rivers, to destruction of the ozone layer, to acid rain… etc.

The Washington-based Worldwatch Institute noted this earlier in its On the Brink of Extinction: Conserving the Diversity of Life. A snippet from the booklet:

“Indigenous people in every tropical forest region have developed traditions of forest restoration and management but such traditional practices have not yet been systematically examined as a basis for sustainable development by growing populations, let alone a promising tool for conservation. The loss of such cultural knowledge could prove as costly as the loss of plant or animal species.” (Wolf, 1987)

3. Indigenous knowledge systems are reminders that indeed ordinary folks are also capable of extraordinary ideas and, along with their hinterland homes, can no longer be considered as unattractive backseat passengers in nation-building. Moreover, their continued presence may just be a blessing and a reminder for us who may have forgotten that conscientious scientists, academicians, researchers, development workers, and policy-makers have much to learn from them.

As the World Conservation Strategy (IUCN, 1980) puts it:

“Rural communities often have profound and detailed knowledge of the ecosystems and species with which they are in contact, and effective ways of ensuring they are used sustainably. Even when a community is growing in numbers and is clearly destroying a part of its environment, it should not be assumed that all this knowledge has disappeared or become invalid, or that the traditional ways of regulating use have atrophied.”

4. As bodies of knowledge, cultural beliefs and practices are largely related to the stewardship of the natural environment, are highly adaptive for improving human-environment interactions, and often play critical roles in determining behavioral patterns that, in turn, affect, modify, and regulate many interactions within the human ecosystem.

In the words of George Lovelace, an anthropologist who helped reorient people-focused forestry programs at the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO):

“Belief systems help human societies understand the world in which they dwell as well as other worlds they may believe to exist, and help account for each society’s position and its members’ roles with respect to these worlds. Beliefs – and the ideas, emotions, and motivations that they generat – often serve as important stimuli for a wide range of human behavior that directly or indirectly affects the environment. Beliefs affect how humans position and organize themselves within, and with respect to, the landscape. They also affect human decisions to exploit, and how, when, and to what degrees these should be occupied or exploited.”

5. IKSPs are answers of rural people (including what some call “the barriotic folks” and the “Baroks and the Bartolas” in the boondocks) to: a) lack of government attention, b) dearth of extension workers, c) inaccessibility of development programs, d) scarcity of truly grassroots and remote-village-friendly civic organizations; and e) the Metro Manila-centric nature of many environmentalists.

……

(NEXT: Belief in the Divine Presence;  Belief in Sacred Sites. FORTHCOMING:  Belief in Critical Hours; Belief in Haunted Places; Belief in Unfit or Disfavored Trees; What’s Next for Folk Beliefs?; Appendix: Isnegs Declare Lapat to Conserve Natural Resources)

TO BE CONTINUED....