Critical Perspectives on Ilokano and Amianan Studies

Critical Perspectives on Ilokano and Amianan Studies, Final Version

Aurelio S. Agcaoili, University of Hawai`i at Manoa

*First presented as a conference paper, 2nd Nakem International Conference, MMSU Batac, May 25-28, 2007.

The paper proposes perspectives and paradigms through which Ilokano and Amianan Studies (IAS) could be drawn up as a mode of knowledge critically reflecting the varying experiences of the peoples of Ilocos and Northwestern Luzon, this latter place made up of various linguistic and cultural experiences but shares Ilokano as its lingua franca in public life and in governance. Arguing from the framework that a real, genuine, and liberating studies on the Philippines cannot come from a hegemonic position provided in a two-tiered way by the “Englishization” and “Tagalogization” of Philippine national and communal experience, the paper sets to put together some arguments for the urgency of Ilokano and Amianan studies as an antidote to the systemic erasures effected by a ‘centrist’ nationalism, neocolonization, and globalization. These forces have stifled the growth of creativity from the various cultures and languages of the Philippines. Various perspectives—philosophical, cultural, linguistic, and epistemological—will be used to generate the argument needed to advance the claim that studies about the Philippines cannot afford to be a totalizing political exercise in the name of the Philippine nation and Philippine nationalism without at the same time scrutinizing the linguistic, epistemic, and cultural effects of such a totalizing exercise.

Philippine Studies as a Radical Perspective

There are several ways by which we can look at Philippine Studies (PS) as a paradigm of knowledge, with the concept of paradigm here used following the Kuhnian second sense of paradigm “as shared examples” (1970: 187) or “exemplary past achievements” (1970: 175). What we have here is that even with Blumentritt’s ethnolinguistic excursus and that of Jose Rizal, we can only have some sort of “Pilipinolohiya” (“Pilipino + lohiya”) that was aimed, at best, to look at the universe of Filipinos as colonial exhibits against oppression; or colonial trophies, with the stress on the “barbarism” and “savagery” of a people as in the St. Louis Fair of 1904 in Missouri complete with villages and peoples imported from the conquered Philippine Islands (cf. two films, “Savage Acts” and “Bontoc Eulogy”); or that idea of the search for origin, some kind of a genealogy to spite the colonizers’ aim of ‘civilizing’ us, as in the claim of Rizal that the people of the Philippines come from the Malay race (Azurin 1995: 9). Such slanted aims of Philippine Studies as a mode of knowledge, and as understood in the past, do not warrant a new model of Philippine Studies that we are trying to evolve today. With the University of the Philippines on the forefront for its conceptualization during the turbulent 60’s and 70’s and graduating many of the current scholars who can readily show the change in the cognitive frame being used in those two models of Philippine Studies, we now have a perspective of Philippine Studies that is both critical and committed—critical of the modes of producing and reproducing knowledge about the Philippines and committed as well to the production of a dynamic and continuing because always-exploratory knowledge of Philippine society, its people, its cultures, its languages, its politics, and its economic life.

The stress on the exploratory, tentative, and open-ended nature of knowledge resulting from this view of Philippine Studies is required by the admission of the interpretive nature of all human knowledge, with the recognition and admission at the same time of the mediating power of human language in all these forms of human knowledge.

For the interpretive view of human knowledge grounds itself with the urgent and expedient need to acknowledge that human knowledge, in all historical times, has always been marked by a certain historical ‘situatedness,’ by the requisites of time and place, by the requisites of actors and actions commingling and coming into a human enterprise but always understood, however tentatively, by the prevailing mode of human communication we call human language, thus, the human language that is a dialect, the language that is used in its ‘everydayness.’ Because it is the everyday language—the dialect—that speaks us, that speaks to us, that speaks with us, and to whom do we also speak about, speak to, speak with, and speak from. Our everyday understanding of the world is thus always-already a result of, and made possible by, this everyday language—thus, in fine, there is no everyday language opening up a world to everyday knowledge that is final, complete, immutable, incorruptible, unpolluted, and pure.

All these factors, when considered with intellectual integrity, helps us realize that Philippine Studies is not about essentialism and about absolutes, but about the desire—the rugso and the derrep—to get to have both a theoretical and practical basis of understanding the world, the self, and human experiences. The ground of the revolutionary is the need and the desire to keep on renewing our understanding of the world, with the renewal mandated by surprises and terrors of change, but always measured by our ability to come to terms with the constancy of that change, always on the ready to confront it, resist it, rework it, subdue it, or accept it. To understand the evolutionary frame in which Philippine Studies has gone through for the last 150 years or so, we can speak of a heuristics here, a broad segmentation defined by the requirements of social change: (a) a pre-revolutionary, pre-liberating model and (b) a liberating model.

In 1974, the University of the Philippines approved what it called the Doctor of Philosophy in Philippine Studies, a multidisciplinary graduate program, with the principal objective of “train(ing) students who are able to look at Philippine problems from a multidisciplinary point of view in response to the need of the Philippines for scholars trained along multidisciplinary lines (Bautista 1991: 24).”

From a formal perspective, the visionary direction taken by the UP at that crucial time in the 70’s indicates the maturation of the same radical and revolutionary ideas the 60’s fermented among the ranks of those who had the courage to say that there was something wrong with the country and that something had to be done. While this concerned the country, we must understand that this new way finds its roots and connection with the earlier revolutionary struggles of our people that included, among others, the need to break the colonial ties that bounded it with the colonizer, and, with the neo-colonizers.

IAS draws its energy and √©lan from this same revolutionary and radical tradition. The sporadic revolts from the Ilocos is not one among and of the Ilokanos alone, this we see clearly in William Henry Scott’s Ilocano Responses to American Aggression, 1900-1901 (1986) and in Resistance and Revolution in the Cordillera edited by Delfin Tolentino Jr. (1994) particularly Scott’s “Igorot Responses to American Aims: 1576-1986” and “Bontoc Uprising of 1881” and Fay Dumagat’s “The Role of Itneg (Tinggian) in 1896 Revolution.”

Here in these accounts and many others are historical, ideological, and liberating relationships among the various cultural communities and indigenous peoples of Amianan, who, bound by both the wind direction and by a culture they share with the earlier Y’ami/Ami/Yami peoples and enriched by Hindu, Buddhist, and Arabic culture they have come into an encounter with. Where then do we draw this concept of IAS in the context of the evolutionary developments of Philippine Studies, with its clearer and clearer direction towards knowledge that is liberating, with the idea of liberation from the very notion of what, in Ilokano, ‘wayawaya’ is all about?

The stress on the concept of wayawaya here is accidental and is traceable more to the acknowledgement of Ilokano as a lingua franca in these parts, with the idea of lingua franca tentatively removed from the colonizing intents of dominant languages. For the making of Ilokano as a lingua franca in Amianan is not a result of a legislative or an executive act, and if at all there is manipulation somewhere, these manipulations are not clearly intended but came in as a result of the exchange and diffusion of the varied ethos and languages, including the dynamic of commerce among the indigenous peoples in the Amianan.

For clearly, the Ilokanos are not better off economically from the other indigenous peoples in Amianan, with the people’s resources far more diminished than the IPs in these parts, which was why one of the main reasons for out-migration is clearly the Ilokanos’ need to clear a new land in order to survive, coax it to fertility and then own it, and then build a semblance of the community they have left behind, by, among others, naming that new land with the name of the community they left behind, thus, a ‘Kavintaran’ is not far off as a community somewhere in Nueva Vizcaya.

IAS, as a tentative formula for that knowledge that is evolving among the various peoples of the Amianan, is both a composite knowledge, and as knowledge that can find its way into rightful and ethical distinction between Ilokano Studies and Amianan Studies, with the latter able to (as in the case of Cordillera Studies), and in fact, branching into other forms of area and cultural studies. It is possible therefore to imagine, and to draw up—and ethically we ought to do so--‘Isabela Studies’, ‘Cagayan Valley Studies’, ‘Ivatan Studies’, all separate from Ilokano Studies, in a tentative way, but not separable from a bigger and broader view of ‘Amianan Studies’, with Amianan Studies part and parcel of Philippine Studies, when such a view is seen in a radical and critical way.

The problem with Philippine Studies, so far, is its Manila-centric view of everything about the Philippines, and with the emphasis on everything Philippine in terms of the construction of nation and nationalism, which that subtext that is never acknowledged but is giving shape and form to discourses about the Philippines: the core of such a discourse has been a sensibility based on an attitude and disposition of Tagalogism. Tagalogism, as it is, is a formulation of Philippine knowledge based on the experiences of the center of politics, economics, and culture, veritably, a Manila-view, privileged and entitled by all the social structures that are basically Tagalog in framework, orientation, and world view. This whole-scale Tagalogization of the Filipino mind, with the renaming of the national language into Filipino from Pilipino—which was from Tagalog—and giving it army and a navy and all forms of mass media exposure has preempted a broad view of Philippine knowledge—or knowledge about the Philippines—that is grounded on the reality of multiculturalism and multilingualism and on the ideal of cultural pluralism. The systemic exclusion of other forms—and other systems of knowledge of Filipinos who do not share the Tagalog language and culture—in the public sphere has rendered these knowledge systems and forms as virtually invisible and illegitimate, and has deprived them of the prestige that they deserve. Academic scholarships that have something to do with Philippine Studies remain fundamentally either English-mediated or Tagalog=P/Filipino elaborated, for the scholars and academic and power holders, and not for the masses. The only participation of the masses in such forms of knowledge is the one that makes them a spectacle on noontime television shows, with their multitude of miseries as exhibits, and the multipliable mercies of the elites and commerce men and their allies as neocolonial remedies.

The Philosophical Roots of Ilokano and Amianan Studies

There could be two strokes by which we can attempt to understand ‘knowledge’—or those things that we need to know and that we ought to know. These two strokes—one, a knowledge of the world as physical and material, and two, the knowledge of human beings, their society, and their relationships including their relationship to their universe—ground two huge approaches to the kind of understanding that we wish to relate with IAS. Gadamer (1970) suggests the intricate connection between ‘truth’ and ‘method’, with method somehow yielding, predictably, the kind of truth that we can expect. The relevance of this view of a heuristics of human knowledge that is two-pronged, depending on which method that knowledge follows, is that we are initially freed from the anxiety created by the absolutist claim to human knowledge and its truth by a philosophical attitude that holds that only science—and science here is meant the laboratory model of science—can tell us what the truth is all about because only science can show us the way to arriving at that ‘convenient’ because certain truth at the end through that elaborate technique of repeatability and predictability innate in its method.

There is a problem in this certitude of contemporary science, as it leaves behind one aspect that it does not recognize: that even in the laying down of a hypothesis—in the formulation of a ‘scientific’ problem, for example, there is already that built-in prejudice which may not be recognized as such by the one pursuing scientific knowledge. The recognition or non-recognition of the prejudice does not erase that built-in prejudice but becomes a haunting presence demanding recognition as part of the honesty and integrity of every ‘scientific’ work. The shanghaiing of contemporary science of the original notion of what science was from its epistemic roots is instructive: it tells us of the history of anxiety in the evolution of what could be deemed ‘certain’ human knowledge, what with a history of experimentation and argumentation among practicing scientists from the ancients until today. ‘Science’ coming from ‘scire’—to know—has been lost at the service of technique of repetition and prediction and precision.

The cleavage between what ‘science’ could be, as drawn from the model of physics, for instance, and from that lesser form of a ‘science’ in interpreting human societies, has lasted for a long time, gradually leading to more specialized forms of human knowledge that have their own forms of language, jargon, and even tactic. One way to heal this rift—and the seeming conflict and contradiction—is suggested by Gadamer when he proposed to view two models by which we look at what knowledge is by looking at what, in fact, are we looking. When knowledge is concerned with the physical universe, or the sciences of nature, Gadamer calls this the naturwissenschaften, or studies about nature or the physical universe. On the other hand, when knowledge is concerned with the other ‘nature’—human nature—(such as those of human beings and their societies and cultures and histories) he calls this the geisteswissenschaften, or knowledge of the spirit. This formulation, while not exactly novel, as this can be traced back to the notion of knowledge as ‘science’ as formulated by the Aristotelian school of thought and elaborated by the Thomists during the medieval period with their view of the ‘branches of knowledge’ depending on their object of inquiry, suggests to us the chasm existing between the material universe as an object of inquiry and the universe of the spirit.

We can learn from this distinction—and IAS has much to draw from it.

The broad view for IAS is to be able to explore the ways by which knowledge can be integrated again, put back to its productive form in order to instruct the people to trust again what they have got by realizing that what they have got is as legitimate as someone else’s claim about the world and about human societies. For instance, while there is that fundamental divide between botany and the Yogad language, an understanding of the ethno-botany of the Yogad people is always-already mediated by their very own language and not someone else’s. Thus the mediated power of the languages of the Amianan peoples cannot be overlooked nor can they be underestimated. This brings us to be impossibility of holding on to the logic of accepting hook-line-and-sinker the view that the only legitimate and prestigious way to understand an experience about the Philippines is via the mediation of national language which is nothing but the equation Tagalog=P/Filipino. The naturalization of the equation Tagalog=P/Filipino via the legal process that has more dimensions for exclusion than inclusion, and has catapulted the experience of the center of power at the expense of the experience of those far from that center is one intellectual poverty Philippine Studies must be ready to recognize, admit and not deny, and remedy in an effort to relate national knowledge with social justice.

What do these things imply and how to they all relate to the issue of IAS as a body of knowledge?

Simply put: the Ilocos is not separate from the larger terrain of the Amianan, both as a physical and geographic reality and more so, as a psychological territory of diffused experiences and a long memory of cultural and economic relationship. This simply means that the broader framework for Amianan Studies includes studies about the Ilocos, about the BIBAAK peoples (a term used more as a cultural organization in Honolulu and in San Diego: Benguet, Ifugao, Bontoc, Apayao, Abra, Kalinga), and about the peoples of Amianan that out-migrated or have gone to other places and evolved their own communities in these new lands they have settled in. In the end, the IAS is not simply about a local area of studies, but an area of studies that is beyond an area itself but includes those that speak to these and about these peoples and hoping that these peoples will in turn speak to and about IAS.

To evolve an IAS whose subject matter is clear—one that can faithfully speak to and about the peoples in the Amianan—is a challenge. Whether to separate Ilocos/Ilokano Studies from Amianan Studies is an intellectual exercise whose relevance at this time, is moot and academic. Some speculate of a continuum by dropping the conjunction ‘and’ and putting instead what they call a continuum marker, the dash (-), but all these acts of language policing, in the interest of ‘style’, are an attempt to obscure the ethical need to (a) critique the current mode of Philippine Studies and (b) invite/encourage the drawing up of other modes of studies on the Philippines by investing upon the vast possibilities of the languages and cultures of the excluded cultural groups of the country, the cultural groups that have not been served the ends of cultural and linguistic justice for a long time.

IAS and the Question of Cultural Pluralism

But to demand from the Amianan peoples the same sensitivity and sensibility does not come in conversely, as this comes with some epistemic duties based on, largely, the ability to get into epistemic metanoia—a change in consciousness—about what a liberating and critical and committed knowledge is all about.

For today, the records are coming in clearer: that so few of our peoples in Amianan have the courage to own up their cultures and languages, with the Ilokano people the number one of those who have the lack of wisdom to deny their Ilokanoness. The empirical data are coming in handy, and the accounting of our community activities can only come logically.

How many of the Ilokanos, for instance, have the courage to own up their language?

The answer to this is a kind of a chasm, a divide and rule thing, a consequence of the new mode of colonization all non-Tagalog peoples are going through at this time. The cyber forms of protests of this condition of exclusion are many, and the reflections of those excluded reveal how much has the national project to entitle one language at the exclusion of other languages has created so much cultural and linguistic inferiority among the people outside the center of power.

The challenge comes from the report of academics, from the ranks of public school teachers who say that their pupils and students no longer take pride in their being Ilokanos. Mabainda nga agilokano—they would be embarrassed to speak Ilokano—the teachers would say. This is a concrete report, as factual as one can get. We extend this same report to all the language and culture groups in Amianan—and we can include here the report of the migrant experiences of the peoples of Amianan abroad—and the results are fairly the same. And here, we include the teachers as well: mabainda met nga agilokano (they are also ashamed to speak Ilokano).

But a real problem comes in when we ask teachers how many of them—these teachers who are making the report—have had the boldness and daring to own up their Ilokanoness.

Indeed, how many of our teachers can speak our Ilokano language with flair and elegance, the educated and formal sophistication that demands a continuous reflection of the vast possibilities of the Ilokano language? How many of our teachers can ever speak the Ilokano language with pride, and with a full acknowledgement of the terrors and surprises the Ilokano language offers?

How many of the teachers in our ranks, can speak with pride, of the literary history of our people?

How many of the teachers can be seen reading Ilokano magazines without feeling insecure, ashamed, embarrassed, and inferior?

How many can speak with confidence and expertise, what our Ilokano writers writing in Ilokano, Tagalog, English, Spanish and many other languages are writing?

How many know Leona Florentino and her sorrows, her daring and her artistic way of owning up her own brand of feminism? How many know Ursula Villanueva? How many know Antonio Rubio? How many know Juan San Pedro Hidalgo Jr.?

How many know many of our hypervaluated writers writing not in Ilokano but in Tagalog and in English, and in a more remote past, in Spanish?

How many know of the Basi Revolt and its translation into a series of paintings, in panels, and displayed, in bad condition, at the Burgos Museum in Vigan?

How many know how our writers continue to plumb the Ilokano soul by plumbing his own soul as well? How many know of our indigenous peoples who, through their teaching and practice, have continued to make alive the traditions that are now threatened by the globalized and nationalized societies?

How many of our otherwise promising writers we are losing to other trades and industry because we do not read, because we do not take pride in the Ilokano work that we read if we ever read at all, and because we do not care whether the Ilokano and Amianan languages will ever survive and thrive in the next five years?

Many of us academics, teachers, educational leaders, cultural workers, and even government men and women are ignorant of so many things Ilokano and Amianan even if we are not supposed to be because we are supposed to be knowing better than the average man or woman on the street. History has given us this rare moral and political obligation, born of our special blessings, to become witnesses to the Ilokano and Amianan cultures and languages—to witness to its truth, to witness to its sense and meaning, to witness to its vast possibilities?

But how many among us, indeed, are taking this vocation to witness with truthfulness and courage?

How many of us can ever say with pride, that yes, I am an Ilokano scholar, and I know my European and American thinkers like Luce Irigaray and Toni Morrisson and I know my Michel Foucault and Hans-Georg Gadamer and Jurgen Habermas and Pablo Neruda and Virginia Woolf—and yet I know as well the critical works of our scholars? How many can name our writers from the Amianan, their meditations on war and conflict and struggle, and their excursus on freedom and democracy and social justice?

IAS and Multilingualism

How many have read Greg Laconsay’s translation into Ilokano the former President Ferdinand Marcos’ Today’s Revolution: Democracy, where in there, he translated into a beautiful Ilokano concept what ‘consciousness’—utob-nakem-- is all about?

How many know that more than100 years ago, Williams came up with a book on Ilokano grammar? How many know that there are many versions of the Christian Bible in Ilokano?

These itemization of what we know and what we do not know is an attempt at accounting and soul-searching. We can easily quote some obscure author in English.

Where would education begin and where would it end?

Are we to exempt our biologists here their ethical duty to not to know about our language, our people, and our culture?

Are we to exempt our educational leaders from not knowing about cultural and linguistic democracy and the cultural and linguistic genocide that is happening to our people at this time?

These issues about the Ilokanos are the same issues affecting the other two Ks in the Amianan: the Kordiliera and the valley of Kagayan. (I am using the K-form of the sounds in the areas of the Amianan for mnemonics: the Kailokuan, the Kordiliera, and the Katantanapan--they valleys--of Kagayan). This simply means that we ought to ask the same set of questions, and using the same measures, must also account the other IPs from Amianan.

But back to the issue of linguistic and cultural genocide and how it is affecting us as a people.

My clear take on this is this: that we must not allow this linguistic and cultural genocide to continue.

The message I am telegraphing is univocal and does not admit of other interpretation: we must put an end to all the forces that are making us as a mass-herd, as a people that has come to value forgetting, as a people that valorize truth-telling but believes that there is redemption in becoming a party to all this masquerade that is happening all around us.

While in other parts of the globe, there is that humble recognition of the failure of the past, in the disturbing and deadly consequences of ‘massifying’ people and making them speak and talk and see the world only in one and only one language, and in the systemic rectification of the errors of the past by making ‘official’ the other languages from their regions that deserve no less attention than the already ‘officialized’ one by virtue of giving citizenship to this language, we are here in this country trying to make good with the fascistic possibilities of an ideology that did not and will never make our minds and imagination productive, that ideology that has something to do with a singular and only a singular language that encapsulate all what we are.

The idea of a national language is an ideal; I have always claimed this in previous works, but not at the expense of perpetrating cultural and linguistic injustice against a people of a nation made up of various cultures and languages, virtually making this nation as a nation among nations. The idea of a national language ought to follow the spirit of the fundamental law of the land, a provision, that to me, need no further violation as we have already violated: (a) that this national language shall be called Filipino and (b) that this should be a product of all our existing languages. We need not say more on this, more so because of the errors of history against us.

The big trouble comes in when in the pursuit of the single linguistic symbol, the terrorizing meaning and effect of that one word, ‘single’, is masked off with faux unity and faux national culture and everything faux that attend to it. There is something wrong here and scholars must do two things: (a) help in the unmasking of these lies peddled to us in the last 70 years since President Manuel Quezon signed the law that made Tagalog as the basis of the national language, with its signing what presidential power can do to make language and culture leaders accommodating to a presidential wish to have Tagalog as the national language, and (b) permit, in the spirit of linguistic justice, a form of social justice, the evolving of a real, honest-to-goodness society that is premised on the promise and possibilities of cultural pluralism as a way of life. The account of Andrew Gonzalez on the social drama involving the accommodation that happened among the uninformed and ignorant Ilokano and Cebuano representatives in that deliberation on the question of the basis of the national language suggest to us what presidential power can do (cf. Gonzalez 1990), and the decades-old exclusion of many Filipinos in the public sphere of national language and national culture discourse.

I take issue with Tagalog as a national language. It is unconstitutional.

I take issue with Tagalog being used as a mask to account the idea that there is now the existence of a Philippine national language that is called, among others, a schizophrenic name P/Filipino by one academic at the University of the Philippines. It is not morally right and correct.

This linguistic and cultural schizophrenia must be diagnosed, named, and unmasked—and its prognosis stated: it is making a rapid genocide of our Ilokano culture, of our Ilokano language, of the languages and cultures of Amianan.

Now, where does Ilokano and Amianan Studies come in this linguistic and cultural struggle for freedom, for autonomy, and for authenticity?

The trouble with the isomorphism—this idea that Tagalog=P/Filipino—that has happened in Tagalog as a national language is that:

(a) it has made Tagalog as a triumphal language, marching and marching with the beat of victory, and gaining advocates and adherents, and a military and a navy and ever-ready to wage a war against all of us, we who speak differently, we who see the world differently;

(b) it has positioned Tagalog as the political and cultural and economic powerhouse, with more profits for movies, magazines, books, and other media when these are in Tagalog at the expense of the other languages, with more political power for academics and other cultural leaders who can speak Tagalog masked off as P/Filipino, with superiority claims for all other peoples who can speak it;

(c) it has made other languages inaccessible, more remote than ever, because their existence do not matter even if Tagalog advocates speak about a token attitude by including a word or two from language A, another two or three from language B, and another four or five from language C;

(d) it has made many Filipino linguists on the national language blind, preferring to wallow in the blessed thought that to maintain the isomorphism that Tagalog is equal to P/Filipino is a convenient position and a comfortable intellectual discourse; and

(e) it has made Tagalog literature as the canon for anything Philippine-- in poetics and the linguistically aesthetic, with Tagalog writing being used as a measure for many things, including the perks and pelf that go with Tagalog writing, and including the awarding of National Artists for Literature—practices that are not only tyrannical and undemocratic, but also anomalous in a country that acknowledges the blessings of diversity and multilingualism.

Conclusion: IAS as a Paradigm Shift

From this perspective, we see clearly the political and epistemic position of IAS. It is not going to allow knowledge that is microwavable but resists all forms of knowledge that offer convenience and comfort, but not critical enough to admit its fundamental lack of integrity and truthfulness.

It is not going to allow the repetition of lies, but will unmask these lies in an effort to forge a broader view of the universe and human experience by using a critical lens to account what makes truth and meaning matters.

In the end, we will speak here of an IAS that looks at the universe of the peoples of Amianan from a political, cultural, and economic perspective:

(a) a federated part of the country with full autonomy, with its lingua franca, with its politics that is grounded on a caring concern for the power of the people to define their own destinies in their own terms;

(b) an Amianan made up of diverse cultures and peoples and languages, but unified, in a certain way, by a lingua franca enriched by the languages of the various IPs; and

(c) an Amianan that becomes its own hub of investment and commerce, and that has the capability to trade, as in the past, with other nation-states, other federated communities of the Philippines, and among its IPs.

IAS is a whole new epistemology, a new vision, a new way of looking at things.

IAS is a door to liberation, to social redemption, and to the cultural affirmation of the people’s cultural and linguistic rights, their human rights.


Azurin, A. M., “Mga katiwalian sa ating kamalayan tungkol sa kaalamang bayan,” in L.Q. Santiago, ed. Mga Idea at Estilo. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1995, pp. 7-20.

Bautista, V. V. and R. Pe-Pua, ed. Pilipinolohiya: Kasaysayan, Pilosopiya at Pananaliksik. Quezon City: Kalikasan Press, 1991.

Gadamer, H-G. Truth and Method. Continuum, 1989.

Gonzalez, A.B. Language and Nationalism: The Philippine Experience Thus Far. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila UP, 1980.

Kuhn, T. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. second ed, enlarged. The University of Chicago Press, 1970.

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