(SPOT.ph) It is said that precolonial gender identity was fluid. Our babaylans go beyond the norms of gender expression, our deities may have had queer representation, and even our Tagalog pronouns don't follow the binary of gender identity. Unfortunately, our long history of colonization did not only make us forget these concepts of our ancestors, but also destroyed proof of these beliefs and habits they once had.
Much of the traditional knowledge we still have were either pieced together by early Filipinos or kept by the indigenous communities that have passed this sacred wisdom from one generation to another. Recovering our native understanding of gender might help us appreciate human diversity. This intuition is not lost, despite years of generational trauma; it just needs to be unearthed. Many of the things I will write in this essay are things you might already know but have forgotten—and so it’s time for you to remember.
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In the Boxer Codex, an ancient illustrated manuscript written by early explorers who encountered our ancestors, precolonial Tagalog priests were described as flamboyant and woman-like in their attire, appearance, and behavior. These people were revered as religious leaders and keepers of wisdom. They communed with spirits and gods.
Sexuality in Philippine Mythology
Our pantheon of divinities may have also had queer representation in the supposed romance between Bulan, the moon god; and Sidapa, the god of death. This is a motif in modern fiction—that is, it’s unlikely that we’d be able to find any actual documented story from the past about it. However, the function of mythology is to serve the psychic needs of a community. The presence of thousands of deities across the archipelago can be explained by the fact that each household had its own set of gods. So when people with multiple household gods came together as a community, each one contributed to the growing pantheon. There were anitos of the hunt and of voyages across the sea, anitos who protected homes and mountains. There is no reason for the collective of gods to be limited to the needs of precolonial peoples; if the modern Filipino needs a queer god, then that would only add to our rich multi-ethnic mythology. We can create new stories while also honoring the stories of the past.
Gender Identity in Local Languages
Then there's Tagalog, which—as a language—seems to be relatively gender-neutral. We say "siya" when referring to another person. "Asawa" can be either husband or wife; and "kapatid" can refer to either a brother or sister.
There are, however, foreign influences on our language, particularly in the use of either -o or -a when referring to the roles people play in society. Naturally, what follows might be the question of whether the word "Filipino" is gendered, thus the emergence of the term "Filipinx." This effectively replaces the gendered -o and -a with a more gender-neutral -x, which might be influenced largely by a Western form of gender politics. To be clear, their concern may be valid, but it must also be placed within the context of the society they live in.
We can point out that the word "Filipino" is itself a colonial term, with "Philippines" (or "Felipinas") literally meaning "Land of Philip II." It would be difficult to ignore the influence of colonialism on indigenous perceptions of gender. And while colonialism may have introduced foreign gender dynamics to the native consciousness, using the term "Filipinx" might be—though inadvertently—doing the same thing: forcing a Western term that doesn’t seem to be very useful in local discourse. After all, it didn’t seem to emerge from the local community. Of course, it’s not entirely useless—those who use the term "Filipinx" may be doing so as a reaction to history and the society they live in, as well as a way to reclaim cultural identity.
Merging these discussions on myths and language now, we can get a glimpse of our attitudes towards gender by looking at how we perceive god. The early Tagalogs believed in a creator deity, Bathala. The phrase "Bahala na" came from this name, and so when we say "Bahala na," we are also saying, "Let God handle it!" This phrase is usually associated with procrastination and resignation, but it can also strengthen resolve when faced with obstacles. If we take apart the word "bahala," we are left with three syllables: BA, HA, and LA. BA is the first syllable of babae (woman). In baybayin, the ancient writing script of the early Tagalogs, BA is represented by an upside-down heart, which also resembles breasts. LA is the first syllable of lalaki (man), which is represented by a phallic line. At first glance, this might suggest a gender binary informed by physical appearance, but we must also remember that HA is the first syllable of hangin (wind), which is usually taken to mean "spirit."
For example, when a person dies, we say "Kinuha ang kaniyang hininga" (Their breath was taken away). HA is represented by a wavy line. Thus, with HA connecting BA and LA, we can say that God (BA-HA-LA) encompasses all forms of humanity. The author Teresita Obusan said that this may also mean that God transcends the gender binary. BA-HA-LA may represent all of humanity while at the same time transcending it.
When I shared this concept of God’s gender with a small group, one of them who's an advocate for the local queer community said that this idea could also help us reclaim the term "bakla," which is often used in a derogatory manner (ex. "Bakla ka kasi!"). This word doesn’t seem to have any direct English translation. The thing about the English language is that it’s so precise that it makes clear distinctions about particular words—which is why, I suppose, they also have so many different labels to identify specific gender expressions or sexual orientations. Our local languages, however, have a lot of nuances. Words like "kilig" and "pakikidamdam" can be defined in English, but the English words don’t seem to have the same cultural weight. With the word "bakla," we know that it implies many things: it encompasses sexual orientations, gender expressions, as well as personal qualities regardless of orientation (e.g. "babaeng bakla").
We can take apart the word "bakla" in the same way we took apart "bahala." BA for babae, LA for lalaki. The K in the middle is represented in baybayin as two wavy lines connected by a vertical line. We can recall that a wavy line is HA, or spirit. Two HAs are connected by a line to form K or KA, and we see this represented in various words that represent relationships: kapatid (sibling), kaibigan (friend), etc. We can imply then that the syllable KA represents sharing. If we look at the word "kaibigan," for example, we can take it apart to reveal KA (sharing) and "ibigan" (the act of loving). Thus, kaibigan could mean "sharing in the act of loving." How we reclaim the word "bakla" could be by recalling the original role of those who flaunted the colonizer’s idea of binary gender: they were shamans, in touch with their inner divinity.
The thing is, you already know all of this. Somewhere within you, in the cold embrace of the collective unconscious, where the thick, ancient roots of culture are buried deep, lies dormant a mythic memory of the world. It’s a memory of humankind’s emergence from the cosmic bamboo, not as something placed here from some other foreign universe, but as something that grew from the divine ground. It's always good to remember.
Carl Lorenz Cervantes is a writer and researcher whose essays have been published in academic journals, anthologies, and online magazines. As someone within the field of psychology, his interests lie in the paranormal and spiritual, particularly as they are expressed through culture. He shares his research on Instagram @sikodiwa.
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