Ad-ding Us Up:Advertisements can tell so much about our society

Ad-ding Us Up:
Advertisements can tell so much about our society

F.V. Beup Jr

The thought hit me during my stay in Seoul, Korea. Not having much to do, sometimes I would watch and try catching the alien words on Korean television. For months I struggled to listen, hoping that I would naturally acquire the ear to discern words spoken by “real” Koreans. I made very little progress. I heard little and barely understood the spoken language, save for some words and sentences I learned at Seoul National University. Faced with this problem, it’s amazing how the mind makes up for the handicap by maximizing its potential to generate meanings from what the eyes see. It seemed to me that as my ears lost the ability to hear meaningful utterances, my eyes became keener, supplying my mind with plenty of visual information to process. And because my ear could not make out what I hear, watching TV became a guessing game. The most interesting shows (because they were easier to understand) were the ones with the least talk; the most boring ones were, naturally, the talk shows. When watching sitcoms I laughed at visual cues that seemed funny (to me). In soap operas, I focused on the faces of the actors and actresses: I like the way she turns that pretty head, Korean men are as pretty (sometimes prettier) than the women, My! Where do they get such fine complexion? The director sure knows how to portray sadness here, etc.

After weeks of watching TV, I thought that my effort at understanding Korean language was futile. I made sense of my surroundings visually, all my energy now concentrated on a singular goal: to understand Korean society in visual terms. It was then when I discovered the pleasures of watching television commercials. In Korea, television ads are not plugged in the middle of TV dramas, nor are they shown in breaks during newscasts. Advertisements comprise a whole segment, a major break before or after a show that is shown uninterrupted from beginning to end. The advertisements are quite a spectacle: the latest car from Hyundai, the widest and flattest TV screen from Samsung, Anycall cellular phones, a special refrigerator for kimchi, LG credit cards, Korean Air, Hite beer, cosmetics, computers—everything the mostly middle-class Koreans can buy. I note the near-absence of food commercials; and I was awed by the number of high-ticket items being sold onscreen. Who’s going to buy all these? Koreans must be really rich.

So, there, in front of the television, something dawned upon me, a revelation so obvious I should have known about it ages ago: TV ads speak more about our society than we care to notice. Philippine TV ads are composed mainly of food products and basic necessities—canned sardines, soy sauce, bath soap, detergent soap, toothpaste, shampoo, etc. Our necessities are simple, pointing to an economy that is barely out of subsistence level. Many items such as shampoo are sold in sachets, powder laundry soap in small packets, vinegar in budget packs, instant coffee in “stick” packets. The list goes on. What it says about Filipinos is that they are poor, that they can only afford something to last them for a day. It’s about survival, really. Getting by until the next pay-day.

Try going to Manila bay at the end of a storm and check out the garbage that is dumped on the shore. Plastics of all shapes and sizes, most of them meant to package something that small money can afford. Multiply that by the millions of plastic-throwing households and what you get is 7,107 islands floating on plastic. Manila itself owes much of its floods to plastic clogging the drainage system. If Manilans don’t die for want of food, they will soon drown in floods courtesy of the plastics they throw away.

It does not get any better. Judging by the number of infant milk formula advertisements on Philippine TV, you can be sure that there are still more plastic-throwing Filipinos being born every minute. Why else would they advertise milk formulas if we don’t like making babies? You see, TV ads say something about a country’s demographics, too. I’m not surprised why I did not see such kind of advertisements on Korean TV: Korea has falling birth rates. Either that or they breast-feed. And what do we feed our children? It’s all on TV: corn chips, potato chips, candies, canned sardines, instant noodles, pop soda. Ah, this is our concept of children’s paradise. And it’s all in those ads.

Maybe it’s not survival we Filipinos are really after. Just slow death.

Why We Need to Rewrite Philippine History

Why We Need To Rewrite Philippine History
(First Part)

As a teacher of History, I am perhaps better equipped than many people to have an informed opinion of Philippine society and what ails it. But of course, my analysis is not the only one out there, nor is it the most correct. Historians themselves do not share a common view of things, much less a perfect one; it is simply unlikely given their individualities, personal beliefs and convictions and different range of knowledge. G.R. Elton, a historian-philosopher, pointed this out when he said that history changes depending on how much knowledge and evidence you have at hand. The more you know, the more accurate your history becomes. But add to that your own interpretations of the data and you become—whatever profession you are in—a historian in your own right.

But what kind of historian? Here now lies the problem for it is at this point where ideas diverge, and where the amateur historians are sifted from the professionals. For Elton, at least, history must not be subordinated to one’s ideology or personal politics. One may interpret, but one must not suit history to his or her preconceived answers. Your facts and evidence must reign supreme. Eventually, they will yield the answers to the questions posed. So far, so good.
If only it were that simple.

Philippine history—the type taught in our colleges—provides a very good example of this type of problem where a particular framework is made to explain the flow of history. Take a look at the most popular textbooks that are currently used in Philippine schools. They mostly follow a framework that explains Philippine society in materialist terms, correctly pointing out its social, political and economic ills but sorely failing in its project, whether overt or covert, to change Philippine society hopefully for the better. By a “better” society I mean that the people who comprise it share a common goal of providing everyone the opportunity to realize their utmost potential by putting the interest of the greater majority above anything else. By implication, this means that personal agenda and competing ideologies must take the back seat and surrender to the dominant social and political values that the people freely find most acceptable and beneficial to their well-being.

Why has Philippine history—and the teaching of it—has failed to strengthen Philippine society into a “better” one is an interesting and a highly volatile topic. One has to go over the entire history of the country from pre-colonization to post-colonization in order to have a good grasp of the country’s present problems. One also has to face up to the established historians and their loyal followers who are revered by many as giants in their field, giants who are perhaps to be occasionally questioned but never challenged.

Filipino materialist historians in particular have made the themes of exploitation, oppression and class struggle as the focal points of Philippine history, depicting the foreign colonizers as the first oppressors who handed down their ill practices and ill-gotten privileges to their Filipino “cohorts” who insatiably perpetuated these practices down the line. This is fairly accurate interpretation, but one that is also fraught with dangers. For one, it has the strong tendency to discredit the legitimate efforts of the upper class to push for a free and equitable Philippine society. Secondly, it institutionalizes the victim mentality in the citizenry, making them prone to blaming others for the failures of their society. Not surprisingly, this type of history has left in its wake Filipino heroes divided along class lines, the Jose Rizal versus Andres Bonifacio hoopla being the most prominent example. To this very day, class division permeates nationalist discussions whether in the streets or in universities. Inevitably, it is easy for the themes to be exploited by ideologically-based groups in advancing their own interests to the detriment of the emergence of a united and strong nation. Like any other class-defined histories, this portrayal offers very little room for alternative solutions to social problems other than the final overthrow of the ruling class through violent means. Instead of helping crystallize the shared values that should serve as guide for the emergence of a “better” Philippine society, the present type of historical writing does very little to realize that goal.

(To be continued)

Why Are Filipinos Stressed-Out

Why Filipinos are Stressed Out

In a survey conducted in August 2006 by the Reader’s Digest and Nielsen Media Research, Filipinos are ranked as the most stressed-out people in Asia. The survey included seven countries—the Philippines, Hong Kong (for China), India, Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan and Thailand.

Really now?

If this is indeed true, I wonder what Filipinos are so stressed-out of. Is it the work? Is it their miserable condition? Sure, there are so many things that can give you stress in the Philippines. And since the news article did not explain the source of this stress, I might as well relate it to my own experience. Personally, I don’t think Filipinos are stressed-out because of work (although, I’m willing to concede, some indeed are). Filipinos are stressed-out because the quality of life in the Philippines, particularly in the urban areas, is simply bad. Living in Manila, for example, exposes you to numerous stressful conditions. Polluted air greets you from the moment you step onto the road. Sidewalks are very narrow, occupied by vendors, dumped with garbage, or even nonexistent. If you commute from home to work and vice-versa, your condition does not get any better. Bus stops don’t exist. And where they do, they are simply ignored. Commuters don’t line up to take a ride, nor do jeepneys and buses when they pick up passengers. At the loading stations barkers abound. They shout, nay, they “bark” at you as if you’re an idiot who needs to be told of your destination. Behind you, beside you—all over you—the jeepneys, tricycles, motorcycles, buses and cars assault you with incessant blowing of horns. They zoom past you, they spew black smoke at you. You are shoved. You are mobbed. Your pocket is picked. You’re nothing now but a wasted and abused worker, and you haven’t even reached your office yet. You are stressed-out.

The Lonely Japanese

Fernando V. Beup Jr.

Japanese Studies 100



THE LONELY JAPANESE
An Impression and Interpretation of Japan’s Representation of its Lonely Self

Every culture is unique. This is notwithstanding the fact that some cultures do share many things in common owing to the countries' geographical proximity or historical commonality. The reasons of a culture’s uniqueness are varied, but these can be more or less divided into two broad categories: natural and artificial. For our purpose, the natural causes of a country’s uniqueness will be defined as those that are inherent to the country that cannot be created nor altered through human intervention. These factors include a country’s geography, climate and, to some extent, racial homogeneity. On the other hand, artificial causes include those that are caused by humans themselves—factors such as cultural influences brought from outside of a people’s immediate geographical location. These may happen as a result of socialization, migration, or better yet, as a result of some historical accident of which contact with some foreign entities is a necessary antecedent. Natural causes are therefore necessary, while artificial causes are largely adoptive if not adaptive.
Japan is a country whose uniqueness is drawn from, among others, these two factors. But to define its uniqueness solely on these two can be problematic without elaboration because it does not offer us any new information about the subject. Hence, it would be more helpful to pinpoint some specific uniqueness of the Japanese so that a more meaningful discourse can be made that can lead to the better understanding of the people in relation to the factors mentioned above.
It is the purpose of this paper to point out one specific characteristic of the Japanese where the natural and artificial causes meet to produce a kind of cultural expression that most non-Japanese would find rather interesting or peculiar. The paper will deal mostly with impressions derived from such characteristic and will proffer interpretations based on empirical and theoretical knowledge. This characteristic, oftentimes present in Japanese cultural expression but largely overlooked, is loneliness.

The Geography of Loneliness

The Japanese are a lonely people. This is partly due to the fact that Japan is a country fairly isolated from mainland Asia to which it claims its cultural roots, China. From its east to its southwest is located the Pacific Ocean where powerful typhoons form to whip the country in summer, and to its north is the eastern tip of Russia where it shares much of the punishing cold of winter. To its immediate west the Korean peninsula, like a jealous brother, blocks Japan direct access to China. In a sense, Japan's relative distance from its acknowledged cultural motherland gives it a picture of an abandoned child constantly in peril of being quashed by climatic forces.
This is not to say, of course, that the Japanese are lonely in a sense that they are deprived of happiness. The loneliness that will be referred to from here on is a concept derived from a complex synthesis of geographical and conceptual isolation, encompassing physical and philosophical dimensions. The dynamics of proxemics spills over to many aspects of Japanese culture, as we shall soon see.
Foremost, Japan’s geographical distance from mainland Asia seems to have had a profound impact on the Japanese as it replicated itself in the recurring themes of loss and longing in Japanese culture. Indeed, its stories are replete with themes of separation, from the geisha who has to leave her family at a tender age, to the modern salaryman alienated from society by rapid industrialization. It appears then that this recurrent Japanese theme is one that puts the person in the center of things but at the same time distant or not quite a part of them: The geisha, in the pursuit of her profession as entertainer of the highest breeeding and caliber meant to “sell fantasy” to her clients must distance herself from the rest of society as if to sustain her world of make-believe; while the salaryman, after a long day at work, must retreat to his tiny abode and shut himself from the competitive world outside. The Japanese seems to stand all alone, ironically unassisted by even the Confucian emphasis on the group which he is almost always committed to uphold but in which he is oftentimes denied a right to be himself.
The paradoxical nature of the Japanese’s relation to his family and society— of being one with them and yet not belonging to them—tends to reinforce the drive to secure one’s roots if only through historical records, as if this can give him comfort and solace. Hence, the concept of ie or “household” and the importance given to family registry function not only to put one in his respective social class but more so because they provide the bases for one’s origins, a sense of belonging, of rootedness, not to the present that is within his grasp, but to the distant past.
The search for the Japanese past takes on an interesting twist when viewed in relation to the theme of loss and longing previously mentioned. For the Japanese, the forgotten past is a loss, and the search for his roots is an expression of longing for a home. Perhaps no other evidence of the desire of the Japanese to solve the puzzle of their origins can be stronger than the amount of work they put into anthropological research, most notably in the origins and practice of rice cultivation.

Rice as Self

The myth of Amatersu, the Sun Goddess from whom the Japanese believe themselves to have originated provides a very promising key to unlocking the mystery of their historical and cultural origins through a most ubiquitous commodity: rice.
Rice is believed by the Japanese to have been a gift from Amaterasu and is said to possess her spirit. This makes rice so vital to the Japanese that it even serves as an object of worship even to this day. The rites associated with the object has become a subject of study for Japanese anthropologists as rice becomes an important point of reference in tracing the roots of the Japanese. By being able to determine how rice reached and started to be cultivated in Japan, anthropologists hope to provide answers to questions on the history of the Japanese people.
This search for the Japanese roots through rice arouses curiousity when viewed in relation to the country’s long assertion of its uniqueness as incorporated in the Nihonjin ron. Through the Nihonjin ron, the Japanese articulate their uniqueness as a consequence of their having been descended from the Sun Goddess Amaterasu. Yet, as a consequence of their intrest in tracing their origins through rice which they theorize to have come from southern China, are the Japanese now ready to see their uniqueness not so much as a result of having been descended from Amaterasu as having been descended from a human ancestor? The longing of the Japanese for their past while at the same time asserting their uniqueness has been a paradox all along. The road to the cultural home that the Japanese have been longing for seems to be within sight; and home seems to inevitably lead to China.
How the scholars will give their verdict on the studies still remains to be seen, but certainly the theme of loss and longing is played out again as Japan tries to discover its true self by going back to its past. In other words, its objective seems to be to bridge the geographic and conceptual distance which historically separated it from mainland Asia and the rest of the world so that it will finally come to terms with its isolation and, ultimately, with the loneliness of being Japanese.

Loneliness as Cultural Expression

The Japanese story could easily have been lifted from a melodrama, a story of loss and longing for a home, only it is tempered by Confucian restraint and Buddhist stoicism. It is therefore not surprising that the Japanese language would possess words that tend to romanticize, more than to merely express, sadness or loneliness. The word sabashii serves as a good example. Sabashii has been described by Boye Lafayette De Mente as “an acute sense of loneliness, of an ‘ocean of nothingness,’ which was most common in the fall when the fading and falling of leaves was a powerful reminder of the fate of all things.”[1] Another word related to sabashii is shinmiri, a concept integrated into Japanese arts and translated into English as “serene sadness,” or “lonely tranquility.” De Mente further writes about this word:

The shinmiri concept in [Japanese] culture…became an essential ingredient in art, handicrafts, music and literature. In order to be truly Japanese and evoke expected feelings, a piece of art, a handicraft or a poem had to incorporate the essence of shinmiri.
Shinmiri remains a common colloquial term in modern-day Japan, regularly used to express the kind of intimate tranquility and sad contentment that is a key part of the atmosphere of a Japanese-style room overlooking a garden, the ocean, or a mountain ravine—especially on rainy days.[2]


It is at once obvious that the concepts of sabishii and shinmiri have direct references to nature or environment, unavoidably pointing to the cultural spaces created by the fusion of geography (necessary cause), and Buddhism and animist tradition of Japan (adoptive causes).
The feeling of loneliness that one gets when contemplating the postcards or “nature” calendars of Japan is not merely accidental but a product of the projection of the Japanese’s idea of their unique sensibilities. The image of tranquil mountains or quaint inns on the hillsides, the image of snow-capped mountains, of cherry blossoms or of autumn foliage as a bullet train “quietly” speeds through them create a sense of isolation, contemplation, even sorrow. This observation acquires greater significance when one relates the concept of loneliness to Japan's minimalist art where a simple point of interest is put in relation to the overall emptiness of a given space. Here, the subject is positioned in relative isolation from other components, consequently highlighting its "singleness" and creating a sense of identification of the observer with the subject. Minimalism is, in effect, an “aestheticization” of loneliness, if not a method of the observer of distancing himself through the subject so that he may see himself in isolation and in relation to his surroundings. Somehow the art of bonsai or dwarf trees may also have a bearing on the desire to see oneself in relation to one's natural surroundings. Where this is impossible to do in one's natural setting, the Japanese may have opted to reproduce nature in miniatures in an attempt to visualize himself in it.
Of course, some scholars hold different opinions on this. Edwin O. Reischauer, an eminent professor of Japanese history, is inclined to believe that the practice of miniaturization of trees may have to do with the preponderance of mountains in Japan which makes it imperative for the Japanese, who are ardent nature lovers, to replicate nature in small forms.[3]
Be that as it may, it does not diminish the fact that the Japanese always put themselves in intimate relation with their environment. They almost always appear as part of the landscape, most likely because the Japanese, being farmers, have always been a people closely tied to the land. For instance, a look at some pictures of their fishing villages would give the impression that these people would most likely come back to the comforts of their home after a fishing expedition as opposed to their Western counterparts who appear likely to venture far out into the sea. Hence, it appears as no coincidence that it would be the West that would spearhead the colonization of other lands, while Japan would sleep through most of the period of Western expansion.
Perhaps the sensitivity of the Japanese to their surroundings cannot be more evident than in their literature. The works of some of Japan’s most famous writers (i.e., Yasunari Kawabata and Yukio Mishima) are uniquely Japanese in their keen awareness of the most trivial details of nature and how these relate to the emotional and psychological states of their fictional characters.
The haiku poetry, remarkable for its creativeness and brevity, commonly deals with sudden sparks of illumination derived from the writer’s acute sensitivity to his surroundings. In this regard, the isolation of the Japanese tends to fuel the imaginative drive resulting in works that are distinctively lonely and melancholic, if not outstanding in their spatial economy and magnification of the minute.
For the Japanese, the faintest movements or gestures can reveal meanings—some kind of Freudian slips—that are otherwise insignificant to the inattentive. The noh theater is a good study regarding this subject, as well as the profession of the geisha whose part of the job it is to study and exercise the faintest nuances in her gestures as she serves tea and entertains her guest.

Loneliness and “Japonism”

It is obvious that there are distinctively Japanese manners of expression. As has been pointed out in the foregoing, isolation, loneliness, introspection and economy of spatial and material elements—all interrelated—are especially significant and cannot escape notice.
This distinctive character of Japanese culture was obviously and inevitably brought to the world’s attention with the “discovery” of Japan by the West and the country’s subsequent rise to economic and military power. The attention given to many things Japanese would result in the fusion of Japanese cultural elements particularly in the arts with foreign ones, and vice versa. This process of mixing Japanese elements with foreign ones has come to be known as Japonism, a term that, despite its reflexivity, implies more of cultural inspiration taken from Japan.
Japonism was first coined by the French to refer to the artistic inspiration taken from the Japanese. Hence, Japonism is at once a perception derived from either side of the fence: of the foreigners about the Japanese, and later, in reverse, of the Japanese about themselves. Japonism has been employed largely in the field of fashion and other arts, but it has been used in the field of literature as well. In an apparent display of Japonism in literature Snow Falling on Cedars, a novel that deals with Japanese immigrants in the United States presents a very good example. Here, Japanese sensibility and imagery has been incorporated into the work by its American author David Guterson. Obviously, as a tribute perhaps to the Japanese characters in the novel (who are incidentally ordinary farmers and fisher folks), Guterson has created a very atmospheric novel reminiscent of the winter images in Mishima’s Spring Snow.
The palpable coldness and sense of isolation in the novel is at once a reference to the bitter immigrant experience, but more than that it is an allusion to the image of the Japanese as cold, distant, and different—an image reinforced no doubt by the Japanese representation of themselves in their culture and arts as lonely, isolated, restrained. Hence, it is not surprising that the paperback edition of Snow Falling would picture a mountain covered with trees engulfed in fog—a lonely image most likely lifted from Japanese paintings if not from pictures of some distant Japanese countryside suffused with shinmiri atmosphere. Kazuo Ishiguro, a British writer of Japanese descent, comes extremely close to this “Japonist” writing style by the attendant placidness and picturesque-ness of his works, noticeable by merely looking at their titles: A Pale View of Hills and The Remains of the Day, among others.

Conclusion

So far it has been established that the Japanese are unique as a consequence of several factors, among them their environment and historical experience. They are unique but not in a sense that they are special or “chosen”, but because they have developed a distinctive way of expressing themselves. The Japanese appear to possess a remarkable talent of transforming the most ordinary thing into something significant by magnifying its simplicity and imbuing it with “life.” This may in part be attributed to the synthesis of its animist tradition and Zen Buddhism; and partly, this may also be attributed to its geographical distance from mainland Asia which prodded it to make the most of the cultural “residues” from China as it had been filtered through Korea. (Here, it is worth noting that the grandiosity, color and pomp of Chinese culture appear to become more and more subdued as it spreads eastward, with Japan receiving the least of this dispersion).
The impression that one can get from the Japanese experience is that they have always been in search of a figure to emulate, or to absorb as much as they can those which their geography had denied them access. This may perhaps explain why the Japanese have always been accused of being prodigious imitators. Nevertheless, the Japanese, by the very scarcity of cultural influences from outside, have remarkably created a distinctive character. The image of the abandoned child looms large in their cultural expression of loneliness, isolation, distance, stoicism and serenity. It is no wonder then why the geisha served an important purpose in ancient Japan; that is, to sell fantasy as if, even just for a moment, one can get away from the sadness and isolation of it all.
Indeed, the Japanese are an extremely lonely people, but instead of wallowing in that loneliness, they instead chose to accept it as a way of life, an inevitable fact that does not merit resistance. Loneliness has in fact been elevated by the Japanese into an art where it assumes a sublime and ethereal character.
Japan’s lonely self is of course present in all humankind, though it is largely seen as a negative force by most cultures: The Japanese’s sense of isolation and outlook about the precariousness of life is comparable to Nietszche’s idea of his existence as absurd; Jean Paul Sartre’s existentialist philosophy as elaborated in his Being and Nothingness meets its counterpart in Keiji Nishitari’s Religion and Nothingness, both of which deal with questions of faith, existence and the meaning of life; the moment of illumination in the Japanese haiku is no different from James Joyce’s “epiphanies.”
These parallels are not readily apparent, nor do they take a one-to-one correspondence with remarkable exactitude. Yet it is undeniable that the Japanese aestheticization of loneliness all points to the bigger and universal question of life, its origins and meanings. This is not in the least surprising as the representation of the Japanese of his lonely self has, in many ways, been a product of philosophy. One need only contemplate a Japanese Zen garden, or sit under the autumn foliage alone in order to make sense of Japanese loneliness and why they consider it “serene sadness.” For some cultures, this may appear to be a masochistic act, but one can come closer to understanding the concept when one has grasped the meaning of “bittersweet,” of what might and could have been, or when one has experienced standing on top of a mountain at dusk or dawn—in silence, when there is no word to describe the innermost thoughts and feelings. In other words, to be really alone with oneself.
There is a Japanese in every culture, yet it took only the Japanese to elevate these feelings, sentiments, and “absurdities” of life to the realm of the beautiful. As in most cultures, people are in constant search of the umbilical chord that connects them to their origins, but in the end they will all go back to the land, as a Japanese farmer would to his farm. Perhaps, as the Japanese continue to search for themselves in their past, it will become clearer to us why the Japanese have chosen to find beauty in what is otherwise painful and emotionally troubling to many. If only for this, the Japanese can be considered undeniably unique. This interesting facet of the Japanese deserves more attention and careful analysis in order to gain a better understanding of this fascinating people, and perhaps of ourselves. As finally everything will end in death, the world can take a lesson from the Japanese even if only in gracefully and beautifully surrendering to the grand plan with the heart of a samurai.

***

[1] Boye Lafayette De Mente, NTC’s Dictionary of Japan’s Cultural Code Words (Lincolnwood, Illinois: National Textbook Co., 1994), 310.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Edwin O. Reischauer, The Japanese ( Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 1981), 10.



SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

De Mente, Boye. 1994. NTC’s Dictionary of Japan’s Cultural Code Words. Lincolnwood, Ill.: National Textbook Co.

Guterson, David. 1995. Snow Falling on Cedars. New York: Vintage Books.

Ishiguro, Kazuo. 1990. A Pale View of Hills. New York: Vintage Books.

Kawabata, Yasunari, trans. by Edward M. Seidensticker. 1970. The Sound of the Mountain. New York: Knopf.

Mishima, Yukio, trans. by Michael Gallagher. 1968. Spring Snow. New York: Pocket Books.

Nishitari, Keiji, trans. by Jon Van Bragt. 1982. Religion and Nothingness. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Reischauer, Edwin O. 1981. The Japanese. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press.

Sartre, Jean Paul, trans. by Hazel E. Barnes. 1956. Being and Nothingness. New York: Philosophical Library.

The Korean Writing System

Fernando V. Beup, Jr.

History 151



The Korean Writing System: Its History and Role in the Rise of Korean Nationalism and Korea's Modernization


The study of languages and writing systems is a concern under the domains of linguistics. And, as most linguists would agree, a nation's sense of identity and consciousness are chiefly shaped by its language. This is best discerned from a language's ability to convey ideas, emotions and nuances that are unique to the culture where it belongs.
Languages possess certain powers by their ability to capture the wide range of a culture's spectrum of thought and feelings and convey these effectively. If the chief purpose of language is for communication, as indeed it is, then it must be able to communicate these things not only verbally but also through a set of symbols; hence, the necessity of a writing system.
The need for a writing system cannot be under-emphasized. It is well known that where people have the ability to read and write, the greater is the chance for them to achieve a high degree of development. The importance that modern society places on literacy is one clear proof that it is an indispensable tool for improving the lives of its people and advancing its level of development.
Obviously, a writing system makes it easier for people to communicate without the use of spoken language. The transmission of information, their multiplication as well as their storage can be tremendously enhanced only through the written word. It is beyond doubt that the ancient writings of the Egyptians and other ancient civilizations all served the purpose of communication, without which it would have been impossible for us to decipher the mysteries of the past.
Yet for all the languages man has studied and catalogued, no particular writing system in the world has ever been known to have been invented and implemented. Except, of course, for the writing system of Korea.
The Korean writing system, or hangul, stands as most unique in the world for being the only known writing system to possess a clear origin. Moreover, it is the only known writing system to have been developed for the special use of the Korean people with the purpose of bringing literacy down to the most common people. Since its adoption, hangul has been credited for its significant contribution to the development of Korea as well as in the shaping of a nation that is imbued with strong nationalism and great pride in its history.
It is the purpose of this paper to explore the origins and development of the Korean alphabet, the motivations for its invention and how it has been used through Korean history to ultimately contribute to the Koreans' sense of nationalism, pride, and rapid advance to modernization.
Like Japan, Korea's history and culture is strongly linked to China. This cultural link is obvious not only in the predominance of Confucianism and Buddhism in the said countries but also in the arts as well as in their languages. This is not to say, however, that Korean language and Chinese are the same. Gustaf John Rumstedt writes:
As the Koreans have been under Chinese cultural and political influence for thousands of years it is natural that, like the Japanese and the Annamese, they should have adopted the Chinese mode of writing… The Korean language lacks words for more abstract ideas, and from the oldest times many Chinese words and expressions have been borrowed. Of what the language earlier possessed much may have been lost during the passing of the centuries.[1]


It was not convenient, however, for the Koreans to use Chinese characters in writing Korean words. Not quite incidentally, the words represented in Chinese characters had to have two pronunciations--one in Korean, and the other in Chinese.[2] This fundamental difference, as well as the acknowledged complexity of the Chinese writing system obviously made it difficult for many Koreans to be literate. If many of them had to read and write, there must be a way for them to do so in a far easier way.
King Sejong of the Yi Dynasty recognized the difficulty of ordinary Koreans to write in Chinese. Sejong's concern about the Koreans’ difficulty in adopting China’s writing system was not without justification. It is said that prior to the introduction of hangul, many Koreans wrote in ordinary Chinese, and their methods indicated that it was difficult for them to use.[3] Obviously disturbed by this problem, Sejong commissioned in 1440 a team of scholars to devise a system of writing to express the Korean language which that he then promulgated in 1446. [4]
The implications of King Sejong's action are tremendously important. First, it showed his deep concern for his people to be able to participate in the interactions of society; and second, it conveyed his strong desire to free his people from the bondage of ignorance. Sejong's preface to Hunmin Jeongum, or "Correct Sounds for Teaching the Korean Language Properly to the People," on the promulgation of the Korean writing system in 1446 reveals his benevolent, liberal, independent and democratic mind:
The sounds of our language differ from those of Chinese and are not easily communicated by using Chinese graphs. Many among the ignorant, therefore, though they wish to express their sentiments in writing, have been unable to communicate. Considering this situation with compassion, I have newly devised twenty-eight letters. I wish only that the people will learn them easily and use them conveniently in their daily life. [5]

The simplicity of the completed Korean alphabet in combining Korean sounds was remarkable. So simple in fact was the system that in a postscript to King Sejong’s words, Chong Inji, an official who helped invent the alphabet, wrote that “a clever man can learn them in one morning while a dull man may take ten days to study them.” [6] The accuracy of its symbols in rendering the sounds of the Korean language and the ease by which it can be learned are one of makes hangul as perhaps the most scientific writing system in the world currently in use.[7]
As could be expected, such utter simplicity of hangul did not easily suit many of the learned class. Indeed, it did not gain much acceptance during its first years of existence. Many of those opposed to its use looked down on the new writing system, deeming it inferior to Chinese. Ch’oe Malli (a scholar-official), in a straightforward letter of opposition to the use of hangul, wrote:
It has been said that the barbarians are transformed only by means of adopting the Chinese ways; we have never heard of the Chinese ways being transformed by the barbarians. Historically, China has always regarded our country as the state that has maintained the virtuous customs bequeathed by the sage-king Kija and has viewed our literature, rituals, and music as similar to its own. Now, however, our country is devising a Korean script separately in order to discard the Chinese, and thus we are willingly reduced to the status of barbarians.
….This Korean script is nothing more than a novelty. It is harmful to learning and useless to the government. No matter how one looks at it, one cannot find any good in it…[8]

That King Sejong would be enthralled to devise a writing system that the educated class would find “barbaric” is curious, for Sejong himself belonged on top of this privileged class.
It is highly probable that Sejong’s resolve to bring literacy to his people may have gone beyond mere concern for the welfare of his people and may in fact have been the very first tangible expression of asserting Korea’s cultural achievements distinguishable from that of China. Indeed, Sejong was known to possess a strong sense of patriotism and independence and demonstrated this in his leadership. Among the things he envisioned during his reign was to strengthen the Korean monarchy and elevate its status and prestige to that of China’s.[9] In an apparent move to reinforce Korea's stature and uniqueness, Sejong also asked a scholar to write an essay which stated that Korean kings, just as their Chinese counterparts, also had been given the Mandate of Heaven.[10]
Despite the minimal success of hangul in its first few years of use, it began to be increasingly adopted by the Koreans as time went by. Partly responsible for its slow initial progress was due to domestic problems. In the years between 1450 and 1500, the progress of hangul suffered a setback as it was severely persecuted because of political turmoil during the reign of Yonsan-gun.[11]
Considered in Korean history as the country's most reprobate ruler, Yonsan-gun banned the use of hangul and ordered to search and destroy "everything and anything that could be found written in it."[12]
The progress of hangul was perhaps better realized than Sejong had hoped. But perhaps the most remarkable effect to have resulted from the use of hangul could not have made him any happier, for then the movement of the Korean script through the different periods of history indicated that his vision of a proud, culturally unique and independent Korea was inching closer to being realized. Slowly, hangul, more than just a simplified writing system meant to educate the people, was starting to take a life of its own as a major instrument for expressing cultural identity and nationalism. It is noted, for instance, that in the seventeenth century, following the two Japanese invasions of Korea from 1597, folk literature increased and hangul began to be used not only among ordinary people but also in the court and in the palace. During this time verses, sijo (a form of poetry), and novels came to be expressed in hangul as well. By the sixteenth century, hangul had become fixed as the Korean script and scholars began using it widely in composing lyrics and poems.[13]
Once this was achieved, the spread of hangul could no longer be denied nor stopped. By the eighteenth century, during the reigns of King Yonjo and King Chongjo, hangul began to achieve widespread use by the people, and literary works written in it were widely read by ordinary citizens and those belonging to the aristocracy. [14] Around this time, authorship also changed from the yangban or the upper class to those of lower social class.[15] To a significant extent, the widespread use of the Korean script indicated that many people had already become adapted to its use and that literacy had been enhanced so that by the latter half of the century when the West was starting to make its presence felt in Korea, the country was already ripe for further learning from the outside. Korea began to be stimulated to write on different fields of learning, and hangul began to be widely used in newspapers, magazines and textbooks. With the creation of the Office of Publication in 1883, lead type also came to be used for hangul. [16]
What King Sejong set about to bringing learning to the most ordinary Koreans had now been significantly realized. But the other real impact of hangul was just starting to work itself into the psyche of Koreans. With learning now at the beckon of everyone, it became inevitable that the Korean script now symbolized a crowning achievement of Korean culture and civilization, consequently bringing more pride and confidence in the country which had been culturally dependent on China for most of its history.
Such pride of the Koreans had been well known. It does not therefore come as a surprise that when it was annexed by Japan in 1910, it felt itself badly humiliated by "a nation that, in its [Korea] flattering opinion of itself, had previously looked down on Japan as backward…"[17]
Understandably, the occupation of Japan proved disastrous for the development of hangul and the Korean language as the Japanese exercised control on literary freedom and imposed their own language on the Korean people. Indeed, it was the Japanese language that was at the very core of the educational policy that Japan imposed on the country. [18] It was this oppressive government that would serve as a pivot for hangul and the Korean language to become an instrument and reference point, among others, from which Koreans would draw their nationalism and patriotism. Indeed, there are plenty of references in Korea's history that point to this. The impact of hangul and the Korean language on the Koreans' consciousness had now been made obvious:
When Korea was moving from the "new literature" into the era of modern literature…there was a proud awakening to the fact that Korea, while a member in good standing of the cultural sphere in which the Chinese written word held sway, had its own culture and its own script, which, even under oppressive Japanese rule, was, among other things, a symbol of nationalism (emphasis mine). [19]

Even prior to Japan's annexation of Korea, the Japanese aggression, it appears, had already prompted the Koreans to be more patriotic. It was during this period that Korean newspapers like The Independent, first founded in 1896, began writing in hangul alphabet providing news and simultaneously fighting for the preservation of Korea's independence. Other newspapers like the Capital Gazette (1898), published in mixed Chinese-hangul script, was at the forefront of the resistance against the Japanese aggression.
The years preceding and following the Japanese occupation saw many expressions of nationalism centered around hangul and the Korean language. It is acknowledged that the nationalistic ethos surrounding the enlightenment movement in the 1900's identified Korean language, along with Korean history, as essential ingredients to the movement's success.[20] In affirmation of this, some Koreans under the leadership of Chu- Si-gyong inaugurated in 1921 the Society for the Study of the Korean Language (renamed in 1937 as the Korean Language Society). Composed of Korean linguists, the organization popularized the use of hangul through its monthly journal, Hangul. It also contributed immensely in the standardization of the Korean alphabet's orthography and usage, the compilation of a dictionary of the Korean language, the standardization of spelling, and many others. The Society also enhanced the appreciation of Korean culture by setting a date to commemorate the day when the Korean alphabet was first promulgated.[21]
Not quite incidentally, the Japanese authorities branded the Korean Language Society a subversive group that was working for Korea's independence. As a result, twenty-nine of its members were arrested with a dozen of them convicted and sentenced.[22]
The pride and high regard the Korean Language Society had for hangul was unmistakable. The inaugural editorial of the Society's journal is evident of this:
At present when all fields of science, scholarship, and culture of the society are progressing daily, everything depends on the spoken and written word. We need not belabor how important and precious speech and scripts [hangul] are in our life and how indispensable they are every minute of the day. Every nation has its own speech and scripts, which its people love greatly.
We, the Koreans, have a fine speech and scripts. Our scripts, hangul in particular, are excellent; they have unchanging sounds, they look attractive, and they are easy to learn and use….
We are happy for the sake of the future of hangul that some forty years ago, Chu Sigyong, our great teacher, opened the right path which not a few disciples chose to follow with the full intention of working diligently for the promotion of hangul.[23]
………………………………………………………………………

The enthusiasm by which the Koreans embraced their language and system of writing had far-reaching consequences. As one clear example of its significant results, Andrew C. Nahm writes: "…The Korean language newspapers which appeared after 1919 and survived until 1940 contributed much to the increase of literacy and the expansion of the public awareness of Korea's social and economic ills and nationalistic cultural interests, particularly the struggle of the Koreans to preserve their own language (emphasis mine)."[24]
We can very well assume that there were numerous other positive results that came out of the Koreans' fervent support for their language, and that these can rightfully be attributed to King Sejong himself who, with his enlightened leadership, brought not only the hangul alphabet and literacy but, in so doing, also instilled pride and nationalism among his people.
As has been shown in this paper, the introduction of the Korean alphabet system has brought incalculable benefits to the people of Korea, foremost of which is the democratization of education. By giving the people the ability to read and write in their own language, knowledge became widespread and social awareness was enhanced. Yet, the legacy of hangul does not end there. With the coming of the Japanese, not only hangul and the Korean language served as a tool for communication; more than that, hangul served as a symbol of Korea as a nation with a unique culture that had to be protected, preserved and developed. In times of oppression, it became a symbol of defiance of a nation that looked back to its history and saw it as glorious and comparable to that of the ancient civilizations of its neighbors, particularly China. With the advent of this newfound confidence, the Koreans realized and strongly asserted their innate capability to develop and become great on their own, so that even if Japan was not defeated by the Allied Powers in World War II and driven out of Korea, it would have likely toppled the Japanese colonial government on its own given the intense nationalism and sense of independence its people possess.
To this day, Korea stands as a nation still very proud as it was thousands of years ago. It is as if its people still see the world in the eyes of King Sejong when he first thought of devising the Korean alphabet thinking that he could accomplish what then was thought of as insane and impossible--to digress from the cultural standards set by the ancient civilization of China. Though at first it seems to appear as a very simple plan that Sejong had for his kingdom, it cannot be denied that his independent way of thinking eventually paved the way for what future generations of Koreans would take in dealing with the world.
Indeed, the nature of criticisms Koreans hurl at what they perceive as foreign interference in their national affairs, particularly on the issue of Korea's unification, subtly show their independent mind and abhorrence for being dictated on by foreign powers.
Sejong may not have anticipated the numerous influences his leadership and alphabetic system would bring to different spheres of Korean society, but if he were alive today, he himself would be surprised at how far his genius has gone in terms of winning recognition from all over the world, reaping honors and accolades for his country and his people. On top of that, he would be surprised to know that the alphabet system that was once looked down on by the aristocratic class has proven to be a tremendous social leveler with its use in all levels of educational system and in just about any printed matter that one encounters in present-day Korea.
Today, hangul is widely acknowledged to be the world's most scientific system of writing with its ability to approximate just about any sound from any language. The ease with which it can be learned is well-known and its use has been recognized by the United Nations Education, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) for its role in fighting illiteracy. UNESCO has also created an award, the King Sejong Literacy Prize, for outstanding achievements in combating illiteracy.[25]
In Korea itself, hangul has been credited for making Korea as having one of the highest literacy rates in the world. In addition, the ease with which hangul can be adopted for the use of computers and other electronic equipment has enabled Koreans to be highly skilled in the realm of information technology. Today, Korea boasts as being the most wired country in the world,[26]with almost every household having access to the world wide web. This is an unsurpassed feat for any country and acquires special significance when viewed in consideration of the fact that English is known to be the lingua franca of information technology.
Hangul has also invaded the realm of the arts. In dance, typography, sculpture and calligraphy, Korean artists are continuously trying to explore the possibilities for the creative expression of the Korean script.[27] The fervor with which Koreans embrace and transform hangul reveals their strong attachment to this cultural icon. Indeed, the average Korean needs no reminding that theirs is the only writing system in the world that has ever been invented through a royal decree. Similarly, they are also quick to point out hangul's simplicity and accuracy.
From education to the fight for independence, from literary expression to digital and artistic transformations, hangul doubtlessly predominates in the Korean psyche. It is to Koreans a legacy that performs specific functions relative to their needs and aspirations. There is no doubt that this legacy has tremendously helped in shaping the consciousness of the Koreans, giving them a strong foundation on which they can turn to when they need confidence, inspiration, and tangible proof that Koreans can excel and are capable of accomplishing greater things.
Hangul has proven to the Korean people that it is possible to be independent from powerful countries. If it has been done with hangul in relation to Chinese, it can also be done in other realms like the arts, science, economy and technology. Modern Korea has demonstrated that great things are possible to accomplish, and they only needed one great example to set things in motion. Indeed, it has accomplished so much than perhaps King Sejong, its originator, had hoped for.
Cho Inji, one of the most trusted scholars of King Sejong, once wrote what today Koreans can only call very prophetic: "Although our country has existed in the eastern corner of the world for a long period of time, not until today has the great wisdom of cultivating a new enlightenment and completing its task been realized."[28]

***


[1] Gustaf John Rumstedt. A Korean Grammar (The Netherlands: Anthropological Publications, 1968), 1.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Jacob Chang –ui Kim. Pictorial Sino-Korean Characters: Fun with Hancha (Seoul: Hollym International Corp., 1982), 22.
[4] Bruce K Grant. A Guide to Korean Characters, 2nd revised ed. (Seoul: Hollym, 1982), p. 11.
[5]Peter H. Lee, ed. Sourcebook of Korean Civilization (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), 1:516-517.
[6] Lee, Ibid. 518.
[7] Grant, Ibid.
[8] Ibid. 519-520.
[9] Andrew C. Nahm. Korea: Tradition and Transformation (Western Michigan University: Hollym, 1988), 116.
[10] Ibid.
[11] Kim Jin-Pyong, "The Letterforms of Han'gul: It's Origin and Process of Transformation" in The Korean Language, The Korean National Commission for UNESCO, ed. (USA: Pace International Research, Inc., 1983), 87.
[12] Michael Keon, Korean Phoenix: A Nation from the Ashes (New Jersey: Prentice Hall International, 1977), 27.
[13] Kim, Ibid., 91-92.
[14] Ibid., 93.
[15] Ki-baik Lee, translated by Edward W. Wagner with Edward J. Shultz, A New History of Korea (Seoul: Ichokak Publishers, 1984), 238.
[16] Ibid., 95.
[17] Kim Donguk, "History of Korean Literature," in East Asian Cultural Studies Series, No. 20, translated by Leon Hurvitz (Tokyo: The Center for East Asian Cultural Studies, 1980), 290-291.
[18] P. Lee, Ibid., 334.
[19]Ibid., 329.
[20] Ibid., 2:414.
[21] Lee, A New History of Korea, 369.
[22] P. H. Lee, Sourcebook, 488.
[23] Ibid., 489.
[24] Nahm, Ibid., 300.
[25] Ministry of Culture and Tourism, Republic of Korea, The Korean Alphabet: Hangeul (Seoul: Ministry of Culture and Tourism, 1999), VHS format.
[26] Ibid.
[27] Ibid.
[28]P. H. Lee, Sourcebook, 1:518.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Grant, Bruce K. A Guide to Korean Characters, 2nd revised ed. Seoul: Hollym, 1982.

Keon, Michael. Korean Phoenix: A Nation from the Ashes. New Jersey: Prentice Hall International, 1977.

Kim, Donguk. "History of Korean Literature," in East Asian Cultural Studies Series, No. 20, translated by Leon Hurvitz. Tokyo: The Center for East Asian Cultural Studies, 1980), 290-291.

Kim, Jacob Chang –ui. Pictorial Sino-Korean Characters: Fun with Hancha. Seoul: Hollym International Corp., 1982.

Kim Jin-Pyong, "The Letterforms of Han'gul: It's Origin and Process of Transformation" in The Korean Language, The Korean National Commission for UNESCO, ed. USA: Pace International Research, Inc., 1983.

Lee, Ki-baik, translated by Edward W. Wagner with Edward J. Shultz. A New History of Korea Seoul: Ichokak Publishers, 1984.

Lee, Peter H., ed. Sourcebook of Korean Civilization. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

Ministry of Culture and Tourism, Republic of Korea, The Korean Alphabet: Hangeul. Seoul: Ministry of Culture and Tourism, 1999, VHS format.

(Book Review: The Making of a Nation)

Fernando V. Beup, Jr.
Kas 110

BOOK REVIEW: John N. Schumacher, S.J., The Making of a Nation: Essays on Nineteenth-Century Filipino Nationalism.
Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1991. 269 pages.


Nationalism and the Re-examination of the Filipino Self

The question of nationalism is at once sensational if not a volatile issue riddled with contradictions, paradoxes, and even doubts. Its volatility is perhaps best illustrated by the differing opinions each person has on the matter, and oftentimes it fires up emotions and even causes deep divisions among the people engaged in its discussion. Such power nationalism yields cannot be overemphasized especially in the Philippines where nationalism is a byword among politicians, academicians, students, and even the common people on the streets. What indeed is nationalism? Who and what sorts of people claim to be nationalistic? By what standards would one measure nationalism, if it could be measured at all? Can one actually build an entire nation on the mere concept of nationalism?
The collection of essays in John N. Schumacher’s The Making of a Nation provides a penetrating look into the many facets of nationalism—from its inspirations to its manifestations—and proffers explanations to the many questions about the powerful nature of the national spirit that gave birth to the Philippine Republic. Here Schumacher examines the growth of nationalistic fervor in the context of the 19th century Philippines when the country had been opened up to world trade and consequently ushered in a new era of intellectual flowering especially among the upper class of Philippine society.
In the process of shedding some insights on the development of national consciousness, Schumacher begins with the chapter, “The Historian’s Task in the Philippines,” which sets the overall tone and purpose of the book. The author’s clear purpose—made similarly explicit in the book’s introduction—is to provide a volume of essays meant to give Philippine historians (and students of history) various perspectives and better appreciation of the nationalist heritage that the heroes of the Philippine Revolution have bequeathed to the country in the hope that it would pave the way for national unity and the realization of the vision as articulated by the Revolution’s most celebrated hero, Jose Rizal.
The leading characters that comprised the Katipunan are put under scrutiny as regards their milieu, their writings and actions that serve as key to their aspiration of carving out a nation out of more than a thousand islands. Expectedly, the cast of characters that dot The Making are very familiar ones: Rizal, Burgos, del Pilar, Bonifacio, etc., pointing at once to the book’s concentration on the Filipino intelligentsia, and hence, to the acknowledgment of their “superior” role in the making of a nation. To this, Schumacher makes up by recognizing the need to look at history “from below” as proposed by Reynaldo Ileto. Yet it is the insights that Schumacher gives on the role of the ilustrados in the Revolution that make up much of the strength of the book. By examining the possible underlying motives and the events that had transpired during the formative years of the revolutionary movement, Schumacher arrives at highly convincing findings that the revolution itself would not have been complete, much less successful, without the invaluable contributions of the ilustrados. To them Schumacher credits the articulation of the ideas and aspirations that would otherwise have been dispersed and incoherent if left alone to the ordinary masses. To a considerable degree, the book has thus reassured us of the nobility of the heroes’ intentions even as they are continued to be subjected to intense criticisms from some quarters.
The collection of essays is, rightfully, as what the author describes it to be—“a kind of intellectual biography of…[the author’s] past thirty-five years of research into the birth of the Filipino nation.” The way the essays have been ordered does reveal the growth of the author’s comprehension of the nationalist movement, or, as Schumacher himslef puts it, a representation of his “evolving understanding of that nationalist movement and the dynamics of its development.”
The Making of a Nation can best be understood with a good background of Philippine history especially of the Spanish colonial period. And because a substantial number of book titles and references are mentioned in the essays, it would help to refer to these works as well for in-depth understanding of the issues tackled. Yet even without the benefit of prior knowledge of said works, the book can still be appreciated as an excellent overview of the different schools of thought dominating the issue of Filipino nationalism.
The book is especially commendable for revealing the nuances of nationalism especially because it puts under close scrutiny the documants, people and events that helped shape the national consciousness. Hence, it serves as a guide to the labyrinthine world of a country undergoing birth pains as it tries to resolve the questions of nationhood. The topics it discusses are varied, from Rizal to present-day readings of nationalist history; and they progress in such a way that one can get an ever wider view of the issue as one moves from one chapter to the last.
Most notably, the book allows itself to dawn upon the reader that nationalism is not merely a single idea of love for country but a complex—and oftentimes problematic—dynamics of events and personalities, motives and intentions, of means and ends. Nationalism manifests itself in different forms, and we give meaning to them according to the demands of our times. In this regard, nationalism is not neutral; and consequently, our general judgment of the persons behind any nationalist endeavor is inevitably colored by our personal, social, economic and even geographic position and circumstance.
It is by presenting to the Filipino reader the various readings of nationalism that one is moved to re-examine the reasons and the purpose by which he assumes and demonstrates his national cosciousness and identity. Perhaps it is by putting once more to the fore the importance of understanding what it means to be a Filipino that the book achieves its most noble purpose.

***

Currents of Philippine Nationalism

Fernando V. Beup Jr.
History 116



Currents of Philippine Nationalism: Critical Analyses of the Development of the Nationalist Thoughts that Shaped the Filipino Consciousness and National Discord


Introduction

It is an extremely arduous task to write about Philippine nationalism if one were to be ambitious in detailing each and every aspect of the issue. Nevertheless, the undertaking would be a tremendous help to the better understanding of what Philippine nationalism is.
This is not to say that there has been a lack of writings on the topic. Indeed, books and articles written on the subject are aplenty. Among the most notable ones that can provide a good introduction to the subject matter are John Schumacher's The Making of a Nation: Essays on Nineteenth-Century Filipino Nationalism and Romeo Cruz' Ang Pagkabuo ng Nasyonalismong Pilipino. There are many more to add to the two, each one offering a different, if albeit overlapping view; though some do offer fresh insights into the discourse of Filipino nationalism.
Perhaps to add one more to the already cacophonous views on the issue will not hurt, especially if it comes from a relatively younger generation far removed from the ones who wrote the bulk of literature on the topic. Every generation has its own views; and each view can be supposed to differ from the others, each having its own importance. Altogether, they would aid in the fair assessment of what Philippine nationalism has achieved, or what it aims to achieve as part of a collective agenda to strengthen the Filipinos' concept of nationhood and nationalism.
This paper will not set out to explain everything there is about the subject matter. Rather, it hopes to add one more view especially as regards the manner by which one can arrive at answers to fundamental questions of nationalism: Are Filipinos nationalistic? What are the factors that helped shape their national consciousness? In what context and levels has nationalism been absorbed and understood by the Filipinos? What problems, if ever, do these differences offer to the overall concept of nationhood and nationalism?
This paper will take a broad look at the major currents of Philippine nationalist thoughts in order to address the questions posed in the foregoing. It will do so by analyzing written materials related to the topic of inquiry and putting questions into them so as to give a different perspective on the issues concerned. Ultimately, this paper aims to arrive at a feasible approach to the understanding of the different currents of nationalism. In other words, to help give coherence to the apparently diverse, if not conflicting views on the matter.

Nationalism before History: Was Lapu-Lapu a Filipino?

A quick look at most books on Philippine history will give an impression that Philippine history only began after the Spaniards came to what then were a group of islands that was later to be known as the Philippines. This impression, as has been noted by other historians, stems from the fact that much emphasis has been accorded to the colonial period of history.[1] Understandably, this has been done on the pretext that the Philippines did not exist then as a country, being, as it was, a cluster of islands with no centralized form of government and without a unified goal. This emphasis on the coming of the Spaniards as the "beginning" of Philippine history has therefore made possible the bias to write Philippine history from this period. It is perhaps for this reason that Lapu-Lapu, the acknowledged assailant of Ferdinand Magellan is seen by some not as the first example of a Filipino nationalist who fought against Spanish incursions into his island territory citing that there was no nation (Philippines) yet to speak of at the time.[2] This reasoning demands careful consideration precisely because it provokes a controversial question as to whether Lapu-Lapu should at all merit a part in Philippine historiography on nationalism. By implication, it also puts into question the entire notion of nationalism as understood by many Filipinos of which the fight against foreign aggression or imperialism is a major ingredient with Lapu-Lapu as the first icon of that reaction.
This problem, no matter how seemingly trivial it appears, serves to demonstrate the fragility of the Filipino notion of nationalism not necessarily because the claim to the foregoing issue is absolutely valid but because it lays open to attack the foundation of the Filipino sense of belonging to his ancestors as imposed on him by a constricting historical time frame. Moreover, the issue begs other questions which only serve to further alienate the Filipino from his pre-Hispanic roots. One might for instance ask, Was Lapu-Lapu then not a Filipino? If not, then why bother to mention him at all in Philippine history, much less consider him a hero?--questions that inevitably lead to the question of identity and nationalism.

Time-space Factor in History: Who is a Nationalist--in Which Time?

Nevertheless, the above questions serve some purpose: they open up a new world of possibilities as regards the interpretation and evaluation of the nationalist consciousness of the Filipino. They allow him to locate himself in the time and context of events in which he developed his own consciousness and consequently his own notion of nationalism. It is here that the dynamics of "how", "why", "when" and "therefore" comes into play as he begins to question his being and identity.
Obviously, time and context have so much to do with the shaping of the consciousness of the people inevitably pointing to the non-static nature of nationalism. It can develop (or diminish) over time, even refashion itself in response to various social, political and economic forces.
Philippine nationalism itself did not come into being overnight, nor did it remain the same after the common objective of independence had been achieved from Spain. Indeed, it took on different forms, expressed in various ways, but nevertheless geared towards a better understanding of the Filipino identity and belongingness to one nation. The beginnings of the Philippine nation and nationalism, taking into account the coming of the West, suggests that these were essentially 'modern' constructs, meaning that they, in the words of Anthony D. Smith, "are purely modern phenomena, without roots in the past."[3]
Smith was of course merely putting in broad terms the modernist theories advanced by the likes of Eric Hobsbawm, Ernest Gellner, John Breuilly, etc. But what these modernist theories imply is that Lapu-Lapu's actuation does not fall in the category of a nationalist reaction for there was no political structure then existent which is assumed as a focal point in which social conflict, and hence, nationalism, could germinate.
The question about Lapu-Lapu being a Filipino or not reveals the weakness of some modernist theories noted by Smith as "too dismissive of the legacies of pre-modern ethnic and cultural ties."[4] In other words, the heroism of Lapu-Lapu and his being a Filipino cannot be totally dismissed in the light of the time-space factor already mentioned. In Philippine historiography, the attendant problem resurfaces in the use of the word "Filipinos" as opposed to "indios" depending on which period of Philippine history one is talking about. Consequently, this failure to locate oneself in the time-space continuum creates a problematic, if not a controversial issue if one talks about the "depth" or "nature" of one's nationalism especially in the absence of quantitative data to help proffer an explanation. Nevertheless, whether or not one has the instruments for measuring levels of nationalism, it can be assumed without much debate that nationalism permeates the consciousness in different levels or magnitude, the variables being one's experiences in relation to the time and context in which he lives.
Hence, for an ordinary Filipino not into the study of history, Lapu-Lapu not being a nationalist appears as an absurd proposition, indeed, much less if his being Filipino is questioned. In the light of the foregoing, therefore, it is important to take into consideration the time-space continuum of the person reflecting on his history.

Representations of Nationalism: Are Some More Filipinos than Others?


Teodoro Agoncillo dates the use of the "Filipino" to be in the late 1890's towards the end of the Spanish regime. Prior to that, "Filipinos" only referred to the insulares, or Spaniards born in the country.[5] Considering the "artificiality" of the collective name given to a geographically fragmented population, it is reasonable to assume that others most probably had not initially identified with the term "Filipino" as indicated by the way Andres Bonifacio referred to his followers as "Tagalog." In effect, Agoncillo may have a valid point in calling the issue a "decelerator" in Filipino nationalism.[6] This point further shows that in the process of consolidating as a nation and as a people, the Filipinos' sense of nationalism must have evolved differently at different times, only finding a common ground in the expression of grievances, and finally the overthrow, of the oppressive Spanish regime. Renato Constantino succinctly phrases this common thread thus: "The nation was born of the Revolution as much as the Revolution was the expression of the nation being born."[7]
It would be unwise however to say that Filipinos found their expression of nationalism in purely revolutionary terms. The ilustrados, particularly Jose Rizal, Graciano Lopez Jaena, etc. found their expression of nationalism essentially through assimilation and reforms while Emilio Aguinaldo and Andres Bonifacio were for independence through armed revolution. It should be pointed out, however, that though the nationalist consciousness was being formed differently, they were, in varying terms, complementary.

The Ilustrado-Katipunero Schism: of What Nationalist Tradition Are You?

The apparent difference between ilustrado and revolutionary nationalists was obviously the method by which they responded to the call of nationhood. Constantino tries to bridge the schism between the two by invoking the educational attainment of Bonifacio which Constantino saw to have synthesized the "theory" of the ilustrados with the "movement" of the Katipuneros.[8] John Schumacher likewise notes that Bonifacio must have indeed built on the ideas of Rizal as indicated by the parallels in their thoughts as expressed in Bonifacio's "Ang Dapat Mabatid ng mga Tagalog."[9] Whether the rest of Bonifacio's followers were able to meaningfully absorb the ilustrados' theory remains a big question, and Constantino's claim to synthesis may have held true only insofar as the Katipunan's leaders were concerned. It is likely that it did not penetrate deeply into the understanding of the rest of the people. Constantino betrays this possibility by remarking on Bonifacio and his companions' handicap by saying that they "were incapable of abstractions. Thus their writings voiced the raw ideas of the people."[10] He goes further by saying that "the ideas of Bonifacio did not have a solid ideological content. His was a primitive ideology based more or less on the dignity of man."[11]
The implication of this ilustrado-Katipunero schism is far-reaching: it set the stage for two major nationalist traditions to emerge, underscoring the differences in the way nationalism has been written, understood, discussed and practiced even in contemporary times.

The Ilustrado and Revolutionray Traditions: the Battle Still Rages

One of the major--perhaps the most prominent--traditions in the discourse of nationhood and nationalism is the one originated from the ilustrados as spearheaded by Jose Rizal. Reynaldo Ileto attributes much of this tradition's popularity to Filipino historians whose writings he describes as "a very subtle kind of elitism" (ilustrado).[12] Ileto cites the likes of Agoncillo, Constantino and Ferdinand Marcos as belonging to the same tradition of ilustrado nationalists who relegate the masses in the their writings to the background , as well as their emphasis on the linear movement of history. In his criticism of this kind of history, Ileto writes:

"…The reason most educated Filipinos find the linear-developmental mode a natural one for ordering such phenomena as revolts and the consolidation of state power in the name of nationalism is, I think, because this framework puts them [the 'elistist' Filipinos] at the forefront of the development process. Whether as apologists or activists, they are able to reorganize themselves in a comfortable way in the past, and they are assured of a primary role in the fulfillment of the end towards which history moves. We can detect this with respect to the nineteenth century 'ilustrados' construction of a history that moved from Golden Age, to Fall, to Dark Age, to Enlightenment or Ilustracion."[13]


Ileto especially detests Constantino's pretension to being radical with the latter's socio-economic determinism and its aim "to precisely locate the stages of economic and social development…so that the progression in time can be more scientifically plotted."[14] For Ileto, such emphasis on precision and order may have come from the "bourgeois mentality" or "the fear of anarchy and disorder."[15] Hence, "by displaying such order and precision in his text…Constantino in fact subverts his radical claims."[16]
Ileto may have a valid argument in putting Constantino in the league of the elite on the point of the latter's portrayal of the masses as passive individuals who needed the ilustrados to vocalize their sentiments. Yet it cannot be denied that Constantino bears the revolutionary strain by picturing the elite as more or less opportunists whose main agendum was to usurp or take over the power of the ruling class. It is possible that Constantino's intention was to arouse indignation and consequently rectify this "error" in history in view of the existing (Constantino's generations') realities--quite possibly through an armed struggle. Indeed, the overall tone and movement of Constantino's history tends to support this hypothesis, and the best proof of that is the real affinity that present day Marxists/leftist ideologues continue to have with his works--an affinity that would find its most tangible expression in the resurgence of nationalism in the Marcos regime.
Ileto's criticism of Constantino's kind of history provides a glimpse of the differences that the ilustrado-Katipunan schism has fathered no only among ordinary Filipinos themselves but more so among Filipino nationalist historians.
Through the eyes of Constantino, it is easy to see how the Katipuneros' fight for political independence during the Spanish regime acquired a different cause in the 20th and 21st century to become a more ardent fight for economic, social and political justice.
Ileto's view of Constantino may have been motivated by his own agendum of writing a history from the point of view of the masses. For him, the masses are active participants in the creation of history and not passive individuals Constantino and others portray them to be. In this sense, Ileto offers an alternative view of history--one that hopes to be "radical," or, in other words, true to the Katipunan tradition of displacing the dominant (or dominating) ideology. If so, it turns out that Ileto may have only been preying on his own kind (Constantino) whose point of view is but a strain of his (Ileto's) own variety.
Nevertheless, this case illustrates how different the two nationalist strains have evolved into, so that it has now become very difficult to identify where one begins and the other ends. More importantly, it has brought to the fore the problematic aspect of Filipino nationalism and what a Gordian knot it has become with both forces oftentimes coming at odds with each other. Romeo Cruz conveys this very same view when he talks about Filipino nationalism which he classified into two: "Liberal Nationalism" and "Radical Nationalism."[17]
The ilustrado current finds its parallel in Cruz' Liberal Nationalism, and the Katipunan (revolutionary) current in Radical Nationalism. Cruz points out, as has been discussed earlier, that these two had been mixed with various influences in the passing of time. Cruz further notes that through most of Philippine history, the relationship of the two has always been characterized by ambivalence: "In times of war or crisis, the two traditions would merge. And in times of peace, the two would oppose each other. Whether they are allies or foes, Liberal Nationalism would always win [translation from Filipino mine]."[18] Why this was always so is an interesting and a very important facet of nationalism's development in the Philippines.

From Rizal to Marx

This paper has so far argued that the ideology of the ilustrado may have been little understood by the masses due mainly to its abstractions. In this scenario, the ilustrado/liberal nationalism would understandably always win because, as history would have it, power has always been held in succession by those belonging to the educated class. It also helped that the same class would later control much of the country's wealth, and consequently much of the country's affairs. It is therefore not surprising that the bulk of assertions regarding nationalism would eventually take on economic overtones (read Marxist) especially as the country was moving into the 1960's and 1970's when poverty was becoming more pronounced. Nationalism came to be defined and understood within the terms of wealth distribution and equitable development. In other words, the schism now became the split between the rich and the poor, and in the larger context, between the exploited and impoverished third world and the wealthy and presumably exploitative West. Between the two opposites, there has always been some form of distrust. Understandably, many of the political leaders would come to be tagged as puppets of the West (America), notwithstanding the fact that many of them also took on nationalist stance (i.e., Ferdinand E. Marcos). On the other hand, the activists or radicals, as advocates of economic and social equality, came to be tagged as Communists (i.e., Benigno Aquino). Again, the notion of nationalism took on a different form and course with respect to the context of history. Yet the old schism subtly underlies every form that nationalism had been taking. Whatever it has become, it can be noted that the outcome had been one of constant paranoia and chronic distrust--of putting almost everyone under suspicion of being un-nationalistic, with the intelligentsia as the main objects of criticism. Interestingly but expectedly, Jose Rizal with his ilustrado background would be among the first to fall into the radicals' version of historical witch-hunting. Rizal, according to them, was no more than a hero "sponsored" by the Americans.[19]
If anything, this example demonstrates how the issue of nationalism can be used to co-opt people into a particular mode of thought or ideology. In other words, nationalism has become a part of almost every agenda as a tool for appropriating power or legitimizing a cause.
This is not to say, however, that nationalism has been absolutely disgraced. Rather, this further shows how varied the issue can be taken and how prone Filipino nationalism is to being wrested by opposing groups at the expense of the entire country. A common ground is therefore called for if it is to be hoped that nationalism can contribute to the solidarity and advancement of the nation.

Conclusion: Back to the Past, Back to Rizal

But how does one find a common ground? Surely it is nationalistic to demand for equitable development (as what the radicals do) just as it is nationalistic to formulate policies towards this end (as what the powers that be ought to do). But in the end nationalism is just one among the many forces that needs to be mapped out in relation to many other things that concern the country. In other words, it is quite easy to have a nationalist sentiment, but to enact pertinent policies in view of other issues is another thing.
Constantino found his common ground in the revolutionary tradition history has bequeathed to the Philippines by saying that "the nation was born of the Revolution" and "the Revolution was the expression of the nation being born."[20] If at this time we were to accept that the Philippines is still undergoing identity crisis, then it follows that the Philippines is still a nation in the process of being born, and that the Revolution is just waiting around the corner waiting to be set off at somebody's command. Surely, Constantino has a good reason for saying what he had said, but to build a nation on the entire notion of revolution hardly ever helps in providing a strong foundation for a young democracy. Of course it helps as an intervening force whenever national interests are seriously threatened, but, as Cruz has pointed out, radical nationalists has not always been found to be very cooperative with liberal nationalists at other times. One need only look at Philippine society today to sense that Cruz had indeed been right in saying so.
Upon close examination, Constantino clearly shares in the modernist idea of the Philippines being basically a modern state borne out of the West's outward expansion. Ileto does not vastly differ from Constantino in that sense, no matter if he substitutes the masses for the elite as the main movers of history. For both historians, nationalism is first and foremost a reaction to Western imperialism and antagonism that robbed the Filipinos of their freedom and autonomy, hence the emphasis on the revolution in their discourse of history. Here, the two share in the view of Isaiah Berlin that "nationalism is an inflamed condition of national consciousness which…seems to be caused by wounds, some form of collective humiliation."[21]
Wounds and collective humiliation were and are in fact not uncommon in the Philippine experience, whether suffered in the hands of colonizers or fellow Filipinos. These, multiplied and recurrent throughout history, may have bred a destructive attitude of self-doubt, among other things. Indeed, it will be no exaggeration to say that much of the Filipinos' sense of distrust, cynicism and defiance of authority may have been one downside legacy of a prolonged (oftentimes justified) replication of revolutionary thought. The revolutionary, no matter his nationalism, must always have someone or something for an opponent.
Under this circumstance, the prospect for national solidarity remains to be a distant dream. Clearly, an alternative view to nationhood and nationalism must be proffered, one that can weld the entire nation and make nationalism weave a positive response to the challenges being faced. Nationalism, if it is to perform such task, should be anchored on a solid foundation on which the temporal aspects of nationalism (i.e., reactions to foreign oppression) can find a firm footing such that long after the challenges had been addressed, the spirit of the nation still remains, ready to move forward from that point on. Obviously, such a foundation can only be had through having shared memories of the past, traditions, and everything else that Filipinos hold as comprising the super-body of culture that set apart Filipinos from other peoples. This goal comes close to Benedict Anderson's idea of "imagined political community," and closer still to Smith's "ethno-symbolic alternative" where a nation shares " a myth of common ancestry," "historical memories and traditions," "elements of common culture," "link with an historic territory," etc. [22]
Interestingly, the importance of such kind of foundation had long been recognized by Rizal, and, by the same token, by the historians that Ileto considered elitist because of their subscription to the myth of a Golden Age, etc.
Of course, the term "Golden Age" may be too peremptory to describe the level of civilization Filipinos have achieved when the Spaniards came, but the purpose for which it has been given prominence in nationalist history books (i.e., O. D. Corpuz' The Roots of the Filipino Nation and Teodoro Agoncillo's A History of the Filipino Nation) attest to these historians' view that a nation's cultural past is of paramount importance to the development of a national identity and consciousness.
Rizal himself was clearly aware of the Filipinos' pre-Hispanic cultural achievements and the significant role it could play in fostering pride and love for country once national identity and achievements had been established. John Schumacher writes:
Rizal felt deeply that it was in understanding pre-Hispanic Philippines that the Filipinos would understand themselves, would find the identity on which a new nation could rise. Earlier he had urged his colleagues in Barcelona to learn Italian so as to translate the manuscripts of Pigafetta, Magellan's chronicler, 'so that people may know in what state we were in 1520.' He is, moreover, at pains to show links existing before the coming of the Spaniards, pointing to Morga's remarks on the similarity of customs among the different linguistic groups as evidence 'that the links of friendship were more frequent than the wars and differences. Perhaps there existed a confederation.'"[23]


Considering the time Rizal thought of such a foundation for the Filipino nation, it can be deduced that he was far more advanced in his understanding and foresight as regards the nation's destiny. He at once understood that identity would prove very crucial in the formation and unification of the country.
Numerous other accounts point to Rizal's vision of the Philippines as essentially a nation that could eventually come to terms with its past, a nation with cultural achievements that can be at par, if not better than the cultural achievements of the Europe that he had seen.
It is reasonable to think that Rizal's deep understanding (in fact romantic) dream for the Philippines could only have come from the "wounds" that oppression had inflicted on him and his countrymen. Furthermore, his exposure to the ideological supremacy of the West (Europe) as confirmed by its material and cultural achievements may have opened up Rizal's eyes to the possibility that the same could be achieved by the Filipinos.
In this regard, the ardent nationalist, Claro M. Recto is justified to have Rizal be studied in schools on the premise that there are plenty of lessons that Rizal can impart to the Filipinos. It is perhaps for Rizal's vision that he stands as the giant among all other national heroes of the Philippines, and it is all worth it to discover and rediscover him in the changing times.
Somehow Rizal has given Philippine nationalism an enduring legacy by imbuing the Filipinos with a sense of past that, in the passing of time, will serve as a basis for solidarity that Filipinos can firmly stand on in times of crisis. With this foundation, Filipinos can claim everyone and everything within the threshold of their collective memories--the heroism of Lapu-Lapu, Dagohoy and others, the stories that archeological artifacts tell, the various customs and traditions of the archipelago--to form part of their being and consciousness. With these, the course of the nation and nationalism may shift according to the temporal needs of the nation, but it is assured of a home to go back to in the fullness of time.


***

[1] This has been pointed out by John N. Schumacher, among others. See John N. Schumacher, The Making of a Nation: Essays on Nineteenth-Century Filipino Nationalism (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1991), 10-11.
[2] See Romeo Cruz, Ang Pagkabuo ng Nasyonalismong Pilipino (Metro Manila: JC Palabuy Enterprises, c 1988), 1.
[3] Anthony D. Smith, Myths and Memories of the Nation (United States: Oxford University Press, Inc., New York, 1999), 6.

[4] Ibid., 7.
[5]Teodoro Agoncillo, A History of the Filipino People, 8th ed. (Quezon City: Garotech Publishing, 1990), 115.
[6] Renato Constantino, The Philippines: A Past Revisited (Manila: Renato Constantino, 1975), 149.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Ibid., 169.
[9] See Schumacher, 9.
[10] Constantino, 169.
[11] Ibid.
[12] See Reynaldo Ileto, Critical Questions on Nationalism: A Historical View (Manila: de la Salle University, c1986).
[13] Ibid.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Ibid.
[16] Ibid.
[17] See Romeo Cruz, And Pagkabuo ng Nasyonalismong Pilipino (Metro Manila: JC Palabuy Enterprises, 1988), 51-57.
[18] Ibid, iv.
[19]See Ambeth Ocampo, "is Rizal an American-Sponsored Hero?" in Rizal Without the Overcoat (Pasig City: Anvil Publishing, Inc, 2000), 2-3.
[20]Above.
[21] Isaiah Berlin, "The Bent Twig," in Foreign Affairs, vol. 51, 1972, p. 17.
[22] Smith, 3-19.
[23]Schumacher, 112.


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Agoncillo, Teodoro. 1990. A History of the Filipino People, 8th ed. Quezon City: Garotech Publishing.

Berlin, Isaiah. 1972. "The Bent Twig" in Foreign Affairs, vol 52.

Constantino, Renato. 1975. The Philippines: A Past Revisited. Manila: Renato Constantino.

Cruz, Romeo. 1988. Ang Pagkabuo ng Nasyonalismong Pilipino. Manila: Palabuy Enterprises.

Ileto, Reynaldo. c1986. Critical Questions on Nationalism: A Historical View. Manila: de la Salle University.

Ocampo, Ambeth. 2000. "Is Rizal an American-Sponsored Hero?" in Rizal Without the Overcoat. Pasig City: Anvil Publishing, Inc.

Schumacher, John. 1991. The Making of a Nation: Essays in Nineteenth Century Filipino Nationalism. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Smith, Anthony D. 1999. Myths and Memories of the Nation. United States: Oxford University Press, Inc. NY.