From a farm between the slopes and the big river, the outline of the
blue mountain afar stands in solitary vigil. This is the domain of
Manobos, the indigenous people of Northeastern Mindanao. They had been
the proud stewards of the mountain centuries before the Spanish came.
The once lived in harmony with the land. Their skills and understanding of
the mountain provided their families with abundance. They were happy and
contented.
Until they came. Some called it progress. Heavy equipment in all forms
and sizes roared up the mountainside and obliterated everything on their
path. Fueled by greed and the unyielding obsession to quench the thirst
of sawmills in the lowland and to feed the voracious appetite for lumber
in the world, loggers with maniacal ferocity assaulted and plundered the
mountain by mercilessly cutting down trees, which stood tall and
majestic since time memorial.
The abuse of the mountain escalated tremendously when illegal loggers
came into the picture. Foresters and scientists predicted that at the
rate the trees were cut down without effective reforestation, the
mountain would be a wasteland in fifty years. Nobody listened. Not
even the government. The carnage went on. No one really cared.
The irony of it was that the lucrative logging industry did not create
significant economic impact on the locality. Most owners of logging
companies were from out of town. The region was just their place of
operation. Logs of unimaginable numbers just floated away and loaded
into foreign ships anchored at Butuan Bay. This went on around the
clock daily for decades under helpless and envious eyes of local inhabitants.
What remained in the region were not only ugly scars on the mountain but
also adverse climatic changes. With the absence of trees, mudslides,
landslides and floods of unprecedented magnitude ravaged the land. The
condition became so bad that Butuan had to build concrete barriers
along the river to protect the city from these floods.
Peace and order was also pushed to the limit. Lawlessness was rampant in
towns where loggers spent their weekend. It was the remaking of the
infamous Dodge City with occasional occurrence of crude but bloody
versions of O.K Corral. There was no law enforcement in the jungle.
Logging camps had their own armory of weapons. The region was known
to be the fastest guns in the east.
Decades passed and through mounting public outcry the long awaited
logging ban was imposed. The cutting of trees finally stopped. Logging
activities abruptly ceased. However, there are knowledgeable people who
believed that the logging ban came too late. The continued destruction
of the rain forest for quite sometime is already irreversible. Man's
tampering with nature is not repairable. What was lost is lost forever.
The withdrawal of logging operation strangled the native Manobos in
economic disaster. They had no where to go but back to the old ways of
their ancestors. But the mountain was changed. The topography of the
land was already different. The forest was gone and so with the game
animals, which was their source of food before. The rivers where their
fathers used to fish abundantly were just trickle of water and devoid of
fish at all. Agriculture was neither an alternative. The land was too
mountainous to till that crops wouldn't thrive. Besides, after years
with the loggers, the natives adopted the ways of the lowlanders and
lost their ancestral skills to live like their predecessors.
The wealth of the land however is not only on trees. It is underground
as well. The mountain has rich deposit in gold, silver and other
precious metals. Minerals too are quite abundant. These mining fortunes
are the source of instability in the region today. Like the logging
industry before, so many wants to have a piece of the pie.
The present Manobo generation is the broken link in the chain of
ancestral continuity. They are people who are deprived to learn the
art and skills of their forebears. They are the children of a fractured
age whose elders failed to pass into them the ideals and pride of
heritage. They also are victims of unkindness through vicious intolerance
and bigotry.
The lowland society presumes that natives are just natural components of
the landscape and therefore are also subject with the changes of terrain
and condition either from evolution or human intervention. The North
American Indians has long gained credibility as viable and autonomous
nations. Whereas, the indigenous Manobos today are still struggling to
be classified as people.
There was a foundation with noble intention to introduce livelihood
projects amongst the natives. They realized that it was no longer
feasible to institute initiatives bent to return the natives to the
happy days of the mountain. It was too late for that. Their immersion to
lowland lifestyle has long shattered their traditional way of life.
However, it is still helpful to undertake programs whose objects are
aimed towards native youth. The kind of incentives whose structure and
substance are within the framework of their inherent character and
without altering but encouraging the knowledge and wisdom of their culture.
The hope of the Manobos lies on the eagerness of the young. With right
aptitude and direction this generation in its own way is capable of
restoring the glory and pride of their people. But there are fundamental
requisites they must take heed. That they shall not solely direct their
resources and attitude towards the ancient alone, but also to willingly
become productive partners in usefulness in the present reality of time.
This delicate balance must be addressed with sensitivity. But it has to
inculcate in the minds of the young the strength and significance of
skills and know-how. This is crucial to the Manobos. The logging fiasco
is over, but the wealth of the land still exists. The mountain belongs to
them. It has to be secured and protected. It is their ancestral home. But
if the lack the competence to effectively manage the mining treasures
beneath their feet, their future as a people is sealed worst than their
experience with the logging industry.
Because this time it is forever.
