The Lies of the 1934-1935 Constitutional Convention

The summer of 2007 in the Philippines was a date with history.

Like a detective, I did some exercise in disjunctive syllogism, the one that I taught in many convent schools, catholic colleges and seminaries, and in graduate school. Now I can announce: I did some sleuthing regarding the proceedings of the 1934-35 Constitutional Convention.

I pored over the records kept at the Lyceum Library, the National Library, the Supreme Court Library, and the Laurel Foundation Library.

I urged librarians to help me, giving them some clues to the problem I wanted to solve, pouring out my heart to that feeling that has something to do with how scholars did not do us justice by not telling us exactly what happened between the deliberations about the 'common national language provision' of the 1935 Constitution by going back to the original documents of the proceedings. Even Andrew Gonzalez, with his Language and Nationalism, did not seem to have gone to the original records, judging from his discussion of the matter.

So what we have got is secondary information, some commentaries of commentaries of scholars commenting on the works of others. For instance, in his treatise on the 'evolution' of the Philippines national language, he simply reports, as follows: "The clamor for a national language as a symbol of solidarity and unity received official recognition during the 1934-1935 Constitutional Convention. The committee on official language presented a proposal which went through three drafts, in essence mandating the search for a common national language based on the existing Philippine languages. The committee on style, under Quezon's prodding, made a substantial alteration by stipulating that the common national language be based on one language rather than on many" (Language and Nationalism, 1980: 24).

Here we see that Gonzalez never bothered to look into the proceedings. The references listed at the end of his book did not mention anything about the Convention's proceedings; he relied, as is the case of his discussion, heavily on Aruego's 1936 account of the 1935 Constitution (The Framing of the Philippine Constitution, 1936).

I have grown weary of the language struggle so what I did was to revisit the records.

I first went to the National Archives and the National Library, two of the record-keepers of our memory as a people. Then I went to the Lyceum Library, to the Supreme Court, and lastly to the Laurel Foundation.

More than ten years ago, I had the good fortune of poring into the records kept in these government agencies when I was trying to understand the idea of the Philippine Revolution—or more appropriately, Philippine revolutions—from the point of view of the small man, the one who does not have the authority, the one whose desire was to love the homeland as a gentleman would love his woman. In short, I was interested with what scholars call today as "a history without authorities, " if by "authorities" we mean the big names, the big actors, those who played center stage roles in the drama we call the Philippine revolution/s. I had by this time grown suspicious of the self-conceit of heroes and their paid hacks. I had by this time begun to refuse to accept that idea that 'the revolution' was declared and finished by the Tagalog Republic.

By this time as well, I had read accounts of Ilokano katipuneros committing themselves to the cause of the revolution—in Ilokano, and with their own blood! Some of the surnames I could easily recognize including my own—surnames that were never mentioned in that 'national because nationalized'— and then eventually made 'natural' because already 'naturalized' , as is the case of Tagalog as P/Filipino—accounts, in a dogmatic form, of Zaide, Agoncillo, Guerrero, and Constantino.

You look into the history books fed to the minds of the young from the grades upwards and then in the university history courses, you have the same story, a grand and master narrative of some sorts, with the predictable names and the predictable incidents, minus the mulct and the dirt and the betrayal in the social drama that became a myth for the central and mainsream view of what Philippine history is all about. Never mind that in this grand and master narrative, the rest of the peoples of the Philippines, who had since the incursion of the invaders, been staging revolts, however unsuccessful these were from the point of view of the Tagalogistic notion of 'revolutionary success.'

This is the same tragic story we see in the story of the making of Tagalog as a national language and its being rammed into our throat until today by the monolingual Filipinos who know only Tagalog and who are reading the complexities and vast possibilities of the Philippines experience—and experience that necessarily tells us, to borrow Arnold Azurin's exitentialist and phenomenological phrase, that we are morally obliged to pursue our 'being and becoming.'

Here is what I found: That there was conspiracy, connivance, and collusion in the declaration of Tagalog as the basis of the national language.

As I write this, it is Thanksgiving in this land of our exile, and I have a lot to thank for-- such as this discovery of the triple cancer—the tripod of a C that continues to gnaw at our mind as a people, depriving us of that collective memory that should have been history's gift to us who try to keep on remembering.

But no, there are criminals of the Constitution, as the esteemed Vicente Albano Pacis declared for at least three times in his commentary on the national language situation, on the state of English language teaching in the country, and the ramming into our throat of the Tagalog language that, like the chameleon, continues to change color depending on the political, epistemic, and cultural ecology of the homeland.

First, the Gonzalez account of someone's account that there were three drafts that led to the 'framing' of the national language provision of the 1935 Constitution is lacking in perspective. The technical development of all the provisions of that constitution went through four 'drafts', with the fourth draft considered as the final draft and which was approved by the delegates of the convention, to wit, the title of that Fourth Draft as appended in the 1965 Proceedings of the 1934-1935 Constitutional Convention put together by Jose P. Laurel and published by Lyceum: "Appendix K-4: Final Draft of the Constitution of the Philippines, as approved by the Constitutional Convention on February 8, 1935."

Second, here is what is found in the Laurel Proceedings, which is not found in the version published by the House of Representatives: a first, second, third, and fourth draft of the Constitution. 

Dr. A.S. Agacaoili

Third, I must take note here that there are two accounts of the convention, one kept at the Supreme Court Library, and another that is put together by Laurel and is kept at the Laurel Foundation Library. The Supreme Court version, published by the House of Representatives between 1965 and 1966, does not contain the other drafts of the Constitution but only the final fourth draft and the proceedings beginning 1934 and ending in 1935.

Fourth, in terms of 'completeness' of the records therefore, the Laurel Proceedings contains a wealth of materials that reveals to us the kind of manipulation that happened during the convention. (I will continue to expose these manipulations by presenting documentary evidences and conjectures. )

It is not therefore true to say that the crowning of Tagalog as the glorified language of the land came as a logical choice of the people as represented by their delegates. This myth has to be unravelled for what it is: a myth that contains all the contradictions to our claims to linguistic justice and cultural democracy. In some of the accounts of Pacis, first at the Daily Express and then at the Inquirer, he recalled that right after the work of the convention was completed, many people who were in the know had been clamoring for the publication of the proceedings. This was an honorable way to check of the veracity of the proceedings and of the provisions of the 1935 Constitution.

That request was never granted.

The publication of the 1934-35 ConCon Proceedings happened only 30 years after when many of the delegates were long gone, senile, or had lapses in memory and judgment. Think of the kind of reaction and counter-reaction if these lies and manipulation were exposed as soon as the 1935 Constitution was approved.

The dishonesty of those involved was something.

The continuing linguistic injustice committed against the peoples of the Philippines at this time is an addendum to that dishonesty that became the basis for Tagalog as P/Filipino, that schizophrenic language of the center of power, commerce, education, and now media.

Think of academics schooled in this monolingual mindset, as is the case of many of the Tagalog teachers in the United States, many of them ignorant Ilokanos passing themselves off as Tagalog, or academics who cannot afford to have some intellectual breadth and depth—and resonance. One even had the temerity to say that we need to drumbeat Tagalog, a.k.a. P/Filipino as a 'global language' to, among others, avoid 'regionalism. ' In cases like this, we need to pray to the anitos and ask for patience so that these linguistic idiots will come to their senses.

Fifth, let these drafts from the Laurel Proceedings tell you of the ruses that happened.

First draft: Article XIII, Sec. 2: "A national language being necessary to strengthen the solidarity of the Nation, the National Assembly shall take steps looking to the development and adoption of a language common to all the people on the basis of the existing native languages."

Second draft: Article XIII, Sec. 2.a: "The National Assembly shall take steps toward the development and adoption of a common national language based on the existing native languages, and until otherwise provided by law, English and Spanish be the official languages."

Third draft: Nothing on Article XIII. Other parts of the draft of the Constitution had provisions. We must note here that the second draft was to be 'polished' for style—but not for substance! —by the Committee on Style chaired by Claro M. Recto. We note here that in the third draft, only those provision that have revisions for stylistic reasons were to be reviewed so that these provisions could be incorporated as part of the final, fourth draft. In the case of the provision on the national language, that was not mentioned, there was nothing, and thus, logically, the second draft is deemed that which was to move to the final, fourth draft. 

But, here is what we have got:

Fourth draft: Article XIII, Sec. 3: "The National Assembly shall take steps toward the development and adoption of a common national language based on one of the existing native languages. Until otherwise provided by law, English and Spanish shall continue as official languages."

Now, we see a hand—or some hands.

The sleuthing continues.

A Solver Agcaoili
UH Manoa/Nov 22, 2007
Thanksgiving Day

Pinakbet

A commercialized pinakbet.

Food is undoubtedly an indispensable human need for nobody can survive without eating.  However, the value of food to human beings transcends beyond nutritional sustenance.  It also serves as historical record of environmental struggles and social contestations.  As contended by Liburd (2003), food is “… deeply rooted in (human) history and culture.”  Farb and Armelagos (1980) added that the “… humans’ basic need to eat cannot be separated from symbols and metaphors of status, gift-giving, feasting, social and kin relations, and sacred rituals.”  In addition, Leeds-Hurwitz (1993) likewise argued that “… food serves as an indicator of social identity, from region to ethnicity, from class to age or gender”

            Food products—such as dishes and cuisines—demonstrate the people’s transaction to the challenges of their physical and social environments.  The ingredients and materials used in cooking are not only reflections of the available resources in the environment but also reveal creative human technology to perpetuate human survival.  Likewise, the availability of food resources—or the sources of knowledge, ingredients and materials for cooking—determine some aspects of culture, including the distribution of political power and influence and the migration of people.  The elite or the ruling class, for example, have better access to food resources because of political powers and economic advantages. 

Today, the ruling class even wields influence to make the weaker class believe on the inferiority of their palate.  This “palate inferiorization” is evidenced by classifying cuisines and dishes as “exotic” should it not have been produced nor commonly consumed by the ruling class.  The subversion of the weaker class’ culture is perpetuated by continuing colonial consciousness of the weaker class and pervading neo-colonialism that is sponsored by modern globalization under the guise of cultural exchange.  On the other hand, some so-called “exotic cuisines” that appeal to the tastes and socio-economic interests of the ruling class and colonial powers are expropriated and re-introduced in their new forms.  Hence, it is not surprising to find “exotic cuisines and dishes” in the ruling class’ spaces—first class restaurants and hotels—cooked in ways catering to the palate of the elite costumers.  Nonetheless, these modifications and alterations are parodies of the cuisines and dishes that they intend to re-present.  This is even compounded by an interminable process of cultural oppression that progressively obliterates the history of the creators of the cuisine and dishes.         

Like all other local cuisines, the pinakbet is both an enduring symbol of the Ilokanos’ palate and a consequence of the creative response of the Ilokanos to the challenges of their semi-arid land.  The artifacts of the pinakbet—that is, cooking technology, the combination or mixtures of ingredients, and the utilization of materials in cooking—present cultural integration that were developed from the Ilokanos’ struggle and contestation with their physical and social environment. 

The" cherry" tomatoes used in traditional pinakbet.

Across time and space, there have been changes on the combinations and mixtures of ingredients, alterations on the materials and equipment used in cooking, and the variations in the procedure in cooking the pinakbet.  These phenomena on the pinkabet demonstrate cultural adaptation and social transactions and contestations that gradually undermine the history of the Ilokanos as a nation.  That is, a closer look reveal a social hegemonization or the imposition of the ruling or dominant class on the social life of the masses without overtly coercing the latter (Williams, 1985). 

How the social hegemonization of the pinakbet did happen?  What are the implications of pinakbet’s social hegemonization to the history of the Ilokanos?  What social realities are reflected in the social hegemonization of pinakbet?  The answers to these questions led to the formulation of the paper entitled: "Hegeminzation of Pinakbet"

Samtoy: The Language of the Ilokos

The Ilokos have been distinguished with the other Filipino ethno-linguistic groups by their mother language—the Samtoy.  According to Lopez (1621; 1767, in Dumagat 2007), Samtoy is the language “…spoken by the “Ilocan” or “Indian” of Ilocos or Ylocos,” which was derived from the Iloko phrase “saomi ditoy,” meaning “our language here.”  According to Agoncillo (1990) the Ilokos even prefer the name Samtoy over “Ilocano.”

An analysis on the etymology of Samtoy reveals the unconscious declaration of ownership by the Ilokos the language that distinguishes them from other ethno-linguistic groups.  The suffix mi—meaning “our,” attached to sao—meaning “word” or “language,” indicates the Ilokos’ claim on Samtoy.  This is reasonably comprehensible since Samtoy was born out of the Ilokos’ collective transaction and contestation with their arid physical environment.  Unlike the “supposed” national language, which is the Tagalog-based Filipino, being imposed by the hegemonic “powers-that-are,” Samtoy is a language that is distinctively an Ilokos’ collective production.      

Likewise, the word ditoy (or here) suggests that Samtoy occupies a space of its own—or what we can call “lingual space”—in the consciousness of the Ilokos.  While the ditoy in the Samtoy mentioned by Agoncillo (1990) indicates the region occupied by the Ilokos, this can also be extended to wherever the Iloko speaker is—i.e. outer Ilocos, Manila, Mindoro, Mindanao, Hawaii, US Mainland, Europe, and in other places.  For lingual space, as this paper suggests, is wherever a particular language is used to perceive, think, rationalize, and express thoughts, particularly by the people who claim the language as their own.  The lingual space of Samtoy is wherever Samtoy is spoken by the Iloko people.  As the Ilokos perceive, think and rationalize about themselves and their transactional experiences using their “mother language,” they are also affording a space for Samtoy in their consciousness. 

However, language does not only occupy space.  Through symbolic interaction, language helps in the development of person’s awareness and consciousness—or in the formation of a person’s psyche or soul.  That is, we are what we see and think we are as a consequence of our symbolic interaction as people.  As people symbolically interact, collective consciousness is formed, shared, contested, and reformed.  Language, therefore, “feeds” not only the individual soul but also the collective consciousness of people that distinguishes them with other peoples.  Deprive a people of their language and you are gradually starving their “souls” that feeds on their language. 

The etymology of Samtoy and the appreciation of the Ilokos themselves on their language (as indicated by the relatively substantial available Iloko literature compared to other Filipino languages—i.e. Tagalog, Cebuano, Hiligaynon, Wara-waray) provides the impression that the Ilokos acknowledge this value of language.  Unlike the Tagalogs who identify their language with their territory, the Ilokos distinguish their language not just with themselves but with their community.  Thus, Samtoy is not just a reflection of an individual Iloko’s soul but the collective soul of the Ilokos.  Depriving, therefore, Samtoy from the Iloko renders an Iloko personally and culturally empty.   

(References can be provided upon request.  Send request to simoncaday@yahoo.com or to jrizal77@yahoo.cm)

Panangtakuat ti Kina-Ilocanok

Siasinnoak a kas maysa nga Ilocano?

Uppat a pulo a tawen kalpasan nga innak immna nga inmulagat dagiti laggat a matak ditoy lubong, nagtengko ti kanito a masansanko a damdamagen ti kinasiasinnok a kas maysa nga Ilocano.  Salsaludsudek ti bagik no siasinnoak kadi a kas maysa nga Ilocano wenno Samtoy.  Ania dagiti bambanag a mabalin a mangidiat kaniak kadagiti sabsabali a puli ditoy Pilipinas wenno iti sangalubungan?  Iti innak panagsalsaludsud, adu man dagiti agsusupangil a sungbat nga innak nabanniitan.  Adda dagiti nagkuna nga: "An'a, dika pay ammo no siasinnoka?"  Adda met dagiti nagkuna nga: "Apay, masapul kadi pay laeng a pagsasaritaan dayta ita ta panawenen ti pannakarebba dagiti 'pagdudumaan' ti puli.  Maymaysatayo laeng a puli iti sangalubungan.  Ket no papuskulem ti uged ti nagbabaetan dagiti puli ket patunuynuyan wenno paspasingkedan tay laeng ti nabayagen a makagapu iti 'racial discrimination'."  Ngem kasla saan a maaklon ti riknak dagitoy a sungbat ta iti kaungak ket adda um-umkis a timek: "Anakko, timudem ti kina-Ilocanom."

          Simmanguak ngarud iti sarming...  binukiradko ti ngiwatko ket nakitak ti nangisit a gugotko.  Inngatok ti sikok ket kaskasdi ti ngisitna.  Inyarigko ti kudilko iti kudil ti maysa a Filipino nga artista a nakapaskil iti diding.  Arigna siak tay nagbalin a kape ket creamer isuna.  Nadlawko a sumilsileng ti maris-daga a kudilko.  Kasla dinamili ti marisna.  Pinadasko iti nag-English ken nag-Tagalog.  "Punyeta!" nakunak iti bagik. "Nagtangken ti pangak ken dilak."

          In-inutko a napanunot: Adda bukodko a langa.  Adda bukodko a pagsasao.  Adda bukodko a wagas ti panagbiag.  Adda bukodko a "kinasiasinno" (identity) sa saan ket a bunga laeng ti inpuligad lattan dagiti manangimameg.  Siak ti makaammo no siasinnoak.  Adu dagiti teorya panggep ti "kinasiasinno" (identity), kas koma ken Herbert Mead.  Ngem makunak nga ti kapatgan a panangipapan iti kinasiasinnok ket agtaud met laeng kaniak babaen iti innak pannakipulpulapol.  Siak ti mangtingiting no siasinnoak ket no adda man kapampanunutan ti sabali no siasinnoak a kas maysa nga Ilocano, kaniak ket agpannuray laeng ti bukodko a kapampanunutan no siasinnoak a kas maysa ng Ilocano.

          Ita, madamak a taktakuaten ti nabayagen nga um-umukuok ditoy kaungak a kina-Ilocanok.  Gapu ta nariparko ti kaadda dagiti manangimameg a tattao, nagbalinak a naridam kadagiti inda ipulpulagid a "kinatao" kaniak.  Kunak: "DO NOT TELL ME WHO I AM UNTIL I TELL YOU WHO I THINK I AM."  No man pay saanko isuda a malapeddan, saanko met isuda a patien nga insigida.  Denggek, binsa-binsaek, anagek... sa konto riparen no pudno dagiti inda pampanunuten panggep kaniak a kas maysa nga Ilocano.  

          Ngem, gapu iti naglabas nga panangimameg dagiti nabibileg, adu dagiti paset ti kinasiasinnok iti naiyaleng-aleng.  Dagita ita ti innak taktakuaten.  Dagita ti gapu no apay nga aginggana ita ket bukbuklek ti kina-Ilocanok.  Sapay koma ta inton mabukelko, maiburaykonto met kadagiti putotko... ken kadagiti putot dagiti putotko...