By Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope
Introduction: A Forgotten Nation Within Our Nation
There are many wars fought in silence—wars with no news
coverage, no trending hashtags, and no voices from the halls of power
acknowledging them. Among these quiet battles is the long and painful struggle
of the Indigenous Peoples (IPs) in the Philippines. They are not invisible
because they are absent; they are invisible because they are ignored.
As an educator and public servant, I have had the privilege
to meet, learn from, and walk among our indigenous brothers and sisters. Their
strength is their culture; their resilience lies in their deep-rooted
relationship with nature. Yet, history has not been kind to them. Our laws have
too often betrayed them. Our development narrative has left them behind.
I. A Historical Betrayal
Ancestral Lands Redefined as “National Parks”
In the era preceding World War II, the Commonwealth
Government set aside vast tracts of Philippine land as national parks—on paper,
a noble idea aimed at preserving biodiversity and ecological integrity.
However, in practice, many of these designated zones overlapped with ancestral
domains of Indigenous communities. The state, under the guise of conservation,
placed these lands off-limits to their rightful stewards.
At that moment, without a single bullet fired or law
publicly debated, vast communities were spiritually and economically displaced.
And it didn’t stop there. Over the decades, these “protected areas” were
whittled down, their legal sanctity stripped away through executive orders,
political maneuverings, and backdoor deals with mining and logging
corporations. What was once protected soon became plundered.
II. The Siege Mentality of Power
The modern presidency has, at times, functioned less as a
democratic institution and more like a fortress. The Chief Executive, insulated
within the grandiose and bunker-like walls of Malacañang, is often encircled
not by the people, but by flatterers, propagandists, and loyalists more
concerned with preserving political capital than public interest.
This siege mentality has bred a culture of suspicion,
paranoia, and propaganda. The state has turned its arsenal inward—against
critics, environmental defenders, and indigenous voices. Our government,
instead of serving the powerless, has become too preoccupied with defending the
powerful.
III. A Democracy of Exclusion
Filipino democracy is often praised for its vibrancy. But
let us ask—vibrant for whom? For whom does democracy work when it consistently
sidelines those at the margins?
Indigenous Peoples remain the most powerless among us—not
because they lack spirit or wisdom, but because our system chooses to overlook
them. They are too few to matter in the vote-rich calculations of politicians.
Too different to fit neatly into mainstream narratives of progress. Too
traditional for a system obsessed with malls, mining, and mega-projects.
But should democracy not shine its brightest in the darkest
corners?
Shouldn’t it uplift the smallest voices rather than amplify
the loudest?
IV. Environmental Plunder Disguised as Progress
As a professor of business and economics, I know the numbers
that policymakers use to justify large-scale development. GDP growth. Export
earnings. Job creation.
But development must never be reduced to a spreadsheet. When
mines displace communities and poison rivers, when logging decimates forests
that have fed generations, when ancestral lands are paved over for profit—this
is not progress. It is plunder.
Some argue mining is the golden ticket to economic
salvation. But whose salvation is it? Is it for the Lumads whose mountains are
blown apart? For the Aetas forced to leave their hunting grounds? For the
Mangyans whose forests are reduced to stumps?
There is no economic cure worth more than a people’s
cultural death. No GDP point worth the loss of a sacred mountain.
V. Indigenous Peoples and the Politics of Invisibility
The Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines are among the
oldest caretakers of this land, yet they are often treated as squatters in
their own ancestral homes. Politicians see them as obstacles to development.
Businessmen see them as hurdles to be cleared. The media rarely sees them at
all.
Worse still, they are blamed for holding back “progress.”
They are accused of being resistant to modernization, when in truth, it is they
who have lived in harmony with nature for generations—long before the word
“sustainability” became fashionable in boardrooms.
Our nation celebrates festivals named after tribal dances
and tribal clothes, yet refuses to protect the people who created them. We
romanticize indigenous music but stay silent when the musician is killed
defending his land.
VI. What Must Be Done?
Reframe the Narrative
We must stop viewing Indigenous Peoples as minorities. They
are not minorities in identity, culture, or value. They are the original
Filipinos, and their voices are as legitimate as anyone’s, if not more.
Our educational system must teach the richness of their
history, not merely footnote it in textbooks. Policymakers must consult them
not just out of courtesy, but out of constitutional obligation.
Reclaim Their Rights
Let us not stop at reviewing environmental impact
assessments. Let us instead pass legislation that prioritizes ancestral domain
rights over extractive industries.
Communal rights have too long been used as excuses to
justify state-sponsored displacement. We need to reframe this reasoning. Communal rights must include the right to cultural identity,
self-determination, and environmental stewardship.
Revive the Spirit of Solidarity
The urban poor have organized. Farmers and fisherfolk have
marched. Laborers have fought and died for their rights. When will the same
spirit of nationwide solidarity extend to Indigenous Peoples?
We must move beyond empathy and into action. Indigenous
rights are not side issues. They are central to the moral, cultural, and
environmental survival of our nation.
VII. A Personal Commitment
I speak not from a perch of moral authority, but from a
position of awakening. As a former student of environmental studies, I used to
gather data—charts, case studies, and policy gaps. But somewhere along the way,
I realized that no statistic can convey the pain of a community losing its home or a tribe watching its sacred rituals vanish into dust.
Now, as an educator and politician, I can no longer be
silent. I hope to be a bridge, a voice for the unseen.
I am still a student in many ways. A baby in the movement
for Indigenous justice. But even a baby, when hurt, cries. I cry out for our indigenous brothers and sisters, not as their savior, but as their ally.
VIII. Before It’s Too Late
History has shown us that when communities organize,
governments tremble. When people unite, tyrannies fall. But we cannot wait for
another massacre, another river poisoned, or another culture erased before we
act.
We need to build a network of solidarity for Indigenous
Peoples that is as strong, as strategic, and as spiritual as the forests they
protect. We need to form alliances—not just among NGOs and activists, but among
educators, students, lawmakers, artists, and faith leaders.
We need a movement grounded in truth and sustained by
justice.
Not tomorrow. Not when it becomes fashionable. Not when it’s
politically safe. But now.
Conclusion: Let the Mountains Speak
There is an old indigenous saying: “Let the mountains speak
and the rivers sing.” Today, dynamite silences our mountains, and silt and greed choke our rivers.
So let us speak for now. Let us sing their songs and share
their stories. Until such time when our indigenous brothers and sisters can
freely reclaim their voices—and with it, their dignity, their heritage, and
their future.
Let us remember that the soul of a nation is not found in
skyscrapers or military bases. It is found in the forests, mountains, and
villages—where our first peoples still stand guard. And when we protect them,
we are not just defending a people; we are defending what it means to be
Filipino.
