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78-1058

STEWART, James Clark, 1939-PEOPLE OF THE FLOOD PLAIN: THECHANGING ECOLOGY OF RICE FARMING INCOTABATO, PHILIPPINES.

University of Hawaii,Ph.D., 1977Anthropology, cultural

University Microfilms International, Ann Arbor. Michigan 48106

PEOPLE OF THE FLOOD PLAIN

THE CHANGING ECOLOGY OF RICE FARMING IN COTABATO~ PHILIPPINES

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THEUNIVERSITY OF HAWAII IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT

OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

IN ANTHROPOLOGY

AUGUST 1977

By

James C. Stewart

Dissertation Committee:

Alice G. Dewey, ChairpersonMilton B100mbaumStephen T. BoggsRichard W. Lieban

Thomas W. Maretzki

iii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank Dr. Gelia T. Castillo of the University of the

Philippines College of Agriculture, Los Banos, and Dr. Milton Barnett,

former Senior Scholar at the East-West Center, Honolulu. Without

their help and encouragement this research would not hav'e been under­

taken. The Rev. Msgr. Francisco Claver, S.J., Bishop of Malaybalay,

Bukidnon, convinced me that this study shollld be done in Cotabato.

My family and I are especially grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Mariano C.

Pamintuan of Davao City for their help and their many kindnesses

during the period of fieldwork. I wish to express heartfelt thanks to

the friendly and helpful people of Midsayap, Cotabato, and especially

to the following: Mrs. Portia Mapanao, Directress, and other staff

members of the Cotabato Rural Uplift Movement; the Rev. Eli Mapanao,

President of Southern Christian College; Mr. Pastor Dano, Acting

Supervisor, and the rest of the staff of the Mindanao Rice and Corn

Experiment Station; Mr. Apolinario Mendoza and Mr. Romeo Princesa of

the Bureau of Plant Industry; Datu Dima Fer~~ndez and Mr. Val Valdez

of the Midsayap FaCoMa; and most of all, with gratitude, to Abdul Kali,

and with fond memories to Datu Mantil Dilangalen--a man who brought the

old style of life into the present day.

ABSTRACT

This study examines recent changes in ecological adaptations in

three rice farming communities in the southern Philippines. A wide

range of ecological adjustments are attributed primarily to the com­

bined impact of irrigation, adoption of hybrid rice varieties, and use

of a new farming technology.

The concept of ecology is explored in reference to human popula­

tions. Certain past applications of this concept in anthropology are

rejected as inadequate. Human ecology is defined as including ideo­

logical factors along with techniques of production, economic activities,

social and political organization, inter-group relations, and adapta­

tion to a particular biophysical environment. A simple cybernetic model

is developed to illustrate the relationships between components or

subsystems of human cultural adaptations.

Recent technological innovations in rice farming are seen as having

disturbed the relative homeostasis of peasant-type systems of adaptation.

Detailed consideration is given to the nature of these innovations and

to the ways in which farmers have responded to them. Decision-making by

farmers in the study area is analyzed in terms of a corrective response

to restore ecosystemic stability in the face of erratic and unpredict­

able outcomes resulting from the use of scientifically-developed hybrid

plants and new farming techniques.

The high risk inherent in this new agricultural technology is

v

discussed. The Western-inspired model of agricultural development

which shaped the early course of the Green Revolution is seen to rest

on certain assumptions which are open to challenge. This Western agri­

cultural model is found to be inappropriate for wholesale transfer to

communities of small-scale, self-provisioning cultivators in Asia. An

alternative strategy of development is proposed as more productive and

less disruptive of existing rural ecosystems.

The study includes a brief history of the Province of Cctebato,

Philippines. The current civil strife in that province is discussed

in the Epilogue. Appendix A presents a brief summary of the history

and culture of the Maguindanao, an Islamized people indigenous to the

Cotabato area.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABSTRACT •••

LIST OF TABLES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION...

CHAPTER II. RESEARCH OBJECTIVES

CHAPTER III. THE SETTING

CHAPTER IV. RICE FARMING IN MIDSAYAP, 1960-70 •

CHAPTER V. LOCAL RESPONSE TO THE NEW VARIETIES OF RICE

CHAPTER VI. CHANGE AND ADAPTATION IN PANGADON, PALONGOGUENANJ) BUA!.. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

CHAPTER VII. ECOSYSTEMIC EFFECTS OF THE NEW AGRICULTURALTECHNOLOGY • • • •

EPILOGUE ••

vi

iii

iv

vii

viii

ix

1

13

43

83

109

184

214

254

APPENDIX A.

APPENDIX B.

GLOSSARY •

HISTORY AND CULTURE OF THE MAGUINDANAO

FARM SURVEY QUESTIONNAIRE •

266

314

323

LITERATURE CITED 326

Table

III-lo

IV-l.

IV-2.

IV-3.

IV-4.

v-i ,

V-2.

VI-l.

LIST OF TABLES

Land Tenure Arrangements in Bua1, 1970 • • • • • •

Rice Farms and Rice Production in Midsayap, 1960 •

Irrigated and Non-Irrigated Farms in Midsayap, 1960

Average Annual Rainfall in Bua1/Midsayap • •

Sunshine Hours in Bua1/Midsayap .•..

Yields by Month of Harvest • .

Marketing Levels in Bua1, 1970 • . .

Farm Investment and Returns on a "Typical" Farm in Bua1

vii

Page

65

84

86

90

92

145

159

209

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

viii

Figure Page

1 Outline Map of the Philippines · · · · · 44

2 Map of Bual Norte, 1970 . · . . . · · · · 60

3 Map of Pangadon, 1970 . . . . . . . . · · · · 75

4 Genealogical Relations in Pangadon . . . . · · · · 78

5 Climate Map of the Philippines · . · · · · 89

ix

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

ACA - Agricultural Credit Administration - an agency of the Philip-pine Government.

AID United States Agency for International Development

BPI - Bureau of Plant Industry

CORUM - Cotabato Rural Uplift Movement - local Midsayap organizationfor community development.

CNI - Commission on National Integration

FaCoMa - Farmers' Cooperative Marketing Association

ha , - hec tare

IRRI - International Rice Research Institute

MIM - Muslim Independence Movement

MRCES - Mindanao Rice and Corn Experiment Station, Bual, Midsayap,Cotabato.

NIA National Irrigation Administration

UPCA - University of the Philippines College of Agriculture

USAFFE - United States Armed Forces in the FarEast

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

This study examines the ecology of wet rice farming in three

villages in the southern Philippines. It is especially concerned

with ways in which ecological relationships in these communities

may have been modified by recent changes in agricultural technology.

These changes have included a shift from growing traditional rice

varieties to cultivation of scientifically-developed hybrid strains

of rice. The hybrid rice varieties, most of .hich have been developed

by the International Rice Research Institute and by local plant

scientists in the Philippines, are widely known for their ability to

produce yields several times larger than those obtained from their

traditional counterparts. In fact they are sometimes referred to

as high-yielding varieties, or simply IfHYVs." These hybrids are also

well suited to multiple cropping, so they offer farmers not only

the prospect of doubling or tripling yields per season but also the

possibility of increasing the number of seasons per year. It is not

hard to understand why the first of these varieties to achieve inter­

national renown, IR-8, quickly became known as "miracle rice."

The "miracle" reputation of these new seeds has become tarnished

in recent years. This has been due in part to the fact that many of

the new varieties are susceptible to certain rice diseases which are

very common in monsoon Asia. It has also been due to a combination

of other factors which will be discussed. Nevertheless, these

1

2

varieties are now grown extensively, in some places exclusively, in the

major rice producing areas of the Philippines. Wherever they have been

adopted on a large scale they have had pronounced effects upon cultiva­

tion techniques, farmers' decision-making, and the agricultural

calendar.

The hybrid varieties need more care and thereby require more

labor than traditional rice varieties. If they are grown according to

recommendations they require greater capital investment in such inputs

as fertilizer and pesticides. Some farmers feel they can reap maximum

profits from these varieties only through greater use of machines.

Invariably, farmers are faced with a more complex decision-making pro­

cess due to the array of new varieties, each with slightly different

characteristics, and the greater number of alternatives involved in

selecting the appropriate types and quantities of inputs. Partly be­

cause of the higher levels of investment the new varieties also involve

higher levels of risk. The farmer simply stands to lose more if the

crop should fail. The shift to these varieties has often been accom­

panied by increased use of credit as farmers have borrowed to meet the

higher costs of farming. In some instances the use of the new varieties

and new agricultural technology have led to changes in the recruitment

of work groups, changes in compensation to labor, and changes in

various economic relations in farming communities--including relations

between landlords and tenants.

To those like myself who think of human cultures as systems of

adaptation, it is axiomatic that changes in the subsistence patterns

of a particular human group are nearly certain to have effects upon

th t f th 'd· Io er aspec s 0 at group s a aptat~on. Therefore, a principal

3

thesis of the present study is that in the three communities where

this research was conducted technological innovation has led to signi-

ficant and often unexpected cultural modification. The process of

change initiated by the new rice technology cannot be adequately under-

stood in terms of economic and technological factors alone. Rather,

the changes in farming practices have had pervasive effects upon

such diverse aspects of culture as social organization, community

stability, cultural norms, values and attitudes, and the basic relation-

ships between these rural populations and the biophysical environment

in which they live.

Another way of stating this is to say that these changes have

affected the ecological systems, or ecosystems, of which these human

populations are a part. In the chapers which follow I will attempt

to describe these ecological changes in some detail. Before pro-

ceeding further, however, it deserves note that the way the tenu "eco-

logy" is used in anthropology differs somewhat from its more familiar

use in biology. Full agreement has not yet been reached on the use

of this term in reference to human populations but many anthropologists

extend the concept of ecology to include cultural as well as biological

adaptations when speaking of human ecosystems. The sense in which

I understand and use the term is similar to that specified by Anderson:

The ecosystem framework suggests a synthetic focusupon an organized unit in ~hich transactions ofproduction, distribution, consumption and material

1Dalton, for example, states: "Therefore, change in primitiveeconomic processes means inevitable change in social organization"(1967 :62) •

4

recycling are structured and function. Thus theecosystem conceptually unites the biology, behavior,organization, and functioning of man, other animals,plants, and inorganic components within a singleframework in which the interaction of the componentsmay be studied (1974:183).

It should be evident from this statement that the study of human

ecosystems is a complex undertaking. It is made all the more diffi-

cult by the fact that there are limits to the amount and type of in-

formation a single researcher can gather during the normal period of

fieldwork. Judgments often have to be made to define and limit the

area of inquiry.

In the research reported here I attempted to concentrate upon

certain kinds of variables which seem to be most essential in under-

standing human ecosystems involving one form or another of wet rice

agriculture. The emphasis is upon humans and the ways in which they

attempt to earn their livelihood by growing rice. Only limited atten-

tion is given to biological and physical aspects of the "environment"

in which farming activities are carried out. This is due in part to

my specific research objectives and in part by my lack of competence

to provide a more thorough analysis of these factors. On the other

hand, a great deal of information is included concerning farming tech-

niques, economic arrangements, cropping patterns, land tenure, commu-.

nity organization auG a variety of other cultural features which may

seem only marginally related to ecology. Considerable attention is

also given to ideas and beliefs concerning cooperation and sharing,

obligations to kin, social rank, ethnic and religious differences,

supernatural spirits and "luck." Ideas and beliefs of this sort may

5

initially appear to be distinctly noneco1ogica1. In what follows,

however, and especially in Chapter VII, I will attempt to show that

they are in fact important elements of the ecosystems being consider-

ed.

There is by now a substantial and growing body of literature in

which the concept of ecology has been applied to the analysis of cu1-

tura1 systems. A comprehensive critical review of this literature to

1974 is contained in Anderson, cited above. 2 As Anderson observes,

these "ecological" studies actually vary widely in their methodology

and in their definition of which factors are relevant to ecological

analysis. Despite the many significant differences which do exist,

it is clear that much of this research has derived its theoretical

orientation from Julian St.eward ' s "method of cultural ecology." Stated

simply, Steward's position is that there are likely to be fundamental

relationships between a people's subsistence activities and other as-

pects of their culture. In reference to any particular culture he

distinguishes between a "cultural core" comprised of those features

most closely related to subsistence activities and economic arrangements,

and "secondary features" which may be the unpredictable result of cul-

tural-historica1 factors. He goes on to state that "Cultural ecology

pays primary attention to those features which empirical analysis shows

to be most closely involved in the utilization of enviroment in cul-

tura11y prescribed ways" (St.eward 1955: 37) .

2Two other excellent reviews of this literature a~e those of Vaydaand Rappaport (1968) and Netting (1971).

6

The research strategy proposed by Steward has been well summarized

by Vayda and Rappaport:

"Three fundamental procedures of cultural ecology"are set forth by Steward. These are analyses of:(1) the relation between environment and exploita-tive or productive technology; (2) the "behaviorpatterns involved in the exploitation of a particulararea by means of a particular technology;': and (3) the"extent to which the behavior patterns entailed inexploiting the environment affect other aspects of cul­ture" (1968:484).

It should be evident that this approach assigns a kind of deter-

ministic primacy to technological and environmental factors. Those

"secondary features" of culture which cannot be explained by the method

are treated as somewhat fortuitous and irrelevant to ecological analy-

sis. Furthermore, as Vayda and Rappaport observe, the basic casuality

implied by Steward's approach involves "simple one-way linear cause-

to-effect sequences" rather than systematic interrelationships which

might include significant feedback effects (1968:486).

Opposing points of view have been expressed by many writers in

the field. Some have directly criticized Steward and the cultural

ecologists wh~le others have simply presented alternative views con-

cerning the nature of human ecology. Especially noteworthy have been

the contributions of Geertz (1963), Vayda and Rappaport (1968), Rappa-

port (1968), Bateson (1972), Flannery (1972) and Anderson (1974).

It is important to recognize however, that these authors have differed

among themselves in the sense in which they understand ecology. Geertz,

for example, states in his criticism of Steward's approach:

How much of the past growth and present state ofIndonesian culture and society is attributable toecological processes is something to be determined,if at all, at the end of inquiry, not at the beginningof it. And as political, stratificatory, commercial,and intellectual developments, at least, seem to have

7

acted as important ordering processes in Indonesianhistory, the final awarding of prepotency to ecolo­gical developments seems no more likely than thatthey will turn out to have been inconsequential(1963:11) .

In other words, Geertz would exclude "political, stratificatory,

commercial, and intellectual developments, at least" from the realm

of the ecological.

Vayda and Rappaport suggest that ideological factors cannot be

neglected in ecological studies. They go on, however, to make the

rather puzzling statement that "studies have indicated that decisions

to change residences are made by some African tribesmen not only on

the basis of what we would regard as ecological considerations but

rather on the basis of the extent of witchcraft accusations and sus-

picions" (1968:491). They also state that "studies in ethnoscience

and cognition might indicate the 'noneco10gica1' considerations on

which individuals base decisions to act, but for an understanding of

the ecological functions and consequences of their actions, the methods

of Hestern biological science are required" (1968:491).

It appears that Bateson and Flannery would not see ideological

factors as "noneco10gical ll but as integral parts of human ecosystems.

Bateson, for example, considers our "hubris" or arrogance toward the

environment to be one of the root causes of our current eco10gi~al

crisis (1972:490). Flannery is quite explicit about the matter:

• • .eco10gists must cease to regard art, religion,and ideology as mere "epiphenomena" without causalsignificance. In an ecosystem approach to the analy­sis of human societies, everything which transmitsinformation is within the province of ecology (1972:400).

He goes on to say:

8

Some of the most important institutions are thosewhich process information for human societies.These are the ultimate detectors of deviant vari­ables; and their numbers increase with more c0ffiplexsocieties •.. Thus, one of the main trends in theevolution of bands into tribes, chiefdoms, and statesmust be a gradual increase in capacity for informationprocessing, storage and analysis (1972:411).

My own view is generally in accord with both Bateson and Flannery

on these points. However, in the last Flannery quotation I think it

would be appropriate to substitute "human activities" for "institu-

tions." If we reflect for a moment on the relationr.hips which humans

establish between themselves and their environment, including fellow

humans, we realize that much is the result of more or less conscious

decision-making by individuals as well as by groups. It is in this

decision-making, this information processing, that all factors--

whether material, energetic or ideological (i.e., a form of informational)

--become fully equivalent. Human ecology rests very specifically upon

the extent to which this information proc~ssing capacity has been de-

veloped in human intelligence.

The focus of the research reported here is therefore upon the

decision-making of the peoples under study--in this case rice farmers

with small holdings who have recently changed their farming methods.

Careful attention is paid to a great many factors which may influence-

the decisions they make. On the one hand there are factors which may

broadly be described as technological and economic. On the other hand

are equally important considerations of family welfare, community

norms, social and religious obligations, and others which must be

weighed in deciding between alternative farming strategies. A simple

9

example related to the present study may illustrate this. A farmer

with an abundant crop on a small farm might attempt to harvest all

of his grain using only family labor. This might maximize short-

term gain, but to exclude relatives and neighbors from a share of the

harvest would violate community norms and might bring serious nega-

tive consequences. Thus, while the factors included in this analysis

may often appear quite disparate they become equivalent in the sense

that they are all information to be used in the decision-making of

individual farmers, or in some cases in the decision-making of groups

of farmers. Due to the nature of rice farming and the market relation-

ships which it often involves, some of the variables associated with

various strategies and outcomes are readily quantifiable. Others are

more or less apparent even though they are less subject to quantifi-

cation. Among these are the social and "ecological" (in the bio-

physical sense) consequences of the various strategies which are chosen.

Previous ecologically-oriented field research in anthropology

has tended to concentrate upon technologically simpler societies.

Anderson has observed in this regard:

The study of those adaptations that are mostobviously dominated by environmental factorshave tended to yield the most explicity ecolo­gical analysis. Ecological studies of huntersand gatherers, swidden cultivators, and pas­tora1ists are better developed than those ofpeasants or postpeasants and farmers (1974:196).

Similar points are made by Netting (1971:4) and by Flannery, who is

led to comment on the "limited success" which has so far been achieved

in applying "so-called "ecoLogLca L approaches "' to the study of com-

plex societies (1972:399).

10

~he present study attempts to apply an ecological mode of analy­

sis to the relatively complex adaptations of peasant rice farmers. 3

This is by no means the first such attempt. One of the earliest and

most significant contributions in this direction was Clifford Geertz's

Agricultural Involution (1963). That work presented a broad over-

view of traditional adaptations and change in peasant rice farming

in Java, although it lacked any detailed examination of specific local

ecosystems. More recently, Lucien Hanks in Rice and Man (1972) has

combined a similar evolutionary/ecological overview with a study of

local effects in a particular farming community in central Thailand.

Both studies are especially noteworthy for their historical perspec-

tive and for the relationships they demonstrate between developments

at the national and international levels and the effects these de-

velopments have had upon local agricultural systems.

Two other studies of rice cultivation in Southeast Asia parti-

cularly influenced my own research. One was Moerman's Agricultural

Change and Peasant Choice in a Thai Village (1968) in which an effort

is made to trace relationships between "the components of fdrming be-

havior regardless of which components would conventionally be called

3Her e I am using the term "peasant" a bit loosely, for as willbe seen the farmers in this study are even now experiencing changesin their traditional way of life and in some cases are becoming morecommercially oriented. For this reason they might better be regardedas "postpeasants" or simply farmers, which is the term most commonlyused in what follows.

11

natural environment, social organization, or ideology" (p. 141).

The other was Akira Takahashi's Land and Peasants in Central Luzon

(1970) wherein the author notes "the interconnection between produc­

tion relations and social relations" in the farming villages he

studied (p. 147). In combination, these observations suggested tl1at

there might be significant interrelations between natural environment,

productive activities, social organization and ideology in agricul­

tural communities of this general type.

The analysis presented here attempts to consolidate these various

insights into a more holistic, systematic conceptual framework. The

ecology of peasant and quasi-peasant rice farming will be seen to in­

volve not only biological, technological and economic relationships

but others of the types specified by Moerman and Takahashi. Some

longitudinal data are available on past cultivation practices in the

study communities, and these serve to enrich our understanding of the

ecosystemic adjustments which have been associated with introduc-

tion of the new hybrid rice varieties. The communities discussed here

are by no means self-contained or bounded ecosystems, and have actually

become considerably less self-sufficient in recent years. It has

therefore been necessary to discuss not only the local context of

farmers' decision-making but also broader contexts which reach ulti­

mately to the national and international levels. Some understanding

of these wider levels of context is essential to appreciate the joint

processes of technological change and information transfer as they

affect local ecosystems.

12

One of the principal issues addresse~ here is whether the trans­

fer of technology and information through programs aimed at agricul­

tural development is having positive or negative effects at the local

level. While I cannot accept Marvin Harris's scathing condemnation

of the "green revolution" (Harris 1972), I do share some of his con­

cerns about the ecological and other hazards associated with this

widespread change in plant varieties and cultivation practices. This

has led me, in the final chapter, to question some of the basic assump­

tions which seem to underlie present agricultural development efforts,

especially those efforts which attempt to replicate Western agricul­

tural systems. I am not opposed to programs of directed social and

economic change, including those which seek to change agricultural

technology. However, I do feel that any massive efforts to change

existing systems of adaptation must be informed by a holistic, ecolo­

gical understanding if they are to succeed. In the absence of such

an understanding, balances and relationships which have sustained rural

cultivators for generations may be disrupted to the severe detriment

of those for whom this "help" was intended.

CHAPTER II

RESEARCH OBJECTIVES

Background of the Problem

It has been popular in recent years to use the phrase "green

revolution" to describe changes occurring in agriculture in the less

developed nations of the world. This phrase and another, "miracle

rice," came into common use not long after the International Rice Re­

search Institute (IRRI) released the new hybrid strain IR-8 in 1966.

The development of this hybrid rice variety had been preceded by major

advances in plant breeding which had led to the development of hybrid

strains of wheat and corn, and these hybrids had already begun to

transform traditional agriculture in many parts of the world. It

was only with a similar breakthrough in the breeding of a higher­

yielding variety of rice, however, that there suddenly seemed to be

real hope of ending hunger and famine in the rice-consuming nations

of Asia.

To some observers, the phrases "miracle rice" and "green revolu­

tion" seemed rather high-flown in the context of Asian wet rice agri­

culture. Nevertheless, the early performance ~f IR-8 appeared to

justify the optimistic predictions which accompanied its introduction.

When IR-8 was grown according to IRRI specifications it generally pro­

duced spectacular yields which were several times larger than those

of traditional varieties. Moreover, the nev grain was non-seasonal

13

14

and had a relatively short maturation period. Both characteristics

facilitated double-cropping in areas where such intensive cultivation

had never before been possible. The potential for increased grain

production in much of Asia seemed beyond even the grandest dreams of

those who had worked for years to promote agricultural development

in the region.

Once the initial enthusiasm subsided, however, it became evi­

dent that despite its great yield potential IR-8 was not necessarily

a panacea for all problems associated with wet rice farming. Many

consumers rejected the new grain because of its taste, its poor di­

gestibility, and its tendency to harden as it cooled after cooking.

This lack of consumer appeal depressed the price of the new rice as

much as 30 per cent below the prices of traditional varieties, which

partially offset the benefits of increased yields. An even more

serious problem was that IR-8 proved highly susceptible to several

rice diseases which are among the most common in tropical Asia, in­

cluding rice blast, bacterial leaf blight and Tungro.

These problems were cause for concern but not necessarily alarm,

for at least in the case of the Philippines they seemed to have beer.

overcome in the breeding of two other, less-heralded new varieties.

One of these was C4-63, which was developed at the University of the

Philippines College of Agriculture and released at about the same time

as IR-8. The other was IR-S, another IRRI variety which was introduced

a few months later. Both of these varieties had broader-spectrum

disease resistance, and C4 in particular had a good eating quality

which commanded a favorable price on the market. These two varieties

15

had lower yield potentials than IR-8, but when all factors were con­

sidered they proved to have greater appeal to most farmers. Together,

these two varieties soon replaced "miracle rice" as the most popular

of the new hybrids.

One aspect of this early experimentation with the hybrid rice

varieties was especially striking. when farmers experienced diffi­

culties in growing and marketing IR-8 they did not simply revert to

the use of traditional varieties. Instead, they sought other new

varieties which promised increased yields without the problems asso­

ciated with IR-8. This was certainly an encouraging sign. If nothing

else, it seemed that the dramatic yields achieved by IR-8 had overcome

any psychological barriers to innovation and experimentation which

might have previously existed among farmers. Farmers were even quoted

as saying they were constantly in search of newer varieties to try

out. For the new varieties to have brought about this change of atti­

tude in such a relatively brief period seemed a minor miracle indeed.

By the end of the decade there was diminished concern about the

ability of the less developed nations of Asia to meet the short-term

food requirements of their steadily increasing populations. At least

for the time being, in this case for perhaps the next 20-25 years,

it appeared that the race between food and population had been won.

Attention turned toward "second generation problems" such as expan­

sion of irrigation, improvement of drying facilities to minimize losses

during wet season harvests, and increase of storage and marketing ca­

pacities to handle the larger volumes of grain which were anticipated.

In 1969 the u.s. Agency for International Development lauded the

16

Philippines for having attained self-sufficiency in rice production

and pointed to further efforts which would have to be made to bolster

the local agricultural infrastructure--especia11y by more extensive

1irrigation--in order to sustain a rapid rate of agricultural growth.

A report by the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization on

agricultural conditions in the Philippines concluded in 1971 that

the principal needs at that time were for improved drying and storage

f "1"" 2aC1 1t1es.

Some commentators were more conservative in assessing the long-

term effects of these developments. One of the first to present a

concise, thoughtful analysis of possible dangers as well as potential

benefits of the new varieties was Clifton R. Wharton, Jr., former

president of the Agricultural Development Council. Writing in Foreign

Affairs in April, 1969, '~arton cautioned against over-estimating the

effects of the new seeds alone. He pointed to the heavy demands for

capital investment which the new seeds and new agricultural techno-

logy placed upon many governments. In order to reap the benefits of

the new grains, massive expenditures were needed to improve irrigation,

credit~ agricultural extension, transport, storage and marketing.

Farmers had to be provided with seeds, fertilizers and pesticides in

a timely and efficient manner or the governments concerned might court

lRice in the Philippines (Spring Review - Draft), 1, Section l3~USAID-Philippines (}Ianila, March, 196~, 8-9.

2Introduction and Effects of High-Yielding Varieties of Rice inthe Philippines, Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations(New York: 1971).

"political disaster." Institutional reform, especially land

reform, would be required in many instances to avert possible

social unrest resulting from uneven distribution of the benefits

of the new seeds to various segments of the farm population.

Finally, Wharton warned of the economic and ecological hazards

involved in planting large, contiguous areas to only a few gene-

tically-similar varieties of grain:

The outbreak of any major disease which wipes outthe harvest of thousands of farmers is far more likelyto be blamed on the producers and spreaders of themiracle seed than on Fate. Agricultural developmentcould be set back several decades. 3

In Seeds of Change (1970), Lester Brown of the influential

Overseas Development Council examined some of these problem areas

and generally found more cause for optimism. Most of the problems,

he believed, could be overcome by further research, increased in-

vestment, and careful planning. He seemed most concerned about

the national and international policy implications of the impend-

ing abundance of food. Several less-developed countries had al-

ready attained self-sufficiency in cereal production and others

were projected to achieve this status by the early 1970's accord­

4ing to a timetable which he presented. The underlying assumption

appeared to be that self-sufficiency, once achieved, would continue

311The Green Revolution: Cornucopia or Pandora's Box?"Foreign Affairs, XLVII, 3. (April, 1969), 464-476.

4Brown, Lester R., Seeds of Change (Praeger, 1970), 158.

17

18

in each of these countries for at least the next several decades.

It remained to be seen whether the issues raised by Wharton

and others could be so easily laid to rest. To what extent did

figures on national cereal production reflect "revolutionary"

and enduring changes in the farming sector? How well were second­

ary objectives such as improved rural welfare and more equitable

distribution of the farm product being met? What were the farmers'

own perceptions of the changes which were taking place? Could they

be expected to continue to make decisions which would sustain the

recent trends toward increased agricultural productivity, or were

there as yet undetermined factors which might act to slow or even

reverse this trend?

At the most general level. questions such as these provided

the stimulus for this research.

Research Design and Methodology

The research reported here was originally designed in 1968-69.

This was soon after the introduction of IR-8 and certain other new

varieties, and the effects these hybrids would have upon rice farm­

ing in the Philippines were still relatively unknown. One fact

which had already become clear was that these new varieties re­

presented a great potential for agricultural and economic change if

sufficient numbers of farmers could be convinced to try them. There­

fore it seemed timely and important to increase our understanding of

those economic, social or other factors which had acted in the past

to inhibit innovation in rice agriculture in the lowland Philippines.

19

If these barriers to innovation could be more thoroughly understood,

and if ways could be found to overcome them, this would enhance the

possibility that the full potential of the new varieties could be

realized.

My research was designed to study agricultural decision-making

in relation to a set of variables which appeared likely to me to

be among the principal determinants of innovative behavior. These

variables concerned differences in land tenure--the different rights

a farmer has over the land he farms and the products of that land.

While many features of the land tenure system in the Philippines

had long been seen as inequitable and socially undesirable, previous

farming studies had failed to demonstrate a clear and definite rela-

tionship between form of tenure and adoption of new farm practices.

Some researchers suggested that there was such a relationship, but

their data had not proven it to be statistically significant. 5 Others

t d d th th ·d t 11 f h 1· h· 6con en e at ere was no eV1 ence a a 0 suc a re at10ns 1p.

It appeared ~o me at the time that the failure of previous stud-

ies to demonstrate a clear and definite correlation between type of

tenure and agricultural innovation might be due to their lack of a

sufficiently rigorous distinction between innovation and adoption.

5See Madigan 1962:164-169, Quiton and ~e Guzman 1966:9-10,and Castillo 1966:50.

6ne Guzman and Dimaano 1967:83. For a more recent summary ofevidence related to this issue, see Castillo 1972:112.

20

In the study I proposed, "innovation" was to be treated as a form of

risk-taking in which decisions are made under conditions of con­

siderable uncertainty whereby the probabilities of various outcomes

are relatively unknown. Criteria were developed which restricted the

term "innovation" to experimentation with farming methods or farm in­

puts which were unfamiliar to either the experimenters or other farmers

in their immediate vicinity. Innovation was distinguished in this

way from simple "adoption," which involves a decision on the part of

the adopter to try something which may be new to him personally but

which entails less risk because it has already been tested and more

or less proven by the true innovators in his locality.

To some extent this distinction was simply a refinement of defi­

nitions used by Cancian (1967), Rogers (1962) and others to establish

categories of "earliest adopters," "later adopters" and "non-adopters"

in similar farm studies. From my own perspective, however, it had

the advantage of shifting the emphasis to the characteristics of

risks involved in innovation, which I hypothesized to be directly re­

lated to the decision-maker's tenure status. Whether a farmer is an

owner/operator, a leasehold tenant or a share tenant has a direct

bearing upon the extra profit, or increased payoff, which he can ex­

pect if he is willing to take added risks. Moreover, the risk struc­

ture may vary even within tenure categories. In the case of share

tenancy, some landlords are willing to assume a share of increased

investment proportionate to their share of the yield, but others ex­

pect the tenant to assume the full costs of any innovation while the

21

sharing of the harvest remains the same. Here the risk defined as

the probability of various outcomes may remain the same, but the risk

defined in terms of the "odds" of investment versus payoff differs

substantially. It seemed likely to me thar. the increased risk in-

vo1ved in certain of these situations would serve as a disincentive

to innovation.

Remarkably, this disincentive to investment had been noted even

in some previous studies which had indicated no relation between type

of tenure and adoption of new practices. De Guzman and Dimaano, for

example, observed that many share tenants rejected recommended farm

practices on the basis of cost, often because "landlords did not want

to share with tenants the additional expenses in carrying out new

practices" (1967:65). The same investigators decried the "reluctance

of most landlords to share in the production expenses like fertilizer

and spray" (1967:81), yet they concluded there was no relation between

this fact and the willingness or unwillingness of share tenants to be

. .. he i f . 71nnovat1ve 1n t e1r arm1ng. Findings such as these were puzzling,

and at the very least seemed to indicate an area in which further in-

vestigation would be worthwhile.

I also intended in this study to gather additional data on an

assortment of variables which previous research had shown to be cor-

related to a greater or lesser extent with innovative behavior. These

variables included the age, wealth and educational attainment of the

7Cf• Castillo 1972:112.

22

farmer as well as his farm size, family size, use of credit, contact

with extension agents and years of farming experience. Finally, and

most basically, I intended to provide a detailed description of wet

rice farming in a particular locality, including an analysis of the

economics of rice production and an examination of ways in which social

organization might influence agricultural decision-making.

\~en I arrived in the Philippines in late 1969, I found that the

hybrid rice varieties had been disseminated so rapidly and so widely

that a change of emphasis seemed called for in my research. As remark­

able as it would have seemed a few years earlier, nearly all farmers in

the major rice-producing areas were now engaged in experimenting with

new varieties and new techniques of cultivation. The new varieties had

been adopted to such an extent that any distinction between "innovators"

and "non-innovators" seemed little more than academic. Also, farmers

were trying out so many different combinations of inputs, techniques and

varieties that an individual who might be considered an innovator on

the basis of certain practices could turn out to be a late adopter or a

non-adopter on the basis of others. Clearly, a number of the labels

and categories which had previously appeared to be appropriate were

simply not adequate to deal with the complex situation I encountered in

the field.

In varying degrees, farmers were adopting a technology which

departed radically from their traditional farming methods. This new

technology was costly. It required as much as ten times more capital

investment than traditional ways of farming. It also required heavier

inputs of labor. Farmers themselves recognized that they had to work

23

much harder if they planted the new varieties and used the new techniques

of cultivation. To their credit, most had shown they were willing to

make this added investment of time and energy. In terms of both capital

and labor, therefore, the new technology had raised the "stakes" in­

volved in wet rice farming. At the same time, farmers were confronted

with the most bewildering array of economic and technological choices

in their experience. The range of alternatives now available further

complicated the decision-making process, but the farmers appeared to be

responding with increasingly sophisticated attempts at what would be

considered "modern" farm management and "rational" economic decision­

making.

One of the foremost questions at this point was whether or not

farmers would continue to use the new varieties and new technology.

Would their conversion be sustained, or might they for one reason or

another return to their former ways of farming? Also, even if they

continued to use the new varieties, what levels of investment and what

ccmbinations of inputs might they eventually settle upon as most work­

able or most profitable? In order to obtain adequate answers to these

questions it seemed more important than ever to understand the criteria

farmers were using to decide between the many alternatives available to

them. What were the characteristics of the new farming strategies

which were evolving under these changing conditions, and how were these

strategies being arrived at? Third, given the fact that the new

varieties and new technology had been so widely adopted, what conse­

quences might this have for existing social and economic relations?

To what extent could these changes be accommodated within the estab-

24

lished socioeconomic system, and to what extent might they have reper­

cussions upon the system itself? Finally, some concern had been voiced

--and has since received fuller expression--over the ecological conse­

quences of the many changes which had been initiated in tropical wet

rice agriculture. This aspect of recent developments also seemed to

me to be of compelling research interest.

While I continued to be interested in risk-taking and innovation,

I became less concerned with determining the characteristics of inno­

vators and more concerned with examining (1) the strategies farmers

were devising to minimize their risks and maximize their gains as they

experimented with the new varieties and new technology; (2) the ways in

which these strategies affected, and/or were affected by, the social

and economic context of this decision-making; and (3) the possible

ecological effects of the strategies which were being adopted. It was

thus that this research which had been intended as a study of agricul­

tural innovation broadened in the field to become a study of the wider

ecosystcm~~ ~ff~~ts af changes in traditional agriculture.

There was relatively little difficulty in revising my research

design to accommodate these wider concerns. At the time this seemed to

amount to little more than a change of emphasis. On the other hand,

another change I decided upon which complicated the study greatly, and

which had major implications for its scope and perhaps its significance,

was a change in geographical location. Originally I had planned to

conduct this research in a Tagalog-speaking area on the island of Luzon.

For a variety of reasons I had finally selected the vicinity of Daet,

Camarines Norte, in the northern Bikol region. A great deal of research

25

had been carried out in Central and Southern Luzon, in part because of

the proximity of these areas to both the International Rice Research

Institute and the University of the Philippines College of Agriculture.

More research was either planned or in progress in this region. In view

of this ongoing research elsewhere in the Tagalog-speaking areas, I had

selected the northernmost Bikol province in order to avoid duplication

of effort while remaining in the area of my greatest Philippine language

8fluency. Soon after my arrival I visited Daet to conduct an initial

survey of the surrounding rice farming corr~unities. I was disappointed

to find that conditions in this part of Luzon did not appear to differ

significantly from those in other parts of the island which had already

been studied. While this was an impressionistic judgment, it made me

feel that a study of this area might turn out to be just one of many of

the same general type and would provide a minimal return on the research

investment. After considering various alternatives and discussing the

matter with fellow researchers, I finally decided to shift the locale

of the study to the Province of Cotabato on the island of Mindanao.

This was certainly a major change and one which proved to have many

consequences. Cotabato is remote from Manila and normally does not

attract nearly as much government attention as do the populous areas of

Central and Southern Luzon. This region is often described as a land

of great agricultural promise, but it is also regarded as a wild and

backward frontier area. Until early in this century the lowlands of

8Most of the Bikol region has its own Bikol language, but thenorthern area around Daet is predominantly Tagalog-speaking.

The dearth of research was remark-

26

the province were inhabited principally by the Maguindanao, one of

several Muslim peoples of the southern Philippines who were considered

to be traditional enemies of "Christians" from the central and northern

islands. It has only been gradually, over the past 60 years or so,

that large numbers of non-Muslims have immigrated to the province to

settle there. Many stereotyped images of Cotabato and its inhabitants

persist, but by 1970 the population of the province was in fact predom-

inantly non-Muslim, and Muslim and Christian farmers seemed peacefully

settled alongside one another in several large and growing towns.

Up to the time of the present study Cotabato had attracted little

research interest. Some studies of limited scope had been conducted by

students of the 11indanao Institute of Technology in Kabacan, Cotabato,

but there had not been any intensive, detailed study of rice farming in

h 1 1 d f h . 9t e ow an areas 0 t e prOVlnce.

able considering the fact that this vast river basin encompasses an

estimated one million hectares (2.47 million acres) of irrigable land.

Much of this land is still underdeveloped, but hundreds of thousands of

hectares are presently cultivated and the province definitely ranks as

one of the major rice-producing areas in the country. Altogether, the

relative lack of knowledge about farming conditions in this extensive

river basin, the importance of the province as a major rice producer,

and the great agricultural potential of this area all appeared to give

Cotabato high research priority. There was the added prospect that this

9Interestingly, there had been more thorough study of swiddenfarming in upland Cotabato by Lopez (1968) among the Manobo and bySchlegel (1970) among the Tiruray.

27

study might contribute to an understanding of farming conditions in

other recently-developed areas of Mindanao, the so-called "pioneer"

settlements, where once again rather little research had been conducted

up to this point.

After an initial survey of several towns in northern Cotabato, the

municipality of Midsayap was selected for study. There were many reasons

for this choice. Hidsayap is a town and village complex which at that

time included the largest area of irrigated riceland of any municipality

in northern Cotabato. The town is the main commercial center in the

north-central part of the province, and it is only 45 kilometers from

a major port at Cotabato City. The local FaCoMa (Farmer's Cooperative

Marketing Association) had a national reputation as one of the largest

and most active in the country. Commercial facilities in the town in­

clude a branch of the Philippine National Bank, a rural bank, numerous

rice mills and warehouses, and several outlets selling farm supplies

and equipment. Midsayap was a target area in the government's program

to increase agricultural production, and a variety of agencies were

engaged in ongoing extension efforts there. The Mindanao Rice and Corn

Experiment Station, located a few kilometers outside the town proper,

serves as a center for local trials of new varieties, demonstration of

recommended farming techniques, and propagation of certified seed.

In short, virtually all aspects of the agricultural infrastructure

in this municipality appeared adequate to encourage maximum utilization

by local farmers of new varieties and new methods of cultivation. It

was important for purposes of this study that farmers have available to

them a wide range of options in order to minimize the possibility that

28

their decisions would be determined simply by a lack of alternatives.

In this locality there appeared to be minimal restraints to decision­

making with regard to factors such as irrigation, availability of inputs,

credit, sources of information, transportation, storage and marketing.

Farmers had a wide range of choice, depending upon the extent to which

thp.y could and would utilize these resources.

Another factor which recommended Midsayap for this research is the

variability in the local land tenure system. Much of the lowland area

of the municipality was acquired by the government and divided into

homestead tracts in connection with resettlement programs earlier in

this century. This land allocation program promoted uniformity of

holdings among the early settlers, but over time the processes of frag­

mentation, mortgaging and sale of lands have led to significant dispari­

ties in present-day land holdings. In addition, some prominent Maguin­

danao leaders were able to validate their claims to very large tracts

of land, and other Maguindanao were able to secure title to the lands

they were actually farming at the time of a cadastral survey in the late

1920's. As a result of all this, land holdings now vary in size from

some which are quite small to others which are, by local standards, very

large parcels of several hundred hectares.

Except for the smallest holdings, much of the riceland is farmed

by tenants. Some tenants have true leasehold arrangements with their

landlords while others have agreements which approximate leasehold.

Share tenancy is more common, however, and in certain barrios the inci­

dence of share tenancy is as high as that found in heavily tenanted

areas of Luzon. There are a significant number of absentee landlords,

29

and many landlords are not farmers themselves. Some of these reside in

the town proper and maintain regular contact with their tenants. Others

live so far away that they must rely upon managers or overseers to

collect rents and deal with tenants. There is remarkable variety as

well in the sharing agreements between landlords and tenants. These

different sharing arrangements and the intricacies of the land tenure

system will be discussed later. Here it is sufficient to note that

this variation was desirable in order to determine possible effects of

tenure status upon agricultural risk-taking and decision-making.

As mentioned, the choice of Cotabato--and of Midsayap in particu­

lar--led to major complications in the study. Some of the difficulties

involved in this change of locale are described in Chapter III and in

the Epilogue. Here it is of concern mainly because of the effects upon

the methodology of the study. Originally, when I planned to do this

research in a Tagalog region, I had not intended to use an interpreter

or to administer the research questionnaire in more than one language.

I felt I had sufficient background in Tagalog to enable me, within a

few months after arriving in the field, to interview my respondents

personally in that language. However, with the shift to Cotabato I

found it impossible in the brief period of fieldwork to attain real

fluency in either Maguindanao or Ilongo, which were the first languages

of the majority of my respondents." Natually this was a handicap in my

role as a participant observer. The difficulty of limited language

facility was greatest in my dealings with the Maguindanao. Maguindanao

is only distantly related to Tagalog, and most Maguindanao have had less

30

exposure to English and Tagalog than members of other ethnic groups

because they have generally had little interest in attending government

schools. Some individuals have multilingual skills in languages

including Ilokano and Arabic, but only a few were sufficiently fluent

in English and/or Tagalog to permit easy communication. The problem

was not as great as in the case of Ilongo speakers because Ilongo is

more closely related to Tagalog and to Cebuano, with which I have some

familiarity. The Ilongos I interviewed also tended to have had more

formal education and could speak and understand some English. Nonethe­

less, in many situations my friend and interpreter Abdul Kali was of

indispensable assistance in making communication possible. I was able

to learn enough Maguindanao and Ilongo to follow most conversations and

to know in some cases that an error had been made in interpretation,

but I certainly was unable to initiate or sustain any but the simplest

of conversations in these languages.

To insure the reliability of data gat:iered under these circum­

stances a structured interview schedule was developed as an instrument

for formal data collection. This interview schedule was translated

from English into Maguindanao and Ilongo by native speakers of those

languages. It was then translated back into English by other native

speakers and corrections were made where there were discrepancies.

After pre-testing and further modification, this questionnaire served

as the basis for the Household and Farm Survey which provided most of

the statistical d~ta in this study. A copy of the English version of

the interview schedule is appe'lded to this report.

31

The Household and Farm Survey was administered to 120 household

heads in three communities. The sample included 54 Maguindanao and

66 non-Maguindanao, or "Christian5." The ethno-1inguistic identifica­

tion of the latter group of respondents may be summarized as 60 I1ongo,

4 I1okano, 1 Boho1ano (Cebuano speaking) and 1 Leyteno (Waray speaking).

Some linguistic difficulties were encountered once again in the cases

of non-I1ongo respondents, but most spoke some combination of I1ongo,

English ando r Tagalog and every effort was made to be sure that

questions were understood and that their answers were reliable and

accurate.

The sample itself was non-random. It was intended to be a total

population sample of two communities, although in the case of the

larger community it included a small "satellite" community as well.

There were problems in defining the boundaries of the two study communi­

ties because the boundaries in both cases were disputed by the communi­

ty members themselves. The methods used in delineating the sample are

discussed in Chapter III as part of the description of the general

characteristics of the communities studied.

The results of the formal interviews were supplemented in a variety

of ways. Persistent efforts were made to cross-check and verify infor­

mation gathered in the survey. In the more accessible areas I visited

farmers' fields regularly and observed harvesting and threshing opera­

tions in an effort to spot-check data from the survey. Followup inter­

views were conducted with personnel of the experiment station, extension

agents, and town and barrio officials. I was also able to do a great

32

deal of in-depth interviewing with both Maguindanao and non-Maguindanao

informants with whom good communications had been established. Finally,

despite any language handicaps I was able to observe, and in some cases

to participate in, a wide variety of activities which ranged from

farmers' meetings to Christian and Muslim religious ceremonies. As a

result the data presented in this study are hopefully valid and reliable

despite the possible linguistic and methodological limitations which

have been indicated.

Theoretical Orientation

A decade before the period of my research, the farmers I studied

lived in a particular physical, biotal and social environment in which

they utilized a familiar, well-established farming technology to pro­

vide for the subsistence needs of their families. They did not produce

all of what they consumed, and their subsistence "needs" included

some items which were only available through participation in a wider

market economy. In this sense as well as in several others, these

farmers were "peasants" whose production was divided between the demands

of horne consumption, the necessity of selling in the market to acquire

certain items from the market, and the more or less inescapable re­

quirements of paying rents and/or taxes.

Over the years, complex feedback mechanisms had led to adjustments

in elements of the local ecosystem--including the activities connected

with the wet rice cultivation--which had brought this system to a state

of relative homeostasis. Conditions within the system might have varied

33

from one year to the next, to be sure. There were good harvests and

poor harvests depending upon such forces as weather and the prevalence

of pests and diseases. Personnel might enter or leave the system for

whatever reason. Some adjustments might be required to deal with al­

tered conditions of one type or another. Overall, however, the steady

state remained. The stability--or homeostasis--of this system was a

source of despair for extension agents, government planners, and others

who described it in terms of the "stagnation" of traditional agriculture.

Persistent efforts were made to find a way to provide the impetus for

"getting agriculture moving," to borrow a phrase from Arthur T. Mosher. l O

In the case of Midsayap, government planners felt that irrigation

would be one means of accomplishing this end. Consequently, in the

early 1960's a large irrigation facility was built to serve the lowland

areas of Midsayap and two adjacent municipalities. The introduction of

irrigation had many effects upon the local ecosystem. The more signifi­

cant of these effects are described in Chapter IV. Some were planned,

others were unanticipated and were certainly unintended. In any event

it does not seem that irrigation by itself brought about the surge in

agricultural productivity which had been hoped for. The greatest

significance of the irrigation system has since turned out to have been

as a "preadaptation," in that it made this area suitable for multiple

cropping of the hybrid rice varieties when these were introduced a few

years later.

The new varieties and the new methods of cultivation associated

10Mosher, Arthur T., Getting Agriculture Moving (Praeger, 1966).

34

with them were widely adopted in Midsayap in 1967 and 1968. Those

farmers who were first to adopt these varieties usually made a deli­

berate effort to minimize the risks involved in this experimentation

by limiting their plantings of the new varieties and planting the re­

mainder of their farms to traditional varieties. These innovators

were rewarded with unprecedented yields, especially if they had planted

.IR-8, and their profits were further increased by the sudden demand

this created for their rice to be used as seed. The highly favorable

experience of these innovators had immediate spread effects, and with­

in a few seasons nearly all farmers in the irrigated portions of the

town were planting the new varieties exclusively.

Irrigation, the new varieties, and the new farming methods which

were recommended at this time were all viewed by government personnel

and others who were involved in introducing them as relatively simple

and straightforward technological changes which would be of great

economic benefit to farmers. The primary purpose in initiating these

changes was to increase rice production by "modernizing" wet rice

agriculture. Consistent with this objective, it was hoped that farmers

would become less subsistence oriented and would be motivated to pro­

duce more for the market--i.e., that they would make the transition from

peasant to commercial farming. Planners and extension agents were

pleasantly surprised to find that farmers accepted the new varieties

so readily. They were further encouraged when farmers responded to the

setbacks experienced with IR-8 by shifting to even newer varieties. It

appeared that the new agricultural technology was steadily and effectively

35

supplanting traditional tarming methods. Little remained~ it seemed,

except to improve the agri~ultural infrastructure and to maintain the

incentives for farmers to make maximum use of recomrn~nded inputs.

What does not seem to have been fully appreciated at this time was

the complexity of interrelationships within the biocultural system to

which these new elements were being introduced. It was recognized in a

general way that adoption of the new technology might lead to un­

specified economic changes in the farm sector. It was accepted that

some features of tradition~l social and economic relationships might be

resistant to change, and that this might inhibit full utilization of

the new technology. It was also expected, of course, that the short­

maturing, non-photoperiod sensitive new varieties would lead to some

ecological changes, mainly in the form of multiple cropping. Co~mon to

all of these expectations was a rather simple idea of cause and effect

in which "causes" emanating from outside the local ecosystem would bring

about "effects" in the form of changes in that system. Hith this idea in

mind, the main problem was one of obstacles, barriers, or sources of re­

sistance to innovation which would inhibit adoption of the new technology.

Little attention was given--and perhaps could not have been given at

this time--to ways in which altered conditions in this biocultural

system might in turn become causes, leading to further changes in the

system or acting as feedback to minimize any disturbing effects upon

established patterns of adaptation. Viewing the situation from the

latter perspective, however, it became apparent that the widespread

adoption of the new technology might result in changes which would

36

affect the continued use of that technology itself.

Any modifications which occur in the biocu1tura1 system I am

describing are Jue in large part to decisions made by individual

farmers. In rice farming, each complete farm cycle involves a sequence

of decisions from init~a1 seed selection to final harvesting and market­

ing. Except for those rare individuals who farm for only one season,

each of these decision-making sequences is one of a series of such

sequences. Within each sequence, choices n~de early in the farming

cycle act as restraints upon decisions made later in the cycle. In a

similar way, the decisions made in a given sequence are restrained by

decisions in prior sequences, and by knowledge of the outcomes or pay­

offs of these earlier decisions. In some cases these prior outcomes

may radically affect a farmer's ability and/or willingness to make

certain decisions, as when a poor harves t leaves him with only limited

capital with whi~h to begin the next farming cycle. Here the restraints

include not only the fact of limited capital but also the knowledge of

decisions and events which contributed to the poor harvest. Thus, in

many ways the decisi~n-making process tends to have cumulative effects

which constantly alter the context in w~ich subsequent decisions are

made. Stated in another way, any outcome whether good or bad provides

feedback which restrains subsequent decision-making.

Part of this feedback percains directly to the decisions and

experiences of the farmer himself. This is supplemented with compar­

able feedback from other farmers to form a body of informtion about the

relative economy, effectiveness and desirability of alternatives or

strategies which have been locally tried and tested. Additionally,

37

there is often the possibility open to farmers of experimenting with

techniques or inputs which have not been tested locally. Information

about these alternatives is commonly in the form of appraisals and

recommendations by extension agents or others, and this information

likewise becomes part of the decision-making context.

There is also a wider economic context in which the farmer makes

his choices. This is the context of the market, in which he must pur­

chase many of the items he requires for farming and in which he must

sell a more or less substantial amount of his product. The cost of

inputs relative to the price of rice, as well as the absolute price of

rice, fluctuate considerably from one season to the next, and in some

cases from month to month. There can also be a great deal of fluctu­

ation in market prices for different varieties of rice. These are

factors of the economic context over which the farmer has little control,

but which he must take into consideration as he makes his choice of

farming strategy.

Finally there is an area in which it is difficult to separate

social from economic considerations, or in which social considerations

may impinge upon the individual farmer's freedom of choice. This socio­

economic context involves various relationships which range from the

more purely economic to the more purely social. At the economic end of

this spectrum is the relationship between share or leasehold tenants

and their landlords. The terms of tenure may not be rigidly enforced

in times of poor harvests or under other adverse conditions if the land­

lord and tenant are on friendly terms, and if the landlord is "under-

38

standing." In instances of share tenancy, the nature of the personal

relationship between the individuals concerned may also influence the

landlord's willingness to extend credit or to shoulder some portion of

the farming expenses. Also part of the socioeconomic context is the

potential in a given community for cooperative farming, labor exchange,

and share or wage labor by which community members obtain a portion of

. the product from farms other than their own. At the more purely social

end of the spectrum are considerations of the degree to which alterna­

tive decisions will permit the decision maker to fulfill social obliga­

tions, or to what extent social obligations will affect the profitability

of alternative farm strategies.

In the period which extended into the early 1960's, most of these

contextual features were relatively unchanging from one year to the next,

and the local ecosystem was characterized by a fair degree of stability

av0 predictability in terms of the farming strategies which would be

followed by most farmers. Subsequently, the introduction of irrigation,

new varieties and a new farming technology disturbed the homeostatic

condition of this system. Irrigation was the earliest of these changes,

and initially it appeared to bring about only minor alterations in the

cropping pattern and--to some extent--in the type of crops grown.

Within several seasons, however, there were noticeable effects upon

available sources of supplementary farm income and upon the size and

composition of certain communities. Later the new varieties and new

technology led to further changes which affected, among other things,

farm size, tenancy agreements, and rates of payment--in cash or in kind

--for agricultural labor.

39

In none of these cases was the change purely unidirectional, in­

volving a simple case of cause and effect. These changes had direct

effects upon the social, economic and ecological context of rice

farming, and the modifications of this context altered decisions con­

cerning the use of irrigation, the new varieties and the new tech­

nology. Some effects were subtle and did not lead to conscious efforts

to compensate for them. Others were more apparent and led to deliberate

corrective responses on the part of the farmers. This was especially

true after the irrigation system had been in operation for several

years and some of its undesirable side effects had become more evident,

and also after farmers had experienced a series of crop losses which

were due in large part to the susceptibility of the hybrid rice

varieties to assorted diseases.

The use of the new varieties and new technology introduced a new

instability to this biocultural system. One aspect of this instability

was an increase in risk associated with cultivation of the hybrid

strains. Outcomes which differed radically from expectations became

more common, and these outcomes provided feedback which led to cor­

rective measures designed to reduce risk and restore stability to the

system. These corrective measures directly affected the use of the

new varieties and even more the use of inputs which were part of the

new farming technology.

If the cybernetics model I am suggesting has any value beyond

serving as a simple analogy, it might give some helpful indications of

what to expect in dealing with a system such as this. '~en elements of

40

instability are introduced to a cybernetic system, this leads to feed-

back in the form of corrective responses to reduce erratic functioning

or disequilibrium. This feedback tends to restore the system to homeo-

stasis. Conditions in the new homeostatic state may not be identical

to those in the original state. Energy levels may be higher--as when

a thermostat is raised--or other conditions may have changed in quantity

or quality. The important fact is that there has been a compensation

for factors causing disequilibrium and a new steady state has been

achieved.

Here I have maintained that the changes in agricultural technology

which have been discussed were introduced to a biocultural system which

was in relative homeostasis. This caused changes in the system, but the

system also had characteristics which damped the effects of these new

elements. Stated metaphorically and more concretely, farmers who had

previous~y produced an average of 20-30 cavans of rice/hectare/season

began to produce 100 or more cavans of rice/hectare/season in a system

which was not built to run at this speed. Erratic outcomes, indicative

of weaknesses in the altered system, evoked corrective responses from

the farmers in the form of decisions which had braking and stabilizing

effects, eventually bringing the system more closely under control. The

system tended to stabilize again at a level of output of 40-50 cavans/

hectare by 1970-71. 11 This was far below the levels of efficiency

llThese figures are for "normal" yields. The yields actuallyreported were depressed below these figures due to the incidence ofdisease during the period of study.

41

expected by outside observers, but it may in fact have been an optimum

level given the realistic capabilities and limitations of the system

in which the farmers found themselves.

Many of the restraints which are part of this system can be speci­

fied in detail. The nature of the disturbances and dislocations caused

by the new agricultural technology can also be defined. Finally, the

strategies adopted by farmers to minimi~e risk by attempting to avoid

erratic or unexpected outc~mes can be described and analyzed. The

decisions made in accordance with these strategies were based upon

feedback of a great variety of types, and these decisions in turn acted

as feedback which would alter conditions in the system.

This cybernetics view of the systemic relationships within the

domain of wet rice farming is obviously derived in part from the theory

of functionalism. However, it differs from this theory in an important

respect. The traditional functionalist view of cultural change main­

tained that even an apparently simple item of technology, when intro­

duced to an alien culture, had the potential for producing far-reaching

and possibly unexpected changes in that culture. The analogy might have

been that of a pebble dropped into a quiet pond, with the ripple thus

created spreading out to all parts of the pond. In a closed or bounded

system, however, the ripple will return to the point of initial distur­

bance. At that point, if we are dealing gith a source of change or

disturbance which is more responsive than a pebble or a steel axe, the

stimulus which is producing changes in the system may itself be modified

to be more readily accommodated within the system.. This view of the

42

system leads to a more complex level of analysis, just as it would be

more difficult to analyze the secondary and tertiary wave patterns of

the ripple in the pond.

In the chapters which follow, I shall attempt to describe some

of the more important elements of the "system" as I see it. In the

communities I have studied, these elements are of at least five types

--individual, cultural, social, economic, and ecological. Each will be

discussed separately to some extent, and I will indicate some of the

more significant interrelationships between them which do in fact seem

to make them part of one system. As will be seen, the "governor"

function in this ecosystem is performed to a considerable extent by

the farmers themselves, who both consciously and unconsciously affect

the state of the system through their decision-making.

CHAPTER III

THE SETTING

The island of Mindanao lies between 60 and 10 0 north of the

Equator about 200 miles northeast of Borneo. It is the southernmost

of the principal islands in the Philippine Archipelago and is second

in size to Luzon, where Manila is located. The total area of the

island is over 36,500 square miles. This makes it a little larger

than Portugal, or about six times the size of the combined Hawaiian

Islands. The coastline of this island is indented with numerous gulfs

and bays, and the interior is traversed by rugged mountain ranges.

Mount Apo, an active volcano which is the tallest mountain in the

Philippines, rises in the southeast to a height of nearly 10,000"feet.

Until very recent times most of the upland areas of Mindanao were

covered with dense tropical rainforest.

On a map, the irregular shape of the island bears a fanciful

resemblance to a pterodactyl about to land--the head and neck forming

the Zamboanga Peninsula to the west, the half-spread wings arching

over Davao Gulf to the east, and the belly curving south along the

shores of the Moro Gulf. Cotabato is on the east coast of the Moro

Gulf. Here in the lower valley of the Rio Grande de Mindanao is the

broad Cotabato plain. This plain is a low, marshy expanse crossed by

a maze of waterways which converge near its center in two great swamps,

the Liguasan Marsh and the slightly smaller Libungan Marsh. At normal

water levels the combined area of these two marshes is about 450 square

43

F'Lgur e 1. Outline map of the Phi.lippines. OHanila. *Midsayap

44

4S

miles (Wernstedt & Spencer 1967:545). During periods of heavy rain-

fall, however, the river overflows its banks and the marshes expand

until most of the valley floor resembles an immense lake. This valley

and the adjacent coast are the traditional homeland of the Maguindanao--

"the people of the flood plain."

The Maguindanao are an Islamized people who once ruled southern

1Mindanao from Zamboanga on the west to the eastern coast of Davao.

The name of the island itself is a variant form of their name, which

has been translated as meaning "inundation by a river, lake or sea"

(Saleeby 1905:13). The Maguindanao are the largest of several Muslim

groups cf the southern Philippines. Estimates of their present numbers

range from 600,000 to 800,000 persons. Today, however, they are no

longer the only "people of the flood plain." They now share the

fertile lands of the Cotabato valley with hundreds of thousands of

immigrants from other parts of the Philippines who have come to this

southern frontier in search of land and a better life. The massive

influx of settlers, particularly in the period since World War II, has

wrought dramatic changes in the province in the past several decades.

In order to understand present day conditions in Cotabato, however,

it is necessary to know at least the broad outlines of this area's past.

Historical Background

The influence of Islam spread to the Philippine Islands well

before Magellan's ill-fated voyage in 1521. A variety of evidence

lA brief description of the traditional social and politicalorganization of the Maguindanao is presented in Appendix A.

46

suggests that Muslim traders and missionaries were in contact with

the southernmost islands by at least a century before this date. The

first large-scale conversion of indigenous peoples to Islam appears to

··have occurred in the Sulu Archipelago, where the Sultanate of Sulu

was founded around 1450 (Saleeby 1908: 1912). Similar conversions

seem to have occurred by about 1500 among some of the peoples living

near the mouth of what is now known as the Rio Grande of Mindanao.

According to oral history, this led to the founding of the Maguindanao

sultanate. By 1565, when the Spanish began their first successful colo-

nization at Cebu, they found that Islamic influence had spread widely

throughout the islands. In 1571 the Europeans had to defeat a Muslim

prince, Rajah Soliman, to take possession of Manila. Spanish chronicles

of the era indicate that there were other Muslim groups on Luzon and

on the islands of Mindoro, Panay and Palawan in addition to those in

Mindanao and Sulu.

An avowed intent of the Spanish colonization of the Philippines

was to convert the native peoples to Christianity. The growing strength

of Islam among the islanders obviously threatened the achievement of

this goal. Furthermore, the Spaniards associated the Muslims of the

Philippines with the Moors who had been their foes for centuries. Thus

they called them "~1oros"2 and defined them as enemies from the outset of

their occupation of the islands. It was not long before Spanish forces

were able to dislodge the Muslim groups from Luzon and the central

Visayan Islands. However, repeated military expeditions which were

2Thi s term has persisted and is generally resented by MuslimFilipinos today. It is used here strictly in historical context or indirect quotation.

47

mounted against the groups in Mindanao and Sulu only served to harden

Muslim resistance in the south and to provoke raids of reprisal against

the islands under Spanish contTol.

The protracted series of battles, raids and counter-raids which

followed spanned more than 300 years of Philippine history and have come

to be known as the "Moro Wars." One aspect of these wars which proved

to have enduring consequences was that the Spanish commonly augmented

their forces with troops impressed or recruited from among the Christian­

ized natives of the northern and central islands. This fostered a

bitter enmity between Muslim and Christian Filipinos despite what seem

to have been many similarities in their earlier cultural heritage. 3

From about 1860 onward the Spanish were able to contain the Muslims

of the southern islands through the use of steam-powered gunboats. It

was not until after the United States seized control of the Philippines

in 1898, however, that the interior of Mindanao was finally "pacified."

The last major armed encounter in Cotabato ended with the death of the

Maguindanao hero Datu Ali and the defeat of his forces in 1905. E1se-

where, Muslim resistance to American colonial control continued until

about 1913.

The same year marked the end of military administration of the

so-called "Moro Province" and the creation of the civilian Department

of Mindanao and Sulu. The new. civilian governor, Frank W. Carpenter,

adopted what he termed a "policy of attraction" in dealing with the

Muslims under his jurisdiction. He pledged to their leaders that the

colonial government would be tolerant of religious and cultural

3For details see Appendix A.

48

differences and would respect their authority in traditional affairs.

He appears to have been quite successful in winning their cooperation

and their acceptance of American rule (Orosa 1923:44). After nearly

350 years of resistance to foreign domination the peoples of Mindanao

and Su1u were finally united with the rest of the Philippines under one

central authority.

With peace generally established in this region t the colonial

government undertook a series of measures to consolidate its control

over the southern islands and to integrate them more effectively with

the rest of the nation. As one such measure a resettlement program

was inaugurated to encourage more "Christians" to relocate to Muslim

4areas. Extensive tracts of land in Mindanao were opened up for colo-

nization by settlers from the north. In Cotabato, six resettlement

areas covering a total of 35,000 acres were established between 1913

and 1917. Prospective settlers were offered not only land but relocation

allowances. Despite these incentives, however, the program met with

only limited initial success. This was due in part to physical conditions

in the province and in part to dif:icu1ties experienced by the settlers

in their dealing with the Maguindanao. Some immigrants returned to

their provinces of origin or moved to other parts of Mindanao. An eva1u-

ation of the resettlement scheme by the Insular Bureau of Lands in 1928

4The terms "Christian" and IT Muslim" are used here as they are incolloquial usage in the Philippines, where the distinction refers not somuch to formal religious affiliation as to ethnic identity and place oforigin.

49

showed that after the program had been in operation 15 years only

8,000 settlers and their dependents remained in Cotabato (Wernstedt &

Spencer 1967:550).

When the earliest of these settlers arrived in the lowlands of

Cotabato they encountered an indigenous, Islamized culture characterized

by social stratification and strong authoritarian leadership. These

cultural patterns had evolved over a long period. The Maguindanao

attribute their conversion to Islam to the missionary activities of

one Sarip (Sharif) Kabungsuwan, a Muslim prince from the Malay Penin-

sula who claimed to be a direct descendent of the Prophet Mohammed. It

is said that he converted some of the people of Cotabato and became

their ruler around 1500. All subsequent rulers of the Maguindanao have

claimed descent from Kabungsuwan, and it is on this basis that they as­

sert their rights to social privilege and political authority.5

The social, political and economic system which emerged among th~

Maguindanao following their conversion had distinctly feudal character-

istics. One or more sultans held titular authority over all of the

Maguindanao, but in fact their power was based upon the support of

numerous local chieftains, known as datus, each of whom had his OvlIl

group of followers. The datus as well as the sultans were members of

the highest social rank and were generally related to one another by

blood and/or marriage. Important decisions were made by a sultan only

with the consent of the ruma bechara, or council of datus. Alliances

were tenuous, and the written history and oral traditi0ns of the Maguin-

danao recount many power struggles over the centuries.

5Mednick (1965:51) makes the same point in reference to theneighboring--and closely related--Maranao.

50

By the advent of the American colonial period the sultanates in

Cotabato had been reduced to little more than empty titles. The power

of the datus also appeared to be in decline but in the long run proved

more resistant to change. B1umentritt summarized the situation in 1900:

The social system of the Moros rests on feudalismand slavery. Below the Sultan stand the great baronsor dattos, who in turn have vassals and slaves.Fortified courts surrounded by stone walls and pali­sades and called cottas, serve as residences for thesultans and dattos •.• Formerly the sultanate ofMindanao was as powerful as that of Su1u, but itsnaturally feeble bonds were weakened by strifes forsuccession, and the present sultan is unimportant ascompared with his ancestors. A large number of dattosdeclared themselves independent and some like thoseof KUdarangan, Ta1ayan and others even assumed thetitle of sultan.

Since the introduction of gunboats (1860-63) piracyhas been extirpated and the dattos have lost theirchief source of income. The result is a notableeconomic and political decline in all Moro regions(B1umentritt 1900:23-24).

Despite any economic or political decline which may have occurred

in Cotabato by 1913, the early settlers found that they had to contend

with the very real power of datus in the areas in which they settled.

The datus continued to control large numbers of followers. Some of

them even seem to have regarded the Christian newcomers as simply more

followers, more "commoners\; who owed them allegiance and perhaps tribute

of one type or another. The settlers had recourse to the colonial

authorities in the event of serious trouble, but as a practical matter

most found that it was only by maintaining the good will of a nearby

datu that they could be secure in their new homes. Even then disputes

sometimes arose between settlers and Maguindanao over land or other

matters.

51

This situation changed over time with the arrival of more and

more immigrants from the north. \~en elective political offices were

first established in the province, many datus found that they could

lise their followers as ready-made blocs of voters and thus could cloak

their traditional authority in the mantle of elective office. 6 This

worked to their advantage f0r many years, but gradually Christians be-

came a majority in one town after another and elected their own candi-

dates. By 1970 the political fortune of the Maguindanao datus was in

decline inma~yparts of Cotabato and non-Maguindanaos held the principal

elective offices in several of the largest municipalities.

Cotabato in 1970-71

By 1970 the population of the combined Cotabato provinces was

71,602,117. This represented a sixteenfold increase over an estimated

population of 100,000 in 1900. In the intervening years huge areas of

forest and grasslands have been cleared for farming. Roads and bridges

have been constructed throughout the province and in some places dams

and irrigation systems have also been built. The extensive waterways

which once served as the chief transportation and communications link

between the coast the the interior have largely been replaced in that

function by a growing highway network. The principal Maguindanao

settlements were usually located along the waterways, and these, too

6Cf. HRAF 1956:289; Hunt 1957:19.

7Census of the Philippines, 1970, Bureau of the Census andStatistics, Department of Commerce and Industry, Republic of thePhilippines, Manila. The original Province of Cotabato ~~as dividedin 1965 into two provinces, Cotabato and South Cotabato. This figureis the combined population total for the two provinces.

52

have now been displaced in importance by large towns which have sprung

up along the highways. The Christian population tends to be concen­

trated in and around these large towns. Today Christians--representing

numerous ethnolinguistic groups--outnumber Muslims in. the province.

Yet in spite of the many changes which have occurred Cotabato

remains economically underdeveloped in comparison with many other

areas of the Philippines, including some other parts of Mindanao. The

national highways are mostly unpaved and deteriorate badly during periods

of heavy rainfall. Extensive areas of settled and cultivated land are

subject to seasonal flooding. Governmentservices in the area of.

health and education are often minimal. The general level of welfare

in the province appears to be well below national standards~ and some

Maguindanao communities in particular seem economically depressed. It

is against this backdrop that Midsayap, the study location, appears to

occupy a position of relative advantage among the to,~s in central Cota­

bato.

The Town and Barrios of Midsayap

The Municipality of Midsayap is located on a portion of the Cota­

bato flood plain which extends from the foothills of the Kitubod Moun­

tains on the north to the Rio Grande on the south. To the southwest

the plain slopes gradually into the Libungan Marsh. To the southeast~

beyond a low range of hills, the drier land is rimmed by a northerly

extension of the Liguasan Marsh.

Before the late 1800's there were no major settlements in this

vicinity. The lands in the area of the present town were part of the

53

large territory of Buayan (now Dulawan, or Datu Piang) which lies

directly across the river to the south. Near the turn of the century

a division of territory and authority led to the establishment of the

Sultanate of Kudarangan on the northern banks of the river. This was

a relatively minor sultanate. Most of the small settlements within its

domain were located near the river, which connected them with both

Buayan and Tamontaka (Cotabato City) 45 km. to the west.

Under the colonization law of 1913, Midsayap, Salunayan (now a

barrio of Midsayap) and the neighboring town of Pikit were all designated

as resettlement areas. The first Christians to immigrate to this area

settled in Pikit in 1913. By the following year a small number of

Cebuanos had settled in some of the barrios along the Midsayap-Pikit

boundary, and in 1915-16 a large group of Ilokanos took up residence in

Midsayap itself. As the resettlement program progressed, improvements

were made in the roads serving this part of the province. Over time

this caused a shift in the locus of trade, transportation and communi­

cation away from the river toward the national highway and the present

town site.

The poblacion, or town proper, of Midsayap grew up at what was

once a major junction in this road network. The town is near the cross­

ing of the east-west highway which runs betweenCotabato City and Davao

City, and the old north-south highway which once linked Midsayap and

Dulawan with the town of Dadiangas on Sarangani Bay. The latter road

has since been replaced by a more direct highway south of the river.

The section of the old highway between the town and the river has been

54

poorly maintained in recent years, but it still serves as the principal

road to the barrios in the southern part of the municipality. Most of

the Maguindanao in Midsayap--who represent about one third of the town's

popu1ation--continue to reside in these southern barrios which are

closer to the river and the marshes.

The Pob1acion

Midsayap today is a tOl~ in transition from a frontier past to a

populous, semi-urban present. The townspeople derive most of their

livelihood in one way or another from agriculture, and the pob1acion

itself is surrounded by ricefie1ds and coconut groves. Worn wooden

buildings line its unpaved side streets, which are alternately dusty

or muddy with the season. Untamed vegetation sprouts along drainage

ditches and between the houses. Somehow the town seems at once both

half-constructed and rustic in appearance. Yet for all this Midsayap

is a prosperous town which is, by local stand~d~ quite modern and

progressive.

Midsayap was incorporated as a municipality in 1936. It quickly

attained a position of prominence in Cotabato. In 1948 the town proper

was more populated than the urban area of Cotabato City, which was then

the provincial capital. Since that time the original municipality has

been divided into several townships, so although the pob1acion and

surrounding barrios have continued to grow in population the 1970 cen­

sus shows only a slight increase over the figures reported for 1948. The

population of Midsayap in 1970 was 49,263. Of this total, 11,361 persons

55

resided in the poblacion while the remaining 37,902 lived in the 47

barrios which lie outside the town proper. 8

This distribution of population is indicative of the predominantly

rural character of the municipality. However, as one nears the town

coming overland from either the east or the west the rutted mud and rock

of the national road suddenly becomes a smooth concrete highway. The

turnoff to the poblacion is marked by two modern-looking gasoline

stations and a large rice mill and storage facility operated by the

local FACOMA. In town, the concrete road turns into a two-lane main

street with a median diviJer intended for floral landscaping. This

thoroughfare is lined with numerous small enterprises including an ice

plant, furniture shops, hardware and agricultural supply stores, a

popsicle "factory," two moviehouses, and several modest hotels and

restaurants. At the center of town is the traditional plaza, flanked

on one side by the municipio, or municipal building, and on another

by the central elementary school.

Not far from the plaza are the transportation terminal and the

public market. The terminal building is a three-story concrete struc-

ture which stands at one end of the marketplace. The terminal is used

mainly by th2 large provincial buses which roar in and out of town at

scheduled but irregular intervals throughout the day. The terminal

yard is surrounded by variety stores, canteens, barber shops, and

8The poblacion is divided into eight barrios, bringing the totalnumber of barrios in the municipality to 55.

56

assorted vendors. There is also a stand which sells tickets to the

national lottery, and a large newsstand where morning editions of the

Manila newspapers are available by late afternoon. Nearby are wait­

ing areas for local mini-buses and jeepneys which leave whenever they

fill up with passengers and cargo. There is also a parking area for

the vehicles known collectively as "Hondas," which are three-wheeled

pedicabs mounted on motorbikes. These ply the streets of the poblacion

and service some of the adjacent barrios which are inaccessible' to

jeepneys.

The terminal and marketplace are busy every day of the week,

especially in the early morning when the freshest fish and produce are

available. Thursdays and Sundays are the official market days, however,

and on these days the market area is thronged with people. The market­

place is about twice the size of a football field, and it is the largest

and most active in this part of the province. There are many permanent

stalls and shops in the market, but it is only on designated market days

that large numbers of itinerant traders come to spread out their wares

under tentlike awnings, and scores of farm women line the surrounding

streets to sell their small bundles of fresh produce. Most butchering

is also done on these days, and it is only at this time that meat is

available in quantity. These combined attractions draw thousands of

people from outlying barrios and neighboring towns. Professional buyers

even come from as far away as Cotabato City to attend the market. There

are also those who simply seem to enjoy the festive air of market days,

and who come just to drink coffee, to visit with friends, and perhaps to

gamble.

57

Many people from the more distant barrios combine other business

with their visit to the Thursday market. Crowds mill about in the

municipio, which houses the municipal offices, the government postal

and telegraph offices, a branch of the Philippine National Bank, and

the tax collector's office. The rice and corn mills, blacksmith shops,

agricultural supply stores, and other farm-related enterprises are

also especially busy on that day. On Sundays, when government offices

are closed, the focus of activity shifts toward the large Catholic church

near the market where many of the town's Catholic majority attend Mass

as part of their Sunday market routine.

The rest of the week the town is quieter but still busy. In

addition to the many businesses and government and professional offices

located in the poblacion, there are also two small colleges. One is

Notre Dame of Midsayap, which is part of the educational system operated

by the Catholic Oblate Order in Cotabato and Sulu. The other is Southern

Christian College, founded and administered by the United Church of

Christ in the Philippines, a coalition of Protestant denominations.

Students at these schools come not only from Midsayap but also from

other nearby towns. The religious affiliations of both schools are

obvious, but each has a small number of Muslim students and would evi­

dently admit more if there were qualified applicants.

In the evenings the town offers a variety of amenities usually

reserved for city dwellers. Most of the poblacion has electricity at

night, and the brightly-lighted areas around the terminal, the plaza

and the moviehouses attract groups of youthful revelers and older persons

out for an evening stroll. Groups of teenagers gather near one of the

58

moviehouses which broadcasts the sound track of its current film over a

loudspeaker facing the street. Canteens and sidewalk vendors do a

brisk business in such delicacies as barbecued chicken, fried bananas,

sweetened rice cakes, soft drinks and beer.

To barrio folk who live even a few kilometers away, the world of

the town seems metropolitan indeed.

Bual Norte

South of the poblacion, a few hundred meters beyond the end of

the paved main street, a narrow dirt road leads west toward the barrio of

Bual Norte. This barrio, where much of the present study was conducted,

is four kilometers from the town. Most of Bual Norte is flat, open

riceland interspersed with houseplots and groves of coconut trees. A

major lateral canal of the irrigation system runs along the northern

boundary of the barrio and then turns southwest, roughly defining the

western boundary. To the south, the line between Bual and the adjoining

barrio is formed by a broken line of coconuts and brush on marshy, un-

tilled land. The eastern boundary is marked by a strip of undeveloped

land which the government has set aside for future use as a homestead

road. Within these boundaries there are 72 farm households and 251

9hectares of land.

9The exact territories and boundaries of Bual Norte and Bual Sur,an adjacent barrio, were in dispute at the time of this study. Somelocal residents argued that the area south of the barrio road was BualSur, and the area north of the road Bual Norte. Others felt the properdividing line was the homestead road which bisected Bual in a~north­

south direction. I have chosen to use the latter demarcation line asthe boundary because it is more significant in terms of both land owner­ship and sociological relationships.

59

The general settlement pattern in the community is one of dispersed

household clusters, although nearly a third of the houses are located

on or near the barrio road (See Figure 2.). This road serves as the

main footpath and is also used by the motorized pedicabs which visit

the barrio intermittently throughout the day. Heavier vehicles are

generally prohibited from using the road, especially during periods of

heavy rain, in an effort to protect its thin surface of packed dirt and

gravel. An intricate network of paths leads from the road across the

paddy dikes to different clusters of houses among the ricefields.

Community life in Bual tends to revolve around three centers of

activity which are all located along the road. Approaching the barrio

from the town, the first building which attracts special notice is the

house of Datu Mantil Dilangalen. The house is a sprawling, two-story

affair of about a dozen rooms. Dating from the period before World War

II, it is a weathered, rustic and imposing structure. A tall wire fence

encloses a spacious yard around the house. Just outside this fence is

a long, barn-like building which is used both as a granary and as liv­

ing quarters for several families. Across the road from the main house

is a low building which was formerly a rice mill, but which is now used

as a small community mosque. The house, with its large yard which can

be used for entertaining guests, and the mosque are the focal points

of social and religious life for the Maguindanao who live in the barrio.

A hundred meters or so beyond the Datu's house, on the opposite

side of the road, is the Mindanao Rice and Corn Experiment Station. It

is here that my family and I lived during the period of research.

1J

•

., Barrio road

•

•

• •••

•

•

• • •• • •

•

•• •••• ••

•• •

•

••

ExperimentStation Land

Libungan River Irrigation SystemLateral E •

" .

••

tN

1

..._e .... _ :e; _ _,. __

---.- ••:;} • • •~.t.7~

Palongoguen•

.--

Figure 2. Map of Bual Norte, 1970.

Barrio road runs nearly due east-west. Eastern boundary is marked by partiallydeveloped homestead road. A portion of the settlement of Palongoguen is shown atleft, just west of irrigation canal. A - Datu Manti1. B - Mindanao Rice and CornExperiment Station. C - Elementary School. D - Datu Rajah. E - Mosque. F - DatuLantawan. (Source: Drawn from aerial photograph taken April 21, 1967 by F.F. CruzAssociates).

0\o

61

The station was built in 1958 on land the government acquired from Datu

Manti1. It includes a two-story administration building, a large grain

warehouse and drying areas, a garage and repair shop, some greenhouses,

and a quadrangle of small frame houses for permanent staff members.

Surrounding these buildings are the station lands which are used for

various agricultural experiments, including local variety trials, and

for production of certified seed. Personnel at the station also gather

data on weather, soils, and other factors affecting farming in the

region.

The station is reported to have been very active in the early

years of its operation. Later, successive budget cuts reduced the size

of its staff and little provision was made for replacement of broken or

obsolete equipment. By 1970 the station had the appearance of a forgot­

ten outpost. By this time also, the settled routine of the station

personnel seemed to have little if any disturbing effect upon life in

the barrio. To the villagers, the station occasionally provided oppor­

tunities for parttime employment and was a source of both information and

new varieties of seed. It was simply an accepted part of the community.

Several of the non-technical staff members were from Bual, including the

only two Maguindanao who were full-time employees. The personnel who·

were not originally from Bual or Midsayap were well-known by then and

were generally considered members of the community. Several barrio fami­

lies lived across the road from the station, and villagers commonly visited

with friends at the office building while waiting for a pedicab to town.

Bual Norte does not have a barrio hall, so this building was also used

occasionally for farmers' meetings and other large functions.

62

A few hundred meters farther along the road is the third center of

activity in the barrio. This is the barrio elementary school and the

buildings which surround it--which include the houses of the barrio

captain and the head teacher, and two tiny sari-sari stands which are

the only stores in the barrio. This point is usually the end of the

line for the motorized pedicabs which service the barrio. People gather

here to wait for transportation, to buy refreshments at one of the

stores, or to visit with the school teachers and the barrio captain who

are important opinion leaders in the community, particularly among the

Visayan residents.

The remainder of the houses in the barrio are spread out elsewhere

along the road and among the ricefields. The population of Bual

declined during the period of study due to a variety of factors to be

discussed later, but the complete household enumeration in the latter

part of 1970 included 72 families with a total of 513 members who were

residents of the barrio at that time. Nearly all of the household heads

were engaged directly or indirectly in farming. l O

At the time of this survey Bual had 109 Maguindanao residents

living in nine households. The average. size of these Maguindanao house-

holds was 12.1 persons. Several Maguindanao families who were identified

as transient--including both relatives and visitors--were not interviewed

although they were in temporary residence at the time the survey was

taken.

10Station personnel were not included in this survey, with theexception of one long-time Bual resident who continueQ to maintain hisfarm although he lived at the station.

63

The total non-Maguindanao, or "Christian" population at this time

was 404, distributed in 60 households. The average size of these house­

holds was 6.7 members. l l

Land Tenure

The largest landowner in Bual is Datu Mantil Dilangalen, whose

holdings of 120 ha. represent nearly half of the land in the barrio.

The experiment station occupies another 46 ha. which is government­

owned. The remaining 85 ha. is owned by six Christians whose holdings

range from 4 ha. to 36 ha. Only one of the Christian landowners lives

in Bual and farms his land personally. The son of another owner farms

part of his father's land and oversees the cultivation of the rest.

The other four landowners are absentee landlords who seldom visit the

barrio.

In 1970, of 64 persons directly engaged in farming in Bual, 61

were tenants. The tenancy rate in the barrio was thus 95%. This

number of tenants includes 12 who lived in Bual but farmed just outside

the specified bouudaries of the barrio. There was also one tenant who

farmed for two landlords, only one of whose land was in Bual. The

total area of land cultivated by Bual farmers was 174.2 ha.

Three landowners were categorized as owner/operators because they·

are directly involved in making all of the decisions which affect their

£arms, although in two of these cases the owners merely supervise all

llThese figures also exclude station personnel.

64

farming operations. The most common form of tenancy in Bual is share­

cropping. A total of 42 cultivators farm under one form or another of

share arrangement. There were 18 leasehold tenants at the time of the

survey. One farmer, the son of a landowner, was not required to pay

for cultivation rights.

The accompanying table (Table III-I) presents details of the tenure

agreements found in the barrio in 1970. The most common form of share

arrangement is one in which the tenant retains 70 per cent of the crop.

Nearly equivalent is the two to one arrangement of four tenants. The

50/50 and 60/40 arrangements apply in instances in which the tenant

contributes only his labor, or some amount of equipment, while the

landlord provides not only the land but a work animal, all purchased

inputs, and any remaining equipment. The very favorable 80/20 agree­

ment was between Datu Mantil and a close relative.

The prevailing leasehold arrangement changed while this study was

in progress. During a period of high productivity prior to this

research the rate for leasehold had been set at 25 cavans/ha. At that

time, this rate was roughly the equivalent of a cash rent of ¥300 per

hectare. When yields later declined in the period up to and including

1970-71, most leasehold tenants were able to negotiate a reduction in

rent to either 17 cavans/ha. or 15 cavans/ha. Despite this reduction

landlords continued to receive a larger income than they would have

realized under a 70/30 share arrangement. Also, even though the

leasehold rates had been lowered in Bual they still remained slightly

higher than rates prescribed in national guidelines issued by the

Department of Agrarian Reform. l 2

l2For details see Chapter V.

TABLE III-I. -- Land Tenure Arrangementsin Bua1 at Time of Farm Survey, 1970

Tenure Category Number of Farmers

Owner/operator 3

Share Tenant

80/20 share 1

70/30 share 32

2/1 share 4

60/40 share 1

SO/50 share 4

Leasehold Tenant

20 cavans rent 1

17 cavans rent 9

15 cavans rent 8

Rent-free 1

Total 64

65

66

Of the eight heads of household included in the survey who were

not either owner/operators or tenants, several had farmed previously

hut did not have their own farms at this time. Two were employed at

the station, two were farming jointly with relatives who had tenancy

agreements, one was retired, one was a farm manager and laborer, one

was dependent upon non-farm income, and the last was a widow supported

by her son who farmed in another barrio.

Social Organization

The social organization of Bual is given distinctive character by

the fact that the barrio is the place of residence of a prominent datu.

In traditional times, the pervasive influence of sultans and datus

extended to virtually all areas of social, economic, legal, political

and religious affairs. The daily lives of their followers, especially

those who lived closest to them, were affected accordingly. Even today

--when the sultanates have been reduced to empty titles and many of the

former powers of datus have been pre-empted by the national government-­

the individual datu may still remain a powerful figure at the local

level.

The continued vitality of the datuship is quite evident in Bual.

Datu Mantil takes great pride in his family's descent from a line of

nobles which included the Muslim hero Datu Ali, the brother of his

paternal grandfather. By descent and intermarriage he is related to

most of the major datus in this part of Cotabato, and he is related

less directly to many prominent families in the delta area as well.

At one time his father is said to have been the largest landowner in

the province. Much of this land has since passed out of the hands of

67

the family, but Datu Mantil and his relatives' have retained sufficient

landholdings and followers to exercise a great deal of influence in the

vicinity of Midsayap.

The Datu himself was born at the turn of the century, and in many

ways he is traditional and conservative. Through a combination of an

assertive personality and his claims to high rank he rose to a position

of major prominence in the territory which was to be incorporated as

the Municipality of Midsayap. In the early years of World War II he

assumed the rank of General in the "People's Revolutionary Armyll which

resisted the Japanese in several battles in and around Midsayap. Later

he was given the honorary rank of colonel in the USAFFE. By his own

description he is primarily a military man, and he believes a Datu

should rule his followers with a firm hand. He equates the role of a

Datu with that of "a lord or peer under a monarchical system," and he

exercises his authority accordingly.

All of the Maguindanao in Bual live literally within hailing

distance of the Datu's house. The Datu's kinsmen and followers are

frequently summoned to the house for one reason or another, and the

Datu personally directs much of the day to day work on his lands by

giving orders concerning what is to be done and then inspecting the

fields periodically. Distinctions of social rank, or Maratabat,l3 are

of major significance in ordering the relations between the Maguindanao

in Bual. Highest in rank are the Datu himself and his second wife, who

l3Maratabat is discussed in detail in Appendix A.

68

is his first cousin. Next highest are their children. These are

followed by his third wife and her children, then by several of the

Datu's relatives who live outside this household. Most of the re­

maining Maguindano in Bual appear to be of sakop or "commoner" rank

and are essentially share tenants on the Datu's lands. The difference

between their status and that of ordinary share tenants, however, is

that in times of hardship they are fed and given other assistance by

the Datu in return for their loyalty to him. Conversely, the Datu

has some command over their labor, their work animals, and even their

personal possessions if these should be needed for any reason. A few

of the Maguindanao in Bual worked as farm laborers and performed such

menial tasks for the Datu that their exact status, while obviously low,

was unclear. In all cases the rank of specific individuals could only

be inferred from observation of social interaction. Any questions, how­

ever indirect, which would have yielded information about the specific

rank of particular individuals were deftly parried by my Maguindanao

informants. There was no reluctance to talk about maratabat in general

terms, but any reference to the rank of a particular person was deli-

beratelyavoided. As a result, while the social hierarchy was relatively

clear in most instances, I could not define it with the precision I

would have desired.

In Bual the Datu continues to perform a central role in religious

and legal affairs. All major Islamic religious celebrations in the

community are observed at the Datu's house and at the mosque across from

it. On special occasions, religious leaders known as panditas and other

guests are invited from distant communities to join in the local obser­

vance. Because of Datu Mantil's influential role in the affairs of the

69

wider community, people from outside the barrio also frequently come

to him for legal and political advice.

The Datu's authority extends in attenuated form to the Christian

settlers in Bual. Many of these settlers are actually his tenants

(a total of 23 families in 1970) and the others live on land he either

owns or did own at one time. In a very real way their continued resi­

dence in the barrio depends upon their ability to maintain good relations

with him and with his followers. The Datu does not make the same de­

mands of the settlers that he does of his own followers, but occasion­

ally he does call upon them for assistance in community projects of one

type or another.

The Christian Settlers

Of the 61 "Christian" families who resided in Bual in 1970, the

heads of household of all but 11 had been born on the island of Panay.

Three others had been born in Cotabato of parents who had emigrated

from Panay, and five had originated from Negros Occidental, which lies

across a narrow straight from Panay. The remaining three household

heads came from Negros Oriental, Bohol and Leyte.

A total of 38 of the household heads from Panay came more specifi­

cally from the province of Iloilo. Nearly half of these--17 in all-­

were born in the neighboring towns of Barotac Nuevo and Dumangas,

Iloilo. The wives of more tran a dozen of the other household heads

were from these same towns, and were nearly all sisters and daughters

of the household heads from these towns. The families of these people

were part of a substantial migration stream which had led to the re-

70

location of thousands of persons from certain parts of Iloilo to Mid-

sayap. This migration stream began slowly in the years before World

War II and increased in intensity during the postwar years. Seven

of the Bua1 household heads or their parents had come to Mindanao be­

tween 1933 and 1941. The earliest to settle specifically in Bua1

arrived there in 1941, and two others took up residence in the barrio

during the war. The first sizable migration to Bua1 occurred from 1949

to 1952 and involved about a dozen families. Several other families

who left Panay around the same time settled first in other parts of

Mindanao and then relocated to Bua1. Six families migrated from Panay

in 1958, eight in 1961-63, and another ten in 1966-68. Only one to

three families per year came to Bua1 in the other years from 1948-1970.

Most of the later immigrants had relatives who were already living

in Bua1 and came directly to this barrio. Three of the families from

Negros Occidental came to join a relative who had been one of the ear­

liest immigrants to the barrio, and many of those from Barotac and Dum­

angas had relatives who preceded them. In some cases the latter were

sent for and "sponsored" by these relatives, who arranged for land for

them to farm and in some instances even paid for their transportation.

The majority of the Christians in the barrio are united by inter­

locking ties of kinship which have been reinforced by recent marriages.

Household clusters usually reflect close kinship ties, and there is

considerable labor exchange and some food exchange between households

in such groupings. Even in the absence of specific kinship relation­

ships, most people in the barrio are united by the sociologically im­

portant fact of having been town-mates or province mates in their places

71

of origin. Naturally, the household clusters also tend to be distri­

buted according to the location of the landholdings of particular land­

lords. Most household heads who belong to the nucleus of families from

Barotac and Dumangas are tenants of Datu Mantil, and their houses are

close to his house near the center of the barrio. Interestingly, the

non-Ilongos among the settlers--those from Bohol, Leyte and Negros

Oriental as well as two of the three from Antique--are dispersed in

relatively isolated houses around the boundaries of the barrio.

The most common reasons the settlers gave for having immigrated

to Mindanao were a desire for land of their own and "a better life" for

themselves and their children. Slightly more than half (33) of the

household heads or their fathers had been tenant farmers in their pro­

vinces of origin. Many of these had been SO/50 share tenants, which

in most cases meant they did not even own work animals. Seven had been

laborers or had tended fishponds or coconut plantations. Several were

the sons of fishermen or carpenters, some of whom owned small parcels

of land. Like many others, however, these said the land their parents

owned was not sufficient to be divided between themselves and their sib­

lings, and this had been their reason for seeking land in Mindanao. A

handful of individuals stated that they had migrated simply for the

adventure, or for non-economic reasons (in one case involvement in a

killing). When questioned directly, most of the settlers said they had

no regrets about having moved to Mindanao--although it was evident that

nearly all had been disappointed not to have found land of their own

which would have enabled them to shed their tenant status.

72

Palongoguen

About 400 meters beyond Bual elementary school the barrio road

crosses the irrigation canal and narrows to a muddy footpath leading

toward the Libungan Marsh. Here, just outside the western boundary of

Bual itself, is a small settlement which was described in Chapter II

as a "satellite" community. This settlement is officially part of the

barrio of Palongoguen, which until a few years ago was a farming com­

munity of over 100 families. The population of the barrio dwindled

following several years of nearly continuous flooding and rat infesta­

tion until in late 1970 there were only 13 families remaining. Eight

of these families were Maguindano and the other five were Christian.

The total population of the barrio at this time was 79. The 32

Christian residents were distributed in five households for an average

household size of 5.3 persons. The 47 Maguindanao residents lived in

seven households, making an average household size of 6.7.

Three of the Christian households were those of the Ilokano barrio

captain, his brother and their sister. The other two Christian families

were unrelated to them. The situation of the barrio captain illustrates

the economic decline which had occurred in Palongoguen. A few years

earlier he had 12 tenants working for him on his 30 ha. of land. In

1970, as a result of the inundation of his land, he no longer had any

tenants and was personally farming less than one hectare.

Only one other person was attempting to farm in the vicinity, and

the area cultivated was about one-half hectare. Seven of the farmers

tilled unused portions of the experiment station land in Bual. In five

of these cases the area cultivated was one hectare or less. Three

73

other farmers were tenants of Bual landowners. Two of these farmed

under leasehold agreements and the other under a 50/50 share arrange­

ment. Two heads of household had abandoned farming entirely and relied

upon the small income they could derive from cutting firewood in the

marsh. This activity was a secondary source of income for several

other residents of the barrio.

Seven of the }~guindanao families in Palongoguen are those of three

men of the senior generation and their married children. The eighth is

that of ~atu Raja t a lesser datu who is the nephew of Datu Mantil. Datu

Raja was born and grew up in one of the barrios of Mid3ayap. In 1961

he married a Maguindanao woman from Zamboanga, and he spent the first

six years after his marriage near the home of his wife's family. He

had returned to Midsayap only two years earlier and was still in the

process of re-establishing his position locally. The other Maguindanao

in Palongoguen comprised his small group of immediate followers. All

lived close to the Datu's house not far from the irrigation canal. This

settlement had its own leader and was thus more or less autonomous, but

in affairs of major importance Datu Raja usually deferred to his uncle's

authority. Datu Raja and his followers were members of the Islamic

congregation which worshipped at the small mosque in Bual under the

leadership of Datu Mantil. The Palongoguen group also attended most

of the religious celebrations held at Datu Mantil's house. The fact

that most of the farmers in Palongoguen were actually farming land in

Bual contributed to the dependent t or semi-autonomous status of the

settlement.

74

The position of Datu Raja was similar to that of his cousin, Datu

Lantawan, the son of Datu Mantil who lived just outside the opposite

boundary of Bual. Each had a small nucleus of followers, but both were

overshadowed in authority by Datu Mantil himself. The two lesser Datus

vied between themselves for power and influence, but everyone knew that

neither could come fully into his own as long as the old patriarch, their

mutual relative, was still alive. At least for the time being they were

both part of the same local alliance which centered around Datu Mantil

and which extended well beyond the confines of Bual.

Pangadon

Pangadon is a small community about 12 km. southeast of Bual. It

lies east of the main road which runs from the 'town to the Rio Grande.

This village is less accessible than either Bual or Palongoguen. The

nearest barrio road is often so muddy that it cannot be used even by

the motorized pedicabs. This road leads through the nearby "Christian"

barrio of Lower Glad and then terminates about one kilometer from

Pagadon. Pagadon itself is a sitio, or neighborhood, which lies

along the eastern edge of this barrio. Administratively it is considered

part of Lower Glad, but the people who live in the sitio feel more affi­

nity with the predominantly Muslim barrio of Rangaban which adjoins their

land to the south.

The main settlement of Pangadon is reached by a narrow footpath a­

long the edge of an irrigation canal. The settlement straddles this canal,

and two logs have been placed across it to serve as precarious foot

bridges. Most of the houses in the village are located on ground which

75

•• •A

•••

Barrio of Lower Glad

[]

[]III• •

\//•• ~/C

C \II 'vI\II

\ \\/ Marsh

\11 \11~

,1/ \1/\ JIII

\IJ To Barrio \1/of Rangaban ... \11

Figure 3. Map of Pangadon, 1970.

A - House of Akan, the village headman.are those of non-Maguindanao settlers.

Four light-colored houses(Source: CORUM map file).

76

is slightly elevated above the surrounding ricefields. Also on this

higher ground are a number of coconut trees s some clumps of bamboo,

a few small plots of vegetables, and the village cemetery. All but four

of the houses in the village are grouped together along the canal. The

other four houses form a separate cluster about one hundred meters south

of the canal.

A few Christian families live and farm near this settlement, but

Pangadon remains a purely Maguindanao community in terms of both social

interaction and a well-defined sense of cohesiveness. In 1970, 35

families were regarded as permanent residents of the village. As in the

case of Bual, many other families visited the sitio for various lengths

of time during the period of study. Some stayed several weeks, especial-

ly around harvest time. Some also asked for permission to remain inde-

finitely, but the barrio councilor, whose general function is equivalent

to that of village headman, denied these requests by maintaining that

there was not enough land to accommodate any more people.

Nearly all of the 193 residents of Pangadon are related to one

another by blood and/or marriage. In most instances these relationships

can be specified, although in a few cases the relation is so distant

that imprecise terms such as bap~ ("uncle") or bab~ ("aunt") are used

to describe it. The core membership of the community is comprised of

the descendents of three men who are said to have been first cousins

"t(wata magal~). These three men were farming some of the land around

Pangadon at the time of the cadastral survey in 1928, and together they

obtained title to about 40 hectares in this area. Much of this land

has since been mortgaged to Christians and is now farmed by the mortgage

holders or their tenants. A portion of the remainder is now too swampy

77

for cultivation. In 1970, a total of just under 18 hectares was being

farmed by the descendents of the three original title holders and the

others who live in Pangadun today.14

The chart in Figure 4 diagrams the known or imputed genealogical

relationships between the core group of Pangadon residents. Two of the

sons of Sandigan (#1) married two of the daughters of Basilon Tambi (#3).

A third daughter of Basilon married ~~lig~ Dumagl (#10). It is not

clear if Masdal Ulogan (#12) was himself the first cousin of Sandigan

and Basilon, or if he was the son of their first cousin. In any event

it is his children, like the children of Unggad, Salgan and Maliga, who

in the present generation have claims to ownership of the land in

Pangadon. Significantly, just as Masdal Ulogan and his descendents

represent a somewhat separate family line from the other members of the

core group, it is his widow and their children who live apart from the

main settlement in the separate cluster of four houses.

An event which proved to have major effects upon the composition

of the village was the marriage of Akan Malig~ to Bidangan Kagl in 1955.

She was from the barrio of Balong, Tombao, which is about 15 kilometers

away on the other side of the Rio Grande. There had been marriages

between people from Pangadon and Balong in the past, as indicated by

the fact that Bidangan was a distant relative of Akan a~d was in the

l4I t is reported that before the cadastral survey, the areaaround Pangadon was densely populated with Maguindanao. When thesepeople learned the survey meant that they would have to purchase resi­dence certificates and pay land taxes, many sold their lands to Christiansor simply moved to public lands where they could evade these requirements.

(Imputed firstcousin relation)

/i..- Male, deceased

• - Female, living

e.r:. 1=. .=.20 21 22 23 24 25

r--------------,fl~ ~

III~=.12

1

13I 1-9 10hl7 T~'

=

=.34 35

d

c

b A=.26 27

A=O1 I 2

a

42 4" ,r i.=50 51

Figure 4. Genealogical Relations in Pangadon.

Chart indicates real and imputed genealogical relationships between the land-owning "core" groupin Pangadon and their affines and close kin. Lines a, b, c, d and e represent the same generation.Akan, the village headman, is #42. (Note three instances ;f two br;thers married to two sisters:#5-#6 and #7-#8, and #36-#37 and #38-#39 are apparent; #34-#35 and #42-#43 are less apparentbecause #35 remarried, to #44, upon the death of her husband).

-..Jce

79

category of bab~ to him. Their marriage re-established close ties

between the two villages, and these ties were further consolidated in

1958 when Akan's brother, Buat, married Bidangan's sister.

In 1967, Akan was elected barrio councilor to succeed his first

cousin, 'Imam Unggad. Since that time, many of his wife's relatives

and others from Balong have come to live in Pangadon. Most of those

families who resided temporarily in the village during the study were

also from Balong, where food shortages were being experienced at the

time. All of the permanent residents of Pangadon in 1970 were either

directly related to the core group of those who owned land in the

village or had transferred there from Balong after the marriage of

their kinswoman to a member of this group.

The strength of the overlapping bonds of kinship which provide

the basis for village membership is further evident in the large per-

centage of marriages between kin. My Maguindanao informants stated

that there is a preference for this type of marriage, and especially

for marriage between second cousins. This preference is borne out

statistically and was most notable in Pangadon of the three communities

I studied. Of the 41 marriages I recorded in this village, 18 were,

marriages between second cousins (ap8 na magali) and another six

involved third and fourth cousins. One man was married to his first

cousin, another to his first cousin's daughter, and a third to the

sister of his brother's wife. There were also six marriages in which

the spouses identified each other as distant relatives, although in

some of these instances the exact relationship was unknown. Only eight

marriages, or less than one-fifth of the total recorded, involved

persons having no recognized genealogical connection between them. One

80

result of this sort of "kindred endogamy" is that many village residents

are related to particular individuals in one way through their mother

and in another way through their father. As an illustration, one man

stated that his present wife is his second cousin on his fathers's side

and his niece on his mother's side.

The 35 families living in Pangadon in 1970 were distributed in 26

household~. The average household size was 7.4 persons. Included in

these figures were several multiple family households, some of them

containing newlyweds who had not yet constructed houses of their own

and others including relatively recent arrivals from Balong. The most

common pattern, however, was one of single family dwellings--although

many of these "families" were extended rather than nuclear. Ideally,

though not always in practice, each "family" unit is defined by the

fact that they regularly share food from the same cooking pots.

There are no significant differences of social rank among the

residents of Pangadon, in part because they are fundamentally kinsmen.

All are sakop, or freemen, and relations between them are egalitarian.

Akan is the current village headman and barrio councilor, but important

decisions are normally reached by consensus. The villagers do not owe

allegiance to anyone particular datu and they appear to have a free

hand in the conduct of most of their affairs. In times of trouble or

when a datu's help is needed, the people in Pangadon usually turn to

Datu Dima Fernandez, the first cousin and brother-in-law of Datu Mantil.

On several occasions when I observed Datu Dima dealing with the Villagers

it was apparent that he was wooing them as supporters even as he was

assisting them. One reason is that another datu, once again a first

cousin of himself and Datu Mantil, lives close by and evidently likes

81

to number the residents of Pangadon among his followers, although there

were no indications that he exercised any effective control over them.

Even the tenancy agreements in the sitio are basically between

equals and have little status distinction associated with them. Most

are between close relatives or in-laws. Only 22 of the 35 heads of

household have farms in Pangadon. Thirteen of these cultivate land to

which they or their wives claim ownership. Five are tenants of fellow

villagers and pay minimal land rents, in some cases only the irrigation

fee and one or two sacks of grain if they have a good harvest. The

other four farmers are tenants of Christian landlords to whom some of

the village lands are mortgaged. After the first season of cultivation,

which is usually given rent-free in return for the tenant's having

cleared the land of tall grasses, these tenants pay 20%-30% of their

product for cultivation rights. Several of the younger men who have

married into Pangadon from nearby barrios continue to farm in their

home villages. Two elderly men are retired from farming and are

supported by their children. The remainder of the household heads

find employment periodically on farms in Lower Glad and elsewhere.

Pangadon differs from both Bual Norte and Palongoguen in the fact

that rank distinctions, or differences in maratabat, are not important

to the social organization of the community. Along with this, the

rather small differences of wealth which do exist in the community are

minimized, and there is a great deal of sharing and helping of relatives

--both within and outside the village. In normal times the village is

economically self-sufficient. Unlike villages such as Bual or Palongoguen,

where the datu tends to be at the center of a redistributive local

economic system, economic relations in Pagadon are generally character-

82

ized by reciprocity. To what extent a community of this type could

have escaped the requirement of at least paying tribute to a datu in the

past is uncertain. Today, however, there is no datu residing anywhere

in the immediate vicinity of the settlement and this permits the

villagers to maintain a fairly high degree of economic as well as

social and political autonomy. Ultimately, of course, these villagers

like all other Maguindanao in this area owe allegiance to the same

extended family of datus who are closely associated with the Sultanate

of Kudarangan. Even those current residents of Pangadon who came from

Balong, Tombao, have simply moved around within this alliance network,

for the datu in Balong is the brother of Datu Mantil. In ordinary

affairs, however, the community can be considered to be independent.

The implications this has for agricultural decision-making here, as

compared to Bual and Palongoguen, will be seen in later chapters.

CHAPTER IV

RICE FARMING IN MIDSAYAP, 1960-70

Patterns of rice farming in Midsayap changed significantly in the

decade of the 1960's. The many changes which occurred were due mainly

to two developments. The first was the construction of the Libungan

River Irrigation System, which began operating in September, 1962.

The second was the introduction in the latter part of the decade of

the new hybrid rice varieties and the scientifically-based agricultural

technology associated with cultivation of these varieties. Independently

as well as in combination, these two innovations have had major effects

upon farming practices, cropping patterns and the economics of rice

production in the municipality. To appreciate the extent of the

changes brought about by irrigation and the new rice technology, it is

first necessary to have a basic understanding of farm conditions and

farm practices in Midsayap prior to 1962.

Farming Patterns in 1960

Agricultural information contained in the Philippines Census of

1960 indicates there were 4,565 farms in Midsayap which were devoted

. . 11 . duct i h· 1pr1nc1pa y to r1ce pro uct10n at t at t1IDe. Of this total, 1,924

IAn apparent printing error in the Census shows this total to be4,545.

83

8'

were lowland rice farms while 2,641 were classified as upland or

kaingin (swidden) farms (Table IV-I). Our primary concern is with

lowland farms. In 1960, these covered a combined area of 5,179.3 ha.

The majority of these farms produced only a single crop of rice per

year. About one-fourth (56) were double-cropped. The area planted to

a second crop was 1,050.1 ha., representing only about 20 per cent of

the total lowland rice area.

TABLE IV-l

RICE FAR}lS AND RICE PRODUCTION IN MIDSAYAP, 1960

First Crop Second Crop Upland &Total Lowland Lowland Kaingin

Number ofFarms 4,545 1,924 560 2,641

Area(Hectares) 10,999.4 5,179.3 1,050.1 4,770.0

Production(Cavans) 212,837 109,911 19,981 82,945

Source: Census of the Philippines, 1960, Bureau of the Censusand Statistics, Department of Commerce and Industry,Republic of the Philippines.

Judging from the census data, the productivity of these farms was

low in comparison to national averages of the time. The nationwide

average was then about 30 cavans of palay (rough rice) per hectare.

In Midsayap the average yield was 21.2 cavans of palay per hectare

for the first crop of lowland rice and 19.0 cavans per hectare for the

second crop. The combined average for the first and second crops was

85

thus only about two-thirds the national figure.

This relatively poor performance may have been due in part to the

fact that 1960 was the third year of a major locust infestation in

northern Cotabato. The magnitude of this infestation can be judged

from the fact that one time five planes were being used simultaneously

to spray against the insects. Other factors which may have contributed

to these low yields are unknown but could have included problems with

other pests and diseases, adverse weather conditions in that particular

year, limited use of fertilizer and other purchased inputs, or poor

cultivation techniques.

One reason for the low average yields was almost certainly limited

and inadequate irrigation. Table IV-2 presents census data on the use

of irrigation in the first and second cropping sea30ns of 1960. The

"irrigatiop" reported here refers mainly to devices for trapping rain­

fall, retaining floodwaters, or diverting creeks and streams to water

nearby ricefields. Only minimal water control was provided by this

rudimentary irrigation. The limited utility of these techniques is

reflected in the fact that the size of the area reported as irrigated

dropped from 1,528 for the first, wet-season crop to a mere 82 ha. for

the second, dry-season crop. Comparing average yields for "irrigated"

and "non-irrigated" land, we find that the former produced only .7

cavans more during the first season (21.7 cavans vs. 21.0 cavans),

and only .2 cavans more during the second season (19.2 vs. 19.0 cavans).

Such minimal increments in yield would hardly be expected rrom an

efficient irrigation system.

TABLE IV-2

IRRIGATED AND NON-IRRIGATED FARMS IN MlDSAYAP, 1960

86

Irrigated

Pa1ay, FirstCrop Lowland

Number of Farms 678

Area Planted(Hectares) 1,528.1

Production(Cavans) 33,223

Pa1ay, SecondCrop Lowland

Number of Farms 42

Area Planted 82.2

Production 1,575

Non-Irrigated

1,410

3,651. 2

76,688

521

967.9

18,406

Total

1,924*

5,179.3

109,911

560*

1,050.1

19,981

*Some farms appear to have been counted twice, possibly becausethey included significant areas of both irrigated and non­irrigated land.

Source: Census of the Philippines, 1960 t Bureau of the Censusand Statistics, Department of Commerce and Industry,Republic of the Philippines.

87

It appears that farmers in Midsayap had done little to deal with

problems of water control before the government took the initiative to

build the Libungan River irrigation facility. Groups of farmers in

particular communities may have cooperated on minor irrigation schemes,

but there is no evidence of the sort of intercommunity cooperation

which might have provided a basis for the formation of irrigation

societies and the development of permanent, large-scale irrigation

works. As a result, the lowland areas planted to rice generally

remained dependent upon rainfall with consequent limitations on both

the productivity and the profitability of local rice farming.

Environmental Factors

The low level of productivity indicated by the census figures is

especially surprising in view of climate and other factors which would

affect local yield performance. In terms of soil as well as climate,

conditions in Midsayap seem ideal for wet rice cultivation. The low-

lands are part of the Cotabato flood plain, which is characterized by

young soils which are higher in the release of essential nitrogen

nutrients than most soils in Luzon, the nation's leading rice producing

regionJ The local soil is classified by the Bureau of Plant Industry

as Kabacan clay loam. It is especially suitable for wet rice cultiva-

2Ri ce Production Manual, Compiled by the University of thePhilippines College of Agriculture in cooperation with the InternationalRice Research Institute (Los Banos, 1970), 73.

88

tion because it forms a hard underpan to retain water in rice paddies.

This underpan is also firm enough to permit the use of light, two­

wheeled tractors or roto-tillers for land preparation. 3

The seasons are not as pronounced in Cotabato as they are in

the northern Philippines (Figure 5). The total annual rainfall at

Midsayap averages about 70 inches. Two-thirds of this falls during

the wet season from May to October. The remainder is well distribu-

4ted throughout the other months of the year (Table IV-3). Even dur-

ing January, which is normally the driest month, farmers can usually

expect two to three inches of rain. Also, like most of Mindanao Cota-

bato is south of the "typhoon belt." Farms in the province are occa-

siona11y subjected to heavy storm damage, but normally they are spared

the devastation of the typhoons which regularly strike Luzon and the

E V· 5astern l.sayas.

Annual mean temperatures recorded at the Bual Experiment Station

were around 78-80oF, with monthly variations seldom reaching lOoF above

or below these figures. Relative humidity in the years 1965-66 ranged

from monthly averages of 68% to 85%, with annual means of 76.34% in

1965 and 76.38% in 1966 (the only years of complete record).

3Experience at the BPI Experiment Station has shown that thisunderpan breaks down after two or three cropping seasons if heavierfour-wheel tractors are used.

4F .or comparlsonin Bu1acan where 95%October.

see Takahashi 1969:17 for figures on rainfallof the rainfall in 1963-64 fell between May and

5I n October, 1970, Midsayap was hit by Typhoon Titang, a freakstorm which was the first typhoon to strike Cotabato in this century.

I _9- -- - - - - - - - - '.-, -- - - - - - - -

zw .."'.0-

0:C ~

u;:o..

lEGEND

TvQlt II

TyEW lit

Ty~IV

89

Du..LJ"-L.J'-'-U'-L.UJFIl.IlJJASONO

TYPE IMANILA

I Ijlli l

I i: ~~

J FIl.IlJJASDNO JFIl.IlUASONDTYPE" TYPE III

lEGASPI CE8U

"ONTHLY DIUAI.UTION OF RAINFAll(A•• ,.,. ''''''ut., ...., 51 , ....)

H"A"HUDNOTYPE IVOAVAO

Figure 5. Climate Map of the Philippines. All of Cotabato has theType IV rainfall pattern, which is relatively uniform throughout theyear. (Source: The Philippines Recommends for Rice - 1970, NationalFood and Agriculture Council, Manila, 1970).

TABLE IV-3

AVERAGE ANNUAL RAINFALL IN INCHESIN BUAL/MIDSAYAP, COTABATO

Month 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 Average

January 3.02 2.99 1.97 2.27 1.12 4.27 5.89 3.1

February 3.46 7.40 1.41 3.34 4.98 2.15 3.76 3.1

March 3.90 7.66 5.07 4.12 2.76 1.73 4.44 3.6

April 9.44 6.22 9.20 4.48 0.91 5.37 4.21 4.8

May 13.62 9.50 6.46 7.56 8.54 13.09 14.63 10.1

June 12.51 11.90 8.39 5.27 10.52 15.51 15.86 11.1

July 8.54 7.73 10,10 3.33 4.27 7.10 8.20 6.6

August 2.72 7.13 5.97 4.32 3.45 3.45 5.03 4.4

September 7,62 5.45 4.44 5.80 3.81 5.55 4.33 4.8

October 4.14 5.79 6.48 10.89 8.36 3.70 14.43 7.6

November 3.72 3.03 2.99 4.73 0.43 4.47 4.81 3.4

December 3.89 2.83 7.75 2.17 3.96 6.37 3.79 4.4

Annual Total 76.58 77.63 70.23 58.28 53.11 72.76 89.38

Source: Mindanao Rice and Corn Experiment Station, Bua1, Midsayap, Cotabato. \00

91

The availability of sunlight affects both the maturation period

and the yield of rice. Table IV-4 shows daily averages and monthly

totals of sunshine hours for 1967, the one year recorded fully. Once

again, monthly variations are minimal compared to those in many other

rice-producing regions.

Ecological Zones

Before the irrigation system was built, land in Midsayap could

be broadly categorized as upland, lowland or marsh. The clearest

distinction was the simple one between upland and marsh. The lowland

area lying between these was not homogeneous but included three dis­

tinct ecological zones. These varied in character according to slight

differences in elevation, adequacy of drainage, and proximity to either

the upland or the marshes.

The upland areas of the town are located in the rolling foothills

north and east of the town proper and in the Kudarangan Hills to the

south near the river. The main upland crop is corn. Extensive areas

are also planted to upland rice, legumes, root crops and vegetables.

Wet rice is sometimes grown in depressions which act as catch-basins,

trapping runoff from the hills, but the area suitable for this use is

small. Elsewhere in the upland there are many coconuts and various

kinds of fruit trees. Some land is in fallow and he5 been covered by

tough cogon grass, while other areas are uncultivated due to terrain.

At the other ecological extreme are the continuously-inundated

marshlands. The Libungan Marsh extends into the western portion of

the municipality, and a smaller swampy area--part of the Liguasan Marsh

--lies to the southeast between the KUdarangan Hills and the low foot-

92

TABLE IV-4

SUNSHINE HOURS IN BUAL/MIDSAYAP, COTABATO

Year/Month Monthly Total Daily Average

1966: September 243.32 8.1

October 236.61 7.6

November 236.84 7.9

December 233.40 7.5

1967: January 176.51 5.7

February 183.01 6.5

March 239.33 7.7

April 279.95 9.3

May 263.92 8.5

June 244.54 8.2

July 216.86 7.0

August 221.66 7.2

September 211.44 7.0

October 209.51 6.7

November 257.75 8.6

December 285.25 9.2

1968: January 133.84 6.4

February 186.43 6.4

March 264.97 8.6

(Later records not complete).

Source: Mindanao Rice and Corn Experiment Station, Bual, Midsayap

93

hills along the }lidsayap-Pikit boundary. These marshes are under too

much water to permit cultivation. There has been some discussion of

converting part of the marshland to fishponds, but these plans have

yet to materialize. At present, as in the past, the marshes are used

mainly for fishing and for gathering firewood, bamboo and other use­

ful wild plants.

The lowlands lie between the hills and the marshes and are nearly

surrounded by these features except to the northwest. The largest and

economically most important of the three ecological zones in this low­

land will be termed Zone I. This is an area which was used for diver­

sified farming before the irrigation system was built. On most of the

land in this zone, a single crop of rice was grown during the wetter

months from May to October. Rainfall was usually sufficient in May to

soak and soften the soil, permitting land preparation in June and early

July. Rice seedlings were transplanted in July, and the crop was har­

vested during the drier months of November and December. This farming

cycle was well-adapted to the use of the traditional, late-maturing

varieties of rice.

After harvesting this annual crop of rice, most farmers in Zone I

planted corn and vegetables during the "dry season" from November to

April. Normally the land in Zone I dried sufficiently during these

months to be suitable for such crops while there was still adequate rain­

fall to water them. Farmers could generally plant and harvest two crops

of corn before the heavy rains recommenced, and during the same months

a variety of vegetables, legumes and root crops could be grown. In·

Bual, for example, the principal off season crops at that time are re-

94

ported to have been corn, sweet potatoes and mung beans which were

grown as cash crops as well as for home consumption.

The land in Zone II is lower in elevation than land in Zone I.

Most is located closer to the marshes and to the many creeks and streams

which flow from the hills to the marshes or to the Libungan and Rio

Grande Rivers. Even during drier months this land remains too wet for

cultivation of corn and other dry crops. Much of it was used for

double-cropping of rice in the pre-irrigation period. Land of this

type is marginal because it often floods during the wet season and does

not drain properly even during the dry season. Near the marshes there

are additional difficulties in controlling insects and rats. Regard­

less of season, rice farming in Zone II is a risky venture at best.

Zone III, by contrast, is slightly higher in elevation than

Zones I and II and is located farther from the marshes, often near the

base of the hills. Land in this zone is relatively flat and still forms

part of the lowland, but ecologically it has many of the characteristics

of the upland areas. Wet rice can be grown here under rainfed conditions~

but it is more common for land in Zone III to be planted to corn, co­

conut: tobacco, root crops, vegetables and permanent fruit trees.

Effects of the Irrigation System

The Libungan River Irrigation System was designed and constructed

by the National Irrigation Administration (NIA). It is a gravity-feed

system which was originally intended to serve 12,000 hectares in the

towns of Midsayap, Libungan and Pigcawayan. For a variety of reasons,

the targeted goal of 12,000 hectares has never been fully achieved. In

95

1970 the system irrigated 6,200 hectares, of which about 4,000 ha.

was located in Midsayap.

The supply of water provided by this irrigation facility is

normally adequate even during the dry season. Farmers on different

parts of the system receive water en a rotating basis according to a

schedule worked out by the local NIA staff. "Water masters" are em­

ployed by NIA to supervise the distribution of water to individual

farms along the various canals.

Since its opening in 1962, the irrigation system has had signifi­

cant effects upon both agriculture and ecology in the lowland areas of

Midsayap. As planned, the immediate effect was improvement of both

water supply and water control in the irrigated areas. For the first

time a dependable supply of water was assured to thousands of hectares

of farmland in Zone I regardless of season. Some adjoining land in

Zone III was also brought under irrigation, and at least initially

there were benefits to certain parts of Zone II as the combination of

irrigation and new drainage facilities improved water control even in

these areas.

The availability of water during the dry season led many farmers

in Zone I to shift away from diversified farming and to concentrate

increasingly on double-cropping of wet rice. A reliable water supply

reduced the risks of double-cropping and generally increased dry season

yields, thus offering the prospect of larger and more certain returns

from a second rice cr.op. On many farms there was only a partial shift

to double-cropping in the first few years of irrigation. Portions of

the farm could be irrigated for a second rice crop while other more

96

elevated portions remained dry and could be used for vegetable produc­

tion. Groves of coconut trees, often interplanted with corn or other

crops, remained like islands among the rice paddies and along the

borders of irrigated ricelands.

As time passe~,however, there were further ecological changes in

Zone I and Zone II. Drainage canals were not properly maintained and

became filled with silt or clogged with weeds and debris. Water

continued to flow into the system, and with these outlets obstructed

it began to back up on farmlands lower on the irrigation system.

The farms lying close to the marshes in Zone II were those most

affected. Excess water had been a problem in these areas before the

new drainage canals were built, and as the efficiency of these facili­

ties diminished the problem recurred--this time compounded by the

addition of the irrigation water itself. The area bordering the marsh

just west and south of Bual was one in which flooding became progres­

sively more of a problem. Farmers complained that NIA did little to

correct the situation. For a time they organized their own work groups

to clean and maintain the drainage but conditions grew steadily worse.

Most farmers finally gave up and moved away from this area. By 1970

at least 200 families had left Palongoguen and an adjacent barrio and

several hundred hectares of former farmland had been abandoned becan~e

they were so badly inundated that they were beyond cultivation.

Land in Zone I also began to show the effects of saturation.

Each year there was less land in this zone which could be dried suffi­

ciently to permit the planting of corn and vegetables. Thousands of

coconut trees gradually yellowed and died as seepage from nearby rice

97

fields waterlogged their roots. Flooding occured more frequently during

heavy rains due to the combination of poor drainage and saturated soils.

Within a relatively short time the irrigation system did more

than simply encourage multiple cropping of rice. In many parts of

Zone I, altered ecological conditions virtually necessitated a shift

to rice monoculture. In some places land could no longer be adequately

dried for diversified farming, while in others drying could not be

accomplished quickly enough to allow multiple plantings. Even side

income derived from the making of copra dwindled as many coconut trees

died or declined in productivity. With fewer alternatives available

to them, an increasing number of farmers concentrated their resources

on rice cultivation.

The hybrid rice varieties, which were widely planted by local

farmers from 1967 onward, provided an added impetus to multiple crop­

ping of rice. As mentioned earlier, two general characteristics of

these varieties often contributed to changing cropping patterns in

areas where they were adopted. One is that these are so-called "non­

seasonal" varieties. They are only moderately photoperiod sensitive,

so both maturation time and yields remain relatively constant despite

seasonal variations in sunlight. The other, equally important

characteristic is that these are early maturing varieties which are

ready to harv2st within 110-140 days after sowing. This means they

reach maturity 20-40 days faster than most of the "improved local"

varieties popular in the early 1960's and as much as 60 days earlier

than the traditional varieties commonly planted before that time.

98

These characteristics make the new varieties perfectly suited

to irrigated rice farming. The short maturation period facilitates

multiple cropping, and the lack of seasonality means that as long as

water is available the new varieties can be planted at any time of

year. These two characteristics are so important to farmers that there

is substantial evidence--not only from this study but from others--that

the rapid acceptance of the hybrid rice varieties can be attributed as

much to their suitability for multiple cropping as to their higher

yield potentials. 6

Multiple cropping of rice usually means planting and harvesting

two crops annually, or double-cropping. Triple cropping in a single

year is not possible with the present rice varieties. Some farmers

in Midsayap have discovered, however, that with more intensive culti-

vat ion certain of the new varieties can be harvested five times every

two years. Few farmers attempt such intensive cropping, but most are

aware that it is possible. This awareness is part of a more general

knowledge that they are no longer under the same constraints of timing

and seasonality which existed in the days before irrigation and before

the hybrid varieties. Previously, if rice was not planted within the

space of a month or so during each season there were major risks of

lack of water, prolonged maturation period, lowered yields, and ahar--·

vest which would fall during periods of heavy rain. Irrigation and

the new varieties have minimized or nearly eliminated some of these

risks. Farmers can--and do--plant during almost any month of the year.

The majority try to time their farm operations to coincide with the

6See, for example, Changes in Rice Farming in Selected Areas ofAsia, The International Rice Research Institute (Los Banos, 1975), 292.

99

NIA irrigation schedule but there are always some farmers who plant at

other times.

This lack of coordination in the beginning of new farming cycles

is known locally as "staggered" planting. The term actually refers as

much to the effects of non-synchronized planting as it does to the

irregular planting schedule itself. The principal effect is that rice

in nearby or even adjacent fields may be at any of several stages of

growth simultaneously. One paddy may be ready for harvest while the

one next to it is newly planted. A short distance away, land prepara­

tion may be commencing on another field. Cases such as this are

extreme but are not unusual. It is even more common to find a cluster

of fields, perhaps several hectares in area, which is at one growth

stage while a similar cluster not far away is on an entirely different

stage.

Local farmers recognize that staggered planting causes serious

problems. It makes efficient water control impossible, and this may

lead to reduced yields, increased problems with weeds, and difficulties

or even losses in the harvesting of fields which have not dried properly.

Pests and diseases are harder to control because hosts and harborages

are continually present somewhere in a given vicinity. If small areas

are too far ahead of or behind the more general schedule they also

become prey to whatever rats, birds or insects may be present in the

vicinity. The combination of these problems can mean not only lower

yields but smaller returns to cash investments for seed, land prepara­

tion, pulling, transplanting, chemicals and fertilizer. It deserves

100

mention that these effects are unfortunately not confined to fields

which are out of phase with the established schedule but are felt on

neighboring farms as well.

Despite the many problems created by staggered planting, efforts

to eliminate it have met with only limited success in most of the

municipality. Part of the explanation lies in the fact that staggered

planting is not due simply to a stubborn lack of coordination among

farmers, or tu even the added incentives for accelerated cropping

provided by irrigation and the special characteristics of the new

varieties. It can also result from circumstances over which the

farmers have little control. For instance, if a farmer's rice is

destroyed by disease or insects soon after it is planted he may decide

to plow the crop under and replant immediately rather than wait several

months to begin a new cycle on schedule. The three to four weeks

required to grow new seedlings means that this new planting will be at

least a month out of phase with the rice in surrounding fields. This

involves added risk, but the farmer may decide to assume this risk

rather than lose an entire season. His neighbors may be opposed to

staggered planting in principle, but under the circumstances it is

unlikely they will try to dissuade him from going ahead with the new

planting.

Farmers also differ in the rate at which they can prepare their

land for planting. Some farmers are unable to prepare their entire

farm on schedule because of insufficient family labor, animal power,

or cash resources. These farmers may prepare their land plot by plot,

causing them to fall behind the schedule followed by farmers with

smaller farms or more adequate resources. This problem is co~pounded

101

by partial mechanization whereby some farmers with access to hand

tractors can prepare their farms quickly and early while others who

rely on animal traction lag behind. Over several seasons these dif­

ferences can have the cumulative effect of creating marked disparities

in the timing of farm operations.

Many of the same factors which lead to staggered planting at the

barrio or neighborhood level also contribute to the difficulties en­

countered by NIA personnel in attempting to coordinate farm schedules

for the town as a whole. Coordination is necessary for efficient dis­

tribution of water to different parts of the irrigation system~ yet

there have been persistent problems in working out an acceptable irri­

gation schedule and in getting farmers to adhere to a set schedule.

Various kinds of problems arise concerning the timing and distri­

bution of irrigation water. In one case~ unusually heavy rains in

January~ 1970~ prompted farmers in a particular barrio to prepare and

plant their fields several months ahead of schedule. When the rains

slackened in February these farmers went to the NIA office as a group

to demand that water be released to their area so they would not lose

this crop. According to the NIA calendar their barrio was not scheduled

to receive water until April 15. NIA officials finally conceded to

their demands and released the water despite the fact that one of the

main intents of the NIA schedule was to eliminate non-synchronized

planting of this type. An agriculturist who had helped to plan the

schedule commented at the time that this concession ruined any hope of

eliminating staggered planting for at least one more year.

To cite another example~ farmers in the barrio of Patindeguen

102

reported that they had a problem because there was a difference between

their planting schedule and that of Nalin, the adjacent barrio which

is located higher on the irrigation system. There is no lateral canal

leading directly to Patiudeguen, so they receive water on the Nalin

schedule. This meant that the timing of the water was wrong for their

cropping cycle, yet they were reluctant to synchronize with Nalin

because to do this would have meant losing one harvest.

A problem of a different sort developed when an unidentified

disease attacked the rice in barrio San Isidro. Farmers in Gayonga,

which is lower on the system than San Isidro, feared this might be a

bacterial disease which could be spread by irrigation water. Rather

than use water from San Isidro they delayed their planting and allowed

their fields to dry in the hope this would kill any harmful bacteria

in their area.

Due partly to staggered planting, conflicts over the use of irri-

gation water can arise within as well between communities. To give an

indication of how serious these conflicts can become, a dispute of this

type which arose in February, 1970, led to the killing of one farmer

and the destruction of more than 20 makeshift dams which were being used

to divert the flow of irrigation water. Such violence is rare, but it

is not uncommon formsgruntled farmers to show up en masse at the NIA _.

office or the municipal building to press their demands for changes in

the water schedule. Political pressure is sometimes exerted to

guarantee that these demands are met.

It became so difficult to maintain an irrigation schedule in the

face of farmers' conflicting demands that in March, 1970, the municipal

council considered passing an ordinance to enforce synchronized plant-

103

ing according to the NIA calendar. The council was finally persuaded

not to take this action by an attorney who questioned the legality of

the move and argued that it would be better simply to conduct an

information campaign to educate farmers about the benefits of adhering

to the established schedule.

In summary then, the irrigation system has had a variety of

significant ecological effects in Zone I. It has provided a more or

less dependable water supply which has reduced some of the risks asso­

ciated with wet rice cultivation. In combination with other factors

this dependable, year-round water supply has encouraged--and in some

areas even necessitated--monocropping of rice. Diversified farming has

been virtually eliminated in most of this zone, causing some negative

economic and possibly even nutritional effects. Certain new risks

have been substituted for those which have been eliminated because

irrigation has tended to promote continuous cropping ·and non-synchronized

planting schedules. In Zone II, substantial areas of previously culti­

vated land have been taken out of production because they have been

severely inundated. Zone III has been only marginally affected by ~he

irrigation system, although even in this zone some coconut trees are

dying due to an apparent raising of the water table.

The Farming Cycle, 1970

Farmers in Bual differed in the month in which they would begin a

new farming cycle but the cycle itself was similar among most of them

in 1970. Roughly the same farm operations were performed in the same

sequence and with similar attention to timing. Different cultivation

practices followed by different farmers in the sample will be discussed

104

in later chapters. Here, however, it may be useful to describe the

farming routine followed by a "typical" farmer in Bual at the time

of this study.

All farmers in Bual were planting the new varieties of rice

at this time. Nearly all planted these varieties exclusively, al­

though a few still planted small plots of pilit, a glutinous rice

used primarily for home consumption.

Using the new varieties the complete farming cycle usually

takes four and a half to five months. As indicated, with these vari­

ties the farmer can begin a new cycle more or less at will as long as

sufficient water is available. It is most common, however, for farm­

ers to begin the wet season cycle in June or July and the dry season

cycle in November or December.

Land preparation begins a week or two before the sowing of

seedbeds, or more than a month before the rice seedlings will be trans­

planted to regular paddies. Typical operations involved in lend pre­

paration are a single plowing and two or three harrowings spaced out

over the period of one month. Plowing may be preceded by grass-cutting

and general cleaning of the fields if there has been a lapse of more

than a month or two since the previous harvest. After this the field

is soaked and then drained for plowing. Plowing by carabao takes about

eight days per hectare. The average size of tenant farms in Bual is

2.45 ha., so plowing alone may take up to three weeks unless the farmer

uses mechanization or some form of labor exchange to shorten his prepa­

ration time.

The initial harrowing is performed two weeks after plowing. This

105

takes about three days per hectare using a single carabao. The field

is harrowed a second time one week later, and the third and final

harrowing usually follows after one more week •. Each of these later

harrowings takes two to three days per hectare. The soil is stirred

into.a fine mud, weeds are killed by incorporating them into the soil,

and the paddies are levelled for more efficient water control. If the

farmer is making a basal application of fertilizer, this is applied

just before the final harrowing so that it will also be stirred into

the soil. After the last harrowing the farmer pulls any weeds still

exposed--which may take another day--and the field is ready for trans­

planting.

Farmers in Bual commonly use a wetbed type of seedbed. This is

prepared three to four weeks before the fields are to be planted. The

size of the seedbed is about 300-500 square meters per hectare to be

planted. This can be prepared in less than a day. Pre-germinated seed

is then sown on the seedbed at the rate of one to one and a half cavans

of seed for each hectare to be planted.

Other jobs the farmer completes between plowing and transplanting

include some which he does alone, such as cleaning and repairing dikes,

plugging rat-holes, etc., and others done by groups of neighbors who

may cooperate in cleaning the irrigation and drainage ditches which

directly serve their fields. Each farmer may spend three or four days

of his time on these combined operations.

Pulling and transplanting seedlings take about 15 man-days per

hectare. This includes three man-days for pulling and bundling seed­

lings and 12 man-days for experienced wo~kers to plant one hectare.

106

Planting is done by the "random" method in which workers roughly cal­

culate the appropriate spacing of the plants. Little effort is made

to plant the seedlings in straight rows. Transplanting is sometimes

done by the farmer and his family working alone if a small area is to

be planted. It is more connnon t however, to arrange for hired or exchange

labor--or a combination of the two--to assist in this operation so that

planting can be completed in one or two days.

Farming activities between transplanting and harvest include

weeding t maintaining dikes, regulating the water level in the fields t

spraying against insects and diseases, baiting for rats t and--in some

cases--topdressing with fertilizer. Farmers visit their fields almost

daily during the growing period to check the condition of their plants.

Tasks like weeding may be done a little at a time on these visits.

Herbicides are a popular means of weed contro1 t but mechanical weeders

are rarely utilized in Bual. If weeds present a problem the farmer

may call upon his family to help in hand weeding or laborers may be

hired for cash to assist in weeding.

The frequency of spraying against pests and diseases and the

amount of chemicals applied depend mainly upon the condition of the

rice p1ants t the prevalence of insects t and the amount of money a

farmer has available for pesticides. Farmers in the study generally

made at least two applications of chemicals. Each application requires

about four man-days per hectare. Spraying may be done by the individual

farmer or by farmers working in small groups on each other's farms.

If the growing plants are top-dressed with ferti1izer t this may

be done anytime from a week to six weeks after transplanting. A month

107

after transplanting is most common in Bual. The amount of time spent

on ihis operation varies with the quantity of fertilizer used. Labor

expended on maintaining dikes, rat-baiting, etc., also varies greatly

from farmer to farmer.

Harvesting is done in groups which vary in size according to the

area to be harvested and the anticipated yield of grain. If the field

is very small or if the rice has been badly damaged by insects, rats

or diseases it may be harvested by the farmer and his family alone.

If the field will yield more than a few cavans of palay, however, then

relatives, neighbors and even outsiders will join in the harvest. On

large and productive fields the number of harvesters may reach 50-100,

including women, children ten or twelve years of age, and very old

people. Payment is in kind, with the harvesters generally keeping

one-sixth to one-eighth of what they harvest.

Today it is most common for threshing to be done by a portable

mechanical thresher. This involves added expense, but it is more

practical if the rice yield is large and it is the method preferred

by landlords because it facilitates the division and transportation

of their share of the harvest. Manual threshing is becoming increas­

ingly rare except among the Maguindanao. Manual threshing is employed

by non-Maguindanao farmers principally for very small harvests and for

threshing whatever share they may receive for harvesting other people's

fields.

Post-harvest activities such as hauling, storage and marketing

are usually carried out in the most expedient manner. The rice dealer

to whom the crop has been committed brings his truck to the field or

108

to the nearest road. There the palay is weighed, loaded and hauled

away. The only palay which the farmer stores or mills himself is

that which is set aside for family consumption. Small quantities of

this grain are taken to town for milling as needed. Among the Maguin­

danao, in particular, rice used for subsistence may simply be husked

by pounding it in the traditional wooden mortar.

CHAPTER V

LOCAL RESPONSE TO THE NEW VARIETIES OF RICE

From 1966-71 farmers in Midsayap were vigorously encouraged to

plant the new hybrid varieties of rice. A massive information cam­

paign launched by the Philippine government reached local farmers in

the form of leaflets, radio messages, and articles in the local and

national press. Agricultural extension agents held farmers' meetings

to explain techniques of cultivating the new varieties and to urge

farmers to switch to these varieties. Demonstration plots were planted

to "miracle rice" and other new varieties to convince farmers of their

superiority. Additional money for farm loans was made available through

the FaCoMa and other sources on the condition that borrowers use this

money for cultivation of the new hybrids. The Mindanao Rice and Corn

Experiment Station propagated certified seed of the new varieties and

offered this seed to farmers at a price below that of ordinary seed.

"Mini-kits" containing an assortment of seeds of new varieties were

distributed to farmers in an effort to promote experimentation.

From the farmer's point of view, perhaps the main inducement to

experiment with the new varieties lay in their apparent profitability.

There were two principal reasons the new hybrids appeared to be more

profitable than traditional varieties. The first was the potential

of the hybrids for vastly increased yields. The second was their suit­

ability for double-cropping, which in itself offered the prospect of at

least doubling yearly farm income. The combination of these factors

109

110

made the hybrid varieties very appealing, but the Midsayap farmers

who first adopted them were nevertheless cautious. Most planted

them on only a portion of their farms while planting their remaining

land to traditional varieties. After one or two seasons, however,

these innovators generally planted the new varieties exclusively.

Other farmers soon followed their example, and within the space of

a few seasons any farmer who continued to plant only the traditional

varieties was regarded as somewhat backward or ignorant. It is likely

that this change in community attitudes also contributed to the nearly

total adoption of the new varieties on irrigated farms in Midsayap by

1970.

By this time some of the immediate consequences of adopting the

hybrid strains were also becoming apparent. Double-cropping was widely

practiced. Staggered planting, encour~ged by the non-season~l, short­

maturing characteristics of the hybrids, had become a concern of farmers,

extension agents, and irrigation officials alike. IR-8 had lost much

of its popularity. Due to problems of poor eating quality, low price

and disease susceptibility, it had largely been superceded by IR-S, C4

and BPI-76. Each of the latter varieties is lower yielding than IR-8,

but overall they were now preferred by most farmers. It was now fairly

common for farmers to switch varieties each season, and many prided

themselves on being among the first to experiment with the newest varie­

ties. Farmers were generally investing much more capital in farm inputs,

and the additional labor requirements of the new agricultural technology

appeared to have become accepted as part of the normal farming routine.

These changes had been accompanied by two others which were also

111

very significant. For one, the range of alternatives now open to the

farmer--and the consequent demands upon his decision-making ability-­

had increased dramatically. The other was that the "ante" involved in

rice farming--in the form of the extra capital investment required by

the new agricultural technology--had multiplied several times beyond

that associated with the traditional agricultural regime. It was

true that the hybrids could double, triple or even quadruple yields.

With double-cropping the farmer might be able to increase his real

annual income in almost the same proportion. However, accomplishing

this required the right decisions, a heavy investment of capital, and

a measure of luck.

The "luck factor" had become especially significant because,

despite claims to the contrary, the new agricultural technology had

not effectively reduced the risks involved in rice farming. If anything

these risks had been increased by the new varieties and new farming

techniques. Many farmers had already experienced major setbacks due

to partial or total crop failures. Even those who had been most inno­

vative in the beginning were now reassessing their farming strategies

and were becoming more skeptical and more cautious once again. Over

several seasons, experiences with the new varieties had ranged from

spectacular success to devastating failure. Some of t he unfavorable

experiences could possibly be attributed to the deceptive nature of

the demonstration effect. It seems that some farmers, viewing the

successful experimentation of their more innovative neighbors, became

convinced that the "miracle" was in the new seed alone. The conclusion

led them to adopt IR-8 and other hybrids without adopting the full

112

package of technology which is necessary for proper cultivation of

these varieties. Without heavy applications of fertilizer, and lack­

ing adequate chemical control of pests and diseases, the performance

of the new varieties is moderately good at best and disastrous at

worst. More than a few farmers learned the hard way that adopting only

part of the new rice technology could be worse than adopting none of it

at all.

Crop failures caused by insufficient use of inputs and lack of

proper care might have simply reinforced the persistent urgings of

extension agents had it not been for the fact that there were also

many cases of farmers who conscientiously followed all of the best cur­

rent recommendations and still experienced failure. Sometimes these

failures were due to storms, flooding or other weather-related factors.

Many of the losses were caused by diseases and pests--especially rats,

which were so numerous in some places that they could "harvest" a large

area in a single night. Whatever the exact cause of the failure, the

losses involved in these instances were quite substantial due to the

large amounts of capital which had been invested in the new technologi­

cal inputs.

There was also a problem with the variable market prices for

different varieties of rice. Price fluctuations could substantially

affect a farmer's profit in a particular season. Farmers were aware

of this and weighed the price factor along with others in selecting

which varieties to plant. For most farmers the choice was no longer

between new and traditional varieties. Instead, it involved deciding

which among the new varieties seemed to offer the best combination of

113

favorable price, good yield and maximum disease resistance. Even this

choice is not quite as simple as it might appear at first, because

just as prices vary from one season to another so do the kind of

diseases and pests which are most prevalent. Many of the varieties

being grown in 1970 did not have broad spectrum disease resistance

and were more susceptible to certain diseases than to others. The

specific type of resistance varied from one hybrid to another. It

was rarely possible to predict what problems of disease might develop

in the forthcoming season. The choice of one of the more resistant

varieties combined with adequate expenditures for chemical control

could minimize the hazards, but some element of risk always remained.

There was beyond this the complex question of what types and

quantities of inputs to use in order to achieve the only partially

compatible objectivesof (1) maximizing yield; (2) minimizing risk

by protecting the crop; (3) minimizing risk by minimizing investment,

and (4) maximizing profit. In the real situation there were restraints

to be considered which might involve limited capital, labor, farm

animals or equipment. There were also restraints of other sorts

which influenced decision-making in more subtle ways. Within the con­

text of all such options and considerations the individual farmer at­

tempted to devise "mini-max" type strategies for each farming season.

These strategies were usually quite flexible, and were subject to con­

stant re-evaluation and adjustment as the season progressed. The nature

of those things which were being minimized or maximized by these strate­

gies will be discussed in the next two chapters as will the social, eco-

114

nomic and ecological consequences of the strategies which farmers

devised under these circumstances. First, however, we must turn our

attention to a detailed consideration of the decision-making of farmers

in this study--including the options available to them, the restraints

upon their decision-making, the decisions which were in fact made, and

the stated or apparent reasons for these decisions.

The Decision-Making of Midsayap Farmers

Decision-making may be seen as a process which proceeds from the

most general level to the most specific. At the former level, where

the most encompassing decisions are made, there may be many alternatives

which are never considered seriously, or which do not even occur to the

decision-maker as alternatives. At the most specific level, certain

decisions may follow almost as a matter of necessity as a result of

prior decisions in the decision-making sequence. Between these two

levels, decisions will be made more or less consciously, with greater

or lesser awareness of the range of alternatives, and with greater or

lesser freedom of choice. Proceeding from the more general to the more

specific levels, the range of alternatives at any particular level will

be restrained by prior decisions in the sequence. This is simply to

say that one cannot make decisions which are absolutely precluded by

decisions made previously--at least not unless one is willing to, in a

sense, "start allover again."

At the most general level of decision-making, this study attempts

to deal only with those alternatives and decisions which appear to have

a realistic bearing upon the data. I do not deal, for example, with any

decisions farmers may have made concerning whether to go on living or not;

115

116

of land farmed is variable and does not always correspond to the

total. l.and available. Part of the land may be left fallow or may

be set aside for grazing. The size of the farm may increase if the

owner/operator enters a tenancy agreement to obtain additional land.

On the other hand the owner/operator may contract to have part of his

land farmed by tenants.

A tenant may increase or decrease the size of his farm by nego-

tiating with his landlord or by arranging to have more than one 1and-

lord. More commonly, farm size may be reduced to an area less than

that held by tenure agreement even without any formal change in the

agreement itself.

As will be seen, farm size tends to fluctuate from season to

season depending upon such factors as the availability of capital

and the incidence of diseases and pests.

Land Tenure

A landowner may enter into or terminate tenancy agreements.

The agreement may be terminated because the owner decides to farm all

or a portion of his land himself. In some cases a landlord may choose

to mortgage his land, which may have a number of effects upon ten-

1ants who are farming that land. A landlord may also decide to change

the terms of tenure, either by shifting from share to leasehold tenancy

or by changing the amount of share or fixed rental.

Tenants may seek to initiate, or conversely may resist, a shift

1Land is sometimes mortgaged temporarily as a way of evictingundesirable tenants.

117

from share to leasehold tenancy. For economic or personal reasons

they may shift from one landlord to another. In some instances, if

they choose to terminate the tenure agreement this will also mean they

must move out of the village in which they have been farming.

Cropping Pattern

A farmer may choose to plant only rice, or he may choose to plant

other crops either on a portion of his farm or in the dry season. Irri­

gated farms are invariably planted to at least one crop of rice. On

much of the irrigated land in Midsayap, the option of planting "dry"

crops is no longer available because of the high water table almost the

year round. In most instances the planting of corn, vegetables and

other dry crops is limited to small plots of elevated land or simply to

the elevated housep1ot itself.

Double-cropping of rice is a realistic option, particularly with

the new varieties, and this cropping pattern has become common in recent

years. There are many variations which include planting a farm piece­

meal or following a schedule which results in roughly three crops every

two years.

Variety Choice

By 1970 all of the farmers in this study had been thoroughly ex­

posed to the new hybrid varieties of rice. Even those who had planted

only one of these varieties personally were aware of other varieties

currently or previously planted by their neighbors. As mentioned, there

was also an ongoing information campaign in Midsayap to familiarize farm­

ers with these varieties.

Prior to the introduction of IR-8 and other dwarf hybrids, many

118

local farmers had been experimenting with "new" varieties for several

years. These varieties, which were recommended by the Philippine Seed­

board, were regarded as superior strains which were new only in the

sense that they were being introduced in areas where they had not been

grown before. One which had become quite popular was Peta, an Indo­

nesian variety which had good eating quality and which was well-adapted

to growing conditions in much of the lowland Philippines. IR-8 and

several of the other dwarf hybrids are actually crosses between Peta

and other, temperate zone strains of rice. Peta and several other kinds

of rice had been dis~eminated by government extension agents in the

early to mid-60's as part of a national campaign to increase rice

production. The important fact is that even before the hybrids were

introduced local farmers had a number of years of experience in evalu­

ating the varied characteristics of different strains of rice and de­

ciding which of several varieties to plant.

The traditional varieties, as well as the "improved local" varieties

recommended by the Seedboard prior to 1966, were tall and leafy. A large

proportion of the nutrients taken in by the plant were used for general

vegetative growth rather than specifically for grain production. The

tall, leafy characteristics of these plants made them especially suscep­

tible to lodging, or toppling over in strong winds and rain. Most were

characterized by only moderate tillering ability, which means they

sent out relatively few grain-bearing stalks from a single root system.

All were relatively late-maturing, although the Seedboard varieties

often matured several weeks earlier than some of the traditional varie­

ties. Many of these varieties could be double-cropped, but because of

the rather long growth period there was little time left for land pre-

119

paration for the next crop. Efficient double-cropping usually required

the use of dapog seedlings (see below), at least some mechanization,

and other techniques and/or equipment which were unfamiliar or

unavailable to large numbers of farmers. The combination of these

factors tended to limit double-cropping. Most of these varieties were

also seasonal and performed better in either the wet or the dry season

--usually the latter because of greater availability of sunlight. None

of these varieties responded particularly well to fertilization because

the added nutrients were used largely for increased vegetative growth

with only minimal increases in grain production.

On the other hand, the traditional varieties had many positive

characteristics which were the product 'of centuries of human as well as

"natural" selection. One of the most important is that these strains

have generally high resistance to the diseases and insect pests common

to this part of Southeast Asia. Because t~ey are tall and leafy they

compete well with weeds, which they shade out. Most have at least a

moderate drought resistance. Farmers describe these varieties as "self­

sufficient," because they will produce at least a modest yield of grain

even without much care in the form of fertilization, application of

chemicals, or weeding. The eating quality of these varieties is

regarded as superior to all but perhaps one of the new varieties (C4-63),

and most of the traditional kinds of rice command a good, relatively

predictable price on the market.

Several of the desirable characteristics of the new hybrid rice

varieties have been described. While there is some variation from one

120

2strain to another, these can generally be characterized as follows.

The new varieties are quite short compared to traditional varieties

and are often referred to as "dwarf hybrids." They are also less leafy,

which combined with their moderate to high til1ering ability means a

higher ratio of grain production to vegetative growth. The same

characteristics of short stature and reduced leafiness make them more

resistant to lodging under storm conditions. The maturation period of

these varieties is several weeks shorter than that of the traditional

varieties. They are also relatively non-photoperiod sensitive, which

means they are basically non-seasonal. As seen, rapid maturation and

lack of seasonality make them particularly well-adapted to multiple

cropping. These varieties have been bred to be highly responsive to

fertilizer, especially nitrogen, so the yield of grain can be greatly

increased by heavy application of fertilizer.

On the negative side, the new hybrids require much greater care

and more extensive measures of plant protection. Weeds are more of a

problem because of their short stature and reduced leafiness. Disease

resistance is generally only moderate, and in some cases is poor. Drought

resistance is moderate, for the most part, but the dwarf plants are

susceptible to flooding. The eating quality of many of these varieties

is regarded as poor to fair, and consequently the price they bring in

the market is low and may drop markedly in times of high productivity.

2A detailed description of the characteristics of each of thevarieties available in 1970-71 is contained in the Rice ProductionManual, ~. cit., 38-44; 356-360.

new

121

Overall, the new varieties require substantially greater inputs of labor

and capital for proper cultivation.

Farmers are aware of these general characteristics of the new

hybrids, as well as the specific characteristics of particular varieties.

A more detailed consideration of the options they recognize in choosing

between them is included in a later section.

Pulling and Transplanting

A single farm family is seldom a sufficient labor force to complete

the operations of pulling and transplanting seedlings in the necessary

time interval of a few days. As a result, most farmers must choose

between using exchange labor or hired labor for this purpose. Several

farmers may agree to a reciprocal labor exchange on a day-for-a-day

basis. Frequently the farmer who is being assisted prepares lunch and

may serve morning and afternoon snacks to those who are helping him. If

hired labor is used, the farmer must decide whether to pay a straight

cash wage or to offer a combination of cash and food. In 1970, the

usual rates were ~3 without food or ~2.50 with food provided. While

the former was stated to be "without food," a farmer hiring neighbors

and friends to help him almost invariably provided at least one snack

although there was no obligation to provide lunch.

Another decision involved in transplanting is whether to plant in

straight rows or by the ordinary "saksak" (stabbing) method. Straight­

row planting is more time-consuming and therefore more costly. Relative­

ly few planters were skilled in planting straight rows in one direction,

and no one I knew even attempted to plant a perfect grid pattern of

straight rows in both directions, although this is common in some other

122

parts of the Philippines.

Fertilizer

A farmer must decide if he will invest in fertilizer during a

particular farming cycle. If he decides to make this investment he

must then decide what kind of fertilizer to buy~ how much to buy, and

when to apply it.

Seed

Pa1ay used for seed may be acquired in anyone of several ways:

(1) it is saved from the preceding harvest; (2) it is obtained by

harvesting the fields of another farmer who has planted the desired

variety; (3) pa1ay of one type may be exchanged for an equivalent or

1esGer amount of pa1ay of the type desired for planting; (4) seed pa1ay

may be borrowed and then returned at harvest, usually with 50%-100%

interest in kind; and (5) certified or ordinary seed pa1ay may be

purchased.

A second decision regarding seed concerns the amount to be used

per hectare, which varies somewhat from one farmer to another.

Seedbed

The basic choice is between using a seedbed of the wetbed or the

dapog type. The wetbed is the customary method of seeding. A portion

of one paddy, uSEa11y about 300-500 square meters per hectare to

be planted, is set aside for the seedbed. This plot is carefully pre­

pared ahead of the remaining fields. The seeds~ which have usually

been pre-germinated, are sown on the wetbed and allowed to grow to a

123

height of about 25 cm. before they .are pulled and transplanted in the

fields 20-25 days after sowing.

The dapog method is a recent innovation which is commonly recom­

mended because it causes less damage to roots and leaves than pulling

plants from the soil of the wetbed. With dapog, seeds can be sown on

any flat, relatively impermeable surface such as cement or banana

leaves. Pre-germinated seed is placed directly on this surface without

soil and is simply watered and tamped down to mat the roots of the

seedlings. Dapog seedlings are ready for planting 10-15 days after

sowing, when the seedlings are only about 10 cm. in height. The matted

plants can be cut into strips and rolled up like pieces of carpet for

convenience in carrying them to the fields.

Land Preparation

There are a variety of options involved in land preparation.

Traditionally, land was prepared by plow and harrow drawn by a carabao.

Today a farmer has options of purchasing or contracting for a hand

tractor to be used in land preparation.

A farmer who has one or more carabaos normally uses animal power

for at least part of his land preparation. If a farmer does not have a

work animal he may borrow, rent or lease one, or he may simply contract

for the services of one--which generally means hiring the o,vuer or handler

as well. If a landlord provides the tenant with a carabao this affects

the sharing agreement. Rental and lease arrangements are variable, but

usually involve a payment of two or three sacks of grain at harvest.

Custom plowing by carabao costs P5-6/day, or P40-50/hectare. Payment is

generally in cash.

124

Relatively few farmers have purchased hand tractors, and in

all cases I knew of those who own tractors are owner/operators.

Hand tractor owners offered custom plowing at a customary rate of

~40/hectare in 1970. Some farmers contract these services for ini­

tial land preparation and then use a carabao for harrowing and final

preparation.

Farmers using carabaos at any stage of land preparation may

work as a group on one another's farms either to accelerate these

operations or simply for the enjoyment of working in a group.

There were a variety of commercial fertilizers available in

1970, but three basic types were most popular. Two of these, ammonium

sulphate and urea, contain only the active ingredient nitrogen. The

former is a compound containing 21% nitrogen, while the latter contains

45% nitrogen. The other type of fertilizer is called "complete" because

it contains nitrogen, phosphate and potash in varying quantities accord­

ing to the brand. All of the new varieties are highly nitrogen-res­

ponsive. Phosphate application may have been of some benefit on the

soils in Midsayap, but there appeared to be little or no requirement

for potash.

Prices of fertilizer varied somewhat from one supplier to another,

but the local prices for the three types early in 1970 were ammonium

sulphate (21-0-0), P14.50; urea (45-0-0), P26.00, and complete (12-l2-l2),

P15.20 per bag. It deserves note that these prices had just risen 30%­

40% after the government's decision to adopt a floating rate for the

Philippine peso at the beginning of 1970.

The amount of fertilizer purchased and the time of application

were somewhat related. If a farmer decided to use only a small amount

125

of fertilizer, and was using a wetbed, this fertilizer might be applied

to the seedbed alone. Such an application was believed to improve

seedling vigor. Larger quantities of fertilizer were used either for

basal application, which means the fertilizer was harrowed into the

soil prior to transplanting, or for topdressing, which refers to fer­

tilizer application during intermediate stages of plant growth.

Chemicals

Aside from chemical fertilizers, chemicals are used by farmers

mainly for the control of weeds, insects, rats and diseases. Once

again, many types of chemicals are available from different suppliers.

A farmer must decide which types are needed, which types are most

effective, and what amounts of each type are most economical. In the

case of weeds, there is the option of using herbicides, weeding by

hand, or using a combination of both methods.

Harvesting

If a crop has bee2 badly damaged by pests or diseases, or if the

area planted is extremely small, family labor may be sufficient for

harvesting. Usually~ however, outside labor is required and may be

furnished by relatives, neighbors and others. Harvesters are paid a

share of what they harvest, and the principal decision in this case

concerns the ratio of the share.

Threshing

When the harvest has been lean, threshing is often done manually

by anyone of several methods. A larger volume of grain may be processed

126

either manually or by a mechanical thresher. Sometimes the harvesters

also thresh the grain and receive a proportionately larger share for

this added labor. If a portable mechanical thresher is used, the

common rates of payment for thresher and operators are 1 for 11, 2

for 25, or 2 for 27--all numbers referring to the number of bags

charged per number of bags threshed. If the harvest has been good, the

farmer may provide beer along with the food which is usually furnished

to the thresher operators.

Marketing

Methods of marketing are quite varied. A farmer may "shop around"

among the different dealers in town to obtain the best price. Alter-

natively, he may simply accept the same price as a neighbor, friend or

relative. Sometimes the marketing method and the price are the result

of a group decision, while at other times farmers may be required for

one reason or another to sell the bulk of their harvest to particular

dealers or middlemen. If the farmer is a FaCoMa member he is supposed

to dispose of his rice through the collective marketing system of the

FaCoMa. In almost every case, however, the farmer retains part of

his harvest for household subsistence and for "emergencies."· This store

".

of rice may be marketed in small quantities as necessary, and it is not

unusual for farmers to sell one or two bags at a time to meet immediate

expenses.

Financing

Money for farming purposes is available to the farmer through both

formal and informal channels. Institutional sources of financing include

127

the local branch of the Philippine National Bank, the Rural Bank of

Midsayap, and the Midsayap FaCoMa. Various government credit plans

covering production loans, commodity loans, marketing loans and facility

loan3 are available from these sources. The minimum interest rate is

8% per annum. To qualify for loans such as these the farmer is often

required to be a FaCoMa member or to offer a mortgage on real estate

as security. Preference is sometimes given to those whose farms are

irrigated, and in recent years the lending institutions have required

borrowers to plant the new hybrid varieties as a condition for obtain­

ing production loans.

Non-institutional sources of loans are many and varied. If a

farmer borrows money from a friend or a relative he may pay as much as

50-100% interest per season. The amounts involved in such transactions

are usually small, and may be in the form of rice or some other commo­

dity instead of cash. These loans are usually repaid in cash or in rice

at harvest time. Similar arrangements are sometimes made between a

tenant and a landlord. Rice dealers are another common source of credit.

Farmers often develop a long-term relationship with a particular rice

dealer. The dealer will then extend credit on the promise that the farm­

er will sell his entire crop to him--either at a predetermined price

or at roughly the prevailing price at the time of harvest. I say "roughly"

the prevailing price because naturally the farmer in this situation

has little bargaining power.

Allocation of Resources

Throughout the decision-making involved in each farming cycle,

the farmer faces the problem of allocating resources which are usually

128

limited. Limited resources not only influence the farmer's decisions

about how much to invest in various farm inputs but also require him

to consider other options as well. The farmer often has to decide

whether or not to repay outstanding loans~ or which of several loans

to repay. The farmer also has to decide how much of his limited capital

to use for farming and how much for subsistence, for expenses such as

his children's schooling~ or for fulfilling social obligations. This

requires establishing--in at least a general way--an order of priori­

ties among various options. For example~ many farmers regard payment

of the irrigation fee as a matter of very low priority. Similarly,

other obligations to the government or to formal institutions may seem

much less pressing than obligations to relatives and friends.

Other Options

Among the other options available to farmers, two are of special

interest here. One is whether or not to join either a Farmers' Asso­

ciation or the FaCoMa--or alternatively to continue membership. Member­

ship in one or the other organization is required for certain government

loans, subsidies and other benefits. The experiences of Bua1 farmers

with both types of organization will be discussed later.

Another, sometimes related decision is whether or not to become ..

involved in some type of cooperative farming. Once again, many farmers

in Bual had experience with this type of farming in an experiment known

as the "Compact Area." The results of this joint farming venture will

be described below.

129

The Restraints

The preceding section has broadly indicated the range of options

available to farmers at the time of this study. In individual cases,

however, the number of alternatives actually open to farmers was con­

siderably restricted for a variety of reasons. Restraining factors

were mainly in the form of limited freedom of choice, limited resources,

and certain environmental constraints. Here we may consider some of

the more common of these restraints.

Land Tenure

Land tenure can have direct effects upon freedom of choice. The

owner/operator may be responsible only to himself for his decision, but

the tenant--especially the share tenant--often must follow the dictates

of his landlord. The landlord may require the tenant to grow particular

varieties, to double-crop, or to use certain techniques of cultivation.

The landlord may require the tenant to use a mechanical thresher-­

frequently the landlord's own--to facilitate division of the crop. In

some instances the landlord stipulates the method to be used in selling

the tenant's marketable surplus. Depending upon the relationship be­

tween the two, the tenant's farm size may increase or decrease, or he

may even be evicted. The landlord-tenant relationship can also affect

the pervasive restraint of risk, which is considered in detail in Chapter

VI.

Group Versus Individual Decisions

Many decisions are not made by the farmer independently but are

either the direct product of group consensus or the indirect result of

130

earlier group decisions. The following are four examples of ways in

which farmers in the study communities had recently been involved in

grcup decision-making.

1. CORUM

At the time I studied the community of Pangadon the farmers there

were receiving assistance from the Cotabato Rural Uplift Movement

(CORUM). This assistance was primarily in the form of farm production

loans and the free services of an agricultural technician, although

CORUM also undertook a variety of other community development projects.

The 13 farmers who had decided as a group to become cooperating members

of CORUM were given loans provided they followed the recommendations

of the agricultural technician. These recommendations permitted them

some latitude and they met frequently on their own to plan their farm­

ing activities jointly. These farmers were all close kinsmen and there

was strong pressure for each of them to go along with whatever the

group decided. The other 22 heads of household in the community were

not as obliged to follow either the recommendations of CORUM or the de­

cisions of this "core" group, although most in fact chose to do so. As

will be shown, this led to nearly identical use of inputs in a large

number of cases.

2. The Compact Area Experim~nt in Bual

The decisions made by Bual farmers in 1970-71 take on added signi­

ficance because of an agricultural experiment which had been conducted

in the barrio a few seasons earlier. This was the Compact Area cooper­

ative farm, which deserves brief but detailed consideration because of

the consequences it was to have for subsequent decision-making in the

barrio. In January 1968 the Midsayap FaCoMa, in conjunction with several

131

other government agencies, persuaded 51 farmers from Bual Norte and

Bual Sur to join in a cooperative farming venture. Farms ranging in

size from two to four hectares were laid out contiguously on 152 ha. of

land owned by Datu Mantil Dilangalen. All cultivation activities of

the participating farmers were to be coordinated and standardized in

an effort to maximize efficiency and productivity. The FaCoMa obtained

financing from the Agricultural Credit Administration (ACA) to extend

substantial production loans to the farmers involved. These loans,

mainly in the form of seed, tractor services, fertilizer and chemicals,

were charged to the farmers' accounts on the agreement that all their

marketable rice would be marketed collectively through the FaCoMa.

Farmers agreed further to follow all recommendations of the agricul­

tural technicians assigned to the project. If yields of 60 cavans per

hectare or more were achieved, these agricultural technicians were to

receive five cavans per hectare as payment for their services.

In the first season of the Compact Area everything was done "by

the book." Tractors were used for land preparation, partly to improve

the quality of preparation and partly to synchronize planting schedules.

The new hybrid rice varieties were planted exclusively, and farmers pur­

chased two cavans of certified seed of these varieties for each hectare

planted. The varieties used that season were IR-5, IR-8 and C4. All

farmers used dapog seedbeds, and seedlings were planted by the linya

or straight-row method. Ammonium sulphate fertilizer was applied at the

rate of five bags per hectare. Farmers were supplied with Gamma BRC

systemic insecticide in addition to cheaper and more commonly used con­

tact insecticides. Planters and other workers were paid in cash.

At harvest time the experiment appeared to have been a spectacular

132

success. Yields as high as 180 cavans per hectare were reported for

IR-8, and the lowest yield on any farm was reported to have been 80

cavans per hectare. Great quantities of grain were deposited with the

FaCoMa for marketing. A brief study of the first season of the Compact

Area, done as a senior project by two students at the Mindanao Insti-

tute of Technology in Kabacan, Cotabato, shows that the participating

farmers in Bual realized an average net profit of ~1,266 this season. 3

According to figures in the report, this profit was obtained through

an investment of P4,466 on an average farm of three hectares. This

level of investment seems extraordinarily high based upon my own obser-

vations, but it roughly concurs with other estimates of the cost of

full utilization of the new technology on Philippine farms at the time. 4

Evidently, the agricultural technicians who advised the project were not

very concerned about sparing expenses because their own commissions

depended upon high yields.

As farmers embarked upon the second season of cooperative farming,

a variety of problems began to emerge. When the FaCoMa marketed the

stored rice the reported selling price was substantially below that

which farmers felt they could have obtained on their own. In addition~

3Elevazo, P.A. and A.A. Anasco~ The Operation of Cooperative FarmsUnder the Management of the Farmers Cooperative Marketing Associationin Midsayap, North Cotabato, Mindanao Institute of Technology (Kabacan~

1969). This report deals only with the first season of the Compact Areaand does not deal with any of the problems discussed here, which emergedlater.

4General Leaflet 1, International ~ice Research Institute, ManilaHotel, March 1, 1967, 9.

133

there were numerous deductions for hau1ing~ mi11ing~ storage, insurance

and membership fees which further eroded the "profits" farmers thought

they had earned. At some point the farmers had also signed powers of

attorney (many later claimed they had not understood what they were

signing). On this authority the FaCoMa used part of the money realized

from marketing to purchase three hand tractors for use on the Compact

Area and on other cooperative farms in the vicinity. Many of the cooper­

ators were angered by what they considered to be an unauthorized ex­

penditure of their money. Some were further incensed when these trac­

tors were not available at the time they needed them during the second

season, which meant they had to revert to using their carabaos for

plowing and harrowing. The final straw for many came at harvest time

when--apparent1y for bookkeeping purposes--they were presented with

bills for custom plowing by tractors which had been purchased with

their money.

Meanwhile, many of the farmers.who joined the Compact Area had

already been in debt before they began to borrow from the FaCoMa. After

the first harvest a number of these paid off their old debts first and

could not afford to fully repay the obligations they had incurred that

season to the FaCoMa. The FaCoMa restricted or suspended further credit

in these cases~ which meant that the farmers concerned were left with in­

sufficient resources to follow the recommended use of inputs. Partly

because of resulting difference:o; in resources, farmers had more diffi­

culty in reaching agreement among themselves with regard to their farm­

ing schedules and activities. Many felt the agricultural technicians

were recommending excessive amounts of inputs--especia11y fertilizer

and insecticides--and that this simply increased their debts to the FaCoMa.

134

Some alleged that there were discrepancies in the amounts they borrowed

from the FaCoMa and the amounts which were recorded in their names.

Some also complained that the agricultural technicians channeled re­

quests for inputs directly through the FaCoMa, so that farmers were

sometimes charged for supplies which they had not ordered or even picked

up.

By the third season of operation the Compact Area appears to have

been a shambles. Many of the original cooperators had dropped out,

often more in debt than when they had joined 'the experiment. Those who

remained generally obtained yields which were far below those experienced

two seasons earlier. At the end of the third season the project was

abandoned.

From the farmers' point of view, the failure of the Compact Area

was caused by mismanagement by the FaCoMa officials and staff. There

were those who complained bitterly that all of their hard work and in­

vestment had done nothing more than enrich the FaCoMa personnel. FaCoMa

officials, for their part, said the project failed because farmers did

not repay their loans, became uncooperative, and did not understand

all of the procedures involved in the operation of a Farmers Cooperative

Marketing Association. They pointed to the further problem that some

other government agencies withdrew their support for the Compact Area

because it was so closely identified with the FaCoMa, and that this led

to competition and dissension as these agencies tried to involve the

farmers in Bual in other credit and marketing schemes. One FaCoMa offi­

cial commented in 1970, about a year after the project was disbanded,

that "the farmers like it better now, even though their production is

135

not as high as it was during the Compact Area, because there is no

one telling them what to do--how to layout their fields, where to

put the dikes, what chemicals to use, and things like that."

As a final note, it deserves mention that in early 1971 the

Midsayap FaCoMa essentially fell to pieces under circumstances which

many viewed as scandalous. It was completely reorganized and restaffed

at that time.

3. The Farmers' Association

Shortly after the demise of the Compact Area, a group of farmers

in Bual formed a Farmers' Association to take advantage of a government

price support program. The farmers were promised that by marketing

collectively through this association they would receive prices for

their rice about 20% higher than those paid by local rice dealers.

Farmers reported, however, that the price they finally received was

the same as the local market price, and that the subsidy apparently

was diverted by some of the officials connected with the price support

program. Once again this experience left them with negative attitudes

toward collective action or group decision-making, especially when such

decision-making involved persons from outside Lhe eO~T1uuity. This ~cted

as a definite constraint upon subsequent efforts to organize farmers

in the barrio.

4. The Irrigation Schedule

Another area of concern involving group decisions and decisions

imposed from outside the community relates to the irrigation schedule.

The farming cycle in individual barrios is regulated to some extent by

the water distribution schedule set by the local office of the National

136

Irrigation Administration (NIA). NIA officials attempt to maintain an

orderly distribution of water to the different barrios of Midsayap

and to the neighboring towns of Libungan and Pigcawayan. There is

some additional pressure for coordinating farming cycles within each

barrio and between barrios on the same irrigation canal. Nonetheless,

problems such as those described in Chapter IV are often encountered

in attempting to maintain both the townwide NIA schedule and the schedules

set by group decision within each barrio. The fairly even distribution

of rain throughout the year along with sodden soil conditions in some

areas make planting possible--even if a bit risky--at times other than

those agreed upon. Individual farmers and sometimes whole communities

ignore the NIA schedule. This leads to the many problems associated

with staggered planting. As shown in Chapter IV, it sometimes forces

NIA officials themselves to revise their schedule, which in turn affects

decisions by farmers in barrios elsewhere on the system.

It should be noted that it is sometimes difficult to draw a clear

distinction between individual and group decisions when the groups in­

volved are small and informal. Farmers may simply consult one another

from time to time, especially if they are relatives, neighbors, or if

they are involved in labor exchange. There may be agreement on the best

way to handle a particular problem but any subsequent action is at the

initiative of the individual farmer.

Limited Resources

The farmer seldom has sufficient capital to follow all of the

recommendations of the International Rice Research Institute or even

137

those of local extension agents. This means he is faced with problems

of budgeting. He must decide how much money he can devote to farming~

and then how much he can allocate to specific expenses such as seed,

land preparation, fertilizer and pesticides. The number of variables

involved in the new agricultural technology presents the farmer with

many choices. Most farmers are relatively inexperienced in dealing

with complicated decision-making such as that involved in computing

the amount and cost of nitrogen in various kinds of fertilizer or the

rates of application of different pesticides. Furthermore, very few

keep any sort of written farm records to aid them in their farm manage­

ment. As a result, advance planning is rather limited and many ex­

penditures are made only as the need arises and as resources permit.

Rats

Rats are a serious threat to crops in Midsayap, due in part to

the proximity of the marshes. Farmers regulary use rat poison but

this form of control is often inadequate. The rat population may

build up over several seasons until farmers are finally obliged to under­

take a concerted rat eradication campaign. Meanwhile, heavy rat in­

festation may deter some farmers from planting during a particular season

or may cause others to reduce the area they cultivate to a size which

can be more effectively controlled.

Insects and Diseases

The incidence of insects and diseases also tends to follow cycles.

These cycles may span more than one season, and a heavy inciden¢~ of

138

insects and diseases in one season tends to restrain variety choice and

the amount of land cultivated the following season.

Social Pressure

It was mentioned that social pressure may have finally prompted

some more conservative farmers to shift from traditional rice varieties

to the new hybrids. Peer group or community pressure also seems to

influence the timing of farm operations, the rates of cash or in-kind

wages paid for farm labor, and the size and composition of the labor

force used for harvesting.

Financing

Most of the farmers interviewed had debts outstanding at the time

of the study. Unpaid debts restrain their ability to obtain further

financing through formal channels. Farmers sometimes find themselves

caught in circumstances in which they are unable to obtain sufficient

financing to grow a large enough crop to repay old debts. The result

is that some farmers have large debts--especially to the FaCoMa--dating

back several years. There is also the problem that certain government

loans require collateral, usually a property mortgage, which renders

landless farmers ineligible.

Informal credit is expensive and the amounts available are usually

quite limited. Nevertheless, farmers commonly borrow from relatives

and friends--either by preference or because their credit from formal

sources has been exhausted. The borrower is under strong pressure to

repay loans of tris type at the next harvest. This further inhibits re-

139

payment of loans from formal sources.

Information and Technical Assistance

A cursory appraisal of sources of farm information and assis-

tance in Midsayap would seem to indicate that these are more than ade­

quate. Information and advice are available from extension agents

connected with several government agencies, from technicians at the

Experiment Station, FaCoMa personnel and agricultural supply dealers,

and from handbooks and other government publications as well as through

various media including newspapers and radio. Nonetheless, there con­

tinue to be instances in which technical assistance to farmers is in­

adequate or inappropriate. This became especially clear during the

tungro epidemic of 1970-71. In the first weeks after the disease was

noticed there were conflicting diagnoses by "experts" of varying quali­

fications. An Experiment Station pathologist correctly diagnosed the

disease as tungro virus, but he was soon contradicted by a visiting ag­

ricultural technician who thought the symptoms were those of kresek--a

bacterial disease which has similar symptoms but which requires entirely

different control measures. About one month later, a BPI pathologist

sent from Manila confirmed the disease as tungro.

Once the disease was properly diagnosed, the measures r ecommended

to control it consisted of applying heavy doses of insecticide to eli­

minate the insect vector, green leafhoppers. This was an expensive

procedure which proved to be only partially effective. Crop losses

were heavy, and in many instances the expenditures for chemicals simply

increased the financial setback experienced by farmers. When this

approach met with limited success, plant scientists at the International

140

Rice Research Institute devised a new control method which was more

effective. The problem was that the chemical now recommended~ Furidan~

was several times more expensive than ordinary pesticides. By this

time few farmers could afford this added expense. The majority simply

switched to more resistant varieties, sprayed their crops with what­

ever insecticides they could afford, and prayed that the disease would

soon abate. The fatalism implied by this spray and pray approach to

the problem seemed to signal a serious erosion of farmers' confidence

in the new technology and in their sources of technical assistance.

Farmers' Decisions

Summarized below are the actual choices farmers in this study

made in relation to the options which have been discussed. A prelim­

inary consideration of the stated and/or apparent reasons for these

decisions and the restraints which contributed to producing various

outcomes is included here. A more thorough analysis of these factors

is contained in Chapter VI. The data are summarized by community for

purposes of comparison.

Bual

Farm Size

The farm survey showed that 11 tenant farmers and one owner!

operator reduced the size of their farms in 1970. This resulted in

the fallowing of 16.5 ha., which represented nearly a 10% reduction

141

in the total area cultivated in Bua1. 5

Nine tenant farmers reduced the area they cultivated by an

average of one hectare each due to lack of seed and other resource

limitations which were the result of poor harvests the previous sea-

son. The poor harvests had been caused mainly by tungro disease and

rat damage. One farmer reduced the size of his farm from 3.5 ha. in

the early season of 1970 to 1 ha. in the second season because in" the

interim his carabao died and his harrow was stolen. Another farmer who

was a tenant of two landlords dropped 1 ha. of the land he farmed for

Landlord A and added .5 ha. to his agreement with Landlord B because

Landlord A insisted on a change to leasehold tenancy while Landlord B

continued a 70/30 share arrangement.

One of the owner/operators who had been using hired labor to farm

8 ha. stopped farming altogether after rats totally destroyed his crop

early in 1970. This loss had been preceded by a partial loss the prior

season due to stemborer damage. Half of this land was later cultivated

by tenants, resulting in a net loss of 4 ha. of cultivated land.

No significant increases in farm size were reported in Bua1 in

1970.

Land Tenure

Significant changes in :and tenure were among the results of the

5Due to the unusual circumstances prevailing in Midsayap in late1970, at least 25 families abandoned their farms in Bual and moved else­where by the end of the year. The land removed from cultivation forthis reason totalled more than 50 ha., but this occurred after the ori­ginal farm survey and did not affect the results of that survey.

142

Compact Area experiment in Bua1. The data collected in 1970 reflected

adjustments which had been made during and after that experiment. In

the first season of the Compact Area, the participating farmers agreed

to the common 70/30 share arrangement with the slight modification that

there would be a provisional bonus for the agricultural technicians

who advised the project. The remarkable yields that season produced

windfall profits for the landlords. They received a 30% share of the

bumper crop even though they contributed nothing to the extra cash in-

vestments which produced it. Many of the Compact Area farmers resented

the inequity of this arrangement and advocated a change to leasehold

tenancy. Negotiations led to agreement on a fixed rent of 12.5 cavans/ha.

per season, or 25 cavans/ha. per year. The terms of this leasehold

agreement appeared favorable to the farmers because 12.5 cavans was sub-

stantia11y less than 30% of the crop that season. The rationale for the

fixed rent was that it provided an incentive for tenants to strive for

maximum yie1ds--because any extra gain would be their own--and it also

guaranteed the landlords an income higher than that which they had been

receiving under the 70/30 share arrangement prior to this unusually pro-

ductive season.

When yields declined in subsequent seasons. however, the fixed

annual rent of 25 cavans/ha. became a burden for most farmers. This

rent was equal to that required under a 70/30 share arrangement with

true double-cropping and an average yield of 50 cavans/ha. for each of

6the two crops. By 1970 actual annual yields were generally well

6Thi s figure allows for the usual deductions for harvesting andthreshing.

143

below this "break even" level of 100 cavans/ha. There had been a

marked shift away from IR-8 to varieties which were lower-yielding

but more disease resistant. With the dissolution of the Compact Area

there was also diminished use of mechanization. This meant that many

farmers found it difficult to follow a pattern of true double-cropping.

Instead there was a tendency toward a cropping pattern which produced

three crops every two years. These trends~ combined with reduced use

of fertilizer~ reduced preventive spraying of pesticides, and increased

problems of rat infestation, inevitably led to lower annual yields.

Some farmers who found themselves unable to meet the fixed annual

rental of 25 cavans/ha. solved the problem by shifting their farms to

other parts of the barrio where they could return to 70/30 share

tenancy. Others negotiated with their landlords for a return to this

arrangement. Those who remained under leasehold were able to obtain a

reduction in their annual rent to 20 cavans/ha. by the second season of

1969. By mid-1970~ with a continued decline in yields attributable in

part to the tungro epidemic, these rents were reduced in nine cases to

17 cavans/ha.~ and in eight cases to 15 cavans/ha.

Meanwhile, Datu Mantil, the largest landowner in the barrio, had

decided to convert all of his tenancy agreements to leasehold. He

called a meeting in April, 1970, at which he announced to his tenants

that they would now be required to pay an annual fixed rent of 17 cavans/

ha. for the right to cultivate his lands. Moreover~ he insisted that

they sign an eight-year leasehold contract agreeing to these terms.

The average yield on tenant farms in Bual at this time was slightly

under 30 cavans/ha. per season. After deductions for harvesting~ thresh­

ing, and payment of the irrigation fee~ this yield level produced a share

144

of 7-8 cavans/ha. for the landlord under a 70/30 share agreement. Even

with true double-cropping the fixed rent of 17 cavans represented a

slight increase over the average amount then paid by share tenants.

Two other features of the proposed agreement were of further concern

to the tenants. They were sufficiently familiar with leasehold tenancy

to know that they would be assuming all of the risks under this type of

contract. As they expressed it, "What will happen in the bad years

when the harvest is small and we must still pay the lease?" This was

a source of special concern at this time because the farmers had just

experienced serious crop losses to rats and their newly-planted crops

were already beginning to yellow from tungro. Second, many were re­

luctant to commit themselves to an eight-year contract. Their reasons

were not entirely clear but there appeared to be some concern that a

formal contract of this type would lessen the possibility of appealing

to the landlord's charity in times of hardship. The tenants also seemed

to have a distrust of contracts--especially long-term contracts--under

any circumstances. The fact that Datu Mantil was insisting on the con­

tract was mentioned specifically as one of the reasons that more than

20 of his tenants moved out of the barrio in the latter part of 1970.

Cropping Pattern

Some mention has already been made about cropping patterns in Bual.

The fact that cropping seasons are not sharply defined is indicated in

Table V-l, "Yields by Month of Harvest," where the bulk of "wet" season

harvests span the months of October through December and two fall as

late as January. This is even clearer in the data on other harvests in

TABLE V-I

YIEI~S BY MONTH OF HARVESTAverage Yields (cavans/hectare) of Rough Rice in Bua1 and Pa1ongoguen

Late 1969-Ear1y 1971

Year/Month UPCA Variety Early IRRI Varieties Later IRRI Varieties Numberof Harvest Variety Yield Variety Yield Variety Yield of Cases

1969: December C4 36 IR-5, IR-8 21 -- -- 4

1970: January -- -- IR-5 21 -- -- 1

February C4 46 IR-5 31 -- -- 2

March C4 54 IR-5 46 -- -- 8

April C4 13 IR-5 48 -- -- 6

May C4 7 IR-5, IR-8 9 -- -- 2

June C4 20 IR-5 26 -- -- 4

July c4 19 IR-S 37 -- -- 13

August

September

October C4 20 IR-S 8 IR-20 19 9

November C4 19 IR-S 14 IR-20, IR-22 36 34

December C4 12 -- -- IR-20 47 18

1971: January C4 2 -- -- IR-20 1 3

Yields are rounded off to the nearest whole figure. Total losses are included in averages. I-'.l:'VI

146

1970, where these fell during every month from January through July.

Only August and September were free of harvests.

A number of farmers who harvested in October to December replanted

early enough in 1971 to be able to grow two crops that year. However,

the political unrest in Midsayap in 1971 made it impossible to obtain

any meaningful followup information on cropping patterns. Furthermore,

there was the added problem that a sudden change in the schedule for

release of irrigation water to Bual caught many farmers by surprise

and delayed their planting beyond the date required for double-cropping.

The closing and subsequent unexpected opening of the irrigation

system had a second major effect upon the cropping pattern in Bua1 in

this unusual year. The irrigation system serving western Midsayap was

closed in December 1970. NIA officials announced that the system would

not be reopened until late Mayor early June of the following year.

This action was mainly in response to the demands of many farmers and

some of the local agricultural technicians who argued that drying the

ricelands in this vicinity would help to control the tungro epidemic.

A side benefit of the plan was that it would encourage farmers to

synchronize their planting schedules the following season, thus elimi­

nating staggered planting. However, many farmers were dismayed by the

prospect of a long, lean period between rice harvests and decided that

the solution to their problem would be to return to the pre-1962 prac­

tice of planting corn in the dry season. Thus extensive areas were

planted to corn in January with the expectation that the crop would be

in long before the release of irrigation water in Mayor June. In the

early part of February, however, very heavy rains saturated the soil

and eliminated any possibility of drying the land thoroughly. Farmers

147

who had not planted corn began to prepare for a new planting of rice,

and under pressure from this group NIA released the irrigation water

March l--roughly three months ahead of schedule. The flooding of the

area ruined the immature crop of corn and caused another setback for

those who had adopted the dry-cropping strategy.

Diversified cropping is not practiced on a large scale in Bual, but

vegetable growing does provide additional food for home consumption and in

some cases brings in a small side income. Only three farmers reported an

appreciable income from vegetable production. All three are located in a

drier section of the barrio along the boundary of Bual Sur. Two reported

an income of about ~200 per year from the sale of vegetables, while the

third estimated his income from this source at more than PI,OOO annually.

Variety Choice

Farmers in Bual were growing five hybrid rice varieties in 1970,

and only one farmer had any sizeable area (.5 ha.) planted to the

glutinous traditional variety pilit. Four of the hybrids were IRRI

varieties: IR-5, IR-8, IR-20, and IR-22. The fifth was C4-63, a

variety developed at the U.P. College of Agriculture.

C4 was the most popular variety at the time of the survey. It

was grown alone or in combination with other varieties by 42 farmers.

The second most popular hybrid was IR-20, grown exclusively or in

combination by 24 farmers, followed by IR-5, grown alone or in combi­

nation by 23 farmers. IR-8 was planted by only three farmers--exclusively

in one case, in combination in two cases--and IR-22 was planted by two

farmers in combination with other varieties.

148

The combination most favored by farmers, especially in the

latter part of 1970 when the tungro epidemic was at its height, was

that of C4 and IR-20. Both had shown relatively goed resistance to

tungro in the early part of the year, and this combination was planted

by 15 farmers. Before that time the preferred combination had been C4

and IR-5, planted by 12 farmers. In addition, 13 farmers planted C4

alone, 10 planted.IR-20 alone, and 7 planted IR-5 alone. Two farmers

combined three varieties: C4, IR-5 and IR-8 in one case: IR-5, IR-20

and IR-22 in the other. Three of the remaining four farmers planted

other combinations of two varieties, and the fourth planted IR-8 exclu­

sively.

Seed

The majority of farmers in Bual purchased all or part of their

seed palay in 1970. In nearly all cases the purchased seed was cer­

tified grade acquired from the Experiment Station or the FaCoMa. More

than a third (37%) of the farmers purchased all of the seed they used.

The average cost per hectare of this purchased input was about P40.

Another 21% of the farmers supplemented seed palay they had saved with

purchased seed.

Only 13% of the farmers used seed they had saved from the previous

harvest exclusively. Other methods of seed acquisition included ex­

changing seed which had been saved for seed of the desired variety

(10%); borrowing seed from the landlord or other sources (11%); obtaining

seed by harvesting for other farmers (5%), and one case each of a com­

bination of saved-exchanged, and harvest--purchased (3%).

Since only the purchase method of seed acquisition involves a

cash outlay, and a rather substantial one at that, it may be surprising

149

that this was the method most preferred. Several factors help to

account for this finding. Many farmers wanted to plant IR-20 because

of its demonstrated resistance to tungro. IR-20 had been introduced only

recently, so in most cases it could not have been saved and it was 50

much in demand that it was very difficult ~o obtain by harvesting, ex-

change or borrowing. This desire to switch to IR-20 accounted for a

large proportion of seed purchases. Another contributing factor was

the common belief that plant vigor of the new varieties declines in

the third and successive generations. The desire for vigorous, disease-

resistant plants to minimize the risks of tungro infection seems to

have convinced many farmers that the purchase of certified seed was a

.. 7w~se ~nvestment.

In view of the economic hardships caused by several seasons of

poor harvests, some families may have consumed the palay they had saved

for seed. This may seem foolhardy and improvident, but it must be

understood that it is easier to obtain farm production loans--which

would cover the purchase of new seed--than it is to obtain loans for

home comsumption. Finally, perhaps not least among the factors en-

couraging seed purchase is the fact that certified seed is produced

and sold at the Experiment Station right in Bual. Farmers are able to

7Farmers were not deterred from these seed purchases despitethe fact that the Station roughly tripled the price of certified seedin 1970. The Station supervisor said the price had been raised from¥12-15 per cavan to ¥35 per cavan to make this seed too expensivefor people to eat even if they were hungry.

150

observe the variety trials at the Station, which makes them aware of

new varieties that can only be obtained by purchase of certified seed.

Unlike farmers from other communities, they do not face any additional

transportation difficulties or hauling expenses for seed purchased at

the Station

Seedbed

The wetbed type of seedbed was used by 58 farmers in Bual. Three

of these also used the dapog method of seeding, and five farmers used

dapog exclusively. A total of 32 farmers had tried dapog--most1y dur­

ing the time of the Compact Area--and had later abandoned the tech­

n~que.

The most common reason given for preferring wetbed seeding is

that dapog uses too much seed--about double the amount required for a

wetbed. With the high price of seed, this would appear to be a sound

economic argument were it not for the fact that the cost of the extra

seed and the cost of pulling seedlings from a wetbed (an operation eli­

minated by dapog) cancel one another out almost exactly. In fact this

was only one of several arguments against dapog. The use of dapog

seedlings requires more careful land preparation because the seedlings

are short and delicate. This type of land preparation is best accom­

plished with mechanization, which represents an additional expense.

Dapog seedbeds are frequently eaten by rats and some total losses of

seeds to rodents were reported. The short dapog seedlings also require

more careful water control and more early weeding. Finally, it is

almost essential to plant dapog seedlings in straight rows so that the

rice plants can be readily distinguished during early weeding. As in-

151

dicated below, straight-row planting is uncommon and expensive in

this area.

It deserves mention that the operation of pulling seedlings,

eliminated by dapog, creates additional employment for farm labor

and thereby increases the off-farm income of community members. The

cost of pulling seedlings and the costs of extra seed may cancel one

another but the significant effects of the preference for the wetbed

are to create employment, to retain cash within the community, and to

redistribute the cash among village residents.

Land Preparation

Nearly all tenant farmers in Bual prepare their land using human

and animal power exclusively. Two owner/operators and one farmer who

is the son of an owner/operator used hand tractors for land preparation.

Four tenant farmers contracted for the services of hand tractors owned

by their landlords as part of their lease or share agreement. Fourteen

farmers borrowed or rented carabaos in 1970 because they had no working

animals of their own. Many of these same individuals were among a

total of 13 farmers who borrowed or rented plows and/or harrows because

they lacked even these basic farming implements.

The very limited use of mechanization and the lack of some farm

essentials were indicative of the difficult times many farmers in the

study were then experiencing. All of the former members of the Compact

Area made extensive use of mechanization during that cooperative experi­

ment, but by this time nearly all had reverted to using human and animal

power for reasons of economy.

152

Pulling and Transplanting

A total of 11 farmers reported they employed only family labor

for the operations of pulling and transplanting seedlings. Two

others accomplished these tasks purely on a labor exchange basis and

spent only for food for the neighbors who helped them. The other 50

farmers, or nearly 80% of the sample, reported they used wage labor to

a greater or lesser extent to supplement family and exchange labor.

Wage rates ranged from a low of ¥1.50/day with food to a high of ¥3.00/day

without food. Total expenses for pulling and transplanting varied

greatly depending upon the amount of non-family labor employed, but the

average expenditure was about ¥40-50/ha. Including the substantial

cash outlay of one owner/operator who spent ¥1,625 for pulling and trans­

planting operations on 6.5 ha., data from the survey indicate that an

amount in excess of ¥9,OOO was paid in one season for pulling and trans­

planting alone. Nearly all of this was paid to neighbors and was there­

fore a significant source of income for many community members.

Only six farmers used the straight-row method of planting during

the farm season under study. Many others reported they had used this

method previously, but straight-row planting had generally been aban­

doned because of the higher costs it entailed. The common preference

was for the quicker and easier saksak ("stabbing") method of planting:

This is a more random technique which certainly results in less tidy

fields and which may ultimately be less efficient, but to my knowledge

there have not been any studies to determine the relative economy and

efficiency of the two methods. One of the main reasons for straight-

153

row planting is to facilitate the use of mechanical weeders, which have

not achieved any great popularity in Midsayap.

Fertilizer

A total of 23 farmers, or slightly more than a third of those

studied, applied fertilizer to their fields in 1970. The amounts used

were generally quite small, and only four farmers applied fertilizer

at a rate of two bags or more per hectare. Overall, the average rate

of application among users was 1.3 bags/ha •

. Four farmers used urea and two used complete fertilizer. All

others used ammonium sulphate. Urea and complete fertilizer were used

in rather small amounts. The difference between the two in terms of

nitrogen content tends to average toward the nitrogen content of

ammonium sulphate--ll kg./SO lb. bag--so this 11 kg. figure is used

here as a simple standard. With this standard, the average rate of

nitrogen application was only about 14 kg./ha. even on those farms

which were fertilized. This was greatly below the rates of fertilizer

application then recommended for IR-8 (80 kg./ha.) and C4 (60 kg./ha.)

on soils in Cotabato. 8

While the quantities of fertilizer used were quite small, the

average yield on fertilized farms was 34 cavans/ha. compared to a

yield on non-fertilized farms of 26 cavans/ha. At the levels of applica-

tion indicated, and at then-current prices, the average cost per hectare

8The Philippines Recommends for Rice - 1969, Rice and CornProduction Coordinating Council (Manila), p. 19.

154

for fertilizer would have been the equivalent of 2-3 cavans of palay.

This means that on average the farmers who used fertilizer reaped an

additional profit of 5-6 cavans/ha.

Of the 23 farmers who used fertilizer~ only three followed the

recommended practice of splitting the total used between a basal

application, harrowed into the soil before transplanting, and top-dress-

ing with the remainder at the time of panicle initiation. Another

seven farmers topdressed with fertilizer one month after transplanting,

which would roughly correspond with the time of panicle initiation.

One farmer made only a basal application~ five applied fertilizer 5-10

days after transplanting, and onE waited until 45 days after planting.

Several farmers commented that they did not use fertilizer because

the soil was still rich and they did not believe fertilizer was needed.

It is true that most soils in Cotabato are relatively "young" and are

higher in nitrogen release than soils in Luzon. 9 However, many of

these same non-users had applied fertilizer in previous seasons and it

was clear that their non-use during this particular season was due more

to a lack of money than to anything else.

Chemicals

Farmers spent a total of just over P2,100 on farm chemicals

other than fertilizer. There was great variation in the amount of chemi-

cals used by different individuals, but to some extent these chemicals

have barrio-wide effects and throughout the barrio the expenditures for

chemicals averaged about F13/ha.

About two-thirds of purchased pesticides were used to combat in-

9Rice Production Manual, D.P. College of Agriculture and Inter­national Rice Research Institute (Manila, 1970)~ p. 73.

155

sects and diseases. These were applied by spraying with hand sprayers

and knapsack sprayers. Most popular were contact insecticides such as

Thiodan, Fo1ido1 and Endrin. Only one farmer reported using a syste­

mic insecticide (Gamma-BHC) in the season under study. Systemic in­

secticides are quite expensive compared to contact insecticides, and

this appeared to be the main factor limiting their use. Pesticides

were seldom applied until after disease symptoms or signs of insect

damage were evident in the growing rice plants, or unless the insect

population seemed unusually large. Little spraying was done simply

for prevention because farmers were attempting to economize on pur­

chased inputs wherever possible. Unfortunately, particularly during

the wide-spread incidence of tungro, this meant that control measures

were often undertaken too late to be effective.

Nearly all farmers used some type of herbicide (2-4, D and Hedona1

were most popular). This input was widely used because it minimized

the need for laborious hand weeding. For most farmers, the cost of

herbicides represented one-fourth to a third of the total amount spent

on chemicals. Herbicides were effective in reducing the number of weeds

but some hand weeding was almost always required. Four farmers reported

they had no problems with weeds, while another did not weed because his

crop was beyond saving due to pest damage. Of the remaining 58 farmers,

47 accomplished all necessary weeding themselves or with the help

of family labor. Neighbors were employed by 11 farmers to assist in

156

10weeding, at a total, expense of F805.

All except five farmers used rat poison. The most popular type

was 1080, which is perhaps the most deadly for rats but is also the

most hazardous for other forms of animal life. Only three farmers

purchased rat poison. The remainder obtained it free of charge from

the Experiment Station or extension agents. For the latter group the

only cash expense was, in a few cases,the purchase of broken rice

(bin1id) for use as bait.

Harvesting

Three farmers harvested their crops either by themselves or with

family members helping them. Two farmers suffered total crop losses.

All others were assisted in harvesting by relatives and neighbors, and

in a few cases by persons from outside the barrio.

A standard wage of one bundle for every eight harvested--or 12.5%

of the amount harvested--was paid to harvesters in all but three cases.

In these three instances the shares were 1 in 5, 1 in 9, and 1 in 10.

The share of 1 in 5 was arranged in the case of a rather sparse yield

of 39 cavans on a four hectare farm. The 1 in 9 and 1 in 10 shares

applied to moderate yields (25 cavans/ha. and 40 cavans/ha. respectively)

of IR-20 in late 1970 when IR-20 was in great demand for use as seed.

The total production of rough rice, or palay, in Bual for the crop-

ping season studied was calculated to be 4,451 cavans. At the standard

----------10In one case the wages paid for transplanting included an agreement

for the planters to weed the same fields.

157

share ratio for harvesting of 1 in 8, this means that approximately

550 cavans of palay were retained by harvesters--nearly all of whom

were from Bual. Due to a variety of problems in obtaining data, in­

cluding the prevalence of staggered planting and the lack of desired

followup information, this figure is believed to substantially under­

state the amount of palay actually received by harveste~in Bual in

1970. Based upon observation I would estimate this amount to have been

closer to 800 cavans in 1970, and in a more favorable year I believe

it would have easily exceeded 1,000 cavans.

Threshing

A total of 10 farmers reported they threshed their grain manually

following their most recent harvest, and one said he used a combina­

tionpf manual and mechanical threshing. Information was lacking in

one case, but the other 49 farmers who had any grain to thresh used a

mechanical thresher.

In nine cases the share for the mechanical thresher and operators

was reported as two sacks of grain for every 27 threshed. In the

remaining 40 cases the more usual share of 1 in 11 was applied. These

costs do not include expenditures for food and beverages for the thresh­

er operators. One third of the palay charged for threshing is normally

paid to the thresher operators for their labor, while the remaining

two thirds goes to the owner of the machine. The thresher operators are

often barrio residents so their share is retained in the community.

Thresher owners are usually landlords, so the bulk of their share is

158

likely to be marketed.

Gleaning privileges were often requested by and granted to per­

sons from outside the barrio. This was especially true in late 1970

and early 1971 when many Maguindanao families were wandering about

searching the countryside for food.

Marketing

The information on marketing contained in the farm survey is

incomplete for several reasons. Only 31 farmers, or half of those

interviewed, reported a marketable surplus of palay. Of these 29 had

already disposed of this surplus and two had not--with the result that

marketing data are lacking in the latter cases. More importantly, farm­

ers usually report as "marketed" only the amount of grain which they sell

at harvest. However, much of the palay which is retained ostensibly

for subsistence purposes is actually sold in small quantities at later

dates. There are several advantages to this practice which will be

discussed later, but here it means that the data as presented are known

to understate the total quantities of grain marketed in the period under

study.

'A total amount of palay reported marketed was 868 cavans. Prices

ranged from a low of 23¢ per kilo, marketed through the FaCoMa in mid­

1970, to a high of 40¢ per kilo for IR-20 at the end of 1970. Most

farmers received 30-35¢ per kilo, or ~13.20-l5.40 per 45-kilo cavan (a

true cavan is 44 kilos, but rice dealers commonly deduct one kilo for

the "weight of the bag"). Table V-2 indicates the marketing levels

of the 29 farmers reporting a marketable surplus.

159

~BLE V-2

MARKETING LEVELS IN BUAL, 1970

Amount Marketed (Cavans)* Number of Cases

100 1

70 1

60 2

41-50 3

31-40 5

21-30 5 (Median)

11-20 5

5-10 4

4 or less 3

Total 868 cavans 29 farmers

*These figures are known to understate the total amountmarketed, but they do indicate the limited marketingcapacity of Bual farmers at that time and the minimalcash return even to those farmers who marketed grain.

Information on marketing methods was available in 35 cases. Twenty

farmers said they normally shopped around for the best price and made

marketing arrangements on their own. Ten said they were obliged to sell

to their landlords, to the landlord's overseer, or to the landlord's son.

In these cases, the prices received for grain were reported to be three or

four centavos less per kilo than rates prevailing in the poblacion. Three

farmers marketed through relatives. Somewhat surprisingly, only two mar-

keted through the FaCoMa even though all FaCoMa members--there were 26 at

that time in Bual--are formally obligated to market through the organiza-

tion. The comparatively low price farmers received from the FaCoMa in 1970

160

may help to account for this finding.

Financing

A total of 44 farmers, or 70% of the sample, reported themselves

to be in debt at the time of the survey. Many had old debts which did

not represent financing for the current or immediate past seasons.

Seven of the loans had been in the form of palay, either for sub­

sistence purposes or for use as seed.

Sources of loans both in cash and in kind, were reported as

follows: "Private" sources, 9 cases; Landlord or overseer, 8; Rural

Bank, 7; Relatives, 6, and Friends and neighbors, 3 (In four instances,

the source of the loan was not reported). All amounts over ~500--in­

eluding two debts over ~l,OOO--were owed to either the FaCoMa or the

Rural Bank. Amounts up to ~500 were owed to relatives or private

lenders in a few cases, but most financing "from other sources involved

much smaller sums. Correspondingly, interest rates charged by institu­

tional sources were reported to be from 6% to 12% per annum~ while in­

terest charged by other lenders was frequently 50% to 100% annually

or sometimes even seasonally. In a few instances, relatives and land­

lords charged no interest.

Pa1ongoguen

Farm Size

It has been mentioned that construction of the irrigation system

aggravated drainage problems on extensive areas of farmland in what was

designated as Ecozone II. Palongoguen was one of the communities most

adversely affected. In less than a decade the area of land farmed in

161

Palongoguen declined from something over 200 ha. to a meager 1.5 ha.

in 1970. The population dropped correspondingly from about 100 families

to 13 at the time of this study. Two of the remaining heads of house-

hold had given up farming altogether and were now subsisting by selling

firewood which they gathered from the marsh. Another was working as an

agricultural laborer for Datu Raja. l l

Only one of the 10 farmers in the barrio could now be classified

an an owner/operator. This man owned 12.5 ha. but was cultivating one

hectare or less. His land had become so soft and muddy that he could no

longer use a carabao for plowing. He finally sold his work animal and

was now farming with just a bolo (machete) and broadcast sowing. Datu

Raja owned 16 ha. but the only part of his land which was cultivated

was about .5 ha. near his house. This was farmed by the agricultural

laborer for a 50% share of whatever he could produce. This man also

assisted Datu Raja in cultivating about 1.5 ha. of Experiment Station

land. A third landowner, who had title to eight ha., had abandoned

farming on his own land and was cultivating 1/3 ha. of land on the

fringes of the Experiment Station.

The remaining seven cultivators all farmed small areas. Two

farmed 1.5 ha., two others farmed 1 ha. each, one farmed .75 ha., and

llThis man described himself as a 50/50 share tenant but I haveplaced him in the category of laborer because the datu supplied allequipment and inputs, constantly supervised his work, and made allfarming decisions.

162

two farmed .5 ha. Overall, the average farm size was about one hectare.

Land Tenure

Six farmers in Palongoguen, including two of the landowners,

farmed in Bual on Experiment Station land which would otherwise have

been idle. Three others were tenants in Bual. Two of these had fixed

rents of 17 cavans/ha. while the third was an 80/20 share tenant. As

indicated above, one cultivator was an owner/operator.

Cropping Pattern

Farmers in Palongoguen were more coordinated in their plallLing

schedules in 1970 than were their counterparts in Bual. Eight har­

vested in July, and the two others would have harvested in October if

their crops had not been totally destroyed by a combination of rats

and tungro.

Commercial vegetable production was impossible in this area, al­

though small garden plots did supply some vegetables for home consumption.

The area was devoid of coconuts and other large fruit trees.

Variety Choice

At the time of study, Palongoguen farmers were cultivating only

two varieties, C4 and IR-5. Four planted C4 exclusively, three used

IR-5 exclusively, and three used a combination of the two. All had

tried three or more of the new varieties in the past, and one claimed

he had obtained and planted IR-8 in 1966 even before .it was planted at

the Experiment Station.

Seed

Information is lacking on the means by which three farmers in this

163

barrio obtained their seed. Of the remaining seven, three saved their

seed, one saved seed and exchanged it for another variety, two obtained

seed by harvesting for other farmers, and one purchased a cavan of

seed for P25.

Seedbed

Five of these farmers used a wetbed for seeding, while the other

five simply broadcast their seed. None had tried the dapog seedbed.

Land Preparation

Except for the one individual who cleared his land using only a

bolo, farmers in Palongoguen prepared their land using a combination of

human and animal power. Six of these used their own animals for plow­

ing and harrowing. The remaining three borrowed animals.

Pulling and Transplanting

Five farmers eliminated these operations by broadcast sowing. Two

performed these tasks by themselves, two were assisted by other family

members, and one was helped by neighbors in exchange for food. All

farmers in the barrio avoided paying cash wages for these operations.

Fertilizer

Only two farmers in Palongoguen used fertilizer. One used bat

guano, while the other purchased a small quantity of chemical fertilizer

which he used on his seedbed.

Chemicals

All farmers in the barrio used one or more pesticides. Expendi­

tures ranged from P2.50 to P20.00, with the average being about PIO!ha.

Two farmers owned sprayers. The others borrowed or rented sprayers

as needed.

Eight of the ten used rat poison which in all cases was obtained

164

free from the Station. Seven farmers used herbicides. Seven also

reported weeding their fields--six by themselves, one with the help of

his wife. None hired any assistance.

Harvesting

Two farmers suffered complete crop losses on a total of 1.25 ha.

A third farmer lost all of the IR-5 he had planted (.5 ha.) but was

able to harvest a larger area (about 1.25 ha.) of C4. Aside from the

total losses, yields ranged from lows of 6 cavans/ha. in two cases to

a high of 54 cavans/ha. The average yield--again apart from the areas

totally lost--was 23 cavans/ha.

One farmer who obtained a total yield of 13 cavans on .5 ha. har-

vested his rice by himself, while four others were assisted by family

members. In two cases, neighbors assisted in the harvest without com-

pensation. One case involved the fields of Datu Raja, the other the

fields of a man who obtained only 3 cavans on .5 ha. The remaining

farmer, who farmed in Bual and was assisted in harvesting by both Bual

and Palongoguen residents, paid a share of 1 in 8 to the harvesters.

Threshing

In all cases, threshing was done by the farmers and their families

alone by a method which involves rubbing the grain-laden stalks between..

the feet. Sheaves of grain are spread on a woven mat, and the thresher

places one foot on the stalks of a small bundle and then rubs the heads

of grain between the sole of the other foot and the top of the one which

holds down the stalks. This is a relatively time-consuming method of

threshing, but it is also one in which there is practically no waste.

It is commonly used when harvests are small, but is naturally less suit-

able for threshing large quantities of grain.

165

Marketing

Only two farmers reported marketing any grain~ and one of these

said he had sold a little at a time. The total amount marketed was 18

cavans. The farmer who sold in small quantities ~eceived a price which

varied between 25¢ and 27¢ per kilo, while the other farmer~ who sold

10 cavans in bulk, received 33¢ per kilo.

Financing

Six of the ten farmers in Palongoguen said they were in debt. In

one case the amount was quite large, with P 300 owed to the FaCoMa and

PI, 000 to a private lender. Two other farmers owed P400 each to the

FaCoMa. Interest on the FaCoMa loans was 8%, while that on money

from a private source was 9%. Three farmers had borrowed small amounts

(P20-50) from fellow villagers, in two instances for farming purposes

and in one to pay the costs of his wife's maternity expenses. Interest

amounting to 17% was reported on one of these loans while the others

were interest-free.

166

Pangadon

The data on farming and farm decision-making in Pangadon are more

extensive and somewhat more detailed than those for Bual and Palongoguen.

It was only in Pangadon that I was able to approximate the longitudinal

study I had intended for all three communities. A baseline survey was

made in July, 1970. At this time many farmers in the community had not

completed harvesting, threshing, and/or marketing their dry season crop.

Partly for this reason, and partly because I desired data on as many

cropping seasons as possible, the information I gathered at this time

included--in 18 instances--data on the previous wet season harvest of

October to December, 1969. These data are referred to below as data

from Survey 1.

Other data from Survey 1 and a followup survey after the remaining

farmers in Pangadon had completed their initial marketing produced

information for all of the 22 wet rice farms cultivated by Pangadon

12farmers in the early or dry season of 1970. This information comprises

the data in Survey 2.

A comparable community-wide survey was intended at the end of the

wet season of 1970. However, major dislocations occurred in Pangadon

at this time as part of the wider civil strife in Cotabato. Some fami-

lies left the sitio even before the harvest, and many others followed

immediately afterward. Most of those who remained behind were members of

the core group who owned land in Pangadon. In mid-January, 1971,

12 Four recent arrivals cultivated for the first time in Pangadonduring this season.

167

I was able to interview 10 of these farmers to obtain information on

the crop which had been harvested a few weeks earlier in December and

early January. These interviews provided the data of Survey 3. The

size and composition of the sample in Survey 3 is less than ideal~ but

under the circumstances it proved impossible to do the complete survey

which had been planned for this wet season crop.

Farm Size

Survey 1. During the wet season of 1969, the 18 farmers inter­

viewed cultivated a total of 15.1 ha. The two largest farms were 1.5

ha. each. One farm was 1.25 ha.~ six were 1 ha., one was .75 ha., one

.6 ha., and the remaining seven were .5 ha. each. Average farm size was

.84 ha.

Survey 2. In the dry season of 1970, 2~ farmers cultivated a

total of 16.6 ha. Once again there were two farms of 1.5ha. each, five

farms were 1.0-1.25 ha., four were .66-.75 ha., ten were .5 ha.~ and

one was .25 ha. Average farm size this season was .75 ha.~ or slightly

smaller than the previous season.

Seven of the farmers included in Survey 1 indicated they had

changed the size of their farms in the dry season of 1970. Five said

they had expanded tbe area planted this season by fractional amounts

ranging from .16-.25 ha. The total of this additional area was 1.1 ha~

Conversely, two farmers reduced the area planted by .5 ha. each so there

was virtually no net change in the area cultivated by those respondents

who were included in both surveys. The total area cultivated by Pangadon

farmers increased by 1.5 ha., due mainly to the additional farms of the

four new arrivals from Balong. The addition of these farmers also accounted

168

for the slight reduction in average farm size this season.

Surv~. The 10 farmers included in this survey cultivated a

total area of 9.5 ha. There was one farm of 1.5 ha., one of 1.25 ha.,

five of 1 ha., and three of .5-.66 ha. Average farm size was just under

1 ha.

Four of these farmers had reduced the area planted by .1 to .5 ha.

Two had added .5 ha. each, and a third added .25 ha. Farm size was

unchanged in three cases.

Land Tenur.e

Survey 1. This survey included 13 owner/operators who cultivated

their own land or land owned by their wives. Another three farmers

were tenants of these landowners and paid only the irrigation fee as

land rent. Two other farmers were tenants of Ilokano "landlords" to

whom some of the land in Pangadon was mortgaged. One paid only the irri­

gation fee while the other was an 80/20 share tenant.

Survey 2. The four new arrivals mentioned above were included in

this round of interviewing. The distribution of tenure at this time

was as follows: 13 owner/operators; 7 tenants who paid only the irri­

gation fee (including 2 tenants of Ilokanos), and 2 tenants of Ilokano

landlords who had 80/20 and 2/3-1/3 share arrangements respectively. No

changes of tenure were recorded except for the four additional cases or

tenancy.

Survey 3. All 10 of the respondents in this round of interviewing

were owner/operators who had been among the 13 owner/operators in the

first two surveys.

169

Cropping Pattern

At the advice of CORUM agricultural technicians, the farmers in

Pangadon began to coordinate their planting schedules in 1970 to permit

true double-cropping. Harvests in the wet season of 1969 had spanned

the months of October to December. The early harvests of 1970 fell

close together in June and July, and second harvests were in December

to early January.

A few farmers planted small vegetable gardens at the suggestion

of COR~1 personnel. These vegetables were either used for home consump­

tion or were distributed as gifts to relatives. There was no commercial

vegetable production. Similarly, coconuts produced by the numerous trees

around the village were not marketed or made into copra but were consumed

--mainly in the form of coconut milk which is a highly-valued food used

in a great variety of recipes.

Variety Choice

Survey 1. All but one farmer planted hybrid varieties in the wet

season of 1969. Most popular at this time was a combination of IR-5

and C4, planted by 9 of 18 farmers. IR-5 was planted alone by 5 farmers,

and 3 planted only C4. The remaining farmer planted Ramadia, a tradi­

tional variety.

Survey 2. Adoption of the hybrid varieties was cc.mplete by the

dry season of 1970, although a few farmers planted small areas of glu­

tinous pilit. Four hybrids were cultivated during this season: C4,

IR-5, IR-8 and IR-20.

C4 was cultivated alone by 10 farmers, while another two grew only

170

IR-S and two others used a combination of these two varieties. C4 was

cultivated with IR-8 by four farmers and with IR-20 by two. Two farmers

used combinations of three varieties: C4~ IR-5 and IR-20 in One case,

C4, IR-20 and IR-8 in the other. Only two farmers--those who planted

IR-S alone--did not plant C4.

Survey 3. C4 was planted alone by eight of the 10 farmers who

reported on the wet season of 1970, even though three of these same

farmers had grown C4 in combination with other varieties the previous

season. The other two respondents planted C4 with IR-20~ and IR-20

with IR-22.

Seed

Survey 1. Eight respondents obtained seed for this crop by har-

vesting for other farmers--main1y for I1okano neighbors in Lower Glad.

Five others obtained seed of the varieties desired for planting by

exchanging equivalent amounts of other varieties. Four farmers pur-

chased seed, and one elderly farmer received his seed as a gift from

his children.

Survey 2. Fifteen farmers saved the seed they used for this crop,

although four supplemented their own stock with seed provided by CORUM.

Two purchased seed, one borrowed it, and one other obtained seed by

harvesting. 13

l3Information on seed acquisition was lacking in three cases.In two of these cases, due to the impatience of two older men who wereinterviewed in succession~ I curtailed the interviews and omittedquestions concerning transp1anting~ weeding~ chemicals, harvesting andthreshing. Therefore, the sample concerning these items in Survey 2is 20.

171

Survey 3. Seven farmers used only seed they had saved. Two others

supplemented their stock of seed--one by purchase, the other by harvest­

ing. One farmer purchased all of the seed he used.

Seedbed

All farmers in Pangadon used wetbed seedbeds in all of the sea­

sons studied. None had ever tried dapog, although I observed dapog be­

ing used in the adjacent barrio of Lower Glad. The only variation in

seeding recorded in Pangadon was one instance of broadcast seeding. In

this case, a farmer who used a wetbed for his main fields attempted to

sow a marshy area near the irrigation canal by broadcast during the

wet season of 1970. Heavy rains and flooding subsequently washed out

this crop, and the farmer paid for his mistake by becoming the brunt of

many jokes.

Land Preparation

Throughout the period of study farmers in Pangadon were handicapped

by a shortage of work animals and farm equipment. This was definitely

one reason for the small size of farms in the sitio. Carabaos, plows

and harrows were shared extensively but were too few in number to serve

the needs of the entire community. The census during the dry season of

1970 showed that among 22 farmers there were a total of 11 plows, 10

harrows and 23 carabaos--at least six of which were juveniles and one

of which was not owned but was held as collateral for a loan. Partly

as a result of this shortage of farming necessities, one group of farmers

--comprised mainly of younger men and some recent arrivals from Balong-­

cultivated small areas in the marshy southeastern part of the sitio us­

ing only bolos and human labor.

172

COR~l personnel recognized the pressing need for more work animals

in Pangadon ~nd re~ponded by extending production loans for the purchase

of two working carabaos early in 1970. Even with the addition of these

two animals, however, there was a net loss of two animals between the

wet season of 1969 and the dry season of 1970 because in the interim

two carabaos had been stolen, one had been given away as part of a

wedding "dowry" (sunggod) and one had been sold along with a plow to

redeem a P450 mortgage on part of the village lands.

With the continued shortage of work animals, CORUM adopted a

different strategy for the wet season of 1970. The services of a _

hand tractor and operator were contracted, and nearly all of the farmers

receiving assistance from CORUM agreed to have their fields custom­

plowed at the rate of P40/ha., with this amount to be added to their

debts to that agency. Nine of the ten farmers interviewed in Survey 3

used this service for that season. The tenth farmer was the only one

in the survey who had two adult working carabaos at that time. Seven

of the other nine farmers had one adult animal apiece.

Pulling and Transplanting

Survey 1. Information on pulling and transplanting operations in

the wet season of 1969 was available only for the 13 farmers cooperating

with CORUM. In 12 cases, these tasks were accomplished through labor -.

exchange (pedtabang~) with the host farmer providing a light mid-morning

snack. One of these same farmers also provided the workers with lunch

at an estimated cost of PIO.OO. The one farmer who did not use labor

exchange paid cash wages of P67.50 for pulling and transplanting opera­

tions on 1. 5 ha ,

173

Survey 2. In the dry season of 1970, 10 farmers used exchange

labor for pulling and transplanting, while another 7 accomplished

these operations with assistance from family and relatives. Three farm­

ers paid cash wages in the amounts of ~60, ~60, and ~82.50.

Survey 3. In the wet season, 1970, five respondents used labor

exchange exclusively for these operations. In two other cases, farm­

ers paid cash wages for pulling but used exchange labor for transplant­

ing. Three farmers paid cash wages for both operation.

Fertilizer

None of the farmers in Pangadon used fertilizer in any of the

three seasons studied. The general consensus among these farmers was

that their land was still fertile and did not require fertilizer.

Chemicals

Survey 1. Seventeen of the 18 respondents in this survey pur­

chased chemical insecticide and/or herbicide during the 1969 wet season.

Expenditures for chemicals ranged between P2.50 and P18.00,except for

the case of one farmer who spent P52.00. Exclusive of this farmer and

the one who used none of these chemicals, the average expenditure for

insecticides and herbicides was ~8.23. Most popular insecticides were

Thiodan, Fo1ido1, Endrin, Agrosan and Nexion, in that order. All are

contact insecticides. Two farmers reported expenses of ¥2.00 and F3.00

respectively for sprayer rental at the rate of P1.00/day. Six farmers

used herbicides--either Hedonal or 2-4D--in amounts costing P2.00 to

P9.00. Two of the farmers who used no herbicide reported expenses of

~30.00 each for hand weeding.

All but five of these farmers used rat-poison- either 1080 or zinc

174

phosphide--which was obtained free of charge in all cases.

Survey 2. Of the 20 farmers who provided information, seven re­

ported no expenses for farm chemicals during the dry season of 1970.

Two of these seven had purchased chemicals the previous season. Among

the remaining 13 farmers the average expenditure for chemicals was about

¥19.00, with the figure of ¥18.75 mentioned by several respondents. The

main reason expenses were so uniform during this season was that CORUM

issued a standard package of insecticides and herbicide at that time

as part of the production loans extended to cooperating farmers.

Three farmers reported expenses for weeding this season ranging

from ¥20 to ¥40. The others weeded by themselves or with the help of

family and relatives.

Survey 3. The 10 farmers reporting in this survey spent from

~17.75 to ¥52.85 on chemicals during the wet season of 1970. This was

the height of the tungro epidemic, and the average expenditure for

chemical control measures rose to ¥33.93.

Four farmers also reported cash expenditures for weeding which

ranged from ¥10 to ¥25.

Harvesting

Survey 1. Under normal circumstances, the number of people in

Pangadon approximately doubled around each harvest-time. Relatives of

the usual residents came from several barrios in Midsayap, from Balong,

and from other barrios across the river in Dulawan to join in the

harvest and receive a share of the crop. The usual share for harvesters

in the latter part of 1969 was one bundle for every six harvested. This

share was used by 13 of the 18 farmers surveyed. Two of the remaining

17Sf~rmers, whose harvests were small, used only family labor for harvest-

ing. The others gave shares of 1 in 5, 1 in 7, and 1 in 9.

When r eLatLves visit the village it is a-Lso customary for their-

hosts to feed them. I was unable to obtain precise information on ex-

penses involved in such entertaining, but some of the farmers who had

more successful harvests said an additional 1-2 cavans of palay were

consumed in their households during the few weeks to a month that their

relatives stayed with them. One also grumbled about having to use ¥5.00

in cash to buy fish for this entertaining.

Adjusted for the share removed by harvesters, the total yield re-

ported by the 18 respondents this season was 847 cavans of palay. The

amount paid to harvesters is estimated to have been 141 cavans, of which

as much as half may have been taken out of the community by relatives

from other barrios. Somewhere around 70 cavans were thus retained with-

in the community through harvesting activities.

Overall, the average yield this season was 56.1 cavans/ha. This

figure includes one case of the traditional variety Ramadia which yielded

48 cavans on one hectare. Average yield of the hybrid varieties alone

was 56.7 cavans/ha.

Survey 2. Of the 20 farmers who gave information on harvesting,

only six used the previously standard share of 1 in 6. Shares used by

the others were as follows: 1 in S - one; 1 in 7 - one; 1 in 8 - three,

and 1 in 10 - five. Four farmers reported using only family labor for

harvesting.

Despite the slightly larger total farm area this season (16.6 ha.

compared to 15.1 ha. the prior season), the total production fell to

176

approximately 718 cavans of palay. Based on ~n intermediate harvesters

share of 1 in 8, it is estimated that about 90 cavans were paid to

harvesters. If non-residents again obtained half of this amount, a total

of abo' t 45 cavans would have been earned by community members through

harvesting.

Average yield per hectare in the dry season of 1970, when only the

new varieties were planted, was 43.3 cavans.

Survey 3. This harvest was exceptional in several respects. One

was that the usual influx of relatives from distant barrios did not

occur due to the Muslim-Christian conflict in this area. Harvesting

was carried out by close relatives from Pangadon and the adjacent barrio

of Rangaban. This time three farmers offered a share of 1 in 5, two

of 1 in 6, and one each of 1 in 7 and 1 in 10. Two others used mixed

share arrangements of 1 in 7 for palay which the harvesters threshed

manually, and 1 in 10 for palay which was to be threshed mechanically.

One farmer who obtained an extremely small yield harvested his field

by himself.

The total yield on the 10 farms in this survey was 205 cavans. If

an average share of 1 in 6 is used for purposes of calculation an esti­

mated 34 cavans would have been paid to harvesters. Most of the har­

vesters this season were village residents, so perhaps 25 cavans or more

were retained within the community through harvesting.

Average yield on the 10 farms in this survey--which were previously

among the most productive in the village--dropped to 21.6 cavans/ha.

during the tungro epidemic in the wet season of 1970.

177

Threshing

Survey 1. The traditional method of threshing with the feet con-

tinued to be most popular in the wet season of 1969. All but two of

the 18 respondents used this technique exclusively. Those who employed

non-family labor for this task paid a share of 1 in 11 to the threshers.

Two farmers paid ¥l.OO/cavan for mechanical threshing of the grain they

planned to market. Each marketed 20 cavans, so the cost to each was

¥20.00. Even in these cases the grain retained for home consumption

was threshed by feet.

Survey 2. In the dry season of 1970, only nine of 20 respondents

used manual threshing exclusively. This season a group of farmers

arranged to have a mechanical thresher brought to the village. The

services of this thresher were used by just over half the farmers for

at least the grain they marketed. Two types of payment were used--one

a cash payment of ¥l.OO/cavan, the other an in-kind payment of two cavans

14for every 27 cavans threshed. Farmers paid a total of ¥47.50 plus

24.5 cavans of grain worth approximately ¥325.00 for services of the

mechanical thresher. In at least one case, and probably in another as

well, shares of 1 in 5 and 1 in 6 paid to harvesters actually included

threshing as well. In seven cases foot-threshing was done by family

members.

Survey 3. Only three of the 10 farmers in this survey used a

mechanical thresher this season. All paid in kind at a total expense

14 In terms of cash equivalency the two methods of payment werealmost identical in value, but the costs of bags and hauling actuallymade the in-kind payment more advantageous to the farmer.

178

of seven cavans of palay. Two farmers threshed their grain themselves

or with the help of family labor, and one paid a share of 1 in 11

for outside help. In the remaining four cases, three instances of

1 in 5 and one instance of a share of 1 in 6 paid to harvesters in-

eluded compensation for their help in hauling and threshing the harvest.

Marketing

Survey 1. All but one of the 18 farmers interviewed marketed

grain during the wet season of 1969. Amounts marketed ranged from a

low of 5 cavans to a high of 100 cavans, with most in the range of 20-

30 cavans. A total of 374 cavans, or 44.2% of the total production of

847 cavans, was reported marketed. Once again, other amounts of grain

were undoubtedly marketed in small quantities and are not represented in

these figures.

Prices increased substantially during the marketing period from

October to December, 1969, ranging from a low of 27¢ per kilo for IR-5

in October to a high of 39¢ per kilo for C4 in December. In any parti-

cular month the price of C4 was generally 3¢ to lO¢ higher than the price

of IR-5. Total income to Pangadon farmers from the marketing of grain

this 8~~son was reported to be ~4,994. Total cash farm expenses for

this season were recorded as ~659.70.

Survey 2. Twenty of the twenty-two farmers in this survey marketed

palay after the dry season of 1970. The amounts marketed ranged from

one can (.25 cavan) to 45 cavans, with 10-20 cavans marketed in all but

a few cases. A total of 345.25 cavans, or 48% of the total yield of

718 cavans, was reported marketed.

Prices received by farmers this season ranged from 3l¢ to 4l¢,

179

with ~he highest prices paid for C4 and IR-20. These two varieties

had proven least susceptible to tungro of any of the hybrids then avail-

able, and at least part of this higher price may have been due to the

demand for these types of palay for use as seed. Farmers in Pangadon

reported a total income from marketing of P5,678.45. Cash farm expenses

reported this season amounted to P628.85. l 5

Survey 3. Only 3 of the 10 farmers had completed their marketing

at the time of this survey. The total amount which had been marketed

was 17 cavans. Two other farmers appeared to have marketable surpluses

amounting to about 35 cavans. In five cases the harvests were so small

that the entire yield was retained for home consumption. This meant

that approximately 52 cavans of palay, or about 25% of the total yield

of 205 cavans, would have been marketed.

Prices received by the three farmers who had marketed ranged from

40.5¢ per kilo to 43¢ per kilo. Actual cash income had been P3l3.94.

If an additional 35 cavans were marketed at a price of 4l¢-42¢ per kilo,

this would have brought the total cash income of these 10 farmers this

season to about P950. Cash farm expenses reported by these 10 farmers

this season amounted to Pl,12l.45. The previous season these same 10

farmers had cash expenses of P324, and the season before that a total

of P477. The unusually large expenses for the wet season of 1970 were

15 . .Compar1son of data from Surveys 1 and 2 on cash expend1tures

and income are complicated by the fact that the Philippine peso wasdevalued between the two seasons to which these data refer. The im­pact of devaluation began to be felt in the dry season of 1970.

180

due mainly to the costs of custom plowing and the relatively large ex-

penditures for chemicals used in an attempt to control tungro.

Financing

Survey 1. Eight farmers, or just less than half of those in

this survey, obtained loans during the wet season of 1969. 14 Half the

debts reported involved small amounts of ~25-40 which had been used for

household expenses, or in one case for the cost of a funeral. The other

four loans were used for farming purposes and ranged from ~30 to ~140.

None of the loans was from an institutional source. Seven were from

relatives and friends, and the other was from a rice dealer to whom

the farmer had pledged his crop. Interest was charged in three cases,

with rates varying from about 15% to 50% per season. Total indebtedness

incurred this season was reported as ~392 plus two sacks of palay.

Survey 2. Fifteen of the 22 farmers in this survey said they

incurred debts during the 1970 dry season. Thirteen of these were the

farmers receiving assistance from CORUM, whose debts included--but in

some cases were not confined to--production loans from this source.

CORUM loaned a total of ¥2,4l0.85 to these farmers this season,' and

about half this amount had been repaid at the time of survey. Nine

farmers reported borrowing from other sources--8 from relatives and

friends, 1 from a rice dealer. The total amount borrowed from these

sources was ¥505.50 in cash plus seven cavans of palay. Total indebtedness

l4Subsequent information showed that several of the rema~n~ng10 farmers had old debts which were not reported at this time.

181

at this time amounted to about Pl,700 or Pl,800.

Survey 3. Nine of the ten farmers surveyed reported being in

debt as of January, 1971. In some of these instances debts had been

carried over from the dry season of 1970. The total amount outstanding

at this time was reported to be Pl,662 plus eight cavans of palay. These

same farmers were those who represented the bulk of indebredness the pre-

vious season, so total indebtedness had not changed significantly although

in the interim some loans had been repaid and new loans had been obtained.

Disposal of Crop and Income from Marketin~

In Pangadon, additional information was gathered to trace the

flow of rice and cash following the two harvests in 1970. Data of this

type for the wet season were scant--due mainly to the lean harvest and

the problems farmers were having even subsisting at that time--but in-

formation from the dry season appeared to give a good indication of

the way rice and cash were typically allocated after a normal to good

harvest.

Interviews with 17 farmers in September, 1970, showed that since

the June-July harvest three had built new houses, one had built a soall

resthouse near his fields, and three had purchased materials for home

improvements. 16 Expenditures for these purposes ranged from ~26.00 for

repairs to P60S for a new house. The total spent for these improvements

was Pl,246.

16 One of the new houses was built to replace a house which hadburned during the growing season.

182

Four farmers purchased new farm equipment at this time. This

equipment included two plows, two harrows, a sprayer and a sickle.

Total cost was P3l3.75.

The Muslim obligation of tithing appears to have been adhered to

more strictly this season than in other, leaner seasons. The tithe is

usually paid in kind, and these 17 farmers said they gave a little more

than 42 cavans of palay and P69.00 to panditas (local Muslim priests)

for this obligation. Two of these farmers were panditas themselves,

but they reported giving tithes to their counterparts.

There is also a Maguindanao custom of giving a smaller gift of

grain as compensation to the ap~ na palay ("grandfather of the rice")--

one or more of the older village males whose duty it is to perform magi-

cal rites to ensure the success of the harvest. "­For example, the apo

na palay visits the fields and recites secret incantations to persuade

the gim, or spirit, of the rats to avoid those fields. Similar rites

are performed to ward off other potentially harmful agents. Depending

...upon the size of the harvest, farmers usually pay the apo na palay

anywhere from a few gantas to one or two cavans of palay for his services.

A total of 20.5 cavans and 2 gantas were paid to tr.ese ritual specialists

by the 17 farmers interviewed.

Twelve sacks of grain were used to repay in-kind loans, some of

which dated back two or more seasons. A little over 32 cavans were re-

ported distributed to relatives as gifts or loans.

The total outlay of cash for capital improvements, farm investment

and c~mbined social and religious obligations was Pl,629--nearly 40% of

183

the total of ~4,206 which these 17 farmers rel~eived in cash from mar­

keting. The total outlay of grain reported used for these purposes

was 107 cavans, or just under 50% of the 224 cavans of palay which

these farmers reported they had not marketed. Additionally, the farmers

who had been assisted by CORUM repaid ~1,093 in cash to that organiza-

tion fo~ production loans It was clear that the remaining proceeds of

the dry season harvest--about ~1,500 in cash and 117 cavans of palay-­

were hardly sufficient to last 22 families six months until the next

harvest.

CHAPTER VI

CHANGE AND ADAPTATION IN PANGADON, PALONGOGUEN AND BUAL

Some of the contrasts between the three communities included in

this study should be evident f~m previous discussion. Pangadon is

small, relatively isolated, and in many ways is more traditional in

orientation. The villagers have generally had little formal educa­

tion. A total of 16 of the adult men had attended public school, but

only 6 had gone beyond Grade 3. One of the younger men was a high

school graduate and another had attended two years of high school.

Several other men said their schooling had been limited to instruction

in reading the Koran. One man had travelled as far as Manila and four

others had journeyed to neighboring provinces in Mindanao. The remain­

ing villagers had never been outside of Cotabato, and few had been as

far as Cotabato City.

Most of the changes which I saw occurring in the village in 1970-71

had been initiated under the influence of the Cotabato Rural Uplift Move­

ment (CORUM) only a few months before my research began. The community

as a whole was in a very early stage of adoption of the new rice tech­

nology, and only four farmers said they had experimented with any of the

hybrid rice varieties before CORUM personnel convinced them to plant

these varieties in the wet season of 1969. Even after my arrival, agri­

cultural technicians from CORUM periodically conducted classes to teach

farmers in Pangadon the techniques of cultivation recommended for use

with these varieties.

184

185

While Bual and Palongoguen were also rustic by any measure, each

had its share of residents who had been more widely exposed to outside

influences. In Bual the elementary school teachers were all college

graduates, and two of these teachers lived in the barrio. Most of the

professional staff at the Experiment Station were college graduates.

Four of the village farmers had graduated from high school and one had

attended three years of college. Another 22 had completed six or more

grades of school. In tiny Palongoguen, only four of the men had com­

pleted six or more years of school. However, the barrio captain was

an Ilokano who had immigrated here after a l7-vear stay in the United

States, and one of the old men in the community--a pandita--had made the

haj to Mecca years ago.

Another significant difference was the fact that most of the adult

Christians in both barrios had been born outside Cotabato--mostly on Panay

and Negros--and had immigrated in their teen or adult years. Many

maintained correspondence with and occasionally visited relatives else­

where in Mindanao or in their provinces of origin. In past years these

continued contacts had in fact contributed to the influx of settlers to

these barrios. The Experiment Station was also visited periodically by

government personnel from other parts of the island or even from as far

away as Manila.

On any scale of traditional vs. modern, it should be clear that

Pangadon would be placed more toward the traditional end--especially

until recent changes had been initiated--while Palongoguen and Bual

would be judged more progressive. It is not surprising then, that due

in part to their greater exposure to outside influences, farmers in the

latter two barrios adopted the hybrid varieties and new rice technology

186

1several seasons ahead of those in Pangadon. This is important in

terms of our analysis because in Pangadon we Cdn observe some of the

possible initial effects of these innovations in a more traditional

community, while in Bua1 and Palongoguen we may perceive some later

effects or adjustments once farmers become more familiar with this new

technology. While there are significant cultural differences between

the three communities, most can be overlooked for the moment as we

compare the earlier and later phases of adoption of the new technology

and seek to determine its possible effects upon the lives of these

villagers.

A number of the more general and more obvious changes which were

occurring in these three communities could be traced directly to the

combined effects of the irrigation system, adoption of the hybrid rice

varieties, and adoption of the new agricultural technology.

Among these were the following:

1) Increased emphasis on monocropping of wet rice. This was

accompanied by a concommitant decrease in the importance

of other crops and "sidelines."

2) Increased intensity of cropping.

3) Increased 1a~or input in rice farming.

4) Increased capita} input in rice farming. Increased use of

purchased inputs such as fertilizer, pesticides and herbicides.

1A factor which generally limited the spread of the new varietiesto predominantly Muslim areas was the reluctance of government extensionagents, who were mostly Christian, to enter these areas. The privateCORUM assistance effort in Muslim areas was all the more notable forthis reason.

187

5) Increased borrowing to meet requirements for capital.

6) Increased emphasis on marketing to obtain cash for needed

inputs and to repay loans.

7) Increased involvement of farmers in market relations and

in a cash economy.

These were some of the more obvious effects of the altered rice

technology. With the exception that Pangadon farmers had not adopted

the use of fertilizer, these changes could be readily observed in all

three communities. Only slightly less evident, but still directly

attributable to the new technology, were the following changes:

8) Increased scale of potential profits in rice farming.

9) Conversely, increased risk associated with rice farming.

10) Increased inequity in the sharing of risks between tenants

and landlords, particularly noticeable in Bual. Tenants

bore the brunt of added investment while landlords expected

their usual share of the product of that investment.

11) Increased ~llnerability of farmers to market fluctuations

affecting the price of rice relative to the price of purchased

inputs.

12) Increased vulnerability of farmers to attacks of pests and

diseases, to drought, or to storm damage.

13) Increased dependence of farmers upon timely and adequate dis­

tribution of irrigation water to support the new system of

farming.

14) Increased dependence of farmers upon outside agencies--most1y

188

government agencies--for credit and technical assistance.

15) Increased dependence of farmers upon marketing networks,

both for disposition of their rice and for acquisition of

inputs.

These changes in technology, economic relationships, and the con­

text of agricultural decision-making were more or less apparent

in the three villages. There remains the question of what other, more

subtle changes might have accompanied adoption of the new technology

in these communities.

Pangadon

Data form Pangadon provide information on some of the changes

which may occur early in the period of adoption. By the very nature

of the innovations we are discussing, those farmers who are most "in­

novative" are those who invest most heavily in their farming. It is

rare for farmers who have been predominantly subsistence-oriented in

the past to have cash on hand to make this added investment. It follows,

then, that the innovators in these circumstances are often those who

are most willing to go into debt, at least initially, to finance their

farming operations. In Pangadon it was seen that in the three seasons

studied cash farm expenses went from ~659.70 in Survey 1 (covering the

first season of widespread adoption) to P628.85 in Survey 2 and then to

Pl,121.45 in Survey 3. In the same period, reported indebtedness rose

from F392 plus two sacks of palay to ~1,700 or ~1,800 in Survey 2, and

then remained at about the same level in Survey 3. Those 10 farmers

included in Survey 3 were among the 13 cooperating with CORUM and were

189

definitely the most innovative in the community. The fact that they

were also the most in debt was no coincidence but was precisely the

result of their willingness to innovate. As we shall see~ this was

true to a significant extent in Bual as well.

Innovators are by definition risk-takers. It is nonetheless

disturbing to recognize that the earliest and perhaps strongest ad-

herents of the new technology become most vulnerable to the risks

which it entails. The morellprogressivell farmers in Pangadon used

mostly borrowed capital to finance their farming operations during

both the first and second seasons of 1970. With the lean harvest

from the second season it was evident not only that they could not

repay existing loans, but also that they would probably have to bor-

row both for subsistence purposes and to finance their next crop.

Their financial situation appeared to be deteriorating rather than

improving as a result of having adopted the new technology, although

in fairness it must be acknowledged that the setback of the tungro

epidemic contributed greatly to creating these conditions.

The debts were also indicative of the fact that these farmers

were becoming increasingly involved in cash transactions. Sometimes

this cash was used to acquire inputs which were only available by

purchase. In other instances, however, it was substituted for other

modes of compensation--as with the substitution of cash wages for the

traditional socioeconomic relationships involved in labor exchange

1\(pedtabanga). A single farmer paid cash wages for pulling and trans-

planting operations in the wet season of 1969, compared with three in

190

the early season of 1970 and five in the second season of 1970. Two

farmers paid wages for weeding in the first of these seasons, three

in the second, and four in the third. Labor exchange is a form of

reciprocity which is often viewed as emphasizing the equality and

solidarity of the participants. By contrast, the use of cash as a

substitute for exchange labor may be seen as a type of redistribution.

Those who used cash were among those who had the largest harvests the

previous season, and those who worked for them tended to have smaller

farms or less income from their own farming operations. Thus the in­

creasing use of cash wages appeared to a signal incipient socioeconomic

distinctions in what had previously been a homogeneous, egalitarian

community.

Other significant changes occurred over the course of these three

seasons. The share of the crop paid to harvesters declined from the

first to the second season, although the rate of payment varied widely

during the third season. The reason for the initial decline appeared

to be that farmers were attempting to retain more of the crop to com­

pensate for their added investments. It seemed that economic consider­

ations were beginning to temper feelings of social obligation to rel­

atives who showed up to assist in the harvest. This may well have been

a ce1iberate effort to limit the number of would-be harvesters by re­

ducing incentive. It may also have involved a realization on the part

of the farmers that their relatives had not shared in the added farm

investment required by the new methods they were using and therefore

did not deserve a full share of the extra product. In the third season

191

circumstances changed so that this trend was not sustained in Pangadon.

The harvest was small, labor was in short supply, and those who still

remained in the village were all close relatives--mostly members of

the landowning "core" group. These differences, along with a general

return to manual threshing whereby payment for both harvesting and

threshing are included in the laborers' share, probably accounted for

the larger share this season.

Another trend which seemed fairly clear from Survey I to Survey 2,

but which was then obscured by the lean harvest of the third season,

was that farmers were tending to market a larger portion of their pro­

duct. This was true even though the total yield, and the yield per

household, had declined substantially between the first and second

of these seasons. One obvious explanation is that farmers needed cash

to service debts and to purchase farming inputs or household necessities

from the market. A finding which seemed odd, however, was that in no

instance that I recorded did the amount of grain which farmers retained

for home consumption prove sufficient to last the household until the

next harvest. Even when the amount retained seemed sufficient, within

a few weeks or months these stocks had dwindled due to the requirements

of social obligaitons to relatives and friends. The result was that

even those farmers who had good harvests were often forced to purchase

grain for subsistence purposes--invariably at prices higher than they

had received for the grain they marketed. The decision not to com­

pensate for these added demands by retaining extra quantities of gLain

at harvest time, when the price is low, thus seems economically irra­

tional until one realizes that large quantities of grain are difficult

192

to conceal. Stored under or within the rather open houses of these

villagers, a stockpile of grain would simply expose them ro add.l t Lonal

demands from relatives, friends, or creditors. Cash is easier to

conceal or to reinvest in forms which make this wealth less accessible.

This may explain why, after the second harvest, more than ¥l,SOO was

spent on new houses, home improvements and farm equipment in addition

to the substantial amounts of both cash and grain used to repay loans.

Another finding concerning subsistence patterns in Pangadon was

also puzzling at first. Detailed information about monthly household

budgets indicated that in a large number of cases--more than half at

least--the household's income from its farming operations in terms

of both grain and cash was insufficient to meet subsistence needs.

This was due mainly to the small farm size in the village. The majority

of farms were 1 ha. or less, and many were just .5 ha. '~ile yields

per hectare on these farms were generally respectable, the farms

themselves were simply too small to provide an adequate income for the

average sized family. As with Takahashi's (1970) findings this points

to the crucial importance of off-farm and non-farm income in many

Philippine farming villages. Various members of the household could

earn cash by pulling and transplanting seedlings, weeding, mending

dikes and hauling for other farmers. Such activities commonly pro­

duced an additional cash income of PIOO-P200 per year. It was also

common for harvesting and threshing for other farmers to bring in

several additional sacks of palay each season. Non-farm activities

such as fishing, selling cigarettes, harvesting coconuts and re-

193

cruiting labor were also important sources of extra income for certain

households. In a few cases income of these different types exceeded

farm income itself. In many cases these activities provided the addi­

tional margin of income necessary for subsistence. There were also a

few households which were only able to obtain this extra margin by

borrowing from fellow villagers.

Much of the off-farm income of people in Pangadon came from

working for farmers in the adjacent Ilokano barrio of Lower Glad. Also,

preferred types of seed were often obtained by harvesting for these same

farmers. For these reasons the planting and harvesting schedules in

Pangadon were always planned to succeed rather than coincide with the

schedules in Lower Glad. Once the villagers had finished pulling and

transplanting for farmers in Lower Glad they would commence the same

operations on their own farms in earnest. This meant that the agricul­

tural cycle in Pangadon was not synchronized with the irrigation schedule,

which appeared to be a poor cultivation practice. Actually, however,

farmers in Pangadon maximized their total income by adopting this strategy.

CORUM personnel, not understanding why these farmers always planted

"late," tried to alter this schedule but their efforts were to no avail.

I have stated that Pangadon was traditional and conservative com­

pared to Bual-Palongoguen. Nonetheless, due to the efforts of CORUM

and its own village headman, Akan, it certainly seemed prosperous and

innovative compared to most Maguindanao communities in the Midsayap

area at that time. It was a desirable place to live, and after the

arrival of the four new families included in Survey 2 Akan refused all

further requests to settle in the community by saying that there was

194

not enough land to support more people. This alleviated but did not

eliminate pressures upon the village's resources. Many Maguindanao

are quite mobile and move freely from one village to another visiting

relatives in their search for food, work, and sometimes land to farm.

The harvests in Pangadon in late 1969 and early 1970 were abundant by

local standards and had attracted a substantial number of these "shift­

ing non-cultivators."

The farmers of Pangadon were faced with the problem of conflicting

demands upon their limited resources. They had to provide for their

immediate families, maintain their standing with CORUM and other sources

of credit by paying off loans, and comply with a variety of social and

religious obligations. One of their first responses was evident in

Akan's effort to restrict the size of the community in order to avoid

any further reduction of the amount of farmland available to each

household. Another was the move by some of the younger men to clear

and farm a marginal, marshy area of about 1.5 ha. in the southeastern

corner of the sitio which had lain idle for several years. Still another

was the reduction of the harvesters' share--especially when the harvest­

ers were distant relatives or non-relatives. Finally there was the

tendency to market a larger portion of the crop, thus reducing con­

spicuous stores of grain, and to invest the cash income from this

marketing in ways which made it inaccessible to would-be-borrowers.

All of these trends suggest that considerations of profit and loss,

or simply of efficient farm managerment, were begining to override

traditional Maguindanao values emphasizing sharing, communal access to

land, extended kinship, and the requirement to provide help to relatives

in need.

195

Meanwhile many aspects of the traditional adaptation of the vil-

lagers remained relatively unchanged. Aside from rice, most of their

basic subsistence needs could be provided for in their immediate

environment with relatively little effort or were available for pur-

chase at minimal cost. The coconut trees on the higher land around

the village yielded coconut milk, coconut meat, cooking oil and some

kindling. Two types of green, leafy vegetables (kangkong and kamunggi)

grew wild in abundance, and certain roots (gabi, cassaba, camote) as

well as bananas and plantains either grew wild or could be cultivated

with minimum effort. Bamboo, nipa palm (used for thatch), and fire-

wood were readily available nearby. Few of the villagers ate meat

except on ceremonial occasions, when one or more goats and possibly

an old carabao would be slaughtered. Some eggs were available, but

2chickens were rarely eaten. Fish, especially dalag (mudfish), were

the preferred source of protein. These could be caught in the canal

or in swampy areas or could be purchased cheaply from fishermen who

caught them in the marshes. Household expenditures for fish, vegetables

and canned goods -- including cooking oil and fish paste -- averaged

about ~25 to P30 monthly. Canned milk was seldom included unless there

was an infant in the household. Kerosene or crude oil used for lighting

cost another PI to P5 per month. Less than a dozen children in the

2My Maguindanao interpreter said that Maguindanao farm familiesraised chickens mainly for their eggs. Rather than butcher any roostersor old hens they would sell them to buy fish, which they preferred andwhich they could buy in greater quantity for the same amount of money.

196

village attended public school regularly, so there were few additional

expenses for appropriate clothing and school supplies. Expenditures

for clothing, medicine, transportation and other expenses were mini­

mal, usually amounting to ~lO or less per month. When it was not

necessary to purchase rice, and barring the periodic expenses assoc­

iated with the birth, marriage, illness or death of one of its members,

the monthly cash requirement of an average household was ~50 or less

aside from farming expenses. The farmers in Pangadon had been drawn

into the market in terms of their rice farming, but in terms of other

aspects of their subsistence they were only slightly dependent upon

market relationships.

Palongoguen

It does not seem necessary to deal at any length with the ecosystem

of Pa1ongoguen apart from that of Bua1. The impact of the irrigation

system has been discussed. Farmers in Palongoguen struggled several

years to keep their farms from being inundated by drainage from the

irrigation system but most finally gave up and moved away. The tech­

nological innovation of irrigation had effectively destroyed this

particular community, the remnants of which lingered on as a satellite

of Bua1.

Bua1

Many of the same trends observed in Pangadon were evident in Bual,

although here the longer and more varied experience since the adoption

of the new ri~l~ tehcno10gy, and the very different characteristics of

the community itself, had led to more extensive changes. Certain effects

197

of the irrigation system upon farming in Bual have been discussed.

One which was not previously mentioned is that in the first years

after irrigation was introduced many Cebuano families moved out of

the barrio. Cebuanos are known throughout the Phillippines as corn

farmers and corn eaters. Their home island, Cebu, is very dry ex­

cept during typhoon season. The little land which is irrigated there

is devoted almost entirely to sugar cultivation. \fuen irrigation

was introduced in Midsayap, many of those who had immigrated from

Cebu chose to move to upland areas or to other parts of the province

rather than shift exclusively to rice farming. In Bua1, those who

left were replaced principally by I10ngos who either had been living

in upland areas or were new arrivals. This helped to account for

the fact that 57 of the 61 "Christian" farm families in Bua1 at the

time of the study were Ilongo-speaking.

This population shift resulted in a consolidation of kinship, town­

mate, and province-mate ties among the immigrants in the barrio. The

barrio was dotted with clusters of households united by kinship or by

common background. These ties were often reinforced by ritual relation­

ships of compadrazgo. Observing this situation, I expected to find

well-developed patterns of labor exchange among the barrio residents.

I soon learned that this was a faulty assumption. In Pangadon every

planting involved almost a community-wide reciprocal effort, but in Bual

there was hardly any evidence of extensive, cooperative labor exchange.

There was some exchange of labor between close kinsmen and neighbors--

198

especially those from the same cluster of househo1ds--but in nearly

every case this exchange labor was supplemented with ~age labor.

Rather strikingly, in Bual only 2 out of 63 farmers said they used

exchange labor exclusively for pulling and transplanting. Another

11 farmers, including 4 of the 6 Maguindanao tenant farmers, relied

on family labor alone to perform these operations. As shown i.n Chap-

ter V, 80% of the farmers in Bual paid cash wages for pulling and

3transplanting, at an average expense of more than ~100 per farm.

In most cases this was the farmers' largest cash expense, and in a

single season it involved a total of more than ¥9,OOO in wages.

This finding was unexpected. The wages paid by a tenant farmer

come out of his own pocket, and normally no portion of this expense

is borne by the landlord. Tenants could eliminate this expense either

largely or completely through labor exchange in the much-heralded

Filipino tradition of bayanihan, or mutual assistance. \fuy was it

that the wage arrangement was preferred in Bual, and that there was

evidence of a trend in this direction even in Pangadon? Part of the

explanation may lie in the fact that the community composition of Bual

is more heterogeneous, and that many of the residents have settled there

3\fui1e Pa1ongoguen is an exceptional case for many reasons, it isinteresting that even in this tiny community exchange labor was notused for pulling and transplanting, although no cash wages were paideither. For details see Chapter V.

199

only in recent years. Negative experiences with cooperative farming

during the Compact Area experiment may also have reduced subsequent

cooperation. Even these factors, however, do not seem to fully ac­

count for this finding.

It is tempting to dismiss the use of wage labor simply as fur­

ther evidence of the involvement of these farmers in a cash economy.

This may be part of the explanation, but if the practice of paying

wages resulted in a drain on scarce cash resources while having no

positive effects we might expect that this practice would soon be re­

placed by the alternative of labor exchange. What, then, might be

some of the possible benefits of using cash wages? For one, it frees

the farmer from the need to coordinate his planting schedule with

those of other farmers with whom he would be cooperating. As we have

seen, the use of the hybrid rice varieties has led to considerable

variation in planting schedules and multiple cropping strategies. The

use of wage labor permits the farmer to follow whatever planting sched­

ule he chooses independent of the schedules on surrounding farms. Se­

cond, to some extent it frees the farmer from social obligations and may

enable him to demand a higher standard of performance from his workers. 4

Third, it may be used to eliminate the necessity of preparing food for

the workers, which some farmers regard as troublesome and expensive

4Cf. Castillo 1972:110.

200

because food furnished as compensation to workers should be better than

ordinary household fare. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it

seems that so many families in the barrio rely upon off-farm employment

as a major source of secondary income that there are few who are willing

to work for anything other than cash wages.

It is interesting to consider the two principal sources of cash

used to pay these wages. One source is the sale of rice the previous

season. The other is production loans, which as mentioned earlier are

relatively easy to obtain compared to loans for subsistence purposes.

In light of these sources, payment of cash wages may be seen as a mech­

anism for (1) redistributing cash (and wealth) among community members

and (2) drawing cash into the community through the acquisition of pro­

duction loans. Those who have the largest farms and/or the largest

incomes generally pay most for these operations, while those with small

farms and/or incomes pay least and are also the most likely to seek

work on other farms to supplement the income from their own farming oper­

ations. In terms of the individual farm or farmer, the decision to pay

a cash wage rather than utilize labor exchange may seem uneconomic be­

cause it diminishes lIne t farm income." Seen as part of a community-wide

system of adaptation, however, the advantages of the cash wage are ap­

parent. Also, while the use of a cash wage in transactions between

neighbors might be interpreted as a sign of community disintegration

and may well be in some instances -- it can also serve to promote com­

munity integration through economic interdependence. Fewer farmers are

likely to grow rich under the arrangement, but this "shared poverty"

201

enhances the viability of the community as a whole.

Cash payment for weeding has similar effects but is less common.

The widespread use of herbicides has reduced the need for hand weeding

to a point where most farmers can perform this task themselves or with

the help of family members. Thus there are few farmers who hire weed­

ers and the total amount paid for this operation is relatively small.

The share paid to harvesters clearly has the effect of redistri­

bution, and many families in the barrio depend upon employment as

harvesters to obtain adequate quantities of their staple food. In

the previous chapter I estimated that in 1970 -- a rather lean year

around 800 cavans of palay were paid to harvesters. In Bual and

Palongoguen combined, there were at that time 85 households exclusive

of the Experiment Station. Many of these households did not include

anyone who harvested on the farms of others, so those in which family

members worked as harvesters could readily obtain 10 or more cavans of

palay a year by this work. In at least six cases that I recorded, far­

mers and their families obtained more rice by harvesting for others

than they obtained from their own farms. Various estimates indicate

that the average family in the rural Philippines consumes an amount of

rice equivalent to 25-30 cavans of palay per year. The importance of

the 10 or more cavans which households in Bual could secure by harvesting

--perhaps a third or more of their total annual requirement--becomes

clear in view of these estimates. Certainly this source of income pro­

vided many families with the subsistence margin they needed to sustain

them through periods of crop failure on their own farms.

202

These findings lend confirmation to Takahashi's observations

about the systemic nature of farming communities such as Bual. The

interdependence of farming units or farm families in these circum­

stances has the effect of minimizing risk and maximizing the chances

of survival for anyone of them. A limited number of crop failures

or shortfalls can be tolerated in any given season as long as

community-wide production does not fall below certain levels. It

is only in a very bad year~ such as that which was experienced in

1970, that the system as a whole may be strained beyond its capacity

to sustain all of the families in the community.

As of late 1970~ some farmers in Bual had been growing the hybrid

rice varieites for as many as eight seasons. It is interesting to ex­

amine the history of local experimentation with the new varieties over

this time period. Earlier I discussed the cautious initial experimen­

tation occurred during the first season of the Compact Area in 1968.

At that time many of the farmers I interviewed and observed had followed

virtually all of the cultivation practices recommended by IRRI. The

yields they produced using these methods were in full accord with IRRI

predictions for the new varieties and new farm technology. Why was

it then that by 1970 these same farmers had almost completely abandoned

the use of mechanized land preparation, dapog seedbeds, straight row

planting, heavy applications of fertilizer, and systemic insecticides?

203

How could they settle for yields which were only a fraction of those

they had produced a few seasons earlier, and which now averaged only

30 cavans per hectare--just 10 cavans per hectare more than the average

reported in the 1960 census for the pre-irrigation, pre-hybrid period?

Part of the answer, of course, was that 1970-71 was a time of very

adverse farming conditions. The tungro epidemic which was then devas­

tating crops in Midsayap had followed on the heels of other problems

with pests and diseases which led to shortfalls in production and in

some cases to crop failures. Many farmers were left with little capi­

tal to invest. Their experience with the erratic and rather unpredict­

able outcomes of the past several seasons led most of them to adopt a

conservative, subsistence-oriented farming strategy during this period.

Some even decided to skip the second season of 1970. Datu Mantil had

given up direct investment in farming following his losses early in

the year. The head teacher at the elementary school, who was the son

of one of the barrio landowners and who had been a member of the Compact

Area, also stopped farming at this time. They were among the fortunate

few who had other sources of income to support them if they did not farm.

Several farmers told me that this would be their last attempt at rice

farming if this crop should fail. As one put it, "If I lose this time

and then tried again, I would be like a gambler who knows he is going

to lose but still wants to play the game."

At this time the risk of farming was perceived to be high. In

the face of this high risk, most farmers in Bual minimized their farm

investments. It first appeared that some of this reduced level of

204

investment might be due in part to farmers' judgments that certain of

the more expensive cash inputs were simply not worthwhile. It seemed

that some farmers were also restrained from further investment because

they had not fully repaid past loans. Each of these impressions was

undoubtedly correct to some extent. However, it became clear that even

when certain inputs such as fertilizer were judged to be worthwhile,

and even when sources of credit were available, farmers were extremely

reluctant to borrow cash in order to obtain these inputs. The high

level of risk acted as a general disincentive to investment, but it

especially discouraged borrowing for purposes of investment (although

some farmers did borrow to meet subsistence needs). The farmers' di-

rect experience with loans in the past, and their knowledge of the

heavy indebtedness of other barrio residents--in particular some former

members of the Compact Area--made them wary of taking on debts which5

they might be unable to repay at season's end.

The "farming strategies which emerged under these circumstances

were designed not so much to maximize profits as to minimize losses--

especially losses which could lead to indebtedness. Farmers wanted

to provide for the subsistence needs of their families but they did

not want to risk ending the season in worse financial condition than

when they began it. Typically, the only cash investments involved in

SCf. Castillo (1966:37-39) on the reluctance of tenant farmers toincur indebtedness.

205

these conservative farming strategies were for the purchase of seed,

for pulling and transplanting, for herbicides, and for varying amounts

of chemicals to protect the crop. Expenditures for even these inputs

were often limited. As indicated in Chapter V, twelve tenant farmers

reduced the size of the area they cultivated. This reduced their

need for seed as well as for cash to pay pullers and transplanters.

Tractor plowing was almost totally abandoned this season because of

the expense involved. Wetbed seedbeds were used by nearly all farmers

because of the extra seed and added expense involved in using the dapog

method. Transplanting was done by the ordinary, irregular method, in

part to save on labor costs. Fertilizer use had steadily declined

since the time of the Compact Area and by now was minimal. Most farm­

ers chose to rely on the natural fertility of the soil to produce at

least a subsistence level crop. The use of hired labor for weeding was

rare. Only one farmer applied systemic insecticide, which was sur­

prising given the concern about tungro this season. Either farmers

were not convinced of the added benefits of systemic insecticide or

they simply regarded it as too expensive.

At the end of this season, 6.75 ha. on six farms was reported

totally destroyed by tungro and/or rats. Seven farmers had total

yields, before paying their land rent, of 10 cavans or less of palay.

Another seven had total yields of 11-20 cavans. Above this level farmers

might have been able to retain enough grain to meet the average house­

hold's requirements of about 15 cavans of palay every six months, but many

of these were left without sufficient capital to farm again the next sea-

206

son unless they could either borrow the necessary funds or obtain out-

side income. For some the only solution was to give up wet rice farming

and move away.

It must be remembered that this situation came about less than

two and a half years after the apparently striking success of the

first season of the Compact Area experiment. Indeed, it seemed that

the root causes of many of these later problems could be traced directly

to certain features of that experiment. Briefly, these included the

extensive borrowing by farmers to finance the new technology; the com-

plete conversion to new varieties which were less disease resistant;

the payment of cash wages to agricultural workers; the shift to lease-

hold tenancy after the first season, and the distrust which many farmers

developed toward government sources of credit and other services. By

the end of the experiment, many of the farmers who participated found

themselves: 1) more dependent upon cash; 2) heavily indebted; 3) ob-

ligated to pay expensive fixed land rents; 4) cut off from further

government credit, and 5) less able to seek credit from landlords be­6

cause of the shift to leasehold tenancy.

To more fully appreciate the changes which had occurred in Bual

from 1968 to 1970, it is helpful to compare data on the Compact Area

with data from my own farm survey. This comparison is imprecise, be-

cause not all of the farmers included in the survey had been members of

6The change from share to leasehold tenancy tended to alter the

socioeconomic relationship between landlords and tenants. As evidenceof this, of the eight Bual tenants who said they obtained loans fromtheir landlord or overseer, none was a leasehold tenant.

207

the Compact Area, and conversely the Compact Area members from Eual

Sur were not included in the survey. However, the comparison should

give at least a general indication of the extent of the changes which

had taken place.

In was reported that in the first season of the Compact Area,

average investment on an average 3 ha. farm in Bual was P4,466. Net

7profit on such a farm was reported to have been ¥l,266. The precise

written records which were kept by the FaCoMa in 1968 were lacking in

1970, but data from my own survey indicate that the level of invest-

ment on the average 2.5 ha. farm in Bual in 1970 was between P800 and

~850. In other words, with only a slight reduction in average farm

size from 3 ha. to 2.5 ha., the level of investment had declined by

8about 80 per cent.

This finding requires immediate qualification, however, because

three items of "investment" or farm expenses vary in direct relation

to the size of the harvest. These are the shares paid for harvesting

and threshing and the share paid to tre landlord under share rental,

which was the prevailing tenure arrangement in the first season of the

Compact Area. If the yields in 1970 had been equal to those of 1968,

averaging around 100 cavans/ha. rather than the 30 cavans/ha. which

7Elevazo and Anasco, op. cit.

8These figures do not take account of inflation anddevaluation which had occurred in the interim.

208

was actually the case in 1970, then all three of these expenses

would have been higher. l~en allowance is made for this fact, it

turns out that the level of investment had dropped to perhaps one­

fourth to one-third of what it was in the first season of the Compact

Area.

"Profits" from rice farming in Bual had declined correspondingly

or even more sharply. Table VI-l shows typical investments and returns

for an "average" share tenant farming 2.5 ha. and obtaining a yield

of 30 cavans/ha. Bual farmers received an average price for their pal­

ay of ~15 per cavan in 1970. The net profit received from a season's

farming activities averaged about ~270. The farmer needed to retain

around 15 cavans of palay each season for home consumption. This meant

that marketing his surplus palay would bring him only ~45. At this

time the average household in the village need ~50 to ~lOO per month

in cash to meet basic expenses.

Naturally, actual farm expense, yields and income in any specific

case might deviate from this statistical composite in any of a number

of ways. There were farmers who managed to keep their expenses below

the level indicated in Table VI-I. Seed could be saved, borrowed or

acquired by harvesting rather than by purchase. Family and exchange

labor could be used more fully for tasks such as pulling, transplant­

ing, weeding and harvesting. Fertilizer might be dispensed with al­

together and the use of chemicals could be minimized. Threshing could

be done manually to avoid the share for the mechanical thresher and

operators. Payment of the irrigation fee could be put off until some

future date, and perhaps the size of the crop could be underreported

to trim the landlord's share.

209

TABLE VI-l

FARM INVESTMENT AND RETURNS ON A "TYPICAL" 2.5 HA. FARMIN BUAL IN 1970

(Example is based on an average yield of 30 cavans/ha.and an average selling price for rough rice of ¥15/cavan).

CASH INVESTMENTS

Seed (Certified)*Land preparationPulling and transplantingFertilizer

ChemicalsIrrigation fee

Total

DISPOSITION OF GRAIN

¥ 87.50 (2.5 cavans @¥35/cavan)

125.00 (¥50/ha.)33.75 (1 bag ammonium sulphate/ha.

@¥13.50/bag)32.75 (Average for barrio as a whole)53.50 (Landlord pays 30%)

¥332.25

75 cavans gross yield~ harvesters' share (1 in 8, rounded off)

66~ thresher rental (1 in 11)

60-18 landlord's share (70/30 share arrangement)42-22 cash expenses (22 cavans @¥15/cavan)

20- 2 interest and miscellaneous (variable)

18 home consumption, loan repayment and seed

SUMMARY OF FARM EXPENSES

Cash:In-kind:

Total

~332.25

525.00 (35 cavans @~15/cavan)

~857.25

NET RETURN**

18 cavans of pa1ay (rough rice) valued at approximately ¥270.

*At this time nearly all farmers used only draft animals andhuman l~bor to prepare their fields.

**In this example, the amount marketed would prob~bly be 27 cavans(42 minus 15 for home consumption), producing a cash "income" of ¥405in addition to the 15 cavans of grain retained for home use. In theabsence of careful farm accounting this tends to make net returns, or"profits," appear larger to the farmer than they actually are.

210

On the other hand there were those farmers whose expense might

be high but whose income from farming was more sufficient for the

needs of their households. This might be because households were

small, or farms were larger that the 2.5 ha. average. Their larger

expenses may have included greater investment in fertilizer or chemi­

cals for corp protection. For these reasons, or because of better farm

management and cultivation practices, their yields may have exceeded

the 30 cavans per hectare average.

Variation of this sort has been detailed in Chapter V. Due to

this variation many households in Bual were not in as dire circum­

stances as the composite average of Table VI-l might imply. However,

it is also obvious that there were many whose subsistence needs could

not be met from the household's farming activities alone. This further

emphasizes the importance of off-farm employment. The average household

could earn perhaps ~lOO and 5 cavans of palay per season if its members

worked on other farms in the barrio. There was also the possibility

of casual employment at the Experiment Station. Some men in the barrio

earned ~50 or ~lOO a year from this source. Twenty four of the farmers

interviewed reported some regular source of outside cash inco~c, ranging

from wage work to operating a sari-sari store, selling firewood or driving

a pedicab. Finally, many households earned some small side income from

the sale of vegetables or poultry products--although as noted, the signi­

ficance of such "sidelines" had greatly diminished in recent years due

to the effects of irrigation and the shift to monocropping of rice.

With these additional sources of income there were even more house-

211

holds in the barrio which could meet their basic subsistence needs.

Yet there remained a number, possibly as many as twenty to thirty,

which were subsisting only marginally or very inadequately. Two

thresholds of household income could be distinguised in Bual at this

time. At the lower threshold, farm income could be supplemented

sufficiently by income from other sources to meet subsistence needs.

At the upper threshold, farm income by itself was adequate to meet

subsistence requirements. Due to the tungro epidemic and other

problems, the majority of the households in the barrio were somewhat

between these two thresholds and it was only through the functioning of

the community-wide system of redistribution that they were managing

to make it through this difficult period. However, it appeared that

even this system of redistribution could not provide adequately for

the twenty to thirty poorest families.

The Maguindanao families who could not provide for themselves

were in a better position than their counterparts among the settlers.

One of the traditional responsibilities of the datu is to provide for

his followers in times of difficulty, and Datu Mantil complied with

this obligation to the extent that none of the Maguindanao families re­

siding permanently in Bual was forced to move out due to financial hard­

ship.

Many of the settlers were not so fortunate. Toward the end of

1970, particularly after the harvests in October and November, some

20-25 families abandoned their houses and the land they had been cul-

tivating to move to other areas. Most moved to so~theLU Cot~batc,

while a few went to other parts of Mindanao or returned to their home

provinces.

212

In several cases in which I obtained information about the move I

found that the farmers involved had become discouraged with wet rice

farming and were moving to upland areas where they could grow corn,

dry rice and other crops. Some were also apprehensive about the

trouble which seemed to be brewing between Christians and Muslims in

the province and were moving to other areas which they considered

safer. Some also expressed dissatisfaction with the terms of tenure

in the barrio, including leasehold tenancy and the proposed eight-year

contract which Datu Mantil was insisting upon. Finally, it deserves

note that many Filipinos believe that one place may be luckier than

another for a person. The settlers I interviewed frequently stated

that they had left their home provinces to seek their luck in Mindanao.

Many had moved several times before, and in the face of economic hard­

ships some may have moved simply because they had decided that Bual

was not their lucky place.

Whatever may have been the varied motives of those who moved away

from the barrio, it was clear that in most cases the move had been pre­

cipitated by negative experiences with the new rice technology. The

farmers who left as well as many of those who stayed behind had seen

their resources dwindle and in many cases had been forced to go into

debt. They had little to fall back upon when their rice crops were ruined

by the tungro virus. The irony was that in th~ span of a little more

than two years Bual changed from a showcase for the new technology to a

disrupted village in which houses stood abandoned, 50-75 hectares of

irrigated farmland lay uncultivated, many families were struggling to

213

meet subsistence needs, and most of the remaining farmers were at least

temporarily discouraged and disillusioned. So many apparently "right"

decisions had led to so many wrong outcomes. Clearly, the formula for

the green revolution was not working under conditions such as these.

CHAPTER VII

ECOSYSTEMIC EFFECTS OF THE NEW AGRICULTURAL TECHNOLOGY

A substantial research effort has been directed toward under-

standing the process of agricultural innovation both in the Philippines

and elsewhere throughout the world. For many practical as well as

theoretical reasons there has been considerable interest in discover-

ing factors which may promote or inhibit change in traditional agri-

cultural systems. One common observation of those who have conducted

research in this area is that some farmers are more inclined than

others to experiment with new techniques of farming. These farmers

greatly facilitate the introduction of new methods and new agricultural

inruts because their experimentation, when successful, encourages others

in their community to follow their lead. Many studies have therefore

attempted to identify ch~Yacteristicswhich distinguish these more re-

ceptive farmers from their less innovative counterparts. Based upon

their patterns of decision-ma~ing, farmers have been variously classi-

fied as innovators and non-innovators, or early adopters, later adopters

and non-adopters. l The search for significant differences between far-

mers in one category or another has then focused on such variables as

age, education, wealth, farm size, tenure status and any other factors

lSee for example Cancian 1967, De Guzman and Dimaano 1967,Liao 1968 and Rogers 1962.

214

215

which might predispose some individuals to be more innovative.

Studies of this type have producen somp- interesting and occasion­

ally useful findings in terms of correlations which have been dis­

covered. With a few exceptions, however, these correlations do not

really seem to explain very much. It may be interesting to have our

suspicions confirmed that farmers become less innovative and more

conservative with increasing age, or that wealthier farmers are more

likely to invest in expensive inputs, but this still cannot explain why

some older farmers are quite receptive to new methods and why some of

those with limited resources are willing to borrow to finance their

experimentation with innovative methods.

A more recent and seemingly more productive approach appears to

reflect new attitudes about the willingness of farmers to adopt new

farming methods under the right conditions. This approach is repre­

sented by studies such as those included in Changes in Rice Farming in

Selected Areas of Asia (IRRI 1975). In these studies the principal con­

cern is with constraints which may inhibit adoption of new methods of

cultivation or new inputs. The rationale of this research is that if

these constraints are modified or removed, this will then promote the

spread of a more modern and more efficient agricultural technology. In

other words, less emphasis is placed upon the initiative or psychological

predisposition of individual farmers and more upon creating proper con­

ditions to encourage adoption of new farming techniques. Even in these

studies, however, it would seem that insufficient attention is paid to

three aspects of the processes involved in introducing changes in agri­

culture: 1) the wider socioeconomic context of the farmer's decision-

216

making; 2) the interrelatedness of many variables which promote or

inhibit change, and 3) the assumptions underlying not only current

agricultural development efforts but also much of the social science

research which has attempted to assess the effectiveness of these

efforts.

It may be appropriate to begin by examining basic assumptions.

The assumptions to which I refer are of the type which led Goodenough

to observe, more than a decade ago:

Events indicate that policy-makers are having difficultyanticipating the consequences of their decisions thatrelate to underdeveloped communities and emerging nations.The record, indeed, suggests that the difficulty is notsimply a consequence of lack of information but of havingfundamental and unquestioned assumptions and operatingprinciples that are inadequate to the task and thereforelead to self-defeating decisions (1966:Introduction).

Naturally, any individual's thinking is influenced by a great many

personal as well as cultural assumptions. There may be times, however,

when it is useful to bring these assumptions to the fore in order to

examine how appropriate they are to the purposes we have in mind, or,

for that matter, the extent to which they have determined those purposes

themselves. The following seem to be some of the premises underlying

recent agricultural development efforts. 2

1) Idea of inherent superiority. It is assumed that the innova-

2Passages are cited from a varied body of literature to illustratehow pervasive these premises appear to be. It must be noted that thesepassages are drawn from the works of social scientists whom I respectand consider to be generally thoughtful, careful and sensitive in ex­pressing their ideas. The selection of these passages is in no wayintended to reflect adversely upon the quality of the works from whichthey are drawn.

217

tions advocated by development experts or agents of change represent

progress and improvement over existing conditions. The new item,

practice or economic arrangement--whether it be a new variety, new

planting technique or leasehold tenancy--is judged to be inherently

superior to existing items, practices or arrangements. In many in-

stances this may be a reasonable assumption based upon results of

field trials or experience in other localities. However, it must

be recognized that it is only an assumption which must await empirical

verification in relation to any particular local agricultural system.

The tendency to ignore this basic fact is evident in the high positive

regard for innovators implicit in most studies of change in agri-

culture. By contrast, later adopters or non-adopters--those who wait

to see what will happen--tend to be regarded as conservative at best

or as backward, lazy or ignorant at worst. The message is clear that

any intelligent person would perceive the superiority of the new way

and would welcome the suggested changes.

Any professional person who has spent even a m1n1mum of timein some underdeveloped country can relate instances whensuperior ideas or techniques failed to be accepted by thelocal people only because their habits and customs were notunderstood by the innovators (Arensberg & Niehoff 1964:4).

Most farmers (like the rest of us) live far below theircapacities. . . They could tryout more new methods thanthey do. Only a few of them are stupid, but almost allof them live largely by habit. They learn to do some­thing in a particular way and keep on doing it that way,year after year (Mosher 1966:30).

Because of the more exacting requirements of the highyielding varieties, a change in work ethic and time con­sciousness has occurred. Far from leaving their fieldsto God, farmers are devoting more time and thought to themanagement of their farms. • . There are even those farmers

218

who are beginning to think that rest and the siesta afterlunch means time wasted and that valuable time ought to bespent on productive work. • • In place of superstition, theyhave acquired a vocabulary of modern input terms rangingfrom the names of the new varieties to "Dol granule,""2,4,-D," "Folido1," "Ratoxin," "12-12-12," "urea," and"Furadan" (Castillo 1972: 106-107) •

2) Idea of overcoming barriers. Given the inherent superior-

ity of recommended methods and inputs, anything which might inhibit

their rapid and complete adoption is viewed negatively, as a barrier

or constraint to be "overcome."

The innovator not only has to be a specialist in his ownfie1d--agriculture, business, education, engineering, publichealth--but he must also be able to surmount the barriers ofcustoms and outlooks on life that differ from his own (Arens­berg & Niehoff 1964:Dustjacket).

The release of IR8 in 1966 established a new potential riceyield. Rice research since that date has been directedprimarily toward the removal of constraints to permit alarger number of farmers to achieve the potential of thenew technology (Barker 1972:126).

Only the promise of quite large additional returns can overcomethe wise conservatism of farmers in the light of these risksand uncertainties (Mosher 1966:78).

3) Idea of autonomous farms and farmers. Due partly to the

fact that economic and sociological data are usually gathered through

individual interviews or questionnaires, the unit of investigation--

and cften of analysis--becomes the individual farmer or the individual

farm. Each such unit tends to be treated as though it were more or

less independent of other like units.

Each farmer tries to work out the best combination ofcrop and livestock enterprises for his own farm business,considering the land, labor and other resources availableto him (Ibid.:55).

Individual farmers make most of the decisions about whatis produced on their farms and about the methods of culti-

219

vation and the supplies and equipment used (Ibid.:153).

4) Idea of profit maximization. Closely related to Idea #3

is the idea that each farmer will manage his farm in a way designed

to maximize profit--his personal and family income--above all other

considerations. This idea requires that farm units be regarded as

more or less autonomous.

While other factors discussed in this report were necessaryto enable the farmers to change~ profit was the factorwhich motivated him to change. This motivation necessarilyhad to be great, as mentioned before (USAID 1969:Sect. 8:1).

Once demonstrated on their farms, farmers were quick torespond to profit motives, which disproves a mass ofdisbelief held by many people, and expressed in much liter­ature about the response of peasant farmers in developingcountries to profit incentive~ and about their contentmentwith their earnings. An important point is that it took aheavy dosage of profit potential to induce farmers totake the risk (Ibid.:Sect. 8:5).

5) Idea that "more is better." There is a common failure to

distinguish between the goals of government planners~ plant breeders,

and extension agents on the one hand~ and the goals of farmers on the

other. Those in the first three categories tend to assign highest

priority to maximum yields and maximum production. However, the farmer

would often be foolish to think so simple-mindedly.

Progress, whether technological or economic~ does not occurin a steady, even fashion but in fits and starts. Thismakes it logical to talk about technological or economicbreakthroughs or "takeoffs." Thus the new seeds have madepossible a quantum jump in the production that farmers canget from an acre of land (Brown 1970:36).

The disparity in the way that the benefits of the nevtechnology have been shared has become increasingly contro­versial. The issue is succinctly stated in the openingparagraph of a recent book by Francine R. Frankel, India'sGreen Revolution: "During the first three five-year plans,

220

India's approach to agricultural development was characterizedby a commitment to two co-equal, yet often irreconcilable goals;the economic aim of achieving maximum increases in agriculturaloutput to support rapid industrialization, and the socialobjective of reducing disparities in rural life" (Barker 1972:122-123).

The idea that "more is better" is challenged elsewhere:

It must be pointed out however that the attainment ofmaximum yield does not guarantee maximum profitablity. Thetechnical knowledge of obtaining higher yeilds is not suffi­cient for profit maximization (Deomampo 1969:12).

A broad advance in technology and in the efficient manage­ment of production requires the mobilization of the pro­ductive powers of agricultural people around the goal ofimproved family livelihood rather than around productiontargets (UNRISD 1974:30).

6) Idea of the thoroughly moderm farm. Using Western models

for reference, "modern farming" is equated with monocropping, extensive

use of purchased inputs and machines, payment of cash for labor and

services, and production for the market. Transformation to this state

is recognized to require radical departures from traditional methods of

farming and traditional community organization. The inertia or conser-

vatism of traditional social systems must be overcome to effect the

transition to "modernity."

The technology of the peasant is primitive and he is usuallya non-productive farmer (Arensberg & Niehoff 1964:141).

Using purchased inputs, and marketing additional production,peasant farmers are drawn into the mainstream of moderneconomic life (Brown 1970:10).

Traditions and social values that have grown up largelyin a static society with a primitive agriculture are likean uphill slope facing the person within the group whohas a desire to experiment with new methods. He has toplod uphill against the power of the values of the groupof which he is a part if he wishes to advance (Mosher 1966:36).

The farmers of the Philippines have quickly recognized the

221

increasing need for mechanization to handle the new problemsas rice production increased. They began to invest capitalin tractors and mechanical power. Some of this investmentwas carefully thought out and proved successful. However,this was not always true. Many people had sad and, sometimes,costly experiences when wrong or ill-adapted machinery waspurchased. The small two-wheeled hand tractor appeared tobe the logical replacement for the carabao. However, insome cases, this did not prove to be economical, on an hour­to-hour, or a hectare-to-hectare basis of comparison. Whencontinuous output or speed and timeliness are controllingfactors, the machine has excelled (USAID 1969:Sect. 7:3).

7) Idea of "secondary effects." Any changes in existing social

or economic relations--or other aspects of cu1ture--which result from

changes in agricultural practices are regarded as mere side effects,

or secondary effects. These are perceived to be of little or no

consequence to the process of agricultural development itself.

In the real political life of our times, most of the "second­generation problems" to which the new technologies are givingbirth will not be treated in isolation. but as part of thehuman predicament. They will be submerged in the more generalproblems of sharing the benefits of technology, of creatingnew employment opportunities, of dealing with "urbanization"and the basic dimensions of poverty, such as malnutrition(Brown 1970: 91).

There are those who have misg1v1ngs about the changes takingplace at the countryside. They seem to be rather worriedthat more money is circulati.ng and that the village isbecoming heir to problems of modern man such as environmentalpollution, a quicker pace of life, the passing away oftraditional customs, and worship of material goods. Whatwe sometimes forget is that only the affluent can affordthe arrogance of rejecting the products of affluence. Ourvillages, should by all means, be given the opportunity toafford such arrogance. As it is, affluence is certainlynot one of their problems (Castillo 1972:113).

8) Idea of self help and cooperation. If farmers are shown a

better way, they will work collectively as well as individually to

"improve" their circumstances.

222

.•• the need for unity and cooperation among themselves(Filipino farmers) is being acknowledged. In fact, thepropensity for organized group action at the barrio levelis gradually being awakened (Ibid:lll).

But because Filipino farmers, except for the Ilocanos, are veryindividualistic, organizing them for any sustained time requiresa great deal of outside stimulation and support (Ibid.).

9) Idea that the newest is best. Progress and modernity are

closely tied to the idea that the newest thing invented, discovered or

developed is the best. Those who promoted the hybrid rice varieties

in the Philippines, as well as some of those who evaluated the effects

of these varieties, were delighted with the statement of one Filipino

farmer which was quoted by Lester Brown as an example of the changing

attitudes of Asian rice farmers.

Farmersin the poor countries increasingly view the futurein terms of new seeds, new techniques, and a more productivelife. Symbolizing this attitude is the response of theFilipino Farmer of the Year, 58-year-old Andres della Cruz (sic),when asked what variety of rice he was going to plant next season."I don't know," he unhesitatingly answered. "I'm still waitingfor a newer variety." (Brown 1970:23).

10) Idea of lithe normal year." Calculations of yields, profits

and risks involved in the use of the new technology are based on so-

called normal years, and optimum strategies for farmers are calculated

on this basis. There is the further assumption that normal years follow

one another in succession, and that if they do not this is somehow

extraordinary.

Because of the tungro epidemic in the 1971 wet season, 1970yield data are included to give a better reflection of theyield levels in the area (Herrera 1975:271-273).

Experiments at IRRI have shown that 60 kg. N/ha. can beprofitably used on modern varieties, excluding risk factors,

223

even under wet season conditions (Barker and Anden 1975:23).(Emphasis added)

11) Idea of minimum constraints. This is a more nebulous

assumption but one which is fundamental to programs of voluntary

social or economic change, including those which promote agricultural

development. A considerable degree of freedom of choice is assumed.

If farmers such as those I knew and studied are in any way repre-

sentative, there seems to be minimal allowance for the restraints im-

posed by land tenure arrangements, problems with the support agencies

of government, existing socioeconomic relationships with landlords or

other "superordinates," and the requirements of living together with

relatives and neighbors in a community. Also, it often seems that

minimal attention is given to such realities as the pre-existing debts

of the farmer who is being asked to borrow and invest in new ways in

order to improve his circumstances and the circumstances of his family.

As we have seen, this was one of the basic miscalculations in the

planning of the Compact Area in Bua1.

This assumption is more difficult to document because it is seldom

made explicit. Also, it seems at first to be directly opposed to Idea #2,

that development will only proceed if certain barriers or constraints are

overcome. Yet there is the pervasive idea in the literature that the

principal goal of development is to change peasant attitudes toward

innovation and the use of "modern" methods. It would seem that if this

attitudinal change could be accomplished everything else would follow.

This view fails to take into account the many real but perhaps subtle

constraints which may at least partially explain the conservative

224

attitudes of small cultivators. It also fails to appreciate that

even with a change of attitude there may be numerous institutional

and other constraints which will impede development.

With such a technological boon (the "miracle seeds") in hand,agricultural development planners began to revise their out­look on the development process. They now began to view assimpler, and more strictly economic, problems they had onceseen as the results of psychological barriers, set up by"traditional" peasants unaccustomed to the idea of innova­tion, and institutional barriers, such as the outmoded laborand tenancy arrangements. If the new seeds could offer tremen­dous production increases at the level of the family farm, thenperhaps all that was necessary to achieve their acceptance wasthe assurance that individual planters would earn a high rateof profit (Franke 1976:169).

12) Expectation of adequate follow through. New inputs, methods

or whatever are introduced in the belief that the agricultural infra-

structure--in the form of extension services, supplies, credit, mar-

keting networks and so forth--are adequate to satisfy the increased

demands placed upon them as a result of these changes •. When problems

develop in relation to support services they are most often treated

as "second generation problems." However, for the farmer who has

been convinced to take the risk and invest heavily, and then is ruined

by falling prices, epidemics, inadequate storage facilities, lack of

further credit or whatever, these may well be first generation prob-

lems.

So far, the institutions which are supposed to take over thefunctions of the landlord are lagging behind (Castillo1972:112).

The Philippine Government has also expressed concern overthe issue of equity. In 1964 it adopted a land reform codeu~signed to shift share tenants first to leasehold (cashrent), and finally to owner-operator status. The program

225

has met with limited success. Apparently the governmentlacks the resources to assume the credit and risk-bearingrole of the landlord (Barker 1972:124).

I review these assumptions not only because it seems impor-

tant to make them explicit but also because, without fully rea1iz-

ing it, I accepted many of them myself before I became more

familiar with circumstances in the communities I studied. As I

interviewed farmers and gathered information concerning--among

other things--farming expenses, rice yields and farm income, I began

to realize that the common emphasis upon individual farmers and farm

units, and upon innovators in particular, had tended to obscure some

very important characteristics of traditional agricultural ecosystems

such as those which existed in modified form in the communities I was

studying. Perhaps this was more apparent in this instance because

1970 was such an exceptionally bad year for rice farmers in this

area. The simple fact was that large numbers of farmers were not

obtaining sufficient income from their farms to sustain themselves

and their families. Moreover, after several years of innovation and

experimentation with "modern farming" many of these farmers were more

economically deprived and more deeply in debt than they had been before

they tried the new rice varieties and new agricultural technology. In

Bual, where farmers had the longest experience with the new practices,

most farmers had retreated from many of these practices and from the

high levels of farm investment which had been common a few seasons

earlier despite the fact that the highest yields they had ever

achieved had been ob t a Lned ns t.ng these methods and these levels of

226

investment. One farmer complained to me that he wished he had

never heard of the Compact Area (when the peak yields were

achieved) because before he joined he had seven carabaos and only

a few small debts but now he had only two carabaos and a debt of

more than ~1,000 to the FaCoMa. Other farmers had similar debts

and similar feelings. Some also expr~ssed mixed emotions about

monocropping rice and about having lost opportunities for diver­

sified farming and certain "sidelines" such as copra making which

had been eliminated as a consequence of irrigation. They were

keenly aware at this time of the lack of alternative employment and

income opportunities when shortfalls or crop failures were experienced

in rice farming.

My initial findings raised many questions. One of the more ob­

vious was simply how it was that families were managing to survive

if their farms were not producing enough income to support them. Part

of the answer was provided by my own research data and part was suggest­

-,ed by the observations of Takahashi in his Land and Peasants in Central

Luzon (1970) which I obtained several months after I began this field­

work.

Takahashi was the first to elucidate some of the more important

systemic relationships in peasant farming communities in the Philip­

pines. As previously noted, his insightful analysis drew attention

to the significant interconnections between "production relations" and

"social relations" in such communities (1970:147). He demonstrated

t.ha L decLs i.ons made by individual farmers 7 or by pp.;:u:;ant households

227

as units of production, could not be understood without appreciat­

ing that the "village society puts pressure on farming households

in such matters as the division of labor and the distribution of

some portion of the crops to non-cultivating members of the village

society" (Ibid.:127). An important aspect of the farming strategies

adopted by the peasant farmers he studied was that they were "creat­

ing employment opportunities for one another," in part to avoid the

draining of village resources by landlords (Ibid.:121;127). What

seemed especially important to me was Takahashi's finding, which

paralleled my OWO, that in many cases the individual farm, consid­

ered in isolation, was not a viable economic enterprise. Often the

individual household could only provide for its subsistence require­

ments by sharing the production of other, like units and/or by ob­

taining income from outside the community.

This suggestion gave added impetus to certain lines of investi­

gation which I had been pursuing in my own research. In addition to

studying the decisions of individual farmers I had begun to focus on

selected aspects of the socioeconomic context in which these decisions

were being made. This had led me to inquire very directly into some

of the same kinds of systemic relationships which Takahashi emphasized.

This concern with ~ontext eventually led me to consider systemic rela­

tions which extended beyond the confines of the villages under study.

Before discussing these, however, it is necessary to examine the

feature'" of the "system" as it functions at the village level.

228

The Village as an Ecosystem

Certain aspects of the ecosystems of Bua1, Pa10ngoguen and

Pangadon have been discussed in earlier chapters. These have inc1ud-

ed features of the biophysical environment such as climate, soils,

vegetation and terrain; the farming technology of those living in

this environment; some of the more prominent features of social

organization and economic relations in these communities and, mostly

in an indirect way, some of the ideas or cultural orientations of the

peoples studied. Attention has also been paid to historical deve10p~

ments which led to the particular community composition found in these

villages at the time I observed them. All, however, are merely aspects

of that adaptation which have only limited meaning unless the re1ation-

ships between them can be specified and the nature of the system of

which they are a part can be defined.

As I attempted to formulate my ideas about the systemic re1ation-

ships I observed in the field, I recognize now that I was strongly

influenced by the thinking of Gregory Bateson and, less directly, by

that of Roy Rappaport. I was a student in one of Bateson's graduate

seminars at the University of Hawaii not long before I left for the

field. Upon my return from fieldwork I read his Steps to an Ecology

of Mind which had been published in the interim.3

It was only then

31 am indebted to Stuart Schlegel for urging me to read the bookat this time.

229

that I realized the extent to which some of Bateson's views had

influenced me in terms of the sorts of data I felt were significant

and the ways in which I was attempting to analyze those data. The

conceptual framework which I was using also derived in part from

the ecological approach of Rappaport (1968). However, the difficulty

remained of consolidating a variety of useful insights into a meaning­

ful descriptive model.

It was at this time that I saw the attempt by Langness (1974:138)

to devise a schematic representation of Bateson's view of human

ecology. This produced the following diagram':

Environment + man

ideology (culture)

I do not know how Bateson himself feels about this representation of

his thinking. Certainly it has an elegant simplicity to recommend it.

Nevertheless, in its simplicity it seems to neglect what appear to be

very significant aspects of any human ecosystem. I refer in particular

to economic relations, political organization, and the relations be­

tween anyone specific human group or society and other groups or

230

societies. Possibly Langness would feel that economics and politics

can be subsumed by a combination of ideology, social organization and

technology. Relations with other human groups might simply be an

aspect of social organization. Still, while this model was suggestive

it seemed important to me to deal with these aspects of culture and

human adaptation more explicitly.

In an attempt to do this, I offer the following diagram which

has been adapted from Langness's own:

Humans + Environment

Ideology ......------I..~ Economy .......------..~...Technology

Social/PoliticalOrganization

1Larger (or Other)

Sociopolitical Units

This very simplified cybernetic model is intented to suggest certain

important ecological relationships which exist within systems of human

231

adaptation, or cultures. The subsystems or components in the diagram

are designated somewhat arbitrarily but in a way which generally

conforms to common usage. Before discussing their interrelationship

let me explain the sorts of things to which each refers.

Humans + Environment. This subsystem or component of the model

refers to humans as biological organisms interacting with their bio­

physical environment. Indeed they are part of that "environment."

Data required to understand this subsystem would include on the one

hand demographic information, factors of health, nutrition, and

disease--including disease-causing organisms and so forth--and on the

other relevant information about the biophysical environment or habitat

in which these organisms are found.

Technology. These organisms, being human, will have developed

modes of subsistence which involve a technology, however simple or

complex. This technology may be characterized by the type of work

it entails, the organization for productive activities, the type

and efficiency of its energy systems, its use of fuels and materials,

and where relevant by its by-products and residues.

Social/Political Organization. These humans will be organized

as a social group or a society. They will interact with one another

in patterned ways, and some aspects of this interaction may have

"political" characteristics. This interaction may also be character­

ized by hierarchical relationships, and will differ at least according

to the age and sex of the individuals involved.

Ideology. Many ideas will be held more or less in common by

232

members of this social group. These will usually include similar­

ities in values, attitudes, "world view" and religious beliefs.

Especially germane to an ecological analysis might be their ideas

about sharing, cooperation, appropriate interpersonal relations,

"family," kinship, male/female relations, and the division of labor.

Economy. This includes customary modes of production, distri­

bution and consumption of goods and services as well as patterns of

exchange both within the group and between members of the group and

outsiders.

Larger (or Other) Sociopolitical Units. Any particular human

social group will rarely if ever exist in permanent isolation from

other human groups of either similar or dissimilar type. Relations

between the one group and other groups may be those between bands,

clans, villages or other units which are similar to one another, or

may be between unlike units such as the relations of village to town

or city, and town or city to state or nation.

All of these components will be interrelated in a systematic way,

although in the case of some cultural features any attempt to relate

them to this total system may prove difficult, impossible, OT simply

meaningless. Put simply, there may not be a perfect "fit" between

all traits and customary behaviors observed in the various components

of this system.

Where observable or inferential relationships do exist, the model

suggests that the technology of the group will influence its social

and political organization, economy, ideology, and the relations of

233

the members of the group to the biophysical environment of which

they are a part. The application and elaboration of this technology

will in turn be influenced by variables elsewhere in the system. The

technology may also influence, and be influenced by, relations between

the group and other sociopolitical units.

Other components in the system are similarly interrelated in

positive and negative feedback relationships as suggested by the

arrows in the diagram. Certain points about this diagram deserve

special note. First, historical factors are taken into account by

the model in that states or events in anyone part of the system

subsequently affect states or events at other points in the system,

and present conditions within the system are the result of prior

events. Second, a feature of this diagram which I find interesting

-- and of course it is presented only for heuristic purposes in any

case -- is that it suggests possible "short circuits" in the relation­

ships portrayed. Relations with other sociopolitical units may

directly affect social and political organization within the group,

and possibly its economy, the relations of people to their biophysi­

cal environment, and the technology of the group while affecting the

group's ideology only indirectly and possibly at a later point in

time. Similarly, the combination of the group's technology and

economy may have direct and immediate impacts upon the relation

between people and the environment while the group's social/political

organization and ideology may be slower to change--as, perhaps broadly

234

speaking, may be the case in the contemporary United States.

Granted that this simple model may have limitations of one kind

or another, I will use it as an aid in identifying and explaining

what seem to be some important relationships which exist within the

ecosystems of agricultural communities such as those I studied.

The Village Ecosystem

The sets of relationships which characterize the village eco-

system have evolved through time, and they continue to evolve although

there may be periods of relative homeostatis interspersed with periods

of comparatively greater change. The period before about 1960 appears

to have been one of relative homeostasis in the communities I studied,

while the decade up to and including the period of my research was one

of substantial change. The "homeostasis" of the prior period may be

something of an illusion, due in part to the fact that I did not

observe these communities at that time, but there is information

from various sources to support this inference. For example,

researchers with the U.S. Agency for International Development pointed

out that average rice yields in the Philippines "had remained constant

at about 1100 to 1200 kilograms per hectare from 1920 to 1963"(USAID

1969:Section 1, p.3). They went on to observe:

The primitive system of farming with all its inefficienciescould scarcely yield more than subsistence requirements andpay for the cost of land. The average peasant farmer wascaught in an economic squeeze by a social structure of landownership and tenancy and imperfect market system that wereexploitive of his labor and offered no incentive to him toproduce beyond his subsistence requirements (Ibid.:Section 7,p , 1).

235

In any event, it is certain that major changes occurred in these

barrios from 1960 to 1971. It is my principal thesis that the

changes in agricultural technology which occurred during this time--

which could be observed and/or documented--had already had, and were

continuing to have, ecosystemic effects upon economic relationships,

social organization, ideology, and the relations of the villagers to

their social as well as biophysical environments.

Changes of the type which concern us here cannot be adequately

represented by models of agricultural innovation which see this simply

as a process of introducing new ideas to farm~rs and then seeing which

ones are accepted and which are rejected, or which farmers accept new

ideas more readily than others. Nor can changes induced by altered

technology be understood simply as "side effects" of the acceptance of

new methods of farming. Neither can the new ideas or methods themselves

be judged intrinsically superior to established ways of doing things,

as is done so often. Finally, even a more systemic view such as that

of Takahashi is insufficient because it is limited only to certain

aspects of the system. It is only by appreciating the totality of the

ecosystem, and varying levels of context, that we can understand changes

of the sort which concern us here.

Levels of Context

Villager-smake decisions about their farming activities, like any

other decisions, within the context of the village ecosystem. Yet

this is only one the context of their decision-making. The

236

village ecosystem is only a localized part of larger systems. To

understand the decision-making of these villagers more fully, other

levels of context must also be considered.

Decisions made by farmers in anyone of the villages studied

are influenced by "context" in a variety of important ways. Aspects

of this context include the intra-village social relations and produc-

tion relations discussed by Takahashi. These are part of a system of

adaptation which has evolved at the local level to provide more or

less successfully for the needs of the community members. In the

period before the irrigation system was constructed, which I interpret

as a time of relative homeostasis, farmers were probably influenced

first and foremost by this context. To a lesser extent, social and

economic relationships between the barrio and the poblacion would

have been important and would have widened this context to some degree.

In a more peripheral way, the fact that these communities were located

in the Mindanao region may have been of some significance given the

generally low level of economic development within this region and

its special history of interethnic relations. However, it would seem

that at this time--around 1960 and earlier--the actions of the Philip-

pine government impinged rather little upon the lives or the productive

activities of people in the barrios of Midsayap.4 There were occasional

40ne exception was the government decision to construct the MindanaoRice and Corn Experiment Station (MRCES) in Bual in 1958.

237

visits to these barrios by.extension agents and other government

representatives, to be sure, but this was a remote area which seemed

rather unimportant economically, and whatever development efforts

had been undertaken were of only limited impact. By and large,

farmers were not very much affected by anything which happened beyond

the levels of the village and the town.

The government's decision to install the Libungan River Irri-

gation System altered this situation markedly. When completed the

irrigation system served three towns--Midsayap, Libungan and Pigkawayan.

Barrios in different parts of each town were brought into direct

association and interdependency by the fact that they were situated

on the same irrigation canals and were expected to coordinate their

farming activities with one another in accordance with the NIA water

schedule. When this coordination was not achieved, or when there were5

competing demands for water, conflict was almost inevitable.

The decision to install the irrigation system on the Libungan

River had been made by government planners in Manila based upon their

assessment of national economic priorities and production goals. A top

national priority at this time was to achieve self-sufficiency in rice

5It is intriguing, although quite speculative, to consider the

possible effect of the irrigations system on increasing the potentialfor inter-ethnic hostility in Midsayap due to the differing ethniccomposition of communities which were now placed in competition forwater or were asked to coordinate their farming operations and waterrequirements.

238

production. Irrigation was seen as a key to attaining this goal, so a

decision was made which was to have major effects upon the ecosystems

of the villages in lowland areas of Midsayap as well as upon the

restraints involved in the decision-making of farmers in those villages.

The advent of irrigation was accompanied by a major, coordinated effort

by several government agencies to improve extension, credit and marketing

services to farmers so that the new water system would have maximum bene­

fits. Farmers were visited more frequently and were urged to adopt new

methods and selected rice varieties which had been cultivated success­

fully elsewhere in the country. The context of decision-making by

farmers in this "remote" area of the Philippines was definitely being

altered by outside influences.

In the mid to late 1960's, still other developments took place

which had significant effects upon the context of decision-making in

the barrios of Midsayap. An international effort to develop improved

varieties of rice yielded IR-8 and the succeeding dwarf hybrid varieties.

The Philippine government committed itself to promoting the spread of

these varieties along with the agricultural technology which was

required for their efficient cultivation. In a way which was not

entirely apparent at first, this commitment placed the decision-making

of individual farmers in many parts of the Philippines in an international

context. This context involved the price of Japanese hand tractors

and spare parts for these machines; the price of fertilizer and agri­

cultural chemicals manufactured by local subsidiaries of international

corporations; the world price and national supply of rice; and most

239

ominously, as we were to learn, the world price of petroleum.

In brief, tll~ efforts of the Philippine government to transform

subsistence-oriented peasant farmers into commercial producers had

succeeded in drawing them into market relations net merely in the

sense that they sold some of their rice and purchased some of their

inputs; indirectly, but significantly, it had also involved them in

the world market. From that time on the decision-making of these

farmers became considerably more complicated. At the most local level

they continued to be responsive to existing social relations and

production relations in the village. However, they were increasingly

involved in economic relations with the town, where the major sources

of credit and nearly all the marketing facilities were located. They

became more dependent upon the agencies of government for credit, for

technical advice, and for prompt and adequate provision of irrigation

water. They even developed expectations that national and international

research efforts--especially those ofIRR~-would produce new varieties

and new technical know-how which would solve many of their farming

problems for them.

Developments at the national and international levels could and

did have fairly direct consequences at the local level. The most

pervasive effects were brought about by long-range economic trends

which tended to depress the price of rice relative to the cost of

agricultural inputs. A sudden development along this line was the

devaluation of the Philippine peso in January, 1970. Prices of

fertilizer and chemicals in Midsayap soared immediately by about 30%-40%

while the price of palay lagged behind, increasing only about 20%-25%

240

in the months which followed. This had direct and almost immediate

effects upon the local availability of capital for agricultural

investment and thus restrained the decision-making of farmers.

Government policy also affected the type and quantity of loans

available to farmers, which obviously could promote or inhibit invest­

ment. Finally, as just one further example~ the land reform policy

proclaimed by the government emphasized the substitution of leasehold

for share tenancy. While land reform had not yet been officially

instituted in Midsayap, the effects of this national policy were

already being felt there in ways which are discussed below.

Returning to the village level, we can now try to integrate our

understanding of the village ecosystem with our understanding of

varying levels of context within which individual villagers make their

farming decisions. It was previously mentioned that governnient planners,

extension agents and others tend to view the changes they are promoting

as mere technological innovations with few effects beyond those directly

observable in terms of new cultivation practices, increased yields, or

the changing welfare of farm families. However, if our simple eco­

systemic model describes any real relationships we should expect

technological changes of this type to have ramifications throughout

the system--including effects upon social organization, economy,

ideology, and the relationship between people and their environment.

In Takahashi's terminology, the new technology was certain to have an

effect upon "production relations" which would in turn affect "social

relations." There were likely to be effects upon many other eco­

systemic factors as well.

241

I was especially interested in the possibility that the various

adjustments in the system would eventually result in feedback which

could affect the adoption of the new technology itself. Either as

the result of negative feedback, or as the result of a tendency

within the system toward a new state of homeostasis, any further

adoption of new technology might be inhibited. In fact there was

the added possibility that in the "technology" component of the

village ecosystem there might be a retreat to earlier methods, or at

least to some middle ground which did not require radical readjust­

ments in other parts of the system. Farmers might be restrained in

their decision-making by factors emanating from varying levels of

context, but in devising strategies to adapt to these new and changing

restraints they could be predicted to seek a level of well-being for

themselves and their families at least as favorable as that which had

existed prior to the adoption of the new technology. Hopefully, their

well-being would even be improved as a result of this new adaptation.

Ecosystemic Modifications

The research data may now be summarized and interpreted in terms

of the model I have presented. The relevant data will first be dis­

cussed in relation to the components designated in the model. I will

then deal with the interrelatedness of the components and of the changes

themselves.

Technology. I begin with technological changes because these were

the focus of my research, and in this particular case it was here that

242

major changes were occurring which might be expected to have effects

upon other components of the ecosystem. This is not an argument for

technological determinism, nor do I mean to suggest a primary role

for technology in influencing ecological adaptations in all situations.

By 1970 there was almost total adoption of the hybrid rice

varieties in the irrigated lowlands of Midsayap. Diversified cropping

had all but disappeared on irrigated farms, which were now monocropped

with wet rice. Extensive contiguous areas were planted to genetically

similar varieties of rice. 6 The characteristics of these new varieties

had permitted and perhaps even encouraged staggered planting. This

meant that hosts for pests and diseases were constantly present. Agri-

cultural chemicals were being used in much greater quantities than they

had been five years earlier, in the period before "miracle rice."

Capital and labor inputs in rice farming had increased dramatically.

Certain new techniques of cultivation were utilized, and machines were

used for some tasks formerly performed by humans and animals.

Economy. Farmers generally made greater use of purchased inputs

and marketed a larger portion of their rice harvest. Large amounts of

capital were borrowed to finance current farming operations, and addi-

tional large amounts were owed to private lenders and formal credit

institutions as a result of previous borrowing. Economic relationships

6Cf• Wharton's (1969:468) warning about the hazards involvedin such a situation.

243

between landlords and tenants were in the process of being modified,

with a change from share to leasehold tenancy in some cases and an

adjustment of rental rates in others. Cash was being used more

extensively, and in some cases was substituted for traditional modes

of payment and exchange. Changes could be observed in the compensation

to labor, as in the case of the reduction in the harvesters' share of

the crop.

Social/Political Organization. Population shifts occurred with

the introduction of irrigation, and further shifts occurred with the

gradual inundation of Palongoguen and the crop failures of 1970 in Bua1.

In all three communities this appeared to increase the group solidarity

of those who remained -- either on a communitywide basis or on the

basis of smaller kin and province-mate groupings. At the same time,

there seemed to be increased antipathy between certain groups, espec­

ially between the Christian settlers and the Maguindanao.

Social aspects of the relations between tenants and landlords

changed with the switch to leasehold tenancy. Landlords appeared to

have less empathy for the personal and family situations of their

tenants.

In Pangadon, the use of hired labor in farming operations appeared

to contribute to a cleavage between the followers of Akan and a group

of families who remained physically apart and refrained from participat­

ing in reciprocal work groups at planting time.

The limited use of exchange labor in Bua1 and Palongoguen, along

with ~he shift from traditional wages of food plus cash to straight

244

cash wages, seemed to indicate deeper changes in social relations

between the farmer as employer and fellow community members who

assist him in his farming operations.

Ideology. The patterns of investment associated with the new

agricultural technology also appeared to be affecting ideas concerning

fair compensation to labor, as reflected in the trend toward a reduc-

tion in the share of the crop paid to harvesters. In many instances

this appeared to be a conscious move to discourage the common

occurrence of would-be workers appearing in droves at harvest time. 7

In Pangadon these would-be workers were usually relatives of one degree

or another, so actually or potentially these changes involved adjust-

ments in traditional attitudes concerning obligations to relatives

and friends. Values related to sharing, cooperation and mutual

assistance also appeared to be undergoing modification as cash was

substituted for exchange labor, as fellow villagers were hired for wages,

and as farmers followed their own schedules independent of one another,

resulting in staggered planting.

The early performance of IR-8 changed many farmers' attitudes toward

innovation and made them more receptive to new ideas and new ways of doing

7An incident which occurred in the neighboring town of Libunganin late 1970 should underscore this point. Several farmers whose fieldswere adjacent to the national highway had conspicuously bountiful crops.They announced publicly that they would harvest on a particular day,but they actually began to harvest early in the morning of the pre­ceding day. Their fields were nearly clean before the arrival of har­vesters from more distant areas.

245

things. Subsequent experience, however, led to further changes where­

by they now took a more sober and critical view of new technological

inputs. They were now more wary of the risks which they knew were in­

volved in the use of the new technology, and it is doubtful that they

would have invested very lavishly in inputs even if their resources had

been adequate. The experience Bual farmers had with large production

loans also seemed to h~ve reinforced conservative attitudes toward

borrowing for investment purposes. Finally, a variety of events con­

vinced some people in Bual that they might have better luck elsewhere,

and this idea apparently contributed to their decision to move to other

localities.

Among the Maguindanao, it seemed inevitable that in the long run

the use of the new technology would affect certain folk beliefs. It is

difficult to reconcile the use of rat poison and insecticides with the

belief in the gim, or guardian spirits, of the rats and insects. Simi­

larly, it seemed only a matter of time until the prescriptions of the

agricultural technician would supplant the magical incantations of the

apo na palay in assuring the growth and protection of the crops.

Humans + Environment. Population size and density were reduced in

both Bual and Palongoguen as a result of irrigation, poor drainage and

crop failures due in part to the disease susceptibility of the hybrid _.

rice varieties. Abandoned and overgrown fields harbored rats and other

pests. Flooding and soil saturation killed large numbers of coconut trees.

Cultivated lands became increasingly unsuitable for crops other than wet

rice.

~6

Many farmers complained of headaches, nausea, and occasional vomit-

ing, apparently as a result of increased use of agricultural chemicals.

This may have been due in part to the use of open wells as a source of

drinking water, especially in Pangadon. With seepage and periodic flood­

ing this' water supply may well have become contaminated. 8 There were

also reports of accidental poisoning of animals, usually from eating

poisoned rat bait. It had been discovered that Endrin and Thiodan were

effective in stupifying or poisoning fish, and some people in Midsayap

were using them for this purpose. There were meny fish in rice paddies,

irrigation canals, drainage ditches and nearby streams. It seemed likely

that their number would decrease over time with the continued use of

fertilizer and pesticides on the fields. The immense marshes were the

principal source of the freshwater fish consumed locally. These marshes

receive the runoff from farmlands not only in Midsayap but in all the

towns which border them. The long-term ecological consequences are nc.t

difficult to forsee.

Relations with Larger (or Other) Sociopolitical Units. In Midsayap,

as well as in many other parts of Cotabato at this time, there was an on-

going struggle for political power between Muslim and Christian factions.

In the last election in Midsayap a prominent Datu had been defeated by

an Ilongo in the race for mayor. Christians in the town perceived this

as strengthening their position, and there were some signs of strained in-

terethnic relations both within and between certain villages. This was

just one of many challenges to the Datu's traditional position of

BAs part of its assistance program, CORUM drilled a well and installeda pump in Pangadon in August of 1970. Just prior to this there had beentwo typhoid fever deaths in the village.

247

dominance in the local social heirarchy. Christians had little under­

standing of the Maguindanao system of maratabat, or social rank, and

at best they respected it only in dealings with very prominent Datus.

It seemed likely that continued contact with outsiders would erode this

foundation of Maguindanao social organization. There was also the

possibility that wealth distinctions arising from differential

success in farming, but having nothing to do with maratabat, might

further undermine the significance of social ranking.

On a wider scale it seemed that farmers had become increasingly

dependent upon, yet increasingly ambivalent toward, the government and

its agencies. It has been sho~vn that a variety of events and experi­

ences contributed to bringing about both the dependence and the

ambivalence. The farmers had long since ceased to be relatively

insulated and self-sufficient in their affairs, although some of the

strategies followed by Bual villagers in 1970-71 seemed intended to

restore a greater degree of self-sufficiencey.

The interrelatedness of many of these changes should be evident.

It has been difficult to compartmentalize the research findings even to

this extent, but hopefully the presentation of the data in this manner

contributes to an understanding of the model. The stimulus and reinforce­

ment of change through ecosystemic relationships may be seen in many

instances. One of these was the migration of a number of families out

of Bual in late 1970. Successi,re poor harvests led to a situation

in which many families had very little food. Datu Mantil's efforts

to impose leasehold tenancy upon the sharecroppers who farmed his land

248

was widely resisted. The growing sociopolitical unrest made many resi­

dents uneasy about their future prospects if they remained in the

barrio. Perhaps none of these conditions would have been sufficient by

itself to cause so many families to leave the village at this time, but

the combination of technological changes which led to greater risk and

finally to successive failures in rice farming, changes in the social

and economic relationships between landlords and tenants, and changes

in the sociopolitical relations between ethnic groups had this cumula­

tive effect. The repercussions did not end there, either, for the over­

grown abandoned lands created additional problems for the farmers left

behind and interethnic tensions in the barrio were heightened by this

population displacement.

Summary and Conclusions

The new agricultural technology which was introduced in Midsayap

in the decade up to and including the period of this field research had

far-reaching effects upon ecological relationships in the farming vil­

lages included in this study. The experience with the new technology

in these villages may be unusual or even unique in many respects, but

it would seem that there are a number of important lessons to be learned

from what happened here. What is really at issue is whether it is

appropriate to try to apply a Western-inspired model of agricultural

development to the systems of production found in peasant and quasi­

peasant societies in less technologically developed countries. Is the

model itself appropriate, and does it lead to improved well-being for

the rural populations who are persuaded to experiment with it? In short,

249

is there hope that the Green Revolution as presently conceived and

implemented will accomplish its twofold goal of increasing world food

production and improving the welfare of those farmers who grow the

hybrid grains?

In the short term the evidence from this study is not very

encouraging. Perhaps it was impossible, a few years ago, to foresee

the impact of various "technological innovations" on the ecosystems

of communities such as those which have been discussed here. In Bual,

Palongoguen and Pangadon the changes in technology included irrigation,

new varieties, new inputs, and new cultivation methods. These changes

had direct effects upon the economic relations between these villages

and the town, national, and international markets. There were also

less pronounced but perceptible effects upon reciprocal and redistri­

butive economic relationships within the Villages themselves. Social

organization was affected as large numbers of people moved away from

Bual and Palongoguen, and the ethnic composition of the two communities

changed. In Pangadon, even in the early stages of adoption there

was evidence of social adjustment in the form of efforts to limit

community size and to discourage harvest-time visits of relatives

from other barrios. There were also modifications of such socioeco­

nomic relations as those between landlords and tenants in Bual and

Palongoguen, and those between neighbors who hired or worked for one

another in all three communities. Values and attitudes were affected,

most notably those concerned wit~ sharing, cooperation, independence

vs. interdependence, fulfillment of traditional social obligations,

250

and receptivity to new ways and new ideas. Finally the relations

of these people to their biophysical environment was altered with

irrigation, new crops and cropping patterns, more intensive cultiva­

tion, and increased use of farm chemicals--all of which had certain

but unmeasvred effects upon the microecology of rice paddies and the

surrounding flora and fauna, including fish, livestock and humans.

We have seen that in the course of three years, Bual changed

from what many had judged to be a highly progressive, model farming

community to a scene of devastation. Farmers whose attitudes had

once changed so much that they embraced the hybrid rice varieties

and new technology enthusiastically had now retreated to conservatism

and, to a great extent, to their former subsistence orientation. Many

of those who had been most innovative at the beginning of the Compact

Area experiment were now in debt to the FaCoMa and the Rural Bank.

Extensive areas of land were out of production. Even the livestock popu­

lati.on had declined as animals were sold to meet production expenses or

subsistence needs.

Certainly the new agricultural technology was not solely responsible

for creating this state of affairs. In dealing with ecosystems of this

type it is simple-minded and reductionist to search for single causes

or prime movers. Many unpredictable and even extraordinary factors

contributed to the situation. Nonetheless, it is evident that certain

features of the new technology played a part in creating socioeconomic

instability in these communities.

The systemic nature of farming communities such as these was little

251

appreciated by those who promoted changes in agriculture. Failing

to understand underlying systemic relationships of the type I have

discussed, development planners and agents tended to work with a

model of agricultural modernization which emphasized the use of cash,

hired labor, a variety of purchased inputs, machinery and other labor­

saving devices. The model was also predicated upon careful farm budget­

ing and accounting, and proper farm management by independent, profit­

motivated entrepreneurs. Some of the many hazards involved in any

effort to effect the wholesale transfer of this model of commercial

farming to the rural Philippines, and especially to areas of high ten­

ancy and small holdings, should be clear by now. The model was in­

appropriate for many reasons. Farmers commonly lacked sufficient

capital to finance the new technology themselves and credit was scarce

and expensive. In the context of traditional peasant adaptations labor

costs are unquantifiable, or have little meaning even if they can be

quantified. Extensive use of purchased inputs can increase risk and

make farmers more vulnerable to fluctuations of a market over which

they have no control. Few labor-saving devices have much advantage

in areas where there are difficulties in absorbing available labor, and

many such devices drain away a farming community's limited resources.

Accurate record-keeping and other aspects of proper farm management

are often beyond the capabilities of farmers who may be nonliterate or

only semi-literate. Most important of all, I believe that it represents

a fundamental error either to view farmers in communities such as these

as independent, profit-motivated entrepreneurs or to attempt to trans-

252

form them into such individuals. Much of the resiliency of the

traditional peasant adaptation lies in the economic interdependence

of the villagers. This interdependence, along with the socioeconomic

obligations which it entails, provide the farmers I studied with a

kind of economic security which neither the new rice technology nor

the agencies of government can effectively replace at the present time.

The technological "package" which was available at the time of

this research was essentially a single formula which was thought to.

be applicable under virtually any and all conGitions of wet rice farm-

ing. Little consideration was given to the diversity of the agricul-

tural systems for which it was proposed as a panacea. To be sure, there

were many efforts to breed hybrid plants which would be adapted to local

environmental conditions. There was also concern '~ith developing varie-

ties whLch would appeal to local tastes and would therefore command

favorable prices. However, there was little if any effort made to

devise different combinations of varieties and inputs which would be

adapted to different ecosystems in the full sense of the term. The

basic flaw in the technological package which was so widely promoted

was that it involved high levels of risk because high investment was re-

quired to cultivate plants which were low in disease resistance. This

combination of factors often proved disastrous when the new technology

was adopted in peasant-type farming communities. That this was not

simply a local phenomenon in Midsayap, or even in the Philippines, was

later borne out by a global research project undertaken by the United

Nations Research Institute for Social Development. The researchers con-

nected with that project found extensive evidence of serious community

253

disruption in areas where the Green Revolution technology was adopted

by small-scale cultivators (UNRISD 1974:28). One of the conclusions

reached by this research team was the following:

For those who have land which is used essentially to providefood for tne family, it is very doubtful whether they shouldbe encouraged to attempt market-oriented, high-cost crops,unless they have other stable sources of regular income(Ibid.:5l).

The present study tends to confirm this conclusion. However, this is

not to say that farmers of this type are to be permanently excluded

from participating in the benefits of new technological developments.

The principal problem is to devise new technologies which are better

suited to the needs of these farmers and better adapted to existing

realities in ecosystems of the type described here. Highest priority

must be placed on reducing the risks of farming the new varieties,

both by increasing their disease resistance and by minimizing the

need for costly inputs for fertilization and plant protection. It

seems likely that these joint goals are capable of achievement. If

so, and if some of the positive characteristics of the new varieties

can be retained--including improved yields and short maturation time--

the rice consuming nations of Asia could probably achieve and maintain

self-sufficiency in grain production for several decades to come. If

varieties with these characteristics can be developed, the Green

Revolution may yet hold promise even for small-scale cultivators

such as those in Midsayap.

EPILOGUE

A series of events which had tragic consequences for the people

of Cotabato, and which incidentially impinged upon my own field re­

search, began with several armed clashes between Tiruray tribesmen

and Naguindanao in the town of Upi in October, 1970. The Haguindanao

datus in this area had never abandoned the practice of exacting taxes

and tribute (buwis) from the Tiruray and other hill tribes. The Tiruray

had also been subjected to other abuses and harassment, especially in

and around the market town of Upi.

In the latter part of 1970 a stranger came to live among the

Tiruray. The stranger's name was Feliciano Luces. He was, significantly,

an Ilongo. It was said that Luces's family had been killed some years

earlier by Maguindanao outlaws in South Cotabato. Luces, who was

soon nicknamed "Toothpick" because of his slender build, claimed that

he had special powers which would make the Tiruray immune to the weap­

ons of the Maguindanao. The story was told that he held a demon­

stration in which he shot a dog with his rifle and then handed the gun

to a Tiruray standing nearby and zsked the man to shoot him. The reluc­

tant Tiruray finally fired the gun and it went off but Toothpick was

unharmed. He explained that the bullet could not harm him because of

a special charm (anting-anting) which he wore like a pendant bene~th

his shirt. He told the Tiruray he could show them how to make such

charms for themselves so that they would be immune to bullets and could

254

255

fight back against the }~guindanao.

Soon there were several incidents in which Maguindanao v~licles

were ambushed on the roads near Upi and a number of persons were killed

or injured. Predictably, these shootings brought reprisals from the

Maguind~nao. These localized hostilities might have been contained in

this area had it not been for another sequence of armed encounters

which occurred some distance away in north central Cotabato at about the

same time. In this instance a logging company identified with "Chris­

tians" was using a force of armed security guards to drive Maguindanao

and Iranun families off land which the government had leased to the com­

pany as a timber concession. The Maguindanao and Iranun retaliated by

killing some of the security guards and other company workers.

Rumors quickly spread through the province that the incidents

at Upi and the timber concession were a prelude to more widespread

hostilities between Christian settlers and the Maguindanao in Cotabato.

There was a notable increase in tension between Muslims and Christians

even in Midsayap, where until this time inter-ethnic relations had been

regarded as exemplary. There were almost constant rumors of impending

raids by one faction or the other. In outlying areas of the province

there was some burning of both Christian and Muslim houses.

Then a bizarre incident occurred which had serious repercussions

in Midsayap. A young Ilongo boy shot a Maguindanao man twice in the

legs a few kilometers away from Pangadon and Lower Glad. The boy, who

was only about twelve years old, was a stranger who wore a red cowboy

hat and other cowboy-type clothes. All of this seemed strange, and word

256

quickly spread that this boy was no less than an incarnation of the

magical Toothpick who was still at large at the time. How else, some

people reasoned, could a small boy have such courage and be such a

sharpshooter that he could hit a man twice in the legs with only two

shots? The local police took the boy into custody, but most of them

were also Ilongo and it appeared that they at least half-believed the

tale that this was Toothpick, who was quickly becoming an Ilongo folk

hero. The police kept the boy in jail at night, but during the day

they talked and joked with him on the front steps of the municipal

building where crowds of curious onlookers gathered to gaze upon the

protean Toothpick. The boy was finally taken away from Midsayap and

it was not clear what became of him.

Meanwhile the shooting incident had greatly exacerbated the mount­

ing tension in the town. The fact that it occurred so close to Lower

Glad and Pangadon meant that this area was especially affected. Akan

was quite concerned and met with the barrio captain of Lower Glad to

discuss the matter. The barrio captain assured him that the Maguindanao

ha0 nothi.ng to fear from the Ilokanos in Lower Glad, but he was uncertain

about the feelings of the people in a nearby Ilongo settlement. Akan

and several others who had accompanied him came away from the meeting

feeling only slightly reassured. The tension in Pangadon was not sub­

stantially reduced. I have mentioned before that many Maguindanao are

remarkably mobile. The response among about half the families in Pang­

adon, mostly recent arrivals or those who were less permanently settled

in the village, was simply to pack up and leave for other, less troubled

257

areas where they could stay with relatives. Akan and the other land­

owners, along with a few of their close relatives, stayed behind to

complete the harvest of their lands in November and December. In early

January they also left the village for what was understood to be a

"cooling-off" period. Most went to the southernmost barrios of Midsayap

which were settled almost exclusively by Muslims.

In Bual, about 25 Christian families left the barrio in the last

three months of the year. As noted, these moves were usually precipi­

tated by a combination of economic distress, dissatisfaction with tenure

arrangements, and the foreboding of inter-ethnic conflict. The Christians

who remained tended to be those who had longer residence in Bual or in

Cotabato. Most of these felt there was not likely to be trouble in

Bual itself because of the presence of Datu Mantil, who on the one hand

guaranteed the safety of the settlers and on the other had a sizeable

enough group of followers to dissuade any Christian dissidents from

making trouble. For similar reasons, Palongoguen and other nearby areas

also appeared relatively safe and stable during this period.

Muslim and Christian leaders working together were able to re­

store a measure of calm by the time of the Christian holidays in December~

and during the month of January it appeared that the situation in the

town was slowly returning to normal. Akan and most of his group returned

to Pangadon to begin preparing their fields for the next planting. In

Bual, many farmers were now planting corn in the less marshy areas where

the land had begun to dry following the closing of the irrigation system.

There were comments that--'s6me or the families which had left the barrio

258

would probably return when the irrigation was reopened in June.

Troubled areas remained elsewhere in the province, but in Midsayap

the general feeling was one of relief and optimism.

Then on February 12, 1971, an armed encounter took place in the

hills along the Midsayap-Pikit boundary. The Midsayap police reported

that they had been attacked by a group of Muslims wearing black shirts.

The police and the town mayor concluded that the opposing force must

have been part of the army of the Muslim Independence Movement (MIM).

The MIM had been founded in 1968 by the former governor of Cotabato, Datu

Udtog Matalam, apparently as a protest against the government's treat­

ment of Muslim minorities in Mindanao. Until this time most people had

not paid any serious attention to the organization despite its anti­

government proclamations demanding self-determination for Muslim peoples.

However, the recent troubles in the province had led some Christians to

question the true goals of the MIM. There were those who believed it

was a genuine secessionist movement which advocated the use of military

force to separate Mindanao and Sulu from the rest of the Philippines.

To be sure, some of the MIM documents had hinted at this possibility as

a last resort.

Now there were reports of an actual army of "Blackshirts" poised

to attack Christian communities. This caused considerable alarm, al­

though there were many Midsayap residents who doubted the story of the

alleged battle at the Pikit boundary. There were strong and persistent

rumors that this had actually been a mistaken encounter between the Mid­

sayap and Pikit police departments and that the story of the "Blackshirts"

was an attempt by the Midsayap police to save face. It did not help

259

matters that the mayor of Pilf-it--who was said to have joined or even

to have led his police in the engagement--was the son of Datu Udtog.

There were many uncertainties about how real the threat might be.

Soon there were reports of other encounters with Blackshirts.

The Christian mayors of several towns appealed to the President to

send troops to quell the violence. Contingents of the Philippine Army,

drawn mostly from the northern islands, were quickly dispatched to Mid­

sayap and surrounding towns. Almost overnight the town appeared to be

in a state of war. Troop carriers bristling with high-powered weapons

rolled through the town to patrol surrounding areas and military check­

points were established along the national road and at all major inter­

sections.

By this time the threat of the Blackshirts, whether real or imag­

ined had spawned a counter-force known as the Ilag~ (Rats) who were said

to be mostly Ilongo. The house-burnings and killings which now occurred

with increasing frequency were attributed to one or the other of these

outlaw "armies." Maguindanao leaders accused the Philippine Army of

siding with the Christians, and even with the Ilag~, in the escalating

hostilities. The Christians countered by accusing the Muslims of

causing the conflict through the activities of the secessionist-oriented

MIM. There were numerous reports of abuses and even atrocities on both

sides.

Despite a few local incidents, Midsayap continued to be regarded

as a relatively safe haven for Christians and Muslims alike. Thousands

of evacuees from other areas streamed into the town in the months of

February and March. Extensive relocation and disaster relief efforts

260

were undertaken by local and national government agencies and by the

Philippine Red Cross. One problem was that the number of strangers

in town, who totalled at least 9,000 at one point, made it more diffi-

cult for local residents to prevent friction or serious incidents be-

tween different factions. The situation deteriorated rapidly.

I terminated my fieldwork early in April, 1971. In some areas

interviewing had been difficult from October through January. From

February on it proved nearly impossible to gather meaningful and re-

liable information because normal affairs were so badly disrupted. In

the latter part of February my guide, informant and interpreter, Abdul

AKa1i, said he had been told that his name was on an alleged I1aga death

list. From that time on we confined our movements accordingly.

After the formal end of my fieldwork I returned to Midsayap three

times--in June and October of 1971 and again in March of 1972. It was

difficult to draw any firm conclusions about farming conditions frDm

these visits except that while the price of rice continued to climb in

the local market the prices of fertilizers, pesticides and petroleum

increased even more rapidly to the detriment of farmers. On che mor e

positive side, the tungro epidemic had abated significantly following

three seasons of extensive crop destruction.

Other events were more saddening. In May of 1971 all of the houses

in Pangadon, which Akan and the others had abandoned once again, were

burned to the ground. Many more families had also left Bua1 by the time

of my visit in June of that year, partly because Datu Manti1 had moved

his residence to the more southerly barrio of Kapimpi1an where he had

another house and more lands. Many Bua1 residents--both Nuslim and

261

Christian--felt this augered ill for the future and chose to evacuate.

During my visit in October I found the remaining farmers in Bual to be

doing reasonably well under the circumstances.

When I returned in March of the following year, however, I found

that the house of Datu Mantil and nearly all of the other houses in

Bual and Palongoguen had been burned. A handful of families near the

Experiment Station remained in the barrio and were attempting to continue

farming. The station itself was still operating, although at a reduced

level of staffing. It was a very disheartening situation.

A final tragic note came later, after a period in which I had not

visited Midsayap for several months. Martial law was pr6claimed in the

Philippines in September, 1972, and a decree had been issued that all

privately-owned firearms were to be turned over to government authorities.

This was only the latest in a series of similar decrees which had been

issued since the beginning of the Muslim-Christian conflict, but in this

instance the death penalty was imposed upon those who refused to obey.

As I was finishing up some business in preparation for leaving the count~y

in November, 1972, I learned from the former head of the Experiment

Station, who was now assigned to the BPI office in Davao City, that Datu

Mantil had been killed in Kapimpilan. Apparently there had been a dis­

pute between Datu Mantil and a younger, more militan!-Naguindanao datu

over whether or not to relinquish their firearms as demanded by the

government decree. Datu Mantil reportedly favored complying with the

demand, and in the ensuing argument the other man shot him--apparently

in the back as the old man walked away after issuing his final edict in

the matter.

262

I have included this Epilogue in part to explain the lack of

longitudinal data for several farming seasons in Bual, which I had

hoped to obtain and which I believe would have tended to confirm the

trends reported here. The lack of these data is unfortunate but was

due mainly to circumstances which could not be foreseen.

My other principal reason for writing an Epilogue is to attempt

to convey, in what is admittedly a subjective manner, a sense of the

more general realities which confront the people I studied. In the

course of my fieldwork I developed a strong feeling of empathy for the

people of Bual, Palongoguen and Pangadon, as well as for others in simi­

lar circumstances elsewhere in Midsayap or the rest of the province.

Accordingly, it distressed me to witness the government's inaction and

apparent lack of concern at the outbreak of the tungro epidemic in

Midsayap. Even though thousands of hectares were soon affected by the

disease it seemed that from the government's point of view this was a

local problem in a remote and unimportant part of the country. Little

effort was made to deal with the problem in a timely and efficient manner

which might have averted the many hardships endured by the farming popu­

lation here and in nearby towns. Even worse was the fact that this

shortsightedness apparently contributed to the spread of the disease,

because within less than a year tungro was evident in nearly all the

major rice-growing areas of the country. At this point national resources

were mobilized on a massive scale, but before it was over the tungro

epidemic caused severe crop failures throughout the nation.

263

Similarly, the slow and ineffective government action in settling

cer t a Lnjgenud.ne grievances among the different ethnic groups in Cota­

bato--whether Tiruray, Maguindanao, Iranun, Christians or others--finally

led to major and uncontrollable consequences. As of this writing, in

1977, a prolonged and bloody civil war has raged in par.ts of Mindanao and

Sulu for over five years. I sincerely believe this war could have been

averted, or at least could have been brought to an early conclusion,

if the government had not resorted so quickly to the simple expedient

of military intervention. It seemed that little effort was made to

understand the dispute, and in particular the position of the Muslim

population, before military force was used. After that use of force,

any peaceful solution became more and more difficult to achieve.

Many of the problems discussed in this study are not unique to

Midsayap, or even to the Philippines. They are being faced in large

numbers of developing countries throughout the world, especially those

in which there is extensive experimentation with the new food grains

and new agricultural technologies. There is the difficulty of providing

adequate infrastructure to support this experimentation, especially in

areas which are remote from major urban centers. There is the problem

of centralized planning, whereby government priorities dictate develcp­

ment strategies which--often in unexpected ways--may not be in the best

interests of rural populations. \vestern agricultural technology is

often attractive and seems very "modern," but there are many reasons

to question the appropriateness of its combination of genetic engineer­

ing, mechanization, and heavy use of chemicals in the context of less

developed nations. In the absence of crop insurance, farm subsidies and

264

price supports, who is really being asked to take the risks of this

farm experimentation? \{hat effect does ill~chanization have upon the

unemployed and underemployed labor force in the rural population?

What are the effects of involvement in a "cash economy" upon traditional

social and economic arrangements in rural communities? Can the govern­

ments in question offer sufficient financing on appropriate terms to

avoid the need for increased reliance upon traditional, expensive

sources of credit? Will these governments succumb too easily to

pressures for social and economic reform by instituting changes in land

tenure which they cannot adequately support, and which may not be in

the immediate best interests of tenants, landlords, or overall agri­

cultural productivity? Is it wise to adopt an agricultural technology

which increases reliance upon an international market for many of the

needed inputs? Are there otheT development strategies which may be

more socially desirable, more economically appropriate, and more eco­

logically sound?

I have attempted to offer at least some partial and tentative

answers to the questions in the foregoing report. The further

questions of how to achieve an equitable distribution of the benefits

of development, and how to achieve economic development with a mini­

mum of social disruption, have been dealt with less directly. Finally,

the question of how to reconcile differences between disparate ethnic

groups so as to promote inter-ethnic harmony and national solidarity

is too far beyond the scope of this report to be more than mentioned

here. However, it is obvious from this research that without an answer

to this question any benefits of economic development may well be dis­

sipated in senseless conflict. All of these questions are difficult

265

but it is only by finding adequate answers to them that we can guarantee

the prosperity and well-being of the millions of small-scale farmers

upon whom so much of the world's own well-being depends.

APPENDIX A

HISTORY AND CULTURE OF THE l1AGUINDANAO

The three major groups of Islamized peoples on the island of

Mindanao live in close proximity to one another in the present-day

provinces of Lanao and Cotabato. They are the Maranao, who live in

the vicinity of Lake Lanao; the Iranun, who inhabit the coastal areas

of nearby Illana Bay, and the Maguindanao, who have traditionally

lived around the southern coastline and along the myriad waterways

of interior Cotabato. These groups are similar in many respects and...

it is evident that they are closely related historically, culturally

and linguistically.

The names of all three groups, as well as that of their island

horne, are derived from variants of the same root (danao, ranao, lanao)

which refers to a "lake" or a similar body of water: Ma-ranao,

I-ranao-un, Maguin-danao, Min-danao. l It seems possible that these

peoples were once a single, more or less homogeneous group residing

somewhere in the coastal region between what is now Ma1abang and

1Cf. Saleeby (1905:13); Ileto (1971:1, 29). Many of the propernames and other terms used here are variously spelled in differentsources. I have tried to select those spellings which are most commonand/or historically justified rather than others which might be moreaccurate phonemica11y but which are less familiar. In particular, Ireject the recent suggestion that the Muslim peoples of Cotabato shouldbe called "Maguindanaon," a possessive form of Haguindanao, as thisform has no historical justification, is not commonly used by theMaguindanao themselves, and was proposed under highly unusual circum­stances. See Solidarity Vol. VII, No.4 (April, 1972).

266

267

the mouth of the Pulangi, or Rio Grande de Mindanao. Conklin (1955)

has dated the split between the Haranao and Maguindanao languages

2at around 1500 A.D. This corresponds closely with the best esti-

mates for the time Islam was introduced to Mindanao, and suggests

that the conversion of one or more of these groups to Islam may have

been instrumental in precipitating the cultural and linguistic

separation which occurred at about that time.

It is impossible to know with any certainty what the peoples of

this area may have been like in pre-Islamic times. However, if the

three groups we know today are descended from a common ethnolinguistic

stock it is tempting to speculate about the nature of their ancestral

culture. Based upon comparative evidence from Mindanao and from other

parts of the Philippines, there would seem to be several assumptions

which could be reasonably made about the culture of this early people. 3

They probably lived in small, scattered settlements, each of which had

2Conklin 1955, "Preliminary Linguistic Survey of Mindanao." (Mimeo.)

~hereconstruction presented here relies upon my own observationsof the Maguindanao and non-Muslim lowland Filipinos, upon accountsfrom the early Spanish chronicles, and upon the observations and inter­pretations of others familiar with both ethnographic and historicalmaterials. See, for example, the following statement in the HumanRelations Area Files Area Handbook of the Philippines (1956): "Certainlythere were marked similarities between the coastal peoples throughoutthe Philippines at the time of the Spanish conquest. Peoples in Manilaand Cebu apparently showed as many similarities to the Moro groups inSulu as did the latter to Moro groups in Mindanao: (p. 1733). Linguis­tic evidence supports the conclusion that there were close culturalrelationships. Conklin (op.cit.) observes that the languages of themajor Muslim groups in Mindanao and Sulu belong to the CentralPhilippine Subgroup "and are closely related to major Christianlanguages such as Tagalog and Sugbuhanon."

268

its own village headman or petty chieftain (timuway, later to be known

as datu). It seems likely that there were important status distinctions

in these communities. Spanish chronicles dating from the late 16th

century onward make frequent reference to differences of social rank

among the indigenous peoples of the islands, including those of Sulu

and Mindanao. 4 According to these accounts, three social classes com-

prisec1 of "nobles," freemen and slaves were widely recognized through-

out the archipelago. On the basis of this information, Kroeber con-

eluded that distinctions between hereditary aristocrats, freemen and

slaves were common in Philippine societies in pre-contact times. 5 A

similar conclusion is reached by Fox, who states that lowland Philippine

society of the pre-Spanish period was characterized by "wealth dis-

tinctions, leading in some cases to the formation of amorphous and

mobile social classes.,,6 . The earliest Spanish references to social

stratification among peoples of Mindanao date from after the intro-

duction of Islam, but on the basis of comparative evidence it seems

safe to assume that such distinctions were recognized even in

pre-Islamic times.

Extensive evidence from elsewhere in the Philippines as well as

from nearby Borneo suggests that the jural equivalence of men and

4See, e.g., Sande (1578-1579:282-283); Chirino (1590:256;363-364);Bobadilla (1638-1640:290).

5Kroeber 1943, quoted in Mednick (1957:46).

6Fox (1957), quoted in Mednick (1965:5).

269

women in such matters as descent and inheritance may have been funda­

mental to the social organization of this group. Such a principle

was expressed in the kinship system by bilateral or cognatic methods

of reckoning kinship in which relatives of the same degree of rela­

tionship were of equal significance whether they were traced through

the male (father's) or female (mother's) li~e. The social group or

aggregate most important to an individual aside from his/her natal or

conjugal family was the kindred, those male and female relatives in­

cluding all lineals and collaterals to the second or third-degree

cousin range who could be counted upon for various types of support and

assistance in times of need. Divorce was common, especially before the

birth of children, and polygyny was sometimes practiced. However, the

affinal bond was strong once a marriage had produced children, and

affinal kinsmen generally cooperated in ways not very different from

those found among consanguineal kinsmen.

Judging from the hill tribes of Mindanao which have been less

exposed to outside influence, the group we are describing may well

have had a marked preoccupation with law, and especially with litiga­

tion. 7 Specialists in oratory, adat (customary law) and precedent

would engage in protracted debate during formal proceedings to settle

differences between group members, or between them and members of

other local groups. Marriage created an important legal as well as

7See, e.g., Baradas (1971); Frake (1960); Schlegel (1970).

270

social bond between the kinsmen of the bride and the kinsmen of the

groom, and the same specialists were often called upon to help in

negotiating the marriage contract and settling the amount and type

of valuables which the groom's kin would present to the family of

the bride as a kind of "brideprice."S

Finally, we can assume that the religious beliefs of this people

were fundamentally animistic, although like many other Philippine

groups they may have had a slight tendency toward monotheism, re­

garding one god (known in some parts of the islands as Bathala) as

superior to all others. There was a belief in an afterlife, and the

spirit world included the spirits of dead ancestors who occasionally

revisited their living descendents. The potentially harmful and

disruptive effects of these as well as other spirits were avoided

through various magico-religious practices intended to appease them

and to prevent them from i~ter£eri~g in the affairs of the living.

In broad outline, this or something closely approximating it

was the probable form of the culture which provided the indigenous

base for the cultures later. found ~mong the M~ranao, Iranun and

Maguindanao. Exposed to direct Islamic influence from about 1500

onward, this culture underwent considerable internal readjustment.

As in all cases of culture contact and diffusion, however, it is im­

portant to recognize the ways in which prevailing beliefs and attitudes

may have affected the adoption of foreign ideas and institutions. Some

SSee, e.g., Frake (1960); Lopez (196S); Schlegel (1970).

271

aspects of the pre-existing culture may have persisted more or less

unchanged, while others were altered dramatically by the outside in­

fluences. It is worth noting in this regard that the social and

cultural reorientation which took place in this instance appears to

have been similar in many ways to that which occurred a short time

later among lowland peoples to the north under the impact of Spanish

colonization and Catholic evangelization. There were major differ­

ences in the ways Islam and Christianity were disseminated, as well

as in the syncretic cultural adaptations these alien creeds produced

among the indigenous peoples. Nonetheless, underlying the apparent

differences between Muslim and Christian Filipinos seem to be a host

of cultural similarities dating from pre-contact times.

The Introduction of Islam

The traditions of the Maguindanao relate that the teachings

of the Prophet Muhammed were brought to them by Sarip Kabungsuwan, a

prince of Johore who claimed to be a descendant of the prophet. 9 It

is likely that Arab traders or Muslim Malays had visited Mindanao

before the coming of Kabungsuwan. From such contacts the people there

may have had at least a casual understanding of Islamic beliefs and

customs. Nonetheless, the legends credit Kabungsuwan with having been

the first to win large numbers of converts to Islam and with having

laid the foundations for what was to become the Islamic sultanate of

9"Sarip" - Arabic "Sharif," or "noble." Saleeby (1905:53).

272

Maguindanao.

There are many versions of the events which surrounded Kabung-

suwans's arrival in Mindanao, and of what transpired thereafter.

Early in this century, Saleeby gathered several of the Maguindanao

tarsilas(genealogical manuscripts) available at tbat time and pub-

lished them as part of his Studies in Moro History, Law and Religion

(1905). This work has become a classic, and the tarsilas remain the

best source of Maguindanao accounts of their own early history. De-

tails of this history differ from one tarsila to another, particularly

in the genealogies of the "royal" families who kept the records, but

the accounts agree on most essentials. A portion of one is included

below as an example. The manuscript begins with a genealogical vali-

dation of Kabungsuwan's descent from the prophet. It then describes

how the young prince and a large group of his followers set out from

Johore on a sea voyage. Strong winds scattered their ships asunder

and brought them to different landfalls around Borneo, Celebes and

Mindanao. The manuscript goes on to narrate what happened at "Magin-

danao":

Sarip Kabungsuwan anchored at Natubakan, at the mouth of theRio Grande. Tabunaway and Mamalu directed some people ofMagindanao to carry their net for them and went down to themouth of the river. There they met Sarip Kabungsuwan, andTabunaway sent Mamalu up the river to bring down all the menof Magindanao. After the arrival of the men Tabunaway invitedKabungsuwan to accompany him to Magindanao. Kabungsuwan refusedto accompany them unless they became Moslems. Tabunaway andMamalu then repeated their invitation and all of them promisedto become Moslems. Kabungsuwan insisted that he would not landat all unless they came together then and there and were washedand became Mohammedans. This they did, and on account of thebathing at that place they changed its name to Paygwan, (i.e.,

273

"bathing place").

Kabungsuwan then accompanied Tabunaway and Mamalu, and themen towed them up all the way from Tinundan to Magindanao.Thus Kabungsuwan converted to Islam all the people ofMagindanao, Matampay, Slangan, Simway, and Katitwan.

Soon after his arrival in Magindanao Sarip Kabungsuwanmarried Putri Tunina, whom Hamalu found inside a stalk ofbamboo. This occurred at the time Tabunaway and Mamalu werecutting bamboo to build their fish corral. As Mamalu, who wasfelling the bamboo tree returned, Tabunaway inquired whetherall of the tree was felled or not. Mamalu answered that allthe tree was felled except one young stalk. Tabunaway thensaid, "Finish it all, because it omens ill to our fish corralto leave that one alone." Mamalu struck it and it fell down,and there came out of it a child who was called Putri Tunina.Her little finger was wounded, for the bolo had cut throughthe bamboo.

Some time later Sarip Kabungsuwan and Putri Tunina begotthree children--Putri Mamur, Putri Milangandi, and Bay Batula.Putri Mamur married Malang-sa-Ingud, the datu of Bwayan.Malang-sa-Ingud died later, and Pulwa, his brother, camedown to Magindanao and married the widow of his elder brother,Putri Namur. l O

The remainder of the manuscript is devoted mainly to a long list of

married's and begot's tracing the lines of descent from Kabungsuwan

to the ruling families of the Maguindanao of Saleeby's time.

Several features of this narrative deserve special attention.

First, it seems to confirm the idea that Islam became established in

Mindanao principally as the result of conversion of some of the in-

digenous peoples, and not due to any major migration of Muslim Malays

from elsewhere in Southeast Asia. Perhaps because of the storm described

lOSaleeby (1905:24).

in legendary accounts, Kabungsuwan appears to have arrived at Mindanao

with only a small group of followers. How he managed to convert the

local people under these circumstances is a bit of a mystery. The

men who accompanied him are said to have been Samals, who were widely

known for their fighting prowess. Saleeby has speculated that they

might have had superior arms, and one of the legends recounts how a

man of Magindanao died simply because Kabungsuwan "beckoned" to him-­

whether with a firearm or other weapon in his hand not being clear.

Many supernatural powers are attributed to Kabungsuwan, and it is

possible that through a combination of wit and witchcraft he was able

to win his early converts without any major hostilities between his

forces and the peoples of Mindanao.

The story of Kabungsuwan's marriage to Putri Tunina is interesting

for a variety of reasons. The miraculous circumstances surrounding her

birth made her more than human, yet mortal--as her bleeding finger

would indicate. Her unique status made her a fitting consort for the

prince, as a representative of the prophet's own blood line and as a

messenger of Islam. Stories of a woman and/or a man emerging from

stalks of bamboo are encountered in ancient genesis myths elsewhere

in the Philippines, and this version may have allegorical significance

in terms of the "marriage" of traditional and Islamic beliefs.

One version of these stories relates that Putri Tunina had been

adopted by Tabunaway after Mamalu found her in the stalk of bamboo.

Kabungsuwan's marriage to Tabunaway's adopted daughter would help to

explain how the prince from Johore succeeded to the leadership of the

people of Magindanao. Some accounts say Kabungsuwan took more than

274

275

one wife, and that his later wives came from other nearby groups.

This, plus the marriage of his eldest daughter to the datu of

Bwayan (Buayan), are examples of a constant theme in the tarsilas

of alliance-building and consolidation of power within the ruling

class by skillful intermarriage between groups which might otherwise

have been rivals. Buayan was to become--and may already have been--

the second major center of power in the Cotabato Valley. The alliance

between the rulers of Magindanao (Cotabato, Tamontaka) and Buayan ap-

pears to have been so important that the legends state that Pulwa

married Putri Mamur when she was widowed by his elder brother's death.

This could indicate an institutionalized practice of the levirate by

11the Maguindanao of that period, although it is not their custom today.

Maguindanao oral history states that both through his personal

actions and through the teachings of the faith he brought with him,

Kabungsuwan provided a new basis for the unification of the peoples of

the Cotabato Valley. The widespread conversion of these peoples to

Islam established a common bond of faith within the community of

believers. The adat (customary law) of the valley people was modified

to conform more closely to provisions of the Koran, and the result

was a standardized body of law which became known as the Luwaran Code.

Before we consider the far-reaching effects of Islamic influence upon

Maguindanao society and political organzation, it is worth noting

Saleeby's glowing assessment of these events:

lIThe levirate is found among some other peoples of Mindanao,but not to my knowledge among the contempary Maguindanao. TheMaguindanao do follow the sororate, however, and one instance wasrecorded in the field survey.

276

He (Kabungsuwan) married in the land of his conquest, and theties of faith were soon strengthened by the ties of bloodand kinship; and as the first generation passed and the secondgeneration followed, the conqueror and the conquered became onein blood and sympathy, one in faith, and one in purpose. A newdynasty which stood for Islam, for progress, and forcivilization arose on the ruins of barbarism and heathenism•••With Mohammedanism came art and knowledge, and communicationwith the outside world was established.12

Social and Political Organization

The social, political and legal systems which emerged under the

influence of Islam were closely interwoven. This was due in part to

the nature of Islam, which tends to pervade many spheres of activity

and to render it nearly impossible to separate the religious from

the secular, or to compartmentalize various aspects of culture. The

difficulty of unraveling these separate cultural threads is compounded

in the case of the Maguindanao by two other factors. One was the

persistence of certain features of the indigenous culture which were

modified but not eliminated in the cultural transformation which

occurred. The other was the seminal role attributed to Kabungsuwan

in instituting a new social as well as political order.

As we have seen, before the advent of Islam the leadership of

the Maguindanao was probably divided among numerous local headmen

(timuway). Kabungsuwan, or at least his successors, achieved new

levels of political unity through conversion, intermarriage and

12Saleeby (1905:51).

277

other forms of alliance-building. The power of the local leaders

was not lost in this process of unification, however. Indeed, in

most cases it is likely that these leaders--who became known as

datus--gained in power through their alliance with the rulers of Magin-

danao. This reinforcement of the datus' position was to have lasting

implications for the distribution of power and authority in the Cotabato

Valley.

When Kabungsuwan assumed the leadership of Tabunaway's people,

it is said that he took for himself the title "datu." Subsequently,

his principal heir in each generation became known as Sulutan (sultan)

of Maguindanao. Despite the centralization of authority suggested by

the sultanate, much real power still resided with the datus who main-

tained their own groups of followers in each locality. The extensive

network of intermarriages also meant that in most cases the datus were

kinsmen and near-equals of the sultan. In large measure, therefore,

the sultan was simply the chief representative of the wider datu cl~ss.

For all members of this class it was real or imputed descent from

Kabungsuwan which constituted "all their claim to nobility and their

right to the datuship.,,13

The method of selecting a successor to the sultanate sheds further

light upon the relationship between the sultan and the datus. Ideally,

l3Saleeby (1905:28). It is important to note that: t he royalfamilies of the Maranao also trace their descent from Kabungsuwan,and thereby validate their claims to high social rank and hereditaryleadership. See Mednick (1965:51).

278

the office of sultan was hereditary in a line of patrilineal descent

from Kabungsuwan, and a rule of primogenture was favored in choosing

a successor from this line. In reality, however, the sucr.essor was

often not the eldest son or even another son of the preceding sultan,

but rather a brother, cousin, nephew or some other more able claimant

from one of the branches of the "royal" line. The incumbent sultan

usually designated an heir during his lifetime. In making this choice

the sultan required the concurrence of the ruma bechara, which was a

council of datus. The datus were related in varying ways to different

candidates, and each had a personal stake in the final selection. As

a result the final choice of the raja muda (young rajah), as the heir­

design~te was cal1ed~ was usually based not only upon herediatry claims

but also upon intelligence, ability, and general acceptability to the

council.

This concession of elective powers to the~ bechara was an

acknowledgement of the power and influence retained by the datus even

after the political reorganization which led to creation of the sul­

tanate. Due to this diffusion of power, the unity of "faith and pur­

pose" described by Saleeby was sometimes more apparent than real. Dur­

ing certain periods individual datus or coalitions of datus wielded

more power than the sultan. Disputes arose at times over succession

to the sultanate, and in at least one case--recorded by Forrest--a

conflict of this type assumed the proportions of a civil war. 14 In

14Forrest (1780:257).

V9

other instances rival claimants or influential datus established their

own petty sultanates elsewhere in the Cotabato Va11ey.15 The most

enduring rivalry was that between the sultans of Maguindanao in the

river delta (sa-i1ud) and the sultans and rajas of Buayan upriver

(sa-raia) in the interior. 16 While these rivalries may have been di-

visive in a political sense, they also served to confirm the claims

of the datu class to power and privilege in a stratified society which

had assumed new and distinctive form under the influence of Islam.

The System of Rank

The Maguindanao system of social rank appears to derive from

the distinctions between nobles, freemen and slaves recognized in

many parts of the lowland Philippines in pre-Islamic, pre-Christian

times. There is little reason to believe that the differences of rank

in this instance were any more e1borate than those found elsewhere in

the islands at that tinle. If this was so, then the refinement and

formalization of the Maguindanao system of rank may have accompanied

a general increase in the complexity of social and political organi-

zation following the introduction of Islam around 1500 A.D.

As early as 1579, one of the Spanish chronicles makes reference

to a system of rank among the Maguindanao, but it does not give any

15I1eto (1971:14).

16 Reference has alreadycenter of Maguindanao power.sultanate figured prominentlycent1y been the subject of anC. I1eto (See I1eto 1971).

been made to Buayan as the second majorThe rivalry between Buayan and the coastalin Maguindanao history, and it has re­excellent piece of research by Reyna1do

280

details of this system. 17 In 1640, Fr. Bobadilla wrote that in

Mindanao rhe term dato denotes a "man of rank," tinaua signifies

"free," and oripuen means "slave. fl 18 Over a century later, Captain

Forrest makes passing reference to several ranks among the Maguindanao.

Highest in rank are the sultans and "datoos," while those below them

are described as either freemen or kanakan. Forrest states that

the kanakan are vassals who are "sometimes Mahometans, though. mostly

Haraforas(hill people). Only the latter may be sold with the lands,

but cannot be sold off the lands. ,,19 While the information contai.ned

in these and other accounts is disappointingly sparse, it does give

some indication of the historical depth and the general nature of

class distinctions recognized by the Maguindanao.

The Maguindanao term for social rank is maratabat. This term .

is derived from the Arabic word for rank. 20 The concept of maratabat

has been discussed elsewhere, although most writers have chosen to

deal mainly with its affective component--i.e., with the strong

emotional reaction caused by real or imagined affronts to an individ­

ual's social position or sense of personal esteem. 2l The major excep-

l7Sande(1578-l579:l49).

l8Bobadilla(1640:290).

19Forrest(1780:298-299).

2~ednick(1965:44-45).

21Saber et al.(1960); Afable(1960).

281

tion is Mednick, who presents a thorough sociological as well as

psychological analysis of maratabat as part of his description of

Ma . I .. 22ranao SOCla organlzatlon. The Maranao and Maguindanao are

similar to one another in many respects, but there are significant

differences in the meaning and functions of maratabat in the two

societies. Mednick was aware of some of these differences, and

he refers briefly to points of contrast between the Maranao and

Maguindanao systems of rank. The main difference, as he observes,

is that there has been a "disappearance" of the lower classes among

the Maranao, while "the distinction between those of dato status

and those of lesser status still remains among the Magindanao.,,23

Whatever the reasons for this difference, the fact that maratabat

continues to refer to real social distinctions among the Maguindanao

is of the utmost importance to understanding their social organization.

The Maguindanao themselves describe maratabat in terms of a

hierarchy of numbered ranks. The highest rank is 1,000, followed by

700, then 500, and finally 300, which refers to the lowest rank.

Exactly what these numbers were intended to denote is obscure, as is

the origin of the numbering system itself. Today the numbers are

sometimes said to stand for minimum amounts of brideprice, expressed

22Mednick(1965).

23 I b i d . :65.

282

in Philippine pesos, which should be exchanged for a woman of each

rank. Equating these figures with pesos is undoubtedly a recent

rationalization, but the numbers may have been used traditionally

as a guide in marriage negotiations as well as in other matters,

such as reckoning the amount of blood money or wergild, to be paid

for the death of a person of a particular rank. If nothing else

the numbers provide a conceptual framework of the rank hierarchy

and serve as a symbolic expression of the social distance which

is supposed to exist between members of different ranks. Viewed

in terms of these numbers, the ranks are as follows:

1,000 - Sultans and datus; members of the"royal blood."

700 Dumatu, the "lesser nobles. 1I

500 - Sakop, "freemen," or followers.

300 - Ulipun, indentured freemen.

Providing a conceptual balance at the "0" rank were those who had

no rnaratabat because they were outside the system--the banyag~, or

chattel slaves(corresponcing to the bisaya of the Maranao).

Sultans and datus. This class is apparently a development and

refinement of what Kroeber described as an hereditary aristocracy.

Ideally, all members of this class are believed to be descendents

of Sarip Kabungsuwan and, through him, of the Prophet Muhammed. The

written genealogies(tarsila) mentioned previously are kept by members

of this class to show their specific line of descent from Kabungsuwan

and to indicate their relation to other members of the class. As

Mednick has observed for the tillranao, however, it is usually only

283

those persons whose high status is already recognized who bother to

keep records documenting their ancestry. Descent from Kabungsuwan,

or more precis~ly from the Prophet, gives a certain aura of divine

authority to the claims of members of this class to high social status

and the right to political leadership. Genealogies recorded during

fieldwork as well as the tarsilas indicate that endogamy has been

common within this class to preserve and possibly to enhance the

integrity of the rank as well as the status of individual class

members.

Dumatu. The exact status of members of this class is ambigu-

ous. Saleeby states that the dumatu are "a distinct class of the

Moros of Magindanao who trace their origin back to the former chiefs

of the country who reigned before the introduction of Mohammedanism."

The apical ancestor of members of this class is Tabunaway, and they

are said to be "naturally jealous" of the descendents of Kabungsuwan:

They claim to have corne from an Arabian ancestor who isdescended from the Prophet, and take great pride in thefact. They assert that the datus omitted this part ofthe history from their books intentionally in order togive more importance to Kabungsuwan and to their owndescent.

The descendents of Tabunaway are called dumatus, whichis the future tense of the verb datu(to rule) •.. Thedumatus are a privileged class of people, and claim theycan follow any datu they choose, and that they should notpay any tribute. They assert that when Tabunaway resignedhis sovereignty in favor of his older brother, Kabungsuwan,he reserved this privilege for his children, which privi­lege Kabungsuwan promised to respect. 24

24Saleeby(1905:28-29).

284

This explanation seems clear enough, aside from the reference to

Kabungsuwan as Tabunaway's "older brol.:her." The problem is that

it fails to allow for the social mobility which seems to have been

inherent even in the traditional system of rank. This mobility,

which will be discussed in more detail below, meant that persons

who were not descendents of Tabunaway might be ascribed O~ might

achieve a status equivalent to that of the dumatu, and at least

today are described as dumatu by virtue of their rank rather than

their descent. One informant referred to members of this class

as "bala bansa," which apparently signifies "of tainted rank."

(bansa: rank, or worth; bala: taint, curse, tragedy).25 This seems

to be a reference to the lowered status of some former members of

the datu class who lost rank through intermarriage with other

classes, through commission of crimes, or otherwise. Whatever the

reasons for attributing this rank to particular individuals, it is

evident that those regarded as dumatu enjoyed many more privileges

than ordinary freemen and were treated with respect even by members

of the datu class. 26

Sakop. The general meaning of this term is "follower," although

25Cf. McKaughan and Macaraya, A f1aranao Dictionary.

26There may be some regional variation in the use of the termdumatu. It may be used more strictly to designate actual descentin the delta area, where the more prominent families claiming descentfrom Tabunaway reside, than in the area near Buayan where this infor­mation was obtained.

285

it has also been translated as freeman or commoner. In historical

accounts, members of this rank have also been called tinaua, timagua,

or kanakan. The sakop are "followers" because they generally owe

allegiance to a specific datu whom they serve in various ways.

They are at the same time "freemen" because their relationship with

this datu is maintained with their consent and involves reciprocal

obligations. And lastly, they are "commoners" because they have

no claims to titles or special privileges by virtue of descent. Today,

at least, the sakop seldom have detailed knowledge of genealogical

relationships beyond the second ascending generation. At this range,

the Maguindanao custom of taking the father's first name as the son's

or daughter's second name appears to create difficulties of recall in

tracing kin relations. If it is desired to trace the bonds of kinship

between particular individuals, reference is made not so much to descent

as to the known relationships between living kinsmen, aided in some

cases by the memories of the "old folks" about similar relationships

in preceding generations. In this respect, they resemble the Tao

Sug as described by Kiefer(l972:25):

Like most Philippine ethnolinguistic groups, Tausugkinship was bilateral, emphasizing relationshipsderived from both the mother and the father. Therewere no descent groups, and the Tausug were not con­cerned with tracing descent from a remote ancestorexcept in the case of those political officials whereancestry was one factor in the legitimation of suc­cession to a title. The average Tausug knew thenames of his grandparents and great grand-parents,

286

but seldom further back. He was more concerned withliving relatives than the dead. 27

Ulipun. The ulipun (olipon, oripuen) are indentured freemen~

or debt bondsmen. Most persons in this category are sakop who have

been sentenced to a term of work-service for a datu because of

criminal offenses or indebtedness. For an individual or his family,

therefore, this rank might be more or less temporary--although in

the case of unredeemed indebtedness the rank may have passed down

to succeeding generations. It appears that impoverished sakop

would sometimes assume this status voluntarily either for the

economic security it afforded or in exchange for the datu's future

help in the form of land to farm or assistance in securing a bride-

price. It is not clear if a member of the dumatu class could be

sentenced to this type of servitude in former times. The general

feeling today is that if a person of this rank faced such a prospect

his relatives would come to his aid to avoid lowering their own

maratabat through his disgrace.

Banyaga. These were the true slaves of the Maguindanao. They

were non-Maguindanao who were captives of war or slave-raiding

27There are no true descent groups in Maguindanao society. Thisis unlike the Maranao, who according to Mednick have formally recog­nized descent groups with important functions. The closest approxi­mation to these among the Maguindanao is the tupuan, a loosely-defined"group" whose members recognize shared ancestry but which has no formalfunctions aside from--possibly--the allocation of rights to land.

expe~itions. Usually they were either Christian Filipinos from the

islands to the north or members of hill tribes of Mindanao. Banyaga

were often an item of trade, being sold in the slave markets of

Mindanao, Sulu, Borneo and Celebes. Foreign observers frequently

pictured both the ulipun and banyaga as slaves, but the former were

Maguindanao, their status was regarded as temporary, and they were

not bought and sold. Children of banyag~ parents inherited the

status of their parents, but children of mixed slave and Maguindanao

parentage were often absorbed into Maguindanao society.

In brief outline, this is the folk-concept of maratabat which

serves to explain the structure of Maguindanao society. Members of

the society are born into one or another of the four ranks, and

except in the rarest instances retain that rank throughout their

lifetime. The ranks have the effect of stratifying the society

into three discrete classes, the lowest of these--comprised of

287

freemen--having a sub-rank of ulipun.,

True slaves, or banyaga,

formed a separate class which was not a part of the system of

maratabat. It is said that in olden times thes~ classes, including

the slave class, were strictly endogamous, and marriage between

members of different classes was formally prohibited. As we shall

see, however, this folk concept of the rank system is at once too

simple, too rigid and too static to account for social reality.

Social Mobility and the Intergrading of Ranks

Probably since the earliest development of the present system

of rank, several avenues of upward mobility have been available to

individual members of Maguindanao society. One weans of advancement

was through the demonstration of personal merit. A man who dis-

tinguished himself in combat might be summarily elevated in rank by

a datu or sultan, or a marriage might be arranged for him with a

woman of higher rank--thus raising the maratabat of his descendents.

An especially loyal follower or an adviser whose counsel was highly

valued might be similarly rewarded. 28 Also in the realm of personal

qualities, an attractive or accomplished woman might be taken as a

wife or concubine by a man of rank. On the other hand, trading and

piracy offered opportunities for the accumulation of wealth, and it

seems a sufficiently wealthy man--though low-born--could often

arrange a marriage to a woman of higher rank.

There were also instances of downward mobility, primarily

affecting individuals but reflecting upon the maratabat of their

kinsmen as well. Maratabat was lowered through criminal acts,

cowardice, or marriage (especially first marriage) to a person of

markedly lower rank. Loss of wealth or of followers effectively

28An interesting, if rather extraordinary, example of suchmobility is the case of Datu Piang, a Chinese-Maguindanao whobegan his career as an adviser to Datu Uto, later became his.ninister of lands, arranged a marriage to a woman of royal family,won over most of Datu Uto's followers to himself, and finallyproclaimed himself Sultan of Mindanao shortly before the Americanoccupation of Cotabato. For details, see Ileto pp.60-65.

288

lowered the maratabat of members of the datu class. The lessened

maratabat brought about by these circumstances might remain a

vague matter of public opinion until the next time the family

concerned attempted to contract a marriage for one of its members,

at which time the negative effects upon their social standing became

clear.

Cases of individual mobi.lity might be seen as mere exceptions

to the rule, either having little effect upon the system or perhaps

even confirming the significance of the ranks, were it not for the

fact that the almost caste-like rigidity of the rank structure as

ideally conceived was cross-cut in practice by strong bilateral

principles of inheritance and succession, including succession to

rank. 29 These principles decreed that children of a man and woman

of unequal rank assumed a status intermediate between the ranks of

their parents. This meant, of course, that they did not belong

clearly to one or the other of the two ranks but fell somewhere

in between depending upon the relative ranks of their parents. 30

In determining rank, there was a weakly-expressed patrilineal

tendency favoring the father's rank over the mother's. This was

29Interesting parallels may be found among the Kachin. SeeLeach(1964:l52).

30As Mednick points out, there is an important difference inthis respect between the Maguindanao and the Maranao. Among thelatter, the offspring of intermarriage between ranks generallyclaim the rank of the higher-ranking of the parents. (1965:66-67).

289

290

especially true in the datu class, where problems of succession to

leadership were involved. However, this tendency was not generally

sufficient to overcome the bilateral orientation of the Maguindanao

in the reckoning of kinship. The discrete stratification of the

idealized system of maratabat could have been maintained if class

endogamy had been strictly enforced, or if there had been a simple

unilineal principle of succession to rank. Neither of these condi­

tions prevailed, however, and in the course of time the custom of

assigning intermediate ranks had the effect of creating an intergraded

spectrum of rank rather than a hierarchy of discrete social classes.

Thus, during marriage negotiations and on other occasions when there

was explicit reference to the maratabat of individuals, the ranks of

the perties involved became a matter of discussion and careful calcu­

lation. The announced terms of a marriage agreement served largely

as a public statement of the ranks of the contracting parties.

A variety of other factors contributed to the blurring of class

distinctions. Among the more important of these were the practice of

polygyny and the keeping of household slaves and concubines. These

practices were naturally more common among the wealthier, higher­

ranking members of the society, but they affected every level of the

rank hierarchy.

The Maguindanao interpret the Koran as permitting or perhaps

encouraging polygynous marriage by those who can affort to support

h of 31more t an one W1 e. They feel the most important considerations

291

in this regard are that the man can give comparable support to each

wife~ that he does not show undue favoritism toward one wife or her

children~ and that he obtains the permission of his first wife (and

other wives, if there are any) before taking a new wife. This last

condition has important implications for the effect of polygynous

marriages upon the system of maratabat. The first wife wishes to

retain a pre-eminent position in the household for herself and her

children~ so she will seldom agree to accept a co-wife of a rank

32higher or even equivalent to her own. This means that polygynous

marriages usually involve women of successively lower rank whose

children are accordingly of varied rank although they have the same

father.

In the tarsilas~ a number of persons are recorded as having

been "begot by a concubine~" and some of these individuals figured

prominently in Maguindanao history. The very fact that their names

are included in the royal genealogies is testimony that they must

have been considered of relatively high rank. Presumably~ they would

also have been assigned a rank intermediate between the ranks of their

3lThe Koran limits a man to four wives at any one time~ butinstances are reported in Mindanao where this limit has been greatlyexceeded.

321 recorded one case in which this did occur in the householdof a very dominant husband.

292

parents, although their rank may have been lowered slightly by the

fact they were not the offspring of a legitimate union. In the case

of a proposed marriage between the son of a sultan and the daughter

of one of Datu Uto's concubines, for example, the propriety of the

match was challenged because "according to some indigenous laws, the

daughter of a concubine is never as noble as the son of a legitimate

mother.. ,,33

One provision of the Luwaran Code refers .specific~lly to children

begotten by female slaves: "If a person claims that a certain child

was born of a female slave who conceived the child while in his

possession, and confirms his claim by witness and by oath, his claim

shall be valid and the child shall be regarded as a free child,,~4

Even apart from cases of this type involving mixed parentage,

banyag~were sometimes given their freedom and absorbed into

Maguindanao society. In Forrest, for example, there is a notation

that a certain document "was wrote in Spanish by Abderagani, a native

of Pampanga--once a slave who, by turning Mussulman, obtained his

liberty.,,35 Or again, the Luwaran Code provides that "If a person

claims that a certain slave had been his and was liberated, and his

claim is confirmed by a witness and by oath, the slave shall be

33Ileto(1971:59).

34Saleeby(1905:85).

35Forrest(1780:281).

liberated again."

The system of maratabat was also sufficiently flexible to

permit the assimilation of whole communities of "pagan" peoples.

Ethnic as well as territorial boundaries shifted over the course

of time as a combined result of Maguindanao expansion and the

winning of new converts to Islam. It deserves note that Islamic

conversion was an ongoing process which continued until at least

the early part of this century. A 70-year-old datu in Midsayap

stated that in his youth a nearby group of hills was occupied by

"a recently-Muhammedanized pagan group." Since then, the members

of this group appear to have been fully absorbed into Maguindanao

society. The precise effects such assimilation would have had

upon the system of maratabat are not clear. Most of those assimi­

lated may simply have been considered sakop. There is evidence to

suggest, however, that rank distinctions already existed in some

of these groups. The leaders of certain non-Islamized groups

styled themselves "datus," and it is doubtful they would have

accepted the same r2nk as their followp~s upon assimilation.

The sum of this evidence indicates that the idealized system

of maratabat described by present-day informants probably never

existed, even in traditional times. The idea that this system

was comprised of discrete ranks does not agree with a variety of

293

294

social realities, the most pertinent being the assignment of

intermediate rank to children whose parents were of different

status. The precise ranks imputed to the system could not--and in

fact did not--persist under these conditions. The simplified rank

hierarchy provides a convenient conceptualization of maratabat, but

in practice it was the very fact of the blurring of rank distinctions

which had important consequences for patterns of marriage, community

organization, and the distribution of power and privilege among

those of higher rank.

Marriage and Maratabat

A formal and more or less explicit determination of an individu-

aI's maratabat is made in connection with his or her marriage. Ordi­

narily, the maratabat of specific individuals or families is a sensi­

tive matter, and a sense of delicacy requires a person to avoid any

direct reference to his/her own maratabat. When a marriage is proposed,

however, the ranks of the prospective bride and groom become a matter

of considerable discussion and concern. The }fuguindanao, like many

other ethnic groups of Mindanao, finalize a marriage agreement

through formal negotiations between representatives of the man's

family and the woman's family. Also like these other groups, the

marriage contract involves a gift of valuables presented by the

parents and kinsmen of the groom to the parents and kinsmen of the

bride. Among other groups, this gift or payment has usually been

viewed by outside observers as a sort of "brideprice.,,36

36Cf• Frake(1960); Mednick(1965); Schlegel(1970); Wood(1957).

295

This general pattern has been refined in several ways by the

Magui~danao. For one, the value of the principal wedding gift-­

known as the sunggod--is supposed to vary in direct relation to

the maratabat of the parties involved, especially in relation to

the rank of the prospective bride. If the ranksw~truly discrete,

or if the cultural ideal of class or rank endogamy were strictly

observed, there would be little if any need for meticulous calcu­

lations of maratabat. In actual cases, however, there is always a

difference in the maratabat of the contracting families, and however

slight these differences may be they must be recognized. Within

the uppermost rank, the issue might simply be the precise lines of

descent from Kabungsuwan and the relative standing of these family

lines. Among the sakop, discussion may focus upon overlapping

kinship ties between the negotiating families and the amounts of

sunggod involved in marriages in the preceding generation.

If the parties to the wedding negotiations are not kinsmen, or

if the woman's family is secretly opposed to the proposed match,

questions of the relative rank of the families concerned and the

amount of sunggod to be required may assume paramount significance.

The woman's relatives may insist that the amount they have set for

the sunggod is bandus, or non-negotiable. On the one hand, the

groom's kinsmen may not be able to afford this amount. On the other,

and more importantly, they may feel that the amount demanded and the

unwillingness of the other party to negotiate constitute an affront

to their own maratabat. This can not only t~rminate the proceedings

296

but can lead to feelings of ill will on one or both sides.

Perhaps for this reason, among others, there is a strong

tendency for the Maguindanao to marry within their kindred. The

size and composition of the effective kindred varies among the

Maguindanao according to the specific purposes for which groups are

mobilized or for which an appeal is made to the solidarity of kinsmen.

Obligations for certain types of economic assistance or attendance

at events such as life-crisis ceremonies generally extend to about

the third-cousin range. In cases of blood feud, the kindred may

narrow to first-cousin range--partly because some second cousins

may be equally or more closely related to the adversary and due to

the conflicting obligations may wish to remain neutral. For most

purposes, however, the effective kindred includes second cousins

and is only weakly extended beyond them. It is therefore interesting

that the stated preference of the Maguindanao is for marriage between

second cousins (apS na maga1i). This preference is not merely

verbalized, but is manifest in a relatively large percentage of

actual marriages between second cousins even in current generations,

when many of the circumstances which appear to have encouraged marriage

within the kindred have changed.

There are, in this cultural context, many advantages to marriage

between kinsmen. Among the advantages cited by informants are that

it facilitates marriage negotiations, it reunites relatives whose

ties of kinship have grown weak or distant, and it insures that both

the bride and groom are known to be of "good" character and background.

297

Furthermore, it means that differences of maratabat between the

principals will be minimal, and that the amount asked for the

sunggod will be bebeg, or negotiable.

This last consideration is important in a variety of ways.

In any marriage, the size of the sunggod serves as an important

public statement of the maratabat of the bride and groom, and by

extension that of their kinsmen as well. It will also guide future

judgments concerning the maratabat of any offspring of the union.

If the amount seems irregular or unusual in some way, it may provoke

gossip about the families involved. Where the contracting parties

are not close kin, and public opinion deems the settlement rather

high, this may be interpreted as an attempt by the groom's family

to "buy rank. 1I Conversely, if the amount seems unusually low it

may lead to a diminished public assessment of the maratabat of the

bride's family, and may be taken as a sign of impoverished circum­

stances or an indication of the bride's own eagerness to find a

husband.

Due to these wider social implications marriage agreements are

often subject to manipulation. To maintain or enhance the maratabat

of the families involved, the amount publicly announced as the sunggod

may be appreciably higher than the figure agreed upon in private.

Goods and properties included in the sunggod may be overvalued by

mutual consent, or the groom's family may simply pledge to transfer

certain valuables if and when they ever come into possession of them.

A variation of the latter practice ?mounts to a down payment with a

298

promise to pay the remaining balance after. the next harvest or within

a similarly specified time period. This is a common cause of disputes

when later payments are not forthcoming as promised, and it may lead

in some cases to divorce. Anticipating this possibility, the parents

of the woman may advise her not to submit to her husband's advances

until the sunggod is fully paid. The husband and his kinsmen take this

in turn as a reason not to make further payments, and this usually

leads to dissolution of the marriage.

Problems of this sort can be minimized or avoided when those

involved are kinsmen. Kinsmen are predisposed to agree to more

lenient terms for a marriage contract, including inflated assessment

of items in the sunggod. Nonetheless, the size of the settlement

has important implications for the maratabat of all concerned and

an effort must be made to maintain appearances. There are limits

to the fiction which the society at large will tolerate in observing

the custom of the sunggod, and some money and valuables have to be

physically produced for distribution at the wedding if the honor

of the principals is to be upheld. The more closely this tangible

evidence approximates the declared amount of sunggod the mor.e pres­

tige there is for those concerned.

It is in this connection that the nature of the sunggod is

revealed more clearly. Where kinsmen are involved, some of the

woman's relatives who would be among the recipients in a simple

"brideprice" transaction may actually contribute to the sunggod

for the sake of their own honor and the honor of their wider kin

299

group. In some instances an individual may choose to recognize

his obligations as a distant relative of the groom by contributing

a certain sum to the sunggod, and later may receive a comparable

or larger sum in return as a close relative of the bride. Sometimes

this contribution is not recovered so directly. The sunggod is only

the largest and most important of several gifts or payments distributed

in connection with a wedding. Others include compensation to those who

helped in negotiating the marriage; a "fine" paid to the parents of

the bride if one or more older, unmarried daughters has been bypassed

in favor of the bride; a gift to any woman who may have cared for

the bride or acted as her guardian for some period, and token payments

to the woman's peers who serve as part of her entourage. The pandit~

who performs the wedding ceremony and any other religious leaders

who attend the celebration are also given gifts of money and food.

Finally, even the distribution of the sunggod itself does not conform

fully to that which would be suggested by the term "brideprice."

Ideally, the sunggod includes at least one kalabaw (carabao, water

buffalo), a plow, and rights to a parcel of land suitable f or: farm­

ing. These are not distributed to the woman's kinsmen but are given

to the newly-married couple to help them start on their own. Thus a

substantial portion of the sunggod constitutes little more than a

highly-formalized wedding gift, and it is only the remainder which

is distributed to members of the woman's kindred in the conventional

manner of a brideprice. Kinsmen from either side who contribute to

the various gifts are often not repaid directly but are compensated

300

mainly by the help they received themselves at the time of their

own marriage and the help they can expect at the marriage of 'their

own sons and daughters. And of course~ they are compensated by the

confirmation of their maratabat represented by the size and adequacy

of the sunggod.

Community Organization

Before examining the detuils of community composition~ it is

necessary to mention three other features of Maguindanao marriage

preferences/prohibitions which have direct bearing on this subject.

First. marriage between young people who have grown up in the same

household--whatever the degree of relationship between them--is

viewed as tantamount tc incest and is generally prohibited. Similar

but milder feelings are extended to cases of a man and a woman who

have grown up in the same neighborhood or village, and young people

are encouraged to seek marriage partners from outside their own

immediate community. Second~ while marriage between second cousins

is common and is a stated preference, marriage between first cousins-­

especially parallel first cousins--is generally tabued as incestuous.

Nonetheless~ genealogical information contained in the tarsilas as

well as field data indicate this prohibition has been regularly

ignored by members of the datu class. In such instances~ the apparent

motive has been to concentrate claims to "royal descent" as well as to

301

37consolidate wealth and political influence. Finally, even today

it is rare to encounter marriages between individuals from totally

unrelated family lines. In many cases the exact relationship between

the parties ~annot be specified, but they are known to be distant

relatives and describe themselves as such •.

This consideration of maratabat and certain marriage practices

of the Maguindanao indicates the significance of two disparate and

sometimes opposing principles of social organization. On one hand

there is a principle of rank which tends to assign individuals to

specific positions in a social hierarchy. On the other there is a

strongly egalitarian principal expressed in the system of bilateral

kinship, the value placed upon close, cooperative relations between

kinsmen, and the marked tendency to reinforce existing ties of

kinship through marriage with close relatives. An appreciation of

both these principles is required for an understanding of community

organization in traditional as well as present-day Cotabato.

For analytical purposes, Maguindanao communities may be seen

as being of basically of two types. One type is that in which a

Datu resides; the other type is that where there is no Datu in

residence. In this context, the term "Datu" refers not only to an

37The parallel this suggests to brother-sister marriage in Hawaiiis interesting, particularly because there is also a distinct mana­like quality to maratabat. For a more proximate parallel, cf. Frake(1960: 55) who states that first-cousin marriage is common among theSubanon of Mindanao even though it "violates verbally ~tated ideals."

302

hereditary title but to a position of active leadership of a more

or less defined group of followers. The simple fact of birth

into the highest rank of the society may be sufficient to entitle

a man to the honorific "datu," but this fact alone cannot assure

him of the wealth and power usually associated with the title.

This is particularly true when the claim to noble descent is only

through one parent. In fact, if the claim is only by virtue of

the mother's descent a man may be slightly embarrassed--although

pleased--to be addressed as datu. To distinguish between the

position of political leadership and the simple designation of

rank in this discussion, therefore, the former will be capitalized.

It should be clear from the foregoing that at any time there are

always more "datus" than "Datus," and only the latter are central

to our definition of community types.

Traditionally, and in varying degrees until the present, a

Datu played a central role in legal, religious, administrative, and

military affairs at the local level. In his home community ~ Datu

was surrounded by relatives, followers including both sakop and ulipun,

and slaves(banyag~). Depending upon his prominence, his entourage

might also include a great variety of advisers, officials, and

functionaries in rough counterpart to the royal court of a sultan.

As a result, the c0-munity in which a Datu resided contained a

representative cross-section of the society, and rank distinctions

were important in the ordering of community affairs. Members of the

community were subject to the commands of the datu in a direct and

303

immediate sense. Distinctions of wealth were conspicuous in terms

of housing and personal adornment, although it appears that every­

day consumption patterns may not have differed markedly between

ranks.

In contrast to socially stratified communities of this type

were others which were comprised largely of either dumatu or sakop.

In these more homogeneous communities, differences of rank were

so minimal as to be insignificant in the conduct of everyday affairs.

Members of such communities were followers of one or more datus, but

the fact that no Datu was physically present in the community meant

that social relations were basically egalitarian. In the absence of

a Datu there were no ulipun and probably no banyag~. The community

had a recognized leader, often known simply as the tao na ingud (lit.,

"person of the place"), who served as the representative of the

community in dealings with the Datu or his men. However, this position

seems to have involved little more than being a designated spokesman

for the group and being responsible for mustering taxes, tribute, or

manpower from the community as required by the Datu.

Intermediate between these two types of communities were others

which were controlled by lesser datus, usually close kinsmen of the

major Datu in the district. Like the semi-independent communities

of dumatu and freemen described above, these communities were basically

satellites under the control of one or more major Datus. Rank dis­

tinctions were of some importance in such communities, but their

significance was diminished by the fact t.hat the influence of such

a lesser datu might extend only to a handful of followers in his

immediate neighborhood. Ultimately, these datus derived their

power by extension from that of their more influential relatives,

and their status might be no higher than that of other kinsmen

who actually resided with the Datu and were subservient to him.

It has been observed that in traditional times the power of

a Datu derived not so much from control of a defined territory as

from the control of a large group of followers (Mednick 1957:44).

It was the ability to attract and maintain a sizeable following

which was the real basis of power. Nonetheless, these followers

were located in generally contiguous communities over an expanse

of land, and taken together these communities defined a geo­

graphical as well as political domain. Due to th~ close kinship

which usually existed between Datus in nearby areas (often they

were brothers or first cousins) these domains were not always

discrete. Typically, however, such a domain was comprised of the

central community where the Datu resided, satellite communities

controlled by lesser datus, and satellite communities of the semi­

independent type. Boundaries might shift as the influence of a

major Datu grew or declined, but usually the central communities

and at least some of the surrounding satellite communities continued

to serve as the seats of power of specific family lines. One effect

of this, which is among the many "feudal" characteristics of this

social and political system, was that bonds between leaders and

followers were often passed down through family lines over many

304

305

generations.

During most of the known history of the Maguindanao~ the

Cotabato Valley has been dotted with the domains of different Datus

or families of Datus. At times these Datus were united under certain

sultans~ but most commonly their ranks have been split by factional

rivalries~ and different territories in the valley have been friendly

or hostile from the viewpoint of one camp or another. As noted~

political alliances were commonly created or maintained by strategic

intermarriage between members of the datu class. In many cases the

domains of the families involved were not adjacent to one another~

so one tendency was to create a patchwork of allied territories

interspersed with the territories of non-allies who might be actually

or potentially hostile. Thus, the patterns of intermarriage between

members of the datu class provided a fairly good indicator of the

political relations which existed between communities or even between

whole territories.

It is interesting that the alliance patterns of the followers

of different Datus conformed in a remarkable way to those created

by the marriages of their lords. When two Datus were allied or

related, it was common for their followers to intermarry as well.

This appears to have been due in part to the difficulty of obtaining

spouses from territory reg:J.rdod a'1 "hostile" too one's O"Tfl~ and in

part to the increased interaction and cooperation between followers

as well as leaders of allied communities. One legacy of these past

alliances is that even today~ when outward conditions have changed

306

so much, strong bonds of kinship exist between communities which

may be spatially distant from one another, while marriages between

members of nearby communities may be rare or unheard of.

Population, Subsistence, and Economic Relations

Before this century, the Cotabato Valley appears to have been

only sparsely inhabited despite its evident fertility. In l579~

Datu Bahandil of Silangan (Tamontaka) estimated the total population

of the river, coast and "lake" of Cotabato to be 7,950 "Indians,"

including "slaves and timaguas" (Sande et al. 1579:282-283). It is

difficult to accept an estimate quite this low, but even when Forrest

visited Cotabato nearly two hundred years later he reported that there

were only about 200 houses in Silangan, where the Sultan of Maguindanao

resided, and perhaps another 50 houses in nearly communities. Even if

many of these houses were multiple-family dwellings, the population..

of this area could not have exceeded a few thousand persons. However,

Forrest reported that the Rajah of Buayan, in the interior, (Forrest

1780:243), was estimc.ted to have a following which included a total

of 20,000 males. In 1900, B1umentritt estimated that there were

no more than 500,000 Muslims in the southern Philippines, which may

have included 100,000-150,000 Maguindanao (1900:24). More recently,

in 1939 H. Otley Beyer placed the }1aguindanao population at 159,678,

and the 1948 Census listed the Muslim inhabitants of Cotabato at

155,162 (Hunt 1957:13). These figures contrast sharply with current

estimates which place the total population of the Maguindanao in the

range of 600,000-800,000. 38

In the past, the Maguindanao lived mostly in small communitie~

dispersed along the many waterways which served as their chief

means of transportation and communication. The rivers and streams

were also used for bathing, performing ritual ablution, washing

clothes and utensils, and for sanitation. The best of the early

descriptions of this basically riverine settlement pattern is that

of Captain Forrest:

II ••• in a country thinly inhabited, where ground is of novalue, Mahometans especially choose not to crowd together,each desiring a house on the bank of a river. Peculiarlyis this visible here where upon the winding banks of thePelangy, the Melampy, the Tamontaka and by the sides ofthe many creeks (that intersect the ground between thosecapital rivers at the distance of almost every 300 yards),sometimes we see a single house, sometimes a group, withgardens of coconut, mango, and plantain trees, sugarcanes,and rice fields for many miles up those rivers, particular­ly the Tamontaka, which being the greatest, has banks boldand dry. They are also too fond of bathing in fresh~ater

to wish the neighborhood of the sea; though thera are somevillages of salt-makers who always live close to it. 1l

(Forrest 1780:238).

As this account indicates, the people of the valley had an

abundance of fruit trees of various types. Some rice was grown,

although contradictory statements in early Spanish accounts con-

38The latter figure was given by CNI Commissioner Mama Sinsuat,himself a Maguindanao, at a talk in Davao City August 18, 1971.Reliable figures on Muslim populations are extremely difficult toobtain for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the factthat many census enumerators are afraid to enter predominantly Muslimareas.

308

cerning the local availability of rice seem to indicate seasonal short-

39ages. Sago was grown extensively and was used at least as a "famine"

food. Some cloves, cinnamon, cocoa, coffee and tobacco were cultivated

but their economic significance seems to have been minimal. Fish were

abundant in the rivers and marshes, and even today mudfish (dalag) pro-

vide the staple protein of the Maguindanao. Waterfc,TI and other birds

were plentiful. Spanish chronicles mention that many swine were kept

by the people of Cotabato, and it is possible that at least early in the

period after Spanish contact the Islamic prohibition against the eating

of pork had not yet become widely observed.

The obvious question arises as to why population density in the

valley was so low in face of this seeming abundance. One answer seems

to have been the prevalence of various diseases. Malaria was endemic

to this area until very recent years. Repeated epidemics of cholera,

typhoid and smallpox are also recorded as having spread through large

areas of the valley. Travelers and missionaries observed a high in-

cidence of skin ulcers and symptoms of venereal diseases. Warfare,

snakes and crocodiles also took their toll, and at least once a violent

eruption of Mount Apo in nearby Davao caused a major relocation of

population away from Cotabato to the Zamboanga Peninsula. Finally, it

should be noted that even in the present day, mortality in the infant

39Ronquillo (1597:291); Sande et al. (1579:284-285).

309

and childhood years among the rural Maguindanao reaches staggering

proportions, often with less than two-thirds of the children surviv-

ing to adulthood.

Despite the many rigors of life in the valley, the Maguindanao

were regarded as rich and powerful compared to their immediate neighbors.

Their relations with the hill peoples who inhabited the coastal moun-

tains and the interior were generally extractive and exploitative. The

strategic location of Maguindanao communities along the rivers and the

seacoast allowed them to control trade and to exact tribute from neigh-

boring hill tribes. The principal items involved in trade between the

coast and the interior were salt, metal goods, Chinese potte~,cloth,

beads, and other manufactured items, which were exchanged for rice,

gold, and a variety of forest products. Forrest's extensive observa-

tions contain repeated references to the inequities in the trade re-

lationships between the Maguindanao and the "Haraforas" (hill peoples),

who were mostly Tiruray and Manobos:

They all seem to be slaves to the Magindanao people,for these take what they please, fowls or anything inthe house they like best; and if the owners seem angry,they threaten to tie them up and flog them. (p. 290).

About 20 miles S.S.W. of Tubuan Bar, just out Bamban Point.Between this and Tubuan lie several bays and small villages--if five or six houses together on the seaside deservethat name. They are all inhabited by Magindanao peoplewho sell to the Haraforas iron chopping knives (calledprongs), cloth, salt, etc., for their rice and otherfruits. The Haraforas dread going to sea, else theycould carry the produce of their lands to a better market.They are much imposed on and kept under by their Mahometanlords; they are all tributary to the Sultan or to someRajah Rajah* under him. Their system proves thus to befeudal. (p . 291).

(*Rajah Rajah signifies a person of rank.)

310

The vassals of the Sultan and of others who possessgreat estates are called kanakan. Those vassals aresometimes Mahometans, though mostly Haraforas. Onlythe latter may be sold with the lands, but cannot besold off the lands. The Haraforas are more oppressedthan the former. The Mahometan vassals are bound toaccompany their lords on any su~den expedition; butthe Haraforas, being in a great measure excused fromsuch attendance, pay yearly certain taxes which arenot expected from the Mahometan vassals. They pay abois/buez/or land tax. A Haraforas family pays tenbattels of palay (unhusked rice) 40 lb. each; threeof rice, about 60 lb.; one fowl, one bunch of plantains,30 roots (called clody or St. Helena yam) and 50 headsof Indian corn. I give this as one instance of the ut­most ever paid. Then they must sell 50 battels ofpalay, equal to 2,000 pound weight, for one kangan(" a piece of coarse cloth, thinly woven, 19 inchesbroad and six yards long"). (pp. 298-299).

The bois is not always collected in fruits of the earthonly. A tax-gatherer, who arrived at Coto Intang whenI was there, gave me the following list of what he hadbrought from Rajah Muda's crown lands, being levied onperhaps 500 families: 2,870 battels of palay of forty lb.each; 490 Spanish dollars; 160 kangans; six taels of goldequal to 30 pounds; 160 malons, a cloth made of the plantaintree, three yards long and one broad. This last mentionedcloth is the usual wear of the country women ••• being a widesack without a bottom, and is often used as a currency inthe market. (p. 299).

Monopolistic trade and tribute-taking of this sort, combined with

the slave trade, the use of slave labor, and some piracy, constituted

the backbone of the traditional Maguindanao economy. It was inevit-

able, therefore, that when first the Spanish and later the Americans be-

gan to interfere with these practices, major social and economic dis-

locations occurred. As noted earlier, Blumentritt observed in 1900

that "Since the introduction of gunboats (1860-63) piracy has been ex-

tirpated and the dattos have lost their chief source of income. The

result is a notable economic and political decline in all Moro regions"

(1900:24). In the latter part of the 19th Century, Spanish control

311

seems to have been more firmly established at Cotabato and around the

southern tip of the Zamboanga Peninsula than in either Sulu or the

mountain fastness of Maranao country. At Cotabato, control could be

imposed rather easily by regulating shipping at the mouth of the Rio

Grande, at the port of Parang, and around Sarangani Bay to the south.

Similarly, the narrow Basilan Straight between Zamboanga and Basilan

Island was relatively easy to patrol compared to the countless bays

and inlets of the Sulu Archipelago, or the rugged upland terrain

around Lake Lanao.

As a result, the Maguindanao of Cotabato and Zamboanga seem to

have been the most adversely affected by Spanish dominance in the re­

gion. They were contained if not subdued, and this containment soon

had major political repercussions. By the end of the century, the once

pre-eminent Sultanate of Maguindanao was in a shambles. The power of

Datu Uto at the inland stronghold of Buayan had been broken, and dis­

sension was rife between rival Datus and self-proclaimed sultans. 40

Politically, the Maguindanao were entering what was probably the period

of greatest weakness in their known history, but the structure of

their society was still more or less intact.

Then came American intervention in the Philippines. One of the

first objectives of the American colonial government was to subdue the

Muslim south and to extend effective control to all parts of the region-­

including interior portions of Mindanao which had remained beyond the

reach of Spanish authorities. The military campaign against the Muslims

40Saleeby (1905:61); Ileto (1971:49).

312

managed to accomplish this objective in Cotabato within the first decade

of this century. The death of Datu Ali and the defe~t of his forces

in interior Cotabato in 1905 marked the end of organized, large-scale

resistance to American rule in that province"

One of the early edicts of the American colonial government--one

which had flamed the rebellion led by Datu Ali--was a law prohibiting

slavery. The abolition of slavery struck at the very foundations of

Maguindanao society, economy, and political organization. Up to this

time, the extent of a Datu's power and influence could be judged by

how many followers and slaves he had. Slave labor was used to support

the great households of persons of noble rank, and it has been observed

that it was the use of slave labor at home which enabled the Muslims

to mount their large military expeditions against the northern is­

41lands. This new prohibition, while it was resisted and was not fully

implemented for many decades, had far-reaching effects upon Maguinda~ao

economic and political organization.

Along with this measure, tne American regime attempted to police

relations between the various Muslim groups and other "non-Christian

tribes." Many of the abuses which had characterized relations between

the Maguindanao and their neighbors were curbed and the collection of

tax or tribute (buwis) was eliminated in most of Cotabato, although in

certain areas the practice has continued to the present day.

Taken together, these two moves by the colonial authorities has-

tened the economic decline which had begun with Spanish containment.

As shown in Chapter III, however, this decline was arrested if not

4lMednick (1957:48).

313

reversed in later years with the great influx of Christian homesteaders

from the north. In terms of political fortunes, the sultanates had

been reduced to mere ti.tles but the American policy of attraction and

non-interference in internal Muslim affairs promoted a type of indirect

rule in the south which permitted the Datus to retain much of their

power at the local level. As in the case of the economy, after a

period of marked decline the Maguindanao were able to recover a mea-

sure of their former control within a few years as Datus captured

many of the elective offices in the province. These events showed that

Saleeby may have been a bit premature when he stated, in assessing the

effects of American intervention in Cotabato in the early years of the

century:

But since 1899 all Moro authority has been crushed. Everystrong datu who was living then has either been killed orhas passed away, and the country is completely disruptedand disorganized (1913:32).

APPENDIX B

FARM SURVEY QUESTIONNAIRE*

Language of Interview:

Date:

Index: House No.: Locality: Respondent:

1. FAMILY AND HOUSEHOLD COMPOSITION

A. Name

I.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

ll.

12.

PloofSex Age Birth

Re1a- Sta­tion tus

Educa­tion

Occupa- Residence/tion Hs1d. Mbr.

*Spaces for answers have been limited for brevity.

314

315

B. OTHER CHILDREN

1. In addition to the children on this list, did you have any c~her

children who were born alive but who later died?(If yes) How many?

2. How many children would you like to have?

3. Why (that number)?

4. (If number mentioned) Do you think you will try to stop havingchildren after you have (that number)?

C. MARRIAGE RECORD

Partner Date Place Terminated?!Yr.Number ofChildren

Residenceof Children

l. Household Head:

a.

b.

c.

2. Spouse:

a.

b.

c.

II. FAMILY HISTORY - HOUSEHOLD HEAD

A, Father:

Mother:

NamePlace

of BirthAge

(or Age at Death)(Year

of Death)

316

B. HH Father

Occupation Residence Tenure Hectares Crop (s)

C. HR Mother (Land Ownership)

Hectares

D. HH Siblings

Location How Acquired Pisposition

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11

12.

NameLiving!

Sex Age DeadEduca­tion

Occupa­tion Residence

(Tenure­Hectares)

a. Arc all of these siblings (above) the children of both your fatherand your mother, or are some of them siblings only through yourfather, or only through your mother? Did you have any siblingsonly through your father or only through your mother who are notincluded on this list? (Explain)

317

b. In addition to your siblings, were there any relatives or otherpersons who were adopted by your parents, or who grew up in yourhousehold? (Explain)

III. ECONOMIC CONDITION OF FAMILY

A. House and Furnishings

l. Size - Sq. M. : 5. Radio

2. Stories: 6. Light source

3. Materials: 7. Stovea. Roofb. Walls 8. Water sourcec. Foundation a. Drinking

b. Washing4. Houselot:a. Sq.M. : 9. Toilet?b. Owned? a. Typec. Other:

B. Other Buildings C. Home Garden (Describe)

1. 1.

2. 2.

3. 3.

D. Farm, Farm Equipment and Livestock

l. Land OwnershipHow

a. HlI Head • ha. Location e ~. Acquired •• ha. • • •• ha. • • •

b. Spouse • ha. • • •2. Total land farmed

Hectares: Tenure:Details (including landlord and residence):

3. Farm. equipment

a. Plow: Wood Steelb. Suyod (Harrow)c. Sprayer: Typed. Tractore. Mech. thresherf. Other

4. Livestock

a. Carabaob. Cowc. Goatsd. Chickense. Ducksc Fishpond.1..

g. Pigs (Christians only)h. Other

(Rented or Borrowed) (From Whom)

318

(Fee)

IV. CROP INFORMATION (Last Harvested Crop)

1.

a.b.

Variety AreaDate

HarvestedTotal Yield Date Amour.t

(Incl. Hr.Shr.) Marketed Marketed Price

2. Seed:

Grade How Acquired Expense Tested'?

3. Seedbed: \-Jetbed Dapog Ever tried dapog'?

4. Land preparation: Method: Expense:

5. Fertilizer (Soil test'? w"hen'? )

~ Amount Cost When Applied

a.b.

6. Transplanting (Straight row?

Labor Force:

)

Wages: Food:Other arrangement:

319

7. Spraying (Insecticides, etc.)

Chemicala.b.c.

Amount Cost

8. Rat poison

Type:

9. Weeding

Cost:Singleapplication:

Continuedbaiting:

Labor:

10. Harvesting

Labor:

No. times weeded:

Wages/Share: Food:Other arrangement:

Expense:

Expense:

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

Threshing: Mechanical

Sacks: Number:

Hauling: How:

Storage: Where:

Marketing: How:

Manual (Type)

Who provided:

Who:

Expense:

Expense:

Expense:

Expense:

Expense:

16. Other expenses/

a.b.c.d.

Irrigation fee Amount:Interest on loans Amount:Spare parts, repairs (Type):Other

Paid by:Paid to:Expense:Expense:

17. Gross farm income

18. Net farm income

320

V. OTHER SOURCES OF INCOME

Source

1.

2.

3.

VI. MONTHLY HOUSEHOLD BUDGET

Amount

I

I

I

1. How much do you usually spend each month on the following items?

Rice

Fish

Meat

Vegetables

Eggs

Canned milk

Other canned food

Cooking oil

Kerosene

Clothing

School expenses

Medicine

Transportation

VII. HOUSEHOLD HEAD - BACKGROUND DATA

1. How many years have you had your own farm?

2a. How many years have you been growing rice?

b. (If 1 and 2a differ) What did you grow before you grew rice?

3. Has the size of your farm ever changed? For example, did you everlease or buy any more land, or did you sell any land?(If yes, explain)

4. Have there been any changes in your land title or in your farmcontract during your lifetime?(For owners: Did you always own your own land?For tenants: Did you have any other lease or share agreementwith your landlord before?)

5. Do you keep any written farm records or accounts? (Describe)

321

6. Organizations and Offices

FaCoMa: F .A. : PTA: Other:Elective offices and years:

7. Registered voter?

8. Literacy

a. Languages read (1) (2) (3)b. L~nguages spokenc. Can write

9. How often do you go to: Midsayap (Poblacion)Cotabato CityPikit or Pagalungan

lOa. What is the longest trip you have ever made?b. In what year did you make that trip?c. Was there any special reason for that trip?

VIII. FARM DECISIONS

1. Which of the new "miracle rice" varieties have you tried?

2a. What year did you first plant one of the "miracle rice" varieties?b. Was that in the regular season or in the dry season? (Month)

3a. Why did you plant (variety named) last season? What were yourreasons for choosing that one (those)?

b. Did you ask the opinion of other people when you were making yourdecision? Who?

c. Did you ask the opinion of your wife?

4a. Did you have enough money to buy all of the farm supplies youneeded for your crop last season?

b. (If no) What were those things you felt you needed which youcould not afford to buy?

c. How did you decide on which things you would" spend more andon which things you would spend little?

Sa. Did you have to borrow money to buy farm supplies or equipment?b. (If yes) How much did you borrow?c. From whom did you borrow?d. How much interest did you pay?

322

6a. Did you have any problem(s) with your crop last season?b. Who did you discuss this problem with?c. Who gave you the best advice on how to solve the problem?d. What was the solution to your problem?

7. When you are making important farm decisions, is there any groupof people whom you normally consult?Who are the members of this group?

8a. There are many kinds of fertilizer. What were your reasons forchoosing (type named)?

b. Did you ask the advice of anyone before you bought? Who?

9. How do you decide in which month you will plant your rice?

10. Who decides when your fields should be flooded or drained?Do you make that decision by yourself or do you talk to others?

11. If you have a problem with one of your neighbors over the use ofirrigation water, who do you talk to about this problem?

12. How do you decide to which rice dealer you will sell your palay?Do you talk to other people before you make a choice? Who?

13. In your opinion, who is the best farmer in (name of community)?

GLOSSARY

adat - (Malay) Customary law.

apS na magal:l' - (Mag.) Second cousin.

apo na pa1ay - (Mag.) "Grandfather" of the rice; a ritual specialist.

banyaga - (Mag.) Chattel slave.

Boho1ano - Native of the island of Boho1. Language of Boho1.

babu - (Mag.) Aunt.

bapa - (Mag.) Uncle.

buwis - (Mag.) Tax or tribute.

carabao - (or Mag.: ka1abaw) Water buffalo.

cavan - Unit of dry measure. One cavan equals 44 kilograms(97 1bs.)of rough rice, or palay.

Cebuano - Native of the island of Cebu. Language of Cebu.

cota, cotta or kota - (Malay) Fort, fortress. Cotabato means, literally,"stone fort."

d~tu. ~ato, datoo - (Mag.) Petty chieftain. A man of noble rank.

dumatu - (Mag.) Lesser noble. Second highest in rank to the datu class.

dapog - Method of seeding rice without transplanting.

gim - (Mag.) Environmental spirit. Guardian of ~nimals or plants.

ganta - Unit of dry measure equal to 1.72 kilograms of palay.

hectare - Metric unit of land measure equivalent to 2.47 acres.

Ilokano - Native of one of the Ilocos provinces of Luzon. Language ofthose provinces.

I1ongo - Native of eastern Panay. Language of this area.

323

jeepney

kanakan

Popular "mass transit" vehicle built upon a jeep frame.

(Mag.) One of several terms for a social class defined asfreemen, or commoners.

324

kaingin - Swidden, or slash and burn, system of farming whereby land iscleared by cutting and burning.

kilo - Kilogram. Metric unit of weight equivalent to 2.2 lbs.

Leyteno - Native of the island of Leyte.

Luwaran Code - Formal l~gal code of the Maguindanao.

maratabat - (Mag.) Social rank.

Moro - Spanish term designating Muslim Filipinos, today regarded asderogatory.

municipio - Municipal building or town hall.

pandita - (Mag.) Muslim priest or religious official.

palay - Unhusked or rough rice; may be used for seed.

pilit - Glutinous rice used mainly for festive occasions.

poblacion - Town proper; urbanized area of municipality.

pedicab - Three-wheeled lassenger vehicle built on motorcycle frame.

pedtabang~ - (Mag.) Labor exchange.

raja muda - (Mag.) Young rajah. Heir designate to the sultanate.

ruma bechara - (Mag.) Council of datus; advisers to the sultan.

sarf~sari - Variety store.

sakop - (Mag.) One of several terms used to refer to freemen, orfollowers.

sunggod - (Hag.) "Brideprice" or "dowry.': Principal wedding gift ofthe groom's kin to the family of the bride.

swidden - Field cultivated by slash and burn method of farming.

sitio - Neighborhood. Smallest unit of officially recognized communityorganization.

325

timuway - (Mag.) Village headman in pre-contact period.

tarsila - (Mag.) Genealogical record.

tupuan - (Mag.) Kindred.

tungro - Virus disease ~hich afflicts rice.

Tagalog - Native of provinces near Manila on island of Luzon. Languageof this area and basis for national language, Pilipino.

ulipun - (Mag.) Indentured freeman or debt bondsman; lowest rank inMaguindanao system of rank. Also spelled olipun or oripuenin historical sources.

Waray - Principal language of the island of Leyte.

wata magali - (Mag.) First cousin.

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