I’ve been reading about Pinoy culture and history while here and have come to a better understanding of the word “Barangay,” through my research. I was first introduced to the word in 2003, when I studied here. At that time, I understood it to mean community or neighborhood. Lots of small neighborhoods are named Barangay this or that, have a barangay captain and even a barangay council who represent the interests of the community.
This year, I came up against a more formal definition of a Barangay and its etymology. A barangay is the smallest political or social unit here in the PI. It comes from the word “Balangay” which was a boat used to travel with a whole clan and/or kin. People used the word “kabangka,” meaning ‘from the same boat’ to describe relationships with family or clan members. In Luis H. Francia’s book A History of the Philippines: From Indios to Bravos to Filipinos, he describes how the history of the balangay impacted the way Filipinos operated. He says, “Blood ties were thus of the utmost importance for they guaranteed fealty to the barangay…the barangay was essentially an extended family, a gathering of a particular clan” (33). Family came before any other ties because of the shared experiences and loyalty promised to the leader and to one another –not so different from the modern day Philippines and some Filipino American communities in the States.
The concepts of ownership and public space were also impacted by Barangay culture. Francia argues that land ownership was irrelevant saying, “Every member of the barangay was a shareholder theoretically and could derive profit from land use” (32). This is very different from the life we are used to in the States and the modern Philippines where ownership means so much to us whether or not we have strong family ties. This idea of shared space extended into what Westerners call the public and private spheres –the government vs. home, the work place vs. home, etc. In barangays, the distinction between these spaces did not exist in the same way that we think of it in the States:
“Made up of kinship ties, the barangay did not constitute a system independent from its inhabitants...a barangay had no public buildings for government or community affairs, no castles or town halls. The datu’s (chief’s) residence would have been the largest building and the center of the barangay. The idea of what passed for ‘public’ was really the private world write larger” (34-35).
Similar to the Filipinos of long ago, you might say that my family was part of a barangay in Queens when they arrived here. Queens was and still is a center of Filipino immigrants. Drive down Queens Blvd. and you will see restaurants advertising longsilog, tapsilog, menudo and other Pinoy foods. My parents landed there with other folks they knew, my father following a job and his older brother from Manila to New York City. While there were many groups of Filipinos there, my family stuck with a few of the same people –almost as if they were “kabangka.” When some of these families, including my uncle’s, started to move up North to a suburb of New York City, my family followed moving to a house about five minutes away from my cousins’ house. I even lived with my cousins for a bit while my parents settled the move from Queens to the burbs.
Our families created another small barangay in our tiny town. We celebrated together, prayed together, mourned together. Sundays, we would see one another at Church, the majority of us children singing in the folk choir while our parents directed or played instruments for the group. Afterwards, we would all play tennis and eat at the local park. Parents and older kids would rotate on the tennis courts while other kids were listening to music, playing at the park, biking, rollerblading, or entertaining ourselves in some other way. About once a month, we had Block Rosary where a statue of Mary jumped from house to house in the county. Our families would pray the rosary together, end the prayer with a unified, “Good evening,” and then of course, grub.
Family Parties at Our House
Even if we weren’t related by blood, everybody was Tito or Tita. At get togethers we had to greet each elder. Even if there were as many as 30 lolos, lolas, aunts and uncles, we had to make sure every adult was greeted properly. You can imagine how crazy weddings and funerals are with all the greeting! Holidays were always together. It was pretty weird to even consider going to a non-family member’s house for Christmas, Easter, or New Year’s. Even in college up to now, I never even pretend like I’m going to party outside the family for New Year’s and it was rarely something I even wanted to do since being with the family was so much fun!
Tina's Bridal Shower -Jam Packed with Fam
~
My cousins were my best friends. While so many kids at school were playing over their friends’ houses, we were playing at our cousins’ houses. We went on trips together to Florida, Rhode Island, and Wildwood together. A large group of us went to Catholic school for seven or more years together. Some of us even shared the same classrooms and homeroom teachers. We followed one another’s footsteps and once the first generation had gone through St. Paul’s and Albertus Magnus High School, the teachers knew who was coming up and what to expect. In those moments of otherness, when a kid would make fun of our food, say that we were dirty, or not invite us to their parties even though the whole class would be invited I always had my cousins. After a while, my otherness didn’t matter as much and while we eventually made friends with many of the white kids in our classes, the drama that often occurred in social circles passed over our heads because we just didn’t care. Granted, we had our own drama in our own circle, but it rarely got aired out in public the way some of the other kids’ crap did.
My family was my safe, home space. I grew up in a diverse New York firmly believing that everybody should assimilate and not segregate themselves into cultural/racial groups, little acknowledging the safety and confidence that I ended up having because of my barangay. After I read Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria by Beverly Tatum in college, I finally realized the value of having a place where my culture was understood, accepted and practiced. It didn’t/doesn’t have to be my whole life, but it was and still is a legitimate space and foundation for who I was, am, and will be.
~
Now that I'm here, I see exactly where our Filipino American barangays came from. Here, everybody takes care of one another. While I don't have many friends, I have my family on both sides. We go on trips together. Eat meals together. Celebrate holidays together. Pray together.
Fullons at Coco's Wedding
I listen to stories about the Castros and how the cousins spent summers together in the province with their Lolo, my great grandfather. They can name small intricacies about one another from childhood that nobody else will ever know -Lolo's strict schedule, Mom's clumsiness
Dad's family is similar, recounting the days when they spent summers at their Lola's in Iloilo all together. Even today, they value the little time they are able to spend together. When my aunt said she was thinking about not coming to the wedding in Manila, my uncle who rarely talks said, "Huh? Why?" So, up to Manila she came!
Fullon Cousins in Iloilo
I watch all of my aunts and uncles and realize how much the family meant to them, how good it was for them to be around cousins their age and to know that there were aunts and uncles in addition to their parents who were supporting them. That's why we are the way we are -like brothers and sisters with our cousins. Tons of unconditional love, different as we may be.
My parents brought that with them to the States and I'm thankful.
~
Barangays have their weaknesses, though –infighting, grudges that last for years, heavy chismis, and other downfalls of the human condition. Sometimes, if not handled thoughtfully, community becomes so important that individuality is bruised and stunted. For me, the concept of the barangay is not necessarily the culprit, but our weaknesses as humans are at fault for breakdowns in both the barangay and the individual –pretty common for most social structures out there, I suppose. Acknowledging that though I still have to say that the barangay played and still plays a powerful role in my life. I always know I have a home to go back to. I always know that I have people supporting me and praying for me.
I hope this little girl can make her barangay proud, help it grow, and serve its people the way it serve(d) me.
