A psychological approach to exploring the effects of colonialism among Filipinos
I was just in the Philippines recently, where I saw skin-whitening products and clinics everywhere! It is also where I saw the pervasive vestiges of western colonial influences, from the widespread use of English and the regard of it as the language of the educated or upper class, to the abundance of western restaurants and shops that make Manila seem more Americanized than many places in America itself. All of these, of course, are remnants of the Philippines’ long history of colonization under Spain and the United States. So colonialism, and its most insidious legacy, colonial mentality, has been on my mind.
And it seems like it has been on other Filipinos’ minds lately too. For instance, the viral AJ+ video featuring Kristian Kabuay shows that his quest to revive Baybayin is his attempt to restore and repair the immense cultural damages that colonialism brought onto Filipinos. Also, Asia Jackson’s viral AJ+ video on colorism and anti-dark skin attitudes among Filipinos touch on colonial mentality as well. And even further, I definitely made sure I brought up colonial mentality with major media executives and politicians while I was in the Philippines, so it was at least temporarily in their minds.
So yes, colonial mentality—particularly skin-whitening—has been on many Filipinos’ minds lately. But as Philippines Vice President Leny Robredo acknowledged when I asked her about it, it’s a centuries-old issue, and there’s been plenty of work on it, going as far back as Jose Rizal! Indeed, many folks have documented and shared their painful stories, struggles, confusions, and heartaches about colonial mentality throughout the years.
And over the past 15 years, there has been some efforts to quantify and “scientifically” capture colonial mentality among Filipinos. First, there’s the Colonial Mentality Scale (CMS), which is a typical questionnaire that directly asks people if they hold some signs of colonial mentality. The CMS asks people to indicate their level of agreement or disagreement with statements such as, “There are situations where I feel inferior because of my ethnic background,” “There are situations where I feel ashamed of my ethnic background,” “I would like to have a skin tone that is lighter than the skin tone I have,” “I make fun of, tease, or bad mouth Filipinos who speak English with strong accents,” and “Filipinos should be thankful to Spain and the United States for transforming the Filipino ways of life into a White/European American way of life.” However, because people may easily lie, deny, or not know too much about their own attitudes and behaviors to accurately report it, I also developed the Colonial Mentality Implicit Association Test (CMIAT), which attempts to capture whether Filipinos have strongly and automatically associated Filipino culture with inferiority.
Although far from being complete and perfect, tools such as the CMS and CMIAT have allowed us to attach some “numbers” to the very real stories that people have been sharing for generations.
And so, what does the data tell us about colonial mentality among Filipinos?
Here’s an easily-accessible infographic summarizing some findings, and below it are a few more details:
Andy Ayamiseba, Senior OPM, Manager of Black Brothers
When the Israelites left Egypt for Canaan, they were facing with lot of challenges, including starvation, deseases, and so on. Moses as the chosen leader meditated on the mountain and came down with the 10 commandments and taught his people to have faith in God. His people finally entered Canaan based on that faith.
So, it is also very important for us to learn from the Israelites that as Leaders of our nation, we have to guide them through hardship and have faith in what God wanted us to believe in fighting for our VERY RIGHT, that one day we will enter our Canaan.
IN the suburbs of Vanuatu’s capital Port Vila, Chief Edward Cavanough is an Australian researcher and writer focusing on public policy and international affairs. Boborenvanua awaits trial on bail.
The middle-aged chief spends his days processing kava root, an intoxicant experiencing an international boom, tending to a small taro plantation and dreaming of a triumphant return to his village of Lavatmengamu – the de-facto capital of the Turaga Nation of which he is the leader.
“All of Vanuatu will turn out to greet me,” he laughs, prompting smiles from his supporters who have gathered in front of his temporary residence in Port Vila.
In December 2015, police arrested Chief Viraleo and nine other men in Lavatmengamu– a small and isolated settlement located on Pentecost Island – and brought them to the capital to stand trial on charges including burning property in a neighbouring village.
A few days before their arrest, fishermen from that village entered Lavatmangamu’s coastal territory to harvest sea cucumber from the reef, invoking the chief’s ire.
“I summoned them to a meeting and gave them three options: they could either pay a fine to make amends … or they could leave, and be banished from the community. If not, I’d be forced to take actions,” Viraleo says.
Eyewitnesses told Al Jazeera how villagers, including children and pregnant women, ran into the jungle while their homes burned. Violence of this kind is unusual on the island.
Turaga Nation’s coat of arms on display inLavatmengamu – the pig’s tusk featuresprominently.
Viraleo doesn’t deny the allegations. He simply says his response to the territorial encroachment was legal under ‘kastom’ law – a traditional form of governance dictated by chiefs, and recognised in Vanuatu’s constitution.
He believes the charges are politically motivated and designed to halt his controversial movement – a multifaceted lifelong project that has seen him devise an alternative currency – the Tuvatu – which is pegged to traditionally valued pigs tusks, invent a script for his native Raga language, and declare his corner of Pentecost the ‘Turaga Nation’. But with the removal of Viraleo from its base in Pentecost, his movement, which emerged in 1983 as a response to generations of French and British colonial influence, is now floundering.
The kustom economy: a distant revolution
Northern Pentecost is rarely visited by outsiders. Its one outlet to the world is a grass landing strip visited by two light aircraft each week – if the weather holds.
The south receives more visitors, particularly seasonal day-trippers who come to see its famous land-diving ceremony – a traditional form of bungee jumping.
Lavatmengamu, in the northeast, is particularly remote. Hours from the airstrip, only the sturdiest of vehicles can descend the mud track to the village. Despite being a coastal settlement, accessing Lavatmengamu by boat is challenging, with the shore blocked by reefs and only a handful of entry points.
It is here that Chief Viraleo has pursued a project that aims to harness Pentecost’s traditional economy with the objective of ultimately enabling his people to prosper.
Tuvatu currency.
Viraleo’s Tuvatu currency – which has not yet been printed – is pegged to the value of pigs’ tusks and intends to be a paper representation of Pentecost’s traditional economy. It is designed to be exchanged with recognised currencies in Vanuatu and elsewhere in the world.
In Pentecost, and across Vanuatu, the pig’s tusk is a traditional symbol of wealth, still widely used as a means of kustom exchange throughout rural communities. Tusks can take 10 years to grow and are recognised to be worth at least VT 18,000 (about $150). While many commodities, such as food and clothing, are grown and produced within local communities, tusks are still regularly used to pay for property, school fees, debts, and celebrations, such as weddings. Viraleo’s hope is that Pentecost Islanders will one day use Tuvatu to buy necessities, such as medicine and basic building materials, from formal economies.
Much of Vanuatu retains a subsistence agricultural lifestyle that generates little recognised wealth. For the hard-working but income-poor citizens of Vanuatu, the Western economic system brought by foreign powers simply doesn’t deliver. For many, Viraleo’s idea of a currency that values a traditional means of exchange in a way that Vanuatu’s official currency, the Vatu, cannot, has found fertile ground.
A chief in northern Pentecost proudly displays his collection of pigs’ tusks which are used as a means of commerce across the island.
Birth of a dissident
In 2001, in a United Nations indigenous peoples conference in New York, Viraleo first declared his homeland Turaga Nation, catching the attention of Vanuatu’s government.
“Ever since I went to New York … the government have been keeping tabs on me, seeing me as almost a dissident,” Viraleo says.
Viraleo’s agenda has caused some authorities in Port Vila to be nervous. The Reserve Bank of Vanuatu has gone so far as to announce possible legal action against Viraleo, should he begin trading with his currency. His movement bears the hallmarks of a genuine separatist push by promoting its own currency, education system, language and legal framework as a means to fill a perceived governance vacuum across rural Vanuatu.
“The government here in Vila only really takes care of 20 per cent of the population. It takes care of the 20 percent who are living in town and have jobs, but the 80 per cent living in rural areas … they have their local chiefs, but there [is] no central government to take care of them,” Viraleo argues.
Hilaire Bule, the spokesman for Prime Minister Charlot Salwai, says Viraleo has little support on Pentecost. If he is acquitted ‘only his village will celebrate his return’, Bule says.
While the Constitution recognises kustom law and commerce within Vanuatu, Viraleo’s Tuvatu has ‘no legitimacy as a genuine form of currency’, he says.
A Pentecost Islander whose property was destroyed in the fire, who did not want to give their name for fear of retribution, says some neighbouring villagers fear the chief’s return and are critical of the ‘slave-like’ devotion he demands of others.
Some of Viraleo’s co-accused have pleaded guilty and in their defence said they have felt influenced and threatened by the chief, reported Vanuatu’s Daily Post.
Even so, support for Viraleo is apparent.
Hilda Lini, Vanuatu’s first female MP and former health minister, is a long-time supporter of Viraleo and the Turaga Nation, and has provided accommodation and legal counsel for his legal struggle. In northPentecost, Viraleo has inspired devotion. Norris, 18, a student from Laone, a village in Pentecost’s far northwest, walked eight hours each day to Lavatmengamu to learn from Viraleo.
Tony Wilson, editor of the Vanuatu Independent newsmagazine, believes Viraleo ‘has polarised’ the local Vanuatu community, highlighting an old fissure between those who advocate for kustom law versus those who are in favour of the Western system of governance.
Lavatmengamu falls quiet
With its leader indefinitely awaiting trial in Port Vila, Lavatmengamu’s activity has ground to a halt, and the village feels almost abandoned.
A small village on the mud track to Lavatmengamu in northeast Pentecost is seen by drone.
Its population, once in the hundreds, now only numbers a few dozen. My guide in Levatmangamu says most inhabitants deserted the village after Viraleo and his men were arrested.
Before the incident, scholars from all over Vanuatu came to train at the kustom school and learn from the chief.
Today, Viraleo’s classroom is empty. On the chalkboard, notes from the last lesson are fading. A kustom bank, reportedly housing billions of Vatu worth of pigs’ tusks, is closed so long as the chief’s handcrafted timber throne sits empty. And the Tuvatu remains just a dream, rather than the beating heart of a kustom economy.
The chief concedes his movement has lost all momentum as he fights to clear his name. He says since his arrest, “All the work that I have been doing in Lavatmengamu has stopped.”
Viraleo tells Al Jazeera he will defend himself in court, and is optimistic his acquittal will come soon. But his prosecution seems certain from the government’s perspective.
“You cannot take revenge … you cannot take national law or kustom law into your own hands. That is what Viraleo was doing,” Bule says.
As Viraleo’s future remains in question, so too does the future of his kustom movement, the Turaga Nation – and his dream of Vanuatu prospering off the back of its traditions.
The Black Brothers is a famous group band from Papua that was formed in Nabire, Papua, in 1975. They have launched their first album in 1976 by PT Irama Tara. Their band consists of Henky Miratoneng Sumanti (guitar/vocal), Benny Betay (bass), Agustinus Romaropen (guitar), Jochie Pathipeilihiu (keyboard), Amry Kahar (trumpet), Stevie Mambor (drums), Sandhy Betay (vocal), Marthy Messet (lead vocal), and David Rumagesan (saxophone).
The group is formed by Andy Ayamiseba through audition. After selecting the members of the group, he then formed the Black Brothers, a group band from Papua. The Black Brothers mostly sing their songs using the Indonesian language, but sometimes they also sing using Tok Pisin language.
During the 80’s, the Black Brothers is the most popular group band from Papua that has garnered popularity in Papua New Guinea. Their reggae genre has even influenced other musical groups in Papua New Guinea. In Indonesia, the Black Brothers is no less famous than other famous group bands, such as Koes Plus, The Mercy’s, Panbers, and D’Loyd. The popularity of the Black Brothers itself is due to their unique songs that would usually became a hit single.
The Black Brothers’ music is a combination between many genres like rock, pop, reggae, funk and Papuan ethnic songs. Thus, making their music unique and interesting to listen to. Whether by the people in Indonesia and also abroad. Some of their most famous songs are ‘Kisah Seorang Pramuria‘ (The story of a Hostess) and ‘Mutiara Hitam‘ (Black Pearl) are still popular even until today. One of Indonesia’s rock band “Boomerang” has even remade ‘Kisah Seorang Pramuria.’ Because of their fame, many other group bands from Papua start emerging in the Indonesian music scene. They usually use Black in front of their band’s name, like Black Papas, Black Sweet, Black Power, and Black Family.
The descendants of Solomon Islands’ slave labourers living in Fiji say they hope dual citizenship legislation being proposed in the Solomons will help them reconnect with long lost relatives.
In the mid-nineteenth century more than 60,000 Pacific Islanders from Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, New Caledonia and Niue were coerced to work on canefields in Australia and Fiji through trickery and kidnapping, a practice known as Blackbirding.
A Solomon Islands government delegation doing consultations in Melanesia this week on dual citizenship met with leaders of descendants of blackbirded Solomon Islanders living in Fiji.
Chris Waiwori from the Dual-Citizenship Taskforce Photo: PM Press Office
The secretary of the dual citizenship task force, Chris Waiwori, described the meeting as an emotional one during which community leaders told the delegation they appreciated the move towards dual citizenship and saw it as another avenue for them to try and mend their broken links to Solomon Islands.
The taskforce is now in PNG for the final leg of its consultations having earlier also visited Vanuatu.
A final round of local consultations on the dual citizenship bill will be done when the taskforce returns to Honiara before a final draft of the bill is submitted to cabinet.
The Solomon Islands prime minister Manasseh Sogavare had previously said he aimed to have the bill tabled in parliament early next year.
New research shows that developing countries send trillions of dollars more to the west than the other way around. Why?
e have long been told a compelling story about the relationship between rich countries and poor countries. The story holds that the rich nations of the OECD give generously of their wealth to the poorer nations of the global south, to help them eradicate poverty and push them up the development ladder. Yes, during colonialism western powers may have enriched themselves by extracting resources and slave labour from their colonies – but that’s all in the past. These days, they give more than $125bn (£102bn) in aid each year – solid evidence of their benevolent goodwill.
This story is so widely propagated by the aid industry and the governments of the rich world that we have come to take it for granted. But it may not be as simple as it appears.
The US-based Global Financial Integrity (GFI) and the Centre for Applied Research at the Norwegian School of Economics recently published some fascinating data. They tallied up all of the financial resources that get transferred between rich countries and poor countries each year: not just aid, foreign investment and trade flows (as previous studies have done) but also non-financial transfers such as debt cancellation, unrequited transfers like workers’ remittances, and unrecorded capital flight (more of this later). As far as I am aware, it is the most comprehensive assessment of resource transfers ever undertaken.
What they discovered is that the flow of money from rich countries to poor countries pales in comparison to the flow that runs in the other direction.
In 2012, the last year of recorded data, developing countries received a total of $1.3tn, including all aid, investment, and income from abroad. But that same year some $3.3tn flowed out of them. In other words, developing countries sent $2tn more to the rest of the world than they received. If we look at all years since 1980, these net outflows add up to an eye-popping total of $16.3tn – that’s how much money has been drained out of the global south over the past few decades. To get a sense for the scale of this, $16.3tn is roughly the GDP of the United States
What this means is that the usual development narrative has it backwards. Aid is effectively flowing in reverse. Rich countries aren’t developing poor countries; poor countries are developing rich ones.
What do these large outflows consist of? Well, some of it is payments on debt. Developing countries have forked out over $4.2tn in interest payments alone since 1980 – a direct cash transfer to big banks in New York and London, on a scale that dwarfs the aid that they received during the same period. Another big contributor is the income that foreigners make on their investments in developing countries and then repatriate back home. Think of all the profits that BP extracts from Nigeria’s oil reserves, for example, or that Anglo-American pulls out of South Africa’s gold mines.
But by far the biggest chunk of outflows has to do with unrecorded – and usually illicit – capital flight. GFI calculates that developing countries have lost a total of $13.4tn through unrecorded capital flight since 1980.
Most of these unrecorded outflows take place through the international trade system. Basically, corporations – foreign and domestic alike – report false prices on their trade invoices in order to spirit money out of developing countries directly into tax havens and secrecy jurisdictions, a practice known as “trade misinvoicing”. Usually the goal is to evade taxes, but sometimes this practice is used to launder money or circumvent capital controls. In 2012, developing countries lost $700bn through trade misinvoicing, which outstripped aid receipts that year by a factor of five.
GFI doesn’t include same-invoice faking in its headline figures because it is very difficult to detect, but they estimate that it amounts to another $700bn per year. And these figures only cover theft through trade in goods. If we add theft through trade in services to the mix, it brings total net resource outflows to about $3tn per year.
That’s 24 times more than the aid budget. In other words, for every $1 of aid that developing countries receive, they lose $24 in net outflows. These outflows strip developing countries of an important source of revenue and finance for development. The GFI report finds that increasingly large net outflows have caused economic growth rates in developing countries to decline, and are directly responsible for falling living standards.
Who is to blame for this disaster? Since illegal capital flight is such a big chunk of the problem, that’s a good place to start. Companies that lie on their trade invoices are clearly at fault; but why is it so easy for them to get away with it? In the past, customs officials could hold up transactions that looked dodgy, making it nearly impossible for anyone to cheat. But the World Trade Organisation claimed that this made trade inefficient, and since 1994 customs officials have been required to accept invoiced prices at face value except in very suspicious circumstances, making it difficult for them to seize illicit outflows.
Still, illegal capital flight wouldn’t be possible without the tax havens. And when it comes to tax havens, the culprits are not hard to identify: there are more than 60 in the world, and the vast majority of them are controlled by a handful of western countries. There are European tax havens such as Luxembourg and Belgium, and US tax havens like Delaware and Manhattan. But by far the biggest network of tax havens is centered around the City of London, which controls secrecy jurisdictions throughout the British Crown Dependencies and Overseas Territories.
In other words, some of the very countries that so love to tout their foreign aid contributions are the ones enabling mass theft from developing countries.
The aid narrative begins to seem a bit naïve when we take these reverse flows into account. It becomes clear that aid does little but mask the maldistribution of resources around the world. It makes the takers seem like givers, granting them a kind of moral high ground while preventing those of us who care about global poverty from understanding how the system really works.
Poor countries don’t need charity. They need justice. And justice is not difficult to deliver. We could write off the excess debts of poor countries, freeing them up to spend their money on development instead of interest payments on old loans; we could close down the secrecy jurisdictions, and slap penalties on bankers and accountants who facilitate illicit outflows; and we could impose a global minimum tax on corporate income to eliminate the incentive for corporations to secretly shift their money around the world.
We know how to fix the problem. But doing so would run up against the interests of powerful banks and corporations that extract significant material benefit from the existing system. The question is, do we have the courage?
