TAGALOGS Class Structure in the Sixteenth Century Philippines

Philippine Studies 28 ( 1980): 142-75
Filipino Class Structure in the Sixteenth Century
WILLIAM HENRY SCOTT

This study offers summary results of a study of sixteenth century Filipino class structure insofar as it can be reconstructed from the data preserved in contemporary Spanish sources. The major accounts on which it is based have been available in English since the publication of the Blair and Robertson translations early in the 2oth century, and have recently been made accessible to the general Filipino reading public by F. Landa Jocano in a convenient and inexpensive volume entitled The Philippines at the Spanish Contact. At least four of these accounts were written for the specific purpose of analyzing Filipino society so that colonial administrators could make use of indigenous institutions to govern their new subjects. Yet any history teacher who has tried to use them to extract even such simple details as the rights and duties of each social class, for purposes of his own understanding and his students’ edification, know how frustrating the exercise can be.

The problems are many. The accounts were not, of course, written by social scientists and are therefore understandably disorderly, imprecise, and even contradictory. They do not, for example, distinguish legislative, judicial, and executive functions in native governments, nor do they even indicate whether datu is a social class or a political office. On one page they tell us that a ruling chief has life-and-death authority over his subjects, but on the next, that these subjects wander off to join some other chief if they feel like it. They describe a second social class as “freemen – neither rich nor poor” as if liberty were an economic attribute, while one account calls them “plebeians” and another “gentlemen and cavaliers.”  The maharlika, whom the modern Filipino knows as “noblemen,” show up as oarsmen rowing their masters boats or field-hands harvesting his crops. And a third category called “slaves” everybody agrees are not slaves at all; yet they may be captured in raids, bought and sold in domestic and foreign markets, or sacrificed alive at their master’s funeral. Moreover, if the data as recorded in the original documents are confusing, they are made even more so by the need to translate sixteenth century Spanish terms which have no equivalent in modern English. Thus pechero becomes “commoner” and loses its significance as somebody who renders feudal dues.

It was a decade of frustrating attempts to resolve such contradictions that inspired the present study. Basic documents used for the study were:

• Miguel de Loar­ca’s Relacion de las Islas Filipinas (1582);
• Juan de Plasencia’s Relacion de las costumbres que los indios se han tener en estas islas and Instrucción de las costumbres que antiguamente tenian los naturales de la Pampanga en sus Pleitos (1589);
• Pedro Chiri­no’s Relacion de las Islas Filipinas (1604);
• chapter eight of Anto­nio de Morga’s Sucesos de las Islas Filipinas;
• the anonymous late sixteenth century Boxer manuscript;
• and the unpublished Historia de las Islas e Indios de las Bisayas (1688) of Francisco Alcina.

The goal of this study was to discover a distinct, non-contradictory, and functional meaning for each Filipino term used in the Spanish accounts.

 

LUZON

Father  Plasencia describes  Filipinos as being divided into  four social conditions  or “estates”: principales, hidalgos, pecheros, and esclavos. These  appear  to be functional  divisions as he conceived them,   for   he  separates   the   common   tribute-payer   (pechero) from  the  “true” slaves, calls the  principales “datus,” and  comments  that  they  are “like  knights”    (como caballeros),    that  is, holder of an office, not  members of a class. In a separate treatise on  custom   law,  however,  he  only  distinguishes  three  estates: those of ruler, ruled, and slave, as Doctor of Canon Law Antonio de Morga also did, and like Morga does not equate  principal with datu. Members of the first two of these estates are enfranchised with the right to make or break client-patron  relationships, but are distinguished from one another  for purposes of administering justice and  fixing  fines,  wergeld,  and  inheritance.  Those  in  the  First Estate  have the  right  to trial by their peers, those in the Second to  trial  by  those  in the First. The Third have no right to trial at all. They  are  not enfranchised in the eyes of the law and are de­pendent  upon  their masters’  favor for  justice; they  do  not even appear  in the statutes  Plasencia codified by interviewing wise old men in Pampanga.

The  Spaniards  called all members of this First  Estate, whether actually  occupying positions  of  rule or  not,  principales.  Since the Real  Academia   Espanola  defines  principal  as a “person or  thing that   holds   first  place  in  value  or  importance  and  is given  precedence  and  preference  before  others,” it  is a suitable  term,  more so  than  any  English equivalent. None  of  the  accounts give a Fili­pino  equivalent for  this  word,  but  it  was surely either  maginoo  or some  other   derivative  of  poon /punò  (“chief   leader”).  Plasencia translates “Lord God” as Panginoon  Dios,  and  one  of  the leaders who  surrendered  the  Port  of  Manila  in  1571 was Maginoo  Mar­lanaway.  The  force  of  the  word  is made  clear in the  San  Buena­ventura  dictionary: punò  is defined  as “principal or head of a lineage,”  ginoo  as “noble by  lineage  and  parentage,   family  and  de­scent,” and  maginoo  as “principal in  lineage  or  parentage,” and senor  (lord)   is equated  with  all  three.  They  are  obviously  to  be distinguished   from    nouveau    riche   imitators  scornfully    called maygintao,  “man   with  gold”   – or,  as  San  Buenaventura  says, “Hidalgo  by gold,  not  lineage,  a ‘dark  knight,’ as we would  say.” Whatever  it  was called,  the  class constituted  a birthright aristocracy  with  claims  to  respect,  obedience, and  support from  those of  subordinate status. They  will be called  “chiefs” in this  paper, in the  sense of  being of  the  chiefly  class, not in the sense of being rulers.

People  in  the  Second   Estate   had  the  theoretical right  to shift allegiance  from  one  maginoo  to  another and  so were called libres or   libertos   in  later   Spanish   accounts,  and   freemen   in  modern English.  But  they  were not  free in the sense that  they had no chief at all:  rather  they  were vassals who rendered  service to some overlord.  Some  paid  feudal  dues  in the  form  of agricultural  labor and were  called  timawa,   while  others   rendered   military  service  and were  called  maharlika.   But  in  either  case,  whether   men  of  substance   following   their   lords   to  war  or  humble  farmers  working his fields in season,  they  were enfranchised in the  eyes of the law and could  bring suit.

The  unenfranchised and  disfranchised  of  the Third  Estate  were called  alipin,   a  term  all  Spanish   sources  translate   as slave.  The Academia   defines   esclavo  as  “one   who  lacks  liberty   because  of being  under  the  control of another.” so the  term  does  not  necessarily  connote chattel  or captive.  In the  Philippines,  the  majority of them  were actually  serfs, peons,  bondsmen, debtors, or dependents  – or  what  Filipinos  called “householders,” alipin  namama­ hay. Those who could be legally sold were called “hearth slaves,” alipin  sa gigilid, and the distinction  was often deliberately blurred by oppressive creditors  haling them  before  a Spanish judge who was ignorant  of Philippine social structure.  All alipin were in a condition  of  more- or  less servitude, but  this servitude was negotiable  so  they  could  not  necessarily  be  distinguished   from  the Second  Estate  by  their  economic  condition  alone. What sets the alipin of the Third  Estate apart from the maginoo, maharlika, and timawa  of  the  first  two  Estates  is their  want of franchise – the right to change lords or file a law suit.

None  of  the  accounts  record  any  political  office  other  than that   of  datu,   the   ruler  of  a  barangay.  Other  Spanish  sources refer  to  any  super-baranganic  political  power,  or  pretensions  to power,  as  oddities  or  actual  aberrations,   especially  the  one  at the mouth  of the Pasig River which they regard as an alien intrusion.  Morga uses the  world datu  only  once,  applying it to  officers (mandadores) who assist a chief in the administration  of a barangay,  and  barangay  itself  he  calls  a  parcialidad (faction  or party).  These variations probably  reflect the viewpoint of a highly placed colonial  official  stationed  in a former harbor  principality where  his personal contact  with Filipinos was restricted  to members  of  the  ex-royalty.  The  principalia  to  whom  he refers  had already absorbed the heirs of conquered rulers with impressive personal  titles  like Rajah Matanda  Acheh, Rajaj Muda  Solayman, and Si Bunaw  Lakan  Dula, who in their day had obviously been super-ordinate  to  mere  datus  since  Legazpi recognized their right to surrender  Manila in the name of all the other chiefs. By Morga’s day,  twenty-five  years later,  their  descendants’  political prerogatives had already been converted into economic advantages like exemption   from  tribute.   The  process is unconsciously  reflected in the rhetoric  of all four  accounts:  they describe the role of the ruling  chiefs  in  the  past  tense,  but  those  of  their  subjects  and slaves in the present.

 

THE  FIRST  ESTATE

The Spanish accounts  do not  describe the class of maginoo but only the office of datu. A datu, needless to say, must be a member of  the  maginoo  class. The meaning of the word is made clear by the  early  Tagalog-Spanish dictionaries:  he is the ruler of a baran­gay  (e.g.,  “nagdarato:  to  rule  the  barrio  or  barangay”),   and  a barangay  is a “barrio  of  people  subject  to  one”  – and synonymous  with dolohan,  “barrio   or  faction  of  people subject  to one head.”  Plasencia thinks  each  one  of  them  was a single family in origin, and  since  barangay  also means “boat,” he speculates  that the role of datu  arose from the captain  of a boat migrating to the Philippines  with  his family,  relatives, and servants. It is difficult to  believe  that   Philippine  barrios  could  have  maintained   their discrete  boatload  identities  across centuries  or  millennia,  but  Pla­sencia,  like  other   Spaniards  of  his  day,  thought   the  Filipino people  had  only  arrived in  the  archipelago a short  time  before. A  more  likely  explanation   would  be  that  a  datu  is  one  who governs like the captain of a ship, that is, with uncontested  authority.  In fact,  most datus  were captains of ships; rowing for them is listed  among  their  vassals’ duties  in every one  of  the  accounts. Perhaps a barangay was the social unit necessary to build, launch, supply, and fight a man-of-war and support  its captain’s argosies.

At any event, a barangay varied in size from thirty  to a hundred households,   and   was  normally   part  of  a  settlement   (pueblo) which included  other barangays; either contiguous to it or at some distance.  These  settlements,   or  at  least  the  land  they  occupy, appear  to  be what  the  dictionaries  call a bayan,  namely, “place for  a pueblo”  or “pueblo  where the people live,” as in the ques­tion, “Kaninong  pabuwisan ang bayang ito?”  (whose estate is the bay an  here?)   Assuming  this  to  be  the  case,  a  given barangay might  have claims to  swidden land in more  than one bayan, and serfs (alipin  namamahay)  might  be inherited  from  one barangay to  another   but   could  not   be  removed  from  the  bayan  itself. Taytay,   Rizal  had  four  barangays  – and  four  datus  – with  a hundred  families each  when Father  Chirino arrived in 1591.  The Boxer  manuscript  thinks  three or four datus are normal for such a  settlement, in  contrast   to  one  or  two  in  the  Visayas. Loarca says that  if ten or more datus  live in the same pueblo,  they obey the  wealthiest  among  them,  but  Morga says only  the  best  warriors are obeyed  and Plasencia holds that  the datus were not subject  to  one  another  at all “except  by way of friendship  and kinship.” Plasencia adds, “the  chiefs helped one another with their barangays in the wars they had.”

Sources of  Datu’s  Authority.   The   Boxer   manuscript   calls datus  “senores de  titulo” (titled   lords).  Eligibility  for  title  is maginoo lineage which is reckoned  bilaterally,  though  the office itself,  being exercised  only by men, passes through  the male line from  father  to  son  or  brother.  The  office  is the  source  of  the datu’s  authority, but  his power depends upon  the fealty  of men in the Second Estate and the support  of those in the Third. Since the  former  are  enfranchised,  they  can  in  theory  give their  allegiance to  the datu  of their choice, and their choice is usually the best  warrior.  (Datus  who  die  with  a  reputation   for  bravery  in battle  go  to  the  grave accompanied  by  live slaves – in  actual ships  in  the  case  of  those  of special Viking valor.)  A powerful datu  is therefore,  literally, a popular datu, some so much so as to attract  others  of  their  peers. In such cases, important decisions especially legislative – are made by the chief datu’s  calling them all together and securing their acquiescence, his large house serving as the  barrio  hall. (Loarca  comments  from Panay, “the  Pintados do  not   have  this  policy  because  nobody   wishes  to  recognize another  as more of a chief.”)  All the accounts list the datu’s  duties as twofold:  to govern his people, and to lead them in war (though good  administrator Morga adds, “and  succor them in their struggles and  needs”).  It is quite  understandable,  of  course,  that  nobody mentions  the primary duty  of any lord to his vassals- that of defending them against their enemies, especially foreign invaders.

A datu  has the  duty  to  render  judgment  in  any lawsuit  filed by his followers. He convokes the litigants, hears sworn testimony, and  hands  down  a decision  – all in  the  presence of  his people, and sometimes  with the assistance of older men. His decision may be  appealed,  however,  to  an  arbiter  of  the  contestants’ choice from  another  community, even a non-datu.  In the case of theft, the  datu  presides over – and may initiate  and enforce  – trial by oath,   divination,   or  ordeal.   He  also  participates  in  dispensing justice within  the  First  Estate,  appearing before a wise legalist acceptable  to  him and  his accuser if he himself is sued, or combining with his peers to initiate  such action in the  case of others, and  to  contribute  police  power  to  enforce  their  decision  afterwards.  Where such  arbitration   fails,  the  plaintiff  inaugurates  a kin  feud  which  runs  its violent  course  until  mutual  exhaustion satisfies  honor   and  both  parties  agree to  payment  of  wergelds.

The  provisions of  the  law  are  handed  down  by  tradition,   but are liable to amendment  by consensus among ruling datus, and to circumvention  by  any  among  them  powerful  enough  to  do  so. Penalties  vary  with  the  relative social status  of  the  parties,  and include  restitution or  indemnification  in the case of theft,  death for  witchcraft,  murder,  sexual  advance, or infraction  of religious taboo,  and  fines in all other  cases. In the case of capital  punishment  or  the  totally  dependent  status  of gigilid slavery,  the  presiding  datu  takes  possession  of  the  condemned   man’s  children and accomplices, and compensates the plaintiff himself.

Control  over disposition  of barangay real property  is vested in its datu.  The  distribution  of irrigated land is of major consideration,  but  hillside  swiddens  are  worked  freely  by any  barangay member   or   even  aliens  with  claims  through  intermarriage   or prior arrangement  with the datu.  The datu has the right to retain certain land use privileges to himself: for example, the restriction of  access  to  fisheries,  or  the  collection  of  fees from  a market opened  at a strategic passage on a waterway. A datu may alienate territory  – presumably on  behalf of his entire barangay – or even convert  his  rights  into  regular payments  from  his subjects.  The ruler of  Pila, Laguna,  for  example,  purchased it in gold from its former  chief  and  then  charged  rentals  from  his own maharlika for its use. It is noteworthy that  the rate was fixed at four cavans a year rather than at some percentage of the produce or size of the holding.

Services Received. A datu receives services, agricultural produce, and  respect  from  his people  who,  in Laguna at  least, are called his  katunguhan,   literally,  “those who go along.” The respect  is shown  by such  deferential  behavior as covering the mouth  with the  hand  when addressing him, or contracting  the body in a profound  bow on entering  his presence indoors and raising the hands alongside  the  cheeks.  The  same  deference  is shown  his  family and  descendants,  in office  or out  – to  all maginoo, in  short  – and  slander against any of them is severely punished. He receives a  share  of  harvests as tribute  except  from men of maginoo lineage, and additional contributions such as a jar of sugarcane wine or tuba  at  unscheduled  seasons like feasts or  funerals.  Services are also of  two kinds: seasonal field labor from which nobody  is exempted  of  whatever  class or condition,  participation  in maritime and  military  expeditions,   and  unscheduled  occasions  like house construction   or  opening  new  land,  for  all  of  which  work  the laborers  are  fed  or  feasted.  The  importance  of  seafaring duties is indicated  by the considerable detail  with which they are specified in  the  accounts:  to equip and supply  the vessel and then  to row it,  either  as slaves or  warriors, or  to come, provisioned and armed,  as soon  as  called  and  as often,  and  to  follow  wherever the datu leads.

Perhaps  a clue to the Spanish assessment of the office of datu may  be found  in  the  fact  that  Plasencia likens  them  to  knights (“como   caballeros”)   while  he  equates  maharlika,  timawa,  and alipin directly with hidalgo, pechero, and esclavo, with no such reservation  as “como.” A caballero is one endowed  with a cabal­leria ( a knighthood)  and a caballeria is an encomienda,  that is, “a commission:  the  office  of  certain  knights of  the  military orders [or]   the  place,  territory, or  fees of  this office.”  The Blancas de San  Jose  dictionary  glosses encomienda  with  pabuwisan,  from buwis,  tribute   or  dues (pecho) – which is what  Chief Saripada Humabon  wanted Magellan to pay when he anchored in the port of Cebu. A caballero is thus one who collects dues from a certain district. It is probably  the lack of a reigning monarch qualified to so  invest   Filipino  datus   that   moves  Father   Plasencia  to  say “como.”

 

THE  SECOND  ESTATE

Philippine  custom   law  calls  members  of  the  Second  Estate timawa,   which   Plasencia  translates   as  “common   people”   (la gente  común) and Morga as “plebeians” (plebeyos),  both  being terms  which  in  sixteenth   century   Spanish  suggest ineligibility to marry a person of royal blood. Their franchise depends upon competence to enter into client-patron relationships, not upon birthright;  that  is, if they  are not  in debt  to  anybody,  they  are free  to  make  such  contracts,   both  as client,  and  as creditors  to debtors  or  master  to  slaves. They  enjoy  agricultural  rights  to  a portion  of  the  barangay  land,  both  to use and bequeath,  and to harvest  without   paying  any  tribute.   Although  contractual   relations  vary  and  appear   to  include  tribute  in  some  cases,  their patrons are basically their lords, not  their landlords. Their normal obligation  is agricultural  labor  worked  off in groups  when summoned  for  planting  or harvesting, but  they may also be liable to work fisheries, accompany expeditions, or row boats. And, like members of the Third  Estate,  they  can be called out  for irregular services like supporting feasts or building houses.

Membership   in  the  Second  Estate   is  largely  acquired.   The timawa  have their  ultimate  origin in the First and Third Estates. From  the  First  they  absorb the illegitimate offspring of maginoo with their unmarried  slaves and married serfs, and from the Third, those  who  have successfully repaid  debts,  completed  indenture, or literally  purchased  their freedom in gold. The definitions in the early Tagalog dictionaries are unambiguous. San Buenaventura defines timawa as “without servitude (esclavonia), neither rich nor poor,”  and manga timawa as “the  free, the common  people after the magnates,” and illustrates with the example, “titimawain  kita” (I’ll set thee free). Blancas de San Jose is even more illuminating:

“A free  man who was formerly  a slave, and from this they say timawa of one who escapes death by chance, like one in the hangman’s noose and the rope  breaks, or  the  bull that  cannot  be captured  because of his bravery, and, changing the accent, Nagtitimawak  of a slave who has freed himself by running away from his master, and the same with animals.”

The  Maharlika Aristocracy.  The Second  Estate also includes  a birthright  aristocracy called maharlika who render military service. The maharlika  accompanies his captain abroad at his own expense whenever he calls and  wherever  he goes, rows his boat  not  as a galley slave but  as a comrade-at-arms, and receives his share of the spoils afterwards.  Plasencia’s is the only account  which mentions maharlika  and  it  does  not  explain  the  origin  of  their  ascribed status.  Probably  they were a sort of diluted maginoo blood – perhaps the descendants of mixed marriages between a ruling dynasty and one out  of power, or scions of a conquered line which struck this  bargain  to  retain  some  of  its  privileges. At any  event,  the maharlika are subject to the same requirements of seasonal and extraordinary community  labor as everybody else in the barangay. Technically,  they  are less free than  the ordinary  timawa since, if they want  to transfer  their allegiance once they are married, they must  host  a public feast and pay their datu  from six to eighteen pesos in gold. Their profession was destined to disappear under the colonial  regime, of  course,  just  as the  mangayaw raids in which they  practiced  it disappeared.  Indeed, it seems that it was already being  downgraded   in  Plasencia’s  day:   those  datus   controlling market  places and  collecting  fishing fees were exemplars  of the socioeconomic  changes  which  produced   chiefs  like  the  lord  of Pila  whose maharlika  were reduced  to a kind of inquilino  status. A generation  later  San  Buenaventura  had  already  forgotten  that they  were “free” (libres)  rather  than  “freed” (libertos), and  so, evidently,   had  the   Filipino  people  by  the  next  century   when Juan  Francisco  de  San  Antonio  could  cite  as common  Tagalog usage, “Minahadlika  ako  nang  panginaan ka”  (my  master  freed me). The  Blancas de San Jose  dictionary  defines  them as “free­ men  though   with  a  certain  subjugation  in  that   they  may  not leave  the  barangay:  they  are the  people  called villeins (la  gente villano),”  literally   countryfolk   living  outside  some  nobleman’s villa. In 1754, long after they had disappeared, of course, Juan Delgado simply calls them “plebeians.”

Plasencia calls the maharlika “hidalgos” and, as a matter  of fact, the  parallels are noteworthy. Training and maintenance  for the warrior  life are expensive for both  the maharlika and hidalgo, so they  must  be men of substance  to enter  their profession, though they may be handsomely reimbursed in booty later. But substance alone  is not  enough:  qualification  in both cases includes descent from others  of their class – for four generations, in the case of the hidalgo. Like the maharlika,  the hidalgo is bound to his master by tighter  feudal ties than  the ordinary  vassal; in the event of breach of  faith,  his lord  may seize both  his goods and his person, while even a serf is guaranteed  the land to which he is attached. In like manner,  the  maharlika  is  fined  for  breaking  his contract  if he leaves his  datu.  And  if  the  hidalgo can no  longer shoulder  the financial  burden  of  warfare,  he can ritually unmake his contract and  drop  down  to  a cheaper vassal status,  that  of villano. Something like this seems to have happened  to the maharlika between 1590 and 1630.

 

THE  THIRD  ESTATE

An alipin  is a man in debt  to another  man. His subordination is therefore  obligatory,  not  contractual: the other  man is technically his creditor  rather  than his lord, and may be a maginoo, maharlika,  timawa,  or  another   alipin.  The  alipin  has birthright claim to work a piece of the barangay land which cannot be taken away from  him or he from it, except  in the case of a commuted death  sentence  by  which  he becomes  a chattel  slave. The alipin may  be born  as such – in which case he is called gintubo – but what  he  really inherits  from  his parents is their debt,  indenture, or  sentence.  Although  he  cannot   be  legally  seized  or sold,  his debt  can  be  transferred  from  one  creditor  to  another  for profit and  to  his detriment. For this reason, a man who falls into  debt seeks to become alipin to one of his own relatives if possible. As a matter  of fact,  men in extreme penury may voluntarily seek the security  of alipin status,  that  is, be napaaalipin  as opposed  to na­-aalipin.  Since  the  degree of  alipin indebtedness  can vary,  when that debt  is passed on to heirs it also varies according to the wife’s status,  and  indeed,  according  to  the  debts  either  parent  has inherited  from  preceding  generations.  For  example,  if alipin and timawa  marry,  their  offspring  will be only  half  alipin; or  if an alipin  has  three   non-alipin  grandparents,   only  one  quarter,   – social  conditions   described  in Spanish accounts  with  the  rather unsatisfactory  expressions “half  slave” and “quarter slave.” What all this means in practical  terms is that such alipin only work off half their father’s,  or one-fourth  their grandfather’s,  indebtedness during  alternate  months.  Such  partial  alipin,  moreover,  have the right to enforce their manumission if they can afford the price.

The normal alipin with land rights is called namamahay (house­holder),   and  the  one  who  has  lost  that  right,  alipin  sa gigilid (hearth  slave), a category which also includes those who never had such a right in the first place, namely, captives or purchases. The Boxer manuscript  makes the curious remark that there is a kind of slaves of both  namamahay  and gigilid status  called tagalos. If this is not a flat error, it may have been obtained from some informant of  Bornean  descent,  and thus reflects an attitude  based on a former relationship  between the two peoples.

Alipin    Namamahay.   Spanish  accounts   consistently   translate alipin as “slave,”  but  their authors just as consistently deplore the illogic of including  the  namamahay  in  the same category  as the gigilid, or even in the category of esclavo at all. That the gigilid – or at least some gigilid – were chattel  house slaves “like those we have,”  as Morga  says,  was obvious,  but  it  was just  as obvious that  the serf-like namamahay  were not. One of the longest entries in  the  San  Buenaventura  belabors  the  point,  and  includes  the following passage:

“These namamahay  slaves in Silanga, which is on  the way to Giling-giling from  Lumban,  make one  field called tonga,  and it  is to  be noted  that they have no further obligation to their master; in Pila, Bay, Pillila (Pililla] and Moron [Morong] , they are almost free for they serve their master no more than from time to time, and [they say] he almost has to beg them to go with him to other places or to help him with something, the same as he  does with the freemen; in all the hills as far as Calaylayan, they serve their master from time to time if he calls them, but if he calls them too often it’s considered an abuse.”

Father  Plasencia solves the  problem  directly  and  sensibly:  he calls them  pecheros (tribute-payers). The pecho  they pay is called buwis and amounts  to half their crop, and the one who pays it is called  nunuwis.  Or  his  lord  may  agree  to  a  fixed  fee  of  four cavans of palay a year instead,  the same rate the datu  of Pila was charging his maharlika  for their land use in the 1580s. In addition, he is expected  to  present  a measure of  threshed  rice or a jar of wine for  his master’s  wedding feasts or funerals, and generally a share of any special foodstuffs he may acquire for himself, for example,  the leg of a deer taken in the hunt. Like everybody else, he comes at his master’s  call to plant  and harvest his fields, build his houses, carry his cargo, equip his boat, and row it when he goes abroad – not as a warrior but as an oarsman, unless relieved of this status  as an accolade for  bravery – and in any emergency such as his master’s  being sick, captured,  or flooded out. He owns his own house,  possessions,  and  gold,  and  bequeaths  them  to  his heirs, but  his  ownership  of  the  land  he  uses is restricted:  he cannot alienate it.  If his master moves out of the settlement,  he continues to  serve  him  as  a  kind  of  absentee  landlord,  and if his master dies, he  is obligated  to  all his heirs, and must divide his services among  them.  Upon  his own  death,  his creditor  has the  right to take  one  of  his children  for  gigilid domestic  service in his own house, but if he takes more, he is considered a tyrant.

A man  enters  namamahay  status  by  three  routes:  inheritance from namamahay parents, dropping down from the Second Estate, or rising up from gigilid status.  If his debt stems from legal action or insolvency, he and his creditor  agree about  the duration  of the bondage and an equivalent cash value for its satisfaction. In Father Plasencia’s  day  this  never exceeded  ten  taels in gold, or roughly the  marke  value of 320 cavans of rice at Manila prices. This custom continued  under  the Spanish occupation and so exercised the friars’ conscience that their theologians argued the fine points of its morality  for a century.  (How long can a man justly be indentured for  such-and-such  a debt?   At what age does a child handed  over for  its  father’s  debts  become  productive  enough  to be reckoned an asset  rather  than  a liability? ) Those who rose from  the ranks of  the  gigilid  hearth  slaves might  actually  have purchased  their freedom, but mainly they were transferred to namamahay house­ holding when they  married, simply for their master’s own convenience.  For  this  reason,  it also seems likely – though  the Spanish sources  do  not  say so – that  captives and purchased slaves may have been set up in namamahay housekeeping status from the beginning.

Alipin  sa Gigilid.  Gilid  is  the  “innermost   part  of  the  house where  the  hearth  is,”  and  the  use of  the  term  to  distinguish  a kind  of alipin calls attention to the typical place of their service, or, perhaps, conception.  They are members of their master’s household  who, unlike namamahay  householders, eat out of their master’s  pot. They are as dependent  upon him as his own children, and  from  this circumstance  arises his-moral right to sell them.  In actual  practice,  however,  he  rarely  does. He may  transfer  them to  some  other  creditor,  but  raw materials  for  the  slave trade  or human   sacrifice  is  not  procured  from  the  household,  or  even from  the  alipin labor pool which implements a datu’s  public and private projects. Quite the opposite,  they may be rewarded at their master’s  pleasure,  or  his hope  of motivating them,  by being permitted   to  retain  some  of  the  fruits  of  their  labor,  even to  the extent  of eventually purchasing their liberty. Indeed, if they can accumulate  enough gold, say through  the trade as a goldsmith  or participating  in raids, they can buy  their way not only into nama­mahay status,  but even timawa. (Juan  Francisco de San Antonio, reporting  the old thirty-peso  manumission price 130 years later, comments,  “and  if he gave sixty  or  more,  he was free of everything and became an hidalgo.”)

The main sources of alipin sa gigilid recruitment  are the children born in their master’s  house, not  infrequently  natural children by his own alipin of either status, and those of men under commuted death  sentence  who mortgage one of their own to somebody  who can  afford   to  raise  them,  thus  preserving  their  own  liberty  to support  the rest. Once a hearth slave grows up, however, it may be more  practical  and  profitable   to  set  him  up  in his own  house instead  of  feeding  and  housing  him  and  his new family. All the accounts  distinguish  the  namamahay  not  only as having his own house separate  from his master’s,  but as being married and having his  own  family.  The  author   of  the  Boxer  manuscript  describes the situation  with some surprise:

“His master  can  sell  him  because none  of  these slaves who  are in  their master’s house are married, but all [are]  maidens and bachelors, and in the case of a male who wishes to marry, the chief does not lose him; and such a  one is called namarnahay when married, and  then lives by himself, and, surprising  enough,  they  would  (even]  give the slaves who  were in  the chiefs’ houses permission to marry, and nobody would hinder the men.”

The terms gigilid and namamahay, therefore, more accurately distinguish a man’s residence than his economic status,  and are incidental   to  a  sliding scale  of  downward  social mobility  occasioned by punitive disfranchisement and economic reversal. The condemned  man’s debt  to society  or fiscal creditor  can be underwritten   by  some  other   man  motivated  by  kin loyalty  or  hope of gain. If both  are alipin and neighbors and relatives, their  new relationship  may be no more visible than a redistribution  of their labor.  But  the social stigma is considerable, for the gigilid of a namamahay  is called by the insulting term bulisik, “vile” or “despicable.”  Still  worse,  the  poor  wretch  who  becomes  the  gigilid of  a gigilid of  a namamahay  is branded  bulislis, “exposed,” like the  private  parts  when  one’s  dress is hitched  up – a term which may reflect a relationship between master and slave.

Slaves purchased  from  outside  the  community,   and  captives taken  in war or raids, are also counted  among the gigilid and may be real chattel  without  even the security  of the parental affection of  some  master  in  whose  house  they  grew up.  If they  are destined for resale or sacrifice, they may be temporarily employed  – as field hands, for example  – but  will literally be non-persons in society.  But  if  they  are  brought  into  the  community   as functioning alipin, they  will perforce  enjoy  the rights of food, shelter, and  work  of  other  alipin. Their  children  will then  be  born  into society  not  as aliens but  as gintubo,  “children  of alipin,”  and as such  be eligible for whatever upward  social mobility  fortune  may offer them.

The  categories  of  namamahay  and  gigilid thus appear to have been  dysfunctional   at   the  time  they   were  first  described   by Spanish  observers.  If  a  man  raised  a  gigilid slave to  manhood, married  him  off  as a namamahay  householder,  and  then  seized one of his children to raise as a gigilid slave, what was that child’s status on reaching maturity?   Do these categories distinguish membership in ascribed subclasses, or simply conditions of residence?   The  categories  as  described  would  be  fully  functional only  in  a society  in  which  real slavery was limited  to  domestic service and  slaves therefore   lived in  their  masters’  houses,  and men  were  born  alipin  but  not  alipin  namamahay  or  alipin  sa gigilid. Gintubo,  the  birthright  status  of such alipin commoners, would  then  serve  to  distinguish  the  operative  core of  the  class from  social  transients  or  newcomers  who  had  not  yet  learned their  role.  But  if  such  a  society  underwent  economic  changes which either  increased the value of slave labor or restricted  slave holders’  other  sources of income,  strong  motivation  for  modifications  would  arise. That  such  changes were taking  place in the 1590s  but  being  resisted,  is suggested by  the  following passage from the Boxer manuscript:

“If  they have many children, when many have been taken and he takes more, they consider it a tyrannical abuse, and once those who are leaving the chiefs  house to  marry leave, they do not return to render him any more service than the namamahay do, unless he uses force, and this they consider a worse tyranny inasmuch as they were given permission to leave his house and he makes them return to it; and these slaves inherited these customs from their ancestors.”

This  confusion  of  alipin status  was brought  to Spanish attention- by an ill-fated attempt  to replace Filipino concepts of slavery with Christian concepts of slavery. Most contemporary  sources attribute the confusion  to a combination  of Filipino cupidity  and Spanish  ignorance,  the former using the latter  for their own purposes. Typical is the following entry  in the San Buenaventura dictionary:

“Gintubo:  [slavery] inherited from one to another; this is the first kind of  slaves. Nagkakagintubo: slaves of  this kind. Gintubo ni ama: “My father  inherited  it”;  this the Filipinos say before the judges, and those who do  not  know  the  significance of the word judge the slaves to  be sagigilid, so it should be noted that  under this name, gintubo, the two kinds which follow [viz., gigilid and namamahay] are covered, and they should not say that  gintubo is sa gigilid  since it also includes the nama­ mahay.”

Despite  such  well-intended  erudition,  however, the  confusion was  profound   enough   to  survive  into   the   twentieth  century, long  after  the  alipin  who  caused  it  had  disappeared.  The  1972 Panganiban  Diksyunaryo-Tesauro   Pilipino-Ingles defines  gintubo as “a slave born in the house of the master,” but considers it synonymous with “anak ng alipin.”

LUZON  CULTURE

Luzon culture  in the time of Morga and Plasencia differed from the Visayan in at least three particulars: it enjoyed more extensive commerce,  it  had  been influenced  by Bornean political contacts, and it lived off wet rice. Spanish records of the first generation of the  Conquest  consistently   refer  to  Tagalog business interests  as exceeding those of the Visayans, which, on the testimony of tribute-collector   Loarca,  were  hardly  developed.  Augustinian  Fray Martin  de  Rada attributed the  decline  of  human sacrifice in the Manila area to  the  fact  that Tagalogs were “more  traders than warriors,” and Legazpi found  Philippine internal  trade dominated- or  monopolized   – by  ships  from  Borneo  and  Luzon,  which the Visayans called “Chinese” because of the origin of their wares. Manila itself had probably been founded early in the century by adventuresome  Nakhoda  Ragam Sultan  Bulkeiah of Brunei, who also counts  as the  fourth  Sultan  of  Sulu. Rice was grown under controlled  irrigation  in  Pampanga,  and  in such deep water along the  shores  of  Laguna de  Bay that  it  was harvested from  boats; the  San  Buenaventura  dictionary  lists thirteen  terms for rice and six for “transplant,” and gives a detailed description of the process. This last consideration alone would be enough to account for three constant  references in the descriptions  of Tagalog social structure missing from the Visayan accounts:  those to land use, inheritance, and universal field labor.

CONTINUE: VISAYAN Class Structure in the Sixteenth Century Philippines