Chinese and Chinese Mestizos of Manila
Chinese Overseas History, Literature, and Society
Chief Editor
Wang Gungwu Subject Editors
Evelyn Hu-DeHart, David Der-wei Wang, Wong Siu-lun Editorial Board
Ien Ang, Shirley Geok-lin Lim, Liu Hong, Frank Pieke, Elizabeth Sinn, Jing Tsu
VOLUME 1
Chinese and Chinese Mestizos of Manila Family, Identity, and Culture, 1860s–1930s
By
Richard T. Chu
LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010
This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Chinese and Chinese mestizos of Manila : family, identity, and culture, 1870-1925 / by Richard Chu. p. cm. — (Chinese overseas, ISSN 1876-3347 ; v. 1) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17339-2 (hard cover : alk. paper) 1. Chinese—Philippines— Manila—History. 2. Chinese—Philippines—Manila—Social conditions. 3. Chinese— Philippines—Manila—Ethnic identity. 4. Merchants—Philippines—Manila—History. 5. Manila (Philippines)—Ethnic relations. 6. Manila (Philippines)—Commerce— History. I. Chu, Richard. II. Title. III. Series. DS666.C5C476 2010 305.895’105991609034–dc22
2009039192
ISSN 1876-3347 ISBN 978 90 04 17339 2 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands
In memory of my parents Go Tian Hua 吳天華 (1931–1977) and Agustina T. Chu 呂秀珍 (1939–2004), whose love had always been and will always be my source of guidance and strength, and my friend and mentor Edgar B. Wickberg (1927–2008), whose life and work inspired me to write this book.
CONTENTS List of Figures ............................................................................. List of Tables .............................................................................. List of Abbreviations .................................................................. Acknowledgments .......................................................................
ix xi xiii xv
Introduction To be a “Filipino” and “Chinese” in the Philippines ............................................................
1
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Chapter 8 Chapter 9
The Minnan Region of Fujian: History and Society ..................................................................
23
The Chinese in Late Spanish Colonial Manila: An Overview ........................................................
53
The Chinese Merchants in Turn-of-the-TwentiethCentury Manila: Precursors of Modern Chinese Transnationalism in the Philippines ....................
91
Catholic Conversion and Marriage Practices among Chinese Merchants ..................................
145
Family Life and Culture in Chinese Merchant Families .................................................................
179
Rethinking the Chinese Mestizos and Mestizas of Manila ..................................................................
239
Early American Colonial Rule in the Philippines and the Construction of “Filipino” and “Chinese” Identities .............................................
281
Chinese Merchant Families: Family, Identity, and Culture in the Early Twentieth Century .............
333
Negotiating Identities within Chinese Merchant Families: To be “Filipino” or to be “Chinese” ...
369
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Conclusion ..................................................................................
403
Glossary of Chinese Characters ................................................ References ................................................................................... Index ...........................................................................................
415 423 441
LIST OF FIGURES 1. Maps of Fujian and Philippines .......................................... 2. Map of Binondo, late nineteenth century .......................... 3. “Great Mansion of 99 Rooms” built by Joaquin Barrera Limjap .................................................................................. 4. Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan ........................................................ 5. Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien .......................................... 6. Binondo scene, late nineteenth century .............................. 7. Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan’s mother and son ........................... 8. Cu Unjieng, Dominga Ayala, and family in Fujian ........... 9. Chinese Mestiza (2 photos) .................................................. 10. Tomb of Ignacio Jao Boncan at the Chinese cemetery in La Loma (2 photos) ............................................................. 11. Tomb of Vicente Romano Sy Quia at the Chinese cemetery in La Loma (2 photos) ......................................... 12. Mariano Limjap ................................................................... 13. Mariano Limjap and extended family, around 1905–1906 14. “A Warm Welcome Awaits Him (Le Espera Un Calurosa Recepción),” Free Press (4 September 1920) ............................. 15. “El Proteccionismo entre los Filipinos,” The Independent, 9 August 1919 ...................................................................... 16. “Lo que quiere el Chino,” The Independent, 28 May 1921 ... 17. “Mientra el Chino progresa, el Filipino se estanca,” The Independent, 23 June 1917 .............................................. 18. “The Chino says Nothing (El Chino Se Calle),” Free Press (25 September 1926) ............................................................ 19. “Pintong ‘milagroso,’ ” Lipag Kalabaw (4 April 1908) .......... 20. “Those Who Come And Those Who Go,” The Independent (4 September 1920) .............................................................. 21. “The Chinese immigration in the Philippines,” The Independent (18 September 1915) ................................... 22. Cu Unjieng .......................................................................... 23. House of my great-grandfather .......................................... 24. Young Cu Unjieng ...............................................................
24 60 123 126 129 181 201 202 204 226 228 247 259 295 299 323 326 326 331 331 332 353 361 370
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25. Ong, the first Chinese wife of Cu Unjieng ........................ 26. Dominga Ayala .................................................................... 27. Bai Fa ...................................................................................
377 379 381
LIST OF TABLES 1. Chinese Population in the Philippines, 1828–1894 .............. 2. Chinese Population in the Philippines vis-à-vis Other Ethnic Groups, 1800–1903 .................................................... 3. Number of Intermarriages between Chinese Men and Local Philippine Women, 1742–1900 ................................... 4. Civil Marriage Applications between Chinese Men and Local Philippine Women, 1872–1897 ................................... 5. Chinese Population in the Philippines (Selected Years) ........ 6. Number of Catholic Church Marriages between Chinese Men and Local Women, 1899–1927 ....................................
66 66 159 160 292 334
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS AAM AUST BIA CR DSD DGJJXZ EBC ESM FD FHSGBS GH GSU IM JJHQZ JJJ JJSJ JJWSZLXJ NA NARA NE NESP NHI PCGCC PDI QZSHQZ QZSZ QZWSZLXJ RMAO RP RPB SCSB SSSZ VP ZMGXSL
Archives of the Archdiocese of Manila Archives of the University of Santo Tomas Bureau of Insular Affairs Calixto Reyes Demandas Sobre Divorcios Daoguang Jinjiang xian zhi Enrique Barrera y Caldes Expediente Sobre Matrimoniales Felix Dujua Feilubin huaqiao shanju gongsuo baogao shu Genaro Heredia Genealogical Society of Utah Informaciones Matrimoniales Jinjiang huaqiao zhi Jinjiang juan Jinjiang shiji Jinjiang wenshi ziliao xuanji Numeriano Adriano National Archives and Records Administration Naturalización de Estrangeros Naturalización de Españoles National Historical Institute Philippine Chinese General Chamber of Commerce Philippine Daily Inquirer Quanzhou shi huaqiao zhi Quanzhou shizhi Quanzhou wenshi ziliao xuanji Records Management and Archives Office Registros Parroquiales Rectificaciones de Partidas de Bautismos Solicitudes de Chinos Sobre Bautismos Shishi shizhi Varios Personajes Zhong-Mei Guanxi Shiliao
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Inception for my interest in Chinese Studies in general and the Chinese diaspora in particular began with the graduate classes I took at Stanford University with Gordon Chang, Al Dien, Hill Gates, Harold Kahn, and Lyman Van Slyke. To them, I owe a great deal for sharing their knowledge, time, and expertise to a fledgling student from the Philippines. During my doctoral studies at the University of Southern California, I had the opportunity to further hone my intellectual skills under the able guidance of the following professors: John E. Wills, Jr. expanded my knowledge on Chinese history and encouraged my study on the Chinese diaspora, while excellently serving as my main dissertation advisor; my other dissertation committee members Charlotte Furth and Eugene Cooper, aside from contributing to my knowledge on Chinese Studies, introduced me to the theoretical issues of family, class, gender, race, and nation through the graduate courses I took with them; and Lon Kurashige and Soo-Young Chin guided me to read on historiographical isues and works in Asian American Studies that have helped shape my research questions and methodology. Finally, Michael Salman at University of California, Los Angeles exposed me to a wide range of works in Philippine history and historiography. To all of them, I am deeply grateful and indebted for training me as a historian. Funding for my research and writing came from various sources: a University of Southern California dissertation fellowship from the Ahmanson Foundation; the Program for International Cooperation, Ministry of Education, Culture and Sports of Spain, Manila, Philippines; the Hanes Fellowship, History Department, University of Southern California; the China Times Cultural Foundation, Taipei, Taiwan; the Liong Tek Tong Fraternity, Manila; the Chin-Ben See Memorial Fund, Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, Inc., Manila; two summer visiting research fellowships from The Centre for Intercultural Studies, University of Santo Tomas, Manila, Philippines; a Research and Curriculum Enhancement Leave from the History Department at University of Massachusetts at Amherst; and a Dean’s Research Grant and a Faculty Research Grant from the College of Humanities and Fine Arts, University of Massachusetts at Amherst. Without their
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generous support the research, writing, and the completion of this book would not have been possible. I would also like to thank the staff of following archives, libraries, and institutions both in the United States and abroad: the University of Southern California libraries; the W.E.B. Du Bois library at University of Massachusetts at Amherst; the libraries of the Five Colleges, Inc.; the National Archives and Records Administration; the Family History Centers in Los Angeles and Oakland; the Genealogical Society of Utah in Salt Lake City; the Rizal Library of the Ateneo de Manila University; the American Historical Collection of Ateneo’s Rizal Library; the Miguel de Benavides Library of the University of Santo Tomas, Manila; the libraries of University of the Philippines Diliman; the National Historical Institute of the Philippines; the National Library of the Philippines; and the archives office of Quanzhou, Fujian. Special thanks go to Mercedita Servida of the Lopez Library Collections at the Lopez Memorial Museum, Manila; Gemma Boja, Meah See, and Liza Alcayde of Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, Inc.; Lulu del Mar of the Spanish Archives at the Archives of the University of Santo Tomas, Manila; Lea de la Paz and Bernie Sobremonte of the Archives of the Archbishop of Manila; Rowena Relator and Marvic Mendoza of the Record Management and Archives Office, Manila; Fe Tiangco of The Centre for Intercultural Studies, University of Santo Tomas, Manila; and Melvin Thatcher of the Genealogical Society at Utah. Administrators and colleagues at University of Massachusetts at Amherst and the Five Colleges Inc. have in different ways facilitated the transformation of my doctoral dissertation into a book. In terms of funding for research and travel, the offices of Lee Edwards and Joel Martin, former and current deans, respectively, of the College of the Humanities and Fine Arts at University of Massachusetts at Amherst; Paul Kostecki, Vice Provost for Research at University of Massachusetts at Amherst; and Lorna Peterson, former director of the Five Colleges, Inc. have all provided crucial support. I would also like to thank the following friends and colleagues for their help as I navigate and balance the demands of teaching and research: Audrey Altstadt, David Glassberg, Mary Wilson, Richard Minear, Sigrid Schmalzer, Nate Therien, Joshua Roth, Lili Kim, Floyd Cheung, Kimberly Chang, C.N. Le, Milianne Kang, Karen Cardozo, Jerry Dennerline, and Rick Millington. Through the writing of the doctoral dissertation and of the book, I have benefitted from the input and feedback of the following individu-
acknowledgments
xvii
als: Ling Shiao, John Williams, Allison Rottman, Eugenio Menegon, Andrew Wilson, Adam McKeown, Lok Siu, Teresita Ang See, Go Bon Juan, Michael Salman, Cynthia Luz Rivera, Nicanor Tiongson, Rene Javellana, Dai Yifeng, and Paul Kramer. Through the years I have also benefitted from the intellectual stimulation and friendships with members of the following groups and organizations: Critical Filipina and Filipino Studies Collective; Philippine Palimpsests; Asian-Pacific American Studies Certificate Program, Five Colleges, Inc.; Crossroads in the Study of the Americas (CISA), Five Colleges, Inc.; Inter-Asian Political Cultures faculty seminar, Five Colleges, Inc.; and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst Asian and Asian-American Studies Program. The completion of my book would not have been possible with the valuable contribution of the following research assistants: Devin Fitzgerald, Jennifer Kleinman, Luis Loya Garcia, Qian Jin, Kai Yu, and Lou Depita. Over the years I have come to appreciate not only the research assistance, but also the friendships of the following: Rose Mendoza, Danna Santiago, Tina Bernabe, and Marpa Maria Cleofe. In the course of my research I have had the great pleasure and fortune to meet the following individuals who have generously shared their own family histories and provided important photos: Raul Boncan and Barbara Pratt, Josephine M.T. Khu, and the family of Rony and Lolita Lutanco. I am also grateful to the following for granting permission to use some of the images and illustrations found in the book: Philippine Free Press, The Geronimo Berenguer de los Reyes, Jr. Foundation, Inc. (GBR Foundation); José Maria A. Cariño and Sonia Pinto Ner; Alfred W. McCoy; and Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, Inc. My thanks also goes to Don Sluter for the maps and to Trinidad Linares for copyediting. Likewise, my gratitude goes to the anonymous readers of the manuscript, whose careful reading and insightful comments have aided me in revising the manuscript. All errors found in this book are my sole responsibility. It was indeed fortuitous that at one of the Association for Asian Studies conferences I met Matt Kawecki, Acquisitions Editor in Asian Studies at Brill-Boston. He, Katelyn Chin, and Mike Mozina have provided the much needed support and guidance to see this project through. To the editors of the “Chinese Overseas History, Literature, and Society” series at Brill; namely, Wang Gungwu, Evelyn HuDeHart, David Der-wei, and Wang Wong Siu-lun, I thank you for the support you have given to this project.
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I would also like to thank the various coffee houses in Los Angeles, Berkeley, Manila, Western Massachusetts, and Boston in which I spent hours sipping coffee while writing my manuscript. In one’s life there are always a number of special men and women whom one meets and from whom one receives the spiritual nourishment to one’s soul. Nerissa Balce, Fidelito Cortes, Jeffrey Santa Ana, Greg Mullins, Amy Martin, Dan Weinbaum, Paula Chakravarty, Gianpaolo Baoicchi, Asha Nadkarni, Jason Moralee, Jessica Delgado, Daniel Rivers, Dayo Gore, Norma Akamatsu, Ryan Joo, Laurence Breiner, and Larry Hunt have all made my life richer with their friendships. To Eugenio Menegon and John Leupold I cherish the years spent together. My career as a historian and my interest in the Chinese diaspora would not have been made possible without the support and encouragement of the late Edgar Wickberg. His work on the Chinese in the Philippines and Chinese diaspora continues to inspire and guide me as a scholar. It is indeed my deep regret that he had not lived long enough to see the publication of this work, which has greatly benefitted from the path he had set forth. Last but not least, I would like to thank my family: my sisters Nelly, Julie, Caroline, Mona, Gina, and Lisa, and my nephews, nieces, and brothers-in-law. One cannot ask for a more loving family than the one I have. Their love, encouragement, and support have sustained me over these years living abroad carving out a life and career. To our father Go Tian Hua and our mother Agustina T. Chu: even if fate had taken you away so soon, your memory continues to live in our hearts. This book is lovingly dedicated to both of you.
A NOTE ON THE CHINESE TERMS The Chinese terms found in this book are either from Hokkien (Minnanhua) or putonghua. The decision on whether to use the Hokkien or putonghua version is mainly based on sources. For example, if a word or name appears in a document using the Hokkien Romanization of a Chinese term, then that version is used. If deemed useful, the putonghua or Hokkien equivalent of the term is provided. The romanization of Hokkien words is based on the Chinese-English dictionary of the vernacular or spoken language of Amoy, with the principal variations of the Chang-chew and Chin-chew dialects by Carstairs Douglas (1873) as well as the Taiwen-Putonghua dictionary (http://203.64.42.21/ iug/ungian/SoannTeng/chil/taihoa.asp).
INTRODUCTION
TO BE A “FILIPINO” AND “CHINESE” IN THE PHILIPPINES Introduction “Pero hindi ka Pilipino, Intsik ka.”1 “But you’re not Filipino, you’re Intsik.”
Uttered my college classmate as a rejoinder after I started a sentence referring to myself as “Filipino.” To be an “Intsik” (引叔) meant, and still does today, being “Chinese.” Hearing his words was both a jarring and crystallizing moment for me. Two years into a private Catholic university in Manila, I was relishing the experience of meeting new people coming from different high schools around the Philippines. Prior to college, I had been educated for thirteen years at Xavier School, an all-boys Catholic “Chinese” school, where I grew up thinking that I was a “Filipino.” For who would not? Every Monday morning, we all had to line up in the gymnasium where the Filipino flag was displayed, recite the “Panatang Makabayan” (Patriotic Oath) and sing the Philippine national anthem.2 In our classrooms we learned about Philippine 1 This term is mostly used colloquially by Filipinos to refer to the “Chinese.” This word could have come from the Minnan word in-chek, which means “his uncle.” For more information, see World News, 22 December 2002. 2 PANATANG MAKABAYAN Iniibig ko ang Pilipinas Ito ang aking lupang sinilangan Ito ang tahanan ng aking lahi Ako’y kanyang kinukupkop at tinutulungan Upang maging malakas, maligaya at kapakipakinabang Bilang ganti, diringgin ko ang payo ng aking mga magulang Susundin ko ang mga tuntunin ng aking paaralan Tutuparin ko ang mga tungkulin ng isang mamamayang makabayan at masunurin sa batas Paglilingkuran ko ang aking bayan nang walang pag-iimbot at ng buong katapatan Sisikapin kong maging isang tunay na Pilipino Sa isip, sa salita, at sa gawa
PATRIOTIC OATH I love the Philippines This is the land of my birth, the home of my race She has sheltered and helped me to become strong, happy, and productive
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history, national heroes, government, cultures, values, society, etc.3 My Xavier classmates and I enjoyed Filipino movies and spoke, aside from English or Hokkien (the language spoken in the southeastern part of Fujian; transliterated from 褔建 or “Fujian” in putonghua or Mandarin), Tagalog (the language used in Manila and outlying provinces, and on which the official language “Filipino” is mainly based) to each other everyday. At home, my family and I watched the Philippine Basketball Association games and rooted for our favorite team just like everybody else. Whenever I filled out any application form inquiring about my citizenship, I never second thought about putting down “Filipino.” Therefore, it was jarring to be told that I was not one. Nor did I ever hear anyone said to me before: “Intsik ka.” To be sure, I had by then also identified myself as a “Chinese,” having been born to ethnic Chinese parents, or heard other people say that I was “Chinese.” But seldom had I heard anyone else call me “Intsik,” much less apply the word directly to me. The label carries negative connotations, and is commonly used within the context of criticizing, making snide remarks, or expressing curiosity about the Intsik. So when my classmate jokingly used this epithet to refer to me, I felt stung. But it was a crystallizing moment for me too, for it was then that I began to notice and realize that I had been living in a world in which there was an ethnic divide between “Filipinos” and “Chinese.” Before going to college, my classmates and I—mostly ethnic Chinese—were “sheltered” from interacting much with the wider society. Though I grew up hearing distinctions being made between us the lán-lâng (咱人; a Hokkien word to mean literally “our own people” to refer to the ethnic Chinese in the Philippines) and the hoan-á (番仔; a Hokkien word to refer to the Filipinos), it was not later in my young adult life that I learned that hoan-á meant “foreign barbarian.” Whenever I In return, I shall heed the advice of my parents, follow the rules of my school, and fulfill the duties of a patriotic and law-abiding citizen I shall serve my country unreservedly and loyally I shall strive to be a genuine Filipino in thought, word, and deed I would like to thank Ari Dy and Nemesio Dormiendo for their assistance in providing additional details and translations to the oath. 3 In 1974, the Philippine government under then President Ferdinand Marcos issued a decree calling for the “Filipinization” of all Chinese schools, which, among other provisions, effectively reduced the number of hours teaching Chinese-related subjects from half a day to one hour a day, and passed on the ownership and administration of “Chinese schools” solely to Filipino citizens (see Conclusion).
to be a “filipino” and “chinese” in the philippines
3
spoke in Tagalog instead of Hokkien, my elders would call me hoan-á gōng (番仔戆; stupid foreign barbarian) (see Chu 2001). Young children in the “Chinese” community were often reminded to speak lánlâng ōe (咱人話; lit. “the language of our people,” or more precisely, Hokkien); encouraged to have lán-lâng friends; and silently or openly admonished not to marry a hoan-á. Moreover, they were reprimanded if they were seen as adopting the hoan-á thai (番仔態) or the “attitude (or ways) of the foreign barbarian.” A hoan-á was supposed to be lazy and spendthrift, while a lán-lâng hardworking and frugal. Needless to say, we lán-lângs were supposed to be better than them hoan-ás. Yet while my own parents imparted such views to my siblings and me they behaved in ways that contradicted their words. They socialized with “Filipinos,” spending time together with their Filipino comadres and compadres (Spanish words for godmothers or godfathers of one’s children, respectively) and my father’s business associates and their wives, playing mah-jong, bowling, golf, or attending each other’s parties. My father even once considered changing our surname to one of my godfather’s surname—Zapanta—instead of what I use now—Chu. At home, we ate “Filipino” as much as we ate “Chinese” food, and celebrated Christmas and Easter just as most Filipinos did. Furthermore, even when my parents exhorted us to speak Hokkien, they often spoke to my younger siblings and me in Tagalog. Although I had been aware of an ethnic division between the hoan-á and the lán-lâng growing up in Manila, I still considered myself as “Filipino,” and the land of my birth as the Philippines. It took a ribbing from a “Filipino” classmate, a face-to-face encounter with a “Filipino” telling me that I was not “Filipino,” and within a university context in which ethnic Chinese Filipinos like myself were a “minority,” for me to realize that not only did we lán-lângs see the Filipinos apart, but that “Filipinos” also see us as different. As I became more aware through my personal experiences of this separation between the Filipinos and Chinese, I also began to notice how this division was being played out in the wider society. During a spate of kidnappings involving Chinese victims in the early 1990s, an indifferent Philippine government gave these cases low priority, in contrast to its quick response to solving cases involving the abduction of American or Japanese nationals (Ang See 1997a, 173). Furthermore, in newspapers one would sometimes find articles critical of the “Chinese,” accusing them of being loyal only to their economic interests and to
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China. This happened, for instance, when certain Chinese businessmen were linked to former Philippine president Joseph Estrada who was removed from office in 2001 on charges of corruption and cronyism (cf. The Philippine Star, 21 February 1999; The Philippine Daily Inquirer, 21 February 2000). At times, articles written about the “Chinese” in the Philippines could display even more vehement and hostile attitudes toward them, telling the “Chinese” to go back to China (cf. Ang See 1997a, 37). Thus started my quest to understand the dichotomy that I see in Philippine society. Why do such divisions exist between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos”? What is the source of Chinese prejudices against Filipinos, and vice-versa? Why, for example, do many Chinese still exhibit a strong adverse reaction to intermarriage between Chinese and Filipinos, especially when this involves their own children? When I use the term “Chinese” here I am referring to those whose families migrated almost en toto to the Philippines prior to or right after 1949, and whose families therefore had been in the country for more than three generations. More precisely, I refer to those who self-identify as ethnically “Chinese,” although they may have been born and raised in the Philippines, have Filipino citizenship, and are also viewed by “Filipinos” as “Chinese” or “Intsik.” They also retain to some extent the practice of “Chinese” customs, such as ancestral worship or the observance of certain Chinese funerary rites; speak or understand Hokkien to some extent; and marry endogamously. Their children often attend one of the several “Chinese” schools in the Philippines, and still carry a Chinese name apart from a “Filipino” one. Therefore, when using this term I am not particularly referring (although they will be mentioned in this book) to families who, while descended from “Chinese” ancestors and decidedly bear “Chinese” surnames, consider themselves and are generally considered by the majority of the population of the Philippines, including the “Chinese,” as “Filipino,” such as the Tantocos, the Cojuangcos, or the Lichaucos. This also excludes the more recent migrants from China who began arriving in the Philippines in the 1980s up to the present—those who lived through or grew up in Communist China after 1949. The “Chinese” that this book refers to are the 1.0 to 1.2 percent of the total population in the Philippines of roughly 94 million (circa 2009), which would then place their number at 940,000 to 1,128,000, although these estimates are by-and-large unofficial (cf. Ang See 1997a, 40).
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Historical Works on the Chinese in the Philippines In my quest for answers to my questions, I started reading Edgar Wickberg’s groundbreaking work The Chinese in Philippine Life, 1850–1898 ([1965] 2000). To date, this brilliant study remains the most influential book on the history of the Chinese in the Philippines. In Chinese in Philippine Life, Wickberg looks for ways to explain the division between “Chinese” and “Filipinos” in contemporary Philippine society. As he states in his introduction, to understand present-day Chinese-Filipino ethnic relations it is important to examine the history of the Chinese and the Chinese mestizos from 1850 to 1898 for the following reasons: 1) this period saw the increase in the number of “Chinese” in the Philippines; 2) in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the Chinese in the Philippines began to resort to communalism as a response to the rising tide of local anti-Chinese sentiments in the 1880s and 1890s, as well as to the rising proto-nationalism in China; and 3) it was during this period that the Chinese mestizos, who descended from intermarriages between Chinese men and local women, began to be identified or identify themselves with the indios, the latter comprising the majority of the local population, and with whom the former shared a similar “Hispanicized” and “Catholic” heritage. As a result, when the United States colonized the Philippines in 1898 and nationalized citizenship by dividing its colonial subjects into either “Filipino” or “non-Filipino/ alien,” departing from the earlier three-way ethno-legal classificatory system of “sangley (refers to the Chinese)-Chinese mestizo-indio” of the Spanish colonial period, it seems only logical that the Chinese were categorized or chose to categorize themselves as “Chinese” (thus “aliens”), while the Chinese mestizos, along with the indio majority, as “Filipino.” Further evidence of Chinese mestizo identification with the wider “Filipino” community could also be seen in their broad and significant involvement in the reformist and revolutionary movements in the late nineteenth century that planted the seed of “Filipino” nationalism and led to the creation of the Philippine nation-state (Wickberg 1964; Tan 1985). This would help explain, among other things, why the Tantocos, the Cojuangcos, or other families who trace their lineage to earlier Chinese immigrants, are now “Filipinos.” Following Wickberg’s pioneering study, other scholars took up where he left off in his study of the Chinese in the Philippines. For instance, Antonio Tan’s The Chinese in the Philippines, 1898–1935 (1972) examines how during the American colonial period the “Chinese” in the
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Philippines, imbued with rising Chinese nationalistic consciousness, established the institutions, organs, and organizations that increasingly made them a “Chinese” community both separate from the larger “Filipino” society and more closely identified with their “mother” country China.4 In their approaches to the study of the history of the Chinese in the Philippines, Wickberg (at least in his earlier works) and Tan were primarily concerned with the question of how the Chinese in the Philippines would and could “fit” within the national Filipino polity. As a result, their works share with other studies of “overseas Chinese” communities (e.g., Cushman and Wang 1988; Purcell 1965; Suryadinata 1997) the same approach of using earlier sociological and anthropological theories of ethnicity—theories that are based on the concepts of assimilation and integration and often tied-up with nation-based metanarratives. In these discourses ethnic identities are often reified and essentialized, and couched in the language of inclusion and exclusion.5 Recent works in cultural studies, however, have shown such ethnic constructions to be the modus operandi by which national governments and other dominant groups seek to control others. Theorists of nationalism (e.g., Anderson 1991; Alonso 1994; Chatterjee 1993; Eley and Suny 1996; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983) have also demonstrated how governments and their leaders have invented, imagined, or constructed many contemporary ethnic classifications in order to unite a large number of people from diverse backgrounds within a territorialized state. In the case of China, reformist leaders and intellectuals such as Liang Qichao and Kang Youwei began in the latter part of the 1800s, when faced with the prospect of the country being “cut up like a melon” by foreign (European, American, and Japanese) aggressors, to launch a movement to save and unite their “mother country.” Consequently, this led to constructions of a homogeneous “Chinese” culture, race, and civilization within a defined territorial and national space. Moreover, in the process of establishing China as a modern nation, Chinese leaders created a “cultural” China to go along with 4 Tan also published a book on the Chinese during the Japanese occupation (1981). There is a gap therefore, in terms of chronological order, of studies focusing on the Chinese in the Philippines during the Commonwealth Period, or roughly from 1935 to 1942. 5 Other works on the Chinese in the Philippines, whether focusing on their past or present, also tend to use similar frameworks (e.g., Ang See 1997a; Liu 1964; Chen 1998.)
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a “political” China, i.e., defining certain characteristics that made its people “Chinese.” Simultaneously, the Chinese government started reaching out to the “overseas Chinese,” appealing to their patriotic sentiments, and encouraging their identification with “China.” While the construction of this “imagined community” with an invented history, race, and civilization may have provided China and “overseas Chinese” communities today with a form of unity to achieve status and power in the world and within their “local” communities, respectively, it has also engendered ethnic divisions and tensions by reifying and essentializing ethnic identities into oppositional binaries of an “Us” versus “Them.”6 As a result, in studies on “overseas Chinese,” not only are such communities often depicted as one homogeneous group distinct from a larger similarly homogenized majority population in their “host” countries, but also is their “Chinese-ness” often described as part of a timeless and universal “Chinese” culture, discrete and separate from that of the majority population. Contemporary journalists, popular writers, and even academics can thus use these “Chinese” cultural traits such as familism, guanxi (networking) particularism, a superior work ethic, and adherence to certain “Confucian” values to explain the economic “success” of “overseas Chinese” communities. However, these “self-important tracts” and “neo-Confucian triumphalist visions” are also used to extol the superiority of “Chinese” culture over the “West,” or over that of the local “host” society, leading to a type of “cultural chauvinism” that reinscribes the “Orientalist binary oppositions of East versus West,” or, in countries where these diasporic communities are found, of the “Chinese” versus “non-Chinese” (cf. Ong and Nonini 1997, 8–9). Moreover, by calling these communities “overseas Chinese” or “Chinese overseas,” the use of “overseas” inevitably results in installing China as the “primal source and center, the Middle Kingdom, fons et erigo of ‘Chinese culture’ ” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 9). Consequently, these “overseas Chinese” can be regarded as part of a “Greater China”—whether politically, economically, or culturally (see Gold 1993; Harding 1993; Shambaugh 1993; Yahuda
6 Taking the cue from these theorists, many scholars of modern Chinese history (e.g., Crossley 1989, 1990a and 1990b; Duara 1995; Gladney 1991; Honig 1992) as well as those of Philippine history (Ileto 1979 and 1998; McKenna 1998) have begun to question and deconstruct the administrative, ideological, and religious classificatory systems used by the colonial rulers and the nationalist governments of China and the Philippines.
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1993; Wang 1993)—so that, while such a mythic world can benefit those who strive to create and live within it (e.g., enabling the Beijing government to tap its “overseas compatriots” to invest in China), it can also lead the majority population of nations with a significant minority ethnic Chinese population to suspect the loyalty of the latter. Several scholars have thus offered alternative theoretical frameworks for the study of “overseas Chinese” communities. One such approach is to use the word “diaspora” instead of “overseas.” The use of “diaspora” would instead emphasize and describe the connections, links, and flows that characterized the experiences of these Chinese in “modern” times, as well as their flexible, border crossing practices to elude, overcome, or manipulate the efforts of modernizing nationstates or of other dominant groups to localize them into disciplinable subjects (McKeown 1999; Ong and Nonini 1997). In such an approach “Chinese” identity, instead of being culturally deterministic, is viewed as part of a “discursive trope” that is constantly “cast and recast by both Chinese and by Westerners” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 9). Among diasporic Chinese communities in Southeast Asia, what it means to be “Chinese” is best understood by examining how European and American colonial powers, modern nation-states, and other “regimes of truth and power” attempted or attempt to define, categorize, and therefore control the Chinese, and how the diasporic Chinese colluded or collude with as well as acted or act “obliquely to them, and systematically set out to transgress the shifting boundaries set by [such regimes]” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 20). This way, we can veer from nation-based approaches to the study of ethnic identities of Chinese diasporic communities; rescue their “histor(ies) from the nation”; and understand what “Chinese-ness” means in different and specific historical contexts (see Duara 1995). Accordingly, my work takes its inspiration from other studies dealing with modern Chinese transnationalism, including those found in the edited volume Ungrounded Empires: The Cultural Politics of Modern Chinese Transnationalism (Ong and Nonini 1997) that ground the study of diasporic Chinese within a period in history distinguished by an increasing “mobility of people, commodities, ideas, and capital” (see also McKeown 2001; Hsu 2000). Consequently, “modern Chinese transnationalism” is referred to as a kind of “third culture” that has arisen out of the “new transnational economic processes that transcend the porous political boundaries of nation-states even as they now penetrate them” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 11). Seeking to study
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this phenomenon, the several essays found in this volume focus on “the ways in which people’s everyday lives are transformed by the effects of global capitalism, how their own agencies are implicated in the making of these effects, and the social relationships in which these agencies are embedded” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 13). Moreover, they study how, in their “multifaceted and shifting experiences,” the diasporic Chinese “liv(e) under, yet (rework), the conditions of flexibility” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 12). The acquisition of multiple citizenships, the dispersion of family members in different countries, the adoption of hybrid identities, becoming “astronauts”—these are just some examples of how modern Chinese transnationals engage in flexible and bordercrossing strategies to “elude,” “take tactical advantage of,” “temporize,” “redefine,” and “overcome the “disciplinings of modern regimes of colonial empires, postcolonial nation-states, and international capitalism” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 19). The roots of modern Chinese transnationalism can also be traced to the time of “premodern trade systems, European colonialism, and more recent American geopolitical domination of the Pacific” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 12). Therefore, one contribution of this book is found in its focus on an earlier period that would provide a historical context to understand today’s modern Chinese transnational practices. Recently, Andrew Wilson published a study that not only examines the history of the Chinese in the Philippines during colonial times, but also “salvage(s) the history of the (Philippine) Chinese . . . from the nationalist historiography of both China and the Philippines” that tends to cast these people either as “loyal Chinese” or “disloyal Filipinos” (2004, 7). He describes the various flexible strategies that Chinese merchant elites deployed—strategies that displayed their “liminal virtuosity”—in playing with their identities to suit local conditions and to achieve their ambitions. While the time period and the subjects discussed in Wilson’s book overlap with mine, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos diverges from Wilson’s book in fundamentally different and important ways. First, my book focuses not only on the Chinese, but also on the Chinese mestizo population in colonial Manila. Second, my research also takes inspiration from works in cultural anthropology (e.g., Leonard 1992; Oxfeld 1993) that investigate closely the everyday socio-economic practices of families and individuals, especially from marginalized and ethnic minority communities, as a way to discuss their ethnicity, while Wilson’s book is primarily interested in merchantelite political activism and not in identity construction and negotiation.
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Since imagining communities or the invention of tradition involves the construction of a “cultural” identity to go with “political” identities and loyalties, I am interested in examining how such cultural markers were created and reified, and how individuals, whether singly or as members of their families or “communities,” contested or negotiated these. After the path-breaking work of Fredrik Barth (1969), theorists of ethnicity have pointed out that the study of ethnicity needs to take into consideration not only how groups have been identified by others, but how members of these groups view themselves in relation to others, since ethnic identities also are self-ascriptive (e.g., Cohen 1978). Works that aim to challenge the nation-based ethnic identifications of “ethnic minorities” by focusing on the socio-cultural practices of members of these “groups” provide not only a more complex and sophisticated understanding of “identity,” but also agency to the people they study (e.g., Ong and Nonini 1997; Leonard 1992; Oxfeld 1993). Such an approach also invariably leads to studies that are micro-historical, focusing on the life stories and daily practices of specific individuals or families, and how these present us with meanings of “identity” that differ from—and therefore that challenge—the essentialized and reified versions of ethnic identifications dominant groups create. Studies like those of Wickberg and Tan, which approach the study of ethnic identities from a macro-historical perspective, tend to gloss over or simply neglect the daily practices of individuals that can provide us with variegated and constantly changing meanings of identities.7 Following the lead of these works on modern Chinese transnationalism and in cultural anthropology, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos will examine the commercial and familial practices of Chinese merchants and their families from the late Spanish to the early American colonial periods. In studying some of the flexible and border-crossing commercial or business practices of Chinese merchants and their families in late Spanish and American colonial Manila, I aim to accomplish two primary objectives: 1) to complement or veer away from earlier studies inclined to focus on the Chinese merchant community as part of a separate ethnic
7 Another work called Indio to Filipino seems to indicate a study focusing on the ethnogenesis of identities in the Philippines, but an examination of it only explains how the word “Filipino” was originally used during the Spanish colonial period to refer to Spanish individuals born in the Philippines. Furthermore, its discussion on “mestizos” mainly refers to “Spanish mestizos,” and not Chinese mestizos who are the subjects of this study (Abella 1970s).
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enclave, with little or no interaction with other ethnic groups; and 2) to describe their practices not as part of a culturally deterministic “Chinese” way of doing business, but as part of their tactical and strategic ways to evade, manipulate, or collaborate with hegemonic efforts to control their bodies, identities, families, movements, and resources. Furthermore, in focusing on their everyday and socio-cultural practices, I am able to look more intimately at how people identified themselves. If Wickberg was right in saying that Chinese mestizos during the Spanish colonial period were a “special kind of Filipino” (i.e., to mean that they identified with their “Hispanic” and “Christian” and “rejected their “Chinese” heritage), what then, did that exactly mean within the context of individuals’ experiences, particularly those who belonged to families that were “bi-ethnic”? In this regard my work is influenced by Karen Leonard’s pioneering study (1992) of Punjabi-Mexican families in Imperial Valley, California. In examining how “culture” was transmitted in these bi-ethnic families, and in reconstituting family histories, Leonard is able to demonstrate how “ethnic markers and boundaries were contested and negotiated within marriages, within families, throughout the history of this social group” (1992, 13). And, in emphasizing how the individuals and family life processes, i.e., micro-level processes, interacted with the political economy, she is able to show how ethnicity is constructed and what it means “to people across time, space, and context” (Leonard 1992, 14). Following her lead, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos is, at heart, a social history that is interested in examining—borrowing Leonard’s term—the “ethnic choices” made by these Chinese merchants as well as by their families in late colonial Manila within the historical specificities of their times. In this study, I aim to demonstrate how these individuals and their families negotiated, contested, or colluded in the creation of “Chinese” and “Filipino” identities—and by extension, families—in contemporary Filipino society. Lastly, my book participates in recent works in post-colonial and empire studies such as Michael Salman’s The Embarrassment of Slavery (2001) and Paul Kramer’s The Blood of Government (2006) that are critical of the role of the United States (U.S.) colonial regime in creating a Philippine nation-state that benefited or continues to benefit certain groups while marginalizing and oppressing others. Past studies on the Chinese in the Philippines focusing on the American colonial period (e.g., Tan 1985; Wilson 2004; Wong 1999) often tend to either regard the period as a “golden era” for the Chinese, since American economic
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policies supposedly allowed them better opportunities to increase their wealth, or neglect to cast a more critical eye on how American colonization of the Philippines marginalized the Chinese. However, my work will provide a needed balance to this historiography by demonstrating how American colonial rule in the Philippines (along with Filipino and Chinese nationalisms) contributed significantly to the creation of an ethnic divide between the Chinese and the Filipinos, which did not necessarily outweigh the economic benefits the former enjoyed as a result of American colonialism. The hypothesis I am setting forth therefore in this book is this: that in the examination of the domestic and everyday practices of Chinese merchants and their families in the Philippines, and focusing on their “border-crossing” and “flexible” practices, we can gain better insights into the “ethnogenesis” of “Filipino” and “Chinese” identities in the Philippines. As efforts by different dominant hegemonic groups and increasing competition from rising capitalism in the Philippines and in the region sought to curtail, limit, and constrain their bodies and resources, Chinese merchant families in Manila, with their commercial and familial connections to Minnan, simultaneously negotiated such outside forces and interventions through a variety of familial and economic practices. Such practices included, among other things, switching their identities and playing with multiple ones in ways that were often asymmetrical and different from those constructed by dominant groups designed to localize them. Furthermore, in the accumulation of wealth for these diasporic families such flexible practices often involved the creation of their own familial “regime of truth and power” that controlled and oppressed members of their family, including the young, the women, and the poor (Ong 1998, 135–9). The period that I seek to focus on is from the 1860s to the 1930s. There are both phenomenological and practical reasons for this. In the last three decades of the nineteenth century, ethno-legal classifications under the Spanish colonial period for tax purposes were constructed three-ways: sangley, Chinese mestizo, and indio. The rise of a Chinese mestizo class in Philippines, especially in the urban areas, was a product of various socio-historical and economic forces, among which was the role that the Catholic Church had played in encouraging, first, Christian conversion among the Chinese, and second, intermarriages between these converts and local Philippine women. The goal was to create in Binondo (a district in Manila) a community of Chinese merchant-families whose members would help the
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Catholic Church’s missionary efforts in China (including Taiwan) once they were converted to the faith. Consequently, scholars often take into account when studying the ethnicity of the Chinese and their descendants both state and church classifications (e.g., Sugaya 2000; Wickberg [1965] 2000). In such an approach, Wickberg was the first one to advance the thesis that, Chinese mestizos primarily identified with their “Hispanic” and “Catholic” culture (and in fact were the most “Hispanicized” and “Catholic” among the Spanish subjects) and “rejected” their Chinese heritage. Their Catholic Chinese fathers, on the other hand, were often accused by Spanish missionaries as “bad” and “insincere” converts, who maintained their “heathen” ways such as engaging in polygamy and the practice of other “pagan” beliefs, and apostatized upon returning to China. Furthermore, as mentioned above, they were beginning to see themselves as a “community” in the midst of a growing proto-nationalism in China and of anti-Chinese sentiments in the Philippines. Partly because of his macro-historical approach to the study of ethnic identity formation in Philippine society, especially in urban centers such as Manila where there were significant numbers of Chinese, Chinese mestizos, and indios living together, and partly because of his use of earlier assimilationist theories on the study of ethnic identities, Wickberg could only paint in broad strokes what it meant to be “sangley,” “Chinese,” “mestizo,” or “Catholic” back then. In such an approach to the study of ethnic identity construction and formation, his definition of the “Chinese mestizo” as a “special kind of Filipino” to explain why today descendants of Chinese merchant families in urban areas are now considered as “Filipinos” makes sense. But herein lay the main differences between Chinese and Chinese Mestizos and Wickberg’s Chinese in Philippine Life. First, my book is primarily interested in “first-generation” Chinese mestizos, while Wickberg’s focuses on “Chinese mestizos” in general. Second, while Wickberg’s study ends in 1898, mine ends in the 1930s, just right after the beginning of the Commonwealth government and right before the Japanese occupation in the Philippines. I chose to bookend my work with, on the one hand, the period in which an increasing number of Chinese migrated to the Philippines under the more liberal emigration laws of China and due to other factors, and on the other, the time when the number of “Chinese” families in the country began to rise due to the increasing political instabilities in China and in Fujian, the province from where most Chinese trace their ancestral land. In choosing to focus on this timeframe, I am arguing in this book that during the
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period under study, ethnic categories are better understood as flowing along a shifting and problematic continuum. Several factors interacting with one another would eventually give rise to the construction of dichotomous and oppositional political as well as cultural “Chinese” and “Filipino” identities that we see in Philippine society today. These factors included American racial and anti-Chinese policies (building upon earlier Spanish colonial ones) set within the context of American imperial ambitions; Filipino and Chinese nationalisms (the latter pertaining to both China and the Philippines); and other local and regional factors such as the diminished role that Catholic conversion played in the creation of “loyal” and “faithful” citizens, or the growing economic and political instabilities in China that rendered moving back and forth between China and the Philippines more difficult and dangerous, thereby leading to the creation of more “Chinese” families in the Philippines. The combination of these factors also caused the long-standing practice of intermarriages or consensual unions between “Chinese” men and local women in the Philippines, including the practice of bigamy or polygamy that wealthy Chinese merchants practiced at the time, and that gave rise to “Chinese mestizos,” to become more and more rare and taboo in a society that learned and adopted nation-based, thus territorialized, and modern “pure-based” notions of ethnic identities.8 Consequently, a Filipino’s recollection of a pig-tailed or female “Chinese” ancestor in the not-too-distant past becomes the stuff of family lore long forgotten, or, at best, relegated to the dustbin of history. And among “Chinese” families, “Chinese” racial purity within the family and lineage should be maintained as much as possible, and “Filipinos” only to be regarded as friends, business associates, as the “Other” that one should not aspire to become like, much less become part of one’s own.
8 While other scholars have conducted studies dealing specifically with the marriage practices, culture, and identities of the “Chinese” and their families, they primarily focus on the post-World War II period (Chen 1998; Amyot 1973; Omohundro 1981; Reynolds 1998; Dannhaeuser 2004; Cheong 1983; Zarco 1966). Furthermore, except for Hodder 1996, these studies still subscribe to integrationist and assimilationist approaches that framed the studies of earlier works.
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Methodology and Sources The method used for this study is basically ethnographic, reconstructing and reconstituting individual and family life stories as well as describing particular everyday commercial and domestic practices. However, because of the historical nature of the study, the “fieldwork” done was primarily in the archives, especially those found in Manila. For the part of my study dealing with the Spanish colonial period, three archives were utilized; namely, the Record Management and Archives Office (RMAO, formerly known as the Philippine National Archives); the Archives of the Archdiocese of Manila (AAM); and the Archivo de la Universidad de Santo Tomas (AUST)—all of which hold huge volumes of hitherto unused or underutilized records pertaining to the Chinese and the Chinese mestizos. From the RMAO, I examined hundreds of protocolos, which are notarial records such as powers of attorney; sales of property and goods; testaments; issuance of promissory notes; and civil marriage contracts. [This is where the “pragmatic” part of choosing the 1860s for my study comes into play; the compilation of complete sets of protocolos started only in the late 1860s. Unfortunately, as of this writing notarial records beyond 1903 are not yet publicly accessible to scholars.] Another important set of documents I used from this archive is the Varios Personajes, which contains the dossier of prominent individuals living in Manila, including transcriptions of court cases brought against them and personal records. From the AAM, I examined bundles of baptismal and matrimonial records belonging to Chinese converts in Manila, carefully noting down and collecting important biographical data from these sources. Complementing these Spanish government and church records are letters, reports, and publications found at AUST, the archives of the Catholic Dominican order. The Dominican friars were in charge of evangelizing and administering to the spiritual needs of the Chinese in Manila, and kept many records and files of their Chinese ministry. The utilization of these mostly Spanish sources allows for a more intimate and first-hand look into the lives of Chinese and Chinese mestizos long gone from the face of the earth. For the part of my study dealing with the American colonial period, I utilized for primary sources mostly Western-language newspapers, government records, travel accounts, court cases, and other forms of printed material such as works of fiction. Chinese sources for both colonial periods are restricted mostly to gazetteers, family genealogies, and
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biographies. Unfortunately, Chinese newspapers published in Manila during the first few decades of the twentieth century, which could have been a valuable source of information, were mostly destroyed during World War II. Finally, interviews conducted with descendants of people included in my study as well as privately written family histories covered the gaps between other sources. Limitations/Scope of Study As I mentioned earlier, the reason why I chose to focus on the 1860s to the 1930s is that it is within this time frame that we can begin to understand the reasons for the ethnic division between “Chinese” and “Filipinos” today. Another reason for choosing this period that spans both the latter part of the Spanish colonial period and the early American period is that I wanted to avoid the usual periodization used by other scholars in tracing the history of the Chinese in the Philippines. The year 1898 has always been utilized as the cut-off point, i.e., it was this year when Spanish colonial rule officially ended and American colonial rule began. While this periodization may seem logical, past scholars have unfortunately also used what was a political change to describe changes in ethnic classifications in the Philippines. In other words, when the Americans established new citizenship laws in the Philippines that divided its people into “Filipinos” and “aliens” (thereby removing the three-way classificatory system of sangleys, Chinese mestizos, and indios instituted by the Spanish government in the Philippines), these scholars have sought to explain the changes in the ethnic identities of the Chinese and Chinese mestizos in the Philippines to support what were legally-imposed categories, instead of analyzing how the affected people negotiated these changes. As I will demonstrate in Chapter 7, the conflation of political and cultural identities of what it meant to be “Chinese” or “Filipino” took a few decades to be formed. Even though by 1899 the American colonial government had established a new classificatory system dividing the population in the Philippines into “Filipinos” and “aliens” (i.e., “Chinese”), I argue that the process of propagating and constructing a homogenized and reified view of “Chinese-ness” and “Filipino-ness” took several decades, and reached a crucial moment in the 1930s, when the meanings of such identities became more defined, consolidated, and unified, establishing the bases upon which they are understood and circulated in contemporary Philippine society.
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As to the individuals I have included in my study, most of them were merchants or belonged to the middle or upper class. Many of the Chinese included here also converted to Catholicism and married local (i.e., Chinese mestizo and indio) women. At the outset, therefore, I would like to state that my study does not claim to paint a picture of a wide spectrum of the Chinese population in Manila. I was partly constrained by the types of documents available to me. Individuals and families of some economic capability and mobility were the ones who often drew up the business and marriage contracts and testaments. In doing so, they left records that researchers can use to reconstruct their everyday practices and life histories.9 Lastly, I chose to focus on Chinese merchant families in Manila, especially those living in Binondo or the areas around it. This arises from a conscious decision to make them the focus of my study as Manila continues to be the main urban center where a big proportion of the Chinese diasporic community in the Philippines resided (and continues to reside), although during the period under study significant numbers of Chinese were also found in other urban areas, particularly Cebu and Iloilo.10 Chapter Summaries As a way to provide a broader context to the history and society of the Chinese in the Philippines, a background on the history, society, political set-up, and economy of the Minnan region up to the early part of the twentieth century is established in the first chapter. Drawing on Western and Chinese sources, this chapter in particular discusses certain factors, such as the topography of the Minnan region, the advances made in navigational technology, and Chinese government policy changes, which would help explain the influx of Chinese 9 This does not mean, however, that there are no archival records that could be used to study the ethnic identities of people from the lower socio-economic class. Two such records that could be possibly used are the criminal and civil cases found at the RMAO. These records have been transferred to CD-rom formats. However, a cursory examination of these records shows that most documents are haphazardly arranged, with dates not chronologically arranged. Thus, researchers will have to first sift through these voluminous files and create some order before being able to use them efficiently. 10 Significant studies on other “Chinese” communities outside Manila include Dannhaeuser 2004; Reynolds 1998; Omohundro 1981; Hodder 1996; and the different essays in Ang See 1997b.
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migrants into the Philippines after the 1850s. Furthermore, Chapter 1 provides a description of late imperial and early Republican Minnan society, focusing especially on the people’s various commercial and socio-cultural practices that had bearing on Chinese merchant society and families in Manila. (Other aspects of Minnan society not discussed in this chapter are included in the proceeding chapters). In providing such details, this work hopes to present a more transnational context to the study of the Chinese diaspora in the Philippines. The second chapter begins with a general description of the history of the Chinese in the Philippines, and then focuses on the local and regional contexts in which the Chinese and Chinese mestizos in Manila lived during the latter part of the nineteenth century. It also produces a general picture of the district of Binondo where many Chinese and their families resided. Furthermore, data gathered from a wide variety of primary and secondary sources reveals a demographic picture of the individuals and families under study, including statistical information pertaining to population, sex ratio, native-place origins, age, and occupational backgrounds. The chapter ends with an examination of Spanish colonial policy and outside perceptions toward the Chinese during the last few decades of Spanish colonial rule in the Philippines. A discussion of the ways in which the Spanish colonial government regulated the economic activities of the Chinese merchants starts off Chapter 3. This is followed by an investigation of the specific business practices of the members of this diasporic community. Using mainly the notarial records found in the RMAO, I provide specific examples of business transactions that entailed border-crossing practices. For instance, while building companies in Manila, many wealthy Chinese merchants also set up companies in Hong Kong or Xiamen (in China). They then willingly dispersed family members to operate these distant businesses. Another strategy they adopted was to establish connections and conduct business transactions not only with other Chinese merchants, but also with people of different ethnic groups. I also describe how these merchants practiced another flexible strategy by Hispanicizing themselves—learning to speak, read, or write Spanish, and applying for Spanish citizenship. Finally, I describe how Chinese merchants, by having several names to use in different situations, confounded colonial authorities attempting to pin down their identities and to regulate them. The chapter concludes with a section on the business practices of three Chinese merchants: Joaquin Barrera Limjap, Ignacio Jao Sy Boncan, and Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, as a way to particular-
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ize and concretize the practices discussed herein. Of note are some descriptions of how these wealthy Chinese merchants, particularly Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, interacted with men—both Chinese and non-Chinese—of lower-class standing. Chinese merchants adopted flexible strategies in their public and commercial lives in order to take advantage of their diasporic positionalities and hybrid identities. But in order to succeed, they also had to create structures and border-crossing strategies within the familial realm of their lives. For instance, capitalizing on the privileges that accompanied Christian conversion and marriage, many of these prominent Chinese merchants became Catholics. This is why I investigate their religious practices, notably those that pertain to Catholic baptism and marriage in Chapter 4, beginning with a description and discussion of Spanish government and Church policies designed to turn the Chinese and their families into “loyal” and “faithful” subjects. Then I outline the procedures for a Chinese to receive baptism and marry a local woman, and how the Spanish church and secular authorities dealt with the issue of polygamy. Specifically, this chapter demonstrates how pertinent Church policies toward intermarriages between the Chinese and local women actually condoned, if not encouraged, the polygamous practices engaged in by some converts. Hence, the accounts of outside observers or Spanish missionaries who tended to describe these Chinese converts who had multiple wives as “bad” or “insincere” Catholics need to be reassessed in the light of such accommodations. For these Chinese and their families, such arrangements, which were part of their flexible strategies to adapt to local (both within China and the Philippines) and regional conditions and to accommodate the itinerant lifestyle of Chinese traders, were based on both Chinese and Philippine cultural practices that allowed if not tolerated such marriage and kinship practices, even if these went against Catholic-proscribed norms. After marriage, how did family life unfold in Chinese mestizo households? Where did the newlyweds live? How did they raise their children? What were some of their familial and socio-cultural practices and how did these differ from those in China? These are some of the questions that the fifth chapter seeks to answer in depicting some facets of family life within Chinese merchant families from womb to tomb. The picture described here is necessarily general and incomplete. It is only meant to give the reader a glimpse, and not a template, of what family life might have been for these families. The overall aim of the chapter is not simply to provide a description of their lives, but, more
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importantly, also to demonstrate what kinds of flexible strategies they employed in navigating the cross-cultural exchanges and encounters that went on within their households and without, and in thwarting or negotiating the efforts of dominant groups to restrict and control their lives. I also discuss how we can interpret some of these practices, such as the creation of networks or guanxi with non-Chinese of higher standing or believing in gods from different religious traditions, not in terms of their mindset as rational homo economicus, but from the perspective of their cosmological worldview. Chapter 6 focuses on and examines the lives of the first-generation Chinese mestizos and their socio-religious and business practices as a way to understand their ethnic identities. Past scholarship described these Chinese mestizos as mainly Hispanicized and Catholic to explain why they became “Filipino” and not “Chinese” when ethnic identities were nationalized. In contrast, by examining their everyday practices, this chapter shows that many Chinese mestizos spoke Hokkien (the language spoken by most of the Chinese in Manila); engaged in business dealings with the Chinese; entered into partnerships with them; and even traveled to China or Hong Kong as merchants or students. Thus, I argue that identities of first-generation Chinese mestizos during this period are better understood as multiple, constantly shifting, and ambiguous. Apart from male Chinese mestizos, this chapter also has a section on the family and business practices of Chinese mestizas. Including the lives and everyday practices of Chinese mestizas in my discussion of Chinese mestizo identity further complicates the nationalist version of what constitutes a “Filipino,” a category historically understood only from the points of view and lives of male individuals. For example, I demonstrate that the “ethnic choices” made by Chinese mestizas—such as marrying a Chinese merchant, thereby repeating the same pattern their Chinese mestizo mothers practiced—forces us to rethink Wickberg’s thesis that Chinese mestizos “rejected” their “Chinese-ness.” Finally, a section is devoted to an in-depth description of how the lives of some Chinese mestizos, namely, Mariano Limjap, Ildefonso Tambunting, and Bonifacio Limtuaco, reflect the flexible strategies of many Chinese mestizos during this historical juncture. Aside from examining the economic changes under the American colonial period and adaptations made by Chinese merchants to these changes, Chapter 7 provides an overview of the different factors in the first three decades of the twentieth-century that led to the distinct racial and ethnic divide between the Chinese and the Filipinos today. One major factor was American discriminatory policies against
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the Chinese, such as the Chinese Exclusion Act that prohibited the immigration of Chinese laborers into the Philippines. While racist American views of the Chinese did not essentially differ from those of the Spanish colonial rulers, one important difference was the belief in American nationalist exceptionalism (as part of American imperial ambitions in the Asia-Pacific region) that pushed U.S.-based legislators and their counterparts in the Philippines to exclude Chinese laborers, even if this meant slowing down the economic “development” of their newly-established colony; and to categorize the Chinese as “aliens.” Once the foundation for a legal segregation of “Filipinos” and “Chinese” was set, burgeoning and competing Filipino and Chinese nationalisms (in the latter case both in China and in the Philippines), along with rising political and economic instability in China, the subsequent rise of “Chinese” families in the Philippines, and other American policies targeting or affecting not only the business, but also the domestic lives of the “Chinese” and their families all combined to help create nation-based and territorialized cultural distinctions between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos.” How did Chinese merchants and their families adapt to and negotiate the changes in the local and regional contexts? More specifically, what were the ways by which Chinese merchant families employed flexible strategies in their familial lives in order to adapt to the sociopolitical changes during the first three decades of the twentieth century under American colonial rule? How were these practices different or changed from those observed by Chinese merchant families in the Spanish colonial period? Furthermore, how did first-generation Chinese mestizos live out and negotiate their identities in light of a new classificatory system and the quest for building the Philippine nation-state under the American colonial period? Chapter 8 seeks to provide some answers to these questions by describing the actions of these individuals and families, especially as they related to marriage and other domestic practices. As a way to render clearer the examples given in the previous chapter, Chapter 9 incorporates the family history of the “richest” Chinese merchant at the time, Guillermo Araullo Cu Unjieng, and of the last two decades of Mariano Limjap’s life. In examining the flexible strategies of these Chinese merchant families and individuals in light of the changing political economy in the first three decades of the twentieth century, the chapter delineates the processes by which not only “Chinese” and “Filipino” identities, but also “Chinese” and “Filipino” families were formed.
CHAPTER ONE
THE MINNAN REGION OF FUJIAN: HISTORY AND SOCIETY Introduction Manila, the capital of the Philippines, is a cosmopolitan, bustling megalopolis. As Metropolitan Manila, it is home to over 10 million residents (circa 2008), and attracts multitudes of people near and far searching for economic and other opportunities.1 Big local and international corporations set up their head offices in Manila’s financial centers such as Makati and Ortigas Center. Among those who participate in its economy are Filipinos of Chinese ethnic background, whose businesses range from banks with billions of pesos in assets and equity to food chains and large department stores. In another section of greater Manila not far from Binondo, Manila’s “Chinatown,” a big enclosed flea market called “168” attracts thousands of buyers from all over the country, especially during the holiday season, looking for bargain wares and goods, many of which are imported from China. The owners of many of these stalls are recent migrants from China. For centuries, the Chinese in the Philippines have played an important role in the Philippine economy, infusing the country with their capital, labor, knowledge, and skills. Where do most of the Chinese in Manila trace their ancestors’ origin? What factors brought their ancestors to the country? In order to answer these questions it is necessary to go back in time and examine the conditions in the Minnan region of southeastern Fujian province. As we will see, Minnan in the middle to the latter part of the nineteenth century was home to a population of people with a long history of maritime trade and cultural interaction with peoples from Southeast Asia, including the Philippines (cf. Liu 1964, 64–6, 228–36).
1 Greater or Metropolitan Manila, which encompasses twelve cities and five municipalities, counts 14 million people (circa 2008).
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Figure 1. Maps of Fujian and Philippines. Created by Don Sluter.
Fujian—Early History Most of the Chinese in the Philippines today trace their origins to Fujian (褔建) province in China. The province’s original inhabitants were members of the “seven Min tribes” that lived in the area during the Zhou dynasty (1111–255 BCE). During the Tang Dynasty, political instability forced many living in the northern part of China to flee to the southern provinces of China, including Fujian ( JJHQZ 1994, 25). Over time, the earlier inhabitants were displaced or outnumbered by people of Han ethnicity, making Fujian’s population today predominantly Han Chinese (fig. 1).2 Tracing the ethnic and regional background of most Chinese in the Philippines shows that most of them come, in particular, from the southeastern part of Fujian, the region known as Minnan (閩 南). The word “Min” (閩) stands for the abbreviated name of Fujian. 2 The largest ethnic minority group consists of She tribesmen (Shemin), who inhabit the mountainous regions of the northern Fujian. Hakka (Kejia), a Han branch with its own distinct identity, live in the southwestern parts of Fujian. Hui’an, also a Han branch with unique culture and fashion, populate Fujian’s southeast coastline in Hui’an County. The archaeological findings indicate that the original inhabitants in Fujian were Austronesians who made their living by fishing.
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It also refers to the river Min located in the northeastern part of the province.3 “Nan” (南), on the other hand, means “south.” Thus, “Minnan” means “South of the river Min.” At the height of their migration in the nineteenth century, many of the 90,000 or so Chinese in the Philippines were chiefly from Minnan. In 1822, this region accounted for over ninety percent of the recorded Chinese in the Philippines. More than seventy years later, it still accounted for 87.5 percent of Manila’s Chinese (Doeppers 1986, 352).4 The people who live in Minnan, including in the cities of Zhangzhou (漳州), Quanzhou (泉州), and Xiamen (厦門), speak a language that is often referred to as Hokkien (a term that stands for “Fujian” in the Minnan language). In the Philippines, the language is often referred to as “Amoy,” which was the name commonly known to Western outsiders, and which is based on its Minnan derivative.5 During the earlier dynasties, Minnan encompassed two prefectures: Zhangzhou and Quanzhou. Quanzhou was a leading foreign trade and shipbuilding center from the twelfth to the thirteenth century.6 Zhangzhou began to catch up as the new terminus for overseas trade at the turn of the sixteenth century. Of the two, Quanzhou will merit further discussion due to its connections to the Philippine Chinese. Quanzhou Quanzhou (known in the Arab world as Zaytun, or in older English works, Chinchew or Chinchu) was founded as early as 718 CE under the Tang dynasty.7 It began to develop as large immigration flows from
The river had a length of 350 miles, circa 1923 (Chen [1923] 1967, 24). The rest mostly came from the Canton region. 5 For the rest of the book, “Xiamen” will be used instead of “Amoy,” unless “Amoy” is found in the original source that is being quoted or cited. 6 For more information on the history and society of Fujian during earlier times, the following English books are suggested: (on the founding of the Min empire in the tenth century) Schafer 1954; (for stone inscriptions from the Song to the Qing dynasties) Vermeer 1991; (on agriculture and economy) Rawski 1972, Ng 1983, Gardella 1994; (on religion) de Groot 1892–1910. 7 From about 900–978, it operated as a semi-autonomous kingdom within the larger kingdom of Min, and for a period of time, under the rule of the Wang family, was fairly autonomous until Song Taizu annexed it in 978 (Clark 1982). For more information, especially on the rise of Quanzhou from obscurity to prominence during the Tang to the Song transition period, see Clark 1982. 3 4
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central China increased its population.8 Quanzhou’s topography and location helped shape people’s choices and decisions. As in the rest of Fujian province, Quanzhou abounds with hills and has limited land for cultivation, except in some areas.9 Thus, the low man-land ratio and the challenges posed by the geographical limitations of the place for agricultural production led people to engage in maritime commerce, handicraft industries, and domestic trade.10 Located at the mouth of the Jin River (晋江) that flows out into the South China Sea, Quanzhou became an important overseas trading port at the beginning of the Song dynasty, attracting foreigners such as Japanese, Indian, and Arab traders, with the latter bringing in not only their goods for trade but also their religion ( JJHQZ 1994, 24).11 By the ninth century, when the Chinese empire’s maritime trade grew, Quanzhou was one of the empire’s four great trading ports, along with Jiaozhou, Yangzhou, and Guangzhou, the last being the center of trade and commerce at the time. As navigational technology vastly improved, Quanzhou also became a major gateway for people traveling to the Nanyang (南洋) region (Southeast Asia).12 A Song dynasty poem reflects the long historical tradition of maritime travel among the people of Quanzhou: Quanzhou is thick with people The mountains and valleys sterile Although they want to take up the plow There’s no land free
8 The influx of people from central China was due to the An Lushan rebellion from 755–763. Due to its many mountains and rivers, Fujian provided a natural protection against rebellious forces and elements within the empire (Nian 2005, 25). 9 It is estimated that mountainous areas constitute 70 percent of Quanzhou. A little flatland is found along the coastline and in the lower reach of Jin River, but 25 percent of this area cannot be used for farmland due to undeveloped irrigation system. 10 Fujian was one of the most secluded areas in eastern China due to the lack of rail and underdeveloped networks of paved roads before the 1950s. The geographical character can be traditionally described to be “Eight parts mountain, one part water, and one part farmland” (八山一水一分田). It must be noted however that the region also allowed for the planting of cash crops such as cotton. Eventually, cotton textiles and clothes became one of the leading exports from the region (Ng 1983, 10–1). 11 Islam was a religion that was present in Minnan for a period of time. It was introduced by Arab traders who came to Quanzhou during the height of its reputation as a major trading port. Today, one can find remains of a large number of Muslim gravesites (Nian 2005, 20). 12 Links were not limited just to Southeast Asia, but also included Japan and the Korean kingdom of Goryeo ( JJHQZ 1994, 25).
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South of the province is the ocean Expansive and without limit Every year they make boats to go to other lands (Zhuang 1985, 293).13
It was during the Yuan dynasty that Quanzhou reached its apex, surpassing Guangzhou as the center of commercial activity, and becoming China’s main trading harbor and Fujian’s biggest city (Mote 1999, 467; cf. Ng 1983, 12).14 It was also one of the world’s largest seaports and the starting point of what was known as the “Maritime Silk Road.” But it was a site of not only great commercial, but also cultural activity. During the Song dynasty, the famous Confucian scholar Zhuxi visited Quanzhou to give lectures, and many Confucian scholars came out of this place. However, during the Ming dynasty, the Jin River became silted, thus affecting commerce. Furthermore, in 1433 the Ming dynasty banned maritime trade in order to curb piracy and other dangers and unwanted consequences associated with maritime trade ( JJHQZ 1994, 6; Mote 1999, 719). Despite the ban, private trade continued, but the southern coasts of China continued to be plagued by pirates, who, while officially labeled as “Japanese” were often Chinese merchants whose livelihoods were affected by the ban on maritime trade (Mote 1999, 719–21; Zheng 2001, 12).15 The coming of the European colonizers to Southeast Asia in the sixteenth century ushered a new period of growth in trade. After the death of Emperor Shizong in 1567 the ban on trade was lifted. Moreover, Chinese merchants began to take over the trade previously dominated by Japanese, Arabs, and others, and as trade grew, emigration to Taiwan and Southeast Asia also increased (Zheng 2001, 14). However, when the new Qing dynasty enforced a policy of evacuation in order to defeat the forces of the Ming loyalist Zheng Chenggong (鄭成功), also known as Koxinga, maritime trade in the region was again affected.16 In 1660, the Qing government ordered the entire
I want to thank Devin Fitzgerald for translating this poem. The location of Minnan, which is far from the power center, also helped mercantilism to thrive as its economy was often beyond the reach of bureaucratic control of the central government as well as the Fujian provincial government. 15 These pirates were referred to as wokou (倭寇), or “Japanese pirates.” 16 Zheng Chenggong was born in 1624 to a Chinese father and a Japanese mother, and his “upbringing suitably reflected the polyglot world of international relations” (Spence 1990, 54). His father’s side traced its roots to Xiamen and Minnan, and as a boy he went to school in Quanzhou. He is most well known for his connections to Taiwan, 13 14
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evacuation of the population of coastal Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Guangdong, and Fujian provinces and moved them inland twenty miles away from the coast, thus making maritime trade difficult (Mote 1999, 849; Kuhn 2008, 21). Furthermore, during the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, Minnan was incessantly attacked and invaded by pirates, causing much instability and the increased deterioration of the economy. For reasons of coastal security, the Chinese state decreed bans on maritime trade in 1655 and 1717. For instance, fear of leakage of defense secrets from contacts with foreigners prompted the Kangxi Emperor to impose the ban in 1717. Thus, Quanzhou’s prosperity suffered, and its reputation as a major trading port further declined with the Qing dynasty’s policy of isolation, while Xiamen, located further south of Quanzhou, rose to prominence (Lin 1988, 38; Ng 1983, 96). Traders and travelers from Quanzhou and Zhangzhou began to use Xiamen’s port as a point of entry and departure for travel overseas. As a result of the instability of the Kangxi period and the consequences from restrictive anti-maritime legislation, many also decided to settle in the Philippines and other countries in the Nanyang (QZSHQZ 1996, 3; JJHQZ 1994, 28). When provincial authorities pointed out that the ban in overseas trade resulted in hardships for the people, the court listened and lifted the bans in 1684 and 1727, only to reinstate it later. However, even if the Qing government punished those who returned to China, “in the nineteenth century . . . this measure of migration control fell by the wayside when beleaguered Qing officials became fully occupied with defending the dynasty from attacks by foreigners armed with cannons and warships and bands of millenarian rebels” (Hsu 2000, 24). Furthermore, in compliance with the 1860 Peking Treaty signed with Britain and France, the Qing government lifted its ban on overseas immigration of Chinese labor.17 China also signed the Burlingame Treaty with the United States in 1868 that legalized the emigration of Chinese laborers. Later on, the Qing government realized that overseas immigration could help ease social unrest and that the Chinese living “overseas” could be tapped to help China, both politically and
his fight with and defeat of the Dutch, and his anti-Qing rebellion. Even though his father Zheng Zhilong defected to the Qing, he refused to do so, and for years, until his death in 1662, he continued to embark on military operations versus the Qing. 17 Douw writes that the law banning emigration had been anachronistic since “mass emigration from South China had started during the 1840s” (1999, 32).
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economically. Consequently, the attitude of the Qing government in China toward the Chinese who traveled to Southeast Asia and elsewhere changed, as will be discussed in Chapter 7 (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 211). In the 1880s, the Qing government signed agreements and treaties with Britain, Germany, Brazil, and Mexico to lay down the articles about Chinese labor rights and consular services in those countries. In 1893, the Qing government officially lifted the ban on maritime trade on the advice of the Chinese ambassador to Britain, Xue Fucheng, thereby allowing émigrés to legally return to China in 1893 (Zhuang 2001, 133; Hsu 2000, 4; Qiao 1992, 98; Kuhn 2008, 240). From 1880 to 1909, over 2 million Chinese contract labor workers departed from Xiamen to western countries, a figure that reflected an annual increase of 70,000 ( JJHQZ 1994, 30). Jinjiang Up until the end of the Qing dynasty, the following seven counties belonged to the Quanzhou prefecture: Jinjiang (晉江), Nan’an (南 安), Dehua (德化), Tong’an (同安), Huian (惠安), Anxi (安蟋), and Yongchun (永春).18 Of the seven counties under the Quanzhou prefecture, Jinjiang, located along the coast and situated by the Jiulong and Jin rivers, produced the most number of Chinese migrating to the Philippines. A study of over 30,000 tombstones in Manila’s Chinese Cemetery shows the following statistical information regarding the birthplace of those buried there: Jinjiang 66.46 percent; Nan’an 17.63 percent; Xiamen 8.12 percent; Huian 2.96 percent; Longxi 1.55 percent; Enming 1.24 percent; Quanzhou 1.17 percent; Tong’an 1.12
18 Other sources give a slightly different list of the counties belonging to the Quanzhou prefecture. Zheng 2001 and the QZWSZLXJ (1988, Vol. 4, 36) list only five: Huian, Nan’an, Tong’an, Jinjiang, and Anxi. Ng gives the same list for the year 1735, with no mention of Dehua and Yongchun as an “autonomous department” (1983, ix). In Zheng 2001, the Quanzhou prefectural seat and the Maxiang subprefecture were also listed as being under the jurisdiction of the Quanzhou prefecture. The counties under the Zhangzhou prefecture included the following counties or xian (xian): Longxi, Nanjing, Zhaoan, Dongshan, Pinghe, Changtai, Haideng, Zhangpu, Yunxiao, Huaan, Longyan, Zhangping, Ningyang and thirteen other counties (Lin 1988, 35). Today, the city of Zhangzhou is part of the Longxi county.
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percent; Shishi 0.85 percent; Yongchun 0.58 percent; and Anxi 0.54 percent (World News, 29 January 1995; Ang See 2004, 198).19 Jinjiang’s deep harbors are situated by the South China Sea, and are ideal for maritime travel. Today the county borders Nanan county in the west, and faces Taiwan toward the east. In the north, it shares a border with Dongli city proper, and in the northeast with the city of Shishi. Jinjiang is one of the fourteen county-level cities of Fujian and is under the jurisdiction of the prefecture-level city of Quanzhou. Its total population, circa 2000, was 480,000. Many foreign companies have set up their factories in the city, particularly those producing clothing and footwear.20 Economy of Fujian/Minnan As mentioned earlier, land was limited in Fujian, including the Minnan region. For centuries, people in Minnan had been seeking more farm land with massive land reclamation projects, but the farmland was still inadequate even after draining the malarial marshes and pushing back the sea. Despite this, or probably due to the limitations on the land, Fujian “played a leading role in agricultural innovations,” that included “the more efficient use of land from improved seeds, changing cropping patterns, . . . double-cropping and terracing” (Ng 1983, 9). The main cash crops in Jinjiang were lychee, longan, orange, plums, olives, mulberry, sugarcane, and indigo. But with a limited agricultural economy, Minnan people had to trade goods or cash for food products. Jinjiang people relied heavily on trade with Taiwan, Canton, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Thailand (QZSHQZ 1996, 9). With the coming of the Spanish and other European traders to Southeast Asia, new agricultural products such as the peanut, the sweet potato, and tobacco were introduced into the Minnan region (Rawski 1972, 73). Raw cotton was also initially imported from Luzon, processed and then exported as finished cotton goods, but by 1700, it was grown locally. With silver pouring in from Acapulco via the Philippines new
19 These places, all located within the Minnan region, account for 89.26 percent of the total, while those from Guangdong total 9.86 percent. Quanzhou as used here refers not to the prefecture but most likely to the city. Note that some of the names of these places have changed over time. 20 For more information about Jinjiang, see Chen M. 1994.
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wealth was produced which affected “agriculture through land prices, land rents, and productivity” (Rawski 1972, 75).21 For one, land prices rose, and lands that were idle were converted to agricultural land, and mountains razed for cultivation. Rice became the main export crop, although at one point exporting sugar was big business. It was estimated Quanzhou could produce 25,000 tons of sugar in 1884 ( JJJ 1992, 10). But people continued to plant rice and did not shift to planting other cash crops. Competition from other places with better agricultural land and the practice of multiple landownership that fragmented the land (see below) were some of the factors that prevented the agricultural economy in Minnan from becoming fully developed and highly commercialized (Ng 1983, 20). System of Landownerhip In southern Fujian people practiced the system of multiple landownership. The de jure landowner had the right to the subsoil and the ability to rent it out. The right to the topsoil was sold to another person—a tenant who did not have to pay the taxes, as this was the landowner’s responsibility. This tenant could in turn rent the land to a third party. Rents were paid either by paying a portion of one’s harvest, by sharecropping, or by cash (silver). The underlying objective of the landowner in renting out his property was to assure the security of an annual income, and it was he who often benefited the most, although this system allowed for the less well-to-do to also obtain some kind of security for himself and his family, either in the form of the actual purchase of land or the tenancy rights to a particular piece of property (Ng 1983, 16–9; cf. Rawski 1972, 14–24). Furthermore, the “desire to live a more secure and prestigious life after retirement, to bring up offspring, and to keep lineage intact was enough to attract a certain amount of investment in land,” although, overall there was a “lack of serious investment in land and agriculture” (Ng 1983, 19). Statistics on returns from rental property paled in comparison from profits that could be made from money lending and commerce (Rawski 1972, 84– 6). Thus, people invested in land not so much for profit as “to ensure a stable income and reaffirm a deep cultural value in owning land”
21
Japanese silver was also exchanged for Chinese copper cash (Rawski 1972, 75–6).
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(Rawski 1972, 86). It must be noted too that absentee landlordism was prevalent. Other Economic Activities Some families in Quanzhou, especially those living in the coastal towns, also produced skillful fishermen who caught fish, shrimps, and clams, while some men engaged in making earthenware and stone cutting (Zheng 2001, 191). Women also engaged in domestic handicraft, making ceramics, textile, embroidery, and silk. However, with foreign goods flooding in Chinese market after the Opium War, these local industries declined (Zhuang 1985, 303). There were state monopolies in salt, precious metals, pearls, and ginseng. As early as in Tang dynasty, Jinjiang already became one of three salt industrial bases in Fujian ( JJWSZLXJ 1994, Vol. 15, 124). From then on up to the Qing dynasty, the state managed the production and distribution of salt. The salt industry was very important to Chinese émigrés mostly because their family members who still lived in Minnan could be free from military conscription if they opened a salt factory ( JJWSZLXJ 1993, Vol. 14, 62–3). Maritime Trade and Settlement Elsewhere Since Fujian is a mountainous province, its rugged terrain restricted travel and communication between this province and other neighboring provinces.22 A twentieth-century outsider observer was quoted as saying that the province was “ ‘one of the most completely isolated provinces of China’ ” (quoted in Rawski 1972, 59). While this may be true in relation to other provinces of China, it certainly was not in relation to other places in Nanyang. With its extensive river systems and wide coastal areas, Fujian developed a shipbuilding industry that made it possible for its people to engage in extensive maritime trade, as described earlier in this chapter. The boats or junks they built easily navigated the many “narrow and fast flowing streams in these river systems” as well as the wide-open seas in the Nanyang (Rawski 1972, 59–60).
22 The two main provinces that the southwest part of Fujian traded with in the Ming period were Jiangxi and Zhejiang (Rawski 1972, 60).
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For those living in the southern coastal region of Fujian, the sea provided the gateway to overseas trade (Rawski 1972, 57–8). Thus, even when there were times when maritime trade was banned, people continued to engage in this activity. There were other factors contributing to this. For instance, Fujian government officials and military officials supported maritime trade and engaged in the trade themselves. Scholars had a deep appreciation of and direct involvement in trading activities as well (Ng 1983, 200–1). The long shared history and culture between the people of Minnan and the local populations in Southeast Asia also facilitated trade.23 Evidences of such extensive and deep interaction include the similar religious traditions, agricultural technology, and kinship practices found between the two regions. Furthermore, the coming of the British and advances made in navigational technology spurred more economic activity (Kuhn 2008, 99–103). Prior to the nineteenth century people used junk ships to travel. But with British rule established in Hong Kong in 1842, and the invention of steamship, a major gateway for the Southern Chinese was opened. In treaty port cities like Hong Kong, Xiamen, and Shanghai shipping companies were established and people could find “labor recruiters, friends, and businessmen who could tell them about opportunities abroad and give them credit to buy tickets to get there” (Hsu 2000, 31; cf. McKeown 2001, 64 and 77; cf. Kuhn 2008, 138–40). With the demise of the slave trade and the expansion of the world market, labor migration from China increased (McKeown 2001, 67; Kuhn 2008, 132–4).24 By the 1870s, Manila was linked to Hong Kong and Xiamen on a triangular route by regular and direct steamship service
23 Some studies on Southeast Asia describe or emphasize the early historical interactions between the Southeast Asian region and the southern provinces of China, long before European colonial powers and nation-states began to demarcate distinct boundaries (see, for example, Reid 1988). As an indication of a growing interest among scholars to explore and study the interaction between southern China and Southeast Asia, different panels on this topic have been included in the annual meetings of the Association for Asian Studies since 2003. The National University of Singapore’s Chinese in Southeast Asia Research Cluster under the Department of Chinese Studies has also been emphasizing research and publications on China-Southeast Asia interactions. Books that focus on this topic include Douw et al. 1999 and Huang et al. 2000. 24 However, as we will see later in Chapter 2, those that went to the Philippines were not primarily of the laboring class working in the agricultural sector (see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 214).
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(Wickberg [1965] 2000, 170). The coolie traffic was handled mainly by three Hong Kong firms; namely, Butterfield and Swire’s China Navigation Company, Jardine-Matheson’s Indo-China Steam Navigation Company, and Russell and Company’s China-Manila Steamship Company, all operating fortnightly. Besides these Hong Kong companies there were a few Philippine Spaniards, Chinese mestizos, and Chinese who occasionally sent individual steamers to the China coast. And after 1891, the Japanese N.Y.K. line entered the competition. The trip from either Hong Kong or Xiamen could be made in less than three days and steerage rates were low. In the 1890s, the cost of immigration for one person—including passage, food, and taxes—was said to amount to 50 pesos (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 170). In Minnan, the tension between population growth and the limitation of land available played an important role in the emigration of its people. The population of Fujian grew from 17.46 million in 1830 to 26.83 million in 1897, thus reflecting an increase of 60 percent in 60 years (and not including about 1 million who emigrated to Taiwan).25 On the other hand, due to the mountainous topography of the Minnan region, there was not plenty of land to be distributed and so, the amount of available farmland was limited (Zhuang 2001, 131–2). It is estimated that an average peasant had to own three to four acres of land to survive according to the productivity level in the Qing dynasty, but in Fujian, the ratio was only 0.8 acre per capita (Zhuang 2001, 121). Consequently, a significant number of its population decided to settle in other countries. Villages from which large numbers of people emigrated became known as qiaoxiang (僑鄉), or sojourner-villages.26 Aside from the Philippines, many people from Minnan settled in Taiwan, Indonesia, Singapore, and Malaysia. It should be noted however that while rural poverty existed, it never reached the breaking point due to available source of “extra-village” income, especially from trading, or from remittances from relatives living abroad. For those who benefited from periods of prosperity and commercial boom in Fujian, they managed to lead luxurious lifestyles
25 Together, the population of Quanzhou and Zhangzhou constituted 35.3 percent of Fujian population in the mid-nineteenth century. 26 This term is used for many villages and towns in the provinces of Guangdong and Fujian that have historically sent a sizable number of émigrés to other parts of the world.
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that rivaled those in other urban areas such as Suzhou and Hangzhou, leading to criticisms from outsiders (Ng 1983, 22). Another contributing factor that led to the migration of people to Manila and other parts of Southeast Asia was the phenomenon of chain migration. This meant causing people from the same lineage, clan, family, or village to move to another place to which a relative, friend, or townmate had earlier migrated. This practice was not limited to Fujian, or among the Minnan people. Many of the Chinese living in the Pearl River Delta and who traveled to Hawaii and to California also left for distant shores to follow people whom they knew and who had gone overseas before them. These more recent migrants would in turn send for or invite other people from back home to follow them. For instance, Cai Deqian of Anxi who made a fortune from his candle business in the Philippines helped many of his kinsfolk and relatives in his county to migrate to the Philippines. Yang Sunta and Yang Jiazhong of Tingdian village opened thirty chain stores dealing with Minnan products in the Philippines and helped over 600 Tingdian villagers to migrate over (JJHQZ 1994, 29). Thus, for those migrating to the Philippines, they often knew someone who would help them settle down in their new “home.” A young boy or a young man could be following or sent for by his father or an older kinsman to move to Manila, and once there, would have a wide network of kinsmen, same-village, or same-surname compatriot living with or near him. Finally, political and civil unrest in China led people to leave or at least keep two residences, one in Minnan, and another elsewhere in Nanyang. The Chinese people’s living standard, which continued to deteriorate in the late Qing dynasty, was further exacerbated by the civil wars and foreign commercial and military penetration. After losing two wars against the British and its allies (in the first Opium War of 1840–1842 and the second in 1856–1860), the Qing government signed various treaties with Britain, France, Russia, and the United States. Among the stipulations of the treaties were the establishment of treaty ports; extra-territoriality that gave foreign consulates jurisdiction over its nationals living in China; a moderate tariff structure; and a “most-favored-nation” status for participating foreign governments. The wars and treaties had a great impact on China and its society. Western goods, ideologies, and values seeped into China, and the Chinese government went bankrupt, thus diminishing its ability to rule the country.
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Domestically, the Taiping rebellion (1851–1864) and the Muslim rebellion (1855–1873) took a severe toll on life and property. During the second half of the nineteenth century, many peasants, including those in Fujian, participated in rebellions against the Qing government. Not much is known about secret societies in Fujian, except that the popular triads such as the Tiandi hui (天地會; “Heaven and Earth Society”) certainly existed in the Minnan region. It was not difficult to fathom why many were attracted to join these movements. Paying for the wars against foreigners and for the indemnities incurred by the Qing government certainly increased the tax burden of the Chinese peasantry. A number of natural disasters also left large hordes of starving victims who had no choice but to join the rebel groups. In 1853, Lin Jun of Yongchun, Qiu Erniang of Huian, and Chen Sheng of Anxi led various peasant rebellions against the Qing government. In 1865, peasants in Yongchun burned down the local administration’s tax bureau to protest unreasonable tax increase. Thus, people joined these movements out of economic reasons and/or to fight against the Manchu government (Zhuang 1985, 306–7). While the Manchu Qing government managed to crack down on these rebellions, it endorsed new leadership change to install more Han people in high positions and rely on local armies, which were financed by provincial and local gentry class. Eventually, political and military power gradually transferred from the Manchu to this class of people who played major roles in quelling the rebellions, and who later on became the powerbrokers or warlords in their respective locales. After the Qing government cracked down on these rebellions, many members of the rebel groups also escaped to Southeast Asia. In 1892, Chen Gong of Dehua and his colleagues fled to Malaysia after their rebellion against the salt tax failed (QZSHQZ 1996, 5). Thus, population pressure; the low man-land ratio of land; the long history of commercialization of the region that spanned earlier trade relations with people in the Nanyang, around Asia, and later on with European colonial powers; the invention of steamship; and unstable political and economic conditions in Fujian and in China were the main contributing factors that “pushed” people in the Minnan region to travel and settle in Southeast Asia, including the Philippines. But before describing what life was like for those Chinese merchants who traveled to the Philippines, I would like to investigate other aspects of village life back in Minnan that can provide us with a better understanding of commercial and familial practices of Chinese merchant families in Manila.
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Minnan Society: Qiaoxiang Villages, Local Governance, and Lineages As mentioned previously, most of the Chinese in the Philippines came from different xians (縣; county) in Minnan. Under a xian was the xiang (鄉) or cun (村; village or hamlet). As Amyot notes, the term [xiang] may designate either a complex of villages and hamlets forming some kind of unity, or again, the largest village this complex from which the latter derives its name . . . .It appears as a patchwork of rice paddies and gardens forming a background for a dozen or more towns and hamlets dispersed throughout, their elegant roofs and green trees emerging from an encircling wall. An average [xiang] can be crossed on foot in a couple of hours (1973, 32–3).
Furthermore, there was (and continues to be) a consistent clustering of names in relationship to a small number of villages suggesting the presence of localized lineages (Amyot 1973, 36). In many of these villages, families often belonged to one surname, and in other cases, to two or more surnames, but with one or two surnames being more dominant or numerous. In terms of local governance, a single magistrate was sent by the central government. A staff, composed mostly of “local personnel of clerical or lower status” assisted him in his daily duties, which included “the collection and forwarding of taxes, to keep a sharp lookout for subversive activities, to quell any banditry or insurrection, and to try criminal and civil cases” (Thompson 1996, 74). Disputes were often settled “whenever possible by the elders of family, lineage, and village” in order to avoid the “harsh arbitrament [sic] of the magistrate’s court” (Thompson 1996, 74). As the representative of the emperor, the magistrate was also expected to play the same role of intermediary between human and natural forces in the small territory under his control. The State cults to be maintained in each local capital were prescribed by government regulations, and performance of the appropriate rituals was the personal responsibility of the magistrate. The local people, on their part, expected the magistrate to use its official authority on their behalf and to intercede with the appropriate spiritual powers in the event of flood, drought, or pestilence (Thompson 1996, 74).
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Taxation and the Household Registration System In the mid-Ming period, the government collected taxes through the lijia (理家; population register) system. Under this system, the population was divided into commoner, military, artisan, or salt worker households. At its most basic structure, a lijia was composed of a “community” of one hundred families ( jia), subdivided further into ten families. Its functions included providing security (by requiring people to monitor their neighbor’s activities and to report them to local authorities), census taking, tax collection, law enforcement, and self-defense. The jia was placed under the supervision of a li head, who was referred to by “the names of the first ancestors of each surname to be entered in the registration,” and whose descendants took turns in carrying out the responsibilities of the li head, which included making sure the jia paid its taxes (Zheng 2001, 73). In order to avoid evasion of the service levy, the government prohibited the descendants of these households from creating new registrations by registering as separate households. As a result, household registrations, and their accompanying tax obligations, were hereditary. Eventually, the state lijia system merged with the lineage organization, so that over the whole Ming and Qing period, the “lijia registration was in a sense simply a marker of the collective identity of the lineage membership, and administration of the lijia registration and allocation of the tax burden were collective responsibilities” (Zheng 2001, 296).27 Lineage Organizations During the Ming and Qing dynasties, state penetration of rural areas in Fujian was not strong. The weak bureaucratic control over local society led to lineage organizations becoming more widespread, autonomous, dynamic, and powerful. Eventually, the lineages functioned to a certain degree in maintaining local order (Fan 2006, 43). Lineages (祖; zu) then, and the organizations formed around them, were part and parcel of Minnan society. In local society, the lineage organization in Ming-Qing Fujian “was the most systematized form of
During the Qing dynasty, when the state was divided into the counties, districts, and provinces, a baojia (保甲) system under the county was established to replace or co-exist with the lijia. A bao consisted of ten families, while a jia consisted of ten baos. 27
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organization,” performing “critical roles in the fields of politics, economics, and culture, among others” (Zheng 2001, 22; cf. McKeown 2001, 109).28 It provided the model that underlay all other organizations within late imperial Chinese society. Political factions, secret societies, native-place associations and guilds, as well as local militias and joint stock investment corporations, were all constructed out of, or according to the principles of, lineage organization (Zheng 2001, 11; cf. McKeown 2001, 80).29
It must be noted that I am using Zheng Zhenman’s definition of “lineage” here: in that its scope is broader than other scholars’ usage, referring not only to one’s own family lineage, but also to any lineage from which one can claim common ancestry. Thus, one could claim simultaneous membership to different lineage organizations found in one’s own village, prefecture, or even beyond (Zheng 2001, 10–1). As to the ties that bound people to a lineage, these included the following: pure kinship relations established through marriage and descent; forms of manipulated kinship as when a relative or a non-kin was adopted, or when “transferring posterity” (過繼; guoji) adoption was practiced; and other kinds of relationships based on common locality or interest (Zheng 2001, 22). Thus, the scale of such lineage organizations could be far-reaching, extending beyond one’s village, county, prefecture, or even province, or they could be concentrated within a single village or several villages, or within “solitary migrant or sojourning households” (Zheng 2001, 22). A lineage was primarily composed of all the male patrilineal descendants of a founding ancestor from a specific locality. The names of these descendants were recorded in a genealogy. This was done in part to prevent any dispute over inheritance. But the “share” of members of the lineage involved not only inheritance of property, but also
28 For other works on lineages in Fujian, see Freedman 1958 and 1966; and Szonyi 2002. Note, however, that Szonyi’s book focuses on Fuzhou. For a study on the interlineage feud in Fujian, see Lamley 1990. On studies of lineages in other parts of China, see Ebrey and Watson 1986. 29 Lineages existed as far back as the Song dynasty, but lineage organizations only became prevalent after the southern Song, flourishing in the Yuan and Ming dynasties, disintegrating for a period during the Ming-Qing transition, and reconstructed after the mid-Qing, during which “residentially concentrated lineages on the coast recovered and developed further, and different types of residentially dispersed lineages gradually formed” (Zheng 2001, 191–2). For a fuller description of the causes for the disintegration of lineages in Fujian history, see Zheng 2001, 200–16.
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participation in one’s “share” of the collective inheritance, pertaining either to sacrificial responsibilities or household registration. The rights and responsibilities of each member were determined according to one’s position in the branches and in the generational order (Zheng 2001, 78). Female descendants, however, were not recorded in their families’ genealogies, since they became part of their husbands’ lineages. A lineage, when still small, would set up an ancestral hall where it became the center of activities such as the performance of ancestral worship, holding of regular meetings, or selection of officers. In time, as it grew, a lineage could also be subdivided further internally into “branches,” “segments,” or fang (房).30 It is possible for a wealthy and powerful lineage member to found his own sublineage. Naturally, if and when a lineage property was sold, the lineage was dissolved completely. Only wealthy lineages were able to buy and own large tracts of land that earned income, and which could be passed on to their descendants. Since there were few families wealthy enough to procure such lands, the vast majority of inheritance lineages in Fujian were based, not on income-earning property, but rather on the inheritance of lijia household registration and the responsibility to maintain the sacrifice to the descent line (Zheng 2001, 89).31
As mentioned above, the lineages performed a variety of duties, including helping in the education of young members, especially those studying for the civil service examination; assisting the old, destitute, orphaned, or widowed; and finding a burial place for the dead. The lineages also performed the duties of arbitrating disputes among their members, making sure they behaved morally, and to defend or avenge anyone wronged by outsiders, which had led to many long-lasting inter-lineage feuds. 30 These subdivisions were also known by various other terms such as hu (household), men (gate), zhi and fen, with the last two both meaning branches (Amyot 1973, 30). 31 Thus, it should be pointed out that other studies (especially by Western anthropologists and historians of other parts of China) demonstrate that not all “corporate bases of Chinese descent groups (were) dependent upon the ownership or management of material property” (Watson 1986, 279). Other bases for a kinship organization or lineage to be formed included the following: “intangible resources such as information, reputation, and job introductions,” or a “shared interest in the management of a sect” (Watson 1986, 279). All these point to the “inherent flexibility of Chinese kinship organizations” (Watson 1986, 279).
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Even as people migrated to other places, they maintained strong ties with their lineages. As long as their travels were recorded in the genealogical records of the lineage, then they and their descendants could always return and participate in the activities of the lineage and share in the profits from the common lineage property (Zheng 2001, 86). On the other hand, if they had been gone too long, and thus were unable to fulfill their obligations, they yielded their inheritance rights to other lineage members. However, if they opted to return, the income from the land that was rightfully theirs was restored to them (Zheng 2001, 86–7). This might help explain the “pull” for immigrants to return to China. Finally, there were other forms or types of lineages, such as those created when different lineages came together to establish a loose organizational structure and to form cooperative relations. But it is not within the scope of this study to go into detail about these.32 Lineage and the Economy Large families were preferred in response to the economic conditions in Fujian. There was an advantage to having a large family since this would provide enough bodies to participate and take advantage of what Zheng refers to as both the “semi-subsistence” and “semi-commercial” economies (2001, 44). The labor within large families was then “typically diversified into several occupations, with family members . . . integrating scholarship, agriculture, handicraft and industrial production, and commerce within a single family economy” (Zheng 2001, 44). Since, as noted earlier, the deadlock between Fujian’s semisubsistence and semi-commercial economies prevented the development of a specialized kind of labor, the “occupational diversification of labor within the family was seen as the ideal strategy” (Zheng 2001, 46). Thus, the attitude at the time was to create a big family as a way of accumulating wealth, especially a family with several sons who could be dispersed to different places or engaged in different occupations. Zheng also argues that wealth might not produce large families, rather, it was large families that produced better economic opportunities (thus leading to wealth) that small families could not find (2001, 45–6).
32
For more information on these other types of lineages, see Zheng 2001, 100–42.
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Lineage Organizations and Migration The existence of large lineage organizations created an environment for the emigration of the inhabitants from the different villages in southeastern China. One of the most important functions of these organizations was to pool capital and manpower to support membertraders. Money was raised to enable these traders to buy the goods they needed to exchange or sell overseas, and to travel (McKeown 2001, 80). The lineage organizations also provided relatives or servants to accompany traders on risky voyages, leading to what is cited previously as “chain-migraton.” However, those who left were often “random individuals from within these (lineage) groups,” thus, “they did not form an organized group in the overseas territory” (Baker 1979, 169). But knowing the importance of “kinship as an organizational principle,” they formed institutions such as secret societies and surname associations that were based on kinship models (Baker 1979, 169–71). Other ways by which lineage organizations caused people to migrate to seek better and safer lives elsewhere included intra-lineage inequality (where a stronger household or member exploited the poorer families), and inter-lineage fights (in which people faced threats to their lives).33 But just as kinship connections facilitated travel overseas, they were also a factor in encouraging or forcing their kinsmen to return to their native villages. The existence of a house for example built on lineage property was a symbol of one’s ties to one’s ancestral lineage. However, a person who traveled overseas was not beholden to these obligations and potential for inherited wealth or property. When socio-political and economic conditions in China deteriorated, and immigrants, such as those in the Philippines, had managed to establish their own families, businesses, and properties elsewhere, these kinship organizations could exert a lesser influence on their members’ decisions to return to their hometowns.
33 Meskill (1979) describes how local strongmen became important figures in Taiwanese society due to the inter-lineage wars. Wholesale massacres of members of a lineage had also been recorded in Chinese history. Thus, lineages had to construct forts or formed private militia to defend themselves (Zheng 2001, 210). Feuding was particularly common from the late Ming, with stronger lineages oppressing weaker lineages (Zheng 2001, 210–2).
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Housing Wealthy merchants also sent money back to build or maintain their ancestral homes in China.34 There were three common types of Quanzhou houses: one that had three rooms with one courtyard (with chambers annexed to the east and west and wall gate in front); another with three rooms with two divided courtyards; and one that had five rooms with two divided courtyards, which was often the dwelling of noble families (Chen M. 1994, 68–75). The houses were oriented toward the south, since south, as dictated by “geomancy and cosmological concerns,” was an auspicious direction (Cook 2003, 138). Ancestral tablets placed in the room that overlooked the main courtyard should also face south. The public rooms of these archetypal Chinese houses were also lined along horizontal halls, while private rooms along vertical wings (Cook 2003, 138). For the houses with five rooms and two divided courtyards, sometimes “protective rooms” were added in the east and the west and the courtyards were built between the main house and these annexations. A stone garden often fronted the main house. Eaves rafters of the halls and rooms around the courtyard overhang so that the eaves gallery
34 For sending money back to China, Chinese merchants in the Philippines or in the Nanyang relied on the shuike or ketou (messenger) to act as their middlemen. These were usually kith or kin who delivered the cash upon returning to China. Once it became apparent that there were profits to be made through the transfer of remittances, a number of “overseas” Chinese began establishing Remittances Offices (批 館) (Chen 1939, 88). Usually a head office would be located in a particular location abroad (say Manila) which would then establish several branch offices in qiaoxiangs in China. Many of these piguans also got involved in trading foreign currency and in maritime trade, acting as middlemen for large companies abroad ( JJHQZ, 1994, 122). In general, piguans mainly handled remittances at a fixed handling fee, from 0.5 percent to 2 percent. In 1871, the Zheng brothers of Lingshui village founded the Zheng Shun Rong Piguan in Anhai. There were thirty-five other piguans established between 1898 and 1935. A good number of these institutions sent their agents to the Philippines. On the other hand, some of these institutions were established in the Philippines (Wong 1999, 13). When someone went to make a remittance at the head Remittance Office, they would include an official letter (if they were illiterate it would be written by office workers) with any instructions for their family and the details of their remittance. The remittance was transferred to a branch office from where they would then be delivered (Chen 1939, 88). Around the early 1930s there were numerous branch offices located all over China. Xiamen alone had 153 offices, there were thirty-two other offices located throughout Fujian province (Chen 1939, 89).
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provided protection from the rain and sun, while drip tiles were installed on the eaves. The main entrance of these dwellings, with the exception of those that had three rooms with one courtyard, was called menwo (門幄; door curtain), with a concave conical shape, serving as a decoration to the main house. All the types followed the standard wood frame that included pillars, beams on the roof, rafters, columns, and windows. A stone pedestal was found beneath every pillar. For the tiles on the roof, “red tiles” made of seaside brick kilns were used, for these were thick, dense, heavy, durable, and rain-resistant. All in all, the main building materials used were earth and wood, with stone seldom if ever used. The amount of timber used was also a mark of a fine house (Cook 2003, 138). These private residences that were scattered along the seaside counties in the Minnan region had upward-projected roof ridges (Chen G. 1994, 69).35 The main ridge of these private residences was commonly called cuolongji (厝龍脊) or “house dragon’s spine.” The dragon has always been considered as the “Rain God” in China. Therefore, it was rendered as the ridge ornament and was particularly popular in the Ming and Qing Dynasties (Chen G. 1994, 73). In sum, early homes in Minnan tended to “copy traditional design with local characteristics of southern Fujian . . . (that) consisted primarily of a brick or stone faced with red tile and red shutters, combined with the curved roof and broad eve, surrounded by a traditional courtyard” (Cook 2003, 138). However, at the turn of the twentieth century, houses in the qiaoxiang, especially those built by rich merchants, “took a dramatic twist, some combining the traditional with western arches 35 As to the origins of the upward-projected roof ridge, it is said that the style was derived from the tale of “Stinking Head Queen” (臭頭皇后) who lived during the late Tang and early Five Dynasties period. According to the tale, the queen was beautiful, but suffered from leprosy when young. She later on married the Emperor of Min, and one rainy night, the Emperor caught her crying by the window. When asked by the Emperor as to the reason for her lament, she replied that she worried about her family getting wet from the rain, to which the Emperor signed an edict allowing private residences to build their houses in the same style as the palace, explaining the upward-projected roof ridge found in private homes. Another new theory about the origins of the upward-projected roof ridge in Quanzhou points to the influence of the ancient Yue tribes, who were excellent boat builders, and whose boats were built sharp and projected upward at both ends, and flat and wide in the middle. Some scholars regarded the upward-projected roof ridge as a heritage of the widespread “boat culture” of the ancient Yue people. For more information, see Chen G. 1994, 68–75.
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and columns . . . which piggybacks a western tower on top of the traditional Minnan design” (Cook 2003, 138–9). These houses could still be found today in many qiaoxiang villages, standing tall amidst a clutter of earlier types of houses surrounding them. As we will see in the succeeding chapters, Chinese merchant families from the Philippines and the Nanyang also built and kept these “modern” houses in Xiamen or Gulangyu. Household Composition of a Migrant Family Newlywed couples in Minnan lived in extended-family households, and familial arrangements were mostly patrilocal in Minnan. Women left their towns or villages and lived with the extended families of their husbands, which could consist of the men’s senior relatives (greatgrandparents, grandparents, parents), siblings, relatives, and brothers’ families. Gender Division of the Economy The state and its institutions during the Qing and early Republican period played a relatively minor role in Minnan’s commercial economy. The family “system,” which consisted of kin related by bloodline and marriage with common budget and common property, was the basic unit of economic activities in Minnan society. This family “system” was generally patrilineal, with the eldest male serving as the head of whole family to distribute production materials and direct the activities of each member in order to achieve the most common welfare. Thus, generally speaking, women were considered of inferior position to men, and de Groot, writing in the 1890s, observed that daughters “count(ed) for nothing in a family” (1892, 65). Female offspring were not considered as valuable as male offspring for a variety of reasons, among which were the lineage system that traced one’s descent according to the patriline, and on which inheritance was based; the dowry that a daughter’s family had to provide when she got married; or the Confucian precept that women were subordinate to men. Women from lower-income or peasant families, their feet unbound, might have engaged in farm work. On the other hand, women from elite families, who often had their feet bound, did not
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work the fields.36 They may have also received some form of education from a private tutor. Once married, women in qiaoxiang areas played “an important role in sustaining the patrilineal families left behind” (Tam 2006, 147). They were the “de facto household heads” (Hsu 2000, 116). Not only did they have to make decisions regarding raising children and other domestic matters, but they also had to look after the farmland or family-owned properties, and to manage the remittances sent by their husbands or male kin living elsewhere. Thus, their central role was to ensure the reproduction of the patriline by bearing male offspring, raise the children in the proper way, maintain the “household into which she was married, and culturally (give) her husband the identity of a grown-up man” (Tam 2006, 147). While they retained their surname when married, they usually placed their husbands’ surnames in front of their own. Hence, a woman surnamed Wang when married to a man surnamed Chen would be Chen Wang Shi (氏).37 Furthermore, they were expected to remain at home while men traveled abroad. When widowed, they were to remain “chaste widows” who would continue fulfilling their duties of maintaining lineage solidarity, caring for their husbands’ aging parents, and managing the day-to-day affairs of the household (Huai 1964, 66–71).38 But even when their husbands were alive, if they had left to live and work elsewhere, as most men in qiaoxiang villages tended to do, the wives of these men were “virtual widows, having to serve their husbands’ parents and remain sexually faithful to distant men, who were free to engage the service of prostitutes or take on other wives” (Okihiro 1994, 73). Women had several possible reasons for not migrating to the Philippines. One was that by staying in China, women had greater control over their children’s upbringing. Another was that their families had no intention of relocating elsewhere, and the men who went to live and work in the Nanyang region intended to return to and retire in their home villages. A statement from a prominent Philippine Chinese merchant in 1900 provides us another glimpse as to why the Chinese did not bring their families to the Philippines: he explained that rent For more information on the practice of footbinding in China, see Wang 2000. I would like to thank Frank Conlon, Yi Jolan, and Wu Pei-yi for their input. 38 Huai (1964) lists an impressive number of chaste widows in Quanzhou during the imperial times. Unfortunately, it does not describe the reasons for their widowhood. For a list of virtuous women in Jinjiang, see DGJJXZ 2000. 36 37
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was more expensive in the Philippines (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 224). Also, keeping the women at home was part of a marriage strategy, since those who stayed and were raised at home were seen as “respectable” and, therefore, desirable candidates for marriage (Mann 2000, 1605). Finally, localizing their women at home freed men to work elsewhere (Ong 1999, 20). Thus, the general situation of women in qiaoxiang villages was that they were “simultaneously agents who contributed to and were victims of patriarchal social systems” (Tam 2006, 146). However, the relatively lower status given to women did not preclude the existence of genuine feelings of care and affection that families might have for their daughters. On the other hand, Minnan men were expected to establish a family and a home by taking wives who would guarantee the reproduction of sons, give these sons a proper upbringing, maintain their husbands’ household while they were away, and take care of their aging parents. This cultural expectation consequently propelled migrant Minnan men of marriageable age to return to their hometown to take a wife. For a man who was absent from his natal home, marriage ensured proper transfer of these familial responsibilities. He would be a filial son to his parents as well as his ancestors, via the work of his wife. As such, his role in the marriage relationship was relatively simple. As an absentee husband, his spousal responsibility was primarily a financial one—to send remittances home (Tam 2006, 148).
Male and Female Networks In China, male bonds were especially strong, formed out of a long tradition of male camaraderie as found in novels and other writings that emphasized or focused on the friendships formed by male protagonists. They were often bonded together by the pursuit of a “higher purpose,” which sometimes translated into possible movements or actions to overthrow a government. For men aspiring to become a civil servant, the bonds that they formed would come from other fellow examination-takers, teachers, and degree-holders. But as they traveled abroad, their networks would then be formed based on “common native place or common occupation,” not to mention on filial or kinship ties. According to Mann, the guilds and native-place associations “supplied welfare, medical care
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(including death benefits), networks of friends who spoke one’s native dialect, and connections to powerful people who could serve as advocates and protectors” (2000, 1605–6).39 It is not known whether the female networks in Minnan included those marriage-resisting sisterhoods found in the Canton Delta, or the “orgiastic Buddhist female cults who worshipped Guanyin with rites of self-immolation” (Mann 2000, 1612). But certainly with a good number of women left behind in the qiaoxiang, female networks centered on the family. These networks extended to other women found in the household, from mothers, grandmothers, in-laws, domestic helpers, or concubines, and beyond, including female neighbors, relatives, or friends.40 Education In Ming times, Fujian had “the highest numbers of jinshi (進士; highest degree in China’s imperial examination system) winners with respect to its population size, as well as the highest number of official positions,” and “had a long history of academic and bureaucratic prominence”
39 It has also been recorded and known that homosexuality was common in the province of Fujian, and that a practice similar to marriage binding two males (usually one older and the other younger) existed until one of the parties entered a heterosexual marriage (Hinsch 1990, 130–3). According to Hinsch, the male community in Fujian also engaged in “homosexual cultic activity . . . as (l)arge-scale retirement parties, the all-male festival in (a tale by the writer Li Yu), and the development of religious rites centered around a cult of male homosexuality all point to involvement of the male community at large” (Hinsch 1990, 133). For another study on homosexual practices, but set in eighteenth-century Fuzhou, in the northeastern part of Fujian, see Szonyi 1998. It is not surprising then to read accounts from Spanish sources condemning homosexual practices among the Chinese who went to Manila (Blair and Robertson 1903, Vol. 4, 59; Guerrero, 1969, 13). The Chinese men who were accused of homosexuality were arrested. Although the accused men protested that the practice of homosexuality was acceptable in China, the Spanish colonial authorities, fearing that their practices might spread to the local people, had them punished (Hinsch 1990, 137). 40 While lesbianism had not been recorded in Fujian, the practice was probably not alien to Fujianese. In the neighboring province of Guangdong, “marriages” between two women were practiced which involved the two parties swearing loyalty to one another, with one being the “husband” and the other “wife.” Such practice was part of the marriage resistance practice studied by Stockard (1989). There might have also been “lesbian group marriages” and “gangs” that consisted of women who rejected “contact with men as repugnant, and lavish(ed) money and attention on their female lovers” (Hinsch 1990, 177).
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(Rawski 1972, 88–90). Statistics on degree holders in the sixteenth century show that Quanzhou had a high number of jinshi holders. These statistics show that there was a correlation between the degree of commercial (legal or illegal) activity and academic achievement. As Rawski points out, “examination records suggest that there was a direct translation of wealth acquired from expanded commerce into academic success” (1972, 90). Profits made from commercial activity was used in hiring tutors for sons and for expenses in the education needed to succeed in the jinshi examination. Instead of the government providing schools, it was private money that was primarily responsible for “preparing aspiring candidates for the academic degrees” (Rawski 1972, 91). As mentioned above, clan organizations also provided money for educating talented students, including grants needed as “traveling funds for the necessary trip to the examination halls in the capital” (Rawski 1972, 91). After the abolition of the examination system, the schools that were set up reflected the newly emerging trends in late Qing thought, in that qiaoxiang schools educated their students in the latest trends in modernity, emphasizing both aspects of the earlier Confucian traditions and Western subjects such as science, technology, and economics. Thus, these schools assumed a “thoroughly international” character (Qiao 1992, 99). Christian missionary groups helped set up schools in the region too. In 1879, the Anhai Christian Organization established the “Model English School” (鑄英學堂). At the time, it was considered one of China’s earliest “new-style” (新學) schools (Qiao 1992, 99). In 1890, the English Presbyterian Mission established a school specifically for girls, although it had great difficulty recruiting students due to Chinese norms that resisted sending women to schools outside their homes. Another Protestant group, the Church of Christ of China, established the Yuying Free School (毓英義塾). In all these cases, these schools were founded with donations from local intellectuals and Nanyang Chinese. Not to be left behind, in 1895 the Catholic Church, through the financial backing of a Philippine Chinese named Chen Guangchun (陳光纯), opened an all girls school in Jinjiang, which was run by the priest Ren Daoyun (任道運) whom Chen became friends with while both were in the Philippines (Qiao 1992, 99). In the early 1900s, the Qing dynasty attempted to modernize China’s educational system and began establishing “modern” schools with the help of private funding. As we will see in Chapter 7, the curriculum was changed to combine both the “traditional” Chinese classic
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with “Western” (and “modern”) subjects. However, during the first three decades of the twentieth century, these schools only succeeded in urban areas, while in most rural areas, they were poorly attended due to the shortage of qualified teachers and funding, and due to most families’ preference for the “old” style schools, i.e., those that were run under private tutors (Rawski 1979, 155–67). Food Fujianese cuisine, unlike Cantonese cuisine, tends to be steamed or stewed, rather than stir-fried. Common ingredients include onions, garlic, shallots, and other herbs to provide the taste and aroma of Fujianese dishes. Preserves are used either as garnish or as a main ingredient. For sources of protein, the soybean is very common. It is eaten or served in different ways, as fresh or deep-fried. Rice porridge or congee is also commonly eaten, together with pickled and salted vegetables, nuts, or eggs (Chua et al. 2003, 232–3). Other types of Fujianese dishes that made their way into the kitchens of Chinese merchant and Filipino families in the Philippines will be discussed in Chapter 5. Characteristics of Minnan People Due to its long history of venturing out to the seas to engage in maritime trade, the Minnan people developed a reputation for being pragmatic, adventuresome, and open-minded. They managed to learn quickly a new language and adapt to different cultures. While many practiced adherence to Confucian principles, they were not limited by Confucian disdain toward mercantilism. Conclusion I have attempted in this chapter to provide an overview of the history and society of Minnan, the region from which most Chinese traders and merchants who lived or traveled to the Philippines traced their lineages. The picture presented here of Minnan society is by no means comprehensive; I have chosen to highlight various aspects that would
the minnan region of fujian: history and society
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provide the readers with some context to better understand the commercial and familial practices of Chinese merchant families in late nineteenth and early twentieth century colonial Manila. Other aspects of Minnan society and culture as they relate to the Manila Chinese and their families will be included in the succeeding chapters. As mentioned above, several factors arising from the socio-political and economic conditions in the Minnan region help explain the connections and links established between the region and Manila. But such factors comprise only part of the overall scenario. The next chapter will describe the conditions in the Philippines that would help explain further why many Minnan merchants and traders chose to live or settle there and the “treatment” they received while carving for themselves a space in late colonial Manila society.
CHAPTER TWO
THE CHINESE IN LATE SPANISH COLONIAL MANILA: AN OVERVIEW Introduction The previous chapter presented an overview of the socio-political and economic conditions in the Minnan region during the late Qing dynasty. This chapter brings us to the other side of the seas, i.e., to Manila, where large numbers of residents, mostly male, from Jinjiang traveled or emigrated to, mainly either to work as laborers or make a living as merchants. Like the previous chapter, this chapter will focus on the economic and political situation in Manila and the Philippines that would help explain some of the reasons for the large influx of Chinese emigrants into the country in the last few decades of the nineteenth-century. As we will see, Manila served as a magnet to many Minnanese, particularly traders and merchants eager to take advantage of the opportunities that accompanied the opening up of Manila’s markets to the world economy. The Early Settlement The Chinese and the Filipinos have a long history of trade and cultural interaction dating back, as far as records show, to the Song Dynasty (962–1279) (Liu 1964, 12–3). The islands most commonly mentioned in Chinese records are the Sandao (三島; “Three Islands,” possibly referring to Calamian, Palawan, and Busuanga), Ma’I (麻逸; Bai),1 Bisheye (毗舍耶; Visayas), Minduolang (民多郎; Maguindanao), Pulilu (蒲里噜; Polillo Islands), Sulu (蘇祿; Sulu), and Lusong (呂宋; Luzon) (Liu 1964, 300–8). Long before the Spaniards arrived in the Philippines in 1521, the Chinese living in the southern coastal regions
1 Past studies (e.g., Scott 1983, 1) interpret Ma’I as Mindoro, an island off Luzon, but Go argues that Ma’I is in southern Luzon, in a place called Bai in Laguna (2005).
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in China had already been engaging in extensive maritime trade with the inhabitants of the different islands that comprise what is now called the Philippines.2 The Chinese traders traveled in junk ships, or champans and they sailed during the monsoon season around June and July, when strong easterly winds brought their champans to parts of Southeast Asia. From the southeastern coastal region of Fujian, they traveled along the western coast of the Philippine archipelago, first stopping in Luzon, and then on to other islands such as Mindoro, Panay, and Sulu, before proceeding to Borneo and the Moluccas. Then they sailed back to China during the months of September and October. The types of goods they brought with them included pottery, lead, glass beads, cooking pans, iron needles, and silk, which they traded for pearls, shells, betel nuts, bees wax, cotton fabrics, and fine mats. When the Spaniards arrived in Manila in 1570, they found a settlement of about 150 Chinese. We know very little about this small community, except that there were women and children among them.3 Beginning with Spanish colonial rule in the Philippines, the number of Chinese living in the colony began to increase. One reason for this was the economic opportunity that the Philippines presented. After the Spanish colonial government established the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade system in 1571, the Chinese found a “niche” in the Spanish colonial economy. Chinese sea merchants brought their wares or products to Manila. Aside from those mentioned earlier, the Chinese also brought jewelry, furniture, hardware, wheat flour, salted meat, and “an almost infinite variety of knickknacks” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 80). These were then either traded with the indigenous
2 Some of the evidences of this trade between the two groups of people can be found in Chinese historical sources. In one of the Chinese annals from the Song Dynasty, one finds a record of an Arab trader who arrived on the shores of Canton in the year 982, and who narrated his visits to Ma’I and the region around Manila Bay (Alip 1974, 3). Other evidences of pre-Spanish contact between these two groups are the numerous ceramic and porcelain artifacts excavated in several parts of the Philippines, in places such as Manila, Rizal, Batangas, Laguna, Mindanao, and Bicol. These artifacts date back to the Song, Yuan (1279–1368), and Ming (1368–1644) dynasties of China. For an account of the different contacts between the inhabitants of the Philippines and the Chinese, and of travel of the former to China from the tenth to the fifteenth centuries, see Scott 1983. 3 The Spaniards also encountered a Chinese wharf (pier) and lodging quarter in Jolo, located in what is today known as the Sulu group of islands west of Mindanao.
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peoples of the Philippines for items such as swallows’ nests, sea cucumber, carabao horns, and salted fish, or brought to Acapulco where they were exchanged for Mexican silver.4 The growth of the Chinese population, which rose to more than 20,000 prior to 1603, became an issue of great concern to the Spanish authorities. Due to their fear and distrust of the Chinese as a result of their historical experiences with non-Spanish and non-Christian peoples in the Iberian peninsula, they issued several decrees calling for the mass deportation of the Chinese.5 Such decrees were issued in 1686, 1744, and 1747 (Guerrero 1966, 35; Diaz-Trechuelo 1966, 192). Restrictions on immigration and regulation of Chinese commercial and industrial activities also sought to control the number of Chinese immigrants. In 1605, for example, the number of Chinese allowed to enter the Philippines was limited to 6,000 (Guerrero 1966, 33). Heavy customs duties amounting to three percent of the value of every shipment were also levied on the Chinese trader. Moreover, the Chinese residing in the Philippines were required to pay a per capita tribute of 64 reales or 8 pesos a year (Bernal 1966, 44–7).6 Non-Christian Chinese were either deported or restricted in their movements and interaction with the locals (Diaz-Trechuelo 1966, 193). If expulsions and tight controls over their economic activity did not reduce or inhibit the numbers of Chinese, then more violent means were employed. In 1603, more than 20,000 Chinese were massacred.7 However, almost three decades later, their number increased to more than 30,000. But another massacre would occur in 1639, when 20,000 Chinese were 4 For more detailed studies of Chinese participation in the trade and economy of the Philippines from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, see Felix 1966 and 1969. 5 In the late fifteenth century, the kingdoms of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile began a concerted drive to expel the Muslims from Granada, the last territory ruled by the Moors. They also forced many Jews to convert to Catholicism, and killed or drove out those who refused. For more information on how Spanish historical experiences with non-Christians such as the Jews and the Muslims may have influenced Spanish policy toward the Chinese, see Horsley 1950. 6 Eight reales were equivalent to one peso. 7 In that year, three Chinese envoys were reported to have arrived in the Philippines in search of a mountain of gold. This visit alarmed the Spanish colonial rulers, who, being outnumbered twenty to one by the local Chinese alone, began to suspect a possible Chinese invasion from China aided by the local Chinese. When a rumor went around Manila that an order of massacre was going to be carried out against the Chinese, the Chinese revolted, and the Spaniards, with the aid of locals, took the offensive and reportedly killed 23,000 Chinese, reducing their number to 457. For more details, see Guerrero 1966, 25 and Wickberg [1965] 2000, 10–1.
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killed.8 However, by 1649, “there were again some 15,000 Chinese living in the ghetto” (Guerrero 1966, 25). Why then, despite the harsh treatment and the dangers to their lives and livelihood, did the Chinese come back again and again to stay in the Philippines?9 On the Philippine “side” of the story, one very important reason was Spanish dependence on the Chinese. The labor provided by the Chinese was cheap and indispensable. The Spaniards themselves did not engage in agriculture, retail trade or mining, or industry, nor did they bother to teach the locals whom they “groundlessly believed indolent” trades and crafts they taught the indigenous peoples in New Spain (Bernal 1966, 61). Thus, the consequences of the expulsion of the Chinese were evident in the economic crises which the Spaniards underwent during the former’s absence, and which can be traced to the void created by the departure of the Chinese (Guerrero 1966, 38).
Consequently, the Spaniards would relax their restrictions and allow the Chinese to enter the Philippines. Furthermore, the Spaniards profited from the customs duties, residence permits, and taxes collected from the Chinese. Collection of customs duties up to the mid-1610s amounted to 30,000 to 40,000 pesos annually, and rose to 80,000 pesos by 1620 (Quiason 1966, 170). Spanish officials who benefited from bribes also contributed to the ineffective control of the inflow of Chinese migrants. The Justices of the Audiencia issued residence permits with laxity, and records showed accusations being hurled against them. There was a report, for example, of a Justice who collected 60,000 silver coins or the equivalent of 30,000 pesos from the sale of residence permits. The Spanish officials benefited from the presence of the Chinese in other ways. In 1608, Governor Rodrigo de Vivero reported to the King of Spain that every year, “3,000 Chinese came to Manila to stay for it was . . . a custom to allow each Justice of the Audiencia
8 This incident occurred after a group of Chinese who were being forced to work crown lands in Laguna under harsh conditions rose up and proceeded to Manila to protest. There, they were joined by the Manila Chinese, who were also protesting against the “arbitrary tax demands imposed upon them by the Spanish government, and whose lives were made worse by the economic hardships accompanying a bad year in the Galleon trade” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 10). Four hundred Spaniards, 600 locals, and 500 Japanese were organized to repulse these protesting Chinese, and in a few days, these troops managed to kill 20,000 of them. 9 Other massacres were carried out in 1662, 1686, and 1762 (Felix 1966, 3).
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to have 50 or more Chinese as his personal servants” (quoted in DiazTrechuelo 1966, 185). Thus, we can see that the Spaniards’ policy toward the Chinese was that of vacillation. When the Spaniards feared the Chinese, they expelled them.10 But after feeling the consequences of the absence of the Chinese, immigration policies and other restrictions were relaxed. The decrees issued to limit the number of Chinese entering the Philippines were rendered ineffective by the collusion of some officials who benefited from the presence of the Chinese and the great number of Chinese who were effectively smuggled into the country. According to official figures, the number of Chinese from 1750 to 1850 stood at an average of 5,000 per year. This low figure can be attributed to the expulsion of many Chinese during 1755–1756, when Spain, concerned about the increasing control of the Chinese in the local economy, ordered the expulsion of non-Catholic Chinese from the Islands (Sugaya 1992). The number of Chinese in the colony was also kept low after the British invasion from 1762 to 1764. When many Catholic Chinese sided with the British in their war against the Spaniards, the Spanish government ordered their expulsion in 1766 and tightened the implementation of earlier restriction policies. It also pegged the number of Chinese allowed to remain at 5,000. However, there were no more expulsions after 1766, and the immigration policy moved from limitation to encouragement. Furthermore, despite restrictions and impediments, the Chinese found other ways of entering the Philippines. Thus, their number at any given year up until the middle of the nineteenth century was more likely to be around anywhere between 10,000 and 20,000. In the pre-1850 period, the occupations the Chinese took were varied. They were shipowners, merchants, artisans, fishermen, market gardeners, skilled laborers, domestic servants, and middlemen (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 4; Bernal 1966, 42).
10 Spanish distrust of the Chinese was not particularly helped by the Chinese support of the British when the latter took over Manila from 1762 to 1764, after Britain defeated Spain in the Seven-Year War. Punishing the Chinese for their actions, Lieutenant-Governor Simon de Anda ordered that all Chinese in the country be hanged (Guerrero 1966, 36). For more information, see Santamaria 1966, 112–3.
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chapter two Binondo as a Site of Settlement
For those who came to Manila, many of them settled in Binondo. Originally known as Minondoc, Binondo got its name after the word binundok, which means “like a mountain” in Tagalog. Thus, the area was formerly hilly. It is an island north of the Pasig River, bounded by two esteros (Torres 1992, n.p.). The first owner of Binondo was Don Antonio Velada, who obtained the land as a reward for his services to Adelantado Miguel Lopez de Legazpi, the man who conquered Manila for Spain in 1570.11 In 1594, Velada sold the land to Governor General Luis Perez Dasmariñas for 200 pesos. On 29 May of the same year, “Dasmariñas gave the island for the residence of the baptized Chinese of Manila” (Torres 1992, n.p.), and the Dominicans were put in charge of converting the Chinese. Binondo was first placed under the patronage of San Gabriel, but later on in the seventeenth century, its patroness became the Nuestra Señora de Santissimo Rosario (Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary). It is for this reason that the place was sometimes earlier referred to as Pueblo del Rosario (De Viana 2001, 25). Non-Catholic Chinese were restricted to a place called the Parián (market-place), which was located outside the walled city of Intramuros where the seat of the Spanish colonial government was found. Originally, the first Parián was located within Intramuros, and was built sometime in 1581. Later, it was moved to the “swampy area on the border of the city between its northern and southern sides” after it was destroyed by fire in 1583 (De Viana 2001, 11). It was here where the Dominicans built their convent when they first arrived in Manila in 1587. Only in 1593, after thirty Chinese galley rowers murdered Governor Gomez Perez de Dasmariñas, was the Parián moved outside the city walls. Those living here were always under the surveillance of the military. Thus, the Spaniards segregated the Chinese as a way to protect themselves from the Chinese. The Spaniards also were initially concerned that “intimate contact between the unconverted Chinese and barely converted indios stood as a possible threat to the lasting conversion of the latter,” which might help explain why the Chinese were not only segregated, but also made targets of conversion (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 8). But as Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 12) points out,
11
Velada’s wife was Sebastiana del Valle (see Pe 1983, 44).
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there was no way to prevent the unconverted Chinese from interacting with the locals (or with the Catholic Chinese). In 1790, the Manila Parián was torn down to make room for the walled city of Manila. This resulted in the Chinese scattering over most of the province of Tondo and into Cavite. Most of them moved to Binondo and Santa Cruz. Thus, the two parishes in Binondo and Santa Cruz that were supposed to maintain the segregation between the Catholic Chinese and the non-Catholic Chinese had to absorb the influx of the non-Catholic Chinese into their communities (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 190). The Parián Church was also demolished and the parish was removed and annexed to the San Gabriel Church, near the old hospital in Binondo (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 23).12 Thus, from 1750 to 1850, we see the policy of segregating the non-Catholic Chinese from Catholic Chinese, indios, and Spaniards gradually being abandoned. This was a reflection of the change in the policy of the Spanish colonial government that veered away from conversion to Catholicism as a way to ensure loyalty to the King. It also reflected the increasing secularization of the colonial government in the Philippines. By the nineteenth century, Binondo became the most prominent and important district outside Intramuros (De Viana 2001, 18). Among the factors that helped Binondo become the commercial capital of the colony by the nineteenth century was the creation of the customhouse in the Real Alcaiceria de San Fernando in Binondo, designed to check the shipment of goods coming in and out of Manila (De Viana 2001, 30). The main streets were Calle Escolta, Calle Rosario, Calle San Fernando, Calle Anloague, Calle Nueva, and Calle San Jacinto (fig. 2). Calles Rosario and Norzagaray were filled with stores owned by the Chinese. Many commercial establishments were also found on Calles Escolta, Rosario, and San Fernando. According to De Viana “Escolta was the principal street of commerce where Europeans, American and (Chinese) mestizo shops were located, while Rosario and Nueva were streets where Chinese stores thrived. . . . In the barrio of San Nicolas itself, there were some 200 Chinese establishments selling
12 It should be noted that there were other Pariáns located in major urban centers in the Philippines, but the Manila Parián was the largest. For more information regarding the Cebu Parián, see Briones 1983. For more information regarding the Manila Parián, see Pinto 1964; Santamaria 1966; and Wickberg [1965] 2000, 11–2, 18–20, 23, 41, 180, and 190.
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chapter two N
0
100 200 300 400 500 Scale in meters
Lem
TONDO
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o all rb
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SANTA Lacost CRUZ e Plaza Santa Cruz
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as ariñ sm ente a D Vic lta co San Es
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Figure 2. Map of Binondo, late nineteenth century. Created by Don Sluter.
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an array of assorted textiles” (2001, 49).13 There were also four main plazas, namely Plaza Calderon de la Barca, Plaza San Gabriel, Plaza Vivac, and Plaza del Conde (De Viana 2001, 55). The Chinese who lived in Binondo primarily engaged in trade, artisanship, and fishing, since Binondo did not have much tillable land.14 A list of their occupations included: dyers, barbers, sawyers, wax chandlers, bakers, confectioners, butchers, tanners, cooks, shoemakers, tailors, soap manufacturers, coachmen, smiths of all kinds, founders, masons, smelters, boilermakers, carpenters, cabinetmakers, boat builders, herbalists, panciteros (noodle makers), and drayage workers. Most cooks and shoemakers were Cantonese (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 94–123). The Opening Up of the Philippine Market to the World Economy Prior to 1850, the number of Chinese in the Philippines did not increase considerably, but in the latter half of the nineteenth century, several factors led to a greater influx of Chinese to the Philippines, particularly Manila. Spain’s Attempt to Develop the Philippines and Open Its Markets Since Spain colonized the Philippines in 1565, the Spanish colonial government mainly relied on the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade to fill the coffers of its treasury, which was also partly subsidized by its Vice Royalty in Nueva España (Mexico). Legarda (1999) describes this economy as largely dependent on “substantial transshipment trade,” with silk being the primary export from China, to be exchanged with silver from Mexico. Textiles (locally produced or brought in from India) and rice were among the variety of commodities being exported, although at “low aggregate levels” (1999, 3). Thus, for more than two centuries, Manila was a major port in East/Southeast Asia. But from the middle of the eighteenth century on, the Philippine economy shifted to becoming an agricultural export economy. A number of factors brought about this shift. One was the independence 13 For more information regarding the different establishments found on these and other streets in Binondo, see De Viana 2001, 50–7. 14 Thus, the residents originally did not pay land dues, but paid in kind (De Viana 2001, 24).
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movement in Spain’s colonies in the New World, which led to the loss of financial support from Mexico. Thus, Spain tried to “open up” the Philippines’ economy to the world in the hopes of making it more competitive, and to make the colony financially self-sufficient. In line with the Bourbon Reforms, which brought about a set of reforms that included the greater exploitation of resources and the opening up of more ports in the colonies, Spain created the Royal Philippine Company in 1783. The Company was “granted exclusive monopoly of bringing to Manila, not only Philippine but also Chinese and Indian goods, and shipping them directly to Spain via the Cape of Good Hope” (Agoncillo 1990, 88). Dutch and English merchants as well as the traders of the galleon trade protested the creation of the Company for the stiff competition it provided them. The main exports of the Philippine Company (mainly to China) included: birds’ nets, beche-de-mer, wax, sugar, indigo and its liquid form, cotton, tortoiseshell, seashells, dried shrimp, and sharks’ fins (Legarda 1999, 104). The Company brought about the growth of agriculture, especially of products such as indigo, sugar, coffee, spices, dyewood, and textiles. However, the effect of this was to force the locals to plant much-prized cash exports crops from which they did not have any direct benefit at all. The Company also failed to generate the income they expected and sustained considerable losses due to the backward and therefore non-competitive technology of agriculture in the Philippines. Thus, in 1814, the Royal Philippine Company was dissolved.15 During its existence the Royal Philippine Company led to the “fall in demand for the galleons’ cargoes in Spanish American markets and the rise in prices in the sources of supply” as well as to the rise of “new trade flows involving new commodities between Canton and Europe” (Legarda 1999, 95).16 Tea became the prime commodity imported into Britain, and the Pacific-oriented silk-for-silver trade of Fujian was overshadowed by the European-oriented tea-for-opium trade of Canton, which superseded Manila in preeminence in the Southeast Asian trade during a period that straddled the turn of the [nineteenth] century (Legarda 1999, 95).17 15 Wickberg gives the year 1834 as the year of the dissolution of the company. He also states that during this year, Spain formally opened “Manila to the trade of the world” ([1965] 2000, 47). 16 The last galleon sailed in 1815. For an informative source on the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade, see Schurz 1939. 17 Except for indigo, the period from the late eighteenth century to the early part of the nineteenth century showed a decline in the export of a number of products that included sugar and cotton.
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1820s–1890s With the failure of the Philippine Company, many merchants of Manila in 1821 fell out of serious contention for leadership in the foreign commerce of the Philippines, and the initiative passed to the hands of the foreigners, who were to hold it for the balance of Spanish rule (and, indeed, well into the twentieth century) (Legarda 1999, 99).
Legarda argues that it was the “foreign business houses” (especially from North America and non-Spanish European countries) engaged in the export business, “merchant-financiers” (mostly foreign or Chinese), and the injection of foreign capital that promoted the economic change, growth, and progress of the Philippine economy from the 1820s to the 1870s, leading to an “increasing geographic concentration of trade” (1999, 178).18 The rise of foreign trade figures from the 1850s to the 1860s was aided by the following developments19: the opening up of additional ports (Sual, Zamboanga, Iloilo, and Cebu) apart from Manila to foreign vessels in 1855; a more liberal tariff on exports; the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 that facilitated faster travel from Europe to Asia; the French presence in Indochina; the rise of Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore as trading posts; the rise of the Meiji era in Japan; and the greater use and speed of steamships. All these developments helped increase the amount of trade in the region, so that the number of European and American ships plying East Asian waters would rise from 1,000 in 1860 to 11,000 in 1879 (Legarda 1999, 113–4). Thus, until 1870, it would not have been inaccurate to characterize the Philippines as having a subsistence economy, largely dependent on its own domestic production for the provision of basic needs and exporting only its surplus. But after this what emerged in the last quarter-century of the Spanish period was what might be termed an agricultural export economy—one specializing in the production of a few export crops (mostly primary
18 It must be noted that as early as the late eighteenth century, Manila had begun to be opened to non-Spanish ships. In 1789, European ships carrying goods to and from Asian countries were allowed to trade. In 1808, a British firm established itself in Manila. As part of its efforts to facilitate more foreign participation and investment in the Philippine economy, in 1814 a decree was signed granting some foreign firms trade and residence rights in Manila, and in 1834, this decree extended these rights to any foreign national (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 47). 19 Not much is known about the period from 1830 to 1850, except to state that there was a gradual rise in foreign trade.
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chapter two goods sent to the metropolitan countries to be processed) in return for which it received manufactured goods and even its own basic necessities in food and clothing (Legarda 1999, 178–80).
The prime movers for creating this shift were Anglo-American commercial firms, with the help of “domestic and Chinese intermediaries in their local operation” (Legarda 1999, 4).20 As these firms encouraged the planting of cash crops such as sugar, abaca, tobacco, and coffee, farmers sold their products through what one foreign observer called at the time “Chinese or semi-Chinese middlemen” (Palgrave, quoted in Legarda 1999, 186). The last two decades saw an increase in the value of exports, the growth of the local population, and the continuing influx of foreign capital. These, together with a growing diffusion of liquid wealth in the rising class of [the local population], must have contributed to keeping up the level of import demand. Probably working in the same direction was the increase in Spain’s military establishment toward the last years of its rule in an effort to defuse increasing [local] disaffection (Legarda 1999, 114).
This period also saw the rise of joint business ventures operated by both foreign and local merchants. “Domestic” business, i.e., ran by Chinese mestizo, Chinese, and indio and long-term Spanish resident merchants, would also increasingly assert themselves, as opposed to Spanish-based enterprises (Legarda 1999, 290 and 329). As for joint ventures, many of these were co-owned by people of different ethnic backgrounds. For instance, the shareholders of the S.S. Visayas in 1872 included non-Spanish westerners like George Peirce, Chinese mestizos like Lucas Lacson, and Chinese shareholders Yap Juan & Co., Sy Chuangco & Co., Dy Jong, and Sy Giap (Legarda 1999, 329).21 The British-owned Manila Railroad Co. listed the following as shareholders: the “Manila Creoles” (Spanish mestizos) Manuel Genato and Angel Marcaida, Chinese mestizos such as the Tuasons, Máximo 20 See Legarda 1999 for a more detailed account of the factors that let to the transformation of the Philippine economy during the nineteenth century. 21 From 1850 to 1880, Spanish sailing vessels were used in the shipment of goods from the Philippines to Hong Kong and Xiamen, but were displaced by British-owned steamships after this period (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 85).
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Paterno, the shipowner Luis Yangco, and the Chinese Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien (Legarda 1999, 330). The development of the agricultural export economy was aided or accompanied by development in navigation technology and improvements in communications, finance, and infrastructure, both in the Philippines and elsewhere. Steam navigation was introduced in 1848 and the first bank opened in the 1850s. In 1854, monthly mail delivery was established between Manila and Hong Kong, and the first telegraph line was established between Manila and Cavite, and later on to other parts of the country. Cable service between Hong Kong and Manila opened in 1880, providing Manila with direct and instant access to the world markets. Furthermore, regular direct steamship service between Manila and Spain was established in 1873, passing through the Suez Canal that opened in 1869. Other developments included the establishment of horse-drawn tramways and then a steam tramway in 1888, and the installation of a telephone system in Manila in 1890 (1891 in Iloilo) and of the railroad in 1891. In 1895, both Iloilo and Manila got electric lighting (Legarda 1999, 337–8). Demographic Data The combined factors as enumerated above—from more liberal trade and immigration laws, the opening up of certain ports, to the improvements in travel technology, not to mention certain factors from China given in some detail in the previous chapter—helped propel the influx of Chinese to the Philippines after 1850, although it was not a steady increase as there were some years when their numbers decreased. Table 1 below shows the rise of their population based on selected years and different sources. How did the Chinese population compare with the total population in the Philippines in the nineteenth century? Below is a chart showing some population statistics from selected years, and culled from different sources (Table 2).
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chapter two Table 1: Chinese Population in the Philippines, 1828–1894222324
Year
Population
1810 1828 1847 1864 1876 1886 1891 1894
7,000 5,70322 5,700 18,000 30,79723 66,000–90,000+24 59,000 50,000–100,000 Table 2: Chinese Population in the Philippines vis-à-vis Other Ethnic Groups, 1800–1903 25262728
Year
1800 181026 1826 1828 1835 184727 1848
Total Philippine Total Indio Total Chinese Total Chinese Total Spanish Population population Mestizo Population Population Population 1,561,25125 2.5 million n/a n/a n/a 3,488,258 n/a
n/a 2,395,687 n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a
n/a 119,719 125,385 n/a 156,435 n/a 412,65928
Approx. 5,000 Approx. 7,000 Approx. 5,000 5,703 n/a 5,736 n/a
n/a 4,000 n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a
(continued on next page) 22 This figure is based on Robles, who also writes that of the 5,703 Chinese, 5,279 were in Manila and its suburbs. The rest were found in Cavite and elsewhere. Of the total, “(7) were registered as wholesale merchants, 166 as domestic trade businessmen, 4,509 as storekeepers, factory workers or owners, and 830 were in miscellaneous pursuits. One hundred ninety-six were exempted from tribute by reason of age and other circumstances” (1969, 53 n. 56). 23 This figure is based on United States and Louisiana 1903. The census of 1876 indicates that there were 30,797 Chinese in the Archipelago, and “in ten years, or in 1886, this number had grown to 99,152” (163). Thus, the period in which there was the most increase in Chinese immigration was from 1876 to 1886. 24 See previous note. 25 This figure is based on Corpuz 1967, 212 and Roth 1977, 36. 26 Statistics for the year 1810 are taken from Comyn, cited in Abella 1970s, 15. 27 The figures for the years 1847 and 1903 are based on Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 148 n. 5). 28 The figures for the Chinese mestizo population in the years 1810, 1826, 1835, and 1848 are based on Robles, who calculated the number of Chinese mestizos by assigning 6.5 persons for every tribute payer. The total number of taxpayers for these years were: 18,236; 19,290; 24,067; and 63,486 respectively (1969, 53).
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Table 2 (cont.) Year
Total Philippine Total Indio Total Chinese Total Chinese Total Spanish Population population Mestizo Population Population Population
1850 1864– 1868 1870 1873 1876 187732 1886 1890s
4 million 4,700,00029
n/a n/a
n/a n/a
n/a 7,451,35231 n/a 5,576,923 n/a 7 million
n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a
n/a n/a n/a 290,000 n/a n/a
1898 1903
7,928,38434 7,635,426
n/a n/a
n/a n/a
n/a 18,000+30 n/a n/a 30,797 23,000 66,000 50,000– 100,00033 n/a 41,035
n/a n/a 13,500 n/a n/a n/a n/a n/a 34,000 n/a
Based on this incomplete chart, the proportion of the Chinese population to the total population was a low .3 percent before 1850, and a high 1.4 percent in the 1890s. 293031323334 Up until the turn of the twentieth century, the Chinese population in the Philippines was heavily concentrated in Manila. In 1828, 5,279, or 93 percent of the Chinese population of 5,708, lived there. Throughout the decades that followed, at least 50 percent of the total Chinese population in the Philippines lived in Manila.35 Of those living in the city, the majority resided in the districts of Binondo and San Nicolas. As the number of Chinese grew after the 1850s, the Chinese population in these two districts started to also grow in proportion to other ethnic groups. For instance, in 1855, the Chinese only made up 18 percent of the total Binondo population. According
This figure is based on Uy 1984, 32. This figure is based on Wickberg [1965] 2000, 61. 31 This figure is based on Uy 1984, 32. 32 Statistics for 1877 is taken from Skinner 1996, 55. The population for the total population in the Philippines is extrapolated from Skinner’s statement that Chinese mestizos “totaled some 290,000 or 5.2 per cent of the entire Philippine population” (1996, 55). 33 The statistic on total population in the Philippines and the Chinese population of 100,000 is based on Doeppers 1986, 384. 34 This figure is based on Corpuz 1967, 212 and Roth 1977, 36. 35 For more information, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 53–61. 29 30
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to Bernad, there were 27,500 residents in Binondo in 1855, with the following distribution according to ethnicity: Spaniards 1,400; indios and Chinese mestizos 21,000; Europeans 96; and the Chinese 5,000 (1972, 4). In 1898, they made up 60 percent of the combined total population of Binondo and San Nicolas.36 The breakdown of different ethnic groups for that year was as follows (out of a total of 21,232 residents37): Españoles peninsulares (Spanish peninsulars) 534; mestizos de Españoles (Spanish mestizos) 203; naturales (natives) 5,942; mestizos de sangleyes (Chinese mestizos) 1,720; estrangeros de raza blanca (foreigners of the white race) 120; and the Chinos (Chinese) 12,713 (RMAO Estadistica de Manila 1896–1898).38 Thus, we can see that toward the end of the Spanish colonial rule, these two districts, especially Binondo, saw a growing concentration of Chinese residents.39 Among Filipinos and Chinese Filipinos today, Binondo is well known as the heart of Manila’s “Chinatown.” While most of the Chinese came from the Minnan region of present-day Fujian, there were some who came from the Canton region (Doeppers 1986, 385). The presence of Cantonese Chinese in a largely Hokkien community could be attributed to the linkage between Manila and Hong Kong in the latter part of the nineteenth century, although there were already some Cantonese Chinese in the Philippines prior to 1850, as a result of Spain’s participation in the Canton trade (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 21).40 In government documents, the Chinese from the Canton region were often labeled as macanistas, which means “from Macao.” 36 According to Wickberg, an anti-Chinese essay attributed the reduction between 1855 and 1876 of the number of indios and Chinese mestizos in the city to the competition brought in by Chinese laborers, who were increasing in number as the government preferred to hire them as a source of cheap labor ([1965] 2000, 150). 37 It can be noticed that, if the statistics were accurate, that the total population of those living in Binondo seems to have gone down from 1855 to 1898. But further study needs to be made in order to determine the veracity of these figures. 38 Hamm wrote back in 1898 that the estimate for the population in Manila according to ethnic group (out of a total of 300,000) was: “natives,” composed of chiefly Tagals—200,000; Chinese mestizos—50,000; Chinese—40,000; Spaniards—5,000; Spanish mestizos—12,000; and Europeans and Americans—400 (1898, 40). 39 Other places with a significant population of Chinese post-1850 were the abacaproducing provinces of Albay, Leyte, and Samar; sugar-producers Negros Occidental and Panay; and tobacco-producing provinces Cagayan and Isabela; and main trading centers like Cebu and Jolo (see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 62–3). 40 The population of the Cantonese was somewhere around 500 before the midnineteenth century, and rose to around 3,000 by the end of the century (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 177).
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At the beginning of its rule, the Spanish colonial government, along with the Catholic Church, classified the Chinese as “sangley” (merchant traveler).41 They also appended the word “infiel” (infidel) or “Cristiano” (Christian) to distinguish non-Catholics from Catholics. However, after the 1760s, Spanish classifications toward the Chinese started to change. Wickberg writes that Spaniards stopped classifying them according to religious affiliation and instead began to classify them in terms of residence status, i.e, as “transient” (invernado) or “resident” (radicado). In the latter part of the nineteenth century, the Spanish colonial government also started to use the word “Chino,” probably in an attempt to appease the Chinese government by using a more official (and probably less derogatory) term, although in popular parlance the term “sangley” continued to be used (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 155). Comenge, writing in 1894, utilized the terms “sangley” and “Chino” interchangeably.42 Another term employed when referring to the Chinese was the Tagalog word Intsik, a term mostly used by the locals back then and which continues to be used today. This word could have come from the Hokkien word in-chek, which means “his uncle,” and could have been used as a way of introducing a Chinese newcomer to another person. The word encik is also used in Indonesia and Malaysia, and also meant one’s father’s younger brother, or uncle (cf. Wickberg 1999, 42 n. 3). It is also a term employed to address someone from China (World News, 22 December 2002). The earliest reference I found of this word in the Philippines is in the nineteenth-century Manual del Cabeza de Barangay, that is, a manual for the heads of barangays in Manila, written in 1874 by Rafael Moreno y Diez. Interestingly, the manual, written both in Spanish and Tagalog, used different terms for the “Chinese.” In the Spanish translation, the words “Chino” and “sangley” were used,
41 Speculations have been made as to the origin of this word. Wickberg writes that the word probably comes from the Chinese word shanglu (商旅), which means “merchant traveler ([1965] 2000, 9 n. 14). Others give variations of the same explanation, indicating the word comes from seng-ì (生意), which means “business” in the Minnan language. One other explanation states that the word comes from changlai (常來) i.e., one who “comes often” (Boxer 1953, 261). Hokkien transliteration of this word would be siông lâi. 42 It must be noted that in Comenge’s work, the word “chino” was not written as “Chino,” with a capital “c.” For consistency, I am using “Chino.”
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while in the Tagalog version or translation, it was “inchic” (Moreno y Diez 1874, 29).43 As for the sex ratio of the Chinese in Manila, it is estimated that in 1870, there were 193 women to 23,000 Chinese, or a ratio of 8 women to 1,000 men. In 1886, out of the total Philippine Chinese population of 66,000, there were 194 women (191 of them in Manila), or a ratio of 3 women to 1,000 men. For Manila, where the population was around 50,000, the ratio was 4 women to 1,000. In 1900, there were around 2,000 Chinese women in Manila, compared to around 22,000 men, thus a ratio of about 90 women to 1,000 (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 220). In 1903, it was 517 women to 41,035, or a ratio of 13 to every 1,000 (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 174). While there seems to be a fluctuation in the ratio of Chinese women to men over the years, the overall number of Chinese women compared to men was still disproportionately low. Most of those who came were either wives or concubines (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 220), although it would not be surprising if some came as prostitutes as they did in the United States and in other parts of the world. As to the age range of the Chinese who came to the Philippines, we do not have any definitive and complete study. Doeppers, however, notes “60% of the registered Chinese male population of Manila in 1894 was aged 20–35 . . .” (1986, 384–5).44 The pattern of male migration to the Philippines often involved young men being brought to the Philippines when they reached their teenage years, and many older men choosing to retire in their home villages. This would help explain why the age range of the men from China tended to lean toward lower numbers. No systematic study has also been done on the income status of the Chinese in the Philippines. In contemporary Philippine society, the perception is that most of the Chinese belong to the merchant class. Up until 1850, the Chinese who came to the Philippines appears to have come from all types of socio-economic backgrounds. There 43 Over the decades, the term has assumed derogatory connotations. It has been argued that this term took a negative connotation during the American period, as it became associated with images of the Chinese found in sayings like “Intsik Viejo [or bejo], tulo laway,” to mean “Short Chinese drooling” (Hau 2000a, 142). 44 Compared to Beijing, where the equivalent male population was only 42 percent, the proportion of young men in Manila to other age groups was high (Doeppers 1986, 385).
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were merchants and artisans, as well as vagabonds and criminals.45 After 1850, with the increasing industrialization and participation of the Philippines in the global market, the number of Chinese contract laborers who worked as stevedores or store employees rose.46 However, the Chinese laborers who came to the Philippines did not engage primarily in agricultural work as those who went to other countries like Cuba or the United States (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 214). Moreover, those who came may have likely ended up being involved in trade or commerce. An American businessman, testifying before the Schurman Commission in 1900, and in response to a query from a commissioner whether the Chinese who came to the Philippines had “developed into traders,” said, “A great many of them have. As soon as they get a few dollars, if they are coolies, they develop into something else” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 35). As discussed in Chapter 7, when the American colonial government applied the Chinese Exclusion Act in the Philippines and prohibited Chinese laborers from entering the country, this skewed further the number of Chinese coming in toward the mercantilist class. Discriminatory citizenship regulations also barred many Chinese from practicing certain professions, and thus encouraged most of them to engage in business instead. Thus, the phenomenon of the Chinese being more predominantly of the merchant class is a product of certain historical forces. But until a more in-depth study is undertaken to determine the socio-economic background of the Chinese in the Philippines, we can only offer a general picture.47 Finally, as to their civil status, Doeppers writes that among the 20,750 Chinese registered in Manila in the late 1890s and who paid the mandatory capitation tax, barely
45 According to different sources, it seems that at least 10 percent of the total number of Chinese tax payers in the last three decades of Spanish colonial rule in the Philippines were self-employed, or belonged to the merchant class. An outside observer during the 1830s gave the figure at 40 percent, but the disparity between the earlier and latter figures could have been a result of the increased coolie immigration to the Philippines after mid-nineteenth century. Nevertheless, “it is clear that the majority of Chinese were not self-employed (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 158–9n. 39). 46 As Wickberg points out, the new export crop economy created a demand from foreign firms for “cheap, efficient labor,” a demand that the Chinese filled ([1965] 2000, 111). 47 Wickberg, for example, writes that after 1870, there were two forms of immigration: one that was based on coolie-brokerage and another that was kinship-based. However, the “relative amounts of each are not known” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 170).
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Given the miniscule number of women from China, it is not surprising for these Chinese to form intimate relations with local women, and I therefore suspect that the number of unions, especially consensual ones, could be higher. The number above does not also reflect the number of Chinese who were married before they came to the Philippines, or who returned to China to marry.48 Spanish Policy toward the Chinese—An Overview In areas penetrated by the Spaniards, and particularly in those that later became centers of trade and commerce, there grew different cultural communities consisting of Spaniards, the locals, and the Chinese. Soon, socio-cultural and political distinctions among them were built into the Spanish colonial administrative structure. Aside from the category “Spaniard,” the classifications “indio,” and “sangley” were created and used to refer to the locals49 and the Chinese, respectively. The divisions were mainly drawn along tax purposes.50 As unions between the Chinese and the locals grew in number, so did the number of Chinese mestizo children. Thus, around the middle of the eighteenth century, another classification was created for these creole offspring, turning urban centers like Manila and Cebu into a community of “indios,” “sangleyes,” and “Chinese mestizos.”51 48 A good starting point in the investigation of the civil status of the Chinese in the Philippines would be the padrones or tax registers, as well as the protocolos or notarial records. However, as mentioned in Chapter 4, caution must be exercised in using these records, for I have found that a Chinese could claim to be soltero (bachelor or single) but was actually married in China. There were a number of reasons to explain this discrepancy, such as the inability of the Spanish church and government to effectively establish the real civil status of the prospective groom, thus leading many to lie about it. 49 Spanish colonial rulers, using their experience in the Americas, mistakenly labeled the local inhabitants of the Philippines also as indios or “Indians.” 50 For rights to travel, property ownership, and participation in government, the division was two-fold, in which the indios and the Chinese mestizos shared the same rights while the Chinese did not (Wickberg 1964, 65). 51 It should be pointed out that when the term “mestizo” was used in official documents or in popular parlance, it often referred to “mestizo sangley” (Wickberg 1964, 67). And while there were mestizo españoles in these cities, they were very few in number. For
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Before 1790, a Chinese male adult paid 81 reales yearly, while a Chinese mestizo paid 24, and an indio paid 14. From 1790 to 1828, the Chinese tax was reduced to 54 reales. In 1828, a new tax system was established for the Chinese in which those who owned shops were divided into four classes, with those earning the most paying 120 pesos, while the others paid 48, 24, and 12 pesos, respectively. These taxes were paid on top of a preexisting head tax and a community chest tax. Those who were employees of others were taxed much less, i.e., around 7 pesos. In the following years, there were to be more changes made in the tax system.52 Following its policy of taxing its subjects according to their capacity to earn, the Spanish colonial government taxed the Chinese the most, followed by the Chinese mestizos, then the indios. While these classifications were originally legal ones, in time these acquired an ethno-cultural connotation. For instance, Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 155) mentions that “sangley” was a derogatory term. On the other hand, the term “Chinese mestizo” carried with it a certain cache that connoted coming from a more sophisticated urbane background. As pointed out earlier, in the beginning of its rule in the Philippines the Spanish government regarded Catholic conversion among its subjects as one of the empire’s main goals. This then led to the demarcation of the Chinese according to religious affiliation. In government documents one finds the word “infiel” or “Cristiano” appended to “sangley,” thus indicating a close State and Church relationship in governing Spain’s colonial subjects. However, the term was later supplanted by a designation based on one’s resident status. For obvious reasons, the Catholic Church continued to use the religious classifications up to the end of the nineteenth century. Moreover, conversion remained an important aspect of Spanish colonial policy in the Philippines. For instance, conversion to Catholicism was still a requirement for naturalization and for marriage with local women. For upper-class Chinese, or at least for those aspiring for upward mobility, religious conversion continued to be, through
some statistical data on the number of mestizo español and Spaniards in the city, one can begin with the vecindarios (tax registers belonging to a district) of Binondo, Santa Cruz, and Tondo (see RMAO Vecindarios). 52 For more information on the changes of taxation policies involving the Chinese, and the kinds of taxes they had to pay, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 9, 141, 158–65; Robles 1969, 74–5.
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the padrinazgo system (taking a godparent for one’s children), a practice through which one could increase one’s social network. Before the nineteenth century, the general policy of classification of the Spaniards toward the Chinese was based on Roman traditional concept of “recognition of cultural differences within the empire,” and not simply a “divide-and-rule” policy. In other words, the Philippine Chinese were viewed essentially as a cultural minority, and not a national one (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 154). Did the Spanish colonial government consistently adopt an antiChinese policy right to the end of its colonial rule in the Philippines? Past studies indicate that it often displayed, through its restrictive and discriminatory policies, an attitude of prejudice against the Chinese (e.g., Horsley 1950). But with the number of Chinese coming into the Philippines following the expulsion of 1766 kept at a minimum low of 5,000 (at least officially), the Spanish colonial government started to view the Chinese with less fear. The Spanish colonial government might have singled out the Chinese for various legislations that placed them at a disadvantage over other ethnic groups. However, even if the Chinese were treated differently from the indios or the Chinese mestizos, they enjoyed similar rights, such as the ability to change their place of residence.53 Furthermore, even though the Chinese continued to be taxed the most, by the 1880s the gap between the rates they paid and those of the indios and Chinese mestizos had narrowed. Foreigners, such as European and North American merchants, who previously were exempted from paying taxes, also began to pay taxes at rates almost as high as the Chinese. Finally, in the debate between conservatives and liberals on whether to grant the Chinese more freedom or better privileges, the liberals appear to have won out. For instance, in 1839, a decree was issued favoring the liberals’ proposal to allow the Chinese complete liberty in choosing the occupation that best suited them (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 52–3). Also, the liberals’ proposal to relax immigration policies relating to the Chinese was adopted in the 1860s (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 51–2).
53 At certain points in Spanish colonial history in the Philippines, the Chinese, especially those who converted, were not supposed to be treated differently from the rest of the population. For instance, in 1756, the King of Spain ordered the governor in the Philippines that he should not differentiate the converted Chinese from the rest of the Catholic population in the colony (Sugaya 1992, 309).
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It seems then that in the latter half of the nineteenth century, attitudes were shifting toward a more tolerant treatment of the Chinese. However, anti-Chinese sentiments versus the Chinese in the latter part of the nineteenth century began to grow again, arising partly from the influx of more Chinese into the Philippines and partly from the influence of the “West.” In other words, the discourse on the Chinese in other parts of the world no doubt affected the views of those in the Philippines. For instance, the editors of the periodical La Oceania Español, in their booklet entitled Los Chinos en Filipinas: Males que se Experimentan Actualmente y Peligros de Esa Creciente Inmigracion (The Chinese in the Philippines: Their Evil Practices and the Dangers of their Increasing Immigration), pointed out that the issues surrounding the Chinese in the United States inspired them to discuss this “social problem” in the Philippines, and in doing so, offered to weigh in on the subject, and claiming that their views reflected the general views and aspirations of the public (1886, n.p.). Outside Perceptions of the Sangley/Intsik/Chinese What were these views? In the following section I present the different perspectives on the Chinese, drawing from a number of primary source documents from the latter part of the nineteenth to the early part of the twentieth centuries. The Chinese and the “Race” or “Cultural” Question Wickberg writes that those who were against the Chinese in the Philippines on cultural grounds were mainly influenced by views coming from the West regarding the Chinese, especially those that depicted the Chinese racially as a threat to the moral and social fabric of their society. In the United States, for instance, the anti-Chinese movement stemmed from a fear of the “yellow peril,” or of the “yellow horde” invading the shores of the United States, bringing with it a race of people with their mysterious, dangerous, and heathen practices. Different groups or individuals in the Philippines gave similar arguments. For instance, the periodical La Oceania Español referred to the Chinese living in Santo Cristo (a barrio in Binondo) as “parasites” (Los Chinos 1886, 30). It went on to describe the Chinese living in that area as “energetically” resisting “all that was ornate (and in) good taste,
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courtesy, and public and private hygiene” (1886, 30). Not only were the Chinese undesirables in Manila, but they were also a pestilence in the provinces. A parish priest, writing about his experiences with the Chinese in the Philippines, opined that “Neither the locust in the field, nor the termites in the towns have the slightest shade of destruction that occasions the avalanche of the ‘celestials’ who roam the provinces” (quoted in Los Chinos 1886, 36). The Chinese was presented as a cunning person, who not only managed to deceive his “poor indio” customer into paying for something that was more than what it was worth, but also to use the legal system to his advantage. When a Chinese felt that he was not being “listened to in the provincial government, he present(ed) himself in Manila with more or less exaggerated petitions in order to achieve his objective, or at least with some backing (from someone) that allow(ed) him to win (his case)” (quoted in Los Chinos 1886, 37). And the Chinese succeeded because he was able to use the “system of padrinazgos, of politeness, visits and gifts” to win other people’s favor (quoted in Los Chinos 1886, 37). Like his predecessors, the priest also questioned the sincerity of the Chinese who had become Christians, for they continued to practice their former rites. Furthermore, the priest criticized the “clannishness” of the Chinese, who, under the direction of their “mandarins” in Manila, “act and rule themselves using their own legislation and customs, and they understand all this in their language that is incomprehensible to the rest” (quoted in Los Chinos 1886, 37). The Diario de Manila also published a collection of its articles from the year 1889 that dealt with the Chinese question. One letter from a reader by the name of Federico Ordas Avecilla, in arguing for the proscription of Chinese immigration to the Philippines, gave the following images of the Chinese: as part of a race more perverse than the gypsies in Europe,54 worse than the Japanese who at least had “assimilated” the customs of the Spanish, carriers of the disease cholera, and worshipers of a cult more difficult to transform than Mohammedanism (China en Filipinas 1889, 11–8). Finally, in a thick treatise on the Chinese in the Philippines, Comenge y Dalmau, echoing the sentiments of Catholic missionaries from centuries past, assailed the religions and philosophical beliefs of the Chinese
54 The article states that a gypsy, in general, is law-abiding, thankful, and loving of his family, while the Chinese lives with his cult, customs, and laws, and often abandons his family (China en Filipinas 1889, 13).
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and the dubious motivations of those who converted, especially from the merchant class (1894, 287–363). Thus, we see here that those clamoring for some limitation or prohibition on the immigration of the Chinese provided justifications on the basis of the Chinese as being part of an abominable race. The Chinese and the “Class” Question With the influx of Chinese labor in various parts of the world, especially other than Southeast Asia, in countries like the United States, Cuba, Australia, and Peru, the question of Chinese immigration became a pressing issue to various governments. In the United States, one main reason for the application of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882, which prohibited the entry of Chinese laborers, both skilled and unskilled, was the economic competition provided by Chinese labor to white laborers and labor unions. By accepting lower wages, the Chinese were seen as taking away employment from white laborers. The refusal of the former to join unions was also a reason for the antiChinese sentiment among the latter. Furthermore, the Chinese were viewed as “strangers” or “foreigners” who did not contribute to the economic welfare of the United States by not investing their earnings back into American soil, and instead sending these as remittances to China. In the Philippines, the influx of Chinese post-1850s provided stiff competition to both the “export crop wholesaling business” and the other “occupations unrelated to the export crop business” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 149). Chinese mestizos were pushed out of their dominance on certain trades.55 For instance, Chinese textile importers displaced Chinese mestizo women selling native sinamay (abaca fiber) cloth in Manila, and squeezed out the Chinese mestizo shopowners of Santa Cruz (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 149). Indios, on the other hand, particularly those belonging to the class of wageworkers, were “thrown into competition with Chinese coolies as labor for docks, warehouses, and public works” with the urbanization of Manila (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 150).
55 Thus, when anti-Chinese agitation recurred in the 1880s, part of the motivation was to recapture the share of the retail trade for the Chinese mestizos and for indios (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 165).
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Thus, similar economic rationalizations found in the United States and other parts of the world for the limitation or prohibition of Chinese labor immigration were also used by anti-Chinese groups and individuals in the Philippines. They were seen as “sojourners” who were not part of the Philippine society. For instance, the editors of La Oceania Español wrote (The Chinese) absorbs profits from retail and does not contribute to sustaining some business that is not Chinese. His clothing and footwear come from China, and from there we can see how it can happen that a thousand and five hundred shop keepers do not cooperate in encouraging offices and industrial changes. Even the major portion of his food comes from China . . . His action of encouraging (trade) is nil, because in the manner of parasites, the Chinese do not return to the circulation nor to the consumers not even the most insignificant part of that which they receive in recompense of their work. There are those who attribute the malaise that spread among the worker classes of the capital to the detestable mania of employing Chinese workers unnecessarily . . . in the public or private works because the natives work better. And it is not strange that something like this happens because, if following this reasoning, four thousand pesos daily pass on to the hands of the Chinese, as someone has calculated, money that was given to the Chinese and that fall as if into a well, (then) it is natural that thousands of indigenous families and the little industries that sustain them will see a major prostration (Los Chinos 1886, 30–1).
Another group affected by Chinese competition was Spanish businessmen who wanted to make their “fortunes in commerce,” but the “Chinese retailer stood in their way” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 150; cf. Comenge y Dalmau 1894, 177). The editors of La Oceania Español also wrote that due to the domination of the Chinese in the economy, the Spanish government would have difficulty in attracting more Spaniards from the peninsula to come to the Philippines (Los Chinos 1886, 33).56 The Chinese and the “Politics” Question As mentioned above, views on the Chinese in the Philippines were also affected by politics in the regional and international arena. Spain in
As a way to entice more Spanish mercantilist interest in the Philippines, Madrid took effort to “sell” its colony in the Pacific by showcasing, during the Philippine Exposition of 1887, the latter’s vast natural and untapped natural resources that could be exploited (see Kramer 2006, 35–6). 56
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the nineteenth century was not the powerful empire that it used to be, lagging behind its European neighbors. It had lost its colonies in Latin America, and was trying to maintain its control over its remaining colonies, while attempting to solve its problems back in the metropole. As early as the 1820s, Spain had attempted to sign a treaty with China that would grant its commercial agents special trading rights. However, China, probably due to its perception of Spain as a declining power and thus was not in a rush to sign any agreement with the latter, resisted. Though Spain managed to assign “unofficial” merchant-consuls in some of the treaty ports in China, it was not until 1864 that Spain finally secured a treaty with China.57 The treaty granted Spain a “most-favored” nation status like other European colonial powers, and included a provision that granted the Chinese the right “to migrate to Spanish territories and to sign contracts to do so” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 212). In 1868, China signed the Burlingame Treaty with the United States that recognized China’s need to establish consulates abroad. One of the main purposes of establishing these consulates was to “protect the lives and property of overseas Chinese” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 212).58 In 1880, the Philippine Chinese sent to the Chinese government a request for the establishment of a Chinese consulate, and the proposal was brought forth to the attention of the Spanish authorities in the Philippines. However, nothing came out of this. A second attempt was made in 1886. Four merchant leaders from the Philippines; namely, Yap Liong-quin (a.k.a. Francisco Manzano Yap-Tico or Antonio Yap Caong); Tan Chuey-liong (a.k.a. Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien), Lim Cong-jap (a.k.a. Joaquin Barrera Limjap); and Co Chi-lui (who could either be Federico Co Sequieng, the opium contractor who was also gobernadorcillo [lit. “little governor”] of the Chinese gremio [the equivalent of a trade guild that also served as a charitable organization] in 1888, or the rich merchant named Juan Licaro Co-Lico),59 went to Hong
57 It must be noted that for years since the 1820s Spain had been attempting to “acquire from China treaties granting special trading advantages” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 212). After China signed treaties with Western powers following its defeat in the Opium War, Spain also sought a similar treaty. For more information, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 212–3). 58 By 1877, there were Chinese consulates in Japan, the United States, Hawaii, and Cuba (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 217). 59 Wickberg spells his name “Lecaros,” but in my research the name is spelled “Licaro.”
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Kong bearing a petition with 290 signatures. In the petition, it was indicated that there had been cases, among other complaints, of high taxation (of the wealthiest of the Chinese) and of “extortion, robbery, and property damage” affecting the Chinese in the Philippines, and a request was made to send Chinese commissioners to the Philippines to arrange for the establishment of a consulate. While the Chinese government through its Foreign Office supported the establishment of the consulate, the Spanish authorities in the Philippines thought otherwise, pointing out that such step was unnecessary because the Chinese had the same rights to own property and do business that a Spaniard or indio enjoyed. Furthermore, a Chinese who believed their gobernadorcillo was unjust could make use of Spanish courts. The Spanish government also pointed out that special efforts had been made to protect the Chinese by allowing them to form their own gremio, while no other foreign group could do so (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 221). But there were other reasons why Spain denied the petition. If the Spanish government allowed the establishment of a Chinese consulate in Manila, the following may occur: 1) the loss of income from the collection of extra taxes from the Chinese; 2) the loss of influence and purpose of the Chinese gobernadorcillo and gremio; and 3) the resulting “gunboat” diplomacy from a more powerful China over a weakening Spain (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 221–2). On the part of the Chinese government, its desire to establish a consulate in the Philippines and elsewhere was primarily driven by economic motivations. Remittances from Chinese overseas amounted to $20,000,000 annually and their contributions were “of proven importance for famine relief and the development of China’s defenses” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 227). Thus, as we will see in Chapter 7, the Chinese government at this point in time was beginning to recognize the importance of “courting” its Chinese subjects “overseas.” But it was not until the twentieth century that the establishment of the consulate accompanied the desire to preserve traditional Chinese culture among the “overseas” Chinese (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 227). Nothing came out of the 1886 petition either. And complaints from the Chinese continued, including protests versus harsh expulsion, the oppressive new system of cédulas de capitación (head tax payment certificates), anti-Chinese incidents, harassment of Chinese druggists, and tax burden on minors. When the Philippine revolution broke out, the consular question was again raised, brought about by concerns from the Manila Chinese of local hostility toward Chinese laborers working for the
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Spanish, and “stories that the revolutionaries intended to kill all Spaniards and all Chinese” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 232). During this time, China turned to Great Britain and requested that the British consul protect the Chinese in Manila. Finally, “with only a shadow of (its) authority remaining in the Philippines,” Spain allowed in July 1898 the establishment of a temporary Chinese consulate, with Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien as acting consul (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 233). When the United States occupied the Philippines, a permanent consulate was created in early 1899.60 To some extent, therefore, Spanish policy and treatment toward the Chinese during the nineteenth century in the Philippines were dictated or influenced by Spain’s relationship with China. For instance, desiring to improve its economic relations with China, Spain in 1832 issued a decree that would relieve the Chinese junks of petty taxes. Also, the Spanish colonial government’s increasing use of “Chino” rather than “sangley” could have been borne out of its desire to improve diplomatic relations with China, since the former was less pejorative and conveyed more neutrality than the latter (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 155). The use of “Chino” could also reflect a trend in which, during the latter part of the nineteenth century, Spain began to view the Chinese as a national minority, not just a cultural one, and to treat them as such. But this change was not entirely a result of Spain’s increasing political and economic relations with China; it was also brought about by the increase in the number of foreigners into the Philippines. As a consequence of the growing number of Europeans and North Americans living in the Philippines, especially Manila, the “status” of the Chinese under the Spanish regime in the late nineteenth century became ambiguous. Sometimes, the Chinese were included in Spanish legislation toward foreigners, such as the one that allowed foreigners to own movable property and real estate; but at other times, the Chinese were excluded, especially when it came to the matter of taxation, in which case the Chinese “were considered to be, as before, no more than a cultural minority group” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 157).
60 Wickberg believes that the request for the Chinese consular did not stem from a desire among these Chinese merchants to preserve traditional Chinese culture among them, but that economic considerations were the reasons ([1965] 2000, 227).
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chapter two The Reform Movement
The economic development in the Philippines during the nineteenth century as outlined earlier in this chapter also led to the rise of a middle class composed of Spanish and Chinese mestizos, some of whom began to clamor for reforms that would, among other things, grant a free press and representation in the Spanish Cortés (Spain’s national assembly). Underlying all these demands for change was a growing discontent among the ilustrados (Spanish term meaning “illustrious”) to be recognized as Spanish “equals.” In 1889, they founded a newspaper La Solidaridad that published news and articles written by the members of the Reform Movement about the Philippines and its people. Those active in the movement included José Rizal, a fourth generation Chinese mestizo counting from his patrilineal ancestors Siong-co and Zun-nio (Panlasigui 1999, 14); Marcelo H. Del Pilar; and Graciano Lopez Jaena. As Kramer points out, in their writings these ilustrados would emphasize the shared history and commonalities between the Spanish and the Philippine peoples, although in so doing, they not only “undermined and confirmed Spanish colonial hierarchies,” but also “delimited the boundaries of who would ultimately be recognized as ‘Filipino’ ” (2006, 37). Such delimitation followed the racial and religious demarcations created by the Spaniards, in that the ilustrados for the most part did not embrace the non-Christians “within the emergent category of the Filipino” and argued for their “capacity, right and duty to rule over those who were not civilized” (Kramer 2006, 67–73). What were the views of the propagandists toward the Chinese? Did they share the same disdain and distrust that their Spanish colonizers had of the Chinese? From Rizal’s writings, more specifically in his novel El Filibusterismo, we can catch a glimpse of these reformists’ (or at least of Rizal’s) views regarding the Chinese. The depictions are certainly disparaging, or at the very least, unflattering. The main Chinese character Quiroga is shown as an ambitious merchant who wanted a Chinese consulate established so that he can be a consul. He is also described as engaging in smuggling. The Chinese community is also depicted in a bad light. In the section that involves a competition among the Chinese, Chinese mestizo, and indio Catholics as to how churchgoers should be properly seated, the Spanish government sided with the Chinese because the latter paid the most, and
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thereby could impose their wishes even when it came to religious ceremonies. However, even if the descriptions of the Chinese in Rizal’s novel seem to put the Chinese generally in a bad light, Hau argues that his regard for the Chinese can be interpreted as one of ambivalence. For while he (along with other ilustrados) may have shared the Spanish view of the Chinese as economic opportunists, Rizal, in his description of the competition among the churchgoers, seems to be pointing out that the Spaniards’ decision to side with the Chinese was based on the intention to “humiliate” the Chinese mestizos and the indios. In other words, the Spaniards used the Chinese as a buffer to diminish any discontent among the locals toward their condition. For Rizal, the “Chinese absorbed the social antagonism that would have otherwise raged unchecked between the Chinese mestizos and (indios)” (Hau 2000a, 151). Applied to the wider context of Rizal’s time, the Spaniards often used the Chinese as economic scapegoats, especially following the economic depression in the 1880s and the rising disaffection with and antagonism toward the Spanish regime that led to the Philippine revolution against Spain in 1896.61 What could have been the reason for Rizal’s ambivalence? Was it because of the presence of some Chinese mestizos within the Reform Movement like Mariano Limjap, whose fathers were Chinese, and who themselves did not necessarily share Spanish views toward the Chinese? Or could it have been a more sympathetic attitudes toward subjects of the “Celestial Empire,” who were also undergoing their own movement for social change under the leadership of reformists like Liang Qichao, Kang Youwei, and later on, Sun Yat-sen, and the future prospect of strengthening ties with an empire, that, while vastly weakened by European encroachment and domination, was still a strong force to reckon and build possible alliances with against Western imperialists? How did the leaders of the revolution against the Spaniards and of the new Philippine Republic differ in their views with those of the reformists?
61 Wickberg writes that the Spaniards also used the Chinese to “challenge a [Chinese] mestizo commercial monopoly” ([1965] 2000, 54).
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chapter two The Philippine Revolution of 1896–1898 and the Early Years of the Philippine-American War
In the months and years following the outbreak of hostilities between the revolutionary and Spanish forces, there were reports of violence or riots against the Chinese. For instance, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien complained to Emilio Aguinaldo that during the siege of Intramuros revolutionary soldiers who were deployed to the arrabales (suburbs) of Manila failed to prevent people from looting rice and vegetable stores owned by the Chinese in Santa Cruz. Carlos’ own house and other houses near his residence were plundered.62 While acts of violence indeed were directed against the Chinese, the revolution was primarily directed against the Spaniards, following deep resentments and frustrations from the intransigence of the Spanish empire to consider and execute the proposed reforms by the Propaganda Movement (see Kramer 2006, 75–6). In term of its ideological structures involving race relations, Kramer writes that while the Katipunan was influenced by the writings of the Propagandists, it would also eschew “some of the [latter’s] hierarchical elements” (Kramer 2006, 77). The eventual head of the movement, Emilio Aguinaldo, in particular, proclaimed that everyone in the Philippines, including all the indigenous inhabitants, Spanish mestizos, and Chinese mestizos were “sons of God in this land” (quoted in Kramer 2006, 78). An outside observer, a German naval lieutenant-commander named Paul Hintze, who, upon visiting a meeting by the new republic’s leaders and in referring to one of them as a “Filipino,” stated that the term was “invented as a new national denomination for the natives of the northern part of the Philippines, including Spaniards, Chinese, and mestizos of any kind” (quoted in Kramer 2006, 79). In one of his manifestos, Aguinaldo also declared his new government would rule over a land that “the most worthy in virtues and talents, without regard to their birth, their wealth, or the race to which they belong” could take part of (quoted in Kramer 2006, 79). Finally, the Malolos Constitution also stipulated that foreigners, including the Chinese, who, after obtaining
62 The Consul General of the United States in Hong Kong reported to the Assistant Secretary of State David J. Hill that from “May first, 1898, to August 15th, 1898, large numbers of Chinese residents of the Philippines Islands fled to (Amoy) under fear of death” (Letter of Consul General Rounsevelle Wildman to David Hill, 24 April 1899, folder 370–8).
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certificates of naturalization, were to be considered “Filipinos” (Agoncillo 1960, 637). After the establishment of the Revolutionary Government in June 1898, decrees directed specifically on the Chinese were issued and mainly involved the obtaining of certificates and taxation. The Chinese, along with Spanish and other foreign residents, were allowed to practice any profession or any business of their choice as long as they acquired an official certification from their respective consulates. The decree on taxation divided the Chinese into nine categories and instructed provincial officials to collect the taxes accordingly.63 During the months right before and after the outbreak of hostilities between the forces of Aguinaldo and of the United States, the collection of taxes and other forms of financial or material contributions increased. When fighting against the American forces intensified, so did the need for more money and goods to support the troops. Hence, the Chinese became a “cash cow” (Apilado 2001, 185). While Apilado (2001) points out that the Revolutionary Government’s policies and actions toward the Chinese failed to resolve the tensions between the Chinese and the locals, such failure to do so is completely understandable, given the conditions of war. One possible explanation for the position that the revolutionaries took vis-à-vis the Chinese is that, since many Chinese mestizos and at least one Chinese (Ignacio Paua) were involved in Aguinaldo’s government, the Chinese were to be treated leniently. As Wickberg points out, even though there were some killings and violence committed versus the Chinese, the Revolution was primarily targeted against the Spaniards, and not the Chinese ([1965] 2000, 204; cf. ZMGXSL 1980, Vol. 5, 3279). Instead, the “popular attitude” pertaining to the Chinese was “one of unconcern” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 166).64 Furthermore, the revolutionaries wanted, just as the reformists did, to
63 The implementation of tax collection often resulted in confusion, garnering queries and complaints from local officials, including those in the provinces. For instance, one provincial official queried the central government whether the local Chinese residents “who had already paid the [cédula] and all other taxes were still required to pay the (war tax)” (Apilado 2001, 178). 64 Thus, when several years later, an American wrote that one of the aims of the revolutionary government was the exclusion of the Chinese “entirely from the Islands” (Foreman [1906] 1980, 119), this statement must be judged against statements made by its leaders, and other evidences seemingly to the contrary of this claim.
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distinguish themselves from the Spaniards by rejecting the latter’s racism and the construction of colonial hierarchies based on differences in culture or skin color.65 However, due to historical circumstances, one could only speculate how Emilio Aguinaldo and his government would continue to treat the Chinese had they not suffered defeat under the Americans.66 How did the Chinese react to or participate in the outbreak of domestic hostilities against the Spanish in 1896? Very little is known regarding this chapter in their history. Wickberg writes that the political uncertainties in the Philippines pushed the Chinese to again seek protection from China in the form of consular and gunboat protection. China, in turn, requested Britain to send in their gunboats to Manila and to ask the British consul in Manila to protect the Chinese (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 232; ZMGXSL 1980, Vol. 5, 3207). In the meantime, discussion on establishing a Chinese consulate continued, until in July of 1898, Spain finally agreed to the establishment of a Chinese consulate “on a temporary basis until the end of the disorders” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 233). It was only during the American colonial rule that a permanent one was established. In general, the Chinese seem to have taken a wait-and-see attitude toward the hostilities between the local rebels and the imperial powers. Only one Chinese, Hou A-p’ao, or José Ignacio Paua, is known to have openly participated as a general of the revolutionary government of General Emilio Aguinaldo.67 He managed to collect from other Chinese 400,000 Mexican dollars (Ang See and Go 1996, 12).68 Furthermore, it was said that he was able to mobilize 3,000 Chinese to help fight the Spaniards (and later, the Americans). Thus, future 65 But, as Kramer points out, in following the European “social-evolutionary standards,” the ilustrados as well as the revolutionaries demarcated a “Filipino” identity that excluded anyone non-Hispanic and non-Christianized, thus “differentiating, minoritizing, and exceptionalizing Muslims and animist groups” (2006, 85). 66 In analyzing the seditious plays in the early American colonial period in the Philippines staged by anti-American Filipinos, Rafael offers an interesting interpretation of how non-elites viewed the Chinese. Although the “occasional reference to ‘Chinese’ invaders” in one of the plays “may reflect a sense of anti-Sinicism cultivated by Spanish colonial policies in the past, . . . these ‘Chinese’ remain so vaguely drawn and unracialized as to be tokens in a larger discourse about nationalist resistance to colonial rule” (1993a, 212). 67 For more information about Hou A-p’ao, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201–2; and of Chinese participation in the Philippine Revolution, see Ang See and Go 1996. 68 A scholar mentions that these “donations” were actually forcedly given, rather than voluntarily (Wong 1999, 39).
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archival work would no doubt unearth more direct Chinese participation in the revolution of 1896. If they did not directly fight against the Spaniards, then they (e.g., Cu Unjieng) contributed or gave money, or supplied material resources such as food and medicine (Ang See and Go 1996, 18–9; cf. Apilado 2001, 183–4). Economically, the Philippine Revolution and the Philippine-American War (which went on until the first decade of the twentieth century) caused many hardships and economic dislocations for the Chinese. A manifestation of this economic dislocation and slowdown can be seen in the reduced number of business contracts drawn up by the Chinese in Manila during the years 1896–1898. Many Chinese also decided to return to China, or flee to Manila as “the lawlessness and unsettled conditions in several provinces caused severe property losses” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 123). Conclusion In post-1850s colonial Philippines, many factors contributed to a growing anti-Chinese sentiment. One cause of anti-Chinese sentiment appears to have been the cholera epidemic that broke out in 1879, and which was attributed to the Chinese, who traveled often and thus could have been considered the prime agents of infection.69 Another cause was the economic depression in the 1880s, in which the Spaniards used the Chinese as scapegoats. Another was continuing Spanish discrimination against the Chinese. While Spanish policy toward the Chinese in the late 1800s may have reflected a more liberal attitude toward the Chinese, in reality the Chinese were still not treated equally as the Chinese mestizos and indios. For instance, though the Chinese enjoyed similar rights to travel anywhere, they were still constrained by a restriction that required them to petition for licenses or extensions of licenses to the government in Manila, including fees on each occasion (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 52 and 157). As public discontent against the Spaniards rose, Spain began to impose some “divide-and-rule tactics on the colony,” whereby the Chinese were used as scapegoats (Hau 2000a, 151). In turn, the negative images that the Spaniards
69 For a study of the cholera epidemic or pandemic in China in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, see MacPherson 1998.
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propagated about the Chinese had influenced its other colonial subjects into treating the Chinese with disdain, scorn, or discrimination. Yet another was the influence of Western ideas and policies toward the Chinese, especially in countries where anti-Chinese sentiments were strong due to the influx of Chinese coolie labor.70 Those who had access to this information—the educated and the upper class—absorbed these sentiments. As a consequence, people reacted differently according to their class. While both upper and lower-class Chinese mestizos and indios reacted negatively toward the economic competition brought about by the Chinese, the reaction of the lowerclass Chinese mestizos and indios did not include a “cultural reaction.” On the other hand, the cultural reaction to the Chinese was “in all probability, strongest at the highest levels of Filipino society,” since individuals who belonged to these were “the most heavily hispanized persons” and whose views were shaped by “a higher level of Western cultural influence” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 148). Wickberg writes, In the nineteenth century the most westernized indigenes were likely to be Filipino nationalists. The cultural outlook they espoused was identified with Filipino nationalism. And Filipino nationalism was directed both against the Spanish administration and the Chinese ([1965] 2000, 148).
Thus, we have seen that the combination of cultural and economic reactions to the presence of the Chinese produced a revival of antiChinese sentiment in the 1880s and 1890s (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 150). However, there were some quarters in Spanish colonial society in Manila that supported the Chinese, such as the newspaper El Comercio. Furthermore, the anti-Chinese campaigns rarely posed a physical threat to the Chinese, and when the anti-Chinese polemic died down in the early 1890s, the Chinese must have felt safer living in the Philippines, which could help explain why the Chinese stopped seeking for the establishment of a Chinese consulate (Wilson 2004, 120). Unlike in the United States, the Spanish colonial government chose not to exclude the Chinese, or to increase restrictions against their immigration. Also, as mentioned above, even with the rise of the Philippine reform and later on the revolutionary movements, the Chinese, while experiencing anti-Chinese propaganda, probably felt that, with the 70 The development of the coolie broker immigration began in the 1870s (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 151).
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proper maneuverings, their lives and properties would be protected. Finally, as I have described above, studies made on ilustrado and revolutionary writings seem to indicate that the indigenous peoples of the Philippines possessed a more tolerant view of the Chinese. Thus, at a period in Philippine history in which their situation was precarious at times, stable at best, the Chinese, especially from the merchant and wealthier class, learned to “work the system” to their advantage. For instance, during the 1880s and 1890s, the Chinese increasingly defended their interests against government officials in the Spanish courts, hiring Spanish lawyers to assist them. Sometimes they won out over the government (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 166).
Like the Chinese in California or Hawaii who challenged the many laws created against them (see Salyer 1995; McKeown 2001, 232), the Chinese in the Philippines used the legal system that was being reformed by the Spanish colonial government for greater efficiency in running the colony’s bureaucracy (Bankoff 1996). Furthermore, they resorted to bribery (see Chapter 3 for further discussion on this practice), since there was still a strong, typically Chinese feeling among them that it was the men, and not the laws, that counted. Chinese community leaders in 1886 admitted as much when they said that whether or not a Chinese consulate was needed in the Philippines depended upon who was the governor. If the Philippine governor were a good man there was no need of a consulate (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 166; cf. Stuntz 1904, 271).
In assessing the strength and autonomy of the Chinese leadership, Wickberg states that the Spanish government gave the Chinese leaders fairly autonomous freedom.71 Due to the weakness of the Spanish administration, the Spanish authorities had to rely on the Chinese leaders to help them in governing the numerous Chinese immigrants or residents in the country. Unlike those in Indonesia who were appointed by the Dutch authorities, members of the Chinese community in the Philippines elected their own leaders in the Philippines. Thus, the Chinese leaders were generally satisfied with the status quo, Wilson (2004) also shows this degree of autonomy in the Philippine Chinese leadership by showing how the Chinese elite at this time were able to manipulate colonial aspirations and prejudices to satisfy their personal ambitions and to further local interests. 71
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since their institutions were “freer from colonial governmental control than was usually the case in other parts of colonial Asia” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 205). The Chinese therefore, in order to survive and succeed, learned adaptive strategies both within the family and without, aimed at colluding as well as evading the colonial policies designed to control them. In the next chapter, we will examine some of what Ong and Nonini (1997) call flexible and border-crossing practices deployed by Chinese merchants and their families in order to take advantage of the increasing commercialization of the Philippine economy.
CHAPTER THREE
THE CHINESE MERCHANTS IN TURN-OF-THE-TWENTIETH-CENTURY MANILA: PRECURSORS OF MODERN CHINESE TRANSNATIONALISM IN THE PHILIPPINES Introduction In the preceding chapter, I described some of the major economic changes in the Philippines during the latter part of the nineteenth century. An overview of Spanish commercial policy in the Philippines in the nineteenth century would show that the colonial government attempted to do the following: 1) expand Philippine trade; 2) develop internal Philippine resources; 3) develop closer ties with Spain through trade; 4) protect and encourage Philippine industry; 5) provide favorable treatment of Spanish goods; 6) encourage Spanish and Philippine business; and 7) encourage Spanish and Philippine shipping. These policies were all part of the struggling Spanish empire’s attempt to “put the colony on a profitable basis and to take advantage of the growing global demand for Southeast Asian products” as it tried to compete with “its more fiscally rational and industrially advanced neighbors,” i.e., the other European powers (Wilson 2004, 53). However, the implementation of these policies was not always successful, as conservatives and liberals often clashed with one another. The liberals advocated free trade, while the conservatives stood for protectionism and “nationalism” (Legarda 1999, 187). Prior to the 1870s, the tariff policy reflected the liberalization of trade in Europe, but in the late 1870s, tariff policy became more protectionist. Whatever the policies were, Legarda writes that they failed to save native industries, and were largely ineffective in giving “shape and direction to the Philippine economy” because there was little capital being invested in these industries, as well as no infusion of technological improvements. Furthermore, bureaucratic inefficiency and corruption defeated or thwarted the implementation of good policies. Even though there was a salutatory rise in overall trade in the Philippines from the
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1850s on,1 certain periods experienced a decline, such as those from 1872 to 1876, 1880 to 1887, and from 1896 on, when the Philippine Revolution broke out (Legarda 1999, 106–10). The causes include the “climacterics” of the 1870s and 1890s for Great Britain and the panics and depressions of the United States in 1873 and 1893 (Legarda 1999, 335), both of which affected the Philippine export economy. The overall picture then was of local unevenness, with rising and declining exports, as well as regional irregularities (Legarda 1999, 335). Other forces that influenced the economy were the high mortality rates in the 1880s; the depreciation of the Mexican silver peso, starting in the 1870s, and affecting exchange rate in the early 1880s; and the abolition of the tobacco monopoly in 1882, which “opened up one of the leading exports to the full play of private enterprise and market forces” (Legarda 1999, 336).2 In light of these developments, a shift occurred in the types of occupation and economic activity that many Chinese participated in. In the “old Chinese economy,” (i.e., pre-1850) the Chinese performed the functions of maritime traders, provisioners, and retail dealers in urban settlements, distributors of Chinese imports in the areas adjacent to Spanish settlements, and artisans in both Spanish settlements and native communities (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 63).
From the 1830s to the 1860s, as part of Spanish efforts at liberalizing and developing the Philippine economy, Spanish policy allowed for the easier entry and movement of the Chinese. For instance, a policy was created to encourage the Chinese to enter the agricultural sector. As an incentive, a more favorable tax policy was applied to those who went into agriculture (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 50). Proponents of this policy argued that the Chinese would not only develop agriculture in the country (as part of a wider policy of frontier colonization), but
1 Prior to 1846, imports came mainly from the following countries (in terms of rank): China, Singapore, Spain, United States, and Britain. From 1850–1898, the order was Britain, China, Spain, and United States. As for exports, Britain was first prior to 1846, followed by China, then the U.S. After this period, the U.S. ranked first, Britain ranked next, and China (along with “British East Indies”) third (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 65). 2 It must be noted that the trend in the Philippines during the latter half of the nineteenth century, which was the shift from a subsistence to an export economy, was part of a shift happening also in different Southeast Asian colonies as European colonizers applied pressure on the peasantry to produce crops for export in an effort to develop large-scale plantation agriculture (Legarda 1999, 181).
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also instill in the “natives” the value of hard work. In 1839, a decree permitted the Chinese complete liberty to live anywhere regardless of occupation and to extended travel to the provinces. However, on the whole, Spanish attempts to induce the Chinese to enter the agricultural sector failed as many Chinese continued to engage in commercial activities “because of personal connections and the known opportunities for profit” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 56–8).3 What were some of these “opportunities for profit” that Chinese engaged in during this historical period? Wickberg writes that in the “new Chinese economy,” Chinese continued engaging in some of the occupations in the “old Chinese economy,” but after 1850, some Chinese became processors of Philippine produce, coolie labor brokers, and monopoly contractors.4 They also played a role as “middlemen” for European and American trading companies, and toward the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries, they began to engage in the import-export business themselves, importing European goods and exporting cash crops to world markets (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 63; 113). The cash crops that they mostly imported, exported, or traded were sugar, abaca, tobacco, indigo, and rice.5 Indeed, as Wickberg writes, “There were a few occupations in which the Chinese apparently had no interest” ([1965] 2000, 111).6
3 Thus, even with the liberalization of the occupational and residence laws, a largescale Chinese immigration and settlement in the provinces did not occur (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 53). One factor that could have discouraged the Chinese from taking advantage of these liberal policies was the practice that allowed provincial governors, prior to 1844, to engage in trade, thus providing competition. In addition, resistance to such policy also came from those who thought that Chinese penetration into the different parts of the colony would result not only in economic competition to the locals, but also in a moral and religious influence (see Chapter 2). However, while the Chinese generally eschewed going into agriculture, a number did go into planting abaca (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 97). 4 Prior to 1850, the Chinese were only allowed to bid on the monopoly contracts for meat supply, but by 1857, they controlled 80 percent of municipal tax contracts. Eventually, they were also able to bid for the monopoly contracts of the following: opium, cockpits, taxes on public markets, weights and measures, livestock slaughtering, general impost on carriages, horses, and bridges (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 113). For more information regarding the opium trade in the Philippines, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 114–9). 5 For more information on their participation in the production and distribution of these products, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 94–6. 6 While these occupations were not the exclusive domain of the Chinese, there were two which they predominated, as herbalists and panciteros (noodle makers).
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The following section examines some of these business practices, specifically, those of being a middleman, moneylender, and joint-stock company shareholder. It will be followed by a discussion of some of the creative strategies adapted by these merchants. Chinese Business Practices in Late Colonial Manila Chinese as Middlemen In the nineteenth century, the most important new role the Chinese played was that of commercial agent, or middleman. As commercial agents, the Chinese became involved in a distribution system that linked the “native economy and Western economy throughout the Islands” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 62). [However, it must be noted that both the Chinese and Chinese mestizos acted as conduits for the farmers and the Anglo-American commercial firms.]7 The Chinese in Manila became very effective in this role as “middlemen” by establishing the cabecilla-agent system.8 In this operation, cabecillas (Spanish term to refer to company owners) in Manila performed the role of middlemen for Anglo-American companies and became wholesalers of imported goods, a role that Chinese businessmen played in other parts of the world (e.g., in the United States, Hawaii, or Peru).9 Through their agents, they distributed imported goods to the provinces and collected goods or produce from the provinces to be sold to these companies, which in turn exported them to world markets.10 Relying on previous experience back in China of
7 From 1750 to 1850, the Chinese mestizos and indios took over this role from the Chinese during this time of several expulsions and restricted immigration of the Chinese. However, from 1850 on, the Chinese were able to partly reclaim their role from the Chinese mestizos and indios as provisioners of urban areas. 8 Care should be given when describing the cabecilla “system,” because this set-up was not fixed or rigid. There were variations found in the “system.” For example, the cabecilla was not necessarily based in Manila. An agent could also act as a cabecilla of another agent. Furthermore, people of other ethnic backgrounds, such as Chinese mestizos and Spaniards, also participated in the “system.” 9 For more information on the economic activities of the Chinese “middlemen” in the United States, see Mei 1984; for those in Hawaii and Peru, see McKeown 2001. 10 The rise of the export crop economy in the Philippines thus drew many Chinese into the provinces. The provinces where many Chinese were found included those
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itinerancy and on networks based on kinship or common village ties, these cabecillas, as with other Chinese elsewhere, managed to create an effective distribution system.11 Their ability to penetrate the provinces was also facilitated by more open policies toward their residence and travel. Apart from the 1839 decree mentioned earlier, the governor-general issued other decrees from 1847 to 1848 that loosened the restrictions in the movement of the Chinese within the archipelago, such as the extension of the amount of time that a Chinese could stay in the provinces from three to twelve months (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 53). In 1891, the Spanish colonial government allowed the Chinese belonging to the first four tax classes to travel in complete freedom. This helped the increase in the presence of Chinese living in the provinces (although the majority or at least half of the Chinese population in the country were still found in and around Manila). Drawing Up Mandatos In sending out these agents to distribute their goods in different parts of the Philippines, the cabecillas had to draw up mandatos, notarized documents granting powers of attorney to their representatives. The content and format are stipulated in articles found in the commercial code (see Spain and United States 1899b, Articles 88, 89, 93, 95, and 96). Previously, the cabecillas probably would have used less formal documentation in commissioning their agents to the provinces, relying either on xinyong (credit-worthiness) or “unofficial” documentation. However, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the Spanish colonial government initiated a drive toward the institutionalization and standardization of laws in the Philippines, as a result of the increasing secularization of the State in Europe during the nineteenth century.12 Subsequently, “legitimacy in the colonies came to depend on the state
producing major cash crops, such as Albay, Leyte, and Samar, Cebu, Camarines Sur (abaca); Negros Occidental, Iloilo (sugar); Cagayan, Isabela (tobacco). 11 There were other benefits to this distribution system. For instance, in 1852, a “shop” tax that replaced the “industrial” tax imposed levies on those who owned shops. But cabecillas in Manila could evade this law by having their agents sell their wares and products in the provinces, instead of having to set up a shop or shops. 12 In Spain, this resulted in a crisis of legitimacy, since this signaled the end of the long collaboration between the Church and the State in imposing moral order, especially in its colonies (Bankoff 1996, 7–12).
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being acknowledged as the imposer of law and order” (Bankoff 1996, 93), which compelled it “to expand its legal, juridical, and coercive structures, establishing the mechanisms of the judicial state” (Bankoff 1996, 191). This drive toward a more systematic approach in the operations of the colonial bureaucracy probably went hand in hand with the increasing commercialization of the Philippine economy. As it became more tied up with the world economy, the implementation of more “modern” commercial transactions and procedures became necessary. A commercial code was created in Spain in 1829, although little is known about its actual implementation, especially in the Philippines. In 1859, however, all foreign merchants, including the Chinese coastal traders, were declared to be subject to Spanish commercial law and commercial courts, and to be listed in the matricula de comercio (register of merchants). And digging through the archives in Manila, I observed that the bound volumes of protocolos increased from the year 1866. And while a new Commercial Code was created in 1886 to update the commercial code of 1829, and was only extended to the Philippines on 6 August 1888, the existence of these bound sets of protocolos dating back to the 1860s would indicate that the 1829 law was implemented to some degree (Spain and United States 1899a, 3 n. 1). Drawing up legal documents, therefore, was de rigueur in conducting one’s business in Manila. To this practice, the Chinese were probably no strangers: back in China the Chinese government was known for requiring the extensive use of documentation and emphasis on legal processes (see Bartlett 1991). Thus, documents and petitions were only considered if “properly drawn and sealed” (McKeown 2001, 119). The powers granted in these mandatos included the power to intervene in all the businesses owned by the grantors; sell their goods in the best way possible; employ or fire people from the businesses; deposit their money in the banks; represent them in litigation or any other lawsuits; and create and execute all acts that the grantors would have done and practiced themselves had they been present. Conceivably, these mandatos were drawn up by the otorgantes (grantors) in anticipation of their prolonged absence, either when they traveled back to China, or to other islands or countries. Also, it is understandable that most of the otorgantes would bestow these powers on their fellow paisanos (“someone from one’s own country”). However, of the 214 cases I collected, 88 or over 40 percent
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involved Chinese merchants choosing non-paisanos.13 Most of the nonpaisanos named in these documents and to whom the powers were given to represent the otorgantes were either Spanish attorneys or lawyers living in Manila.14 Examples of Chinese merchants giving general powers of attorney to non-paisanos include Vicente Vi Yullan granting these powers to “Filipino Spanish” Miguel Ramos (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 1, 22 May); Antonio Quintana Chua Guian to nonChinese Ceferino Bautista of Batangas (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 1, no. 161); and Sy Liemban to Ciriaco Sarile y de la Cruz (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 1, no. 52). The reliance on non-paisanos or “foreigners” in their business dealings was not unique to the Philippine Chinese. As with other Chinese living in non-Chinese states, “(b)onds of trust were established with people who were not Chinese” (McKeown 2001, 97). The establishment of this bond with influential foreigners was one of the strategies employed by diasporic Chinese to succeed. Furthermore, as mentioned in the previous chapter, the Chinese knew how to use the legal system to their advantage, and if this meant petitioning the local government or fighting for their rights, then they had to rely on Spanish or nonChinese lawyers and officials. It must also be noted that this form of strategic interaction, alliance, or networking with foreigners or nonChinese occurred not only within the commercial, but also familial realms. How and why Chinese merchants used personal connections with these individuals to their (business) advantage will be discussed in the next chapter.
13 The manner by which I collected these cases was to focus on years based on tenyear intervals, with the aim of including at least one year from each decade from the 1860s to the 1900s. The set of protocolos at RMAO begins in 1866; however, I picked 1867 as the starting year due to the completeness of the volume found on that year. Then, I picked the year 1872, and then proceeded to look at the years 1882, 1892, and 1902. As mentioned in the introductory chapter, as of summer of 2000 the only available protocolos open to the public are those up to the year 1903. The addition of 1897 was based on the premise that including a year from the revolutionary movement against Spain (1896–1898) might reflect some changes in the business practices of the Chinese merchants. 14 The ethnic classification of these “non-paisanos” can be gleaned from their surnames, the classification appended to their names, and the fact that only Spanish or Filipinos could become lawyers at that time.
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Money Lending Money lending was one of the commercial activities that Chinese merchants were actively engaged in. Both lenders and borrowers benefited from this practice. As McKeown points out, Credit . . . was crucial as a medium binding networks internally and necessitating cooperation between networks. Credit and debt were the bonds by which Chinese could mobilize and exploit labor, and provided the opportunities for individuals to obtain the capital to migrate and to establish small stores, distribution networks, and middleman occupations (2001, 85).
Banks were not established till the 1850s.15 Although the Chinese could borrow money from the banks, they could only do it with European firms acting as guarantors. Thus, money lending became a lucrative business, and some Chinese merchants became involved in it.16 The rules governing such transactions can be found under “Commercial Loans” (Title V, Section 1, Articles 311 to 319) of the Code of Commerce of 1885 (Spain and United States 1899b, 79–81). Loans in most cases had to be recorded, even when small amounts were involved. For instance, in the document involving the protocolization of a testament drawn up by a rich merchant by the name of Sy Tiong-Tay who died in 1892, we see in the seventh clause a list of 78 debtors, both Chinese and non-Chinese, with their respective debts amounting to as little as 30 pesos to as much as thousands of pesos (RMAO EBC 1895, Vol. 871, tomo 12, no. 1090). Although it is not stated where the list came from, Tiong-Tay must have left some kind of paperwork or documentation that allowed him to keep track of the debts owed him. Article 314 also states: “Loans shall not pay any interest unless there is an agreement to that effect in writing” (Spain and United States 1899b, 80). A notation below this article refers to a legal prescription that abolished an established rate of interest. It is difficult to ascertain when this abolition occurred. But if indeed no such rate existed, then borrowers might be at the mercy of lenders, who could charge high or usurious rates. An examination 15 In 1851, the Banco Español-Filipino de Isabel II was founded. Prior to the 1850s, there was no organized credit system or financing group for the Chinese, except the caja de comunidad (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 69). 16 European merchants, particularly from Britain, were also particularly active in lending credit and loans to the Chinese. For more information regarding the credit system they created with the Chinese, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 70–1.
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of one document pertaining to Joaquin Barrera Limjap shows that interest rates could be anywhere between 10 to 12 percent. Those whom he charged a 10 percent interest on loans included the following (with year loan was made): father and son Dy Guecju of Binondo and Dy Ganchiao, respectively, of Balayan, Batangas—1,000 pesos (1866);17 Paula Millan—1,000 pesos (1867);18 and those with twelvepercent interest included: Juan Ong Tonjin and Ong Ensin—5,000 pesos (1876);19 Domingo Aldecoa Uy Siaopang, Chua-Huco, TanGuinsi, Tiang-Niseng, and Chi-Juatgo—400 pesos (1878);20 Vicente Barreda Dy-Gangco of Batangas—1,000 pesos (1878);21 Victoriano Reyes Lim Tolian—10,073 pesos (1878);22 Esteva Tan Chinco y Tan Cham—577 pesos and 40 cents (1883).23 The interest charges do not seem to be in proportion to the amount being loaned, i.e., a higher amount equaled a lower interest rate. Instead, it might have depended on a number of factors: personal relation with Joaquin (for instance, it is listed that in 1871 he lent his mother-in-law Gregoria Nolasco, recently widowed at the time, 400 pesos without interest);24 perceived ability of debtor to pay; market forces (market rate for lending at a particular time); ethnic and class background of borrower; and other particular arrangements that two parties entered into that would offset any loss or reduction of profit from the lender, or lead to the inability of the debtor to pay. On this last factor, we can see for instance that debtors also guaranteed a part of their assets in contracting loans. The money that Paula borrowed was going to be used for the expenses in completing five buildings in two lots situated in San Nicolas, Binondo. Her loan of 1,000 pesos not only came with a 10 percent annual interest to be paid at the end of six months but also with a guarantee mortgaging these five buildings (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2,
17 They received the loan on 3 December 1866, and the terms included paying the amount within a year, with a 10 percent interest (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, S505B–6B). 18 More information about this debt can be found in RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, S465–6. 19 For more information, see RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 721. 20 For more information, see RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 875. 21 For more information, see RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 884. 22 For more information, see RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 923. 23 Esteva Tan Chinco and Tan Cham, both of Binondo, used their lumber and implements store at 30 San Jacinto Street, Binondo as a guarantee (RMAO FD 1883, Vol. 447, tomo 2, no. 677). 24 For more information, see RMAO FD 1871, Vol. 426, tomo 2, no. 466.
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S465–6). Father and son Dy Guecju and Dy Ganchiao, who borrowed 1,000 pesos, placed as guarantee all the goods found in their businesses in Manila and in Batangas (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, S505B–6B). Bonifacio Poguio Paodico and Vicenta de Castro, who borrowed 100 pesos in 1881 and who were the only ones charged with an interest of 13 percent, mortgaged a wooden house with a nipa roof, as well as a lot in Bacoor (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 2, no. 567). Finally, the terms set for some loans resulted in part of the amount being charged with an interest rate and part without. For instance, in 1878, Victoriano Reyes Lim Tolian borrowed 10,073 pesos from Joaquin. The agreement called for Tolian to receive the loan in two ways: one for the quantity of 2,943 pesos and 13 cuartos to be paid back without interest, and the other for the sum of 7,130 pesos 5 reales and 16 cuartos, to be paid with an annual 12 percent interest. As a guarantee, he mortgaged his sari-sari store (tienda de chucheria; variety store), at 31 Rosario Street, situated on the property of Vicente Cuyugan (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 923). Juan Ong Tonjin and Ong Ensin’s loan of 5,000 pesos made in 1878 were made under the following terms: 2,000 pesos was subjected to an annual interest rate of 12 percent from the date of loan, while the other 3,000 pesos was without premium (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 721). Finally, of the debt of 5,000 pesos owed by Ong Songleng and Go Yaoti, both from Binondo, half of the amount was to be paid at 12 percent interest, while the other half was without premium and payable in China (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 850). In paying off their debts, debtors, aside from paying back the amount from their own pockets in full or in increments at the agreed terms, had the following options in case they encountered some difficulties in making payments: either they had guarantors who paid off or who could pay off the debt for them, as in the case of Vicente Barreda DyGangco of Batangas (who might be the same Dy Ganchiao mentioned above), whose 1,000—peso loan with an annual interest of 12 percent was guaranteed by Fernando Yriarte Dy-Sico and Dy-Tuaco, both living in Binondo (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 884);25 their debts restructured, as in the case of Lim Tolian’s debt (RMAO FD
25 The loan was to be used to buy sugar, and the payment would include the amount produced in the sale of the sugar (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 884).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 101 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 923); or transferring their credit from a loan they made to other people, as in the case of the Chinese Mariano Pigni of Binondo, whose loan of 324 pesos and 6 reales was partly paid off by transferring the debt of 202 pesos, 4 reales, and 15 cuartos owed him by a certain Lao Chaico to Joaquin (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 804).26 The debts were incurred by borrowers for all sorts of reasons—as loans to start up a business, construct buildings, use for personal reasons, or as debts transferred from another creditor to Joaquin.27 It is probably safe to assume that for a merchant like Joaquin, the moneylending business was very lucrative.28 However, lending money was a business fraught with pitfalls as debtors sometimes defaulted or reneged on their payments.29 Although written as a caricature, the “Chinaman” Quiroga in José Rizal’s novel El Filibusterismo bewailed the difficulty of lending money to so many people, from whom Quiroga probably had difficulty collecting their debts. In the archives I found among some of the legal documents “acta[s] de protesto,” which are instruments of protest people drew up when their debtors refused or failed to pay their debts. One such case pertains to Cayetano Chua Chiaco, who on 14 February 1901 filed
26 The remaining debt of 121 pesos, 4 reales would be paid by him on a certain date (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 804). 27 One case in which Joaquin assumed the debt of another person occured when Joaquin became the new creditor of the Chinese Vicente Lorenzo Chun Contiang, whose debt of 10,721 pesos and 9 cents was originally owed to the “Señores Holliday Wyce and Compañia.” Through his nephew Antonio Barrera Chum Chiangseng, Vicente passed on the collectible debts of 11,200 pesos to Joaquin. Apparently, the loan was used for the company “Con Sy Jap Qui” that Contiang owned, although it had a number of Chinese shareholders (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 731). Wickberg, in pointing out that the first Chinese bank was not established till 1902, wonders whether wealthy Chinese merchants provided the same services as European firms and banks, which was to provide credit to other people, and concludes that it “was impossible to determine to what degree the Chinese economy was financially independent of outside sources of capital by the late nineteenth century” ([1965] 2000, 123). While I agree that it would still be difficult to arrive at a more definite picture, based on the wills of some Chinese merchants, individuals like Joaquin, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, and Sy Tiong-Tay (see Chapter 5) were most probably financially independent enough to fund their own businesses and those of others. 28 Other loans he made were to the following individuals: José and Maximo Nibungco—383 pesos (RMAO FD 1871, Vol. 426, tomo 2, no. 365); Uy Dingco— 12,369 pesos and 18 cuartos (RMAO FD 1877, Vol. 435, tomo 2, no. 691); 29 According to Edwin H. Warner, Chinese mestizos also engaged in money lending, and because of this, they became unpopular with the general public (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 19).
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a complaint against Chua Farruco. Cayetano produced a promissory note dated 14 December 1900 indicating that on this date he lent Farruco the sum of 1,000 pesos to be used for “business operations” and to be paid back in two months. However, on the due date, Farruco reneged on the agreement. Subsequently, upon receiving Cayetano’s complaint, the notary public went to the store of Farruco to demand compliance with the conditions stipulated in the IOU. Farruco paid 700 pesos, and promised to pay the remaining sum by the twenty-third day of the same month. True enough, on that day the promise was fulfilled, and Cayetano appeared again before the same notary to sign a carta de pago (receipt or acquittal of a debt) (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 229).30 Joint-Stock Corporations or Sociedades As mentioned above, the Chinese not only acted as middlemen of trading companies but also established these companies, especially when this trade involved shipping goods to and from China.31 However, in the 1880s and 1890s they began to expand their operations to include Japan and other countries in the Western Hemisphere. Thus, when examining the documents on the years 1897 and 1902, I found a good number of the joint-stock companies that were involved in buying and/or selling goods to and from Europe (RMAO CR 1897 Vol. 851, tomos 1–2; 1902, Vol. 856, tomos 1–2). For instance, in 1897 the Chinese merchants Cu Unjieng, Yu Loco (a.k.a. Yu Loclo); Yap Chinco (a.k.a. Yap Quichin); and Uy-Yupeng (a.k.a. Uy Siuliong) established the company “Tai-Jin” that would be engaged in importing and selling cotton, textiles, and thread from Europe (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 5, no. 619).
30 Probably due to the economic depression in the 1870s, a number of Chinese traders went bankrupt, resulting in the financial loss of lenders, such as European firms who acted as guarantors. In the 1880s, the Spanish government instituted a tougher policy in regards to cash loans, but we have no information regarding the implementation and adherence to this legislation (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 71). 31 It must be noted that, while the Chinese started to also engage in importing and exporting good to and from Europe, they continued to engage in the China-Manila junk trade that “included a direct trade in imports of Chinese goods for Philippine consumption and exports of Philippine raw products to markets in China” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 80). However, this trade declined through the years, and by 1870, the junks stopped coming.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 103 What went into forming and dissolving a sociedad or a joint-stock company? What happened when one of the partners decided to separate from the business? An examination of three legal documents that partners of joint stock companies drew up might help us answer these questions. When Cu Unjieng, Yu Loco (a.k.a. Yu Loclo); Yap Chinco (a.k.a. Yap Quichin; and Uy Yupeng (a.k.a. Uy Siuliong) decided to establish the sociedad “Tai-Jin,” they put in an initial capitalization of 84,000 pesos, with Unjieng providing half of the money.32 Following legal provision Article 125 of the Code of Commerce of 1885, which spells out what a contract must state in establishing a joint-stocks company, Unjieng and company drew up a contract containing eighteen clauses (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 5, no. 619), including those that listed the firm name, the names and surnames of the partners, the capital each partner contributed, the duration of the partnership, the powers of the manager; the date of balancing the company’s assets and liabilities, and other articles that the parties agreed upon. Interesting details can be found in some of these clauses. For instance, the fifth clause states that while the manager and administrator of the company (Cu Unjieng) had the power to terminate the contract and liquidate the company, he could only do it after the convocation of the other partners. Furthermore, the eleventh clause states that the annual profit due to each partner would be placed under the “credit” column of their respective current accounts, which would be opened in the books of the company and which would not earn any interest. However, the different partners could dispose of 80 percent of the amount credited to their account after the closing of the books. On the other hand, the rest (20 percent) would be left as capital reserve of the company. Finally, in the eighteenth clause, whenever disputes or conflicts would arise among the partners in the management of the business, the dissenters could call upon arbitrators comprising of three Chinese merchants of Binondo. However, by calling upon such arbitrators, the dissenters renounced their rights to resort to litigation after the arbitrators reached a decision.
32 The partners had intended to establish this company in 1897, but possibly due to the local uprising against Spain, might have decided to postpone its establishment until 1901.
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When a shareholder decided for some reason to depart from the partnership, care was given to ensure that this particular partner was given his/her due share. Thus, when Lim Tengco (a.k.a. Lim Yee Siengqui) decided to pull out his shares from the company “Van Tuitong,” a company he co-founded that had a start-up capital of 40,000 pesos, the three accounting books of the company were consulted. These books, written in Chinese, showed that the partners had initially intended to raise 80,000 pesos, but managed only to raise half the amount. The books also stipulated the amount contributed by each of the twelve partners and the equivalent share of each. Based on these stipulations, Tengco, together with José Muñoz Lim Tangco, the representative of the other 11 partners, calculated his share to be 1,000 pesos and 5 reales. In the last paragraph of the document it is stated that he had already received this amount in cash and that he had counted it to his “complete satisfaction,” and that he renounced his right to a demurrer of this money and to the two-year allowance provided by the Laws of the (Spanish) King for him to make such a claim.33 Finally, by signing a letter of payment, he rendered as invalid in law and outside of it whatever was stipulated in terms of his share in the company in the contract drawn up on 8 August 1877 (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 124).34 What happened when a company was dissolved? In the case of a company that had an asset of roughly 16,000 pesos, after one of the partners named Lim Yng-Chud died, three peritos (experts) named Civilo Cue Queping, Joaquin Peced, and Lim Engjua were hired to perform an accounting of the firm’s assets. An inventory of the assets was made, and the value of these balanced against the liabilities and debts, before each partner received his share. It is interesting to note that part of the liabilities and debts deducted from the deceased were expenses for his internment and illness. Furthermore, when all the accounting was done, the profit remaining amounted to 217 pesos, 1 real, and 1 cuarto. But instead of using this money to be divided between them, the two partners Lim Tangco and Lim Chengco decided to “renounce” this profit in favor of their partner’s widow, 33 As provided by law, a demurrer is an objection one can bring to a court when some money he/she is entitled to has not in fact been delivered and paid to him/her. 34 The exchange rate between the dollar and the peso during this time was roughly 50 U.S. cents to 1 Philippine peso, a rate that was officially pegged in 1903.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 105 Uy Yongnin, who was returning to China with her two sons. Lastly, the document includes a clause stipulating that Uy Yongnin should set aside 100 pesos from the share she would inherit, to be given as a legacy to her mother-in-law in China (RMAO FD 1877, Vol. 435, tomo 2, no. 704). What can be gleaned from these examples? First, that Chinese merchants were naturally not immune to the vicissitudes of the economy, as the failure of the shareholders of the company “Van Tuitong” to raise the targeted start-up capital seems to suggest. However, their ability to create networks in China or in Manila probably shielded them from the worst consequences arising from fluctuations in the market. Second, in order to take advantage of the economic opportunities opened up by the increasing commercialized local economy, Chinese merchants in colonial Manila adhered to or followed rules and regulations established by the Spanish, and later, American colonial governments.35 For instance, in the first two examples we can see that the principal parties acted according to the stipulations found in the Code of Commerce in creating and dissolving companies. But while Chinese merchants followed the law as proscribed by the Spanish colonial government, they also incorporated into their business practices what seemed to be common among diasporic mercantilist communities, e.g., the blurring of what was personal or familial with what was “public.” In the third example above, the money of the company was taken out for personal expenses (e.g., for the medical expenses and internment of Lim Yng-chud).36 Outside observers had given different, sometimes conflicting accounts of how the Chinese conducted their economic affairs. For instance, there were those who viewed them as unscrupulous, as “using their means in every way to evade the law, to get around the law, to get the better of it” (Testimony of Benito Legarda, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 178). On the other hand, there were those
35 It must be noted that the commercial laws from the latter part of the Spanish colonial period were in general the laws that applied to commercial transactions during the early part of the American colonial period. 36 Some scholars have pointed out that this practice of combining personal with company expenses constituted an “Asian” versus “Western” style management (e.g., Limlingan 1986; Redding 1990; Brown 2000).
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who admired their business acumen and dependability, and therefore were an asset to the Philippine economy (Testimony of R.W. Brown, U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 204–6). Furthermore, some scholars in the past considered these practices, such as xinyong, guanxi, and familism as “explanatory elements within the postwar celebratory narratives of Chinese business success associated with the economic rise of the Asia Pacific” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 210). Such elements are often regarded as part of timeless or unchanging “Chinese” capitalistic features so that it would be tempting to describe the business practices of the Chinese living under the conditions of colonialism in similar terms (see Yeung 2004, xv). Conversely, nationcentered scholarship tends to view these practices as a sign of the unassimilability of the Chinese as an ethnic minority group. But a better way to study the evasive practices of the Chinese merchants without resorting to a deterministic or moralistic version of their culture and a reification of their ethnic identity is to treat these as flexible, border-crossing, or adaptive strategies that allowed them to collude with the contemporary regimes of truth and power organizing the new flexible capitalisms and modern nation-states, but also act obliquely to them, and systematically set out to transgress the shifting boundaries set by both (Ong and Nonini 1997, 20).37
In the preceding paragraphs we already saw some of these adaptive strategies, such as establishing networks with non-Chinese and the creation of the cabecilla-agent system.38 In the succeeding paragraphs are more flexible practices that the Chinese merchants in Manila adopted during the late Spanish colonial period. Such practices were not strictly “commercial,” but nevertheless were instrumental in achieving business success.
37 Another way to view these practices is not to attribute the economic “success” of Chinese diasporic communities in Southeast Asia and elsewhere to “Chinese” culture, but to examine their business practices or “roles” as determined by “historical-political factors” (McVey 1992, 18). It does not mean that culture does not play a role in one’s business practices, but that other factors, such as access to capital or the role of the state also need to be taken into account (McVey 1992, 18; Lim and Gosling 1983, 2–23). 38 Omohundro notes the same strategy of creating social networks with non-Chinese used by Iloilo Chinese in the 1970s to achieve economic success (1983, 65–85).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 107 More Flexible Business Practices Hispanicizing Oneself: The Adoption of Spanish Citizenship and Practices Starting in the 1840s, the Chinese could apply for Spanish citizenship. Wickberg writes that this might be a way for the Spanish colonial government to earn the loyalty of the Chinese, as Catholic conversion was not effective anymore ([1965] 2000, 155).39 Those who applied for citizenship had to have been a resident of the Philippines for a number of years, with good letters of recommendation from officials, and be baptized as a Catholic. For those who applied, this may have been a way to protect one’s own property and assets, since there was no Chinese consulate that one could approach for redress. But after 1892, becoming a Spanish citizen, along with Catholic conversion, was also a requirement for marrying a local woman. We have no record of exactly how many Chinese applied for Spanish citizenship, or if there were many who did. Wickberg lists the following Chinese who applied for naturalization: Antonio Tong, Joaquín Martínez Sy Tiong-Tay, Emilio Asensi Yu Biaoco, and Antonio Osorio Tan Quinco ([1965] 2000, 156 n. 31). Based on other sources, my own research shows that the following prominent Chinese also applied and were naturalized: Joaquin Barrera Limjap, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, and Ignacio Jao Boncan.40 Wickberg thinks that probably very few Chinese applied. My own hypothesis is that the number of applications might be few within the general Chinese population, but many prominent Chinese, or those with means, took advantage of this law. However, further research needs to corroborate this hypothesis. Another way for Chinese merchants or tradesmen to succeed in their business endeavors was to learn the Spanish language. From an investigation of the notarial records one can see that many of these
39 The Spanish faith in baptism as a way to earn the loyalty of Catholic Chinese had been badly shaken especially during the Seven Years’ War with the British, when the British took over the Philippines from Spain (1762–1764). A good number of Catholic Chinese supported the British against the Spanish. 40 For the dossier of the Chinese from provinces who applied, see RMAO NE 1893–1898; RMAO NESP 1886–1889. Wickberg bases his list from the Reales Órdenes, or Royal Orders, found at the RMAO. However, I have been unable to track down these sources.
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Chinese could speak, write, and understand Spanish.41 For instance, out of a random sampling of 42 Chinese who appeared before a notary public to draw up a contract or instrument in Spanish, only 7 needed an interpreter.42 Furthermore, 34 of them knew how to sign their names in script, while only 8 used Chinese characters. A foreign businessman, in his testimony before the Schurman Commission noted that the Chinese “speak (Spanish) and the native dialects” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 229; cf. Tulay, 8 August 2000). For many, being bilingual or trilingual even allowed them to perform other kinds of work outside mercantilism or entrepreneurship. For instance, Tin Chico was an administrator of public services and escribiente (clerk) of Chinese characters who also knew the Spanish language (RMAO EBC 1890, Vol. 866, tomo 5, no. 560). He was one of probably several Chinese professionals who were proficient in Spanish, Chinese, and a local Philippine language. A German scholar by the name of Hugo Schuchardt used in 1884 the term Chinotagalospanische to describe the kind of language spoken in Manila and its surrounding region (cited in Skinner 1996, 60 n. 26). Reliance on Hometown Associations and Networks Prior to 1850, the Chinese relied on two secret societies to maintain “internal control in the Manila community” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 179).43 However, after 1850, there was a “growth of openly established, community-wide organizations” due to the “relaxation of Spanish laws
41 These documents were culled from a set of documents that I collected in the summer of 2000. Focusing on the years from 1875 to 1901, I made copies of documents pertaining to Chinese merchants. Out of the thousands of entries in the indices of the protocols that I scanned, I collected forty-four (44) documents, most of which are powers of attorney (mandatos de poder). The breakdown of the type of documents are as follows: establishment and dissolution of companies—3; powers of attorney— 27; deeds of sale—4; acts of giving charge to another—2; declaration of property—1; cancellation of mortgage—1; cession and transfer of rights of rent—1; act of filing a letter of refusal to pay a debt—2; letter of payment—2; act of raising a ship—1. 42 Out of these seven, four (4) needed an interpreter from Spanish to Tagalog, since, according to one notary public, they knew Tagalog better than Spanish! These were Chua Pueco, Ong Tuon, Li-Kit, and Chua Su, who also signed their names in Chinese in the document that they drew up to grant the power of attorney to José Lopez Pagas and Geronimo José (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 6, no. 763). 43 These were the Langjun hui (Gentlemen’s Society) and the Changhe she (Society of Lasting Harmony), both of which were mutual-aid societies (Amyot 1973, 13).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 109 which had forbidden any organizations that might compete with the state” as well as a “reflection of an increased community awareness” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 179; cf. McKeown 2001, 117).44 Apart from the occupational and commercial associations or organizations established, the Chinese merchant community in Manila relied on “sociopolitical” institutions such as the Gremio de Chinos and the Tribunal de Sangleyes to protect and administer to the needs of its members. “Community” institutions such as the Shanju Gongsuo (善舉公所; an association founded in 1870 and today known as the Chinese Charitable Association) and the Chinese cemetery, hospital, and school (all administered by the Shanju Gongsuo) also provided the Chinese with major forms of support. But no doubt the interconnections and networks they had established with kin and fellow villagers in Minnan also facilitated their “success” in establishing their lives in Manila. The networks that the Chinese had formed helped newcomers to establish themselves quickly, as seen in this example involving a Chinese named Uy Dico. From a power of attorney document drawn up on 1 December 1897, we can glean from its contents that thirtythree-year-old Uy Dico had arrived in the Philippines four months before (around August), and that he already was able to speak “average Spanish” and thus drew up this instrument without the need for an interpreter (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 473).45 In fact, Uy Dico signed his name in script, and not in Chinese characters. Was it possible that Uy had been in the Philippines prior to this particular trip, and thus had learned to speak Spanish and sign his name in Roman script? Unfortunately, we have no sufficient data to verify the date of Uy’s arrival.46 But studies of other Chinese diasporic communities show that in the qiaoxiang people had been taught how to “survive” when traveling to other countries. For instance, Hsu demonstrates that they had “coaching” books that new arrivals memorized in response to 44 McKeown writes that many colonial governments “stopped dealing with and even criminalized . . . associations [such as secret societies] . . . (so that the) rituals and violence of sworn brotherhoods were increasingly portrayed as subversive” (2001, 117). 45 In this document, Uy Dico drew up an instrument granting powers of attorney to his “paisano cristiano” (Christian countryman) Cornelio Uy-Colian to represent him in his businesses. 46 The document states, “The ‘chino’ Uy-Dico [is] thirty-three years old, single, laborer, living in Binondo, without any cédula personal (identity document), but in having newly arrived in the country, exhibits instead a provisional certificate no. 1 issued by the gobernadorcillo (lit.: “small governor”) of the sangleyes on the 2nd of August of this year” (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 473).
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questions posed by immigration officials (2000, 82–5). Given the long history of exchange and travel, one can infer that a Chinese going to the Philippines for the first time might have been “trained” in his village or town before coming to the Philippines. Returning Chinese may have brought back with them certain skills and knowledge they gained from the Philippines, and which they then passed on to others. Thus, Wickberg writes that the qiaoxiang of the Philippine Chinese could have been a “kind of seedbed of Philippine skills and practices” (Letter to author, 4 December 2001). Consequently, a “newcomer” in the Philippines may have already been equipped with certain skills and knowledge on how to survive in his new surroundings. According to Montero y Vidal, language schools were also set up in the country to assist “recent arrivals” how to speak Spanish and Tagalog ([1889, 1890] 2004, 193). Thus, with some help from people in his qiaoxiang, as soon as a “coolie can save a little money he goes out somewhere and establishes a small shop” (Testimony of Edwin H. Warner,47 U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 198).48 But just as the lineages and other forms of social network or connections could provide opportunities for travel and employment outside of the village, so could they be the source of oppression and cruelty for these young men dependent on the support and patronage of older and more established kinsmen or townsmate in Chinese diasporic communities. As studies on Chinese “coolies” in the United States have shown, many Chinese men left their hometowns via the “credit-ticket” system, under which they incurred debts from “facilitators” or labor recruiters (usually their own townsmate, but sometimes non-Chinese) to pay for their transportation money, living expenses, and other fees connected to their move to a new place, while a portion of their wages were deducted to repay the loan. Such a set-up often placed these young men at the mercy of their recruiters, to what
47 Edwin H. Warner identified himself in front of the Commission as being a merchant, and member of the firm called Warner, Barnes & Co. He had been a resident of Manila for twenty-six years at the time of his interrogation (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, 191). 48 Wickberg writes that for those who came to the Philippines the first time, often had to rely on relatives, townsmates, or friends to start a livelihood. After working for a particular merchant or cabecilla, he would eventually be able to save some money, and using this, or through the financing of someone else, establish his own business ([1965] 2000, 176).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 111 could be tantamount to indentured labor (cf. Kuhn 2008, 124–34; Ong 1998, 139). As we will see later, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, the richest Chinese merchant of his time, engaged in “coolie-brokerage” and could have taken advantage of his townsmates while facilitating their entry into the Philippines. Young men who worked as apprentices could also find themselves grossly underpaid, or if they worked as agents of cabecillas, while receiving the needed credit to start their own business, could also find themselves mired in debt and beholden to their creditors. Name Changing Among the Chinese in the Philippines, there is one practice they engaged in that I would like to discuss and use as another example of their “border-crossing” practices. This involves the practice of using multiple names while conducting their businesses. But before I discuss this practice in detail, let me provide more historical background on Spanish policies governing the Chinese. In 1849, Spanish Governor-General Narciso Clavería, in an effort to make it easier for the government to track its subjects, decreed that all of Spain’s subjects in the Philippines who previously did not have surnames be given one. He pointed out in his decree that many people “arbitrarily adopt the names of saints, resulting in the existence of thousands of individuals having the same surname.” As a consequence, there was much “confusion with regard to the administration of justice, government, finance, and public order.” This in turn, had far-reaching moral, civil and religious consequences . . . because the family names are not transmitted from the parents to their children, so that it is sometimes impossible to prove the degrees of consanguinity for purposes of marriage, rendering useless the parochial books which in Catholic countries are used for all kinds of transactions ([reprinted in Philippine National Archives] Philippines and Narciso Clavería 1973, x).
On the other hand, people “of Spanish, indigenous, or Chinese origin” already with surnames could retain them and pass them on to their descendants (Philippines and Narciso Clavería 1973, x). Thus, with this decree, the Spanish colonial government expected its subjects to have one “official” or “legal” name. However, in carrying out this policy, the Chinese posed a special problem, for they often went by several or different names throughout their lifetimes.
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This practice of possessing several names has been observed for centuries in China, including the Minnan region. The ways by which a Chinese acquired other names were as follows. First, a person could receive a xiaoming (小名) or “small name” that was given at birth. An example of this name was “A-chou” (阿臭) which means “stinky,” with “A” denoting a term of endearment placed at the beginning. It was believed that by giving their children “humble” names, parents would protect their babies from ghosts or devils (Liu 2002, 145; Jones 1989, 47). Second, a few years after the birth of a child, the child could receive a daming (大名) or “great name.” This was done after the child’s parents, having gone to a “date selection place” or consulted a “date selection master,” had examined their child’s bazi (八字 Celestial Stems and the Terrestrial Branches) that denoted the time, date, month, and year of the child’s birth. If the child’s bazi was lacking any of the five primary elements (metal, wood, water, fire and earth), an alternative name bearing characters pertaining to the five elements was given. For example, characters such as jiang (江) or “river” and hai (海) or “sea” would be added when there was the “lack of water” in the child’s bazi. But many also acquired a third name, i.e., a zi (字) or “literary” name. In addition, certain characters were added in front of given and literary names to denote the order of seniority among a clan, thus giving someone a fourth name. Furthermore, as an adult, a person also added another name, a courtesy or “fancy” name called hao (號).49 In the Philippines, the hao of the Chinese appeared in legal documents as a name with one or two characters found in one’s personal name being dropped and then the character for “older brother” (哥 transliterated and read as “co”) being appended to the remaining character.50 Thus, for instance, Tan Chueyliong was also known as Tan Chueco; Lim Conchoqui was Quintin Lim-Choco; and Lim YeeSiengqui was Lim Sengco. Finally, upon death, a man or a woman,
49 Louie refers to this as the biehao (別號), or an alias, a nom de plume, or pen name (1998, 46). However, Jones refers to the biehao as the “additional names” that one might have apart from the hao name (1989, 50). 50 According to Teresita Ang See (personal communication), in many cases, the generational name of the person was dropped and the second character retained. The second character was then appended with the honorific “co.” However, this practice was not followed all the time. In China, lineages used generational names to distinguish members of succeeding generations, and these names were often based on a poem that was either created or an existing one. Within a family, female and male siblings also were given different generational names.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 113 of the noble or “common” class, was given a posthumous name that was written on the wooden spirit tablet and recorded in the family genealogy.51 Apart from these different Chinese names, a Chinese in the Philippines also could have a “Spanish” name. As will be discussed further in Chapter 4, early in its rule in the Philippines the Spanish colonial government instituted a policy that granted special privileges to those who converted to Catholicism. Upon conversion, the Chinese had to adopt a Hispanic/Christian name, which they did by taking the surname (and sometimes even the personal name) of their sponsor and appending this to their Chinese name. Sponsors were usually well-known, well-established, wealthy, or influential members of Manila’s society, but could also be intimate friends or business associates of these converts. Thus, when Tan Quien-sien asked Carlos Palanca, a Spanish colonel, to be his godfather, the former became Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 199). Another prominent Chinese, Sy Pioco, asked Pio Barretto, a member of a family of Portuguese and Indian lineage that had settled in Manila in the eighteenth century and owned several businesses, to become his godparent, and the former became Pio de la Guardia Sy Pioco, alias Pio Barretto (Legarda 1999, 229; Wickberg [1965] 2000, 178). However, since a Chinese would go by a different name or even use different names in one particular situation or context, it was difficult at times to determine which name was official. While going through some legal documents, I noticed that several Chinese individuals were referred to or self-referred as “[1st name] o seá (“or to be known as”) [2nd name]” or “[1st name] por otro nombre (“by another name”) [2nd name].” Thus, José Muñoz Lim Tanco (a baptized Chinese) was also known as Lim Tiongjanqui, and Lim Vanliongqui (a non-Christian) was also known as Lim Oco. Based on these different ways of adding names, I counted from the same random sampling mentioned earlier 41 (out of 79) individuals who had more than one name. Misrepresenting oneself by posing under another identity, or using an alias to hide from authorities was a crime under Spanish law. When Pio de la Guardia Sy Pioco ran for gobernadorcillo, his opponents pointed Several other rules governed the use or giving of names. For example, characters from the names of one’s ancestors should be avoided (Liu 2002, 145). Moreover, it was customary for fathers not to address sons by their literary names, or for sons not to address their fathers by the latter’s given name (Liu 2002, 251). 51
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to his use of the alias Pio Barreto in order to, among other charges, discredit him (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 178). However, legally speaking, he and other Chinese could go by these different names. Thus, this could explain why in legal documents, the aliases of Chinese individuals were included so as to avoid confusion. When the U.S. Philippine Commission suggested the institution of residence certificates, or the continuation of issuing cédulas as the Spanish colonial government had, one of the testifiers, the British merchant Edwin H. Warner, said that this system would still make it “very difficult to identify (the) Chinese” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899– 1900, Vol. 2, 201). Considering the possible permutations of names based on this practice in China, it is no wonder that when another witness (William A. Daland) was asked by the U.S. Philippine Commission why he favored the exclusion of the Chinese from the Islands, he said, Because . . . [t]hey go into business transactions and get into trouble, and they generally run away and make a complete failure. A Chinaman may have twenty names instead of one” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 166) [Italics mine].
Though the combining of their Hispanic/Christian name and their Chinese name for Christian Chinese converts was not strictly a business practice, it was nevertheless an essential step they had to take for the greater success of their economic enterprise. For instance, gaining a Hispanic name would have made them more “acceptable” to Western merchants. On the other hand, for non-converts, their practice of having multiple names while doing business in the Philippines reflected a certain kind of positionality that could have aided them in escaping the efforts of colonial authorities to locate them. Thus, these Chinese merchants made use of a “border-crossing” practice that enabled them to “segue from one discourse to another, experiment with alternative forms of identification, shrug in and out of identities, or evade imposed forms of identifications” (Ong and Nonini 1997, 26).52 Not only did they negotiate the policies of the Spanish and American colonial governments to localize them, but they also
Although Ong and Nonini in their study focus on the practices of modern Chinese transnationals, they point out that “modern Chinese transnationalism” has its historical roots in colonial times, i.e., at the time of European colonial expansion and increasing American domination in the Pacific (1997, 12–8). 52
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 115 managed—even inadvertently—to confuse the colonial masters.53 For instance, Wickberg writes that Mariano Velasco Chuachengco had to be referred to as “El Chino Mariano Velasco,” in order to distinguish him from another “Mariano Velasco” who probably was his padrino ([1965] 2000, 191–2). During the American colonial period, the Chinese also adopted a practice in which they bought somebody else’s dazi (大字 or tōa-jī in Hokkien), which was the immigrant certificate of registration, in order to enter the Philippines legally (see Chapter 7). Consequently, the person became known by another name, and the assumed surname was passed down to later generations. This resulted in many Chinese in the Philippines today possessing a Chinese surname not really their own—a practice akin to those coming into the United States as “paper sons.”54 These flexible and border-crossing practices that the Chinese merchants employed, as found in their adoption of Spanish citizenship and practices, the networks they formed far and wide with both Chinese and non-Chinese, and their practice of name-changing—all these subverted the desires of dominant groups such as empires and nationstates to localize them. But it must be noted that the elites not only manipulated these attempts, but also were changed by them because, in order to maintain their privileged access to goods and labor, they also had to “play by the rules.” These negotiations, especially with regard to their identities, had and continues to have unforeseen or unintentional consequences, particularly on their descendants’ perception of themselves as “Chinese,” a topic that I will return to at the end of this book (see Conclusion). In the next section, I will look into the life of three Chinese merchants; namely, Joaquin Barrera Limjap, Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan, and Carlos
53 It must be noted that name changing was also a practice done by Chinese mestizos and indios. An example is José Rizal who changed his name from Mercado to Rizal (Panlasigui 1999, 9). Gealogo (2006) also examines the naming practices of the Christianized Filipinos, and points out to the ways that they also managed to dodge the attempts, by using their own set of “unofficial” and informal names, of the Spanish colonial government to create a systematized naming system that would aid their bureaucracy. However, unlike the Chinese, they did not use different names in public as the Chinese did. 54 For more information regarding this practice in North America, see Hsu 2000, 74–87.
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Palanca Tan Quien-sien—all prominent Chinese in their times. Particular attention will be given on how they utilized some of the bordercrossing practices mentioned in the previous paragraphs. Joaquin Barrera Limjap Early Life Joaquin Limjap was born in 1832, in a house belonging to the Sanjiao (三角) fang or branch of the Lim clan,55 Dongshan (東山) village, Longxi county, Fujian province, China (AAM IM 1875–1876, 18.E.15).56 In his baptismal document, the romanization of the Chinese characters for Longxi (龍溪) county is written as “Liong Ke,” the Hokkien equivalent. Today, the district of Longxi is now a municipality called Longhai (龍海), and is located along the Longxi River, circa 20 kilometers southwest of Zhangzhou, an important city east/southeast of Xiamen. Dongshan village is located circa 25 kilometers west of Longhai municipality, and 45 kilometers from Zhangzhou. In terms of jurisdiction, Dongshan falls under the township of Jiaomei (角美). The exact date of Joaquin’s birth is unknown, but he was the twentyfirst-generation descendant of the first ancestor Lin Bihuang (林璧晃). Joaquin was the son of Lim Lluc-chon and of Uy-Chi.57 “Limjap” is the Hokkien equivalent of Lin He (林合) in Mandarin. Like many of his contemporaries, Joaquin was known by different names. His other names included Lim Cong Jap, Lim Concay (GSU Bienes de los
55 This particular information regarding Sanjiao fang comes from the 27 August 2001 letter of Luo Daoxian, Secretary-General of the Overseas Chinese Association of Xiamen, and of Luo Jian, to Raul A. Boncan. 56 It must be noted that one of the administrative units in China during the Qing dynasty was the “district” or xian, which is now translated as “county.” But after 1949, China’s government created another unit called the municipality or shi (市), as well as the unit zhen (鎮) or town. They also changed the names of some places; thus, what used to be Longxi xian or district became Longhai shi or municipality. See also the photo of Limjap’s tombstone in Boncan y Limjap 1997, 6. The photo shows that his birthplace was Dongshan. However, in his testament dated 23 April 1881, Joaquin states that he was born in the town of Tangua (Tong’an), province of Longxi (Leonque), China (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202). I would like to thank Eugenio Menegon for assisting me in identifying this locality. 57 Nothing else is known about Joaquin’s parents, except that, by the year 1881, and as indicated in Joaquin’s testament, they were already deceased (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 117 Difuntos 1858–1894, Bundle/Legajo 13) and Lim Chinqui (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 1, 20 March). As a child, people called Joaquin “Big Head Jap,” on account of the size of his head (Luo and Luo to Boncan, 27 August 2001). Little else is known about his early life, except that he once worked for several years for a British merchant in Xiamen (He to Boncan, 1 January 2001), who later brought him to Manila, where Joaquin continued to work for him (Interview, Raul A. Boncan, 24 April 2000). Thus, we do not know exactly when he arrived in the Philippines, and at what age. But like many of his contemporaries, he probably arrived when he was in his teens.58 While in Manila, Joaquin lived in Binondo. At the time he drew up his testament in 1881, he lived in a place located at a small street between Rosario and Anloague. But as we will see below, he often traveled to China for both personal and business reasons. Thus, he kept residences in three locations: Manila, his hometown, and Gulangyu.59 He also had businesses in several places, including Manila, Macao, and Hong Kong. The various businesses established by Joaquin both in the Philippines and elsewhere indeed made him a very rich man. Wickberg calls him a “prosperous sugar, tobacco, and hemp merchant” ([1965] 2000, 216). To put a perspective on how rich Joaquin was, in the 1880s and 1890s anyone who was worth more than 60,000 to 80,000 pesos was considered wealthy. Joaquin’s assets, consisting of money and property, shares from Banco Español Filipino and in other companies, collectible credits and incollectibles, were calculated in 1881 at more than 100,000 pesos (Manuel 1955, 248; NHI 1996, 153).60 58 While there was no set practice regarding the age by which boys or men were brought to the Philippines, with some boys being brought before their teens and some upon reaching their teens, there were probably some pragmatic considerations to be followed. For instance, Spanish law made anyone who was underaged not legally liable for debts. Cabecillas therefore would use agents who were below eighteen, the age of majority. Later, the Spanish government would lower the age to fourteen (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 73). 59 Gulangyu is a small island across from Xiamen, Fujian Province. At the turn of the twentieth century, many of the consulates and residences of foreigners were located on this island. 60 According to Joaquin’s will, these shares were to be sold to the Chinese Vicente Lorenzo Chuntiangco (FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202, S507–16). The vast extent of his property holdings can be seen in the number of properties he left for his Chinese mestizo son Mariano. These included the following: buildings in Binondo with addresses at 12 Hormiga Street, 22 Anloague Street, 27 Fajardo Street,
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According to his great-grandson Raul A. Boncan, Joaquin began his business giving crop loans on agricultural products that were much in demand for export. By the time he was in his thirties and forties, Joaquin owned several businesses in Manila and other parts of the Philippines. A detailed look into some of the notarial records Joaquin left behind can give us a glimpse of the vast expanse of his business empire: • Two silk stores located in Binondo with Manuel Pascual Dy Benyeng as co-owner (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2; no. 512)61 • Another silk store located in Molo, Iloilo, bought from Timoteo Nolasco of Tondo (RMAO FD 1878, 436, tomo 2, no. 850) • A bakery called “Panaderia Nacional” co-owned with his son Mariano, Ildefonso Tambunting and Leandro Pereira (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 567) • A company dealing in assorted merchandise called “Jo-Seng,” coowned with Antonio Feliciano Dy-Llianco (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 770)62 • A sari-sari (assorted goods) store located under the house of Antonio Alberto Chia Chiombeng on Rosario Street, Binondo, and coowned with Victoriano Reyes Lim-Quianco (a.k.a. Lim Tolian)63 • Shares from Banco Español Filipino64 Elsewhere, Joaquin co-owned at least three Hong Kong-based businesses: a trading company named “Cong Jangtoy” established on 8 April 1865 together with Lim Guinchi and Lim Guianlian (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 1, 18 March, S733–5); a botica (drugstore) called “Guichiang” co-owned with Mariano Roxas Lim Enchang and
7 Hormiga Street, 1 Olivares Street, 23 San Jacinto Street, 44 San Jacinto Street; a lot numbered 1 in Barrio Aguila, Tondo; a lot in Antipolo; and a lot in Ulo-uli Barrio, San Miguel (RMAO EBC 1893, Vol. 869, tomo 2, no. 213). 61 The first store of silk was located at No. 4 on the first street of Santo Cristo, and the other store at No. 3 on the same street. Both were placed under the charge of Lim Consuan (later known as Juan Zarate Lim Consuan; RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 512). Dy Benyeng’s name sometimes appears as Ly Bianeng. But for consistency, I will be using Dy Benyeng. 62 On 3 November 1879, Joaquin and Antonio agreed to liquidate this company since Llianco was returning to China (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 770) 63 This store was started on 5 June 1873 (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 439, tomo 1, no. 131). 64 These shares were later sold to Vicente Lorenzo Chuntiangco (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202).
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 119 Vicente Lorenzo Chuntiangco (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 512); and an unnamed company co-owned with Chan Caoco, Lim Suillan and Manuel Pascual Dy Benyeng (RMAO FD 1878, 436, tomo 2, no. 932).65 With Mariano Roxas Lim Enchang and Vicente Lorenzo Chuntiangco, he also co-owned in Macao a trading house called “Tianjo” (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 331), and a company called “Tiangjapconqui,” the location of which was probably in Hong Kong or Xiamen (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 331). Thus, as we can see, Joaquin’s business empire encompassed different industries—in trading, retail, banking, food manufacturing, and (from earlier in the chapter), money-lending—that reflected the various opportunities made available to Chinese merchants with the linking up of the Philippine economy to the world market. He also took advantage of Hong Kong’s integral position in international trade by establishing his businesses there. In order to run his businesses found in various locations smoothly, he granted powers of attorney to the following people: in Manila to Mariano Limjap, his own son, to represent him in all his businesses in the Philippines after Joaquin returned to China in 1881 (RMAO VP, Mariano Limjap 1820–1895, f. 25); in Iloilo to Adriano Marcelo to represent him in his business interests in Iloilo (RMAO VP, Mariano Limjap 1820–1895, f. 60); in Hong Kong to Lim Guiaquiong to sell the goods and collect the debts of Joaquin’s company “Cong Jangtoy” (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 1, 18 March, S733–735);66 and to Chia Guetong and Gui-Chiang-Song, who were both based in Hong Kong, and to whom Joaquin granted authority to seek out and instigate litigation proceedings against two individuals, Yap Bunfo and Yap Bunnan, who fled from Manila while owing him money (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 680). In return, the following people
65 Dy Benyeng became a partner when, on 31 December 1878, Joaquin and Chan Caoco sold him the shares of Domingo Ayala Yu Yengco, who at the time was in China, for the sum of 8,002 pesos and 4 reales (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 932). 66 This power was granted after one of the co-owners, Lim Guianlian, who was the person in charge of running the company in Hong Kong, became “habitually sick” (achaquez habituale). Lim Guianlian then assigned Lim Guiaquiong to take over the management of the company, with the consent of the other two co-owners (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 1, 18 March, S733–5).
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granted Joaquin the power to represent them, either in Manila or in China: • Jia Majue of Binondo, leaving for China, gave Joaquin the authority to collect from Cha Cangco the debt of 800 pesos (RMAO FD 1866, Vol. 420, tomo 1, S341B–342). • Lim Moyang of Binondo, leaving for China, gave Joaquin the power to collect the debt of 3,500 pesos owed to him by Francisco Yriarte Ong Machi (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 655). • Manuel Pascual Dy Benyeng, leaving for China, gave Joaquin the authority to manage a house in a property located on Jaboneros Street, San Nicolas, as well as to look after the two silk stores that they co-owned (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 512).67 • Juan Zarate Lim Consuan, leaving for China, granted the power of attorney, in the first instance, to Joaquin; in the second to Manuel Dy Benyeng; and in the third to Mariano Limjap, to represent him in his businesses in Manila and in the provinces (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 887).68 • Vicente Lorenzo Chung Tiangco and Po Guiao gave Joaquin power to collect the debts owed to them by Ong Pangco and Vicente Marcaida Ong Sungco, a.k.a. Ong Tico (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 486).69 • Chua Guimsy and Vicente Lorenzo Chun Contiang, both of Binondo, granted the power of attorney to Joaquin, who at the time was in China, to collect the debt of 1,202 pesos and 1 real, from Chan Simco, who was in China himself, and who incurred this debt from procuring goods from the chucheria (knickknack) store owned by Vicente Lorenzo Chun Contiang (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 196).70 67 One of the interesting powers granted to Joaquin was to sign payments in behalf of the businesses, as well as use the Chinese seal of the said stores when needed. 68 Juan Zarate Lim Consuan was Joaquin’s cousin (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202). 69 The amounts involved were 1,420 pesos and 4 reales owed to Vicente Lorenzo Chung Tiangco, and 758 pesos, 7 reales, and 11 cuartos owed to Po Guiao. Joaquin negotiated for the payment of this debt, with 50 percent of each debt to be paid outright, and the other half to be paid in eight months and in four installments. Thus, 710 pesos and 2 reales went to Vicente Lorenzo Chung Tiangco and 379 pesos and 11 cuartos went to Po Guiao. For the remaining debt, Paulino Reyna Uy-Pangco and Antonio Caong acted as guarantors (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 486). 70 The store was located at 16 Rosario Street, Binondo. Joaquin was also empowered to issue the receipt in case of payment, and to resort to the proper authorities in
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 121 The point of presenting this data is not only to show how vast Joaquin’s wealth was, but also to show how, in order for him to achieve such success, he relied on or dealt with his social networks of people from his own ethnic group as well as from other groups. For business partners, it seems that Joaquin chose mostly Chinese people, with the exception of Ildefonso Tambunting, who was a Chinese mestizo. He also relied on a network of relatives or people from his hometown to start up or to help manage his businesses. Aside from his own sons, Joaquin had several relatives in the Philippines. One of them was Fernando José Calderon Lim Tongjin, who belonged to the same generation as Joaquin.71 Their relationship was close, for in his testament Fernando named Joaquin executor (RMAO BD, 1858–1894, Bundle 13). Another was his cousin Juan Zárate Lim-Consuan, to whom he bequeathed 2,000 pesos for the services and care that Juan had given to him. We also know that he had a brother named Lim-Conquiam, and cousins named Lim Congtiong, Lim-Ang-O Lim-Congjiang, Lim-Congliap, Lim-Conchio, the last three were the sons of his uncle
case of non-payment. Furthermore, he was authorized to exercise all that is necessary within law to collect the debt (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 196). 71 Fernando Lim Tongjin (spelled Tojin or Tonjin in other documents) was born in Longxi (Liongque), and lived in Binondo and was registered under the number 6980 of the 4th class (a tax classification). He received instruction in the Catholic doctrine, in the Spanish language, as certified by the parish priest of Binondo Antonio Carrillo, O.P. on 13 April 1850. Upon this certification, and the compliance of all others requirements mandated by the circular 10 December 1848, Fernando was granted baptism on 17 April. He was baptized on 21 April, with Fernando Calderon as his padrino (godfather). Thus, he changed his name to Fernando José Calderon Lim Tongjin. He was seventeen years old at that time (AAM SCSB 1833–1850, 34.D.10, folder 2). In 1852 at the age of twenty, he requested permission to marry Tomasina de San Gabriel of Bocaue, Bulacan. Tomasina was eighteen at that time, a Chinese mestiza, and a resident of Tondo. The witnesses they produced to prove their “good moral character” and their eligibility for marriage were Manuel So-Yaseo, sangley, from Chincan, and living in Binondo, married, and thirty-five years old; and Ysabelo de Vera, indio, a resident of Binondo, and married. His request was granted on 17 January 1852 (AAM IM 1852, 17.C.9, folder 6). They had the following children: Juliana (b. 16 February 1856), and Maria (b. 29 July 1857). Juliana married Juan Pardo Tang-Siló. At the time of their marriage application on 28 June 1872, Juan was thirty years old, a tendero (storekeeper), a Christian Chinese, born in Longxi, and a resident of Binondo (AAM IM 1872, 18.D.10). Maria married José Elizaga Chua-Queto, who at the time of the marriage application was twenty-nine years old, a tendero, a Christian Chinese, born in Longxi, and a resident of Pandacan. Maria’s brother-in-law, Juan Pardo Tang Siló, acted as one of the witnesses, and identified himself as viudo (widowed). This meant that Juliana had died within six years of their marriage (AAM IM 1878, 19.A.3, folder 10).
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Lim-Sinchong.72 But he could not have achieved his success without the help of non-Chinese individuals. For instance, his Chinese mestizo wife Policarpia Nolasco, who was reported to come from a rich family, might have provided him with some form of financial assistance.73 Another indication of his reliance on other non-Chinese individuals was the fact that he had requested Joaquin Barrera and his wife Joaquina Caldez, both non-Chinese, to be his godparents in baptism. As a token of his gratitude for all the favors that he had received from Joaquina, Joaquin bequeathed her 1,000 pesos (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202). Finally, I believe that one of the children of Joaquin Barrera and Joaquina Caldez was Enrique Barrera y Caldez, who became one of the notary publics to whom Joaquin Limjap would also go for legal matters. After Joaquin died, a very rich businessman of Cavite and a business associate, Antonio Osorio, bought out Joaquin’s business interests (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 16). Attachments to China and the Philippines Having been born in China, Joaquin remained deeply connected to the country of his ancestors. During one of his trips back to his village, he began construction of a large mansion. The mansion today sits on a lot of more than a thousand square meters, and has 99 rooms. It is customarily called in Dongshan the “Great Mansion of 99 rooms,” and is now more than a century old (fig. 3).74 Joaquin did not live to see the completion of the mansion in 1891, having passed away two years before. With the prosperity he gained in the Philippines, he also 72 In his first testament, Joaquin stipulated that the following relatives receive the following amount of money: his brother Lim-Conquiam, 1,000 pesos; Lim Congtiong, 400 pesos; and to Lim-Ang-O, Lim-Congjiang, Lim-Congliap, Lim-Conchio, sons of his uncle Lim-Sinchong, 200 pesos each (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202). In a revised testament, he also left behind 15,000 pesos for his adoptive sons Lin Shanghu (Valentin Lim-Siong O), and Lin Shangwen ( José Lim-Siong Bun) (RMAO EBC 1893, Vol. 869, tomo 2, no. 213). 73 The extent of her wealth can be seen, for example, in the amount of money she left behind for Mariano, who inherited 91,095.70 pesos, as well as another 64,341.20 pesos as mejora (the amount of money larger than the share a legatee by law had a right to) (The Independent, 4 March 1926; cf. Boncan y Limjap 1997, 15). 74 He is said to have built another house in the village (Luo and Luo to Boncan y Limjap 27 August 2001).
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Figure 3. “Great Mansion of 99 Rooms” built by Joaquin Barrera Limjap. Courtesy of Raul A. Boncan.
sent contributions three times to the ancestral hall of the Lin family in Dongshan. The total of his donation amounted to 7,568 English pounds (or 30 ounces of gold), which was used to repair the hall. This deed is memorialized in a still extant stone inscription in the Lin ancestral hall, and the private family shrine is popularly known as “Black Sword Gun” (Boncan, e-mail communication, 10 February 2002; Luo to Boncan, 27 August 2001). He also contributed some money to the Zuixianyan (醉仙岩; Drunken Immortal Grotto) temple in Xiamen. An inscription carved on a stone tablet in the temple states that Joaquin, along with several others from Hong Kong, contributed “two dollars” to this temple in the fourth year of the Guangxu period (1878).75 But just as he was active in philanthropic activities in China and in his hometown, he was equally active in Manila. He helped found the Chinese Charitable Association in 1877 and became one of its directors (Boncan, e-mail communication, 7 December 2000). In fact, in
75 Thus, it can be inferred that at the time he was in Hong Kong (He to Boncan, 1 January 2001).
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the Chinese Cemetery north of Manila today, a street is named after him, in honor of his role as one of the founders of the Association (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 5).76 When an attempt was made to establish a Chinese consulate in Manila, he was one of the four Chinese merchant leaders who went to Hong Kong in 1886 to submit the petition (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 215–6). Like other influential Chinese, Joaquin was also asked to become the padrino of other Chinese. For example, he stood as godfather of Dy-Ganco, who was baptized on 8 September 1860, at the Binondo Church. And as was the practice, Dy-Ganco adopted a Christianized name, and used the same Hispanic surname Barrera as Joaquin did. Thus, he became Vicente Barrera Dy-Ganco (AAM IM 1875, 18.E.14, f. 8). Another person who asked Joaquin to be his godfather was Buenaventura Chun Tianlay, who was baptized on 15 September 1878 (AAM IM 1885, 19.E.13, f. 2). Thus, he was a well-recognized leader of the Chinese community in the Philippines. From these activities, we can also see his concern for and attachment to both China and the Philippines. Spanish Citizenship Furthermore, Joaquin expressed his loyalty to Spain by obtaining Spanish citizenship. As pointed out in the previous chapter, the Spanish government in 1840 had made it possible for the Chinese to become subjects. I do not have the exact date when Joaquin Limjap applied for naturalization, but in a document dated 8 October 1878, he was already identified as a Spanish subject (RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 680). However, as we will see in Chapter 5, the extent of his “Hispanicization” went beyond the trappings of citizenship and penetrated his religious beliefs.
76 A mural can be found today in the Chinese cemetery in Manila listing the founders of the Chinese Charitable Association (Boncan y Limjap 2000, n.p.)
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 125 Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan His Early Life Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan77 (fig. 4) was another Chinese merchant who was a contemporary of Joaquin. Ignacio was born in 1834, and according to his baptismal certificate, his native birthplace was “Chun Chanjau,” in the province of Tangua (同安; Tong’an) under [the prefecture of] “Chan Cheu” (Quanzhou) (AAM IM 1864, 18.A.2, ff. 6–11). His Chinese and original name was “Sy Hao” (with the character 施 for “Sy”). He came to the Philippines when he was around fifteen years old and resided in the town of Burauen, Leyte (Boncan 1986, 1).78 For a few years, he was a sin-kheh (新客; Hokkien term to mean “new arrival”).79 This referred to someone of minor age who helped out in a store as an apprentice of a relative, receiving no fixed salary (Boncan 1986, 1). He became a candle peddler, and later on sold candles on consignment as a dealer himself. However, he still worked under the “wings of his relatives” (Boncan 1986, 1). It cannot be ascertained when Ignacio left Leyte for Manila. But about the age of twenty-five he was already based in Binondo, Manila, probably to take advantage of the better opportunities of the capital, and as a consequence of his upward mobility. Records show that prior to the time he applied in June 1864 for a marriage license to marry Maria Francisca Leoncio (a.k.a. Francisca Yap), he was registered as a tendero, i.e., someone who kept and owned a shop or shops, and was classified as a tax payer of the 2nd class (AAM IM 1864, 18.A.2, ff. 6–11).80 From other records,
77 Various sources spell his name differently, e.g., “Ygnacio” instead of “Ignacio,” and “Buncan” instead of “Boncan.” For consistency, I will only use “Ignacio” and “Boncan.” 78 Burauen, consisting of 77 barangays, is a municipality in the island of Leyte. It is located in the central part of the island, south of the capital Tacloban. According to the 2000 census, it has a population of 47,180 people. 79 I would like to thank Teresita Ang See and Go Bon Juan for the translation of this term. 80 Under the new “industrial” tax policy of 1828, the Chinese were classified into four classes, with the following classes paying the following taxes: 1st class—120 pesos; 2nd class—48 pesos; 3rd class—24 pesos; and 4th class—12 pesos (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 158). It must be noted that there is reason to believe that sometimes people found ways to be classed differently to reflect a lower income status so they could be taxed less. Aside from the disincentive of having to pay higher taxes, being in the wealthy class qualified one to hold office. For people disinclined to do so, documentary evidence was often produced to hide one’s real assets and income bracket,
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Figure 4. Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan. Courtesy of Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 127 one can see that Ignacio was a merchant capitalist who engaged in various business ventures or enterprises. According to one source, he became a successful businessman who had two “junk ships plying the Manila-Amoy [Xiamen] route” (Boncan 1986, 1). While there is no yet available source that tells us exactly what goods he traded, a legal case filed against him shows that he imported opium (FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 1 no. 91). He also had a textile business and owned properties in “Espeleta, Dasmariñas, Sibacong, David, and Gandara” (Boncan 1986, 2). Furthermore, he had some business ventures outside of Manila, as seen from a document from 1892 showing that his widow Francisca Yap, who inherited most of his assets, owned several businesses in Leyte (CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 1, no. 180). It also would not be implausible to believe that he had businesses in China, although further research has to be done to find such evidence. Name Change Like the Chinese merchants described in the previous chapter, Ignacio adopted different names over his lifetime. When he was baptized, he chose a Spanish first name after St. Ignatius of Loyola. He then appended this name to his Chinese first name Hao, but changed “Hao” to “Jao.” According to one great-grandson, Ignacio changed his name from “Hao” to “Jao” in perhaps what could be an attempt to make it more Spanish-looking, and that he concocted the name “Boncan” by combining the German and Austrian title of nobility “von,” and the name of two famous Mongolian rulers, Genghis and Kublai Khan (Boncan 1986, 1). The Chinese surname “Sy” was dropped, so that he officially became identified as early as 1857 as “Ignacio Jao Boncan.” His children thus inherited the surname Jao Boncan. Spanish Citizenship Ignacio also applied to become a Spanish citizen. On 16 July 1875, the Ministry of Overseas Affairs, based on the Royal Decree 460, approved Ignacio’s request for Spanish citizenship (Gaceta de Manila, 24 January 1876). On 16 December of the same year, he took his oath of
as Wickberg points out in his example of rich Chinese ship owners in the province ([1965] 2000, 76).
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allegiance to Spain before the Civil Governor of the Philippines José Morales y Ramirez. During the occasion, Ignacio, professing to believe in the Roman Catholic religion, placed his right hand on the Bible, swore in the name of God and the saints to protect and obey the laws of the Spanish monarchy, and to renounce those of his own country and of other nations (AAM RPB 1877, 30.A.3, f. 1877C). As we will see in the next chapter, Ignacio made sure that the benefits of Spanish citizenship also extended to his children. Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien: the Consummate Border-Crossing Diasporic Subject General Background Among the Chinese merchants in the latter part of the nineteenth century, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien (陳謙善), a.k.a. either simply Carlos Palanca (as some documents show), Tan Quien-sien, Tan Chuey-liong, Tan Chueco, or all of the above, was the most wellknown (fig. 5). He was born on 6 June 1844 in Tong’an County, near the border of Zhangzhou and Quanzhou prefectures in Fujian.81 His mother’s name was Lim-Chia (niu).82 Carlos went to the Philippines in 1856, when he was twelve years old, and undertook an apprenticeship in a relative’s draper business (Wilson 2004, 113). He was poor and uneducated, but taught himself to read and write (Liu 1964, 529). Over the years he became a successful businessman, as well as an established political figure in his community. He lived in Binondo, and owned a store and a house on Rosario Street, now T. Pin Pin (Lim 1980, 16). Not far away on San Fernando Street was the tribunal of the Chinese, where he reported for work during his terms as gobernadorcillo of the Chinese.
81 He must be distinguished from other Carlos Palancas of his time, and of later times. For instance there was another Carlos Palanca Cue Tongling found in my research (see RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 88). Another Carlos Palanca widely known in the Philippines today is Carlos Palanca Tan Quin-lay (b. 1869–d. 1950). Carlos Palanca Tan Quin-lay took Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-Sien as his godfather, and started the Manila-based La Tondeña distillery in 1902 (Wong 1999, 181). 82 Little else is known about his mother, except that in the testament Carlos drew up in 1882, he bequeathed to her part of his property (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 349). I have yet to find information regarding Carlos’ father.
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Figure 5. Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien. Courtesy of Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, Inc.
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Carlos as a Merchant: Trans-empire Links and Other Border-crossing Practices By the time he was in his thirties, Carlos had prospered and secured a place within the ranks of the cabecillas. He was very successful in textiles, but also had diversified business interests. He was involved in “agricultural brokerage, money-lending, running the cock-fighting and opium monopolies, operating retail and import-export operations and had invested widely in Chinese businesses throughout the Manila area while expanding his agent network and investments into the provinces” (Wilson 2004, 114). Based on my investigation of his business contracts, Carlos had business interests in the provinces of Albay, Batangas, Bulacan, Leyte, Camarines Norte, and Pampanga.83 In both Pampanga and Bulacan, for instance, he held the contracts to the opium-smoking rooms in these two provinces (see RMAO CR 1897, 851, tomo 4, no. 517 and RMAO FD 1880, Vol. 441, tomo 2, no. 676). Although no study has yet shown that he had business interests outside the Philippines, Carlos must have had some investments in China, as was common with Chinese merchants of his stature. In fact, he traveled frequently to China. This can be gleaned from the times that he granted powers of attorney to certain people living in Manila. In one instance, he visited China for at least two months in 1882. Before he departed, he granted powers of attorney to the Christian Chinese Pablo Ortiga Chan-Chioc on 30 June 1882 (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 322; FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 451).84 For his business interests in Batangas, refer to RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 438. In this document, Carlos granted on 16 November 1897 to the “Christian Chinese” Ciriaco Yap-Cueco, a resident of Manila, ample and enough powers to reclaim, collect and receive all the money, values, or effects that were owed to Carlos from the province of Batangas and its towns. Ciriaco was also empowered to sign or issue receipts and all other documents, and to represent Carlos in all legal and judicial matters that may arise from his business dealings in the said province. Batangas is approximately 110 kilometers south of Manila. At one point in time, he also owned property in Apalit, Pampanga, after the Christian Chinese José Temprado Yap-Chatco, fifty-one years old, widowed, a businessman living in San Fernando, Pampanga, temporarily ceded the rights and shares of half of 10 parcels of land located in the said town, in exchange for 900 pesos (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 197). On 3 December 1896, he managed to repay Carlos and regain his properties (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 198). For a complete list of the properties involved, see RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 198. 84 Earlier on, he also granted powers of attorney to the Chinese Manuel Yap Cuco on 9 March 1875 to represent him in all his businesses, and to oversee and manage all his properties and goods in Manila and in the provinces. This conferral of powers could indicate another period of time when he traveled abroad (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 105). 83
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 131 Among the products he imported was rice. He also imported lamps, paper lanterns, fancy woods, and dried vegetables from Japan in 1893 (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 85). He exported sugar to Hong Kong, and his business partners in the sugar-exporting business were the Chinese Ong Jun Goo, Francisco Ong Posuy, and Po Guiyao. He and a certain Chiong A-cho also exported tobacco to Hong Kong (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 85). Furthermore, Carlos was a major coolie broker and a tax collector for the Spanish government. He was considered by many to be “the wealthiest of the cabecillas, and was reputed to have paid 68,000 pesos per year for the license to operate the largest of the great cock-fighting arenas in Manila” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 113) [Italics mine].85 Meanwhile, his annual tax amounted to 20,000 pesos (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 113, 200). His high position as a major taxpayer can be seen in his tax classification. He belonged to the highest class of head-tax payers, and was ranked number “1” among tax payers of the same classification (see, for example, RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 438). My investigation of his business practices also points us to his wide interaction with people of different ethnic groups. Although his business associates were mainly Chinese, he also relied on or dealt with a lot of non-Chinese businessmen or professionals in managing his businesses. For instance, he granted powers of attorney to several Spanish or Filipino-Spanish attorneys to represent him in judicial and extra-judicial matters. Some of these lawyers include Rafael Gonzales Llanos, an “Español,” to whom Carlos granted the power on 7 October 1875 to represent him in a case filed against him for the non-payment of 1,000 pesos (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 465).86 Other lawyers include Vicente Socorro, José Crispulo Reyes, and Placido Canas Buenaventura, to whom Carlos (in his capacity as the legitimate representative of his wife Luciana Limquinco) granted on 24 February 1893 the power to represent him and his wife in the different Courts of Peace in Manila and in different towns; and Geronimo Jose, Marcelino de Santos, and his substitute Vicente Santos, who were empowered to represent the couple in the Royal Audiencia (RMAO VP Carlos
85 This amount was somewhere between $30,000–35,000 in U.S. dollars (Wilson 2004, 250 n. 9) 86 Incidentally, Carlos was gobernadorcillo of the sangleyes at the time.
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Palanca 1853–1898, S423).87 As stated in the previous chapter, Chinese merchants like Carlos “worked the system” by relying on Spanish lawyers. Furthermore, he relied on indios too. For instance, he granted Silvino Reyes, an indio who lived in Tacloban, the power to collect the sum of 1,078 pesos 3 reales and 15 cuartos owed to Carlos by the Chinese Chua C’hunco, who lived in the town of Tanauan.88 On another occasion, 2 June 1875, he granted general powers of attorney to Carlos Saguil of San Fernando, Pampanga, and Felix Melleza of Sorsogon, province of Albay.89 These two were to represent him in said provinces (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 223). And even as he was a major importer of Chinese labor from China, he also employed local workers, as will be seen in a case discussed below (see RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, 19 August 1892, S308–11). His wide interaction with people from different ethnic groups can be gleaned from José Rizal’s novel El Filibusterismo. Rizal devotes a chapter in the novel to a character named “Quiroga,” a “Chinaman” who “aspired to set up a consulate for his nation” (Rizal [1891] 1996b, 128). Speculations have been made as to on whom this Chinese character was based. Historian Wenceslao Retana thought it was another prominent Chinese at the time, Mariano Velasco Chuachengco. But José Alejandrino, a close friend of the national hero, and a general during the revolution against Spain and the war against the United States, believed that Quiroga was Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien. Wickberg sides with Alejandrino’s claim, since Carlos also aspired to 87 Although in the document no ethnic designation accompanied the names of these lawyers, they were either Spanish or Spanish Filipinos as Spanish policy dictated that only members of these two ethnic groups could practice law (Corpuz 1957, 30–1). In another document, Carlos granted powers of attorney to José de Castro y Quezada, Luis de Figuerrola Ferretti, Ygnacio Santiago y Sanchez, Pablo Soler y Soler, and to José Nieto y Cañadad, all attorneys in the Supreme Tribunal of Justice of the Villa y Corte of Madrid. In a document dated 11 May 1897, these lawyers were to represent Carlos alternately and “indistinctly in all judicial matters that he (could) have in the said Superior Tribunal, allowing them to procure all the necessary documents for the cases, and to solicit all other effects necessary in carrying out their duties” (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 160). 88 Tacloban is the capital of Leyte. Leyte, an island in the Visayan region, is approximately 700 kilometers from Manila. Tanauan is also in Leyte Island. The amount represented the goods that Chunco had taken from Carlos. Silvino was to represent Carlos in the courts of the province of Leyte, or anywhere the suit against Chua was taken to (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 492). 89 Albay is approximately 500 kilometers southeast of Manila.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 133 set up a Chinese consulate in the Philippines ([1965] 2000, 201). I tend to agree with Wickberg’s assessment. Carlos was the most powerful and well-known Chinese during the last decades of the nineteenth century, and his fame (or notoriety) could not have escaped Rizal’s notice. Using this premise of Quiroga as Carlos Palanca, or vice versa, we can see from the opening paragraph of the novel that Carlos intermingled with Spanish people, Chinese mestizos, indios, and other ethnic groups that made up the heterogeneous society of Binondo: In the evening of that same Saturday, Quiroga . . . was hosting dinner at the top floor of his large bazaar on Escolta Street. His feast was very well attended: friars, bureaucrats, officers, merchants, all his customers, partners or sponsors, were in attendance. His store provided the parishes and convents with all their needs; he accepted the vales or IOUS of all employees, had loyal attendants, active and eager to please. The friars themselves did not disdain to stay in his store for hours, sometimes in full view of the public, and at other times in the inner chambers in pleasant company . . . (Rizal [1891] 1996b, 128)
During Quiroga’s conversation with Simoun, the main protagonist of the novel, we can also see the extent to which he is represented as dealing with people of other ethnic groups, especially when it came to lending money. Quiroga, lamenting the difficulty of collecting money from his debtors, tells Simoun: Y tolo mundo pile pilestalo y no pagalo? Cosa ese? . . . impelealo, opisiá, tinienti, sulalo . . . . mia pilesta mujé, siñola, malinelo, tolo mundo. . . . [And all the world borrows money and does not pay, what’s the matter? . . . Employee, official, lieutenant, soldier . . . I lend their women, wives, sailors, all the world. . . .”] (Rizal 1900, 122)
Thus, Carlos engaged in business with people from tolo mundo. As we have seen above, he lent money to several Chinese from different parts of the Philippines. But he also lent money to people of different ethnic, gender, and economic backgrounds. For example, he “financed without interest the initial sugar operations of Miguel Malvar, an indio planter who became a hero of the Philippine Revolution” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 123 n. 111). Furthermore, he managed to utilize the different cultural and political resources to his advantage, placing them sometimes on display to dazzle other people, just like the Chinese in Hawaii in the 1850s who regaled the Hawaiian royalty and the haole businessmen with lavish parties, filled with “its embellishment of Western social forms with smatterings of exotic detail . . . (to impress) all who
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attended” (McKeown 2001, 227). We can imagine through the character of Quiroga that Carlos dressed as a “mandarin with a blue-tasseled cap,” and his house was filled with Vienna chairs; “stools from Canton of dark wood with seats of marble”; Chinese lanterns “ornately decorated with long silken tassels”; paintings from Canton and Hong Kong; chromolithographs of odalisques; “lithographs of effeminate Christs, the deaths of the Just Man and of the Sinner made by Jewish houses of Germany”; and Chinese prints on red paper depicting Chinese gods; champagne; cigar smoke; while “a certain odor peculiar to Chinese homes, a mixture of aromatic burning incense, opium and preserved fruits” (Rizal [1891] 1996b, 128–9). Carlos made himself especially useful to the Spanish colonial government, by possessing, aside from material wealth, certain attributes, skills, and qualifications. For one, he knew how to speak Spanish. This can be gleaned, for instance, in a document he drew up on 9 March 1875, in which it is stated that he did not need an interpreter because he knew Castilian (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 105; cf. Liu 1964, 529).90 Also, as we will see in the next chapter, he converted to Catholicism, thus making him eligible to hold a high position within the Spanish colonial bureaucracy. He also applied for Spanish citizenship and was elected gobernadorcillo in 1875, a post that he held three times over the next 26 years.91 Among his duties as gobernadorcillo were to act as the spokesperson for the Chinese community, and to cooperate with Spanish authorities in maintaining peace and order. In addition to being gobernadorcillo, he was in charge of the Gremio de Chinos, the Tribunal de los Sangleyes, and the Comunidad de Chinos. Wickberg writes that Carlos was supposed to have “abolished vice in the Chinese community . . . put a stop to police extortions of the Chinese, obtained an abolition of the death penalty for crimes committed by Chinese, and, through his personal connections in high circles in Spain, kept Spanish legislation from being harder on the Chinese than it was” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 200).92 He took a leadership position in 90 However, he must have spoken it with a heavy accent, as seen in Rizal’s depiction of the character Quiroga. 91 The years in which he served as gobernadorcillo were 1875–1877; 1885 (interim); 1889 (interim) (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 246). 92 For instance, a policy made by the Spanish colonial government required that all Chinese herbalists to follow all the health and sanitation laws observed by nonChinese druggists. But a protest was filed through the Chinese chargé in Madrid, and thus the Spanish Colonial Office exempted them from normal sanitation regulations,
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 135 the Comunidad de Chinos which was responsible for raising funds for the building of a new Chinese hospital in 1891, and donating land for a Chinese Cemetery (Wilson 2004, 114; Wickberg [1965] 2000, 188). He was said to have engaged in many philanthropic works, and as a person of high standing in his community, Carlos acted “as [ padrinos] for newer arrivals, just as Spaniards had done for them” ([1965] 2000, 192 n. 62). For example, he was the padrino of Joaquin Palanca CoTuanco, who was baptized on 18 July 1874, at the San Fernando de Dilao parish.93 Over the years, he was also a godfather to the following: Mariano Palanca Yap Tamco, who was baptized on 14 July 1874, in a church in Pandacan, Manila (AAM IM 1880, 19.B.6, f. 3); Manuel Yu-Tayco, baptized on 27 January 1878 (AAM IM 1885, 19.E.13, f. 7); Ambrocio Palanca Tan-Chioco (AAM IM 1880–1881, 19.C.7, f. 2), who was baptized on 7 December 1879 at the Binondo Church; and Joaquin Palanca Cue Jongting, baptized on 24 September 1882 (AAM IM 1885, 19.E.13, f. 7). This consequently gave rise to a number of Chinese with Carlos Palanca as their Hispanicized names, such as Carlos Palanca Tan Quin Lay (see note 81).94 Thus, Carlos poured his energies into helping the Chinese community. Wickberg writes that he was “famous as an arbitrator of disputes” ([1965] 2000, 200; cf. ZMGXSL 1980, Vol. 5, 3723), resolving disputes within the Chinese community and filing lawsuits on behalf of others. For instance, on 19 October 1875, he was asked by the storeowner of “Siongquiat,” Juan Licaro Co-Lico to protocol the accounting made between the Chinese books of his store and that of another store “Siongsuy,” with that of the Chinese Antonio Go-VVyco (sic). He certified that the two accountings matched. Three days later, he rubricated the first and last pages of the books of both stores (RMAO FD 1875, Vol. 431, tomo 2, no. 519). Furthermore, we will see in the following section how he was asked to play the role of guarantor to other Chinese merchants. His name and stature in society was needed to assure creditors of the creditworthiness of the people they were dealing with. Several Chinese also entrusted him with the power to
“provided they could produce herbalists’ licenses from medical halls in China, certified by Spanish consuls in China” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 223–4). This rule also was rescinded later in 1892. The Spanish chargé communicated with Carlos. 93 Joaquin also was known as Chua-Chongco (AAM IM 1875, 18.E.14, folder 8). 94 Wickberg cites the interesting practice of people adopting the name Palanca, no doubt emulating Tan Quien-sien ([1965] 2000, 192 n. 62).
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look after or represent their businesses. For instance, on 23 October 1872, Tan Joco empowered Carlos to represent him in the dissolution of the company called “Lim Tiongjin” that the former co-owned with the Chinese Domingo Tan Chaoco, Yap Chingjin and José Cañete Tan Quinco (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 3, no. 690).95 In recognition of his years of meritorious service, the Spanish government awarded him honors, bestowing upon him the Medal of Civil Merit and the Grand Cross of Isabel the Catholic, as well as the Protection of Isabel the Catholic (La Encomienda de Ysabel La Catolica) (Wilson 2004, 115; Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201; RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S488). For a person his stature it was also inevitable that he found himself embroiled in controversies. The dossier on him found at the RMAO contains several litigations against him, or lawsuits he filed against others.96 For instance, in April 1877, Carlos filed a case before the Court of the Alcaldia Mayor of the district of Binondo, demanding that the Señores Ker y Compañia de Comercio pay him 502 pesos. This amount was to reimburse him for the rent that he had been paying to lease a commercial space in Binondo. The case, reconstructed from a thick file of documents from Carlos’ dossier, is as follows. Sometime before November 1875, the Señores Ker y Compañia de Comercio sequestered the goods and chattels belonging to Lorenzo Lim Poco, after a suit was filed against the latter for falsification (of documents) and estafa (swindling money). These goods, which included 95 In the end, Domingo Tan Chatco and José Cañete Tan Guinco agreed to pay Tan Joco the amount of 4,833 pesos 1 real 14 cuartos. However, they cancelled this contract on 29 October 1872 (RMAO FD 1872, 437, tomo 3, no. 702). Other Chinese who granted Carlos powers of attorney included: Faustino Somosa Yap Tuco, who on 14 February 1882 gave Carlos powers to represent him in lawsuits and other matters (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 67); and Lim Guatco, of Tangua, living in Binondo, single, businessman, twenty-six years old, who on 19 October 1892 granted Carlos the power to represent him in all the contracts of tax collection (recaudacion) of the markets of the Quinta (established provisionally in Arroceros) and of the new market of Santa Cruz, and of the districts of Quiapo, Santa Cruz, San Miguel, Sampaloc, San Fernando de Dilao, Ermita, and Malate, and all that was connected in subleasing them. The duration of the contracts lasted from 1 January 1891 to 31 December 1893. Carlos himself drew up an instrument granting the substitution of power to his countryman Eusebio Reyes Quin Sy (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 4, no. 497). Lastly, Rafael Go-Tiaoqui, thirty-nine years old, married, a businessman, living in Binondo, on 15 May 1897 conferred general powers to Carlos and to his brother Go-Guimyeng, with the powers to represent him in his business and official matters (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 167). 96 For a list of some of these cases, see the bibliography of Lim 1980.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 137 textiles, furniture, and glasswork, were stored at 3 Plaza de San Gabriel. Carlos, as Lorenzo’s designated depositario (trustee or guarantor), had been paying Mariano Guery, the landlord, the sum of 30 pesos per month, beginning 22 November 1875.97 On 14 April 1877, Carlos turned the goods and chattels, in fifteen boxes, over to Alberto Coates, representative of Señores Ker y Compañia de Comercio. The total amount of rent accrued during the time when Lorenzo’s goods were stored amounted to 502 pesos. When the company refused to pay the amount, Carlos brought the matter to court. Apart from the 502 pesos, Carlos also demanded that the company pay him at 100 percent interest the “legal letter of commission” for his role as guarantor, and return the fifteen boxes. In its deposition, the company recounted the events that transpired. It claimed that at the time when the goods were seized, they were valued at 1,759, 3 reales and 4 cuartos. Since the litigation versus Lorenzo cost the company 1,000 pesos, this amount was to be deducted from the goods’ estimated value, and that the remaining amount of more than 700 pesos were to be distributed among Lorenzo’s other creditors, or used to pay the costs related to the case, such as the rents and the commission of the guarantor Carlos. Carlos was also charged with selling the goods through a public auctioneer. However, the goods, which were auctioned off in February 1877, were sold only at a “scant and miserable quantity of 66 pesos 75 cents” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S78). The company, presenting a document as evidence of the sale, also argued that “it was not necessary for the cargo of such goods to be deposited at a place with a rent of 30 pesos per month” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S78). It went on to state that Carlos should “take charge of his situation and not to insist in wanting to collect a quantity that amount(ed) to eight times more than that which he drew out with the sale of the goods” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S78). Also, the company contended that Carlos should not have acted on his accord to rent a place at such an exorbitant rate, and wondered how he was able to arrive at such amount. Hence, the company declared that it found Carlos’ claims to be preposterous, and insinuated that he must be making these claims to recover his losses from his business. The company also stated that it returned the fifteen boxes, and that it should only pay the rent starting
97
It should be noted that Carlos was gobernadorcillo of the Chinese at the time.
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from the cession of the goods made in February 1877 till the time it received the remaining goods in April 1877. Carlos countered the company’s arguments by stating that at the time Lorenzo’s goods were embargoed, Lorenzo had been subleasing this particular store. Thus, he pointed out that it was Lorenzo who contracted to rent the place, not him. He further stated that “it was but natural that he (Carlos) was not obligated to find another place to store these goods and furniture because there was no order to extract from this store these goods . . . And since he did not have the representation to end the rent . . . it was rational that such place continued as the depository” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S89–90). He also claimed that he was not aware that whatever was left of the goods after 1,000 pesos was deducted was to be used to pay the rent for the goods. All he knew was that when the company had cleared Lim Poco of his debts in February 1877, it signed an agreement to pay the judicial costs as well as all the incidents arising from the case, and since the “rent was a natural expense of the incident of embargo,” then the company should pay this rent (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853– 1898, S86). He also asked why the company should only pay him the rent starting from February 1877, declaring that, “In which case can be found today for signaling the day of the cession as the point of departure for the payment of these costs? In nowhere can it be found absolutely” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S88B–9). Citing law 10, Article 3, part 5, Carlos maintained that the company was obligated to pay him (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S90).98 During his lifetime, Carlos also had enemies in the Chinese community who accused him of misappropriating charity funds, buying favors from Spanish officials, bullying local Chinese and blackmailing Chinese prisoners (ZMGXSL 1980, Vol. 5, 3279 and 3723–4; Wilson 2004, 118). In one case, a certain Antonio Yap Taco accused Carlos of estafa, claiming that he had given Carlos 800 pesos in exchange for some goods. And since he had returned the goods Antonio wanted Carlos to return the money. However, Carlos delared that he had never received anything from Antonio, but later revised his claim and admitted to having received some money, but that the money he received, given in small increments and amounting to around 200 pesos, was used to pay Antonio’s creditors. Antonio, on the other hand, said that this amount
98
Unfortunately, the file does not contain the resolution to the case.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 139 was given to Carlos as payment for a loan he procured from the latter. Antonio, in order to bolster his claim, among other things requested the court to summon the Chinese Joaquin Li-Toco, Yap-Tieco, and Leoncio Sio-Siongco. These three people were supposed to be present when Pedro de Leon, employee of the notary Rafael de Coca, and presumably acting on Antonio’s behalf, approached Carlos to demand the 800 pesos. In that meeting, the three Chinese were supposed to have overheard that Carlos admitted to receiving said quantity, but refused to turn the money over. The documents in this case do not reveal whether Antonio’s request for these three to be summoned was granted, but we know that three other Chinese witnesses provided a signed testimony in court, and these were Yap Cheyco, Yu-Suntan, and Tan Quengchiong, who all declared that they knew Antonio for a long time, and that they knew him to be very poor and not to possess any goods. The documents also do not provide us with information whether Antonio’s demand for Carlos to pay him the 800 pesos was granted or not. All we know is that in the end the judge, seeing that Antonio was very poor, absolved him from paying some legal fees arising from the case (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S27–27B). In this scenario it seems that Carlos had the edge over Antonio in terms of winning the case since he possessed more wealth and connections so he could hire the best lawyers to defend him. In this particular case we do not know whether Carlos was indeed guilty of estafa, and that it was even possible that Antonio simply wanted to extort some money from the former. However, claims that he was a “master corruptor” may have some basis, and that just as he could be the protector of his co-ethnics, he could also be their oppressor (cf. Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201). If indeed he had, on occasion, oppressed others, these were not confined to his co-ethnics. In another case against him, a certain Tomas Fajardo, an indio who identified himself as a cochero (horse-carriage driver) working for Carlos, claimed that the latter, his amo (master), had kicked him in the testicles. Consequently, he asked the Court of Peace of Binondo to serve Carlos the appropriate fines and punishment (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, 19 August 1892, S308–11).99 Naturally, Carlos claimed that he did not kick Tomas, and the latter
99 Thus we see here that Carlos not only employed coolie laborers from China but also local workers.
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brought a certain Victoriano Rios as witness. Victoriano testified that on 16 August 1892, the day of the said incident, when he arrived at the house of Carlos, Tomas told him that he had been kicked in the testicles and that other people confirmed this incident. However, Victoriano also stated that he did not hear that it was Carlos who delivered the kick. Consequently, the judge acquitted Carlos for lack of clear evidence that Carlos maltreated Tomas. He also noted that if indeed Tomas was kicked in the testicles, this did not result in any injury. His decision, rendered in Spanish, was interpreted for Tomas, presumably in Tagalog. Apparently, Carlos also found ways to circumvent the law in trying to gain more wealth. One of the documents found in his file at the RMAO shows that Carlos was fined by the Customs Bureau for failing to properly declare the right gross weight of a shipment on an English ship “Sungkiang” that came from Hong Kong (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 14 July 1896, S635). Finally, he had the reputation of being “willing to go to any lengths to get what he wanted,” including his ambition to be Chinese consul, as gleaned from the character Quiroga in Rizal’s novel (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201). As mentioned in the previous chapter, in 1880 he and other prominent Chinese merchants failed in their bid to have a Chinese consulate established in Manila. In the fall of 1889 and the summer of 1890, Carlos petitioned the Zongli Yamen (Office for General Management of Foreign Relations) to review the Spanish taxation and residence policies, and the recent reinstitution of a ban on Chinese practicing medicine in the Philippines (ZMGXSL 1980, Vol. 5, 1847 and 1937). He “criticized these policies as cruel, petty, and harmful to the economic well-being of the Philippine Chinese, and asked that the Yamen try to convince the Spanish government to overturn them, and allow the establishment of a Chinese consulate” (Wilson 2004, 139). However, nothing came out of this request either. The next time that Carlos and the other Chinese sought to establish the consulate was in 1896, the year when the revolution against Spain broke out in the Philippines.100 As mentioned previously, the Span-
100 During the locals’ fight to gain independence from Spain, Carlos did not take sides. However, when the Spaniards imprisoned some Chinese mestizos, he “argued in behalf of some of them and helped secure their release” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 200). He also was supposed also to have approached Aguinaldo about the possibility
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 141 ish government finally relented in 1898, and that it was not until the Americans had colonized the Philippines that a Chinese consulate was formally established. Carlos, however, did not become the first consul. Instead, the Qing government appointed his son Engracio (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 200). But a group of “Cantonese, English, and German merchants in the Philippines” fought to place somebody else in the position (Wilson 2004, 128–9).101 Yet, in spite of his problems, and the scandals that beset him, he was indeed a recognized leader. Some years after his death in 1901, “a statue of him was erected in the Chinese cemetery” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201).102 Conclusion Wickberg lists certain factors that helped make the Chinese become successful, e.g., liberalized travel and residence laws, access to credit, effective organization, patronage, as well as “virtues of hard work and low overhead” ([1965] 2000, 69 and 78). Like their counterparts in other parts of the world, the Chinese merchant elites in Manila took advantage of or adapted to the changing times, including the Philippines’ entry into the global market, the opening of Hong Kong as a major transshipment port, the weakening of the Spanish empire and the increasing standardization of its bureaucracy, and the rise of European and American companies in the country. Like other diasporic Chinese in other parts of the world, they became export-importers, operated inter-island and regional trading ships, managed and financed sugar, rice, and tobacco agricultural lands, worked in partnership with foreign and local merchants, and maintained good relations with the authorities (cf. McKeown 2001, 226). This chapter attempted to provide additional factors, with a special focus on those practices that reflected the abilities of the Chinese merchants to employ flexible and border-crossing strategies. For instance,
of an opium monopoly when the latter set up his revolutionary government (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 201). 101 Wilson (2004) has detailed the process and the fight between two contending forces so I will not go into the details here. 102 For Carlos’ reaction to the American occupation of the Philippines, see Chapter 7.
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Joaquin, Ignacio, and Carlos evaded and colluded with the attempts of the dominant groups (e.g., Spanish colonial government, Catholic Church, Qing government) to control them by shifting and assuming different identities (as sangley, Catholic, Spanish subject, loyal Qing subject; or by acquiring different names). Their wide interaction with people of different ethnic backgrounds (even income backgrounds), constant travels abroad, extensive business empire, hybrid cultural background, and savvy ways prefigure the cosmopolitanism of present-day Chinese transnationals. However, as Chinese merchants maneuvered around and manipulated efforts of different hegemonic groups to control and discipline them, and took advantage of the economic conditions within and outside of the region, they also engaged in oppressing other people, such as those belonging to the lower-class, both Chinese and non-Chinese. In studies of other Chinese diasporic communities, different scholars have described and examined the various ways by which ethnic Chinese victimized their own ethnic kin or townsmen. For instance, Chinese “crimps” in the United States and Southeast Asia enticed people from their own hometowns to leave and work for them, promising them material gain, but at times charging them exorbitant fees in helping them to migrate, or enslaving them while under their charge (cf. McKeown 2006, 109).103 Through their lineage organizations and kinship networks back in Minnan, Chinese merchants in Manila were able to recruit people, mostly men, to come to the Philippines, working for them as agents as described in the cabecilla-agent system in this chapter. These young men often came with little or no experiences, and could be exploited by elder kinsmen or townmates via low wages, thus possibly creating a cycle of indebtedness. Hence, it can be pointed out that these prominent Chinese merchants were “victims-agents,” i.e., just as outsiders attempted to manipulate them, take control of their wealth, or localize them into disciplinable subjects, so did these Chinese merchants, in evading such efforts, manipulate and dominate others. In dealing with their Chinese subjects, the Spanish colonial government, in collaboration with the Catholic Church, also sought ways to control their personal and familial lives. For example, at times it
103 For a study of contemporary underworld smugglers of Chinese laborers in the United States, see Kwong 1997.
the chinese merchants in turn-of-the-20th-century manila 143 encouraged intermarriages between Chinese men and local women, in the hope that through conversion (a prerequisite to marrying local women), these Chinese “heathens” would become more loyal subjects. In my research, I have found many cases, especially among the wealthy, of Chinese merchants entering into consensual and official unions with local women. The next chapter looks into this practice as a way to gain more insight into the flexible strategies that these Chinese merchants employed.
CHAPTER FOUR
CATHOLIC CONVERSION AND MARRIAGE PRACTICES AMONG CHINESE MERCHANTS Introduction As seen in the previous chapter, part of the survival and adaptive strategies of Chinese merchants in order to succeed in their business ventures was to tap into their familial and native-town networks in Minnan, establish relationships with prominent and important local men and foreigners in Manila, while subjecting younger and less wealthy men to control and even oppression. In this chapter, we will examine some more of these adaptive and flexible strategies. In particular, I am going to describe the intimate, personal, and familial connections that these precursors of modern Chinese transnationalism formed with women, whether in China or in the Philippines. Such connections, while not essential to the commercial success of the Chinese merchant, nevertheless were parlayed into more economic opportunities and possibilities. Building Intimate and Familial Relations When the fictional character named Tieng-chuy in Montero y Vidal’s short story “Chang-Chuy’s Umbrella” wanted to arrange a marriage for his Chinese mestizo daughter, he sent for his nephew who lived in Ningpo (1889, 1890] 2004, 196). In imperial China, this practice of arranging a marriage for one’s daughter or son was a standard one. Marriages for most families often involved asking a matchmaker or relative to find a suitable partner for one’s child. Those who were involved in the whole process—from finding a matchmaker to negotiating the terms of the betrothal—were commonly the grandfathers or fathers of the prospective bride and groom, and not the bride and groom themselves. Interaction between young female and male adults and opportunities to engage in public social interaction between the two sexes were very limited. After the boy’s grandfather or the father
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had identified a prospective wife, he would send the matchmaker to the girl’s grandfather or father to propose marriage (Chen G. 1994, 233; Feng 1986, 1).1 The reverse happened too, of course, with the girl’s grandfather or father actively seeking a prospective groom for their daughter, as was the case with Tieng-chuy. The factors that led a Chinese in the Philippines to marry or to live consensually with a local woman were varied. For as often been pointed out, a Chinese man who emigrated usually did not intend to settle permanently away from his hometown. After a prolonged period of time living overseas, he would return home, marry a Chinese woman, stay with her for a short period of time, then leave again. If the union produced a child, it was not rare that the man would not be around long enough to be present when his wife gave birth. However, there were significant numbers of Chinese men throughout the long history of their migration to the Philippines who had established consensual or formal relationships with local women of the Philippines.2 As mentioned in Chapter 2, as early as 1570 the Spaniards found a settlement of about 150 Chinese, living with their wives and children. Anecdotal evidence and accounts from outside observers during the
1 In Qing China, the two mitigating factors that played a major role in the selection of a bride/groom were family status and wealth. In addition to considering the status of the family, families of prospective brides and grooms would also consider the financial situation of the families with whom to engage in marriage contracts. Even assuming one came from a suitable lineage, finances still played a considerable role in the final choices. Men were considered of age at sixteen sui (or equivalent to fifteen years in the Western calendar) and women at fourteen sui (thirteen years) (Feng 1986, 1–2). Once the proposal was accepted, the matchmaker would obtain the times and dates of the girl’s birth date and time, and these would be recorded on a formal red slip. The slip was then placed beneath the censer of the deity shrine at the boy’s family’s ancestral altars, and in the absence of inauspicious omens, such as quarrels within the family, the breaking of a bowl or plate, or loss of material possessions taking place within three days, the boy’s parents would then investigate the personality and manners of the prospective daughter-in-law. If everything was found to be satisfactory on the boy’s side, then the girl’s family followed the same procedure. If something happened during those three days, then the slip would be returned and plans for the betrothal would be cancelled (Chen G. 1994, 233). Qing authorities had “clear legal standards for what constituted a valid marriage (the main criteria were approval of patriarchal authorities in both families, usually the fathers; use of a written contract and a matchmaker; and no deceit)” (Sommer, e-mail communication, 16 July 2009). 2 Pei (1994) gives four “types” of huaqiao households: 1) a man goes overseas and maintains one household in China; 2) a man goes overseas and maintains two households, one in China and one in the Philippines; 3) a man and his family in China goes overseas and establishes a household there; 4) a man goes overseas, marries a local woman, and establishes a local household with her (41–5).
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Spanish colonial period had routinely pointed to this phenomenon (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 154; U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 341; Hamm 1898, 41). One of the reasons why Chinese men entered into marriage with local women was that the Spanish colonial regime, in collaboration with the Catholic Church, encouraged such unions, at least during the first two centuries of colonial rule in the Philippines. Spain and the Catholic Mission and Marriage as a Tool of Conversion Not long after Juan Miguel de Legazpi landed in Cebu and began the colonization process of the Philippine Islands in 1565, the Spanish Catholic Church set out to carry out its task of converting the Chinese. Prior to 1750, Spanish religious policy in relation to the Chinese was based on these three objectives: 1) extension of the Catholic faith (to not only among the people in the Philippines but also those in China); 2) inculcation of loyalty; and 3) encouragement of eventual assimilation (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 15). Toward this end, the Spanish colonial government, with the assistance of different religious orders, provided incentives and institutions to encourage conversion among the Chinese. For instance, a decree created in 1596 allowed the Catholic Chinese to travel outside of Manila (except for an abortive attempt to recall them to Manila in 1680s), while non-Catholic Chinese, who occasionally were allowed to go into areas adjacent to Manila, were often restricted to the Parián (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 12).3 In 1626, a royal decree cautioned the Spanish Governor to “desist from imposing extra personal services on the Chinese” so that they may be won over to Catholicism; and in 1627, another decree exempted the convert from paying tribute “for the first ten years after conversion,” and another exemption from paying the twelve reales that non-converts were required to pay the Chinese community fund for the Hospital of San Gabriel, a hospital built for the Chinese (Pe 1983, 92–4).4 In September 1588, the construction of the Church of San Gabriel, the
They were allowed to travel to the provinces after paying a fee (Sugaya 2000, 555). 4 This exemption was in effect for the next thirty-eight years, though officially everyone was required to pay such a fee. 3
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first church specifically built for the Chinese was completed. It was built beside the Parián.5 One other incentive offered to those who converted was the eligibility to marry local women. In 1594, Governor Dasmariñas granted tax-free a piece of land called Minondoc to the Catholic Chinese (see Chapter 2). This land, which is now known as Binondo, was to be the “home” of the Catholic Chinese and their families. By allowing Chinese converts to marry local women and giving them a piece of land in Binondo, the Catholic Church also hoped that they would be able to create a community of faithful subjects, who could be relied upon to help their missionaries in their evangelization efforts in China.6 Wickberg writes that It appears for the sake of [access to China as a mission field], the religious consistently protected and favored the Chinese in the Philippines, both Catholic and non-Catholic, in the hope that word of this might reach officials in China who would then be disposed to admit them as missionaries ([1965] 2000, 15).7
Wickberg writes that the Spaniards were only “moderately” successful in their attempts at converting the Chinese ([1965] 2000, 16). He places the number of converts at 3,000 to 4,000 at any given time from a population of 20,000 to 30,000. This equates to only around 15 percent of the total Chinese population for the period before 1850. Some church records show that after 1850, the percentage of Catholic converts in relation to the total Binondo population was even lower. For example, in 1886, the Binondo Church, which had the largest number of Catholic Chinese under its care, reported only 985 Catholic Chinese
5 According to Torres, this church was built inside the Parián, on a street named Arroceros (1992, n.p). 6 By baptizing the Chinese, the Catholic Church might have also been aiming to stop the practice of sodomy among the Chinese men, which had been mentioned in different accounts. See, for example, Governor Francisco de Sande’s comments in Blair and Robertson 1903–1909, Vol. 4, 50–1. 7 However, except for Lorenzo Ruiz, a Catholic layperson whose father was Chinese and mother a Tagala, and who joined two Dominican priests from the Philippines to go to Japan and was martyred there in 1637, no other Chinese or Chinese mestizo priest or layperson was recorded as journeying to China to aid the Catholic Church’s missionary efforts, except for a few Chinese from Tonkin (Vietnam) who went to China after spending a few years in the Philippines. These Chinese from Tonkin, e.g., Vicente Liem de la Paz and Thom de San Juan, eventually were martyred and then canonized or beatified by the Vatican. Alip gives a list of these Chinese, but does not identify them as coming from Tonkin (1936, 128–9).
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out of a total Binondo population of 25,000, or a mere 4 percent (AAM Planes de Almas [PA] 1880–1887, 35.B.6, f. 9). This may have been due to attempts of the Spanish colonial government to attach less importance to the religious status of the individual, and to granting of equal rights between non-converts and converts, thus leading to a reduction in conversion rates. However, conversion to Catholicism remained an important option for some Chinese, especially among the merchants. If the observation of an early twentieth-century Christian missionary was to be believed, he writes that among Chinese merchants in Manila, “at least one-half of them are professedly Christian,” or that “at least twenty-five thousand” of them were “nominally Catholics” (Stuntz 1904, 275). While the number might have been an exaggeration, it nevertheless indicates that conversion to Catholicism was still popular among the Chinese, especially among Chinese merchants who wished to gain a padrino or patron (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 191). Spousal Preference and Marriage Arrangement For those converted Chinese who married local Catholic women in the Philippines, it seems that most of them chose to marry Chinese mestizas.8 The reason for choosing Chinese mestizas over indias (female indio) could be attributed to several reasons, two of which were 1) the cultural ties between these Chinese mestizas and their Chinese husbands; and 2) the economic assets that Chinese mestizas brought into their marriages, since women in the Philippines had the ability to inherit money and property from their parents. If the Chinese mestizas were inheriting from their Chinese fathers or Chinese mestizo mothers, they could be worth a fortune.9 As was the practice at the time, most of the marriages were arranged. The father might arrange this marriage with someone he knew, possibly a business associate, or from the same county in Fujian, but not from the same village (thus opening up the possibility of the person coming from the same lineage; and the Minnanese observed exogamy),
8 A study made of intermarriages between Catholic Chinese men and local women shows that such choices were made as early as the eighteenth century (Sugaya 2000, 558). 9 Inheritance law at the time provided for the equal inheritance of female Spanish subjects in the Philippines. See Chapter 5 for more information.
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or from a rival lineage. This practice of marrying off one’s daughter to a business associate might help explain the significant age gap (ten to fifteen years) between Chinese men and local women (see Sugaya 2000, 564). Or, a Chinese father might negotiate with another Chinese with a marriageable son to marry his daughter. The prospective bridegroom could also come directly from China, as demonstrated in the story mentioned at the beginning of the chapter. Although fictionalized, “Chang-Chuy’s Umbrella” nevertheless contains many historical details from the nineteenth century that could give us a glimpse of the process involved in arranging these marriages.10 In the story, the father, whose name was Tieng-Chuy, arrived in the country in 1848, and started out working for a chucheria, or hardware store. In time, he learned some Spanish and Tagalog, became a Christian “in order to have an influential patron to protect him and to have the legal right to marry,” adopted the name Ramón de Molina after his patron, became successful, built a house on Calle Rosario, and married an india with whom he had several children, including Paning (short for Estafanía) who was his eldest daughter (Montero y Vidal [1889, 1890] 2004, 195–6). Ramón de Molina Tieng-Chuy wanted his nephew in Ningpo (a major trading port in the province of Zhejiang) to marry his daughter, so he wrote the prospective groom’s parents, who accepted his proposition and dispatched their son Chang-Chuy via the British ship Esmeralda. Upon Chang-Chuy’s arrival in Manila, Tieng-Chuy regaled him with a grand party, complete with a big banquet of delicious Chinese and local food and delicacies, Chinese musicians, and people dancing, eating, gambling, or smoking opium. Chang-Chuy saw his cousin, and thought himself contented. However, Chang-Chuy fell in love with another Chinese mestiza, whom he saw at the ball. As a result, he decided not to go through with the wedding with his cousin and to pursue this other woman. In anticipation of marrying a local Catholic Chinese mestiza, Chang-chuy started to learn the doctrines that would make him a Christian (Montero y Vidal [1889, 1890] 2004, 213). However, this other Chinese mestiza did not return his affections. Chang-chuy’s sweetheart from China followed him to Manila, tracked him down, and both eventually returned to China while Paning, unlucky in love, entered the convent to become a nun.
10 The author, José Montero y Vidal, had lived in and traveled all over the Philippines for several years.
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While the essay does not end with Chang-Chuy marrying his cousin in a Catholic wedding, leaving us without a complete description of the whole process involved in such unions, it does refer to one of the steps that Chinese men had to take in order to marry a local Catholic woman, i.e., to show adequate knowledge of the Catholic doctrines. What then did a Chinese man in the Philippines have to do in order to marry a local Catholic woman? Below is an overview of Church policy toward these intermarriages. Procedure in Marrying a Local Woman According to the Council of Trent, certain rules governed the administration of the sacrament of marriage to “vagabonds,” i.e., people who did not have a permanent place of dwelling. In the Philippine context, these vagabonds referred to the Chinese and to those coming from another diocese or from distant parishes (Garcia 1973, 40). One of these rules was that the applicant should turn in a set of informaciones, or information regarding his suitability for marriage, to the Vicar Foranes or the parish priest.11 These two stood as representatives of the Bishop, who reserved the right to permit or deny the marriage.12 As a matter of procedure, a Chinese man wishing to marry a local woman had to go to the provisor’s court of the Archbishopric of Manila, and present the proper documentation: a) [his] baptismal certificate and that of the woman he wanted to marry; b) the written consent of the parents or elders of the woman; c) the residence certificate showing that he had been in the Philippines for six years; d) a certificate of good conduct; and e) an affidavit of the Parish Priest about his religious instruction (Garcia 1973, 47).
After this step, both the man and the woman returned to show evidence of their eligibility to marry one another. They signed a document 11 Note that the following were also required to submit the set of informaciones: Chinese mestizos, widowed men and women wishing to remarry, and indios with no fixed residence. But this policy often encountered problems. Some dioceses reported that many men would attempt to marry women from another province while still married to other women. The Council of Manila held in 1771 considered the high number of vagabonds in the country as the “ ‘plague of the Republic’ ” who often lived with women without the benefit of proper marriage (Garcia 1973, 45–7). 12 This same rule remained applicable up to the twentieth century, especially in regards to Chinese nationals living in the country (Garcia 1973, 39–44).
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declaring that they were single and contracted to marry each other, with no impediments to their marriage. Witnesses were also presented, with each party producing two or more witnesses.13 The Chinese men often asked other Chinese to act as witnesses, while the local woman often asked other women, either of the same ethnic category as hers or otherwise. After the examination of the witnesses and of the proper documentation, the banns were published at the parish church.14 These requirements were parts of the stipulations found in the Claveria decree of 1849 (Alip 1936, 128; Garcia 1973, 48 n. 140). In 1871, Governor General Rafael Izquierdo added another requirement: that the Chinese should produce a document showing that his name was inscribed in the register of Christians for not less than two years (Garcia 1973, 48).15 Furthermore, on 8 April 1892, Archbishop Bernardino Nozaleda decreed that only those Chinese baptized as Catholics and then naturalized as Spanish subjects were permitted to marry local women (cited in Garcia 1973, 49; Wickberg [1965] 2000, 156; cf. Blumentritt 1900, 32).16 Men and women intending to marry should also obtain parental consent if they were of minor age, i.e., below twenty-five years old for men and below twenty-three for women (Garcia 1973, 15).17 However, due to the impracticality and rigidity of this policy, adjustments had to be made. For instance, while Chinese mestizos were still required to obtain parental consent when of minor age, the parish priest could still marry them, especially if the former insisted on getting married and if they had reached the age of puberty (fourteen years old for males,
13 See Sugaya 2000 and Bankoff 1992, 13–4 for a more complete discussion of the requirements for intermarriages. See also U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 138–41 for the legal procedures involving other groups in the population. 14 In cases when the bride-to-be did not appear before the provisor’s court due to the distance of her residence, then the banns were published after the provisor examined the Chinese and his witnesses. If no one opposed the marriage, then the woman was examined by her parish to determine whether she agreed to marry based on her own free will (Sugaya 2000, 558). 15 Prior to the eighteenth century, the Catholic Chinese had to be a Catholic for at least three years before being able to marry (Sugaya 2000, 559). 16 This decree was published on pages 210–3 in the Boletin Oficial del Arzobispado de Manila, under the entry Decreto Episcopal sobre Bautismos y Matrimonios de Chinos, 12 de Abril, 1892 (see Garcia 1973, 49). 17 This was based on the Royal Order of 23 March 1776. In the absence of one or both parents, the required age for marriage decreases. For more details regarding the different decrees and procedures from the eighteenth to the nineteenth centuries governing or involving parental consent, see Garcia 1973, 14–20. The age of majority would be later changed to twenty years old for both men and women.
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twelve for females).18 In such cases, the parish priest simply warned them of the “serious inconveniences of marriages entered into without parental consent” (Garcia 1973, 16). But in cases when parental consent was not given, the Claveria decree of 1849 stipulated that the parent or parents had to submit an act of his/her/their deposition to the parish priest or principal provincial mayor. The deposition should be written down and signed by the parent(s), along with the Fiscal of the church. However, the party need not explain his/her/their motives for opposing the marriage. The findings were then sent to the Governor’s office along with a recommendation of whether to grant or deny the license to marry, after which, having studied the case, the Governor gave his decision (Garcia 1973, 17–8).19 Possible Obstructions to Impending Marriage Thus, a parent’s opposition to an impending marriage could become an obstruction. An elaboration of the case involving Carlos Palanca Tan-Tianjun and the father of the woman he wanted to marry named Cesarea Cano throws some light onto how such incidents occurred. On 4 August 1893, Proceso Cano Torres, a resident of the district of Santa Cruz, Manila, went before the Governor General of the Philippines (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S507–10B). In his statement, he proclaimed that his legitimate daughter Cesarea wanted to marry the Christian Chinese Carlos Palanca Tan-Tiaojun, but that he was opposed to this marriage. An examination of this deposition and subsequent ones that Proceso made before the Governor General allows us to reconstruct the events leading to this case. In order to realize his plan of marrying Cesarea Victorina Cano Torres, Tan-Tiaojun appeared sometime in August 1892 before the judge of the Court of the First Instance of Quiapo to request the latter to “deposit” Cesarea in a house.20 At the time, Cesarea, escaping the 18 Would this help explain why the Chinese preferred to marry Chinese mestizas, instead of indias, due to the less strict rules governing the age of consent of marriageable Chinese mestizas? 19 On 31 May 1870, a decree revoked the faculty given to the parish priests to investigate cases when parental consent was not given; the new decree gave the right to the provincial mayors alone (Garcia 1973, 18). 20 To “deposit” a woman in this context meant placing her in the house of her fiancé’s relative or kin before marriage. Article 1852 of the Enjuiciamiento Civil states that the law supports the deposit of a girl within a six-month period, or until such
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maltreatment she had been receiving from her father and the woman living with him, was staying in the house of a certain Silvino Zacarias. However, the tia-abuela (great aunt) of Cesarea, Dolores Robledo, produced before the court her grandniece’s baptismal certificate to present evidence of Cesarea’s age, which was nineteen years. Based on case no. 3 of Article 1863 found in the Code of Civil Procedures, which stipulated that a person below the age of twenty desiring to marry would need parental consent, the judge of the court, named Felix Garcia Gavieres, denied Tan-Tiaojun’s request, ordering Cesarea to return to her father.21 Another reason for the denial of Tan-Tiaojun’s request was that the Christian Chinese was not a naturalized Spanish subject, a requirement stipulated in the Decree of 8 April 1892 dictated by the Archbishop of Manila for any Christian Chinese wishing to marry a local woman (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S478–80B). The “astute” (in the words of Proceso) Tan-Tiaojun then proceeded to apply with the government for naturalization. While waiting for the result of his application for naturalization, around November 1892 Tan-Tiaojun was somehow able to obtain the permission from the Civil Governor of Manila to have Cesarea deposited in the house of Ildefonso Tambunting. Proceso gave several reasons why he was opposed to his daughter’s marriage. First of all, he said that he was never informed about the deposit of his daughter. Second, he pointed out that according to Article 1892 of the Code of Civil Procedures, the deposit of a youth for marriage could not exceed more than six months; and that upon expiration of said duration, as indicated in Articles 1851 and 1852, the youth should be returned to his or her family. Finally, he stated that many Chinese, after marrying in the Philippines would return to China with their wives and cause the latter to apostatize and convert to a belief in Confucius or Buddha. Consequently, he continued, this had caused “our saintly missionaries to go to rescue them to return them to their families on these islands” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S507B). Therefore, he argued that parents who possessed real faith in the Catholic religion would resist such marriages, and time the marriage is celebrated (see RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S495). A woman could also be “deposited” for various reasons, as when escaping from an unwanted marriage, or when awaiting the outcome of a divorce trial. This practice of “depositing” women was also observed in Spanish colonies, see, for example Le Compte 1981, 30 and Matos Rodríguez 1999, 109. 21 Note that the age of majority had changed from an earlier period, when it was twenty-five years old for men and twenty-three for women.
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he supplicated the Civil Governor Dominguez Alfonso, “as a fervent Catholic, to judge the rights and wrongs of such case” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S507B). As a response, on 19 September 1893 the Civil Governor said that Proceso originally did not oppose the marriage, as expressed in a deposition dated 28 November 1892. As to the claim that he (Proceso) had not been informed about the deposit of his daughter, the Civil Governor mentioned that on the day of the deposit the gobernadorcillo from Sta. Cruz notified the father to show up and express what he (Proceso) had to say. However, Proceso never showed up. On the matter of the duration of time a person could be deposited, the Civil Governor pointed out that based on Article 1851, while it was stated that “the deposit [could] be stopped from the date when the deposit happened,” he pointed out that the petition to end the deposit had to be made by those who were arranged to wed, and not by those who opposed it. Furthermore, he claimed that Cesarea in a written statement dated 5 June “ratified” her idea about the marriage and requested the continuation of her deposit. Lastly, the Civil Governor mentioned that on 12 June of the same year an opinion had been made that based on a decree dated 31 May 1870 that there was no specific information that established the duration of the deposit of those who wanted to get married, and that the deposit could not be removed until the requirements were fulfilled to proceed with the wedding or when one of the parties decided not to marry. Since Cesarea had expressed the desire to continue with the deposit, the Civil Governor allowed her to remain deposited unless she changed her mind (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S470–5). In the meantime, the documentation that was presented to the Civil Governor to show that Tan-Tiaojun had been living in the Philippines for five years was deemed unreliable (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S481–2B). Thus, the approval for Tan-Tiaojun’s application for naturalization was delayed (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S478–80B). Proceso then proceeded to request that his daughter be ordered to return to him. However, on October 1893 the gobernadorcillo of the naturales (native-born or indio) of Santa Cruz denied his petition to have Cesarea released. Not giving up hope, Proceso again petitioned the Civil Governor on 2 November 1893 (see RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S478– 80B) to order Tan-Tiaojun to release his daughter. In his letter he stated that perhaps the Civil Governor’s decision to permit Tan-Tiaojun to keep Cesarea deposited at Ildefonso’s house was made out of lack of knowledge regarding the matters preceding the
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deposit. He reiterated some points made in his earlier depositions, and provided additional reasons why his daughter should be released. As to the decision whether to release Cesarea or not being postponed, pending the outcome of Tan-Tiaojun’s application for naturalization, Proceso stated it as unfair and unjust to him and his daughter to have to wait indefinitely for the decision to be made. As a response, the Civil Governor retorted that the court knew well what it was doing and that nowhere was it stated in Article 1852 that there was a specific duration for a deposit. Two months later, the Civil Governor, apparently exasperated by the persistence of Proceso in asking the court to release his daughter, issued a statement telling the latter to “stop approaching the superior authorities to recommend the way in which the authorities should address the case” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S502–4).22 There were other ways that an impending marriage between a Chinese and a local woman could be obstructed. As we will see in Chapter 5, a fellow kin or relative could oppose a marriage on the grounds that the would-be groom was already married. The obstruction could also come from another woman. For instance, in August 1869 a Chinese mestiza named Isidra Corpus from Tondo presented a court her petition for the suspension of the permission given to the Chinese Christian Mariano Dy-Quico, a resident of Binondo, to marry a woman named Sabina de Carlos. According to her testimony, Mariano had contracted to marry her instead. Isidra also claimed that she had written evidence of this contract that she would present in court in “due course.” Finally, she demanded that Mariano pay her the costs she incurred arising from the promise of marriage (GSU RP 1666–1941, Reel 1307374).23 The ecclesiastical tribunal of the Archbishopric of Manila then suspended the marriage license granted to Mariano, who on 15 November of the same year presented himself before the tribunal supplicating the court to lift the suspension. He declared the claim of Isidra to be “frivolous” and a “true calumny,” since she had not exhibited the written evidence Unfortunately, we do not know how the case was resolved. Article 44, Sec. II of the the Civil Code of 1889 stipulates that if a promise “has been made in a public or private instrument by an adult . . . or if the banns have been published, the one who without just cause refuses to marry shall be obliged to reimburse the other for the expenses which he or she may have incurred by reason of the promised marriage” (Fisher 1947, 29). Prior to this code, the laws that applied in the Philippines were principally found in the Novissima Recopilación, the Siete Partidas, the Laws of Toro, and “such special statutes of the Spanish Cortes as the Crown had made applicable” in the Islands (Fisher 1947, vi). And although this part of the Civil Code was not implemented, most of the articles merely systematized the codes that existed already before in various sets of laws. 22 23
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she purported to have, despite repeated summons from the court for her to do so. Hence, he argued that Isidra had been acting in “bad faith” and called her conduct “reprehensible.” The following day, the court issued a ruling, that, in light of the failure of Isidra to appear in court, the suspension of Mariano’s marriage to Sabina be lifted (GSU RP 1666– 1941, Reel 1307374). In order to provide a specific example of the procedures involving the intermarriage between a Chinese convert and a local woman, I am using details gathered from my research on Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan, whose business practices are described in the previous chapter. Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan and Maria Francisca Leoncio (a.k.a. Francisca Yap) In June 1864, Ignacio sought permission from the Catholic Church to marry the Chinese mestiza Maria Francisca Leoncio, a.k.a. Francisca Yap.24 In accordance with the requirement at the time, the couple had to produce documents proving their eligibility to marry one another (i.e., that they were single). Juan Sta. Maria, a Dominican priest in charge of the Catholic Chinese of the San Gabriel Church in Binondo, on 8 June 1864 certified Ignacio to be a soltero, i.e., a bachelor (AAM IM 1864, 18.A.2, ff. 6–11). On the same day, Vicente Sales, the parish priest of Binondo, certified that Francisca, twenty-four years old, and a tendera (store keeper), was single. Since both Francisca’s parents and grandparents were deceased at the time, her sister Pascuala Gonzales Lim gave the permission for her to marry.25 Francisca came from a well-to-do family that was “engaged in the hand-made cigarette business, image (saints) making, jewelry, gold and silversmith trade” (Boncan 1986, 2). Another requirement for having a Catholic wedding was, naturally, for both parties to be Catholic. As mentioned in the previous chapter, Ignacio was baptized in 1857. Francisca’s baptismal certificate shows For some reason, Maria Francisca Leoncio also started at some point to be identified as “Francisca Yap.” Initially I thought that these were two different people, i.e., that Maria Francisca Leoncio had died and that Ignacio had remarried. But in the absence of a marriage certificate showing that Ignacio had contracted another marriage with another woman, and due to the reasonable two-year gap from the time Ignacio married Maria to the time the first child Catalino was born, I concluded that Maria Francisca Leoncio and Francisca Yap were one and the same person (and will thus refer to her as Francisca from hereon). In one biographical account (Boncan 1986), Francisca is identified as “Francisa Yap y Lim,” thus bearing the same “Lim” as the woman who was identified as the sister of Maria Francisca Leoncio, Pascuala Gonzalez Lim. Furthermore, it was not unusual for people to change their names, as Ignacio himself did. 25 It is not clear why Francisca had to get the consent of her sister, since the former already was of marrying age. 24
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that Baltazar Noveno de Jesus baptized her on 7 October 1840, when she was just four days old. Her father is listed as “unknown,” her mother as Maria Gonzales, also a Chinese mestiza from Barrio San José in Barangay Sta. Elena, and her godmother Maria Nieves Casas. For the Christian Chinese, there was an extra requirement—to prove that they knew their Catholic faith well, since most of them were raised as non-Christians. Juan Santa Maria, using the Hokkien language, examined Ignacio and certified that the latter was “sufficiently instructed [in the Catholic doctrine]” (AAM IM 1864, 18.A.2, ff. 6–11). Finally both parties produced three witnesses to attest to their eligibility to marry and good moral character. Ignacio presented the following three witnesses: • Domingo Cang, thirty-five years old, single, Christian Chinese, native of Amoy (Xiamen), living in Binondo, and who had known Ignacio for six years • Antonio Uy-Tioco, twenty-seven years old, married, Christian Chinese, native of Leonque (Longxi), resident of Binondo, married, and who had known Ignacio for nine years • Francisco Lim, thirty years old, single, a tendero, Christian Chinese, native of Chancheu (Quanzhou), resident of Binondo, and who had known Ignacio for eight years Ignacio signed his name in script, indicating that he either knew how to write the Roman script or at the very least learned to sign his name in it, while his witnesses all signed their names in Chinese characters. Francisca produced two witnesses, who were all Chinese mestizas and native to and residents of Binondo. They were: • Paulina de los Reyes, forty-two years old, who had known Francisca for eight years • Juana del Carmen, forty-three years old, married, a costurera (seamstress) Both witnesses, along with Francisca, claimed that they did not know how to sign their own names. A certain Florencio Almario signed on their behalf. After obtaining the permission to marry, Ignacio and Francisca were married on 2 July 1864, in the Binondo Church.26 26 It must be noted that the bringing in of the witnesses could occur just right before the mass on the day of the wedding itself (see U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 138).
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Frequency of Marriage, Statistics, and Civil Unions In my own research based on the “Informaciones Matrimoniales” files at the AAM, I counted the number of marriage applications submitted to the Archdiocese of Manila from Chinese converts seeking to marry local women (in selected years):27 Table 3: Number of Intermarriages between Chinese Men and Local Philippine Women, 1742–190027 Year
Number of Marriage Applications
1742 1748 1757 1758 1767 1772 1781 1801 1812 1820 1831 1840 1850 1855 1860 1865 1870 1875 1880 1885 1887 1888 1890 1895 1900
10 5 24 1 4 0 4 4 33 33 19 19 19 39 24 32 44 22 35 52 21 9 8 0 2
As one will note, the number of applications for Church weddings started to decrease in the year 1888, when the total was 9, as opposed to 21 in 1887. From the years 1892 to 1899, there were no applications.
27 This is based on actual account, as opposed to the list of marriages found in an index at AAM. For the year 1757, there is a discrepancy between the number of applications in my research and that of Sugaya, who puts the count at 47 (2000, 557).
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On the other hand, research on civil marriages produced these numbers of marriage applications in selected years:28 Table 4: Civil Marriage Applications between Chinese Men and Local Philippine Women, 1872–1897 Year28
Number of Marriage Applications
1872 1877 1882 1887 1892 1897
19 28 16 38 27 10
Based on these numbers on civil marriages, it may be hypothesized that the decrease in the number of applications submitted to the Archdiocese in the 1890s were due to: 1) an increasing secularization of Philippines society in the late nineteenth century; and 2) the requirement that Chinese wishing to marry local women first had to be converted to Catholicism and then naturalized as a Spanish subject, which may have encouraged couples to opt for a civil marriage instead.29 Whether there was an inverse relationship between these two types of marriages needs to be proven in future research. The Wedding Ceremony After dispensation was given to the couple to marry at a local Church, preparations could begin for the matrimonial ceremony. But even if a Catholic wedding was involved, the Chinese parents of either the proThese marriage applications are from the following protocolos: RMAO FD 1872, 427, tomos 2 and 3; RMAO FD 1877, 435, tomos 1 and 2; RMAO FD 1882, 445, tomos 1 and 2; RMAO CR 1887, 834, tomos 1 and 2; RMAO CR 1892, 846, tomos 1, 2, and 4; RMAO CR 1897, 851, tomos 1–4. 29 It is not certain when civil marriages started to be recognized in the Philippines. When the Civil Code was codified in 1889, it recognized both canonical and civil marriages (Balane 1979, 42). Balane (1979, 42) writes that only canonical marriages were allowed in the Philippines after Governor-General Valeriano Weyler in December 1889 suspended “titles 4 and 12” of the Civil Code, and that title 4 pertains to civil marriages. However, I believe that Balane was mistaken, for even with the suspension of this part of the new civil code, civil marriages had been performed before and after 1889, and were recognized based on pre-existing laws. 28
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spective bride or groom, or of both, might consult a Buddhist monk for an auspicious date for the wedding.30 Once the date had been set, invitations would then be sent out. Expenses involved would include: payment for the parish for the use of the church; wedding attire for the bride and groom, and their entourage; and the wedding banquet. The day before the wedding, the contracting parties would make their confession, and might take the Holy Communion on the same day. However, during the wedding, the contracting parties did not receive Holy Communion, for, as a priest wrote, “it (was) not decent that on the day when they (received communion) they did what (was) subsequent to its celebration” (quoted in Garcia 1973, 79). Wedding feasts subsequently followed the ceremony and the Catholic Church historically frowned upon the way locals in the Philippines celebrated them. The “Acts of the Synod of Calasiao” of 1773 pointed out, for example, that what often accompanied these feasts were loud music, dancing, and much drinking to the point that the celebrants and their guests became “unrecognizable even to each other” (1970, 106). In an effort to curb the perceived lasciviousness and lavishness of these parties, the Catholic Church enjoined their parishioners to celebrate the wedding with frugality, and for those living in farflung villages, to hold it within the town and not in the farm, and to shorten the duration of the celebration (which could take days in many cases). It was most likely that in the case of the Chinese and the local woman’s wedding, the feast was celebrated in one of the larger houses found in Binondo. The guests would include the groom’s and his family’s relatives, friends, and business associates, and the bride’s and family’s friends and family too. Some of these guests also included government and church officials. Food, music, and laughter would be in abundance. The food served would mostly likely be a combination of Chinese and local food, as described in the story of Chang-Chuy. The palate of the most delicate and demanding Chinese could not have asked for more. There was abundance and variety. Among the huge plates of rice, white as snow, the best brand from the Ilocos called mimis, there were platters of dried fish, pansit, and cutcha. There were dishes overflowing with shark’s fins and hog-shum, or balate, plates of cured veal
30 Buddhist institutions only started to develop in the late 1880s, when two temples were opened in Manila (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 188).
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chapter four and deer ribs, capons and chicken side by side with plates of shrimps, lobsters, and small babuis, or suckling pigs. Attracting the eyes of everyone was an exquisite silver platter, prominently placed, full of nidos de salangunes, a highly expensive Chinese gourmet delicacy . . . In the middle of the table were elegant fruit bowls surrounded by flowers, bearing the most delicious fruits of the country like manga, piña, ate, chicos, plátones, lanzones, and guyabas. There were also abundant desserts from China and Manila (Montero y Vidal [1889, 1890] 2004, 198–9).
Thus, the food served reflected the long history of socio-cultural and economic interaction or exchange between the Philippines and China, as some of the food served were either imported from China or influenced by Chinese culinary traditions. The cuisine also reflected, naturally, the influence of Spanish and or Mexican cooking, as discussed further in Chapter 5. In the more highly commercialized economy of the late nineteenth century, and the wide distribution network created by cabecillas and their agents around the country, food products from the provinces, for instance shark’s fin from Jolo and the nidos de salangunes (birds’ nests) from the Calamianes Islands,31 found their way easily into the kitchens and on the dining tables of Manileños, served on porcelain plates from either China or Europe. Anyone who knew how to use sipit, or chopsticks, would be using a pair to eat, while others used spoons and forks or their fingers. Hosts also served both local and imported alcohol. Spanish or European wines would be served together with local beer or liquor. Finally, Chinese actors would regale revelers with a theatrical show while Chinese musicians played with their bandolín, bamboo flute, and batintin. Later in the night, these Chinese entertainers would be replaced by European music, to which the guests would dance. Consensual Unions Whatever laws were decreed at the time, whether these favored canonical or civil marriage, and which may have affected the number of inter-
31 The sharks’ fins were exported to Singapore, then China. Those that find their way to Manila were said to come from Hong Kong, and cost around 100 to 200 (Mexican dollars) for the white variety, and between 60 and 80 for the black variety. The birds’ nests were said to cost 3,000 Mexican dollars a picul. For a serving of 40 bowls, one needed to buy a pound and a quarter of this product for 30 to 32 Mexican dollars (testimony of Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 277).
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marriages, unions between Chinese men and local women, in the form of cohabitation, continued. For consensual unions, the “wedding” arrangement was understandably simpler, and involved less bureaucratic hassles or ceremonies. There has been no study that specifically deals with such Chinese-local women unions, but conceivably we can surmise that these unions in many ways approximated those entered into between locals. These betrothals could be either public or private, and for public ones, usually were accompanied by some kind of external celebration, “which, at times, exceeded the limits of Christian moderation” (Garcia 1973, 11). The Catholic Church, with the help of the Spanish colonial government, had some policies governing the treatment of couples that cohabited. One was to try to convince those living in concubinage to eventually marry, instilling in them a fear of being punished should they fail to do so. When civil authorities apprehended a local couple living in concubinage, they were disciplined, unless they agreed to marry. Consequently, many decided to marry, but often not out of their own free will. It should also be noted that if a couple, after being punished, still decided not to marry, they were not forced by the Catholic Church to do so, since no good was “expected from a marriage contracted through intimidation” (Garcia 1973, 52–3). In the case of a couple in which the male was a Chinese and the female a Catholic Chinese mestiza or india, following the authorities meant that the Chinese had to undergo Catholic conversion (for it was often the case that those who opted to live consensually with another woman did so because they did not want to be baptized). The Catholic Church, as seen in the Manual de Sacerdotes para Uso de los Párrocos of the Archdiocese of Manila edited in 1854 and 1879, allowed the converted party (i.e., the local woman) to continue living with a “pagan,” granted that she request the Church “to determine a period of time for her partner to be converted” (cited in Garcia 1973, 68). This seems to be an impractical solution since this meant waiting for a period of two years during which the Chinese had to undergo religious instruction, as decreed by Church law. However, as in the case of cohabiting locals, should the period of time elapsed without the “pagan” undergoing conversion, then the Church would not force them to do so.32
32 Should the Catholic woman wish, she could also separate from her “pagan” partner if the latter insisted on remaining unconverted. This seems like a variation of the Pauline Privilege.
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Garcia writes that some couples preferred to cohabit because the requirements involved in getting married were difficult to fulfill, including having to return to one’s diocese where one was registered in order to obtain the permission to marry; the inability of those who planned to marry to pay the fees involved in obtaining a marriage license; and the reluctance of people to gather the set of informaciones required (1973, 41). I believe that the practice of local Catholic converts living consensually with another Catholic, as gleaned from accounts of some travelers, was not only prevalent, but also commonly accepted.33 These couples—whether of mixed or similar ethnic backgrounds— who lived in concubinage often had the full knowledge of neighbors and family members, and, as Charles Wilkes notes in 1840, “no odium whatever is attached to such a connexion” (1974, 40). Thus, the case of Cu Unjieng and Dominga Ayala, and that of Manuel Marzano Cue Buntin and Braulia Guepangco—as described below—were not unusual. In a testament that he drew up in 1901, the prominent Chinese merchant Cu Unjieng34 explicitly stated that he was living consensually with Dominga in Manila (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290). In the same testament, he declared that he was “married (casado) according to the rites of his country” to a woman named Ong (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290).35 We also see cases in which a Chinese man, despite being baptized, would cohabit with a local woman. For instance, the Catholic Chinese Manuel Marzano Cue Buntin lived consensually with a Chinese mestiza named Braulia Guepangco, with whom he had a daughter named Ynocencia. In his testament, he named his “natural” (as opposed to “legitimate”) daughter Ynocencia as the sole and universal heiress of all his possessions. His identification of his daughter
33 Garcia also writes of the “betrothal” practices of the local people, in which a prospective groom lived in the house—without the benefit of a church wedding—of the girl he wished to marry. He did this as payment for the expenses incurred by the girl’s parents in rearing her. This practice was so prevalent that up until 1911 it was still mentioned in various church documents (1973, 25). 34 Records spell his name as “Cu Un-Jieng” or Cu-Un-Jieng,” or “Cu Unjieng.” For consistency, I will be using “Cu Unjieng.” 35 In other documents, her name is spelled “Jong.” But for purposes of consistency, I will use “Ong” throughout the book.
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as “natural” means that Manuel and Braulia were not legally married (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 443).36 Practicing Multiple Marriages or Unions But it was not only consensual unions between Chinese merchants and local women that troubled the Spanish authorities, but also the practice of multiple marriages or having multiple partners. From a set of inheritance records that I gathered from the RMAO, I found the following cases that reflected this practice. • “El Chino Cristiano” Lucio Isabelo Limpangco—forty-two (42) years old, a businessman, a widower, and a native of Xiamen. On 2 November 1895, he executed his testament before the notary public Numeriano Adriano. In his will, he claimed that he was married in Catholic rites to Francisca Cinco, who was deceased.37 Lucio also wrote that he had two children with Francisca: Fernando, who was ten years old, and Maria Angeles, six years old, both of whom were “studying in China.” However, in the fourth clause of his testament, he declared that he also was married “according to the rites of his nation” to Chu-Cua, who was still residing in China and with whom he had five children. The ages of these children ranged from seven to “mayor de edad” (adult) (RMAO NA 1895, Vol. 561, tomo 1, no. 4). Thus, it can be inferred here that up to the time of Francisca’s death that he was married to these two women, although the exact date of his marriage to Francisca was not indicated. • Mariano de Ocampo Lao-Sinco—a native of Quanzhou, Fujian province. He was thirty-eight (38) years old at the time he drew up his testament on 28 July 1892, and he identified himself as being married to Pia Palomares y Figueroa, with whom he had a daughter named Maria Consolacion de Ocampo y Palomares. 36 He also designated Braulia as the tutor and curator of Ynocencia, who at that time was still a minor (RMAO FD 1882, 445, tomo 2, no. 443). 37 Although it is not stated in his will what classification Francisca belonged to, I am presuming here that she was Chinese mestiza due to her last name “Cinco.” The appending of “co” to the personal name of a Chinese ancestor was a common practice among Chinese mestizos. For more information regarding the surnames of Chinese mestizos, see Wickberg [1965] 2000, 32; and the previous chapter.
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However, he also mentioned having two sons Lao Taimtan and Lao Tianjan, aged eleven and five years old respectively, and who were living in China with Sy Bit [Niu], presumably their mother (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 3, no. 370).38 • Sy Tiong-Tay married Chan Sinin “according to the rites of his country” and then married Ana Cuangsi under Catholic rites in Manila, even while his first wife was still alive (RMAO EBC 1895, Vol. 871, tomo 12, no. 1090). Thus, even as the Catholic Church prohibited the practice of bigamy or polygamy, and required that a Catholic Chinese be certified as soltero or “single” before given permission to marry a local Catholic woman, a good number of Catholic Chinese who had a pre-existing marriage with a woman in China still managed to marry local Catholic women. This does not mean, however, that no attempts were made to prevent such marriages from occurring. In my research I have found three cases involving third parties opposing such marriages. The first case dates back to 1862.39 On 24 September, Yap-Siongti, thirty-eight years old, and an unbaptized Chinese merchant living at 3 Calle de San Vicente, where a store of cristalerias (glass) was located, claimed before the ecclesiastical court of the Archbishopric of Manila that his brother Antonio Yap-Siongjon, who was contracted to marry a local woman named Teodora Lucas, was married to an infiel (infidel) woman named Ong-Se who lived in the house of his mother Go-Se located on a street named Sau-Potea, in the town of Ung-Su-quien, province of Xiamen. He also stated that his mother, another brother named Yap-Song-Oan, resident of Xiamen, and the
38 “Niu” or “niang” in Mandarin was commonly attached to the names of Chinese women in Southeast Asia. See, for example, the case of the Peranakan women in Li 2002, 37. 39 The earliest case I found pertaining to an opposition to a marriage involves the brothers Antonio Agne and Vicente Roca Yap-Goco. In this case, the older brother, Antonio, claims that Vicente, who is planning to marry a Chinese mestiza named Justa Matea, is legally married to a Chinese woman named Yung Yoc Nive, living in Lamua, province of Chinchu, and with whom he has a son named Yap Tanco. The case also takes an interesting turn when Justa Matea accuses Vicente of hitting her on the left eye, prompting her to threaten him with a knife and being deposited at the house of the parish priest. Finally, a discussion on how the Pauline Privilege applies to the case of Vicente can also be found in this case. For more information, see AAM IM 1849, 17.C.8, folder 1.
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missionary Angel Bofurull, parish priest in Xiamen, could support his claim. On 13 January 1864, Antonio appeared before the ecclesiastical court to contest the claim of his brother, and in the subsequent weeks, presented witnesses and documentary evidence that he was not married in China. Included in one of his evidence was a statement from Mariano Anton, the parish priest of Xiamen, made before the Spanish consul in that city, attesting to the fact that Antonio was single, and that he (Mariano) had interviewed Antonio’s widowed mother who said that her son was never married, but only that he was to be married to a woman. However, the infiel woman that he was supposed to marry died the previous year of cholera. On 9 June 1864 the ecclesiastical court lifted the suspension on Antonio’s impending marriage to Teodora (AAM IM 1864, 18.A.3). The second case involved Juan Legarda Ong Yinsin claiming in October 1886 that his brother Julian Gonzalez Ong Yinchu, who was going to marry the Chinese mestiza Gerarda Guevara,40 was married to a Chinese woman named Uy Tan, and therefore not eligible to marry Gerarda (GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307131).41 Another case involved Joaquin Martinez Sy-Tiongtay in 1887 opposing the plan of the Chinese Christian Adolfo Lim Uy Kay from marrying his cousin Isidra Sy Siu, since Joaquin claimed that Adolfo was not soltero, but married in China, and that such act of marrying a woman when already married to another was prohibited and punishable under Article 395 of the Penal Code of 1850 (GSU RP 1707– 1933, Reel 1307131). Catholic Church Views of Baptized Catholic Chinese Married to Local Women More than a few outside observers and Church officials lamented the practice of the Chinese converts of keeping a wife in China and
40 Gerarda was born on 23 April 1868, and her parents were José Guevara and Graciana Tanletco, both Chinese mestizos living in Barrio de San Fernando. The Dominican friar José Campomanes baptized Julian Gonzalez Ong Yengchu on 8 November 1885, by, and Julian’s padrino was teniente (lieutenant) Coronel of the Guardia Civil. A document dated 10 September 1886 and signed by the same priest states that Julian had been a resident of Manila for seven years (GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307131). 41 In his letter to the Señor Juez Provisor, Juan pointed out that polygamy was against the principles of the Catholic religion (GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307131).
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having another in the Philippines. As early as the seventeenth century, a Dominican missionary already deplored this practice (see Riccio 1667, ff. 235r–v).42 It was partly because of this practice, i.e., of a Chinese having two wives that Catholic missionaries doubted the sincerity in the conversion of their Chinese converts.43 They pointed out that the Chinese often converted out of convenience, i.e., they did so in order to take advantage of rights and benefits granted by the Spanish colonial state and Catholic Church to Catholics. However, after having converted, they returned to their “pagan” ways. Thus, Riccio (1667, f. 235r) writes that the Chinese converts in Manila could be called labados (merely “washed” with baptismal water) and cristianos fingidos (false Christians).44 They received baptism only for temporal gains, and, once back in China, abandoned Catholicism and went back to their superstitious and idolatrous ways. In the late eighteenth century, the same observation was made by a judge of the provisor’s court, who noted that many Catholic Chinese applied for marriage licenses in the Philippines even though they were already married in China, were derelict in fulfilling their religious obligations, and continued to worship Chinese gods (Sugaya 2000, 565). But how much of the actions of these Chinese converts really was a reflection of them being “insincere” Catholics? A short review of a pertinent Catholic Church policy regarding marriages between the Chinese and local women may provide us with a better perspective on how to regard these converts’ behavior. Church Accommodations In 1585, Pope Gregory XIII granted a special concession to those slaves who were married “pagans” when they were captured and taken I would like to thank Eugenio Menegon for pointing out this reference to me. Such occurrences were very common as to merit a theological discussion among the Dominicans on how to deal with the legitimacy of the marriage between a Chinese convert and a local woman, after it was discovered that the former had been married to a Chinese wife prior to his marriage with the latter (Resolucion 1887, case no. 1). 44 Echoing Riccio’s assessment of the Chinese converts in Manila, Agustin de San Pascual, a Franciscan friar who lived in both China and Philippines in the late seventeenth century, described them as only desiring baptism for the benefit of marrying local women and obtaining a patron. He regarded the converts in Fujian, on the other hand, as being more sincere (Wyngaert 1936, 434). 42 43
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away to far away places to remarry upon conversion. The Catholic Church allowed this convert to marry a local Catholic woman provided that either the first “pagan” wife consented to the second marriage, or that it could be established that it was impossible to locate her (Garcia 1973, 75). But even if it was possible to contact her, if doing so would take a long time, then the second marriage could be granted. Furthermore, even after the first wife decided to convert after the second marriage had been performed, the second marriage remained valid. The concession in part states that any of them [i.e., the slaves] may legally contract marriage before the Church with a Christian, and remain in such a marriage, once it is consummated, as long as they live, even though their pagan spouse be still alive, without asking the latter’s consent or waiting for his or her answer, on condition that the impossibility of duly notifying the absent or the answer not being received within the given time be established at least in a summary and extrajudicial way. And We [i.e., the Pope] decree that, though it should hereafter appear that the former spouse was hindered by a just cause, and could not declare his or her will, and even that at the time of the marriage the absent was converted to the faith, this marriage shall never be rescinded, but shall be valid and firm, and that the children born from them shall be legitimate (from Populis of Gregory XIII, quoted in Garcia 1973, 75). [Italics mine]
Although this concession was first granted to slaves, a number of Church theologians, such as Father Gainza in 1860, opined that it also applied to the Chinese in the Philippines. He argued that although the concession was granted specifically to the slaves of Angola, Ethiopia, and Brazil, the papal decree also stated that it was to take effect in “other regions of the Indies,” hence, including the Philippines. In fact, as early as 1831, this line of reasoning had been officially followed and upheld by the theologians of the University of Santo Tomás in Manila (Garcia 1973, 75–6; cf. Phelan 1959, 62). Another way by which the Catholic Church tolerated the bigamous practices of the Chinese was to use the Pauline Privilege. According to this principle, the first marriage, though valid, may be dissolved and the second one allowed to be celebrated if certain conditions were met. The conditions were: • That both parties of the first marriage were unbaptized when married; • That one of the parties became a convert;
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• That the unconverted party refused to convert and disparaged the religion of the convert, or prohibited him/her from practicing it. That this privilege was applied in the Philippines can be clearly seen in one of the cases discussed in the Resolucion de los Casos Morales published in 1887. A moral case was given in which a Chinese convert who married a local Catholic woman was found to be at the same time married to an infiel woman in China. The resolution offered was to invoke the Pauline Privilege, and to consider the second marriage as valid if the conditions were met. This was how the ecclesiastical court adjudicated the case involving the Catholic Chinese Julian Gonzalez Ong Yinchu, whose brother Juan Legarda Ong Yinsin opposed his impending marriage to Gerarda Guevara. The court suspended his license to marry Gerarda, pending the investigation that Julian’s Chinese wife, who was in Manila at the time of the investigation, was willing to undergo conversion. If she was, then Julian could not marry Gerarda (GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307131).45 Thus, while the Catholic Church had a general policy prohibiting the practice of polygamy, it also had to adapt its own policies to the local situation.46 The desire of the Catholic Church in the Philippines
45 The ecclesiastical court ordered the parish priest of Binondo Fernando Sainz to interpellate Julian’s wife Uy Tan if she desired to convert to Catholicism. Julian, naturally, argued that his brother Juan and Uy Tan were unjustly conniving to stop him from marrying Gerarda, pointing out that Uy Tan, while professing her desire to convert, agreed only to do so in her pueblo natal (birthplace), thus reflecting her insincerity in converting. He also argued that she would not be a good Catholic mother to the children that they would have, and for the court not to force him “to live in perpetual liaison” with a woman who who was so different from his own heart, belief, and aspiration that it would be impossible for them to have “peace at home” (GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307131). Unfortunately, the records do not indicate how the case was resolved. In imperial China, divorce was recognized, and involved a man drawing up a xiushu (休書) or “document of withdrawal” done in duplicate, with one copy given to each party. In many cases, the man simply deserted his wife. Article 116 of the Qing legal code lists grounds for divorce, including the failure to bear a son, failure to serve her parents-in-law, and “talking too much” (The Great Qing Code 1994, 134–5). A man could also have his wife officially strangulated if he filed a comlaint against her for striking or cursing his paternal grandparents or parents (The Great Qing Code 1994, 134). For more information regarding divorce in imperial China, including grounds for obtaining it and conditions that could nullify it, see Witke 1971, 191–2 and The Great Qing Code 1994, 125–312. 46 In fact, the code of canon law was not codified until 1917, although much of it was based on earlier laws, like the Papal decretals. In other words, although canon law prohibited polygamy, this law was not systematized until 1917. Thus, before this
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to convert the “pagan” Chinese at all cost may have influenced them to follow the concession granted in the decree of Gregory XIII and all other adjustments made by the Catholic Church in relation to Chinese converts when adjudicating cases involving intermarriages between Chinese men and local women. As Benedicto Corominas, O.P. wrote in 1873, On the one hand, while it is bad for the women of these islands to get married with them [i.e, the Chinese] because of [the latter’s pagan] customs and because many [of them] go back to China, [thus] abandoning here their wives; it is even worse, on the other hand, to allow the Chinese to corrupt everything and bring scandal because they are not married to their wives (quoted in Garcia 1973, 48 n. 141).
In other words, rather than have them live consensually, the Catholic Church resorted to granting the Chinese baptism and having his relationship with a local woman solemnized in the Church to avoid showing what it deemed as an immoral act to other people. Furthermore, it seems that the Catholic Church did not thoroughly investigate whether the Chinese applicant had contracted a marriage with a woman in China, or whether this person was truly “soltero” when declaring his civil status. Thus, it was possible for someone to declare himself as soltero, even if he was married in China. An example can be seen in Cu Unjieng’s case. When he served as a witness to the testament drawn up by a man named Ty Chiulo on the night of 12 October 1900, he was identified as soltero (RMAO GH 1900, 829, tomo 7, no. 1128). However, we know from his own testament that at the time he was married to Ong in China (see also Chapter 8). Moreover, as Riccio noted in the seventeenth century, the Catholic Church believed that some good could come out of these intermarriages. The reason he gave was that “the sons of these converts [i.e., the Chinese mestizos] were such true Christians that they would oppose their fathers in matters pertaining to religion, as it has been shown to happen in various occasions” (1667, f. 235v). Another possible reason for why the Catholic Church was lax toward the implementation of its marriage policy was that many friars depended on the Chinese for economic benefits or assistance. Wealthy Catholic Chinese often donated money toward many of the
period, the Catholic Church’s laws were not applied equally to every place. I would like to thank Rene Javellana, S. J. for this information (see also Garcia 1973).
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Church’s projects and charities. Furthermore, many friars invested in the businesses of the Chinese, or use their “establishments” as a “depository” for their money, at the time when there were no or few banks (Macleod 1910, 3). Due to this economic dependence and close financial relationship with the Catholic Chinese, especially those who were merchants, the Catholic Church (and the Spanish authorities) might have overlooked many of the familial practices that the Chinese observed, including bigamy or polygamy (Macleod 1910, 4).47 Thus, in the light of the Church adapting its policies to suit local (both of the Chinese converts’ and their own) needs and realities, we may be able to place the practices of these Chinese Catholics and their behavior in a broader perspective. For while certainly some kind of economic or pragmatic consideration might have been involved in the Chinese converts’ decision to marry local women of the Philippines under Catholic rites while maintaining another family in China, they did so because the Catholic Church also condoned it.48 Moreover, the local wife or partner tolerated it. Macleod writes, The Filipina [i.e., Chinese mestizo and indio] wife had married him with her eyes open; she knew why he visited China; he was kind to her and give her everything she asked for; she therefore had nothing to complain of. And neither did she complain . . . (and) seemed quite content in looking after her domestic affairs (1910, 4–5).
While the observation of this outsider might have not been completely accurate, there is some ground to think that such unions benefitted the “Filipina wife” too. According to Wickberg, Chinese mestizas preferred marrying Chinese men (even when married to a Chinese wife) due to the economic position of the latter ([1965] 2000, 33; cf. Amyot 1973, 130–1).49 Furthermore, there was no legal impediment or disincentive under the Spanish colonial regime for Chinese mestizas to marry the Chinese. As will be discussed in further detail in Chapter 6, a Chinese mestiza marrying a Chinese did not lose her Chinese mestiza clas47 According to Macleod, the Protestant clergy during the American colonial period also turned a blind eye toward these practices (1910, 4). 48 This practice, of course, was not exclusive to the Chinese in the Philippines. In colonial Batavia, for example, Chinese traders also often had wives and families in both Java and China (Blussé 1988, 168). 49 In 1902, A. Burlingame Johnson, an ex-U.S. consul assigned in Xiamen, wrote that once a “Chinaman” married a local woman, he became the financier and virtually the guardian for all his wife’s relations (Letter of A. Burlingame Johnson 1902, NARA BIA File 370-69).
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sification. It was also decreed that although indio women remained under their classification when marrying a Chinese, they nevertheless became classified as Chinese mestizas after the death of their Chinese husbands, consequently increasing their social status. Church Interventions But there were other reasons why the Catholic Church in the Philippines was not pleased with its earlier policy of encouraging intermarriages between Chinese men and local Catholic women. As mentioned previously, it frowned upon the practice of Chinese Catholics leaving for China and abandoning their wives. Therefore, a legal disposition was established in 1849 that “required the consent of the [local] wife before a Chinese could leave the Philippines,” although this law was largely ineffective (Garcia 1973, 48; Comenge 1894, 191 n. 1).50 The Catholic Church also attempted to prevent the Chinese men from bringing the local women to China, a practice that “was not uncommon,” as noted by Monsignor Nozaleda at the end of the nineteenth century. An example can be seen from Joaquin Barrera Limjap’s case. When his second wife Vicenta Hong Ong died on 4 March 1886, Joaquin, at the age of fifty-five, married Agustina de los Santos on 8 January 1887, less than a year after Vicenta’s death (RMAO EBC 1887, Vol. 863, tomo 1, no. 72). In 1887, during what could have been the last time he would depart for China from the Philippines, Joaquin gave Agustina the choice of either accompanying him back to China and staying there until his death—after which she could decide to return to Manila—or not accompanying him to China at all. This arrangement is spelled out in his second testament. It is stipulated in the seventeenth clause that he was leaving to his wife Agustina de los Santos a house numbered 7, situated in Plaza de Santa Cruz, plus the quantity of 2,000 pesos. She would also be inheriting these if she agreed to accompany Joaquin on the trip that he was taking to China and to continue by his side. But in the event she refused to accompany him to China, or if she decided to return to Manila, she would then only inherit the money,
50 Apparently this requirement was a way that the Spanish State and Catholic Church tried to protect the interests of the local wives. Similar abuses were reported regarding Peruvian wives, who followed their Chinese husbands under the impression that they would be treated well, but ended up begging in the streets (see McKeown 2001, 71).
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and the house would become part of Joaquin’s general goods to be distributed to his other heirs (RMAO EBC 1887, Vol. 863, tomo 1, no. 72). Apparently, she did accompany him back to China, for in a document drawn up four years later by Mariano and Jacinto Limjap stipulating how Joaquin’s inheritance was being partitioned among his heirs, it is indicated that the house belonged to her (RMAO EBC 1893, Vol. 869, tomo 2, no. 213). During my archival research at the Archdiocesan Archives of Manila, I also came upon a case of a Chinese mestiza who had been brought to China and died there. Her name was Honorata Rivera and she was married to Francisco Lim Chonco y Agcoa (AAM RPB 1899–1912, 30.C.7, f. 14). Since some of these women who were brought to China stayed there for a lengthy period of time, it is therefore not surprising that their Chinese mestizo children offspring would be born there too. For instance, José de Marcaido Yu-Chuidian, the son of Antonio Yu-Chuidian, a Catholic Chinese from the Philippines, and of Dolores Chuaquico, a Chinese mestiza, was born in the city of Xiamen. When in the Philippines, he was classified as “mestizo sangley,” as gleaned from his marriage application to marry Alejandria Urbano, an india from Santa Cruz, a district in Manila near Binondo (AAM IM 1890–1891, 20.A.2). According to reports sent by missionaries from Amoy (Xiamen), women and their children who were brought to China led miserable lives. The women were treated “only as concubines and sometimes even as slaves” while their children “were not allowed to practice their religion” (Comenge 1894, 194; Garcia 1973, 48). Some women resorted to suicide as a means to escape their misery (Comenge 1894, 194). In an effort to ensure the quality of conversion in order to end this practice of Chinese men bringing Philippine wives to China, Monsignor Nozaleda decreed on 8 April 1892 that all applications for baptism from the Chinese should only be sent to the Archbishop’s office. The decree also restricted the jurisdiction of parish priests over this matter (Comenge 1894, 195–7).51
51 The decree stipulated, among other things, that for a Chinese to acquire baptism, he should undergo five years of Catholic catechism and learn this in Spanish. Furthermore, baptisms were only to be administered once a year, during Easter, and that no marriage license was to be granted to anyone not “naturalized” as a Spanish subject (Comenge 1894, 195–6).
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Chinese Practice of Polygyny/Polygamy Just as Church accommodations and inability to implement its policies, as well as the consent or collaboration of the Chinese mestizo or indio wife or partner, can help explain the practice of these Catholic Chinese of having more than one “wife,” Chinese marriage customs also can contribute to our understanding of such practice. From the standpoint of Qing dynasty marriage practices, polygyny (in which a man takes a wife legally and takes a concubine later on) was allowed (Bernhardt 1999, 161–2). Furthermore, it would not be implausible to think that Chinese wives back in China did not in principle oppose their husbands’ marriages to another woman from another country. That this practice might have been not only tolerated from afar but also accepted can be inferred from one of the cases cited earlier involving Lucio Isabelo Limpangco. On November 2, 1895, when Lucio executed his will before the notary public Numeriano Adriano, he also attested that he had two children with his deceased wife Francisca: Fernando, who was ten years old, and Maria Angeles, six years of age, both of whom were “studying in China.” It was possible that they were sent there to be placed under the care of his first wife Chu-Cua. This practice of handing over the children of a concubine to the care of the first wife, especially if the concubine died, was common in China. In fact, the principal wife was regarded as the “formal” mother, since ritually, children by the concubine were children of the first wife.52 However, it could be possible too that her relations with her stepchildren were strained, or at best distant (for more discussions, see Bernhardt 1999, 161–78; Watson and Ebrey 1991, 239–44).53 Thus, from the point of view of a nineteenth-century Chinese, the practice of taking another wife overseas was regarded as falling within the norms of Chinese social customs.54 Moreover, it might have even been acceptable for males to marry women from a different race. For instance, McKeown writes that primary wives of Chinese migrants 52 I would like to thank Charlotte Furth for pointing this out to me. Conversely, when the principal wife died the concubine often assumed the role of the matriarch, and thus became responsible for the children of the former. 53 I do not know, however, as of this writing, how Chinese law treated or classified the “wives” overseas. 54 For a study on the marriage practices of Chinese in the United States during the same time period, see Ling 2000.
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from South China may have “encouraged the marriage of their husbands to local women,” since this would ingrain in these men’s minds their responsibilities and lessen their propensity to gamble, “visit prostitutes, or otherwise dissipate their earnings in the recreations common to men without families” (2001, 71; cf. Omohundro 1981, 122).55 Other scholars have noted that the Chinese wife accepted this second “marriage” as long as she was the first and primary wife (Omohundro 1981, 122; cf. Amyot 1973, 132; see Chapter 8).56 Finally, to have concubines was a status symbol for a wealthy Chinese merchant. Intermarriage as a Desirable Practice and Adaptive Strategy Marriage or intimate relations with a local woman, whether one had another wife or was betrothed to one back in China, can be described as one of the flexible or adaptive strategies of Chinese merchants. Other scholars (e.g., Omohundro 1983; Dannhaueser 2004) have noted some of the advantages gained by Chinese merchants in marrying local women in post-World War II Philippines, and such benefits were not lost on their predecessors. Aside from the emotional, physical, and psychological benefits of having someone to cohabit with in a land outside of one’s own, there were some financial or material benefits in forming a domestic relationship with a local woman. As mentioned earlier in the chapter, a wealthy wife or querida (mistress) could help one’s business, either by way of bringing in her own money or helping create a vast network of people beneficial to one’s livelihood, such as sons she would bring to the marriage and her male relatives. Furthermore, a Catholic marriage, requiring one to obtain baptism, and hence the opportunity to participate in the compadrazgo system, provided someone with a wider network of influential friends or prospective business partners.
55 Omohundro writes that even the “hometown Chinese families” sometimes encouraged the taking of local common-law wives by their men who traveled to the Philippines (1981, 17). 56 There seems to be exceptions to this practice. Joaquin Barrera Limjap, for instance, married Policarpia Nolasco in 1855. Their first son, Mariano Limjap, a Chinese mestizo, is listed in the family genealogy as the first in line among Joaquin’s sons. His “half-siblings” whose mother was a Chinese woman followed Mariano in the genealogical line. Therefore, it is possible that Joaquin had married Policarpia before marrying a Chinese woman, whose name is unknown.
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Thus, many wealthy or prominent Chinese had local wives. In 1855, Joaquin Barrera Sy Limjap married Policarpia Nolasco (b. 20 February 1831–d. 9 January 1875), a Chinese mestiza from Binondo. According to her baptismal certificate, Cipriano Alvares, an Augustinian friar, baptized her on 23 February 1831, at Tondo. Her father was Ciriaco Nolasco and her mother Eustaquia Suares, both of whom belonged to a barangay under a certain “D. Alverto.” Policarpia was reported to be from a rich family, who must have provided Joaquin with some form of financial assistance. When she died in 1875, she left her son Mariano 91,095.70 pesos, as well as another 64,341.20 pesos as mejora (the amount of money larger than the share a legatee by law had a right to) (The Independent, 4 March 1926; cf. Boncan y Limjap 1997, 15). I presume this was the money that she herself had inherited from her family, and not from Joaquin, for her death predated his. From this union also came two sons, both of whom became very active in the various businesses that Joaquin established, whether in the Philippines or elsewhere (see Chapter 6 for more details). Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, another prominent Chinese merchant, married the Chinese mestiza Luciana Limquinco, with whom he had four children: Engracio, Alejandra, Catalino, and Paula.57 Luciana’s mother was Maria Ducepec, herself a Chinese mestiza. Maria bequeathed to Luciana all her properties and other assets, as Luciana was the only heir, and made her executor of her will at the same time.58 Thus, for Chinese merchants living in colonial Manila, marriage with local women was one of the key factors to success. Conclusion: Rethinking the Socio-Religious Practices of the Chinese Merchants and Their Families Summing up the main points of this chapter then, we see that many Chinese merchants, in order to further their economic interests, converted to Catholicism and married or cohabited with local Catholic women, even if they had another wife in China. This led to the Catholic Church
57 Wickberg erroneously identifies Engracio as Ignacio ([1965] 2000, 201 n. 81). His Chinese name was Chen Ziyan, but was commonly referred to as Chen Gang (陳綱). 58 Maria left a testament dated 14 September 1882, in the year she died (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 481).
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in colonial Manila to regard them, when compared to other colonial subjects such as the Chinese mestizos, as “insincere” converts. However, we also see that the Catholic Church tolerated or accommodated such practices. Moreover, in discussing customary marriage practices in China, and in examining the socio-religious practices of certain individuals, we are able to arrive at different conclusions about their behavior. From these, we can avoid setting up divisions between the Catholic Chinese and the local Chinese mestizo or indio Catholics, as Catholic missionaries were wont to do. Moreover, other scholars (e.g., Ileto 1979; Rafael 1993b) have demonstrated that “Filipino” Catholics during the Spanish colonial period were just as likely to appropriate the symbols of Catholicism, or to practice their faith the way they deemed meaningful. Certain practices associated with the Chinese were also practices observed in Philippine indigenous society. For instance, when we examine the marriage practices of the locals in the Philippines, we find that they too practiced polygamous marriages and other “scandalous” or “immoral” habits such as concubinage. Furthermore, Catholic Chinese were not the only ones who chose to go against Church teachings regarding marriages; Catholic Chinese mestizas also did (or at least participated in performing such practices), as the example of Cu Unjieng and his Catholic Chinese mestizo wife Dominga Ayala shows. This chapter, therefore, invites readers to rethink the socio-religious practices of Chinese merchants branded as “insincere” or “unfaithful.” Viewed from their perspectives, to the Chinese convert being “Catholic” meant different things and offered valuable benefits, a topic that we will revisit in the next chapter. Furthermore, it goads us, in light of the seemingly popular practice of wealthy Chinese merchants to form unions with local women, to question how such practices were part of attempts by Chinese merchants to maintain their patriarchal hold, not only over their women, but also their children, in what Aihwa Ong (1998, 140) describes as “family governmentality . . . conditioned by wider political economic circumstances,” a topic that I will touch upon again in the remaining chapters of the book. After marriage, what kind of families and lives did the Chinese merchants and their partners build? What were some of the socio-cultural practices they observed, and what do these say about Manila colonial society at the turn of the twentieth-century? These are some of the questions the following chapter seeks to address.
CHAPTER FIVE
FAMILY LIFE AND CULTURE IN CHINESE MERCHANT FAMILIES Introduction What happened to the newlyweds after their marriage? What kind of households did they set up? How did these Chinese merchant families negotiate the differing socio-cultural traditions—Hispanic, Chinese, Catholic, Buddhist, “local”—that each party brought into the marriage and into their private domain? This chapter aims to describe the familial practices of these Chinese merchant families—from the way they raised their children to the distribution of the family inheritance. The picture described here is necessarily general and incomplete, and is meant to give the reader a glimpse, and not a template, of what family life might have been for these families. Living Arrangements An early twentieth-century American wrote about the practices of local newly wed couples in Manila: Few couples live alone. If they do not remain with the wife’s parents, probably the parents of both the wife and the husband will come to live with them, while brothers and sisters and cousins and other relatives, to the third and fourth degree, join the new household (Devins 1905, 125).
If the newly wed couple chose patrilocal residence, then they would likely be living with the man’s relatives, the man’s father if he was still around and had not returned to China to retire, his siblings, cousins, and “half-siblings” or townsmen from China. Most likely, his mother did not live with them, except when she came on occasional visits. If the newlyweds lived with the woman’s family, i.e., matrilocally, then chances were, the Chinese husband would be, if his wife was a Chinese mestiza, living with a Chinese father-in-law, his Chinese mestizo
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or indio mother-in-law, and his wife’s other relatives.1 Whether the man’s own immediate relatives, a sibling, a parent, or a cousin, would join his wife’s household depended on a number of factors. If his father was a close friend, business associate, or townsmate of his father-inlaw, then it was possible that some of his own kin would be living with them. Whatever the familial arrangements were, most newlyweds, as indicated by the writer above, lived in extended family households that could be made up of relatives of both parties. Place of Domicile In terms of the location of their residence, they most likely resided in the district of Binondo, with some living in Santa Cruz or Quiapo. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, a popular street on which a number of wealthy Chinese merchants and their families lived was Calle Anloague in Binondo.2 In the 1870s, the Boncan-Yap family listed its residence on this street. Three decades later, the Chinese merchant Francisco Manzano Yap-Tico, and the Chinese mestizos Narciso Molo Agustin Paterno y Pineda, Mariano Limjap, and Pedro Sy-Quia lived here (see RMAO EBC 1902, Vol. 878, tomo 3, no. 182). Merchants from other countries such as the American businessmen William Kline and Harold Ashton also lived on this street which was also lined by the offices of local and foreign firms, and on its northern end, the Binondo Church, where members of the Chinese merchant families attended mass. Thus, as noted in Chapter 2, nineteenth-century Binondo was a very cosmopolitan place (fig. 6). Many Chinese, Chinese mestizos, indios, Spaniards, and other Westerners lived side by side, visited each other’s homes, went to the same parish, and did business with one
1 In contrast, familial arrangements in Minnan were mostly patrilocal. Women left their towns or villages and lived with the extended families of their husbands, which could consist of the men’s senior relatives (great-grandparents, grandparents, parents), siblings, relatives, and brothers’ families. 2 The word comes from the Tagalog word “anlouagui,” which stands for “carpenter.” The street was named as such because there used to be many carpenters who built houses made of wood, cane, and nipa living there (Retana 1921, 34). Today, the street is called Juan Luna (Ira and Medina 1977, 50; cf. Ocampo 2000, 81).
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Figure 6. Binondo scene, courtesy of José Maria A. Cariño and Sonia Pinto Ner. Reprinted from Cariño and Ner 2004, 210–1.
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another.3 An attractive place to live in, it was the commercial and cultural center of Manila, where people went to shop in the hundreds of stores or bazaars found in the district for the latest fashion accessories and other items imported from Europe and other parts of the world. Cafés, bakeries, candy-shops, and restaurants could also be found in the streets.4 Residential Set-Up Chinese merchant merchant families usually lived in two-story structures, consisting of a “tienda or store in the ground floor, and the living quarters or residence at the back or at the upper storey of the house” (De Viana 2001, 190).5 In a document that she drew up together with her husband, Chinese mestiza Maria Escolar Co-chayco y Carreon described the three tiendas or sari-sari stores that her father, the Chinese merchant Pedro Escolar Co-chayco, owned as being located in the houses of property owners (RMAO GH 1897, Vol. 826, tomo 3, no. 378). More affluent Chinese merchants like Carlos Palanca Tan Quiensien maintained other residences apart from their stores. These houses, called casas de materiales fuertes (houses of strong materials) due to the solid material used to build them, usually consisted of a first floor made of brick or stone, and with the second made of wood (Hamm 1898, 46). For those who could afford it, the wood used for floors were termite-resistant and durable ones such as “ebony, teak, ironwood, mahogany, or lignum-vitae” (Hamm 1898, 48). For roofs, the preferred material was corrugated and galvanized iron, which, aside from being insect-proof, was an “impregnable defense against typhoons and
The walled city of Manila, known as Intramuros, was the exclusive turf of Spaniards (De Viana 2001, 47). 4 De Viana writes “There were drugstores, cafes, saloons, carriage shops, bazaars, doctors’ clinics, auction houses, lending houses, banks, candlemakers’ shops, liquor wholesalers, grocery stores, consulates, confectionery shops, music stores, hatmakers, foundry shops, gold, silver and blacksmith shops, bootmakers, clockmakers, maritime companies, public scribes, estancos or stores selling government monopoly goods such as stamps, matches and tobacco, warehouses, hardware stores, an ice factory, photography shops, hotels, inns and many more” (2001, 49). After 1880, there were also tobacco stores. 5 Inside the shop was an altar where incense sticks were burned in porcelain bowls before Chinese gods (De Viana 2001, 190). 3
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tropical rainstorms” (Hamm 1898, 48–9). Some wealthy families, however, chose roof tiles, despite a post-1880 decree banning its use (Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 127). As for windows, a foreigner in the nineteenthcentury described these as being made of sliding panels with capiz shells, which were “sufficiently transparent” to allow some sunshine in without causing much glare (Arthur Hall, cited in De Viana 2001, 165).6 Below is a “typical” design of a wealthy resident that could be applied to Chinese merchant families in Binondo. The ground floor of the bahay na bato [house of stone] had a vestibule called the zaguan.7 In the zaguan, one could find the family carruaje or the santo’s andas used for processions. Other houses had storage areas in the zaguan area like a wood shed or leñera. In the ground floor’s service yard was the pozo or deep well, and the space for the algibe or water cistern . . . In the zaguan was the escalera or staircase that led up to the principal floor of the house. The second floor usually had a caida or antesala, the [sala] proper, cuarto or private room of the family, which could be one or more, the comedor, or dining room and the cocina or kitchen. Affluent families had a room for the criados or muchachos, which were situated near the service area or kitchen. The kitchen was always connected to the azotea or service yard. The azotea, in big houses, had a staircase, which led down to the service area in the ground floor . . . [These] families, sometimes, had a mirador or tower built in their homes. Some houses were even three storeys high, with the entreseuelo comprising the second storey. Some houses . . . had an interior courtyard or patio. This patio allowed light and air to ventilate the structure (De Viana 2001, 160–1).8
In general, the design was mixed indigenous, Spanish, Mexican, and Chinese. One scholar describes the houses of Chinese merchants as generally conforming to a “modified Chinese plan, with a central court” (Skinner 1996, 62). The different pieces of furniture found in these houses were either locally made or imported from other countries such as England, France, or Germany (Hamm 1898, 63).9 Within or around the sala or
6 Zialcita and Tinio write that the use of shells was inspired by Chinese practice of using translucent instead of transparent windowpanes (2002, 161 and 229). 7 The floors of the zaguan were granite slabs from China (Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 127). 8 For a more detailed description of the kind of materials and design of a wealthy household, see Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 91–109 and 125–8. 9 For a list of the furniture and furnishings that could be found in the bahay na bato, see Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 133.
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caida, which was often used for entertaining friends and guests, could be found Chinese screens, porcelain jars, musical instruments such as a piano or harp, statuettes on slender pedestals, paintings, marbletopped tables, gilt-framed mirrors, fine chairs, and Parisian globe lamps hanging at the vestibule and the stairs (Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 93–5). An altar, possibly located against the wall of the master’s bedroom, displayed crucifixes, different santos, and statues of Virgin Mary, although, as described in Rizal’s El Filibusterismo, Chinese gods could also be found displayed alongside Christian icons (see Religious Upbringing). Many bedrooms had the four-poster bed (called “Ah Tay,” named after the Chinese furniture maker who invented it), stately chests and closets, mirrors, and other pieces of small furniture. Childbirth Practices When giving birth, a woman used the services of a midwife. Wealthy families in Manila might also prefer the use of licensed midwives. Starting in the late 1870s, the College of San José began offering courses on midwifery. Since complications arising from childbirth—on the part of the infant that could include the binding of the placenta around its neck, thereby causing asphyxiation, convulsions, syncope, or apoplexy; and on the part of the woman hemorrhage that could result in death—were fairly common, someone with a license earned from taking courses, or at least someone with reliable experience and good reputation, would have been the preferred choice for those who could afford to pay extra money for better care and services. Local herbs were used for the speedy recovery of the mother. Baptism Babies born in the late nineteenth century had a fifty percent chance of survival. Because of such high infant mortality rates, babies were usually baptized a few days after being born. A padrino or madrina was always present, depending on the sex of the child. In other words, men played roles as godfather for male infants and women as godmother for female infants. For their seven children, Ignacio Jao Boncan and Francisca Yap invited the following people to be their godparents (AAM RPB 1876, 30.A.2, ff. 1875–1876B):
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• Catalino Francisco (b. 25 November 1866); baptized two days later by Valentin Fernandez in Binondo Church Godfather: Francisco Reyes Uy Piecjo • Fermina (b. 24 November 1868); baptized the next day by Teodoro Crozon Godmother: Pascuala Yap • Juliana (b. 8 February 1871); baptized three days later by Marcos de San José Godmother: Cirila Ochangco • Emiliano Blaz, (b. 3 February 1873); baptized four days later Godfather: Angel Lim-Caypon • Calixto (b. 14 October 1874); baptized three days later Godfather: Felipe Navarro Lim Suntan • Marcelo Liborio (b. 23 July 1875); baptized two days later by Marcos de San José Godfather: Fernando Yriante Dy Sico • Antonio Guillermo (b. 24 June 1877); baptized three days later by Francisco Mortera Godfather: José Tin-Quiongco (AAM RPB 1877 30.A.3, f. 1877C) A cursory examination of the names of the padrinos and madrinas indicate that they were either Christian Chinese (in the case of the padrinos) or Chinese mestizas (in the case of madrinas). They seem to have also been drawn from close kin (in the case of madrinas) or people from the same socio-economic background. For instance, the madrina of Fermina was Pascuala Yap (a.k.a. Pascula Gonzeles Lim), who was the sister of her mother Francisca. The padrinos of the male offspring were probably business associates of Ignacio, and who, from the fact that they were baptized Christians, were probably of higher socioeconomic standing. Gender Preferences for Children Was there a preference for sons or daughters? It is quite known that among Chinese families in Qing dynasty China, sons were preferred to daughters, as they ensured the continuation of the patriline and performed the necessary rituals for one’s health, comfort, security, and prosperity in the next life. Among indigenous Christianized peoples in the Philippines, there seems to have been no particular preference, as
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families were bilateral and, up until the Claveria decree of 1848, the use of surnames, let alone the passing on of surnames, did not matter among them. Furthermore, among families in China, the wealth of the family was passed on to male heirs, whereas in the Philippines, both men and women could inherit (see Inheritance). Therefore, while there was preference for sons, it might not have been as important as in Chinese society, especially if the Chinese merchant had sons with his wife in China. Nevertheless, sons from the Philippine-based wives were welcomed since these provided “extra hands” in managing one’s business or businesses. Naming Practices After marriage, a woman usually kept her maiden name, but could also add a “de” and then her husband’s surname, so that, like the character in José Rizal’s novel Noli Me Tangere ([1887] 1996a), Victorina de los Reyes, who was married to a Spanish doctor named Tiburcio de Espadaña, called herself Victorina de los Reyes de Espadaña. Upon the death of her husband a woman could assume her “maiden name among her friends,” and in public, go by the name “widow of,” so that in the example above, the character’s name would be Victorina de los Reyes viuda de Espadaña (Devins 1905, 124 5). Children in the Chinese mestizo household would have several names. The first would be their pangalan or “name,” and could either refer to their first names or to their full names (Gealogo 2006, 2). Children usually received their first names when they were baptized, and thus, these names were referred to as binyag, a Tagalog term to mean “baptism,” and which, in this case, when used as a moniker, meant “baptized name.” Binyag names were usually those of Western saints and therefore Hispanic. These binyag names were also often used in public or official settings, as when signing legal documents. However, in the domestic or private realms, people assumed a palayaw, taguri, bansag, tukso, and tawag—all of which can be generally referred to as “nicknames.” These were used depending on the social context, e.g., on the relationships between those giving, receiving, and using these names (Gealogo 2006, 5).10
10
For more information regarding these naming practices, refer to Gealogo 2006.
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Since the Claveria decree of 1848, all Christianized Spanish subjects in the Philippines had to adopt a surname, or an apelyido (in Spanish, apellido). Often, the Chinese mestizo offspring would combine the surname and personal names of their Chinese father to form their own. Hence, the surnames Cojuangco, Tantoco, or Lichauco that many prominent Filipino families bear today.11 The procedure for adopting such a surname was to combine the surname, the first name, and to drop the last the syllable of the first name, and add the suffix co (from the Mandarin Chinese word ge (哥) meaning “older brother”). The other two ways by which Chinese mestizo offspring formed their surnames were to either use only the Chinese surname (e.g., Lim, Tan, Chua); the Spanish surname of one’s mother, godparent or one’s father’s godfather; or the indigenous surname of one’s mother or godparent (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 32; Gealogo 2006, 11–2). In the last two instances this would help explain why many “Filipinos” today, even when they descended patrilineally from a Chinese ancestor, do not carry a “Chinese” surname. Kinship terms derived from Hokkien were also often used in Chinese mestizo households. Such terms were used to address elder siblings. For instance, the words used for different siblings in a Tagalog household were ate, ditse, sanse to refer to sisters in order of seniority and kuya, diko, and sanko to refer to brothers.12 The Hokkien equivalents of these words were (and continues to be) a-chi (阿姐), jī-chi (二姐), and san-chi (三姐) for sisters; and ko (哥), jī-ko (二哥), and san-ko (三哥) for brothers.13 Fathers would have been called by either their Tagalog term itay, Chinese term ba, or Spanish term papa, while mothers would have been
11 Skinner hypothesizes that the use of this surname, which later became associated with “Filipinos,” became increasingly popular in the late nineteenth century, and signaled the “impending demise of (the) creolized culture” (1996, 63 n. 36). However, in my own research of baptismal records, particularly those kept by Eladio Neira, O.P. in the Sanctuario de Sto. Cristo Parish in San Juan, Metro Manila, I found that the use of such surnames already was common way back in the seventeenth century (Archive of the Sto. Domingo Parish, Parián, tomo 2, Libro de Bautizos, siglo XVII, 1626–1700). Moreover, not all Chinese mestizos “Filipinized” their surnames. In so far as my research shows, the earliest entry of a surname with “co” dates back to 1649. I also observed that in the eighteenth century, these surnames tended to only have two syllables, e.g., Liangco, Coco, Hico, Chanco, Tico, Sianco, Quenco, and Chinco (Archive of the Sto. Domingo Parish, Parián, tomo 2, Libro de Bautizos, siglo XVIII, 1710–1734). 12 Tagalog is the language spoken by those living in Manila and its surrounding provinces. The word is also used to refer to those who lived in these places. 13 For more Chinese-derived Tagalog words, see Manuel and Beyer 1948.
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addressed as either inay (Tagalog), bú (母 Hokkien), ma (Mandarin) or mama (Spanish). Paternal uncles would have been addressed as peh (伯, or bo in Mandarin) for older uncles (i.e., older than one’s father), but this term was combined with the order of their birth, so that the Hokkien appellations a (阿), jī (二), san (三), sì (四), gō (五), làk (六), etc. for first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, respectively, when combined with pe as in a-peh (阿伯) would then mean “first uncle.” For younger patrilineal uncles, they would be referred to as chek (叔, or shu in Mandarin) with the rank-order terms a, jī, san, etc. appended to the term, thus a-chek, jī-chek, san-chek, etc. Aunts on the paternal side would be addressed as ko (姑; or gu in Mandarin), together with the rank-order appellation, whether older or younger than one’s father. Terms for the siblings of one’s mother were: (for older and younger uncles) kū (舅; or jiu in Mandarin ); (for younger sisters) î (姨; pronounced similarly in Mandarin).14 Again, rank-order terms would be appended to these to denote seniority of these uncles or aunts. In more Hispanicized households, the Spanish terms tio (for uncle) and tia (aunt) would be used. For older relatives on the paternal side, these Hokkien terms would have been used: thài-kong and thài-má (太公 and 太媽 for great-grandfather and great-grandmother, respectively); and a-kong and a-má (阿公 and 阿媽 for grandfather and grandmother, respectively). For older maternal relatives: these terms could be used: (in Hokkien, Tagalog, or Spanish) thài-gōa-kong (太外公), lolo sa nunso, tatarabuelo and thài-gōa-má (太外媽), lola sa tuhod, tatarabuela (great-grandfather and grandmother, respectively); gōa-kong (外公), lolo, and abuelo and gōa-má (外媽), lola, and abuela (grandfather and grandmother, respectively).15 In China, the term used by children of concubines to refer to the primary wife was má (媽), since she was considered their mother. It is not known how this practice was translated in the Philippine context, but most probably the children of the local wife might have addressed the Chinese wife as an aunt, either in Hokkien, Spanish, or Tagalog.
14 Other Tagalog affinal terms derived from Hokkien include: inkong, impo, and inso (Ang See 1990, 48). 15 Note that in Tagalog, the terms for great-grandparents and grandparents are the same whether on the paternal or maternal side. There were certainly terms used for other relatives, such as cousins, but it is not within the scope of this work to list all of them.
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Ethnic Classification and Citizenship of Children Unlike today’s legislation on citizenship in most countries, particularly where the principle of jus soli is followed, male children of Chinese merchants did not follow their fathers’ ethnic classification. Instead, as defined by Spanish colonial law, they were classified as Chinese mestizos, even after several generations (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 33; Robles 1969, 77).16 However, as will be discussed in Chapter 6, both male Chinese mestizos and indios were still able to change their classification for taxation purposes. In Chapter 3, I pointed out that, starting in the 1840s, a Chinese could apply for Spanish citizenship. However, whether his minor children acquired the same citizenship is not clear, as can be seen in the case of Ignacio Sy Boncan and his children. Ignacio’s Attempts to Change His Children’s Legal Identity Soon after Ignacio became a Spanish citizen, he sent a petition on 25 January 1876 to the Archbishop of Manila for changes to be made on the baptismal certificates of his children, to the effect that they be considered as “Spanish descendants” (AAM RPB 1876, 30.A.2, ff. 1875–1876B). The matter was sent to the ecclesiastical court to decide whether the petition was to be granted. On 18 February 1876, the fiscal of the court rejected Ignacio’s petition, on the grounds that “in the Royal Decree of 16 July 1875, it was not stated that the naturalization was to be enjoyed by the children, nor was it transmittable, and that it was not the court’s duty to determine the races of people” (AAM RPB 1876, 30.A.2, ff. 1875–1876B). If, however, the fiscal ruled, Ignacio’s request was to indicate on his children’s certificates that he was granted Spanish citizenship, then there was to be no objection to this. Following this decision, the Vicario Capitular and Ecclesiastical Governor of the Archbishopric of Manila Juan Perez y
16 In a document I found at the RMAO, someone by the name of Simeon Conte Lim Liongco was listed as mestizo de sangley while his parents, Lim Liongco and UyQuim [Niu], were both labeled as infieles, and judging from their names, were Chinese (RMAO Bautismos Binondo 1814–1895, Bundle 3, S7). Was it possible then that those born in the Philippines of Chinese parents were also classified as mestizos de sangley? Or did Simeon himself choose to be classified as such?
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Augulo17 ordered the parish priest of Binondo to record on the margin of the baptismal certificates that “Don (Ignacio Jao Boncan), father of the children respectively contained herein . . . has obtained Spanish naturalization of the 4th class by the Royal Decree of 16 July 1875” (AAM RPB 1876, 30.A.2, ff. 1875–1876B). When his youngest son Antonio was born in 1877, Ignacio made the same request and it was approved. It is not difficult to imagine why Ignacio wanted his children’s identity be changed from “Chinese mestizo” to “Spanish.” As Spanish citizens his children would enjoy the benefits of Spanish citizenship. As will be discussed in Chapter 6, there was also a social status attached to being “Spanish” (and to being identified with Europe for that matter), if not by blood then by classification or identification. We also know that one descendant of Ignacio Jao Boncan claims that his greatgrandfather changed his name to “Boncan” partly to identify with European nobility (see Chapter 3). While the sources cited above seem to indicate that Ignacio failed in his request for the Catholic Church to change the legal classifications of his children as found on their baptismal certificates, we know from other sources that his children did later become officially classified as “naturalized Spanish.” For instance, when his son Marcelo Tomás (born 21 December 1889) applied for a marriage license to marry Cipriana Yu-tengco, he submitted a baptismal certificate that identified him as “Español naturalizado de carta clase” (naturalized Spanish of the fourth class) (AAM IM 1927, 20.E.14). Religious Upbringing More often than not, children of Chinese mestizo households were baptized and raised Catholics. In terms of the kind of religious upbringing these children would have, it seems that the mothers, who were most likely to be Catholics themselves, had the most influence (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 20). But this does not mean that the Chinese mestizo households were completely Catholic. The Frenchman Jean Mallat noted in 1846 that the Chinese in Manila “have in their houses painting and some kind of [Buddhist] altars, although they do
17 The identity of this person needs to be corroborated by further research, as the spelling of his name in the document is unclear.
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not profess the religion of Buddha and they are all Catholics” ([1846] 1994, 339). In El Filibusterismo, José Rizal describes the walls of the living room in the “Chinaman” Quiroga’s house as a “mix-up,” with the following objects: lithographs of effeminate Christs; the deaths of the Just Man and of the Sinner made by Jewish houses of Germany to be sold in the Catholic countries . . . (and) Chinese prints on red paper representing a man seated, of venerable aspect with a calm and smiling face, behind whom stood his servant, ugly, horrible, diabolical, threatening, armed with a lance with a wide cutting blade ([1891] 1996b, 129).
Rizal goes on to say that the “Indios call [this ugly man] Mohammed, others, Santiago or St. James,” stressing that the “Chinese do not give a clear explanation of this prevalent duality” (Rizal [1891] 1996b, 129). Wickberg hypothesizes the man seated as Guangong (關公) or Lord Guan, a Chinese warrior-turned-deity considered by many Chinese as lucky. The “ugly” man behind him may be Zhang Fei (張飛), one of the heroes of the Peach Garden Oath, and popular among many Chinese in Southeast Asia (Wickberg to author, e-mail communication, 9 January 2003).18 Thus, in these Chinese mestizo households, even if the Chinese fathers had converted to Catholicism, it was very likely that members of these households practiced a mixture of Catholic and Chinese rituals, as described later in this chapter. Rethinking the Chinese Catholic Converts In Chapter 4, I have indicated how several accounts, especially those made by missionaries and outside observers, often described the Chinese converts as “insincere.” Chinese converts supposedly became Catholics merely out of pragmatic reasons, i.e., to gain a padrino who was an influential person in society upon whom they could rely for material benefits, and to be able to marry a local woman who could help them in their businesses. While this might have been true in many cases, this did not preclude the existence of some converts exhibiting 18 Another reason why Wickberg thinks this man seated is Guan Gong is his association with Santiago (cf. [1965] 2000, 193). Both Guan Gong and Santiago are known for their assertiveness and heroism. Consequently, non-Chinese like José Rizal may have associated Guan Gong with Santiago. I would like to thank Edgar Wickberg and John E. Wills, Jr. for suggesting this to me.
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behavior that would have otherwise been regarded as devout. For instance, Joaquin Barrera Limjap was a tertiary of the Dominican Third Order. Secular members of the Third Order of St. Dominic, who could either be married or single, “live their lives like others of their profession, but . . . privately take up practices of austerity, recite some liturgical Office, and wear some symbol of the Dominican habit” (Knight 2008). When he drew up a testament in 1881, and later on in 1887, Joaquin stipulated in both testaments that after his death, his body was to be shrouded with the habit of Santo Domingo and that it was to be buried in La Loma Cemetery, where Catholic Chinese were buried (FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 1, no. 202, S-507–16; EBC 1887 Vol. 863, tomo 1, S234B–40B). But even though Joaquin was baptized a Catholic as early as 1852,19 he remained a devotee of the Buddhist religion, as reflected in his act of donating money to the Zuixianyan (醉仙岩; Drunken Immortal Grotto) temple in Xiamen (see Chapter 3). An inscription carved on a stone tablet in the temple states that Joaquin, along with several others from Hong Kong, contributed “two dollars” to this temple in the fourth year of the Guangxu period (1878).20 Furthermore, a discussion of the religious practices and views of the people in Minnan might help us better understand and avoid using simple black-and-white (and often moralistic) assessments of their behavior in the Philippines. The people of Minnan believed in a variety of “religions,” including those that involved worshiping nature, trees and plants, local deities, and ghosts; Confucianism; Buddhism; and Daoism.21 Chinese religions are often polytheistic, and among their believers in the Minnan region,
19 Mariano Santiago, the parish priest of Santa Cruz, baptized Joaquin on 15 December 1852. Joaquin was twenty years old at the time. His birthplace was listed as Quanzhou (Chan Chiu), and godparents were Fulgencio Barrera, a Spaniard from Europe who was also a marine captain, and his wife Joaquina Caldes de Barrera. Interestingly, he named himself after his godmother, instead of his godfather. José de San Agustin, a Dominican priest in charge of administering to the spiritual needs of the Chinese belonging to the San Gabriel parish, certified Joaquin’s Catholic indoctrination on 8 October 1855. Joaquin was examined in “his own language” (AAM IM 1855, 17.D.11, f. 5). 20 Joaquin must have been in Hong Kong at the time. 21 There have been interesting discussions on whether Buddhism, Confucianism, or Daoism can be considered “religions,” however, the topic is beyond the scope of this book. For more on this discussion, see Ahern and Wolf 1974, especially the essay by Maurice Freedman.
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the most popular gods are the God of Earth (Tudigong; 土地公), Lord Guan (關公), the Goddess of Mercy, and Mazu (媽祖). The God of Earth is also called the “Principal God of Blessings and Virtues,” who is in charge of the welfare of local populace and surveillance of the behaviors of residents. Lord Guan is also the God of War and the God of Protection, while the Goddess of Mercy or Guanyin (觀音) is a Buddhist goddess in charge of delivering and saving all beings. Mazu is also called the Sacred Mother in the Heaven and she is considered as a goddess of protection for those at sea (Chen 1998, 207).22 People from Minnan who traveled overseas used to burn incense to Mazu before leaving for the Philippines, or elsewhere. Finally, another popular god is Pún Thâu Kong (本頭公; or “Bentougong” in Mandarin), whom people believe to be someone who joined Zheng He’s voyage to Southeast Asia, and died and was buried in Jolo (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 193–4). In worshiping these gods, temples were built and found in the different villages in Minnan. Lineages, broken down into branches or segments as discussed in Chapter 1, also worshiped gods or deities in the gongma (公媽) hall, i.e., the hall of lineage-segment ancestors. Within households, deities were worshipped in the main hall. As in lineage halls, various kinds of gods—depending on the choice of individual families—were worshipped in these family halls. It would not be too implausible to say that most of the Chinese who went to the Philippines and later converted to Catholicism continued to believe in these gods, based on the understanding that Chinese religions are polytheistic. Their “mixing” of Christian and Chinese gods to worship could be ascribed to what other scholars call “religious syncretism.”23 But would not using “syncretism” as a way to describe their behavior, from the Catholic monotheistic perspective, beg the question: does this not prove that Chinese converts could never be “good” Catholics? How can we reinterpret the behavior of the Chinese converts without resorting to an either-or proposition, and toward a more nuanced and non-Eurocentric way? I propose to do this by
22 The town of Putian in Fujian province is considered the cradle of Mazu culture, where shrines had been built to honor and venerate her. 23 Ang See writes that among the Catholic Chinese in the Philippines today, “religious syncreticism” is quite common. As it was during the Spanish colonial period, in the houses of many of today’s Chinese Catholics one can find Catholic, Buddhist, and Daoist images placed side by side (1990, 56).
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relating some of these practices that had often been criticized by Catholic missionaries and Western observers to some of the cosmological worldviews of the Chinese. The Padrinazgo System and the Chinese Concept of Ghosts Earlier accounts and assessments made by outside observers often pointed out that Chinese merchants who converted to Catholicism mainly did so out of opportunism, i.e., to use the padrinazgo system in order to gain an influential (often non-Chinese or Spanish) patron whom they could rely upon for material assistance. However, we can view this practice from another perspective that might provide us with a broader understanding of why gaining a patron was important to a Chinese. And this is by examining the Chinese concept of ghosts and its comparison to foreigners or nonChinese, sometimes called “white devils.” In China, elites who ran or controlled lineages and other associations such as sworn brotherhoods discouraged people from dealing with “barbarians.” However, outsiders offered opportunities not readily available within more familiar relationships. In this sense, the relationship of men with ghosts is a more appropriate metaphor to describe Chinese relations with non-Chinese than the relations of men and gods (McKeown 2001, 126; cf. Ahern 1982).
Although distinctions between ghosts and gods were often blurred, gods were associated with “bureaucracy, order, and civilization of the Empire” while ghosts lay in the opposite realm (McKeown 2001, 126). However, this very alienation from the restrictions and violence of imperial order meant that ghosts could also be more approachable and easy to deal with than gods, sometimes providing favors that would be difficult to obtain elsewhere. These favors could be obtained through the establishment of formalized and predictable relationships of exchange (McKeown 2001, 126).
In order to appease these ghosts, then, one worshipped them, lighting up incense, and offered them food and other gifts. Similarly, in befriending the “white devils,” one then gained access to wealth and power. Seen in this context, the gaining of a patron in the person of an influential Spanish official or civilian, or—as what a nineteenthcentury observer in Manila pointed out as the word used by the Chinese
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to refer to an indio or Chinese mestizo—a “brown devil” (Hamm 1898, 135), or the cultivation of a relationship with a Spanish friar, who, in the nineteenth century, wielded more influence than his civilian counterpart—all these could be interpreted as a behavior not simply motivated by practical, earthly concerns, but also influenced by spiritual or cosmological understandings of the world. Another way to understand the “syncretic” practice of Chinese converts believing in both Chinese and Christian gods at the same time is to examine the Chinese concept of gods. Chinese Gods, the Heavenly Bureaucracy, and Gods as “Shen” (神) or “Spirit” The pantheon of gods in Chinese religion lies within a hierarchy analogous to the imperial hierarchy (Wolf 1978). As McKeown points out, Chinese worship can be seen as an extension of imperial order beyond the limits of the terrestrial bureaucracy or as a process of learning the kinds of procedures needed to interact with bureaucrats in the world of men (2001, 123).
Furthermore, while the hierarchy itself of these gods remains stable, the identities of the gods who filled the positions were often disputed and subject to local interpretation, as were the meanings of rituals used to worship them. The gods most often considered to be of greatest efficacy were officially recognized, but not quite orthodox enough to be completely identified with the heavenly bureaucracy. They were often female gods, like Guanyin . . . and Mazu . . . They were both flexible in response to human demands and well connected in the celestial bureaucracy, and thus well suited to act efficaciously as mediators between the world of men and the underworld (McKeown 2001, 123–4).
This was the reason why the Virgin Mary was very popular among the Chinese in the Philippines, whether converts or non-converts, for she was considered as one of Guanyin’s or Mazu’s manifestations (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 193). Since the Catholic Church pointed to her as one of the most effective intercessors between the believer and her son Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary was considered one of these efficacious “gods.” For instance, many Chinese venerated the Virgin of Antipolo, the Nuestra Señora de Buen Viaje y de la Paz, because she was considered “a protector of travelers to whom many miracles have been attributed,” and identified with Mazu, who, as discussed above,
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was venerated in southeastern China as a patroness and protector of those who went to sea (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 193). Another popular Virgin was the Our Lady of the Rosary (La Naval). The Chinese celebrated her feast day with a procession through Binondo, led by the principalia (prominent members of the community) who carried “tapers in the proper style for such a religious procession, but with the accompaniment of Chinese musicians and fireworks (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 193). Finally, a discussion of how Chinese gods as shen (神) or “spirit” may help us understand the behavior of Chinese converts. Chinese gods are also referred to as shen, who are seen to be “intimately involved in the affairs of the world,” and “spirits associated with objects like stars, mountains, and streams (and who make) phenomena appear and (cause) things to extend themselves” (Teiser 1996, 35). Within the Chinese cosmological view of the world, all matter and inanimate matter move or operate according to the pattern of the yin (阴) and yang (阳) (Teiser 1996, 33). The shens are yang while the guis (鬼), “ghosts” or “demons,” are yin, and the world is filled with all sorts of guishen (鬼神), i.e., of all types of ghost and spirits, both “benevolent and malevolent, lucky and unlucky” (Teiser 1996, 35).24 Spirits are also addressed as stern fathers or compassionate mothers. Some are thought to be more pure than others, because they are manifestations of astral bodies or because they willingly dirty themselves with birth and death in order to bring people salvation. Others are held up as paragons of the common values thought to define social life, like obedience to parents, loyalty to superiors, sincerity, or trustworthiness. Still others possess power, and sometimes entertainment value, because they flaunt standard mores and conventional distinctions (Teiser 1996, 36).
To the Chinese Catholic convert, in the pantheon of gods or shens available in the world, the Christian “god” therefore (through the figure of Jesus Christ) and the array of Catholic saints were shens possessing It must be noted that the term shen involves two other meanings. One is shen as “human spirit” or “psyche,” or that “basic power or agency within humans that . . . must be cultivated” (Teiser 1996, 34). The other sense of the word refers to things “spiritual,” those possessing “unusual spiritual characteristics” such as albino members of the species; beings that are part-animal, part-human; women who die before marriage and turn into ghosts receiving no care; people who die in unusual ways like suicide or on battlefields far from home; and people whose bodies fail to decompose or emit strange signs after death (Teiser 1996, 35). 24
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of powers, and who, when venerated, could bestow upon their worshippers blessings and good fortune. It could be posited therefore that the worshipping of Christ and the veneration of different Christian saints (while continuing to believe in Chinese gods) was an extension of these religious views in China, i.e., of the necessity of cultivating close relationships with gods (or saints) of influence, so that spiritual benefits could redound to oneself and one’s descendants. Thus, (w)hile abroad, Chinese were rarely shy about worshiping any local god they thought would be responsive to them. Local gods had local jurisdiction and the connections necessary to grant local request. The role of efficacious gods brings out the importance of mediators in bridging these tensions. Few economic and social transactions in China could be carried on without the assistance of a third party whose reputation was well known to all concerned (McKeown 2001, 124–5).
In a Chinese mestizo household the children would therefore grow up in a household that combined both Catholic and Chinese religious practices and beliefs, not to mention some local “superstitious” beliefs such as the one described by a nineteenth-century writer. Locals, for instance, believed that when a person was sleeping, waking up, unconscious, or convalescing, one should not step over his/her body, because it was thought that the soul could depart from the body, and that to step over someone might, in the case of someone just waking up, frighten the soul out of the body, or in the case of someone sleeping, prevent the soul from returning (Hamm 1898, 137; cf. Atkinson 1905, 310). This belief seems similar to some beliefs in the Minnan region regarding the human soul as described by de Groot in the late nineteenth century. When a person died, it was believed that the person’s soul departed from his or her body. Furthermore, it was said that if a cat jumped over the dead body, the corpse would rise, for cats possessed a “very miraculous hair” at the end of its tail that could bring the soul of the dead back (de Groot 1892, 44). In the event that a corpse, “frantic with rage,” rose up, a broom was used against its breast to cool its wrath upon it, and by this vehement motion sink down into its inert state . . . (and) it is far from advisable to expose one’s self to the danger of being seized instead of the broom . . . [for] a horrible death in a ferocious embrace would be the inevitable consequence (de Groot 1892, 43).
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chapter five Discipline and Relationship with Father and Mother
Older members of the house commonly exercised discipline, and they were usually “obeyed by sons and grandsons” (Hamm 1898, 137). In a Chinese mestizo household, since the paternal grandparents would most likely be in China, the Chinese father played the role of the disciplinarian. Ignacio Jao Boncan was reputed to be one. When he was taking a siesta, those around him “used to walk on tiptoe and talk in whispers,” and when awake, “was more than strict and would not hesitate to use his cane” (Boncan 1986, 1). On the other hand, this stern behavior exhibited by Chinese fathers could be complemented by a deep concern over the welfare of their children. An outside observer in the nineteenth century wrote: To the Chinaman these half-breed children are generally as dear as those by his Chinese wife. He educates them carefully, and brings them up in his own business (Hamm 1898, 41).
From this statement we may infer that Chinese fathers played some role in raising their children, although they might be gone for periods at a time to return to China or travel to the provinces or outside the Philippines. Wickberg states that in child rearing, “the mother’s influence was decisive,” since, in the absence of the Chinese fathers who often returned to China, the mothers were left with the task of raising their Chinese mestizo offspring, whom they reared as devout Catholics and devotees of the Spanish culture (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 33 and 241). However, as demonstrated in this chapter, raising them as Catholic did not preclude exposing and requiring their children to observe “Chinese” religious and cultural practices within the household or during important life events. Language Spoken at Home in Manila The language spoken at home reflected the language spoken around Binondo, i.e., a combination of Hokkien, Tagalog, and Spanish, or as in the words of a German scholar, Chinotagalospanische (cited in Skinner 1996, 60 n. 26). Since growing up in the Philippines inevitably exposed them to Tagalog, the children of these Chinese mestizo households probably learned to speak Tagalog easily. Learning Hokkien or Spanish would depend upon the level of education and exposure to the language within the household, and in later life, to travels and business
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or professional dealings with other people. As will be pointed out in Chapter 6, Chinese mestizo children of wealthy Chinese merchants who participated in or took over their Chinese fathers’ businesses also learned to speak Hokkien when dealing with their fathers’ business partners. Food and Cooking What is considered today “Filipino” food, and no doubt eaten in Chinese mestizo households in the past, is heavily influenced by Chinese cuisine and styles of cooking. Thus, in these households, the food they ate would be a mixture of indigenous food such as sinigang (a tamarind based soup mixed with meat and other vegetables), laing (a spicy dish of taro leaves with coconut milk), pinais (steamed shrimp and coconut wrapped in banana leaves), pinakbet (mixed vegetables cooked with fermented fish), and kinilaw (raw fish marinated in vinegar); and Chineseinspired or influenced dishes such as lumpia (fried spring rolls), and dishes mixed or made with soybean such as tokwa, or tawsi, or with flour, rice or bean noodles such as miswa, miki, or pansit (Fernandez 2002, 183–4). Food from Spanish-Mexican traditions such as tamales (dish made of steam-cooked corn dough filled sometimes with meat), adobo (meat dish marinated in soy sauce, garlic, vinegar and other spices), and menudo (pork meat and liver dish mixed with various spices and vegetables) oftentimes completed the dishes set on the table.25 Several cooking instruments were considered “Chinese contributions” to the local kitchen, such as “siyanse (food turner), bilao (flat round food basket), lansong (bamboo steamer), bithay (bamboo sieve) and pohiya (ladle)” (Fernandez 2002, 183). It was not also unusual for some wealthy households to employ Chinese cooks, most probably from Macao. Clothing, Fashion, and Style Until the early nineteenth century, the Chinese were prohibited from dressing like the indios and the Chinese mestizos. This was to allow the
For more information on foods, fruits, and other food products or ingredients brought to the Philippines via or from Mexico, see Fernandez 1994, 183–200). 25
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Spanish authorities to distinguish the former from the latter. Moreover, baptized Chinese were required to cut their queue, a long braid of hair worn hanging down the back of the head, as a sign of loyalty to Spain and the Catholic Church, although by the late nineteenth century, the Spaniards stopped requiring the Catholic Chinese from cutting their queue, and they could dress any way they want (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 191). When wearing his “Chinese” garb for special occasions, a Chinese merchant wore “handsome robes of silk and satin, oftentimes richly embroidered” (Hamm 1898, 43). While in their stores they also wore “white silk trousers and camisa of Canton weave” (De Viana 2001, 64). On regular days, Chinese clerks wore “dark blue blouses and light blue baggy trousers,” and the very few Chinese women in Manila, when seen in public hidden behind the windows of half-closed carriages, would wear attires in “silk in all the colors of the rainbow” (Hamm 1898, 43). There is no clear evidence what the babies and children of these Chinese mestizo households wore. However, it would not be implausible for infants to wear clothes in the “Chinese” style, or at least, a variation of them. I base this hypothesis on a portrait from 1860 depicting the mother of Ignacio Jao Boncan. At her feet is a little boy, identified in the caption as “Ignacio’s son.” The painting portrays this boy as a “Chinese” boy, with a shaved forehead and wearing an outfit typically worn by Chinese children. If this caption is accurate, and if this portrait was done in the Philippines, possibly when Ignacio’s mother came for a visit, then the boy could be Catalino, the eldest son of Ignacio and Francisca (fig. 7). On the other hand, it seems that among Chinese merchant families, they dressed their daughters according to the latest fashion in Europe or in the West (fig. 8). The clothing for Chinese mestizos around the mid-nineteenth century was a combination of Spanish, indio, and Chinese influences, with their shirt being a knee-length camisa de chino (“shirt of the Chinese,” also later known as the “Barong Tagalog” or “shirt of the Tagalog”), which was worn with loose trousers and a European-style top hat while walking around with a European-type cane and wearing polished pointed shoes (Zaragoza 1990, 54). Sometimes, a “dark colored short tailor’s coat or jacket” was worn over this shirt (Hamm 1898, 43). Chinese mestiza clothing however, combined Spanish and indio influences. When in public, she wore a four-piece attire called a terno, which consisted of the “camisa, a short blouse with sleeves; the alampay
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Figure 7. Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan’s mother and son. Courtesy of Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas.
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Figure 8. Cu Unjieng, Dominga Ayala, and family in Fujian. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
or panuelo, a type of shawl worn over the camisa; and the saya, a long skirt, and finally the tapis, a short overskirt wrapped around the saya” (Zaragoza 1990, 52; see fig. 9). While both men and women owned at least an umbrella, women also had an “assortment of parasols” that was mostly locally made (Hamm 1898, 63). Women were also “passionately fond of jewelry and display . . . Every attractive piece of female ornament receives the greatest care and is transmitted by mothers to their children generation after generation” (Hamm 1898, 138). Education of Children A public school system in the Philippines was instituted in 1860 when a certain O’Connell became the Spanish minister for the colonies”
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(Stuntz 1904, 185). 26 In Manila, children around five years of age could start attending primary school. Schools were segregated according to sex, and were, for the most part, free. While in primary school, children learned, among other subjects, the Christian doctrine, reading, writing, Spanish grammar, “rules of deportment,” and “vocal music,” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 456). Following primary school, boys entered secondary school either at the Dominican-run College of San Juan de Letrán, the Jesuit-run Municipal de Ateneo, or the San José Seminary. In five years, they took courses like Spanish and Latin grammar, Christian doctrine, physics, chemistry, geometry, trigonometry, poetry, rhetoric, and philosophy (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 459). Although he passed the test to enter Letrán, Philippine national hero José Rizal attended the Ateneo. For those pursuing higher education, they earned a degree by going to one of the schools that offered courses in the following fields: law, philosophy, medicine, pharmacy, theology, physical and chemical sciences, agriculture, education, nautical studies, painting, sculpting, and engraving (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 456).27 The two better-known institutions of higher learning were the royal and pontifical University of Santo Tomas; where Rizal took some courses, and the Royal College of San José. As discussed in the next chapter, men from middle- and upper-class families like Rizal’s also had the option of going to Europe, especially Spain, to pursue higher education. Women who wanted to pursue some education attended one of the women’s convents found in Manila: Santa Isabel, Santa Catalina, Beaterio de San Ignacio, Santa Rosa, and Colegio de la Inmaculada. For those who wished to become teachers they went to the Escuela de Maestras, which was established in 1864 (Atkinson 1905, 376). Some schools also offered courses in midwifery. For men who wanted to become priests, they could either enter the Jesuit-run San Carlos seminary, or the seminary operated by the congregation of San Vicente de Paul (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899– 1900, Vol. 2, 474). Since entry to the religious orders was banned
According to Stuntz, Atkinson puts the date at 1863 (1905, 377). Access to higher education was granted in the late 1860s as a result of the educational decree of 1863 (Tan 1985, 53). 26 27
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Figure 9a Figure 9. Chinese Mestiza. Courtesy of The Geronimo Berenguer de los Reyes, Jr. Foundation, Inc. (GBR Foundation).
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Figure 9b Figure 9. Chinese Mestiza. Courtesy of The Geronimo Berenguer de los Reyes, Jr. Foundation, Inc. (GBR Foundation).
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for locals, all Chinese mestizos or indios aspiring to become priests belonged to the secular clergy.28 Some Chinese mestizo children, particularly males, were sent to China for their education (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 168).29 As mentioned in the previous chapter, Lucio Isabelo Limpangco’s two Chinese mestizo children with his deceased wife Francisca Cinco—ten-yearold Fernando, and six-year-old Maria Angeles—were both “studying in China” (RMAO NA 1895, Vol. 561, tomo 1, no. 4). If the family wanted a male child to go through the examination system so that he could become an official, then the child would have attended one of the academies in Quanzhou designed to train students for the imperial examinations. As part of the modernization process undertaken by the Qing imperial government in the late nineteenth century, schools in China started to offer courses taught in Western countries, in order to complement or replace the “traditional” emphasis on learning Confucian classics ( JJWSZLXJ 1993, Vol. 10, 112–3). Christian organizations and churches also started to set up schools in various parts of China, including the Minnan region, although these were mostly located in Xiamen. However, it was more probable that Chinese mestizo children brought to China attended one of the community schools or old-style private schools. One reason for this was that, upon reaching adolescence, these Chinese mestizo children were likely to return to the Philippines to help their fathers and other male kin in running the family business. I surmise that if a family sent a male child to the imperial academy, it would be the son born in China.30 As will be pointed out in Chapter 7, the first school created by the Chinese in Manila for their Chinese mestizo children was the Anglo-Chinese School. This school was established in 1899. Prior to this, Chinese merchant families either sent their children to China, or “conducted a tutorial method in their own homes through elders teaching them how to read in the original dialect and to write Chinese characters” (Tan 1972, 154) to impart them with a Chinese education.
28 For more information regarding the public instruction in the Philippines during Spanish times, see U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 456–76. 29 According to Wickberg, this was a reaction to the “anti-Chinese campaign that began in the 1880s,” which led to the Chinese community developing closer relations with China ([1965] 2000, 148). 30 If this hypothesis is true, it could be related to the historical practice of families in Minnan adopting male children for the benefit of biological sons.
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Adoptions Chinese merchant families commonly practiced adoption. During the period of commercialization in the late Ming period, adopting foster children grew out of the great need for “trade assistants.” Quoting from a gazetteer, Ng writes, (Fujianese) people used to have many adopted sons even when they had children of their own. The adopted sons would be sent abroad on commercial enterprises after they grew up [while the true sons were generally kept at home]. If they earned a lot of money, the family would marry them to several wives and concubines to tie them to the family. And they would be treated as their true sons (1983, 29; cf. Zheng 2001, 38).
For Chinese merchants in Manila who intermarried or cohabited with local women, having Chinese mestizo sons might have diminished the need to adopt foster children in China, although this did not stop families from continuing to adopt children in China and sending their China-born children (both biological and adopted) from joining their fathers and relatives overseas. The heavy taxation system during the Ming to Qing dynasties was also one reason why families adopted sons. The names of the adopted sons were then entered into the sacrificial registers so that they could help fulfill the family’s service levy responsibilities. As a result, taking somebody else’s son, even when this muddled the line of descent of the family or lineage, was not considered shameful (Zheng 2001, 38 and 301). But adopting a male child was not done entirely for economic reasons. For instance, in the event that there was no male heir to perform the necessary funerary or other customary rites to honor the ancestors, a male heir was to be chosen “from male relatives according to the closest mourning grade. If there was not one within the mourning grades, then another lineage member may serve” (Zheng 2001, 76).31 This practice, still observed today, is called “transferring posterity” (see Chapter 1).
31 Although many lineages forbade the adoption of nonconsanguinal kin, numerous families did so. One reason for this was the fear that birth parents with affinal ties could easily exert control over the adopted son. Thus, people without descendants preferred adoption of children from outside the lineage, and by the late Qing, “some lineages could not avoid acknowledging this fact and assumed less restrictive attitudes toward adoption” (Zheng 2001, 40).
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chapter five Size and Composition of Family
As noted earlier in this chapter, newly married couples lived in extended family households, or eventually did. Part of the reason for the presence of relatives outside of the nuclear family was that in local Philippine society a man was expected to help a brother, cousin, and even distant cousin upon the score of kinship. Thus every wealthy or well-to-do native family has any number of hangers-on who are treated, not as objects of charity, but as persons having a right to food, clothing, lodging and amusement (Hamm 1898, 137–8).
While these descriptions from a nineteenth-century observer pertained particularly to “locals,” such practices were certainly applicable to Chinese mestizo households. It would not be inconceivable that in these households relatives of the wife could be found living with the family, either as household help, or as part of the family. Thus, the children of these households often found themselves having an extended family. These households could also have “native slaves” or “servants” living within them (Hamm 1898, 41). These could consist of women who kept the house clean; a yaya (a woman to take care of infants and small children); the muchacho (also called criado, bata, or utusan) to run errands; and the mayordomo (head servant), who was, in some cases, a woman brought in from China. Some servants who did not live inside the house include cooks (always male) and the washerwoman. Sometimes, members of the Chinese “side” of the family, i.e., the “Chinese” wife, mother, sons (or the Chinese mestizo children’s “halfsiblings”), or relatives could also be temporary visitors or residents in the household. As indicated earlier in the book, a young man who had been away from his home village in China was expected to return some day to marry a Chinese woman, whom he could bring to the Philippines, although probably only on short visits. A successful Chinese merchant, once he had set a foothold on Philippine soil, also often sent for or, when returning from China, brought back a son, nephew, or other young male relatives who would then be trained as agents or helpers in his businesses. These young men would most likely end up staying at this merchant’s house, until they either traveled to the provinces or established their own residences. Rich Chinese merchants, however, could own more than one house and thus could place their Chinese relatives in one of these, especially when they wanted to spare the awkwardness or inconvenience of putting their Chinese and Philippine families together.
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Another “Chinese” person that could be part of their household was a mui-tsai (妹仔; a Cantonese word, lit., “little sister”), a young girl from China for use as either servant or concubine. They were often brought over from China when young, and could be a distant relative or someone adopted. Depending on the families, these young women were either treated as “servants” or part of the household. But their role was to help the family, and as they grew older, they were referred to as a-má, and could assume the role of the mayordoma of the house. They usually did not marry and spend their lives completely devoted to the family they were employed (Amyot 1973, 59–60). Male and Female Socialization in Manila In Minnan, socialization among boys and men occurred within one’s life experiences in one’s family, lineage, and village, along with certain institutions such as Confucian academies for those aspiring for office. Male socialization in Manila took place within the compadrazgo system, ritual or fictive kinship system, and other social networks tied to one’s own village, occupation/class, or lineage. In marrying a local woman, a Chinese merchant also expanded his social network to include his wife’s immediate family, friends, and relatives. Meeting places to socialize with other men transpired in one’s own home, in the institutional spaces of the gremios or Tribunal de Sangleyes, or in the church. The parks around Binondo, opium dens, gambling or prostitution houses, storefronts, restaurants, and streets also served as places where men could gather, play, banter, exchange ideas, argue, or fight. Despite the fact that the Chinese lived in districts where the Chinese population constituted an ethnic majority, she had various interactions with people of other ethnic backgrounds too. We have already seen how Chinese merchants could form partnerships with traders or businessmen from Europe or other countries (see Chapter 3). Chinese converts who were active in the Binondo parish like Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien or Joaquin Barrera Limjap would have been well known to Spanish Dominican priests. Lower-class Chinese, either as laborers, employees, or artisans in their work would also be exposed to people—merchants, creditors, or customers—of other ethnic backgrounds. Those who worked as agents of cabecillas and who often traveled to places where no or few other Chinese had ever gone
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before would have socialized and established close relations with some locals.32 For the wife of a Chinese, her socialization naturally occurred within her immediate and extended families and in the towns or villages where she grew up. Childhood friends or cousins could later on be requested to become her witnesses when she applied for marriage, or as madrinas for her daughters. If she were of higher socio-economic standing, she attended one of the exclusive conventos for women. As a good Catholic dalagita she would have to exhibit the behavior of a virtuous and pious young lady, which meant that she did not leave home without being chaperoned by other female friends or older members of the family (cf. Hamm 1898, 43). If she were a Chinese mestiza and of higher socio-economic standing, her position would have exposed her, albeit limited, to male and female acquaintances, associates, and friends of her parents. This meant, therefore, that she was also exposed to other Chinese, Chinese mestizo, indio, Spanish mestizos, Spaniards, or foreign people, especially if she grew up in Binondo. As I will point out in Chapter 6, if her mother was herself a Chinese mestiza and her father a Chinese, then she would have been socialized to her mother’s extended families (both Chinese and Chinese mestizo) and her father’s network of Chinese relatives and friends from the same village or occupation. Furthermore, following her own mother’s situation, if she married another Chinese, then she would have added to her already existing network of Chinese relatives from her parents’ the relatives of her husband.33 Conversely, her Chinese mestizo mother would have added an extended Chinese family if her daughter mar-
32 The extent therefore of close relations between the Chinese living in the provinces and the locals may have differed significantly from that of the Chinese living in urban areas, where there was a bigger Chinese population. Thus, there is a need for more studies on the Chinese outside Manila. Some studies have been made, notably Omohundro 1981; Reynolds and Reynold 1998; the different articles found in Ang See 1997b and Ang See 1999; and Dannhaeuser 2004. Larkin 1993 also has a section on the Chinese in his study of the Pampangans. Most of these works focus on contemporary times. 33 There was even a case where a Chinese mestiza chose to marry a Chinese twice. Juana So-Gueco of Binondo in her testament declared that she was married first to José Tan-Tiongco, with whom she had a son named Cirilo Tan-Tiongco. After José died, she married another Chinese by the name of Vicente Yu-tico, who at the time was in China and had been there for approximately six months (RMAO, FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, 7 November).
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ried a Chinese. Furthermore, her husband could also become part of his wife’s (female) world. A Chinese mestizo or indio wife would also know many other Chinese men who could be employers or co-workers of their husbands and godfathers to their children especially when she helped out in the business of her husband. Furthermore, if her husband had another family in China, the children of her husband’s wife or even the Chinese wife herself would have then be part of her social world. However, for most of her life a woman’s strongest networks probably were those initially based on childhood, kinship, and place ties. Leisure Time In the huge space of their home, children of Chinese merchant families found many games to play. They could play chase or hide-andseek, and parlor games such as sungka (a game played with cowry shells) and siklot (a game similar to jackstones but played with seeds, pebbles, shells or marbles). While boys could play in the streets the girls were not allowed.34 Occasionally, children were also brought out to watch shadow plays staged in a carrillo (an outdoor stage made of bamboo) (Zaragoza 1990, 49). On a hot summer day people went swimming and picnicking off the riverbank called Uli-Uli, located near Malacañang Palace, the residence of the governor general ( Joaquin 1999, 172). As mentioned earlier, Chinese merchants could congregate in some places to socialize with other men, either in one’s own or somebody else’s home, in the institutional spaces of the gremios or Tribunal de Sangleyes, or in the church. The parks or plazas in Binondo (Plaza Calderon de la Barca, Plaza San Gabriel, Plaza Vivac, and Plaza del Conde), opium dens, cockfighting pits, gambling or prostitution houses,35 storefronts, restaurants, and streets also served as places where men could gather and amuse themselves. 34 For more information on other types of games the children played, see Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 99. 35 Not much is known about the presence of Chinese prostitutes in Manila, although they were certainly some of them, as alluded to by the testimony of Neil McLeod before the Schurman Commission in relation to a query whether the Chinese brought their wives from China. He responded by saying that there were very few Chinese women, and that if Chinese women went abroad, they did so for “immoral purposes” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 35). Carlos Palanca Tan
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They could be reading (i.e., if they could read Spanish) one of the two Spanish newspapers published in the morning, El Diario de Manila and the La Oceania Española, and either one of the four in the evening: El Comercia, La Voz Española, El Español, and El Noticero (Hamm 1898, 128). There were very few bookstores selling “few cheap novels in French and Spanish, and a small assortment of prayer books and religious works” (Hamm 1898, 63). Those who desired better books imported them from Europe. For shopping, people visited the different stores located along the different streets in Binondo, particularly Calles Escolta, Rosario, and San Fernando.36 A Chinese desiring a shave and his nose and ears cleaned would visit one of the Chinese barbers, who also gave their clients a massage or a back rub (Mallat [1846] 1994, 339). As the day wore on, families, lovers, groups of friends, or individuals visited the Luneta Park or Bagumbayan, a popular spot for people to wander around in horse-drawn carriages (calesas) or by foot and enjoy the beauty of the sunset or listen to the music from a concert (Atkinson 1905, 210). At night, families could go to Escolta, popular for its well-lit walks due to glass bulb petroleum lamps installed along its sidewalks, or to a night market in Omboy located in Santo Cristo where people could shop and eat (De Viana 2001, 51 and 56).37 On Calle San Jacinto, plays were presented at the Teatro de Binondo, or at one of the other theaters that usually opened at “half-past eight or nine” (Hamm 1898, 45).38 For those who wanted to watch comedias chinicas (Chinese comedies) or Sarsuwelang Intsik (Chinese zarzuela) on a carrillo or in the theaters, a number of Chinese shows were regularly shown in Binondo and other districts. These shows were often Chinese operas.39 In the 1890s, a
Quien-sien, on the other hand, said that of the 2,000 Chinese women in Manila, some of them were “married,” some of them were “concubines—like second wives” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 220). Moreover, a study made by Camagay shows that Chinese men were involved either as clients or purveyors of local prostitutes (1995, 109–10). 36 In the 1890s, the two biggest Chinese bazaars were those owned by Chua Farruco, located at Calle Escolta, and that of Mariano Velasco Chua Chengco at Calle Nueva (De Viana 2001, 65–7). 37 These petroleum lamps were later replaced by electrical lighting in 1895 (De Viana 2001, 51). 38 For more information on the history of theaters in Manila, see LacónicoBuenaventura 1994, 5–25. 39 For more information on the comedias chinicas, see Lacónico-Buenaventura 1994, 24.
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permanent theater for Chinese plays had been built in Binondo and was called Teatro Quiñol Chino (Zaragoza 1997, 49). For longer leisure activities, they could take a boat ride on the Pasig River or on one of its tributaries. Vacation time could be spent in the hills of Antipolo, where the Limjaps and other prominent families had summer homes, or in Laguna. On Sundays, the family went to mass together at Binondo Church, although it has been pointed out by some observers that some Chinese fathers, albeit Catholic, did not go to church (Stuntz 1904, 275). But being of a Chinese-Catholic mixed background, the lives of members of these households were filled with celebrations of religious festivals, both at home and outside, that dotted the calendar of the Catholic Church. During the months of January and February, they also celebrated the Chinese New Year, and children and adults alike reveled in the sounds of “Chinese music, gongs, and crackers” that were played or lit up during the week’s celebration of this festival (Foreman [1906] 1980, 351). Sickness/Illnesses and Apothecaries/Chinese Medicine If someone in the family fell ill, he or she was brought to Chinese doctors who would feel the sick person’s pulse and then prescribe some medicine (Mallat [1846] 1994, 338). The type of medicine was usually some local or Chinese herbs that could be bought from one of the apothecaries in Binondo. Chinese medicine was also popular among Spaniards, indios, and people of other ethnic groups who lived in Manila (see Mallat [1846] 1994, 338).40 If a family member was afflicted with a major illnesses requiring hospitalization, the patient would have been brought to either the Hospital de San Juan de Dios or the Chinese hospital (Chongren yiyuan; 崇仁 醫院). The Chinese hospital was built specifically for the Chinese after a cholera epidemic struck Manila in 1879 and took a heavy toll on lives (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 151). In an attempt to separate the Chinese from the Spanish population, the Spanish government closed the Hospital of San Juan de Dios to the Chinese. In spite of this, they
40
220).
As of 1875, there were three Chinese drugstores in Binondo (see De Viana 2001,
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were still admitted. The Chinese hospital, which was located near the La Loma cemetery, was built not only because the Hospital of San Juan de Dios had been closed to the Chinese, but also because of the need for a hospital that used Chinese medicine. The Hospital de San Juan de Dios used Western-style medicine (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 185–8).41 Courtship and Marriage According to “Spanish etiquette,” a woman, especially a young one, was not supposed to go out walking without a chaperon, and if it was a male chaperon, it was preferred that he be a “brother, husband, or father” (Hamm 1898, 43). In terms of marriage partners, if a daughter’s Chinese father or parents did not arrange for her to marry another Chinese, then most likely she married a son of another prominent Chinese merchant family. Since Binondo society was not too big, and their parents probably knew each other, Chinese mestizo children grew up knowing one another and one another’s family. A Chinese father might choose to marry his Chinese mestizo daughter to a Chinese business associate, to a business associate’s son from China, or, if this business associate married a local woman, to the latter’s Chinese mestizo son. If such an arrangement occurred, then these two business associates also sealed their business alliance by marriage (cf. Amyot 1973, 65). Thus, it is not so surprising that wealthy Chinese and Chinese mestizo merchants were also connected by the marriages of their children or even grandchildren. For instance, as we will see below the Chinese merchant Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien’s daughter Alejandra Palanca married the
As a tool for conversion, the Dominicans opened the Hospital of San Gabriel in Binondo, which cared for the needs of both the Catholic Chinese and non-Catholic Chinese. It was opened simultaneously with the church in Parián, subsequently transferred to Binondo along with the church at the end of the sixteenth century, and eventually closed in 1766, at the time of the general expulsion of the Chinese. Wickberg writes that over time “this hospital’s treatment of Chinese patients resulted in 30,000 conversions to Catholicism” ([1965] 2000, 189). Money was taken from “community chest” funds provided by the Chinese themselves. After it was closed in 1766, the Dominicans continued treating the Chinese in their private homes, and by the late nineteenth century “Spanish agencies were providing no medical services specifically for the Chinese” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 189–90). For more information regarding the hospital, see Fernandez and Arcilla 1974. 41
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son of the Chinese merchant Ignacio Jao Boncan, Emiliano Boncan. Joaquin Barrera Limjap’s Chinese mestizo son Mariano Limjap married the Chinese mestizo daughter of Chinese mestizo Pedro Escolar Cochay and Ildefonsa Carreon, while their daughter Felisa married Marcelo T. Boncan, the grandson of Ignacio Jao Boncan and Francisca Yap, and son of Marcelo Boncan y Yap and Cibriana Yu Abella. In such arrangements, we can see that they observed social endogamy, i.e., marrying their children off to people within the same class. Sometimes, however, children, not wishing to follow the choices of their parents when it came to marriage partners, would decide to take matter into their hands, as by elopement, which, when it happened, often ended with the parents of the couple allowing them to marry in order to keep the name and honor of the families involved. A curious case involves the Chinese mestizo children of two prominent Chinese merchants, found in a document from the RMAO. The document is a notarized statement signed by Alejandra Palanca, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien; Emiliano Jao Boncan, the nineteen-year-old son of the deceased Ignacio Jao Boncan; and Francisca Yap y Lim, the mother of Emiliano and the widow of Ignacio. In the document Francisca states that, for the “security of the rights” of her son Emiliano, she is asking the notary public Calixto Reyes to record the following declaration of her daughter-inlaw (nuera) Doña Alejandra Palanca made before him: • That it is true that her marriage that was contracted with Francisca’s son was made freely and of their spontaneous will, without any coercion, or moral or physical coercion; • That it is true that she left the house of her father Don Cárlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien the morning of the seventeenth of May and went directly to the chapel of the Beaterio of Santa Catalina, where the wedding ceremony ended half an hour after she left her father’s house (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 2, no. 260, S411–3B). This act was made at the home of Francisca situated at 5 Calle Dasmariñas. What exactly did Francisca mean about securing the rights of her son Emiliano that prompted her to ask her daughter-in-law to make such declarations? Did someone else suspect that Alejandra was coerced into marrying Emiliano? Who questioned the whereabouts of Alejandra during those thirty minutes that she was away from her
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father’s house? Did she run away? Unfortunately, the document does not contain any more details to provide us with answers. But it can be inferred that the presence of a young woman (Alejandra) living with her and her son could be questioned, and that Francisca wanted to legitimate it in order to protect her son and her family’s reputation. Career and Economic Activities As seen above, Chinese mestizos could choose from different professions available to them as adults. Not all became teachers, doctors, lawyers, or priests. Some were taken into the businesses of their parents. And those who were often started out at a young age, helping out in the family business during their free time, and eventually becoming more involved until they became partners of their fathers’ businesses, or established their own. But it was not simply men who helped out in the family business. Chinese mestizo women, when married to a Chinese merchant, oftentimes participated in the business, had their own businesses, especially as proprietress, or when widowed, took over their husbands’ businesses. Commenting on the ubiquity of women involved in commercial activities, a foreign observer noted that (w)here family cares permit, the wife is often active in the business which bears her husband’s name. If he is busy in one part of the city, she may superintend the workmen engaged in the store or office in another part of the town. I have in mind one family of considerable wealth where the wife pays the two or three hundred workmen every week; not because she owns the property exclusively, but because it is considered proper for her to do so, and it is her contribution to the management of the firm. Among no other people of the East, it is said by those who have traveled extensively, is the position of woman so high as in the Philippines (Devins 1905, 125–6).
The writer’s statement about the position of women in the Philippines as being the highest in the “East” might be an exaggeration, but earlier accounts by outside observers do seem to suggest that women from merchant families were not isolated from the world of commerce. More detailed descriptions of Chinese mestizo men and women engaged in business will be given in the next chapter.
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Married Life Divorce seems hardly an option for many couples involved in intermarriages, since not only did the Catholic Church frown upon it, but also couples did not probably find compelling reasons to separate from each other, or were dissuaded from doing so. This, however, did not preclude incidents of Chinese husbands abandoning their wives, either for other women or after returning to China, as discussed earlier. In my research for adultery and divorce cases in RMAO, I only came across very few cases, and even far fewer cases involving the Chinese. The one case I found at the RMAO involving divorce between a Chinese and a local woman dates back to 1860–1861. On 5 April 1861, Estanislao Velasquez, the lawyer of an india named Isabel Villongco, filed in Quiapo before the alcalde mayor segundo (second provincial governor) a case demanding that his client’s husband, a Chinese by the name of Antonio Lim Yangco, be asked to pay his client an alimony of 10 pesos a month as well as the sum of 200 pesos to cover her meal expenses starting from 1854, the year that Antonio left for China and married his “second wife.” Isabel’s lawyer also demanded that Antonio pay his client’s litigation expenses. In his argument against the suit, Antonio’s lawyer Juan Bonifacio Bayubay called Isabel’s claims as “capricious and unjustified,” since she had not satisfactorily fulfilled the demands of her husband regarding her living arrangements after their separation, and that was—since she refused to stay at Antonio’s house, declaring that she felt unsafe there—to stay in a beaterio and to only come out upon his consent. He then proceeded to tell Isabel and her lawyer that only after she met these requisites would “his client provide alimony and other needs to her as the law demands” (RMAO Divorcios 1848–1899). Isabel’s lawyer counter-argued that she had been living only with her father who had been supporting her, and that Antonio knew that in spite of the fact that he had abandoned his wife, his client “always lived with the corresponding honor [befitting] to her state and with an irreprehensible conduct, as the whole town of Tambobo [Malabon] can attest” (RMAO Divorcios 1848–1899). He also stated that Isabel’s father could not continue supporting the shame (bochorno) suffered by his daughter. However, in asking for an alimony of 10 pesos per month for his client, Estanislao was ordered by the second provincial governor to provide legal proof of the wealth of Antonio, to which the former responded by pointing out that it was
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“the custom of those of (Antonio’s) kind, when settling permanently in these Islands, [to own a] retail store (of clothing) called ‘Mercaderia,’ and that without doubt Antonio (possessed) a wealth of between 10 to 12,000 [pesos] in order to establish such store” (RMAO Divorcios 1848–1899). Beyond this declaration, Estanislao could not provide any further legal proof since he claimed that it was impossible to state exactly the amount of money Antonio possessed “because in these Islands there (was) no system of statistics to show the wealth of those who live here,” unlike in Spain where in each ayuntamiento (municipal government) a book or record of wealth of each resident was kept (RMAO Divorcios 1848–1899). Furthermore, he argued that many rich people pretended in their exterior to be poor, thus making it impossible to justify how much a person owned. Subsequently, the second provincial governor ruled Antonio capable of paying alimony, but reduced the amount to eight pesos a month counting from the month of July 1861 up to the judgment of divorce. Antonio’s lawyer then contested the amount, stating that it was excessive and arguing that Isabel could live with a reduced amount of money. In order to support this assertion, he reminded the Court “that the native costurreras [seamstress], cigarreras [cigarette makers], and others who exercise this kind of livelihood” earned regularly every month from 3 to 4 pesos and that with such amount, one could “live honorably” (RMAO Divorcios 1848–1899). Antonio’s lawyer also claimed that the court should make sure that the alimony to be given was not to be used to feed other people. On 22 August 1861, the Escribania de Cámara de la Real Audiencia y Chancilleria de Filipinas (House of the Royal High Court and Chancellorship of the Philippines) supported the earlier ruling made that Antonio should provide support to Isabela from the start of that date when the case for divorce was filed (July 1861) up to the resolution of the case. With the resolution of the divorce occurring on 8 October, Antonio had to pay a total of 32 pesos to Isabel, covering the months of July, August, September, and October, but did not have to pay her the 200 pesos she had asked and her litigation expenses.42 Thus, we see here that individuals had access to divorce or to the annulment of one’s marriage, especially when one party committed adultery. However, because among many Chinese merchant families 42 One other case I found at the RMAO pertained to an “indio” by the name of Santiago Ramirez who filed a case against his wife having an illicit relationship with a Chinese named Joaquin (RMAO Adulterios 1885–1897).
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bigamy or polygamy was tolerated, if not accepted, the number of cases of divorce arising from “infidelity” or adultery might have been mitigated.43 A cursory examination of the documents in the Archdiocese pertaining to divorces shows that most cases involved disputes between locals and between Spaniards (GSU DSD 1874–1879, Reel 1357030). This does not mean, however, that jealousies or marital strife were absent, or that there was no opposition to such marital arrangements as seen in Chapter 4.44 In her study of Punjabi-Mexican couples in California, Leonard points out that, generally, their marriages were “happy,” or at least stable. She attributes this to certain factors, such as acceptance on the part of the Mexican wife of the other wife in India; and the couple being able to communicate in each other’s language, share the same material cultures, and respect and mutually support each other’s religions and religious observances (1992, 115–6). Can the absence or lack of numerous divorce cases involving “mixed” couples point us to a similar situation among Chinese mestizo households? Until further research reveals more evidence to the contrary, we can only speculate
43 In 1889, a new code “liberalized the divorce law,” so that other grounds for divorce, such as the husband inflicting violence upon the wife to force her to change her religion, were added (see Article 105, in Fisher 1947, 54). It should be noted that in this new code, adultery on the part of the wife was sufficient ground for divorce, but on the part of the husband, such was valid only when “public scandal or disgrace to the wife results therefrom” (Article 105, in Fisher 1947, 54). As to who could bring the action for divorce, only the “innocent spouse” could do so (Article 106, in Fisher 1947, 54). Nothing is specified, however, as to how alimony was to be paid, although from the case cited above, a wife could demand it from her husband. It also seems from the new law that, while it was easier for a husband to divorce his wife based on the latter’s adultery and not so easy for a wife since she could only do so if the adultery resulted in a public scandal or disgrace to her, the expanded grounds for divorce provided the wife with more latitude to initiate the action for divorce. Such grounds included, apart from the one just mentioned, the “proposal of the husband to prostitute his wife,” and “personal violence, or grossly abusive or insulting language or conduct” (Article 105, in Fisher 1947, 54). However, it should be noted that these articles form part of the new Civil Code of 1889 that was suspended (Fisher 1947, 28; cf. Chicote y Beltrán 1909, 39–40). The reason why this section on marriage was suspended was due to the opposition from “certain class influences (who) . . . were strongly opposed to the application of the formula of marriage which gave some slight intervention to the authorities of the State through the municipal judge of his substitute in the celebration of the canonical marriage (Fisher 1947, vi). Hence, it can be inferred that most of the laws spelled out under the Spanish Marriage Law of 1870 and pertaining to the rights, roles, and responsibilities of husbands and wives remained operational. 44 For more cases regarding marital disputes such as opposition to impending marriages and divorce cases, see AAM ESM and DSD; and RMAO Adulterios and Divorcios.
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that intermarriages or unions between a Chinese and a Chinese mestizo or indio wife were generally happy and stable. However, we should further investigate Spanish accounts and reports of Chinese mestizo and indio wives brought to China and being maltreated, and to what extent these were true and such incidents commonplace. Death and Burial Practices When someone died, black and yellow curtains were hung over the windows to announce the person’s death. These curtains stayed in their place until the end of the wake. The deceased were either placed inside a coffin in the sala (living room) or laid out on their four-poster bed. The wake observed went for two to three days, during which relatives, friends, and other guests would come and there would be much “drinking, eating, and quiet reminiscing” around the dead, while others played cards in another room (Zialcita and Tinio 2002, 122). After the wake a mass was said, followed by the burial in a nearby cemetery. The ceremony surrounding the burial of a Chinese Catholic merchant involved the combination of Chinese and Catholic burial rituals. When Vicente Romano Sy Quia, a rich Chinese merchant, died in 1894, his family gave him a Catholic burial (Felix 1969, 139). However, his Chinese mestizo grandson Tomás Syquia also performed the traditional Chinese funeral practice of dressing the dead: Tomás was made to wear nine silk suits that were later on used to dress the corpse of his grandfather.45 This practice was to reflect the son’s filial devotion to his parent, as in the ancient times, when a son was to show his filial duty
45 Overall, the number of suits worn by the dead should always exceed five, since the word “five” or wu, is a synonym for another Chinese character wu (誤) which means “involuntarily to bring disaster and evil upon others,” and thus needed to be avoided. Thus, “(w)ell-to-do people nearly always carry the number to nine at least, . . . (and many) . . . would feel ashamed to put on less than eleven, thirteen, or even more dresses (de Groot 1892, 65). The number of layers should be an odd number, since even numbers represent the Yin part of nature, while odd numbers represent the “opposite good elements” (de Groot 1892, 65). In dressing the dead, whether the person was male or female, or the father or the mother, the principal mourner, usually the eldest son, after being dressed in his appropriate mourning clothes, then had to put on “all the shirts, coats, robes and gowns destined for the dead” (de Groot 1892, 67). After a while, they were taken off the mourner and put on the dead. For more information regarding this custom of dressing the dead, see de Groot 1964, 65–8.
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to his parents by first tasting the medicine that his ill parent was to take. In the absence of a son, a grandson (as demonstrated by Tomás Sy Quia) performed the rite, and in the absence still of a grandson, the “wife or eldest daughter-in-law of the deceased” took the place (de Groot 1892, 68). In the just described ritual, in which the Chinese mestizo grandchild of a Chinese merchant was asked to perform the Chinese customary funerary practice of wearing the nine silk suits, an act commonly performed by the first son of the “Chinese” family, we can see therefore that, within—for lack of a better term—“dual families,” the sons of the “Chinese” wife were not necessarily the designated “first-in-line.” In the case of these dual families, the eldest male child or descendant of the Philippine wife could serve as the chief mourner, especially if the primary wife did not bear a son. Moreover, even if with the “Chinese” wife a man had sons, in some cases the eldest son of the “secondary” or Philippine wife could still be the chief mourner, i.e., if this son was considered senior to his Chinese half-siblings. This can be seen from the genealogy of the Limjap family. Joaquin Barrera Limjap (see Chapter 4) and his Chinese mestizo wife Policarpia Nolasco (b. 20 February 1831–d. 9 January 1875) were married in 1855, and had three sons; namely, Mariano, Jacinto, and Apolonio.46 Of these three children, Mariano and Jacinto survived to adulthood (RMAO FD 1881, 443, tomo 1, no. 202).47 Years after he married Policarpia, Joaquin returned to China and married a Chinese woman. This union produced several male children. In the Chinese genealogical record of the Limjap family, Mariano stands first in line and Jacinto fourth. The rest fall accordingly: • Lin Shanghu (林尚湖) or Valentin Lim-Siong O—second in the genealogical line48
Her godparent was Arcadio Santiago. At the time of her application to marry Joaquin, her parents were already deceased, and her eldest brother Mariano Nolasco gave the consent. Joaquin asked the following to stand as witnesses of his status and eligibility to contract marriage: Fernando José Calderon Lim Tongjin, José Lim Bugued, and Manuel Lim Cuanco. On the other hand, Policarpia asked the following: Petra Lajun, an india; and Juana Beltran, a Chinese mestiza (AAM IM 1855, 17.D.11, folder 5). 47 Apolonio died when he was six months old. 48 The names given here are spelled in pinyin Chinese, followed by the Hokkien version. Apolonio is not listed, although he must have been either eighth or ninth. It must be noted that shang in pinyin Chinese or siong in Hokkien was the generational name of these “Chinese” sons. 46
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• Lin Shangwen (林尚文) or José Lim-Siong Bun—third in line • Lin Shangya (林尚雅)—fifth in line • Lin Shanggang (林尚港) or Francisco Lim Siong Cang—sixth in line • Lin Shangqi (林尚七) or Antonio Lim Siong Chit—seventh in line • Lin Shangkui (林尚魁) or Lim Siong Que—tenth in line (RMAO EBC 1893, 869, tomo 2, no. 213; Luo to Boncan, 27 August 2001)49 Thus, Mariano, even though he was the son of a Chinese mestizo wife, was considered as the first male heir, and his important status in the family could be seen in the roles he played later in his adult life, as will be discussed in the next chapter. His case points to a phenomenon that, while there had been cases of Chinese men abandoning their wives and children in the Philippines, for some Chinese men they might have valued their Philippine-born just as equally as, if not more than, those they had in China, especially if these men had spent more time with these children in their adopted country than those they had in China. To repeat the phrase from the nineteenth-century writer mentioned earlier: “To the Chinaman these half-breed children are generally as dear as those by his Chinese wife” (Hamm 1898, 41).50 Some Chinese merchants who decided to retire in China were oftentimes also buried there (with some exceptions, as in the case of Joaquin Barrera Limjap). Funerals in Jinjiang or in the Minnan region could be grand and impressive, especially when involving famous officials and members of the gentry class. Such occasions often involved
49 In the Chinese genealogical chart just beneath the branch bearing Lin Shangkui’s descendants, it “. . . is alleged that the wife of Lim Cong Jap adopted Lin Shangkui after his death” (Luo to Boncan 27 August 2001). However, since the names of Chinese wives normally do not appear on Chinese genealogical records, I cannot ascertain the identity of this Chinese wife. Furthermore, Joaquin in his testament declared Lin Shanghu (second in line) and Lin Shangwen (third in line) to be adopted sons. It cannot be ascertained if Lin Shangya (fifth), Lin Shanggang (sixth), and Lin Shangqi (seventh) were also adopted, but probably they were not. 50 Corollary to Mariano’s status as first male heir, his Chinese mestizo mother Policarpia could have been considered the “primary” wife. If Policarpia’s case was the rule, instead of the exception, then a non-Chinese wife, or a woman outside of China who became the wife of an emigrant Chinese could assume this position by virtue of her marriage occurring before the marriage of her husband to a Chinese woman. In the absence of more studies, the current assumption is that the Chinese wife, regardless of when her marriage was performed in relation to that of the “foreign” wife, was the de-facto “primary” wife (see Chapter 4).
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minute and complicated rituals, and on the death anniversaries and religious festivals, abundant sacrifices were offered.51 Prior to the 1870s, the Catholic Chinese who died were interred in the Paco cemetery, while non-converts were buried in a place called Bancousay (Mallat [1846] 1994, 341). However, sometime during the early 1870s a Chinese cemetery was established in the northern part of Manila called La Loma. The cemetery got its start when a certain Lim Ong promised in a campaign when he was running for gobernadorcillo to buy land for the cemetery (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 185; Man Dy and Go 2005, 224). When he won he made good his promise, and he and his successors administered this cemetery. However, it seems that only the Catholic Chinese were initially buried here. I am making this presupposition from a petition that was sent by a certain Adriano Paterno Chio-Sontiang to the Archbishop Candido Ureta. In his petition dated 30 April 1872, Adriano, a Catholic Chinese living in Binondo, declared that he wished to transfer the mortal remains of his “very beloved father found in a niche of the General Cemetery of Paco” to a “tomb that (he) was constructing in the Christian Cemetery of La Loma” (GSU Exhumaciones 1850–1878, Reel 1357033).52 He further declared that he was transferring the remains of his father, the “Chinese Christian Don Antonio Alberto Chio-Gosiang,” due to a decree that prohibited the burial of the Chinese in Paco, and that the law required him to seek the permission of the Catholic Church to have his father’s remains exhumed, after which he could then obtain the license for reburial from civil authorities. In his letter of support for Adriano’s petition, the parish priest of Binondo indicated that the land in La Loma was “conceded or given by the Superior General of the Islands, and mandated blessed by the Excellency and Illustrious Señor . . . José Segui, upon which there had been just built a strong fence made of palm and cane (un fuerte circo de empalisada de palama braba y cana)” (GSU Exhumaciones 1850–1878, Reel 1357033).53
51 Descriptions of the elaborate customs and rituals involving death and burial practices in Minnan can be found in de Groot 1892. 52 Francisco Ong Machi made on 5 May 1874 a similar request to have his father José Castro Ong Chengco’s body exhumed and transferred from the “Cementerio general de Manila” to the “cementerio de Loma” (GSU Exhumaciones 1850–1878, Reel 1357033). 53 The petition was granted and the body of Adriano’s father was reburied on 28 April 1872.
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Then, in 1878, the cemetery expanded when the goberdorcillo Mariano Fernando Yu Chingco “bought a tract adjacent to the previous cemetery from the Provincial of the Dominican Order” at a cost of 14,000 pesos, with a temple called the Chong Hock Tong built at a cost of 33,980 pesos (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 185). According to Wickberg, the major function of this cemetery was to provide a place to bury the poor, so that by 1880, the “Chinese of Manila had a community cemetery” ([1965] 2000, 185). This expansion, therefore, was specifically made to provide a burial ground for the non-Catholic Chinese.54 In the section where the remains of Adriano Paterno Chio-Sontiang’s father were to be reburied was where other Chinese who became Spanish citizens (and therefore Catholics) were or were to be buried. Before he died, Joaquin Barrera Limjap stipulated in his testament that he wanted to be “buried in the La Loma cemetery and in the mausoleum (panteon) built on his property” (RMAO EBC 1887, Vol. 863, tomo 1, no. 72).55 When Ignacio Sy Jao Boncan died on 23 May 1889, at the age of fifty-five, his body was also interred in this section of the Chinese cemetery (Boncan 1986, 1; Boncan e-mail communication, n.d.). Today, this “Chinese” cemetery in La Loma is now known as the Manila Chinese cemetery. In one section of this cemetery can still be found the tombs of Christianized Chinese dating back to the nineteenth century, such as those of Ignacio Jao Boncan and Vicente Romano Sy Quia (fig. 10 and fig. 11).56 This La Loma cemetery often 54 I would like to thank Ivan Man Dy, Teresita Ang See, and McAndrew Chua for their contributions on the history of the Chinese cemetery. 55 However, he was not immediately buried there after he died. He was initially buried on the island of Gulangyu, an island off Xiamen, after he died on 31 January 1888, at the age of fifty-six. Another document states that he died on 1 February, in the city of Xiamen (RMAO EBC 1893, Vol. 869, tomo 2, no. 213). There is picture of a tombstone appearing in Boncan y Limjap (1997, 6), although the tomb does not exist today (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 3). He was back in China for a visit at the time he died. After some time, Joaquin’s wish was fulfilled. His bones were brought to Manila, although according to another account, it was Joaquin’s ashes that were transferred to the Philippines (Luo to Boncan, 27 August 2001). It must be noted that the reburial of bones in a jar is a standard Minnan-Taiwan practice. Today his tomb is in the North Cemetery, in the present Limjap Chapel that his son Mariano constructed in 1913 (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 16). Thus, it is unclear whether Joaquin’s bones were first placed in the Chinese cemetery in La Loma and later on transferred to the North Cemetery. 56 For more information regarding the Chinese cemetery, see Huang 1936, jia 112; and FHSGBS 1933–1937, 45–50 and 1939, 13–4). The RMAO also has a set of
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referred to when describing the burial grounds for the Chinese during the Spanish colonial period should be distinguished from the presentday “La Loma Cemetery,” at which many descendants of Chinese merchant families and “Filipino” families are buried.57 Inheritance This section describes some of the inheritance practices of Chinese merchants in relation to their families in China and the Philippines. The sources of information for such practices are the wills or testaments left behind by certain testators and filed under the heading Protocolo de Manila at the RMAO.58 Two methods were used in choosing these testaments. The first method involved selecting the testaments randomly; the second method collecting testaments based on a ten-year interval, starting with 1872, then 1882, 1892, and 1902. Based on these two methods, I managed to collect twenty-seven testaments.59 Background Information on the Testators Of the 27 individuals included in my study, 22 identified as being married legitimately or had been at some point, i.e, some of them had been widowed.60 Only 3 identified themselves as single, although one documents under the headings Defunciones de Chinos and Exhumaciones that contains death registers pertaining to the Chinese. See also GSU Chinese Cemetery Records, Reel 1407481 for a list of names of deceased Chinese buried in the Chinese cemetery from the years 1898 to 1923. 57 On a visit there sometime in 2002, I found the tombs of people bearing these surnames: Syquia, Tantoco, Licauco, Lim, Pantangco, Litonjua, Lichauco, Tuason, Uylangco, Jocson, Tempongco, Tanjosoay, Lao, and Cue. Although these names reflect Chinese ancestry, those who were buried there appear to be descendants of Chinese mestizo families, and not Christianized Chinese. 58 As mentioned in the Introduction, the protocolos are bound volumes of contracts and instruments drawn up by different residents of Manila, and were notarized by one of the eight notary publics found in the city. 59 The breakdown of testaments in terms of years are as follows: from 1872, I found 4 testaments; 1879: 1; 1882: 7; 1892: 4; 1895: 2; 1897: 2; 1899: 1; 1900: 2; 1901:4. The year 1902 yielded no record. While this number may seem small it must be noted that I only focused on one notary public per year and that there were other notary publics in Manila during the period of my study. 60 Of the 22 married or once-married men, 6 were married twice, either after the death of the first wife, or with the second marriage overlapping with the
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Figure 10a Figure 10. Tomb of Ignacio Jao Boncan at the Chinese cemetery in La Loma. Courtesy of Richard T. Chu.
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Figure 10b. Tomb of Ignacio Jao Boncan. Courtesy of Richard T. Chu.
of them had children. The remaining two did not identify their civil status but mentioned leaving some inheritance to a querida (mistress) with whom they had lived for a number of years, presumably as common-law husband and wife. Out of the 25 testators who identified their profession, 24 were businessmen, while one was an employee. Many of the testators also owned some property, and their ages ranged from the early thirties to the early seventies, with the average age at 43.7 years. Most of them also were born in the county of Jinjiang in southeastern Fujian. Fourteen of them identified their native birthplace as Jinjiang, with the others identifying the following: Nan’an (Lamua): 3; Xiamen (Amoy): 3; Tong’an (Tangua): 1; Longxi (Leonque): 3; Haitan ( Jayten): 1; (not available): 2.
first. Two (2) identified themselves as “widowed,” but mentioned living with a woman.
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Figure 11a
Figure 11b Figure 11. Tomb of Vicente Romano Sy Quia at the Chinese cemetery in La Loma. Courtesy of Richard T. Chu.
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In terms of religious affiliation, all 27, with the exception of one (Cu Unjieng), were Catholics.61 Most identified their parents as “infidels.” However, 4 identified their fathers as Catholics, although their mothers were all “infidels.” These four cases seem to point to pattern in the history of Chinese migration to the Philippines, in which the father came to the Philippines, converted to Catholicism, went back to China and brought back his sons, who in turn, also converted to Catholicism. However, it was also possible that among those who identified their father as an “infidel” may have also had a multi-generational history of migration to the Philippines. A father who went to the Philippines could have decided not to convert to Catholicism while his son (or descendants) did. Negotiating Inheritance Practices These testaments provide us with interesting details of how testators negotiated the different policies or practices between Spanish and Chinese inheritance laws or customs, and how their decisions, or at least their intentions as found in their wills, reflect the adaptive and flexible strategies used by these testators in dispensing with their wealth. Sinologists have pointed out that, generally, being a Chinese male meant having a higher status in society and more rights than a Chinese female. For this reason, according to the Chinese code on inheritance of property during the Qing dynasty (1644–1911), only sons inherited. Furthermore, there could be some differentiation among sons when it came to the distribution of the inheritance. Despite the fact that all sons of both the primary wife and concubine were to inherit equally according to Qing civil law, the reality was the sons of the primary wife enjoyed more privileges and power (Freedman 1966, 51). In most, if not in all, cases, daughters received much less, e.g., receiving only a sum of money as dowry (Bernhardt 1999, 9–46). This can be seen in the case of Federico Gamiz Go-Sequieng, a Catholic Chinese from Manila. In his will, he bequeathed a third of his wealth to his five sons in China, with the two-thirds remaining to be divided equally among them and their two sisters (RMAO CR 1892, 846, tomo 3, no. 395). In this case the two sisters received less than their five brothers.
61 Cu Unjieng converted to Catholicism around the second decade of the twentieth century (Khu 2008, 46).
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Another example is that of the Catholic Chinese Mariano Velasco Chuachengco. Mariano was married to Sy Sacia in accordance with the “rites of his nation.” Together, they had four male adult children at the time of the writing of his will. However, Mariano was also married, under Chinese rites, to Maria Consolacion Ang Quinio, with whom he had nine children.62 In his will, he divided his numerous assets equally among all male offspring, whether from Sy Sacia or Maria Consolacion.63 But he declared that according to the laws of his nation in which he contracted these two marriages, daughters did not receive any rights to the inheritance, since they would eventually marry out.64 Thereupon, the four daughters would only receive a “valuable gift” (regalo de importancia) each from their mother Maria Consolacion (RMAO EBC 1901, Vol. 877, tomo 1, no. 69).65 However, not everyone adhered to Chinese inheritance laws. Some adhered to Spanish law, which recognized the rights of women—e.g., daughters and wives—to inherit. Women were to be treated equally before the law when it came to inheritance. Furthermore, they could
Since she married Mariano Velasco Chuachengco under the “Chinese rites,” I surmise that Maria Consolacion Ang Quinio spent some time in China. But whether she was a Chinese or mestizo woman is not clear. However, since she had a Catholic name, she could have been a Chinese mestiza whom Mariano brought to China once in a while. 63 Some of his assets included three buildings, six warehouses, fourteen houses, and shares or stocks in different companies (RMAO EBC 1901, Vol. 877, tomo 1, no. 69). 64 Freedman writes that once married, a woman has no further economic claims on her natal family, who will begin to treat her “as a kind of guest” (1958, 31). See also Bernhardt 1999, 9–46. 65 This was presumably a dowry for daughters under Chinese customary law (see Bernhardt 1999, 1–2). It is unclear however where Maria Consolacion and their children were residing, although it was not uncommon for the Chinese to bring their Chinese mestizo children to China. On the other hand, Maria Consolacion could have been a concubine who was brought to Manila. Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, as noted by Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 174 n. 16 and 18), testified in 1899 before the Philippine Commission that most of the Chinese women in Manila were either wives or concubines, and that they numbered around 2,000, out of a Manila Chinese population of between 22,000 and 23,000. Also, it is interesting to note that of their nine children, two had solely Chinese names (Chua Iocchiong and Chua Ticaoco) while the seven others had Western or Catholic names added to their Chinese names (Pedro Velasco Chua Chengco, José Velasco Chua Chengco, Florencia Velasco Chua Chengco, Maria Concepcion Velasco Chua Chengco, Francisca Velasco Chua Chengco, Rita Chua Chengco and Damiana Chua Chengco). It is possible that Chua Iocchiong and Chua Ticaoco were born in China, and that the rest in Manila, and presumably baptized in Catholic rites. 62
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inherit and own property that did not necessarily become conjugal property, and could be passed on to their chosen heirs or to their own relatives (cf. Devins 1905, 125). Accordingly, when “el Chino Cristiano” Lucio Isabelo Limpangco drew his will up in 1895, he bequeathed two-thirds of his goods to all his “legitimate children,” which included his five children from his first wife Chu-Cua, whom he married in China, and his two children from his second wife Francisca Cinco, whom he married in Manila.66 It cannot be ascertained from their names whether he had a daughter among the five children from the first wife.67 However, he did have a daughter from the second wife: Maria Angeles (b. 1889), who, along with her brother Francisco (b. 1885), was entitled to an equal share of the inheritance. Ergo, Lucio clearly chose to follow Spanish inheritance laws instead of Chinese ones by giving an equal share of his inheritance to his daughter Maria Angeles. In the case of José Chio Taysan, from Longxi, China, who at seventy-five years of age drew up a will on 23 March 1895 (RMAO NA 1895, Vol. 561, tomo 1, no. 5), he even named as executor of his will his only daughter and only heir Silvina Chio-Taysan, who was at that time still a minor.68 As mentioned above, a daughter in China did not inherit anything except a dowry, let alone the entire inheritance. This was a deviation from Chinese inheritance laws, which stipulated that, in the absence of a male heir, a Chinese widow was supposed to name and adopt a male heir from her husband’s patrilineal clan (see Bernhardt 1999, 44, 62–5). Furthermore, José stipulated that if Silvina was still a minor at the time of his death, his wife Avelina Caballero would become executor. This practice did not entirely deviate from Chinese practices, for mothers maintained custodial powers
66 This type of division followed the Spanish Civil Code of 1889, which states that the “legitime of legitimate children and descendants consists of two-thirds of the hereditary estate of the father and the mother . . .” (Article 808 as found in Fisher 1947, 306). Furthermore, according to Article 806 of the Spanish Civil Code, “The legitime is that part of [the property of a testator] which the testator cannot dispose because the law has reserved it for certain heirs, called, on that account, forced heirs” (Fisher 1947, 305). 67 His children from the first wife were: Bung Juy (“mayor de edad” or “adult”); Bun-Chya (b. 1879); Bun-Jin (b. 1883); Bun-Loc (b. 1884); Bun-Chin (b. 1888) [RMAO NA 1895, 561, tomo 4, no. 426]. I surmise, however, that they were all sons, as “Bun” (possibly 文) denotes a generational name given to male children. 68 Longxi, pronounced Leonque in Hokkien, is located 20 kilometers southwest of Zhangzhou, an important city in Fujian. Longxi is now known as Long Hai.
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over heirs below legal age (Bernhardt 1999, 48, 62–74; Huang 1996, 55–6). However, when there was no male heir within a family who could take the role of executing a deceased father’s will, families and lineages in China usually appointed men from the lineage or from the village to oversee the division of the property of the deceased person, even when the widow was still alive (Huang 1996, 27). Another way in which married women in the Philippines were given equal rights to inheritance was the law that women had rights to conjugal property (cf. Skinner 1996, 63). This policy, again, was different from Chinese practices, which did not recognize women’s rights to conjugal property at all. A prominent merchant Sy Tiong-Tay had to grapple with these differing inheritance practices when he drew up his will sometime in 1891 or 1892, as seen from his testament. In assessing what assets belonged to him and what did not, Tiong-Tay explained that all the assets he acquired while married to his first wife Chan Sinin were of his legitimate and exclusive property and that he was not under any obligation of dividing them when his marriage with Sinin was dissolved by her death in 1883.69 He stated that the reason for this was “that their society [i.e., conjugal partnership] never existed since such society is a consequence of the contract of marriage celebrated under Spanish laws, (and) that their wedding was celebrated under the laws of China which do not recognize such society” (RMAO EBC 1895, Vol. 871, tomo 12, no. 1090).70 Thus, their conjugal property was not liquidated. As regards Ana Cuangsi, his second wife in the Philippines, however, Tiong-Tay had to follow Spanish law, particularly the provisions found in Articles 835, 838, and 839 of the Civil Code.71 However, due to changes in Spanish law regarding the Chinese in the 69 Spanish law required that a after the death of a person, his or her property should be distributed to the rightful heirs. See Articles 806 to 808 of the Spanish Civil Code which spell out the rights of “forced heirs” to inheritance (Fisher 1947, 305–6). 70 For information on marriage practices in China and the rights of the widow, see Bernhardt et al. 1994; Watson and Ebrey 1991. 71 Article 835 states that “The hereditary portion allotted in usufruct to the widowed spouse must be taken from the third of the estate available for the betterment of the children.” Article 839: “In case of the survival of children of two or more marriages, the usufruct pertaining to the widowed spouse of the second marriage shall be taken form the third at the free disposal of the parents.” Article 838: “The usufructuary rights of the surviving spouse may be satisfied by the settlement upon him or her by the heirs of a life annuity or the income from some specific property, or by the payment of money, as may be determined by agreement between the parties, or, in default of such agreement, by judicial decision.” See Fisher 1947, 316–7.
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Philippines, Ana did not inherit everything that Tiong-Tay owned. As mentioned in Chapter 3, starting in the early 1890s, a Chinese wishing to marry a local woman had to undergo baptism and naturalization. In his will, Tiong-Tay stated that his and Ana’s conjugal property could not count from the date when they were married in Catholic rites on 2 September 1891, for both of them were still of Chinese nationality. He pointed out, however, that since their marriage was performed under Catholic rites, their union was not subjected to the laws of China either. This meant that Ana Cuangsi deserved a share of the conjugal property. However, Tiong-Tay did not obtain his citizenship until 25 December 1891.72 On that account, Ana was entitled to inherit anything that she and Tiong-Tay acquired as a married couple starting from this date till the time of his death. He died in 1892. That individuals, families, and lineages from Minnan deviated from societal norms, especially in treating their women, was probably quite a common occurrence because Chinese women in southeastern China seem to enjoy more power and privileges than their counterparts in other parts of China. As mentioned in Chapter 1, women in qiaoxiang or émigré villages in southeastern China played active roles in helping to maintain or expand the wealth of her husbands’ families, and that they were the “de facto household heads.” Consequently, it is not surprising if families in Minnan did not follow proscribed laws when it came to matters such as inheritance. A Chinese wife in China could also be given the authority to execute the will of her deceased husband, as can be seen in the case of Go-Quia-co. On 23 November 1900, Quia-co drew up a will in which he stated that he was married to Sy Quieng and that they had three children: Go-Chongco (twentythree years old and living in China); Go-Chawco (eighteen years old and living with Quia-co in Manila); and Go-Chuyco (thirteen years old and living in China) (RMAO GH 1900, Vol. 829, tomo 7, no. 1209). Despite the fact that he declared his three children as his heirs who would inherit his goods in equal parts, he named his wife Sy Quieng as tutor of his children, and as executor of his will in China.73
72 For Tiong-Tay’s application for naturalization, see his file in RMAO NE 1890– 1892, no. 26. In December of 1887, he was awarded the Medal of Civil Merit (Foreman [1906] 1980, 118). 73 To look after his goods and to oversee the execution of his will in Manila, Quiaco named Mariano Velasco Chuachengco.
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Chinese merchants in the Philippines bequeathed their wealth not only to their daughters, but also to their mothers. For instance, Antonio Siongjong in his testament left his mother Go-Sy, a resident of China, a fifth of all his goods and the freedom to dispense of his wealth as she deemed fit in China (RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 439, tomo 1, no. 75). Also, Cirilo Cue Quepen had consistently been sending the profits he had gained from his businesses in the Philippines to his mother in China, so that she could “buy land there,” and have enough money to “maintain these lands,” as well as “live decently with her family” (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 474).74 Finally, in the example given in Chapter 3, Lim Yng-Chud instructed his wife Uy Yongnin to set aside 100 pesos from the share she would inherit from him, to be given as a legacy to his mother in China (RMAO FD 1877, Vol. 435, tomo 2, no. 704). Among these diasporic Chinese families, being the oldest son or sole male heir did not also automatically guarantee privileged rights when it came to inheritance, even though it was mentioned previously that the primary wife’s sons often enjoyed more privileges and power than children of concubines (Freedman 1966, 51). This can be seen in the case involving Sy Tiong-Tay’s oldest son from his first wife. Sy TiongTay married first wife Chu-Cua in China in 1855, and two years later Carlos was born. Documents further show that he had four other children with Ana Cuangsi, a “Chinese national” whom he either met in Manila or brought with him to the Philippines. Judging from the chronology of his children’s birthdates, I construe Ana to be the “second wife,” since their first son was born at a much later date than Carlos. Tiong-Tay’s four children with Ana were Baldomero (b. 1874), Felipa (b. 1879), Manuel (b. 1883), and Justina (b. 1886). In his will drawn up in 1892, he divided his inheritance estimated at approximately 284,095 pesos into three equal parts: one-third (from which medical and other expenses were deducted) to be divided equally among the five heirs Carlos, Baldemoro, Felipa, Manuel, and Justina; another third considered as “legitime” to be divided again among the five heirs; and the Women in villages where men traveled overseas were often given a lot of power and authority to run their households back in China. Furthermore, women in Southeast Asia were also known to have actively traded with Chinese merchants (Reid 1988, 163–5). Many of these Southeast Asian women who married Chinese merchants continued to be commercially active, and even took up positions of political authority when widowed (Wills 1991, 61). 74
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last third, which was classified under mejoras, i.e, an act leaving by will a larger share than the legatee by law had a right to, to be divided only among Baldomero, Felipa, Manuel, and Justina, leaving Carlos with no share of this portion of the inheritance. In his will Tiong-Tay stated that Carlos had embezzled 12,493 pesos, 29 cents and 4 cuartos when Carlos was the treasurer of Tiong-Tay’s business.75 Consequently, he might have lost the good graces of his father for what he did. In fact, the amount misappropriated was deducted from the total of his inheritance (see RMAO EBC 1895, Vol. 871, tomo 12, no. 1090).76 In this account, Carlos did not inherit more than his “half-siblings” albeit he was the eldest son of the main wife. In the preceding inheritance cases, we can see that some Chinese fathers in the Philippines treated their children differently from the way Chinese sons or daughters were treated, at least legally, in China.77 For one, we see that the “women” in their lives—wives, daughters, mothers—were granted equal access to the inheritance they left behind, or were granted authority to oversee the execution of their wills.78 However, being able to inherit property did not mean that women in the Chinese mestizo household had sole or total control over these
Which business this involved was not specified. The will drawn up by Tiong-Tay in 1892 is contained in this file from 1895. This particular file pertains to the execution and final arbitration of his will. 77 A report submitted by Brigadier-General Otis to the Secretary of War in Washington states that “a Chinese person entering the islands came as an individual migrant and was treated as a Spanish subject, whose business and domestic relations were entirely under the control of the local laws. These laws provided for the estate of a deceased resident Chinese the same as if he had been a Spanish citizen” (quoted in Jensen 1975, 27). However, it was possible that the secular laws may have not been uniformly implemented and may have provided some leeway for the Chinese, just as we have seen with Church laws. Furthermore, drawing up a will allowed a person to dispense of his or her inheritance as he or she pleased, without being entirely constrained by the existing laws of the country in which the inheritance was located. 78 Other cases that recognized the rights of women to inherit or to handle the inheritance are found in the testaments of the following testators: Federico R. Correa Lao-Sama (RMAO EBC 1899, Vol. 875, tomo 10, no. 1117); José Dy Tongco (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 134); Franco Reyes Pue Jo (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 462); Felipe Tio Tuosay (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 2, no. 569); Juan Go-Oco (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 350); Manuel Marzano Cue Buntin (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 443); José Berrueti Cua Tuaco (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 457); José Ang Queco (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 469); Lorenzo Co-Tongco (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 1, no. 10); and Mariano de Ocampo Lao-Sinco (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 3, no. 370). 75 76
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possessions. As mentioned in Chapter 1, the role of women from qiaoxiang families was to ensure the patriline and uphold the dominance of patriarchy. In late nineteenth century Manila, under Spanish colonial rule and Catholic principles women also deferred to the men in their lives. And even as they had certain legal rights, probably even more than Chinese women in China, they still were expected to keep a low profile, relegating to their husbands the role of representing them in public (and especially legal) matters, as provided by law No. 11 of the Novisima Recopilacion, which stipulated: A woman during marriage, without license of her husband, cannot make any type of contract, at the same time she cannot separate nor desist of any contract pertaining to her, neither to remove nobody from it, nor to be able to make a contract, nor to be in a trial doing or defending, without the mentioned license from her husband: and whatever it is done by her, or her attorney, we command it to be invalid whatever she does (Chicote y Beltrán 1909, 62; cf. Fisher 1947, 35; Cott 2000, 11–2).
Thus, Carlos Palanca Tan Quein-sien represented his Chinese mestizo wife Luciano Limquinco in a court case of eviction against a Chinese named Farruco, who rented a house from her located at 17 Nueva Street, Binondo (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S423–7).79 Conclusion In this chapter, I tried to show the situation in Chinese mestizo households during the latter part of the nineteenth century, at a time when intermarriages (at least until 1892) between Chinese men and local women were quite common. As one can see, many of what are considered today as “Filipino,” such as the kinship terms used or food cooked in Filipino households, arose from such interactions between these men and women in personal and intimate settings. However, as such intermarriages over time became less and less common due 79 The case shows that Farruco lived on the top floor of the house and used the ground floor to set up a shop. He paid 72 pesos per month for rent, payable at the end of each month. Carlos Palanca, as legal representative of his wife Luciana, and through his lawyer Vicente Socorro, claimed that Farruco made changes to the house he was renting without the owners’ consent. Thus, Carlos Palanca asked the court to “declare the time of eviction and to order Farruco to restore the building to its original form using the same materials and to pay the cost of rent while the repair is being done” (RMAO VP Carlos Palanca 1853–1898, S423–7).
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to a number of historical factors (see Chapters 7–9), the practices described in this chapter, once familiar to both “Chinese” and “Chinese mestizos,” became as “different” and “strange” as the Chinese “alien” within Filipino society in the twentieth century. Many Filipinos today are unaware that the practice of calling an older sibling ate or kuya was derived from Hokkien kinship terminological practice. As we will see in Chapter 7, one of the reasons for this ignorance was the decrease in the number of intermarriages between Chinese men and local women. Another reason was the construction of dichotomous nation-centered identities with corresponding cultural markers, so that familial and socio-religious practices found in earlier Chinese mestizo households began to be pegged as either “Chinese” or “Filipino.” Although we need to exercise caution when describing such practices, in that we must refrain from categorizing them in culturally deterministic terms, hegemonic groups such as the Spanish colonial government and the Catholic Church did ascribe certain “cultural” behaviors to define one’s identity. As a “Spanish” citizen, one could enjoy certain benefits, but was also expected to act loyally to the Spanish crown; as a Catholic, to be a “true” Christian by behaving according to Christian proscribed norms. Outside observers also attached certain attributes to the “Chinese,” leading eventually to unwarranted epithets. Such brandings were certainly not lost on the Chinese merchants and their families. However, instead of behaving in such a manner as to completely conform to the expectations of outsiders, they accepted some and manipulated others, in ways that colluded with as well as evaded the attempts of hegemonic groups to localize them. Hence, they naturalized themselves and their children, practiced both Catholicism and Buddhism, or combined Chinese and Spanish inheritance laws when expedient. We can regard their actions as attempts to “interact with their environment through a loose process of metaphor and analogy, deploying and adapting familiar concepts in an unsystematic, ad hoc manner” (McKeown 2001, 14). In paraphrasing Pierre Bourdieu, McKeown writes, Cultural actors do not possess the systemic cultural logic necessary to calculate in any absolute way their own best interests or to act with complete consistency in terms of that logic (2001, 14).
As a consequence, we need not regard the behaviors of diasporic subjects as “a series of cultural collisions,” but as part of a “constant process of mutual adjustment” to their environment (McKeown 2001, 14–5).
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But it was not only the Chinese merchants who deployed such flexible strategies; Chinese mestizos also did, resulting, among other things, in identities that are better understood as lying within a shifting and problematic continuum. An examination of their everyday practices in the next chapter will give us a better idea of what it meant to be “Chinese mestizo” during the latter part of the nineteenth century.
CHAPTER SIX
RETHINKING THE CHINESE MESTIZOS AND MESTIZAS OF MANILA1 Introduction In the previous chapter, I have described some aspects of the socio-cultural practices of Chinese merchant families. The aim of this chapter is to look more intimately into the lives of some Chinese mestizos. One part will look specifically into the lives of three Chinese mestizos who belonged to the “first generation,” i.e., their fathers were “Chinese” while their mothers were either “Chinese mestizas” or “indias.” These men were not the same Chinese mestizos often mentioned in Philippine history books such as José Rizal, who were two, three, or four times removed from their first paternal Chinese ancestor. With fathers who were “Chinese” and their mothers “india” or “Chinese mestizo,” how did these Chinese mestizos negotiate the different cultural traditions found within their households? How did they view themselves? What do their practices and lives tell us about how ethnic identities were constructed and negotiated at this historical juncture in Philippine history? These are some of the questions that this part will deal with as it examines the lives of these Chinese mestizos. Another part will describe how the practices of some Chinese mestizas provide us not only with more information about themselves, a hitherto largely unexplored topic, but also with more food for thought on “Chinese mestizo” identity. These women were not necessarily of the “first” generation, but their close ties with Chinese men either via commercial activities or familial relations linked them to China and the Chinese in the Philippines. Using the same approach in discussing the Chinese merchants of the nineteenth century, this chapter begins by giving a historical background of Chinese mestizo history before relating the lives of these Chinese mestizos.
1 An earlier version of this chapter has been published by the Centre for the Study of the Chinese Southern Diaspora, The Australian National University, see Chu 2002.
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The Formation of “Chinese Mestizo” Communities in the Philippines, Pre-1850 The term mestizo (or tisoy—a Tagalog colloquial term meaning “mestizo”) in Philippine society today is often used to refer to someone of Eurasian ancestry. No one of mixed Chinese-Filipino ancestry is generally considered as such. However, during the Spanish colonial period in the Philippines (1565–1898), and particularly during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the term was usually employed to refer to the offspring of intermarriages between Chinese men and local women.2 The rise of the Chinese mestizo class in the Philippines can be traced to the middle of the eighteenth century. As unions between Chinese and local women, encouraged by Spanish colonial policy, grew in number, so did the number of Chinese mestizo children. With the increase of Chinese mestizos, especially in urban areas, the Spanish colonial government began to establish a separate legal classification for them. Cities such as Manila and Cebu thus became communities of indios, sangleyes, and Chinese mestizos.3 Initially, the division was mainly drawn for the purposes of taxation. Following its policy of taxing their subjects according to their capacity to earn, the Spanish colonial government taxed the Chinese the most, followed by the Chinese mestizos, and then the indios.4 However, this division soon affected the right to travel, as well as property ownership, and participation in government. For such rights, the division was two-fold, in that the indios 2 The reason for such usage was that there were more children resulting from such unions. In Ibero-America, however, the term generally refers to the offspring of a white man and a local (specifically Indian) woman or of an Indian man and a white woman (Esteva-Fabregat 1995, 4). Some scholars seem to be guilty of ahistoricism by regarding the “mestizos” of the Spanish period as those of Caucasian-Malay ancestry. For instance, an article written by a twentieth-century historian reflects this kind of thinking when, in describing the mestizos of the Spanish colonial period, he describes them as “50% indio” and “50% ‘Español,” ignoring the fact that many mestizos instead were of Chinese-indio or Chinese mestizo ancestry (Abella 1970s, 35). See also Agoncillo 1990, 5. 3 However, there also were Spaniards and Spanish mestizos in the major cities, although fewer in number. 4 Spaniards, whether born in Spain or in the Philippines, were exempt from taxation. For more information on the changes of taxation policies involving these groups, see Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 9, 141, 158–65).
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and the Chinese mestizos shared the same rights, while the Chinese did not (Wickberg 1964, 64–5; [1965] 2000, 31).5 As mentioned in the previous chapter, Spanish colonial law defined male descendants of Chinese paternal ancestors as Chinese mestizos, even after several generations (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 33; Robles 1969, 77).6 Although this kind of legislation posed problems for Chinese mestizos who wished to change their classification to indio or Chinese, both male Chinese mestizos and indios were still able to change their classification for taxation purposes. This occurred in the provinces in particular. But in urban areas, the Chinese mestizos preferred to retain their high status. On the other hand, the situation was different for female descendants. Through marriage, a Chinese mestiza could change her status. In this fashion, a Chinese mestiza marrying a Chinese mestizo or a Chinese remained in the Chinese mestizo classification, as did her children. If she married an indio or Spaniard, she and her children assumed her husband’s classification. Presumably, an india became a Chinese mestiza when she married a Chinese mestizo. However, an india and a Chinese mestiza remained in the same classification when marrying a Chinese, yet an india became classified as a Chinese mestiza when her Chinese husband died (Robles 1969, 77).7 5 For instance, both the Chinese mestizos and indios were considered indigenous subjects of Spain and had legal rights to participate in local government and to change their residence. The Chinese, on the other hand, did not enjoy the same rights (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 31). 6 In a document I found at the RMAO, someone by the name of Simeon Conte Lim Liongco was listed as “mestizo de sangley” while his parents, Lim Liongco and UyQuim-Niu, were both labeled as “infieles,” and who, judging from their names, were Chinese (RMAO Bautismos Binondo 1814–1895, Bundle 3, S7). Was it possible then that those born in the Philippines of Chinese parents were also classified as “mestizos de sangley”? Did Simeon himself choose to be classified as such, and if such were the case, did the Spanish colonial government allow for the reclassification of some “sangleys” into “Chinese mestizos” under special circumstances? Or was this simply an error made by the scribe? 7 Robles writes that, as a general rule, however, a woman “resumed her original status upon the death of her husband” (Robles 1969, 77). He gives no explanation for the exception. Moreover, he writes that children generally follow the status of their fathers. However, this does not mean that a child of a Chinese father was also classified Chinese. As mentioned in this chapter, he or she became classified as “Chinese mestizo.” Moreover, Robles writes that children “born of Chinese mestizos and Chinese parents engaged in agriculture . . . were privileged to apply either as natives or as Chinese mestizos” (1969, 77). This information is based on two manuscripts, both of which are instructions given by Venacio de Abella and Rodriguez Batuta, on 13 August 1853 and 24 November 1854, respectively. These documents can be found at the Newberry Library in
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Many Chinese mestizos were born into a household in which either one or both parents were engaged in business, and thus became entrepreneurs themselves. When a general expulsion of the Chinese occurred (1755–1766), these Chinese mestizos took over the retail trade left behind by the Chinese. By 1800, Chinese mestizos and Chinese shared the function of retailing imported goods and local products. In Manila, Chinese mestizos were also found in many trades hitherto exclusively Chinese: carriage-makers, carpenters, stonemasons, printers, shoemakers, and tailors (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 28). They were also distributors of goods in inter-island trade, as well as inquilinos (lessors of land). Furthermore, as mentioned in the previous chapter, there were some Chinese mestizos who became professionals, particularly as lawyers or members of the secular clergy. By around 1810, there were approximately 120,000 Chinese mestizos, representing 5 percent of the total Philippine population of about 2.5 million. In the whole province of Tondo, which then included the northern part of Manila, including Binondo and Santa Cruz, the Chinese mestizos made up about 30 percent of the population (Wickberg 1964, 73). In places where there were sufficiently large numbers of mestizos, gremios were also formed, alongside that of the indios; and in Binondo and Santa Cruz, that of the indios and Chinese. The Chinese Mestizos, Post-1850 In the last half of the nineteenth century, the Chinese mestizo population grew to between 150,000 and 300,000, out of a mean population of 5.5 million, i.e., roughly 6 percent of the total population. By the end of the nineteenth century, they numbered about half a million, “with some 46,000 living in Manila” (Tan 1985, 52). In terms of occupation, many Chinese mestizos continued to engage in retail trade, although, as mentioned in Chapter 2, the influx of more Chinese during this period saw a decline in Chinese mestizo dominance over retail trade. Based on a Chinese mestizo registry from 1874, Chinese mestizos and Chinese mestizas held the occupations of “agents, traders, storekeepers, tailors, fishermen, bakers, hatmakers,
Chicago (Robles 1969, 299–301). We do not know, however, whether Chinese mestizas could change their ethno-legal classification as the Chinese mestizos were able to.
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painters, landladies, carpenters, seamstresses, blacksmiths, laborers, and public scribes” (De Viana 2001, 59–60). On the other hand, many indios and indias worked as “day laborers, carpenters, yayas (Tagalog term for “nanny”), oarsmen, meat sellers, servants, washerwomen, zacateros (Spanish term for someone who gathers grass for horse or cattle fodder), public scribes, carritoneros or wagon carters, blacksmiths, agents, painters, and saddlemakers” (De Viana 2001, 60). As the economy of the Philippines opened up to the global market and the country became a producer of cash crops, many families, including Chinese mestizo merchant families, benefited financially when they became involved in the agricultural enterprise (cf. Sugaya 2006, 387). With the opening up of the Suez Canal and the invention of steamship, many of these middle- and upper-class families sent their children to Europe to study. While there, these Chinese mestizos (and some indios and Spanish mestizos) learned more about the liberal ideas of reform that were sweeping through Spain and other parts of the world. Upon returning to the Philippines, some of these returning students began working for changes in the Philippines. Calling themselves ilustrados (“illustrious”), these men (and some women) were dissatisfied with the status quo that placed the colonial subjects on an unequal footing with the Spaniards. The execution of three secular and Chinese mestizo priests José Burgos, Mariano Gomez, and Jacinto Zamora for their alleged participation in the Cavite Mutiny of 1872 served as an impetus for these ilustrados to organize themselves.8 They started to press the Spanish colonial government for political reforms through their publications and other activities. Among their demands were to grant Spain’s colonial subjects in the Philippines all the rights and privileges accorded to Spanish citizens in the peninsula and seats in the Spanish Cortés so that they could participate in proposing and approving laws beneficial to them. When such efforts to
8 On 20 January 1872, the Cavite Arsenal workers staged a revolt after realizing that the Spanish government deducted their pay unreasonably. The Spanish authorities considered this revolt as part of a wider plan to oust Spanish rule and, consequently, they arrested Fathers Mariano Gomez, José Burgos, and Jacinto Zamora and accused them as leaders of this anti-Spanish movement. The three priests were sentenced to death by the garrote vil (an execution device with a metal clamp used to tighten around the neck of a person sentenced to death). Many felt this execution as an unjust act designed to punish these priests not for their actual role in the mutiny (which was never proven), but for the critical positions they took against the Spanish friars.
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achieve reforms peaceably failed, many of these ilustrados decided to participate in the revolution versus Spain (see Chapter 2). Against this brief historical backdrop let us now examine the lives of three Chinese mestizos. Mariano Limjap One of the Chinese mestizos mentioned in Philippine history books for playing a role in the movements for political change during the latter part of the nineteenth century is Mariano Limjap (e.g., Corpuz 1997, 72). Using previously unused archival sources as well as the family history written by Raul A. Boncan, I was able to gather more information about his life, which is worth examining as it provides us with a better insight regarding Chinese mestizo identity during this period. Mariano Limjap was born in Manila on 29 October 1856.9 As mentioned in Chapter 3, his father, Joaquin Barrera Limjap, whose Chinese name was Lim Cong Jap, came to the Philippines as a young man, and eventually became a rich merchant who made his fortune in businesses such as the export of sugar and the granting of crop loans.10 Mariano’s mother, Policarpia Nolasco, was a Chinese mestiza from Binondo. Mariano was first married to the Chinese mestiza Juana Siaosingco (b. 1858–d. 23 February 1885). The date of their marriage cannot be ascertained, but it must have been around 1880, when Mariano was twenty-four years old. A year later, they had their first child Maria Narciso, who only lived for a few months. The next two children also died at a young age, and only two survived to adulthood. These latter two were Mariano “Marianito” Limjap, Jr. (b. 11 October 1884–d.
9 His two other brothers were Jacinto (b. 30 August 1865–d. 7 December 1923) and Apolonio (b. 9 February 1869–d. 23 November 1889). However, there is a dispute as to when Apolonio died. The date here (1889) is based on the inscription found at the North Cemetery. However, in Joaquin’s testament, it is stated that Apolonio died when he was six months old (RMAO FD 1881, 443, tomo 1, no. 202). Thus, there must be an error: the inscription on the tombstone should be 1869, instead of 1889. 10 For more details on Joaquin Limjap’s life, see Chapter 3.
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31 March 1948), and Gregorio “Goying” Limjap (b. 28 November 1885–d. 5 April 1953).11 On 2 May 1886, a little over a year after the death of Juana, Mariano married another Chinese mestiza named Maria Escolar y Cochay (b. 25 March 1865–d. 7 April 1941). Together, they had seven children who survived to adulthood: Leonarda, José, Esperanza, Pacencia, Francisco, Felisa, and Pedro. Three other children died young.12 As of 1890, Mariano registered his residence at 9 Hormiga Street in Binondo. Upon Joaquin’s death in 1888, Mariano inherited some of his father’s businesses but also established some of his own. Like his father, Mariano became a successful merchant. He also was well known in his community, and was once a cabeza (i.e., “headman”), as well as gobernadorcillo of the Chinese mestizos of Binondo.13 For all his participation in various socio-civic activities, the Spanish government decorated him with the distinction of Caballero de la Real Orden Americana de Isabel la Católica. In his seminal works, “The Chinese Mestizo in Philippine History” (1964) and the Chinese in Philippine Life ([1965] 2000), Wickberg points out that during the latter part of the nineteenth century when Hispanicization reached a high level especially in the urban areas, many upper-class Chinese mestizos were likely to be more
11 The first three children who died when young were Maria Narciso (b. 27 October 1881–d. 28 June 1882; thus at approx. eight months old); Joaquin Maria Bernabe (b. 11 June 1883–d. 23 May 1885, approx. two years old); and Eusebio Andres (b. 15 December 1884–d. 20 March 1885; approx. three months old) (The Independent, 4 March 1926). However, some discrepancies in the dates should be noted, for how could Goying be born in November 1885, when Juana was supposed to have died in February 1885? Also how could Marianito be born October 1884, and Eusebio December 1884? When I asked Raul A. Boncan about it, he could not explain the disparities either. 12 These three children who died were: Josefa Hemenegilda (b. 13 April 1888–d. 22 December 1888; eight months old); Manuel Apolonio Domingo (b. 23 July 1889–d. 3 November 1889; four months old); Maria Isabel (b. 19 November 1891–d. 5 November 1893; two years old) (The Independent, 4 March 1926). 13 Lim (1930, 249) writes that he was a cabeza and gobernadorcillo of the Chinese in Binondo. However, I dispute this information, as borne out by my own archival research. See, for example, RMAO VP Mariano Limjap, in which a document dating to 1889 and pertaining to Bonifacio Cobarrubias’ case states that Mariano was gobernadorcillo of the Chinese mestizos. Likewise, he was listed as a cabeza of the Chinese mestizo barangay (i.e., the smallest administrative unit in the Philippines) number 16 in Binondo in 1875. See RMAO V Binondo 1871–1898. Was this “error” intentional on Lim’s part, in that he considered Mariano as “Chinese”?
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Hispanicized than any other Chinese mestizos (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 137).14 The increasing commercial and cultural ties between Spain, Northern Europe, North America, and the Philippines that occurred during this period exposed many of them to Western ideas and culture that many of them tried to imitate. Like many upper-class Chinese mestizos of his generation, Mariano shared their sense of being “Spanish.” A photo of a young Mariano, possibly in his twenties, shows him dressed smartly in Western-style clothing (fig. 12). We do not know whether he traveled to Europe in order to study as other middle-class and upper-class Chinese mestizos and indios did, nor do we know whether he had any formal schooling, but he was literate in Spanish, as attested by other documents in the archives.15 Moreover, Mariano, like most Chinese mestizos, was Catholic and practiced it religiously. For instance, he and his wife were devotees of the Nuestra Señora de la Paz y Buen Viaje (Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage) in Antipolo.16 But Mariano’s identification with the Hispanic and Catholic culture did not remain within the realm of socio-cultural practices. At one point in his life, he also began identifying publicly or legally as “Spanish.” A court case brought against him demonstrates this fact. In 1891, Mariano was charged with estafa (swindling). The plaintiff in this case was Adriano Marcelo, who was a resident of Iloilo, a city located on the island of Panay (more than 300 kilometers to the south of Manila). Mariano’s father Joaquin had granted him (Adriano) 14 According to Wickberg, the “final decades of the nineteenth century and the first twenty years of the following century witnessed a flowering of Spanish culture in the Philippines” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 131). 15 One such document is the testament of Cu Unjieng, in which Mariano is listed as a witness, and as being capable of understanding and speaking Spanish. See RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290. Boncan y Limjap writes that his basic education was obtained from his father, and that he might have been privately tutored (1997, 17). 16 Boncan y Limjap writes “(it was possible that) by 1915, the pilgrimage to Antipolo was already well established in the Limjap family” (2000, 11). I believe, however, that it could have been established even earlier. As early as during Joaquin’s time, the Limjaps already owned a lot in Antipolo, which Joaquin passed on to Mariano (RMAO EBC 1893, Vol. 869, tomo 2, no. 213). Thus, this tradition within the Limjap family might have begun with Joaquin, then continued on to Mariano and to the succeeding generations. In October 1902, Mariano bought an additional lot from Felipe Riple y Masangcay. The lot measured 211.8 sq. meters, and was situated on Real Street. It was sold to Mariano for 50 Mexican pesos (RMAO CR 1902, Vol. 856, tomo 4, no. 686).
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Figure 12. Mariano Limjap. Courtesy of Raul A. Boncan.
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the power to represent the business tycoon in his businesses in Iloilo. According to the court documents, Adriano claimed that on 15 February 1885, he had earned an amount of 7,466 pesos as a commission. But instead of collecting this amount, he asked Joaquin Limjap to deposit the money with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. Adriano had produced several items of correspondence between himself and Joaquin referring to this matter. However, Mariano, as the designated executor of his father’s will, contested Adriano’s claim, leading Adriano to charge him with estafa when he refused to turn over the money to Adriano.17 One of the documents that Mariano Limjap submitted to the Court of the First Instance of Binondo, where the case was being tried, was a notarized record of him also being authorized to represent his father in the latter’s businesses in Iloilo. In this document, Mariano classified himself as a mestizo español (Spanish mestizo). However, Adriano’s lawyer ridiculed him in court for having the “audacity” to label himself as such, for “his [Mariano’s] face tells us that he is of pure Chinese blood, his father Don Joaquin Limjap being pure Chinese, and his mother being mestiza Chinese” (RMAO VP Mariano Limjap).18 The reason why the lawyer included this matter in his testimony was probably to argue for the duplicitous or untrustworthy nature of Mariano Limjap. And he went on to point out that this constituted
For more information regarding this case, see RMAO VP Mariano Limjap. The definition of Chinese mestizo was based on the ethnic classification of the father or husband. However, the question of “blood” was not clear. In the lawyer’s statement, Mariano was described as having “pure Chinese blood,” although technically, he had some “Chinese mestizo” blood. In one of the moral cases discussed by the Dominican friars in their annual meetings, Chinese mestizos who had more than “(one-fourth) Chinese blood” were only granted baptism and allowed to marry in the church after having undergone examination by the parish priest, a procedure applied to Chinese would-be converts. If they had less than one-fourth Chinese blood, then they were exempted just as indios were (Resolucion 1884, no. 6). There was no reason given as to why these Dominican priests treated these Chinese mestizos with more than one-fourth Chinese blood in the same manner as they treated the Chinese. Is it possible that they regarded these Chinese mestizos more Chinese than “Chinese mestizo” with less Chinese “blood”? Or were these Chinese mestizos grown-ups or adults seeking baptism, and were thus not baptized while infants? If this were so, what would explain the reason for the delay in their baptism? Does this indicate also that the Chinese father played a role in deciding whether their Chinese mestizo offspring would be baptized or not? Most likely the reason for the delay in their baptism was their background: they must have been born in or brought to China and raised there, then were brought over to the Philippines when grown up. 17 18
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a crime under the Penal Code.19 However, since Joaquin Limjap was a naturalized Spanish subject, Mariano could simply be following his father’s classification.20 But a likely reason for Mariano’s self-identification as a mestizo español was his desire to become identified as “Spanish.”21 And what would explain these efforts to become more “Hispanic”? This might have arisen from the aspiration of the middle and upper class to emulate the culture of the colonial masters, and to be identified as part of the upper crust of the society, which, at the time, was dominated by Spanish and Spanish mestizos. This ardent wish to be “Spanish” is depicted to comic effect in the character of Doña Victorina in José Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere, who tried vainly to look, behave, and speak like a Spaniard. Thus, a certain prestige came with being highly Hispanicized, a cultural norm that upper-class Chinese mestizos like Mariano had set as a standard for anyone seeking to belong to the elites of urban society (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 137). Mariano, like his non-white contemporaries living in a predominantly white society, or in a society where “whiteness” was a signifier of privilege, might have also desired to pass off as “white.”22 However, while pro-Spanish, Mariano was not necessarily proSpain. Like the other ilustrados who fought for reforms and later joined the revolution versus Spain, Mariano got involved. He was one of the financiers of La Liga Filipina, the organization founded by José Rizal
19 Though the documents does not indicate which particular crime under the Spanish Penal Code Adriano’s lawyer was alluding to, we can surmise that it could have been related to either to the eighth clause, Chapter IV, Title I, Book I under the general provisions of the Penal Code that states that any fraud or disguise is liable to criminal charges, or to Section 1, Chapter IV, Title IV, Book II of the Penal Code that pertains to the falsification of official and commercial documents (Division of Customs 1900, 13, 66–7). 20 In 1840, the Spanish government had made it possible for the Chinese to become subjects. As mentioned in Chapter 3, I do not have the exact date of Joaquin Limjap’s application for naturalization, but in a document dated 8 October 1878, he was already identified as a Spanish subject. See RMAO FD 1878, Vol. 436, tomo 2, no. 680. 21 Unfortunately, I cannot find any rebuttal or reference to this matter beyond what I have found in the archives. The judge may have simply dismissed this matter since Mariano was legally a “mestizo español.” 22 Those in Asian American Studies would be familiar with Asian immigrants in the United States who attempted to pass of as “white,” such as Ah Yup, Takao Ozawa, and Bhagat Singh Thind. I would like to thank one anonymous reader for pointing out this connection to me.
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in 1892.23 On 16 September 1896, the Spanish authorities arrested him on suspicion of complicity in the revolution against Spain. However, he was released on 29 March 1897. Charges that were made against him and a certain Pedro Casimiro were dropped on 15 June that same year when their accusers retracted their testimonies implicating them of participation in the revolution (RMAO GH 1897, Vol. 826, tomo 3). In 1898, he became financial adviser to the revolutionary movement. Along with two other Chinese mestizos, Pedro Paterno and Telesforo Chuidian, he headed the Republic’s financing group.24 Together, they authorized the signing of paper bills issued by the Republic (Manuel 1955, 249; Boncan y Limjap 1997, 40).25 He also was elected a member of the Malolos Congress, representing, along with three others, Manila.26 On 6 November 1898, he helped found the “social and political” Club Filipino Independiente.27 When the Americans invaded the Philippines, he continued his fight for independence. Later on, he was captured by the American forces in Pangasinan, brought to Manila, imprisoned, and later released.28
23 Its members frequently met at the house of a Chinese named Doroteo Ongjunco in Binondo (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 34). Another source, however, classifies Doroteo as “Chinese mestizo” (Tan 1985, 57). The primary goal of La Liga Filipina was to work for political and social reforms in the Philippines, to be carried out by a governing body composed of three councils (Agoncillo 1990, 147). 24 In one of the documents at the RMAO, Mariano Limjap requested to purchase arms. Whether these were to be used to aid the revolutionary movement is unclear. See RMAO VP Mariano Limjap. 25 He also assumed other roles such as that of Inspector-general of the Railroad. 26 The three others were Teodoro Gonzales Leaño, Felix Ferrer y Pascual, and Arsenio Cruz Herrera (Philippines and Sulpicio Guevara 1998, 215). I thank Raul A. Boncan for providing me this information. 27 Other founders included Telesforo Chuidian (President), Dr. José Albert, Bonifacio Arevalo, Antonio Luna, José Luna, Juan Luna, and Maximino Paterno. Mariano was Vice President of the Club (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 21). Its main purpose seemed to gather together all the prominent individuals in Manila to work toward independence. However, its main activities, apart from a grand inaugural ceremony held in the residence of the wealthy Valentin Guidote family, as well as being the first to rally Emilio Aguinaldo during the onset of the Philippine-American War in February 1899, are unknown to this author. Its name was later changed to Club International right after the Americans colonized the Philippines, but in 1905 or 1906, its name was returned to the original. It was also the first organization to send pensionados (government-sponsored scholars) to the U.S. It also became a social club for the rich and famous in Manila in the following decades (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 4). 28 For other details regarding his participation in the fight for Philippine independence, see Boncan y Limjap 1997 and NHI 1996, Vol. 3, 152–3.
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“First-Generation” Chinese Mestizos: Hispanic, Catholic, Chinese, Chinese Mestizo? It has been pointed out by several scholars (e.g., Wickberg [1965] 2000; Agoncillo 1990; Tan 1985) that the history of the Philippine nation-state cannot be written without the inclusion of the role and contributions made by Chinese mestizos. Some of the better-known Chinese mestizos include Philippine national hero José Rizal, the three martyred priests (Mariano Gómez, José Apolonio Burgos, and Jacinto Zamora), Pedro Paterno, Gregorio Sancianco, Emilio Aguinaldo and Flaviano Yenko. Aside from Mariano, other Chinese mestizos recognized in the annals of Philippine history are Roman Ongpin, Telesforo Chuidian, and Luis Yangco—all of whom provided financial contributions to the revolution. Thus, in the nationalist version of Philippine history, many of these Chinese mestizos, along with other Spanish mestizos and urbanized rich indios, are considered “fathers” of the “Filipino nation.” As mentioned earlier in the chapter, to be a “mestizo” in contemporary Philippine society means that one is of mixed Asian-Caucasian ancestry, whereas back in the Spanish colonial period, it usually referred to the offspring of Chinese and local women intermarriages. Furthermore, according to Wickberg, many of the elite “Filipinos” today are descendants of rich indios and Chinese mestizos who rose to prominence in the latter part of the nineteenth century (Wickberg [1964] 2001, 48). How did this come about? In order to understand this phenomenon, one must recall that when the Americans took over the Philippines from Spain in 1898, they simplified the national classifications of people into “Filipinos,” and “non-Filipinos” or “aliens.”29 Chinese mestizos and indios were subsumed under the category “Filipino,” while the Chinese became “aliens.”30 First-generation Chinese mestizos born to “alien” Chinese fathers and Chinese mestizo or indio mothers were also considered “aliens,” but could later on opt for “Filipino” citizenship at the age of maturity (see Chapter 8).
29 In 1898, Spain ceded the Philippines, along with Cuba, Guam, and Puerto Rico, to the United States for the sum of 20 million dollars, as stipulated in the Treaty of Paris. The Americans occupied the Philippines until 1946. 30 The American colonial government decreed under the Philippine Bill of 1902 that all those who were Spanish subjects prior to 11 April 1899 were deemed citizens of the Philippine Islands. Their children who were born in the Islands were regarded likewise (Azcuna 1969, 75).
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It should be noted, however, that during the latter part of the Spanish colonial period, the process of removing the distinctions between Chinese mestizos and the indios had already begun. In many parts of the country, the gremios that divided Spanish subjects were becoming obsolete as the powers of the gobernadorcillos, who headed the gremios, were gradually being transferred to other officials. For instance, in the provinces their fiscal powers were taken over by the Directorate of Local Administration. Moreover, the legal distinction between indios and Chinese mestizos was supposed to have been removed when the Spanish colonial government in the 1880s, giving in to demands from its subjects, including Chinese mestizos, abolished the tribute system and replaced it with the contribución industrial that levied the same property and income tax on all self-employed individuals (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 140–1). Furthermore, under the Maura Reform of 1893, the Gremio de Mestizos and Gremio de Naturales were supposed to be eliminated, to be replaced by a single local government called Tribunal Municipal (Municipal Government). However, these policy changes were not carried out successfully, either in parts or as a whole. For instance, in the districts of Santa Cruz and Binondo separate tax registers for Chinese mestizos and indios were still maintained until 1898 (RMAO V Binondo and Sta. Cruz). One reason for the persistence of these gremios was that in certain places, members of these gremios regarded these groups as social prestige groups and did not want to dissolve them (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 135–6).31 While in other parts of the country there was a decrease in the number of those who were officially classified as “Chinese mestizo,” in Binondo the number of people who registered themselves as Chinese mestizos actually increased during this period (Doeppers 1994, 85).32
31 Citing Michael Cullinane, Doeppers points out that one reason for this was that Chinese mestizos who opted to become “non-[Chinese] mestizo naturales” did so “out of a growing nationalistic zeitgeist” (1994, 86). 32 In my research involving Catholic Church documents such as baptismal records, I still find the classification “mestizo de sangley” still being used up to 1912, at least in Manila. Furthermore, when the term “Filipino” or “Filipina” was used to classify somebody, the terms “Chinese mestizos” and “indios” were juxtaposed beside one’s classification (see GSU RP 1707–1933, Reel 1307362; AAM IM 1909–1912). Apparently, while the state had stopped classifying Chinese mestizos as such, the Church still continued using the “Chinese mestizo” or “indio” classifications for some time.
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Nevertheless, while these reforms did not succeed in obliterating the distinctions between Chinese mestizos and indios, they reflected a trend in which a number of Chinese mestizos, especially in the provinces, were opting to become “non-(Chinese) mestizo naturales” in order to “secure greater opportunities and be able legally to assume leadership roles in the civic institutions of the expanded majority population” (Doeppers 1994, 86). These reforms can therefore be regarded as attempts at “codifying changes that (were) already well underway” (Doeppers 1994, 86). Seen in this light, when Chinese mestizos such as Mariano Limjap joined the movements toward political change, they were able to identify their interests with the larger indio majority (Wickberg [1964] 2001, 47). In terms of social usage, by 1900 there was also “no longer a third ethnic status as an alternative for Chinese mestizos,” so that for these Chinese mestizos, they became either “Chinese” or “Filipino” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 141; cf. Skinner 1996). And for the most part, the Chinese mestizos chose to be “Filipinos” (Wickberg [1964] 2001, 44). And why did the Chinese mestizos not self-identify culturally as “Chinese”? In an effort to provide an answer to this question, Wickberg points out that during the late Spanish colonial period, the Chinese mestizos underwent a process of “social Filipinization” ([1964] 2001, 40). Prior to 1850, “the . . . (Chinese ) mestizos were more Spanish than the Spanish, more Catholic than the Catholics,” who “[rejected] their Chinese heritage . . . [and] were not completely at home with their indio heritage” (1964, 97). However, when Hispanicization reached a high level in the nineteenth century, especially in the urban areas, many indios, whether of the upper or lower class, were also Hispanicized. Consequently, the Chinese mestizos increasingly identified themselves with the indios in a new kind of “Filipino” cultural and national consensus (Wickberg 1964, 97). To sum up, according to Wickberg’s analysis, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, the Chinese mestizos underwent both a political and cultural “Filipinization” (1964, 95–6). Consequently, when faced with the decision to become either “Chinese” or “Filipinos,” it was not surprising for the Chinese mestizos to choose the latter. Furthermore, it was not only in the political and social realms that the Chinese mestizos were becoming separate from the Chinese. Political events such as changes in government policy and increasing cultural ties between Chinese mestizos and indios only partly explain the ethnogenesis of the Chinese mestizo to being “Filipino.” There also were economic
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reasons why the Chinese mestizos did not choose to become “Chinese.” After large numbers of Chinese were expelled in the 1760s, following their support of the British occupation of Manila, the Chinese mestizos took over the businesses left behind by the Chinese. By 1850 they “dominated almost all branches of trade, controlled those industrial sectors important for commerce, and were the chief moneylenders and (after the Catholic Church) land investors in the countryside” (Skinner 1996, 55). But in the latter half of the nineteenth century, the Chinese returned in bigger numbers, and reclaimed the trade and industry they once dominated. Thus, the Chinese mestizos began to modify their occupations by moving out of the wholesale and retail business and into landholding and production of export crops (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 143, 149).33 Moreover, the Chinese were supposed to have cornered the industry involving opium and revenue farms, and penetrated the countryside through their intricate cabecilla-agent system as described in Chapter 3. As a result, antagonism between China-born Chinese, on the one hand, and Chinese mestizos and indios together, on the other, increased (Skinner 1996, 85). The antagonism between the Chinese and the Chinese mestizos brought about by economic competition only added to the incentive for the latter not to be associated with the former. Wickberg’s analysis on Chinese mestizo identity as being more Hispanicized and Catholic, as well as being anti-Chinese, especially among the upper class whose views were influenced by anti-Sinicism in the West (see Chapter 2), is essentially correct when this analysis is applied either to 1) Chinese mestizos who were a few or several generations away from their Chinese forefathers, or those living in the provinces; or 2) a macro-historical view of history or history in the longue durée. However, Wickberg’s analysis can be easily appropriated by other scholars using a nation-based approach to the study of ethnic identities, an approach that is often couched in exclusionary-inclusionary, binarist, or either-or terms. Scholars then, writing along this vein would tend to emphasize the “Filipino-ness” of the Chinese mestizos
33 Wickberg also mentions that the Chinese mestizos lost their chance to become a “native middle class” after the Chinese wrested this position from them, following the latter’s renewed immigration to the Philippines in the last few decades of the nineteenth century ([1964] 2001, 44). I, however, tend to agree with Tan (1985, 52) that many Chinese mestizos belonged to the middle class, despite Chinese competition. Furthermore, many of them also belonged to the upper class.
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as a way to explain their roles in the founding of the “Filipino” nation, and their and their descendants’ ascendance to the political elite of modern Philippine society. Lost or somehow elided in this approach to history is what happens in the everyday lives of individuals and how they live out their identities.34 From the perspective of micro-history and of first-generation Chinese mestizos (even the upper class) like Mariano Limjap, the picture looks different. As I will demonstrate below, they were very much in touch with their “Chinese-ness,” even if, as in Mariano’s case, they may publicly or officially identify as “Chinese mestizo,” “Spanish mestizo,” or even “indio.” Mariano’s Business Dealings As we look into Mariano’s business dealings, we can see that Mariano, while he interacted with people of different ethnic groups, had extensive interaction with Chinese merchants, both when he was working for his father and when he was on his own. As described in Chapter 3, Mariano’s father Joaquin established businesses both in the Philippines and in Hong Kong. Many of his partners were Chinese merchants too. For this reason, Mariano, working for Joaquin, undoubtedly had to deal with many Chinese merchants, especially when acting as his father’s representative whenever the latter traveled to Hong Kong or China.35 It was probably only after his father died in 1888 when Mariano finally became his own man, and the recognized patriarch of the Limjaps. Together with his brother Jacinto, Mariano established in March 1888 the company called “Limjap y Compañia,” which was a commission house that had a branch in Iloilo, and represented the Po On and Chai On Marine Insurance companies of Hong Kong.36 The
Also ignored in such approach are the Chinese mestizos who were born or brought to and raised in China. 35 Sources indicate that Joaquin had granted Mariano powers of attorney to represent him in his businesses. For instance, in the year 1881, when his father was recorded as being in China, Mariano canceled the contract arising from a loan made to Bonifacio Poguio Paodico and Vicenta de Castro by his father, after the couple had paid the loan and the corresponding interest (RMAO FD 1881, Vol. 443, tomo 2, no. 567). 36 According to his testament, Mariano, designated executor of his father’s will and in charge of all his father’s businesses, assets, and all other goods, established this company with Jacinto as a way to continue his father’s business (The Independent, 19 March 1926). When his father died in 1888, his father’s business was absorbed by Yek Tok Lin & Co., which was owned by Antonio Osorio. 34
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brothers also acted as agents for another Hong Kong-based company, the Penang Khean Guan Insurance Company, Ltd. (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 87).37 When Mariano and Jacinto re-established the “Limjap y Compañia” in 1896, they stated in the contract that the company was to engage in the following businesses: the buying and selling of letters of credit and their discount; buying and selling of Philippine products; exportation of said products; importation of articles and goods from Europe and China; and buying and selling of silver and gold coins, loans pertaining to buildings, discounts of payments, and commissions and consignments.38 With both his residence and company located in Binondo, Mariano was certain to have extensive dealings with the many Chinese merchants and residents who lived there.39 In November 1890, Mariano granted powers of attorney to the “Chinos” Cheat Ho and Valentin Lim Liang Ho, both of whom were living in Hong Kong, to collect the outstanding credits of Mariano’s businesses in Hong Kong, and to issue receipts, letters of payment, and other documents while making these collections.40 On the other hand, some Chinese merchants also gave Mariano the power of attorney to represent them. For instance, in 1892, the “Chino Cristiano” (Christian
37 Up to 1903 at least, this latter business was “still being conducted from Mariano’s office at 12 Hormiga Street, Binondo” (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 19). 38 In 1893, Mariano and Jacinto re-established the company with a new partner Candido Lim y Santiago. The terms for the new company included the choice to terminate the partnership and liquidate the assets of the company after three years, which they did in 1896. Mariano and Jacinto, however, decided to continue on with the business, putting in their respective capital. The company would be managed by Mariano, and would again be operational for three years. Should Jacinto decide to sell his shares in the company, Mariano would have the option to buy them. The initial capitalization of 364,000 pesos would have a yield of 10 percent annual interest. Among other stipulations in the contract included the permission for each of the partners to take 500 pesos monthly from the company, but any amount taken beyond that would be subjected to a 36 percent annual interest. The balancing of accounts would have to be done on the first of February of each year, and the books subsequently would have to be approved by both partners. For other stipulations of the contract, see RMAO EBC 1896, Vol. 872, tomo 5, no. 517. 39 As mentioned in Chapter 5, it was a common practice of many Chinese and Chinese mestizo households to build the store or office below one’s residence. This practice was still common among the Chinese up until recently, diminishing as families started to move out to suburbs, and built separate homes. Among Filipinos, this practice can still be seen in the ubiquitous sari-sari stores in many towns and cities. 40 Cheat and Valentin were also given the power to represent Mariano in all legal and judicial matters pertaining to his businesses (RMAO CR 1890, Vol. 843, tomo 3, no. 387).
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Chinese) Buenaventura Chung Tianlay, single, thirty-two years old, a businessman, and a resident of Binondo, gave Mariano “the power to administer and run his quincallería (hardware) store” located on Rosario Street, Binondo (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 2, no. 270). Mariano was also granted the power to represent Buenaventura in all judicial and legal matters pertaining to the said store. In 1897, he, along with the Chinese merchants Uy Siuliong, Cu Unjieng, Uy Teng-Piao, and the Chinese mestizo Edilberto Calixto y Achuy, established the Siu Liong & Company, with Uy Siuliong and Cu Unjieng as managers (RMAO GH 1900, Vol. 829, tomo 1, no. 113).41 This company gave crop loans, “underwrote trips of merchant ships to and from China, and handled remittances from the Chinese working in the Philippines to their families in China” (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 8). Thus, Mariano’s commercial activities made him well-known among Chinese merchants too. As we will see in Chapter 9, he helped Cu Unjieng, a Chinese who later became a prominent businessman and the first president of the Manila Chinese Commercial Council (later the Manila Chinese General Chamber of Commerce), start his own business (for more on Cu Unjieng, see Chapter 9). Hence, even while he was certainly comfortable being part of the Chinese mestizo community, Mariano must have felt just as much “at home” with the Chinese community. Conversely, the Chinese community must have regarded him as very much part of their own: when the Spanish government awarded him the distinction of Caballero de la Real Orden Americana de Isabel la Católica, they hailed this honor accorded to him (NHI 1996, Vol. 3, 153). But it was not only due to his businesses that Mariano was close to the Chinese community. In the previous chapter, we see that Mariano had “half-brothers” who lived in China. A few of these, based on their Hispanicized names, also came to the Philippines, so he must have met and interacted with them. A photograph, albeit taken in 1905, also shows that some Chinese individuals were close enough to be invited
41 In the contract they signed in establishing this company, Uy Siuliong categorized himself as a jornalero (laborer); Cu Unjieng as an “industrial ” (industrialist or owner of a business); Uy Teng-Piao also a “jornalero”; Mariano Limjap y Nolasco a “comerciante” (businessman); and Edilberto Calixto y Achuy a dependiente de comercio (shop assistant or salesman). I suspect, however, that for Siuliong, Teng-Piao, and Edilberto, they earned more than what their socio-economic labels seemed to reflect.
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to his house and be part of a “family” photo (fig. 13).42 A document dating from 1900 shows that he and Jacinto donated 3,000 pesos to their parrientes (relatives) in China, as directed by their father Joaquin in his will. In the document these parrientes were identified as the “Chinos” (Chinese) Antonio Lim-Siong-Chit, Francisco Lim Siong Cang and Lim Siong Que (RMAO GH 1900, Vol. 829, tomo 7, no. 1117). From his family’s genealogy, we know that these were his “halfbrothers” (see Chapter 5). And during his travels to Hong Kong or China, he must have met some of his Chinese kin.43 Finally, Mariano spoke Hokkien, as his great-grandson Raul A. Boncan attested to in a personal communication to me. While there is no documentary evidence to support the following hypothesis, I believe that Mariano was not only exposed to, but also practiced some Chinese customs. Mariano Limjap’s case deserves special attention in our discussion of Chinese mestizo identity because it invites us to rethink how ethnic identities were constructed during the latter part of the nineteenth century. For first-generation Chinese mestizos like Mariano, Spanish colonial policy identified him as “mestizo de sangley.” However, the Chinese could have also regarded him as “Chinese” and not a “Chinese mestizo,” as can be gleaned from the statement of Carlos Palanca. When asked by a member of the Philippine Commission to define a “Chinese mestizo,” Carlos gave this response: In the commencement a Chinaman marries a Tagalog woman and they get children from that marriage, and their children marry in time, and the descendants of that marriage are called (Chinese) mestizos (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 224).
42 Raul A. Boncan thinks that these men at the upper-left hand corner of the photo were not “Chinese,” but Chinese mestizos (Boncan, e-mail communication, 16 February 2009). However, based on the clothing worn by these men, I disagree with his assessment. 43 On one of his trips to China, he brought home a little girl who was given the name Simeona (she later became known as Ate Monang) (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 19). Mariano’s eldest daughter, Leonarda, became the girl’s godmother at her baptism, and she was given the Limjap name, “provided a tutor, and truly was part of the Limjap family” (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 5). It is not clear why she was adopted and whether she was a distant relative. For more information on Simeona, see Boncan y Limjap 1997, 59; 2000, 19.
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Figure 13. Mariano Limjap and extended family, around 1905–1906. Courtesy of Raul A. Boncan.
Does this mean that, in the eyes of the Chinese like Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien (incidentally, Carlos himself married a local woman and had several Chinese mestizo children), their Chinese mestizo offspring, though legally classified as “Chinese mestizo,” were “Chinese”? Unfortunately, this question cannot be clarified from the rest of Carlos’ testimony. At the very least, his response seems to indicate that the identity of first-generation Chinese mestizos was ambiguous, and that it was only after these first-generation Chinese mestizos intermarried that their descendants were clearly classified as Chinese mestizos. As for Mariano himself, during the Spanish colonial period he had identified himself as “mestizo español,” which became a subject of contention during the court case against him. Aside from that, he was also legally defined as “mestizo de sangley,” having been appointed cabeza of the Gremios de Mestizos in Binondo. Because he lived at a time when the Spanish colonial government was in the process of reclassifying ethnic categorizations and under a legal system in which it was not unusual for people to change classifications, public confusion could easily arise from his political identity. Socio-culturally, especially as seen from his familial practices, he was not only “Hispanic” and “Catholic,” but also “Chinese.” It is from his example that I argue that
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ethnic identities in Manila during this period can be better understood as lying within a problematic and shifting continuum. However, studies that use nation-based narratives would consider Mariano either as “Chinese” or “Filipino.” As mentioned previously, some Philippine history books categorize him as “Filipino” for his participation in the fight against Spaniards and his role in nation building under American colonial rule (see Chapter 7). On the other hand, the Chinese in China could consider him as “Chinese.” In the Dictionary of Overseas Chinese, published in Beijing, his name is included (Zhou 1990). Ildefonso Tambunting Another Chinese mestizo whose life reflected the ambiguous nature of first-generation Chinese mestizo identity was Ildefonso Tambunting.44 Ildefonso was the eldest of two sons, and was born in 1850.45 The second son apparently died as a child (Huang 1936, 198). His father, Joaquin Pocon Tambunting, was born in 1823 in Tangua (Tong’an) county, Fujian, and came to the Philippines at the age of twenty.46 On
44 In other documents, his surname is spelled Tan-Bunting. For consistency, I will be using “Tambunting,” the surname that is also being used by the descendants of Ildefonso today. 45 Although I have not found any document explicitly stating his date or year of birth, this information is corroborated by his Chinese biography which states that he died at the age of seventy-two in 1922 (Huang 1936, 199) and by many documents he drew up in which he stated his age, thus allowing us to extrapolate the year of his birth (see, for example, RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 427). 46 By the time he came to the Philippines at the age of twenty, Joaquin had been married and widowed in China. Five years later, he applied to be baptized a Catholic, after having received the proper Catholic indoctrination in Spanish, a language he understood “immediately.” The permission was granted on 11 August 1848, and José De San Agustin, O.P., the cura interino (interim parish priest) to the Christian Chinese of the Church of San Gabriel, baptized Joaquin on 13 August 1848 (AAM SCSB 1833–1850, 34.D.10, f. 3). A month later, Joaquin applied to marry a Chinese mestiza named Leandra Cosian (AAM IM 1848, 17.C.7, folder 9). In a notarized document he submitted to the ecclesiastical court of the Archdiocese of Manila, he swore under oath that he was soltero (single), instead of viudo (widowed). In the same manner, he also swore that he had never been married. This must have been an attempt on his part to deceive the Church authorities into approving his marriage application. For the verification of his eligibility to contract the marriage with Leandra, Joaquin presented as witnesses Faustino Gochaco, a sangley cristiano (Christian Chinese), a native of Tangua, single, and forty years old; and Vicente Tangquiat, also sangley cristiano, native of Chanchiu (Zhangzhou), married, forty years old. All these testimonies were made on 30 September 1848 before the notary public Ruperto Fernandez.
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the other hand, Ildefonso’s mother, Leandra, was born on 12 March 1826.47 She was the legitimate daughter of Antonio Cosiaum, a Christian Chinese, and Gregoria Tanleco, a Chinese mestiza from the barrio of San Fernando, Binondo.48 His parents were married in 1848. Piecing together information gathered from both primary and secondary sources, I discovered that in 1897 Ildefonso was married to a certain Juliana Uychico (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 435). And, according to another source, he was married to Concepcion Lauengco, and had a son with her by the name of Antonio, who was born on 1 June 1902 (National Souvenir Publications 1957, 469). Thus, Concepcion was apparently his second wife. He also had a son named Manuel, probably from his first marriage (RMAO GH 1902, Vol. 831, tomo 2, no. 133).49 Being the only surviving son, Ildefonso must have inherited much of his parents’ wealth and business interests. He was supposed to have “established the foundations of the family wealth,” including the chain of pawnshops popularly known today simply as “Tambunting” which, according to every shop sign, was founded in 1906. Other kinds of businesses he left behind included those in the shipping, insurance, and real estate industry. His wife Concepcion is also credited with helping him in the administration of the family businesses (National Souvenir Publications 1957, 469). He died on 1 April 1922, at the age of seventy-two. To a great extent, Ildefonso’s life reflected many aspects and facets of the lives of other first-generation Chinese mestizos. As mentioned in the previous section, many Chinese mestizos were engaged in commerce, and this brought them into close and constant contact with merchants of other ethnic groups, particularly the Chinese. Ildefonso himself, in his businesses, often entered into partnerships with the Chinese. For instance, he owned a bakery called Panaderia Nacional and his partner in this business was one of the most well established Chinese businessmen during his time, Joaquin Barrera Limjap 47 On 19 March 1826, Bruno Alburo, O.P. baptized her at the Most Holy Rosary and San Gabriel Church of Binondo, when she was seven days old. Her godmother was a woman named Maria Candelaria (AAM IM 1848, 17.C.7, f. 9). 48 At the time of her application to marry Joaquin, Leandra’s father Antonio was deceased, so her mother Gregoria gave the parental consent to the marriage. 49 I presume Manuel to be a son from the first marriage, for at the time when the document in which his name appeared was drawn up, i.e., in the year 1902, he was twenty-three years old. He was probably born in the year 1879 or 1880, when Ildefonso might have been married to first wife Juliana Uychico.
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(RMAO FD 1879, Vol. 438, tomo 2, no. 567; see Chapter 3). Furthermore, as representative of his minor son Manuel, he set up a shop for printing or selling prints together with a Chinese named Cu Tongco (RMAO GH 1902, Vol. 831, tomo 2, no. 133). One of his other businesses involved winning the bids for municipal contracts to collect taxes, and subcontracting them to other people.50 In fact, Wickberg identifies him as one of those who managed in 1881 to win two of the seven bids for municipal contracts in Manila, with the other five going to the Chinese ([1965] 2000, 113).51 In finding ways to carry out his duties in collecting taxes, he solicited the assistance of a Chinese Clavino Hernando Cue Chingco, granting the latter the power to represent him in all matters pertaining to the public contracts he had won (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 482). With the money he possessed, he bought property from the Chinese. For instance, in 1882, he bought a building from the Chinese Simon Yu Quinsing, a.k.a. Yu-Guey (RMAO EBC 1890, Vol. 866, tomo 2, no. 730). Thus, from these few examples of his business dealings, we can see that he maintained close ties with the Chinese.52 These ties were not merely borne out of financial or practical concerns, but also out of sense of trust and affinity that allowed people to entrust their business matters to other people, even if they belonged to a different ethnic group. Apart from granting powers of attorney to another Chinese named Simon Yu Quinsing, Ildefonso had also drawn up a contract granting the same powers to Simon Yu-Vioco to represent him in his business interests in Cavite, a province south of Manila (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 364). 50 Since the seventeenth century, the Chinese had been involved in tax-farming in the Philippines. However, this was limited to “collecting Chinese taxes or for supplying meat to Manila” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 113). After 1850, the Chinese were allowed to bid for monopoly contracts involving taxes on “public markets, weights and measures, livestock slaughtering, cockpits, and a general impost on carriages, horses and bridges” (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 113). The more lucrative contracts were those that involved opium monopoly contracts. 51 For more information regarding Chinese and Chinese mestizo involvement in monopoly contracts, see Wickberg ([1965] 2000, 59, 113–9, 122–3, 149, 151). 52 Naturally, he also dealt in business with people in other ethnic groups, subleasing, for example, the contracts he won to Chinese mestizo Leoncio Tansimsim y de los Reyes of Bulacan (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 427) and to Chinese mestiza Monica Tongco y Gonzalez, also of Bulacan (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 4, no. 510). Furthermore, he also granted powers of attorney to Spanish lawyers Francisco Rodriguez y Flavier Pablo to represent him legally in Bulacan (RMAO EBC 1896, Vol. 872, tomo 8, no. 845) and to Placido Canas Buenaventura and Felipe Geronimo Mancilla to represent him before the courts of Manila and in the Superior Tribunal of the Royal Audiencia (RMAO FD 1880, Vol. 441, tomo 2, no. 678).
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Unlike Mariano, Ildefonso seemed more involved with public matters affecting the Chinese. Whenever the Spanish colonial government promulgated policies unfair or unjust to the Chinese, Ildefonso worked to reverse or abolish these policies. Probably in recognition of his ability to work with the Chinese, the Spanish colonial government appointed him capitan (head) of the Chinese mestizos, and relied upon him to act as arbiter when disputes arose between the Chinese and the Chinese mestizos. And how did Ildefonso live out his personal life? According to a short biographical sketch in Chinese written after his death (Huang 1936), Ildefonso not only was frugal and industrious like his Chinese father, but also treated the older Chinese with respect. He spoke Hokkien, and practiced certain Chinese customs. For instance, when his father died, he, following Chinese burial customs, personally carried his coffin as a sign of his filial piety. His father Joaquin was buried in the Chinese cemetery, and on the seventh moon and twenty-fourth day of the lunar calendar, Ildefonso would bring the favorite clothes of his father, and place them in front of the tomb, along with fragrant flowers and food. Due to his close association with the Chinese community, some confusion might have arisen as regards to his ethno-legal classification. In one of the documents at the RMAO classified under his name, the circumstances surrounding a letter he wrote to the Civil Governor (of the province of Manila) points toward this ambiguity about his identity. In this letter, dated 24 February 1887, Ildefonso requested that the Civil Governor issue a letter to the coastguard certifying that he (i.e., Ildefonso) was of Spanish nationality. The reason behind this request was that he needed to fulfill an “indispensable requirement” in order to have a ship he just bought registered under his name. This requirement involved presenting a certificate or proof showing that he was of Spanish nationality and that he had never forfeited or lost this. Attached to his letter to the Civil Governor is another letter coming from the gobernadorcillo (presumably of Manila) and a number of principales (notable persons), addressed to the same Governor and stating that, indeed, Don Ildefonso Tambunting is [mestizo sangley] . . . and as those born in Spanish territories, they being all equal, it is no doubt that the appellant belongs to his class as all those born in this country that is one of the Spanish provinces, and neither has it been made known to us nor have we heard it said that he had lost his nationality (RMAO VP, Ildefonso Tambunting, f. 20951).
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Thus, it can be inferred from these documents that there was some confusion or ambiguity about his identity that needed to be clarified. Others, such as the coastguard might have perceived him other than a Spanish national. And could it be hypothesized that he was viewed as a sangley due to his close association with the Chinese community and to his constant travels to Hong Kong or China?53 These could have led the coastguard to think that not only was he not of Spanish nationality, but that he also had forfeited his claim to Spanish citizenship. Bonifacio Limtuaco: The Chinese Mestizo Who was “Chinese” The third Chinese mestizo whose life is worth noting is Bonifacio Limtuaco. Although the data I have on him is meager compared to the first two Chinese mestizos included in this chapter, certain details about his life nevertheless raise a few more questions or provide us with some insights into Chinese mestizo identity during the latter part of the nineteenth century. According to Comenge y Dalmau, in the 300 years of Spanish colonization in the Philippines, Bonifacio Limtuaco was the only Chinese mestizo who requested the Ministro de Ultramar in 1880 to change his classification to “sangley,” and to pay the tribute as “his ancestors (had) and to dress as Chinese” (Comenge 1894, 229; cf. Wickberg 1964, 66 n. 11). Apparently, Chinese mestizos could change their classifications not only to “indio” but also to “sangley.” That he identified more as a “Chinese” was not surprising if a closer examination upon his life is made. According to his biography, Bonifacio was born in Xiamen. This meant that his Chinese father must have brought his mother, presumably a Chinese mestiza or india, to China with him. Unfortunately, nothing is known about his parents. Bonifacio was already thirty-six years old and was a “Mandarin trained in martial arts” when he “sailed for the Philippines in 1850 with the blessings of the Chinese emperor” (Hlousek website: Destileria Limtuaco). This also meant that Bonifacio was born in the year 1814. Within two years of his arrival, he set up his distillery at 135 Gandara Street, Binondo. The drink he invented became popularly known as Sioktong. Soon, Bonifacio was “an acknowledged leader in [the Chinese] business community and in the distillery trade,” and that, 53 For instance, he was in Hong Kong when he procured a ship named “Juliana” (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 296).
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in order to “complete his integration into [ local] life,” he took on a Christian name and became known as Bonifacio Limtuaco. While on a trip back to Xiamen in 1887, he died, at approximately seventy-three years old (Hlousek website: Destileria Limtuaco).54 Having been born in China, Bonifacio must have felt more “Chinese” than Mariano and other Chinese mestizos born in the Philippines. However, like many Chinese merchants, he opted to be baptized as a Catholic, presumably gaining an influential padrino in the process. We do not know anything about his wife, but he had two children, Carlos and Andrea. Carlos was sent to the Jesuit Ateneo Municipal, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree, class of 1889. Carlos was supposed to have traveled to Xiamen shortly after his graduation to visit his ancestral home. He died there during one of his later visits, before reaching the age of forty (Hlousek website: Destileria Limtuaco). Wickberg writes that toward the close of the nineteenth century, the Chinese in the Philippines were, faced with an uncertain future, becoming more unified as a community, and sought to prevent the assimilation of their Chinese mestizo children by creating the Anglo-Chinese school in 1899 that emphasized Confucian learning ([1965] 2000, 204, 235–6). Furthermore, as distinctions between Chinese mestizos and indios were beginning to disappear, both culturally and politically, the Chinese mestizos were “usually absorbed into Filipino [or Chinese] society within a generation” ([1965] 2000, 141). Two things, however, need to be pointed out here. First, Wickberg is not entirely correct in stating that in 1900, the “unmodified term ‘mestizo’ no longer referred to the Chinese mestizo, but had acquired the meaning it has today: Spanish mestizo or Eurasian in general” ([1965] 2000, 141). As I have indicated above, the term “Chinese mestizo,” while losing its meaning as a legal ethnic category, continued to be used during the first decade of the twentieth century. Second, while many Chinese mestizos might identify politically or legally as either “Filipino” or “Chinese,” and that the “Filipino” or “Chinese” community might have reclaimed these Chinese mestizos during their lifetimes, the lives Chinese mestizos like Mariano, Ildefonso, and Bonifacio led show us that, in their everyday practices, what “Chinese mestizo,” “sangley,” and later on “Chinese”
54 According to my source, the information regarding Bonifacio’s life was obtained from the website of the company he founded, the Distelleria Limtuaco. However, this website apparently does not exist anymore.
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or “Filipino” (as will be shown in Chapter 7) meant to first-generation Chinese mestizos was not as clear-cut, unambiguous, and static as scholars like Wickberg have described or as dominant groups would like. As I have indicated elsewhere (2002, 61), these Chinese mestizos during the late Spanish colonial period were not only able to shift their legal ethnic identities (as in the case of Mariano and Bonifacio), but also to lead lives that could reject or recognize, singly or together, their “Spanish,” “Catholic,” and “Chinese” heritages. Lastly, I suspect that more studies will reveal that prior to the twentieth century many more Chinese mestizos such as Bonifacio Limtuaco were sent to China for an education, and who, upon returning to the Philippines, chose to become “Chinese.” Rethinking the Chinese Mestizas Much of what we know about the history of the Chinese mestizos in the Philippines and their identities is based on the lives of male individuals. As a consequence of a predominantly male-centered version of Chinese mestizo history, our understanding of Chinese mestizo history and ethnogenesis is incomplete. For this reason, I have attempted to include the Chinese mestizas and their lives in this chapter. Documents left behind by or pertaining to Chinese mestizas are fewer and more scant than those of Chinese mestizos, but not lacking. I used mainly two sources: the marriage records at AAM, and the notarial records kept at the RMAO. In Chapter 4, I have discussed and presented the information from the marriage records, and will be referring again to them in this chapter. But the bulk of information to be used in this chapter will come from the protocolos file found at the RMAO. Focusing on the years 1867, 1872, 1882, 1892, 1897, and 1902, I was able to identify 95 documents or cases involving Chinese mestizas, 91 of which will be used in this section.55 Although these cases make up a mere fraction of the total
55 As I mentioned in the Introduction, the choice of the years was partly dictated by pragmatic considerations. I chose which years to include based on the following method: I started with 1867 since this is the earliest year that had a complete set of documents. Then, I decided to look at the volumes at ten-year intervals, starting with 1872. I decided to include 1897 as this was in the middle of the Philippine revolution against Spain, and thought that the year might reflect some change in the behavior
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number of notarized documents found in these protocolos, they nevertheless constitute a significant and important source of data regarding some Chinese mestizas belonging to the period under study. In discussing about the lives of these Chinese mestizas, I will use as a starting point what Edgar Wickberg has written about them. According to him, Chinese mestizo mothers (along with indio mothers) were supposed to play an influential role in the Hispanicization and Catholicization of their Chinese mestizo offspring. For in the absence of the Chinese fathers who often returned to China, the mothers were left with the task of raising their Chinese mestizo offspring, whom they reared as devout Catholics and devotees of the Spanish culture (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 33).56 In turn, it was this love for the Catholic-Hispanic culture that would lead these Chinese mestizos to fight for political reform, and later on the formation of an independent Philippine nation-state. Consequently, the Chinese mestizas played an important supporting role in the founding of the Filipino nation, for as I mentioned earlier in the chapter, certain scholars consider these Chinese mestizos as amongst the founding fathers of the Philippine nation-state. Apart from rearing their children up as Catholics and Hispanic, the Chinese mestizo (and indio) mothers were supposed to have also trained them in business skills. Disagreeing with foreign observers who attributed these skills to their Chinese fathers, Wickberg hypothesizes that the skills of Chinese mestizos could have come instead from the local mothers, who might happen to have some business sense themselves. Wickberg also writes that the business acumen that these Chinese mestizos exhibited seems “out of place” (1964, 99). He must be working on the assumption that Chinese mestizos and indigenous peoples in the Philippines did not possess the same business acumen that the Chinese had, and since the Chinese mestizos were supposed to be “rejecters of their Chinese heritage,” they could not possibly possess the same characteristics as their forefathers. By extension, the business skills of their mothers, whether Chinese mestizo or indio, seems also out of place.
or choices of the Chinese mestizas involved. And as I pointed out in the Introduction, notarial records beyond 1903 are not yet accessible to researchers. 56 For an attempt to reconstruct and describe the early Chinese mestizo family structure, see Zarco 1966.
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That these Chinese mestizas were very enterprising and businessminded is indeed borne out by the data from the protocolos. Of the 63 Chinese mestizas found in the cases, 49 of them were proprietresses. For instance, Petrona Chumbuque y Limjengco owned three prime lots in the city center (RMAO CR 1897, Vol. 851, tomo 2, no. 183), and Eugenia Lichauco y Lauchangco owned eleven real estates consisting of houses and lots situated in Binondo (RMAO CR 1902, Vol. 856, tomo 1, no. 96). Accordingly, many stores owned by the Chinese were located in the properties owned by these Chinese mestizas. For example, the general merchandise store of José Muñoz Lim Tiengjan and Lim Congquian was located under the house owned by a certain Banjuat, widow of Sy Leg (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 3, no. 605). On the other hand, the hardware store owned by Cue Capco, Tan Pitco, and Cue Sonman was located under the house of the property of a certain Maria Paterno, the Chinese mestizo widow of a Chinese named Sy Leg (RMAO FD 1872, Vol. 427, tomo 3, no. 747).57 Furthermore, 29 Chinese mestizas were involved in some kind of trade, either as moneylenders, or owners of cascos (small sea-faring vessels used to transport goods) or business establishments. Natalia Lim Yutoy and Cirila Ochangco established a sugar mill with a number of Chinese businessmen (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 189). On the other hand, Silveria Banjuat had shares in the ship “Diamante” (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 545) while Miguela Tanongco bought and rented out a house in Binondo and wanted to evict her tenants (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 1, no. 62). Finally, Francisca Yap y Lim had various businesses in the province of Leyte, and the Chinese Joaquin Sy Oco and Uy Uco managed these for her (RMAO CR 1892, Vol. 846, tomo 2, no. 180). But where did the Chinese mestizas acquire their business sense in the first place? Studies have shown that before the advent or influence of Islam, Christianity, and Westernization, gender relations among the peoples of the Philippines and Southeast Asia tended to be egalitarian and complementary (e.g., Eviota 1992; Atkinson and Errington 1990; Reid 1988). Local women possessed some degree of autonomy in
57 This practice of Chinese mestizas owning property extended into the twentieth century. For instance, Raul A. Boncan told me in a personal conversation that he remembered accompanying as a young boy his grandmother and the widow of Mariano Limjap, Maria Escolar Co-Chayco, who owned several properties in Binondo, to “Chinatown” to collect rents during the early 1930s.
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relation to their bodies and to making decisions regarding their family or their possessions (Eviota 1992, 37). In the Philippines, daughters inherited equally and women had been observed to be active participants in running the household, in farming and in trading with the Chinese (Scott 1994, 143). In fact, “marketing was a female domain par excellence” in several Southeast Asian countries, including the Philippines (Reid 1988, 163). Thus, it is not surprising that Chinese mestizas had such business acumen with which to manage the wealth entrusted to them by their Chinese husbands, or the properties bequeathed to them by their Chinese fathers or Chinese mestizo mothers. On the other hand, can we not also theorize that these women’s business sense was acquired from, if not honed or enhanced by their extensive exposure to and involvement in the enterprises of their Chinese fathers or husbands? Therefore, in a sense, what they passed on to their Chinese mestizo offspring was something they had also obtained from their vast interaction with the Chinese. And could we not hypothesize then that instead of viewing the Chinese as economic competitors, these women considered them as partners, not only in marriage but also in business? Due to their vast interaction with the Chinese, these Chinese mestizas most probably did not reject their Chinese heritage, and this kind of attitude could have been passed on to their Chinese mestizo offspring. Thus, I argue in this section that Chinese mestizo mothers could have actually “slowed down” the Chinese mestizo-ization or indigenization of their male Chinese mestizo offspring. As for their female offspring, the Chinese mestizo mothers might have also helped prevent their “Filipinization” by encouraging them to follow their example of marrying Chinese men. It has been noted that Chinese mestizas and their families found marrying Chinese men to be financially advantageous (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 33; cf. Amyot 1973, 130–1). Furthermore, legal policy under the Spanish colonial regime did not provide any disincentive for Chinese mestizas to marry the Chinese, for as we have seen, a Chinese mestiza marrying a Chinese man remained under the Chinese mestiza classification.58 On the other hand, the Chinese and the Chinese mestizos also preferred
58 As mentioned earlier in this chapter, although indio women remained under their classification when marrying a Chinese, they became classified as Chinese mestizas after the death of their Chinese husbands.
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to marry Chinese mestizas (Skinner 1996, 52–3).59 (It should also be pointed out that fathers also played a role in choosing for their Chinese mestizo daughters a Chinese husband [see Cuentos Filipinos and Sugaya 2000, 561]). In my own research, the number of intermarriages between Chinese men and local women seems to support the thesis that many Chinese men preferred to marry Chinese mestizo women, and vice versa. Focusing on the years 1870, 1875, 1880, and 1885, I counted the number of intermarriages between Chinese men and local women and found that out of 146 intermarriages, 72, or almost 50 percent, were between Chinese men and Chinese mestizo women. On the other hand, the number of intermarriages between Chinese men and indio women was 69, or 47 percent of the total. Other intermarriages involved mestizo español women (3 out of 146 or 2 percent) and Chinese women (2 out of 146 or 1 percent). Even though the rate of intermarriage between Chinese men and Chinese mestizo women and that of between Chinese men and indio women seem to be almost equal, if we consider that, numerically, there were more indio women than Chinese mestizo women in local society, then this statistical finding, at the least, suggests a high preference of Chinese men for Chinese mestizo women.60 Consequently, within Chinese mestizo families, a Chinese mestizo daughter would marry a Chinese, repeating the pattern started by her own Chinese mestizo mother. An example is Agueda Gonzalez Yng Puico, whose father was the Christian Chinese Domingo Gonzales Yng-Puico and whose mother was Manuela Ang-Yangco, a Chinese mestiza. In 1851, she herself married a Chinese man named Antonio Sy Siengui (AAM IM 1851–1853, 1882, 17.C.9, f. 3). Another example is that of Juliana Calderon Lim-Tongjin who married Juan Pardo Tang-Silo, a Chinese Christian from Longxi (Leonque) China in 1872 (AAM IM 1872, 18.D.10). Her own Chinese mestiza mother Tomasina de San Gabriel married her Chinese father Fernando José Calderon Lim Tongjin twenty years earlier (AAM IM 1851–1853, 1882, 17.C.9). Finally, both the grandmother and mother of Ildefonso Tambunting were Chinese mestizas who married Chinese Christians.
59 One reason for this was that she oftentimes brought in money into the marriage that could help her husband start up his own business (see, for example, the case of Vicente Romano Sy Quia in Sy Joc Lieng vs. Gregorio Sy Quia; Azcuna 1969, 58 and 64). 60 However, these results are merely suggestive rather than conclusive.
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From these examples, one can say that this pattern of intermarriage reinforced or re-introduced these Chinese mestizas’ orientation toward their Chinese heritage. Once the daughters followed their mothers’ footsteps, they would have added to their already existing network of Chinese relatives from their father with the relatives of their husbands.61 Likewise, the Chinese mestizo mother would have added an extended Chinese family if her daughter married a Chinese man. And in such instances, the marriage could have been met with much approval from the mother. The case of Silveria Banjuat is worth using as an example. At fifty years of age and close to dying, Silveria Banjuat drew up her testament on 16 November 1882. In it she declared that she was a widow of a Christian Chinese by the name of José Sy-Sec, with whom she had two living daughters named Ysidra Sy-Sec, twenty-six years old, and Laureana Sy-Sec, nineteen years old. She had a son named Ynocencio Sy-Sec who was deceased at that time. She listed down her assets which included property valued at more than 80,000 pesos; as well as gold, jewelry, silver, and images of saints totaling 24,000 pesos in value. In one of the clauses of her testament, she was also leaving to her “Chinese” son-in-law Sy-Dé (who was married to Ysidra) the camarin (warehouse for light materials, or for storing agricultural products) situated in Calanate, Malolos, valued at 6,687 pesos and 4 reales. Also, she left with him half of the shares invested by her in the ship “Diamante,” the amount of which was equivalent to 5,000 pesos. These she bequeathed to him “for the good services that he had given her, and to whom she owe(d) much debt and favors, as he (was) the person of her utmost confidence” (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 545). Furthermore, she designated him as the executor of her will, and mandated that her two daughters live in harmony and to call upon Sy-Dé in case of disagreements. Such was her closeness to her “Chinese-ness” that not only did she designate a Chinese to be the executor of her will, but also had as her testament’s witnesses Francisco Martinez Chan-Juanchay, Joaquin Tierren Lim-Luyong, and Cipriano Lim Juansioc, all of whom belonged to the Gremio
61 There was even a case where a Chinese mestiza chose to marry a Chinese man twice. Juana So-Gueco of Binondo in her testament declared that she was married first to José Tan-Tiongco, with whom she had a son named Cirilo Tan-Tiongco. After José died, she married another Chinese man by the name of Vicente Yu-Tico, who, at the time Juana drew up her testament, was in China and had been there for approximately six months (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, 7 November).
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de Sangleyes (Chinese gremio).62 In the same manner, another Chinese mestiza Juana So-Gueco appointed her Chinese brother-in-law Catalino So-Gueco in her will to be the tutor and guardian of her son Cirilo Tan Tiong-co, whose father was the Chinese José Tan-Tiongco but who had passed away. She also appointed another Chinese, Bartolome Barreto Jo-Guioc, executor of her will (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, December 18). Moreover, some of the Chinese mestizas had to contend with or accept the arrangement that their husbands or fathers had another family back in China. As we have seen in Chapter 4, several Chinese men had a Chinese wife as well as a local one. Thus, in the partition of her deceased husband’s wealth, Miguela Cang Jangco had to share the inheritance with her husband’s two sons by his Chinese wife, as well as his Chinese nephew. The two sons happened to be in China. But it is interesting to note that her husband in his will tasked his nephew CoPoco to make sure that his two sons, whether they remained in China or come to the Philippines, be baptized Catholics.63 Whether Miguela had congenial relations with her Chinese in-laws was another matter, but certainly the fact that she had been married to a Chinese man exposed her to a wider extended Chinese family, both in China and in the Philippines. With their husbands frequently traveling to China, or their relatives coming to the Philippines, and even in some cases, with they themselves being brought to China, many Chinese mestizas no doubt were very much aware of their Chinese relatives.64 In most cases, they could not ignore them, and in some cases, as we have seen As seen in Chapter 1, the gremio refers to a quasi-religious-political organization. This therefore opens up the discussion on how influential the Chinese fathers, especially Catholic ones, were in the Catholicization and Hispanization of their children. Skinner notes that there “is some evidence that China-born fathers married to indigenous women may have been more diligent in ensuring that sons as opposed to daughters were reared as Chinese” (1996, 54 n. 6). Future research will hopefully clarify their roles, but we may tentatively hypothesize that Chinese fathers, despite their constant travels, might not have been as absent or as passive as Wickberg describes them in rearing their children. Nor were they necessarily opposed to the idea of them being raised as “Catholics.” 64 In fact, the husbands of three Chinese mestizas included in this section were either in China or Hong Kong, or died there. Silveria Chua Quico’s husband José Chuidian died in Hong Kong in 1860 (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, October 29); Juana So-Gueco’s second husband Vicente Yu-Tico was in China and had been there for approximately six months at the time when Juana drew up her testament on 18 December 1867 (RMAO FD 1867, Vol. 421, tomo 2, 7 November); and Cirila Ochangco’s own husband, José Tiaoqui, died in China in the year 1882 (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 201). 62 63
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above, even embraced them as part of the family.65 Furthermore, if they themselves did not go to China, some of their relatives did. Thus, when thirty-three-year-old Ana Sy-Yap y Gobonjua drew up her will and stipulated that the two sons of her deceased brother heirs to her wealth. Both of these nephews were identified as Christians living in China (RMAO NA 1895, Vol. 561, tomo 2, no. 306).66 On the other hand, Ciriaca Teodora Ang-Gueco, whose Chinese father instituted her as his sole and universal heiress of his businesses in Binondo, was instructed to also share her inheritance with her father’s nephew and her father’s concubine, both of whom were Chinese. Her father instructed her to do this out of respect to customs in China, and to share her inheritance with people with whom she had “ties of blood” (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 2, no. 469). Thus, their familial connections to their Chinese husbands or fathers meant that Chinese mestizas constantly interacted with other Chinese, especially if they themselves were engaged in business or inherited the businesses left behind by their deceased ones. For instance, after her Chinese husband José Chuidian died in 1860, Silveria Chua Quico decided with her husband’s business partner José Tiaoqui to continue the company that her husband and José Tiaoqui had founded. Seven years later, she and José Tiaoqui drew up a contract stipulating their decision to terminate the business, and upon liquidation of all the assets of the company, each one took in 14,382 pesos, 6 reales, and 14 cuartos. Fifteen years later, the widow of José Tiaoqui himself, Cirila Ochangco, had to deal with her deceased husband’s business partners in the liquidation of the business he left behind (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 201). At the same time, however, she herself entered into a new business partnership with another Chinese mestiza and
Just as there were Chinese fathers who brought their Chinese mestizo offspring to China (see Skinner 1996, 53–4 n. 6), there were Chinese husbands who brought their Chinese mestizo or indio wives to China, as noted by some missionaries in the Philippines. During my archival research at the Archdiocesan Archives of Manila, I chanced upon a case of a Chinese mestiza who had been brought to China and died there. Her name was Honorata Rivera and she was married to Francisco Lim Chonco y Agcoa (AAM RB 1899–1912, 30.C.7, f. 14). 65 One case even shows that the Chinese mestiza Eugenia Lichauco y Lauchangco had an adopted Chinese daughter whom she named Maria Lichauco (RMAO CR 1902, Vol. 856, tomo 1, no. 96). 66 Their youngest brother, who was also named an heir, was at that time still a minor and so stayed behind in Manila. Ana’s sister Manuela was also named co-heir.
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another Chinese (RMAO FD 1882, Vol. 445, tomo 1, no. 189). As with other male merchants, who either traveled abroad or had business interests in the other islands of the Philippines, Chinese mestizas who engaged in business themselves also drew up mandatos or instruments granting powers of attorney to other people, even to Chinese individuals. For instance, on 28 June 1897, Petrona A. Mendoza Dijiongco, twenty-five years old, single, industrial (owner of a business), living in Binondo, granted general powers to the Christian Chinese Elias Martinez Nubla Suija, an industrial living in Binondo, to represent her in all her businesses. She also granted to the same person, along with a certain Francisco Gonzales, the power to represent her in all judicial matters (RMAO CR 1897, 851, tomo 2, no. 211). Thus, from their family situation in which part of their family lived in or came from China; the familial choices they made in taking in a Chinese husband or son-in-law; and their business dealings with Chinese businessmen, we can surmise these Chinese mestizas, just like Mariano, Ildefonso, Bonifacio, and other first-generation Chinese mestizos, maintained strong ties with their Chinese heritage. Further Untangling the “Chinese Mestizo” Identity In an essay on the ethnogenesis of “creole” or “mestizo” identity in Nanyang countries, G. William Skinner (1996) points out that the case of the creole communities in three countries; namely, the babas in Malacca, the peranakans in Indonesia, and the Chinese mestizos in the Philippines, deserve further analysis. For unlike in Cambodia and Thailand, in these countries the intermarriages between Chinese men and local non-Chinese women led to the creation of a “discrete and stable community alongside of, but clearly distinguishable from, Chinese as well as indigenous society,” and into what he calls “an indigenous-based creole” (Skinner 1996, 51–2). He then examines the factors, such as the “social status” of the indigenous peoples, which led to the “creolization” of such communities. For instance, in the case of the Philippines, because “local” or indigenous culture was not part of the higher socio-economic stratum in Philippine society, as it was in Thai society, there was therefore no incentive for the Chinese mestizos to “assimilate.” Instead, at the height of their dominance in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Chinese mestizos chose to become “Hispanicized” and Catholicized, a view advanced by Edgar
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Wickberg in his seminal works on Chinese mestizo identity (1964 and [1965] 2000). I agree with Skinner’s and Wickberg’s analysis only to a certain extent, in that these observations can be generally applied to second or third-generation Chinese mestizos. In my research on Chinese mestizo identity, especially those belonging to the first-generation, their identities were less “stable.” In their lifetimes, they could be “Hispanicized” and “Catholic,” as well as “Chinese” and “Buddhist.” Furthermore, Skinner’s amd Wickberg’s analysis pertains mainly to Chinese mestizo men. In my research on Chinese mestizo women from middle or upper class families, there was a propensity for them to be married off to Chinese men. Thus, I argue that the identity formation of these women, i.e, their “creolization” took on a trajectory different from that of the Chinese mestizo of the second or third generation, and one that was more akin to the ethnogenesis of first-generation Chinese mestizos, in that their “cultural” identities can be better understood as lying within a shifting and problematic continuum. When analyzing Chinese mestizo identity (and I argue for other creole identities for that matter), it is important to examine the intersections of class, gender, religious, generational, and ethnic identities. For the Chinese mestizo sons of these families, their “position” within the genealogical line of their fathers, the extent to which their families adhered closely to the teachings of their Catholic (or Buddhist) faith, and their families’ access to political and cultural capital—all these interacted with the political economy in determining whether they would self-identify more as “Chinese,” “Hispanic,” or “Catholic.” At a time when the Philippine economy was becoming increasingly globalized, when both the Spanish and Chinese imperial governments seeking to “modernize” amidst waning power and influence over their subjects, and when discontent was increasing among the locals in Philippine society, these Chinese merchant families engaged in flexible and border-crossing strategies. This meant buying titles or ranks from the Chinese imperial government for one’s Chinese mestizo son, as Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien did for his son Engracio Palanca; applying for Spanish citizenship and ensuring one’s children also become naturalized, as Ignacio Jao Boncan did for his children; or making sure that one’s male descendants, even while they were Catholics, observed certain “Chinese” practices to ensure the comfort and prosperity of one’s own afterlife and those of one’s ancestors, as Vicente Romano Sy Quia’s family did in assigning his Chinese mestizo grandson Tomas to
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wear the nine silk suits (see Chapter 5). Given such familial practices, it was very likely that the identities of these Chinese mestizos were multiple, fluid, and ambiguous. To a certain extent, these practices also involved the domination and control of the lives and bodies of their young and of their women in the interest of protecting the economic and personal interests of the family and of upholding patriarchy. Hence, intermarriages between Chinese men and Chinese mestizas can be interpreted as an adaptive strategy of social endogamy designed either to keep the wealth within one’s family (from the point of view of the Chinese) or to expand one’s network and/or increase one’s social status (from the point of view of the Chinese mestiza’s family). In sum, when analyzing these families’ Chinese mestizo children’s “creolization,” it would do well to first examine the family’s “structure” (e.g., dual family) and then the familial strategies they undertook, and how these affected, influenced, or shaped the identity of their children. In such families, it was not a matter of relative ease for these children to become part of a “stable, discrete third culture” that Skinner describes in his article (1996). Conclusion In this chapter, I examined various examples of commercial and socio-cultural practices of first-generation Chinese mestizos belonging to Chinese merchant families and Chinese mestizas married to Chinese merchants. From these examples, I conclude that their “cultural” identities can be better understood as lying within a shifting and problematic continuum, so despite the fact they might have identified more and more with the equally Hispanicized and Catholicized indios, they did not necessarily abandon their “Chinese-ness.” The reason for this was that the commercial and familial practices of Chinese diasporic (merchant) families found intermarriages between Chinese merchants (even when married to Chinese women in China) and local women, especially Chinese mestizas, to be financially and emotionally expedient for their itinerant and mercantilist lifestyle. Chinese wives of elite merchant families had to stay in China in order to look after the aging parents of their husbands, and to ensure the continuation of their husbands’ patrilineage by producing sons. For women with bound feet, travel was also inconvenient. Chinese mestizo (and some indio)
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wives took the role of concubines in “traditional” China, and this would explain why some of them were brought to China to serve as “second” wives. If they stayed in the Philippines, these women also provided the social and financial networks needed by more ambitious Chinese merchants to create a business empire. The Chinese mestizo offspring produced from these unions (whether consensual or officially sanctioned) provided some “benefits” to the family, with Chinese mestizo sons adding extra “hands” for one’s expanding business, and, if considered as part of the lineage, for ensuring the observation of proper ceremonial rites upon one’s death and life beyond; and Chinese mestizo daughters possibly expanding one’s social network via marriages to business associates. Since many of these Chinese merchants kept ties with their ancestral towns or villages in China, and continued to interact with their townsfolk or kinsfolk in Manila, these Chinese mestizos and Chinese mestizas inevitably continued to be just as “Chinese” as they were “Hispanic” and “Catholic.” Additionally, Wickberg was right to a certain extent that the Chinese mestizos, especially those belonging to the middle and upper class, underwent a social “Filipinization” in the latter part of the nineteenthcentury. Building up on his works, later scholars sought to expand his thesis by pointing out other reasons or factors for their increasing identification with the “indios.” One was the rise of a “nascent” idea of a “Filipino” identity among the Chinese mestizos during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, and as seen in the writings of Pedro Paterno, Gregorio Sanciangco, and José Rizal (Tan 1985, 56). These “reformists” attempted to put an end to the class and social divisions created by the Spanish colonial government by declaring all inhabitants of the Philippines as citizens of Spain, arguing in the process that the latter (i.e., the indios) were not “indolent” by nature as Spanish writers portrayed them to be, and hence worthy of equal status, and that their “indolence” was rather a refusal to work for the oppressive Spanish regime (Tan 1985, 56–7).67 However, frustrated in their attempts to achieve equal status as “Spaniards,” the Chinese
67 It must be noted that the ilustrados or educated class were not the only articulators of the nascent national “Filipino” consciousness; “non-Chinese mestizos” and “nonilustrados” also provided contending views. However, the former, seeing themselves as given the “natural, God-given right to lead the masses,” classified the latter’s views as “ ‘superstitious,’ ‘backward,’ ‘archaic,’ ‘fanatical,’ and ‘unscientific’” (response of Reynaldo Ileto, in Tan 1985, 66).
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mestizos, along with other middle- to upper-class indios, then began to be more “radicalized,” and lines were then drawn “ ‘between the creoles and Spanish mestizos on one side, and the Chinese mestizos and Indios on the other’ ” (Schumacher, quoted in Tan 1985, 57). At the same time, other developments had begun to legally remove the ethnopolitical divisions between the indios and the Chinese mestizos. As mentioned earlier in the chapter, the Maura Reform of 1893 attempted to eliminate the Gremio de Mestizos and Gremio de Naturales, and, responding to Chinese mestizo demand to abolish the “tribute . . . based on ethnic considerations,” the Spanish colonial government replaced the tribute with an industrial tax that was “in turn . . . replaced by the [cédula], made uniformly applicable in 1894” and “broke down the legal distinction between the (i)ndios and Chinese mestizos as the latter were now classified as (i)ndios” (Tan 1985, 58). Thus, the stage was also being set during this period for the political “Filipinization” of the Chinese mestizos. That many Chinese mestizos did not (politically) identify themselves with the “Chinese” could also be explained by how China and the Chinese, both in China and other parts of the world, were being perceived at the time. Since China was the “poor and sick man of the Orient at that time, Chinese mestizo intellectuals could not have or did not aspire to be identified with her” (Ileto, in Tan 1985, 65). Furthermore, as mentioned in Chapter 2, many countries, including the Philippines, experienced a crest of Western anti-Sinicism, making “Chinese-ness” undesirable. Because the Chinese mestizos agitated for reforms and played a leadership role in criticizing the Spanish colonial regime, the Spaniards began to be “haunted by the fear of an (i)ndio revolution by the (Chinese) mestizos,” whom they regarded as “troublemakers,” and, with one author writing, as “insincere and seditious, evidence of their Chinese heritage” (Eduardo Navarro Ordóñez, cited in Wickberg [1965] 2000, 144). This might have been the reason why in the early 1890s, the Spanish authorities sought to diminish the ranks of the Chinese mestizos by discouraging intermarriages between the Chinese and local women. Although the reason given was the Spanish colonial government’s desire to protect local women from marrying unscrupulous Chinese subjects in the Philippines by requiring the latter to first undergo Catholic conversion and Spanish naturalization (see Chapter 4), one other reason may have been to reduce the number of Chinese mestizos in its colony.
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When the Philippine Revolution of 1896 broke out, the Chinese mestizos, along with the indios, were fighting for the creation of a “Filipino” nation. In time, they would be classified as “Filipinos” under the American colonial regime. However, despite the restrictions on intermarriages between the Chinese and local women, intimate and personal relations between Chinese and local women continued via consensual unions. Offspring from such unions managed to maintain close ties with their “Chinese” heritage during the American colonial period. But as we will see in the next chapter, a number of factors contributed to the increasing demarcation between the “Filipinos” and “Chinese” along not only political, but also cultural lines.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EARLY AMERICAN COLONIAL RULE IN THE PHILIPPINES AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF “FILIPINO” AND “CHINESE” IDENTITIES Introduction The main goal of this chapter is to discuss the different factors in the early twentieth century that brought about the homogenization and reification of “Chinese” and “Filipino” ethnic identities. The three main factors to be described here are American imperialism and antiChinese racist policies; Chinese nationalism (in China and the Philippines); and Filipino nationalism. The Coming of the Americans Toward the end of 1898, members of the American Peace Commission were busy finalizing the terms of the treaty to be signed by Spain and the United States to formally end the Spanish-American war. On 10 December, a treaty was agreed upon which provided that Spain would cede the Philippines, along with its last remaining colonies Guam, Puerto Rico, and Cuba, to the United States for 20 million dollars. Initially, a majority of the members in the U.S. Senate was opposed to the Treaty, but the Senate voted to ratify it after the outbreak of Filipino-American hostilities at the San Juan Bridge on 4 February 1899. Following this incident, the Americans declared war against the government of Emilio Aguinaldo, and the next three years constituted what is often erased from the annals of U.S. history: the Philippine-American War. During this time, we know very little of the specific responses of Chinese merchants in Manila, except for a few that were recorded.1 1 For more information regarding the contributions, participation, and involvement of the Chinese, including those of Ignacio Paua, during the Philippine-American War, see Ang See and Go 1996.
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We know, for instance, that Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, while he supported Aguinaldo and his government during the latter’s fight against the Spaniards, cooperated with the new colonial masters. Even though he lost a substantial portion of his wealth when Major-General Elwell S. Otis, commander of the U.S. Army in the Philippines, ordered the abolition of tax farming (from which he built part of his fortune, see Chapter 3), Carlos found a way to earn extra income by supplying the American army with carabaos and transportation, as well as housing for the troops (Wilson 2004, 159). He also appeared in the hearings of the Schurman Commission to give his opinion on the Chinese labor and immigration issues. Toward the turn of the twentieth century, Carlos also campaigned to have his son become the first consul of the Chinese consulate in Manila. He himself became acting consul when his son, who was in China in order to mourn the death of his mother, could not immediately assume the post. Thus, Carlos, essaying his earlier practice of professing loyalty to both the Spanish king and the Chinese emperor, did not find it difficult to switch his loyalties (from the incipient government of Aguinaldo to the American colonial government), or hold simultaneous ones (to both the Chinese emperor and American colonial government). He lived at a time when both the Chinese and Philippine nation-states were not yet fully formed, so that he and his contemporaries did not conceive themselves yet as part of a “territorial and legal institution with authority and responsibilities, and to which they, as citizens, had binding obligation” (Wilson, 2004, 139). It would take the United States a few decades to establish a Philippine nation-state. At first, it had to learn more about its new colonial possession and to find ways to control its new colonial subjects. Among the groups of people the U.S. first targeted were the Chinese. The “Chinaman” Conundrum and The Chinese Exclusion Act Two months before the Treaty of Paris was signed, the commander of the U.S. Army in the Philippines, Major-General Elwell S. Otis, set about establishing a military government in the Islands. One of the first orders he issued was the application of the Chinese Exclusion Act in the Philippines. This act had been in effect in the United States since 1882, and was designed to restrict the entry of both skilled and unskilled Chinese laborers. The “Otis Order” was a provisional one,
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a policy that was held in place until the U.S. Congress decided on the matter. Thus, in February of 1899 President William McKinley appointed the Schurman Commission to gather information regarding the different “races” in the newly acquired colony, including the “Negritos,” the “Moros,” the “Chinese,” and “Chinese and European mestizos.” The task the Commission faced was a daunting one, especially in a place where, quoting the Commission, “all the races are represented in these islands” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 3, 331). With regard to the “Chinaman” question, the Commission was to provide a report on whether the immigration of the Chinese to the Philippines should be restricted or not. Arriving in early 1899, members of the Commission spent the next twelve months gathering information regarding the Chinese. They interviewed various prominent people in Manila, ranging from foreign merchants, local residents, and Chinese merchants who provided different reasons for either barring, limiting, or promoting the immigration of the Chinese to the Philippines. A summary of some of the arguments given by those opposed to the immigration of the Chinese, particularly those of the labor class, can help us understand the rationale for the subsequent policies implemented in relation to the Chinese. These arguments can be classified under the following themes: race, class, and politics. Race: The Chinese as “Heathens” Those who used the “race” argument pointed out that the Chinese were undesirable because they were “heathens,” unlike Filipinos who were “Christians as a rule” (Testimony of Williams, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 252). Moreover, they were polygamists. In particular, rich Chinese merchants often had more than one wife, i.e., one “native” wife in the Philippines and a “Chinese” wife in China—and sometimes as many as four (Testimony of Williams, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 253; Testimony of McLeod, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 41). Such practices therefore rendered the Chinese as belonging to an immoral and depraved race. Unlike in the United States, however, the Chinese in the Philippines had had a long history of intermarriage with local Philippine women. The Chinese minister in Washington D.C. Wu Ting-fang, for example, in arguing against the application of the Chinese Exclusion Act in
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the Philippines, stated: “[M]any of [the Chinese] were native born (in the Philippines) and intermingled by marriage with the Philippine races . . . (quoted in Fonacier 1949, 9).2 However, it was precisely because of this long practice of intermarrying with local women that some people opposed Chinese immigration to the Philippines. According to Charles Ilderton Barnes, an American businessman, this practice produced a society in which many inhabitants of the Philippines had become, to some extent, “Chinese” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 187). While there was an opinion circulating that intermarriages with the Chinese might “improve” the “native” race, Barnes was of the opinion that the “mixing” of these two races “did not produce a very satisfactory result”: the creation of a “Chinese mestizo” class (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 190). Most of those who testified viewed the Chinese mestizos with disfavor primarily because the leaders of the revolution against Spain and later on the fight versus the Americans were mostly “Chinese mestizos,” including Emilio Aguinaldo, the president of the revolutionary Philippine government. Echoing earlier Spanish views of the Chinese mestizos, Edwin H. Warner, a British merchant, stated that the Spanish policy of not allowing Chinese women to come to the Philippines had the unfortunate consequence of producing the “Chinese half-breeds” who were “causing all the trouble” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 19).3 Like in the Chinese question in the United States, the debate on whether to exclude them or not often brought out comparisons with other races. Those who were against the Chinese would compare them to equally “undesirable” groups of people. For instance, the Chinese was compared to the Jew. After Warner testified that the Chinese “coolie,” as soon as he was able to save some money, would establish a small shop, one of the commissioners asked, “He is a Jew?” To which
2 Could he be referring to Chinese mestizos when he referred to those who were born in the Philippines? If so, he seems to be echoing the definition of Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien given during the latter’s testimony before the Philippine Commission of 1900, pointing to first-generation Chinese mestizos as, to the eyes of their fathers, “Chinese” (see Chapter 6). 3 Not everyone shared the same sentiment toward the Chinese mestizos. A. Burlingame Johnson, ex-U.S. consul to Xiamen, wrote in 1902 that Chinese mestizos were “superior to the natives in all respects,” and that they were “fast becoming the real Filipino race” (Memo from A. Burlingame Johnson, ex-U.S. consul to Amoy, China, 1902, found in NARA File 370-69).
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Warner replied, “He is the Jew of the East, and any money he makes is remitted at once to China” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 19). In this comparison to the Jews of the United States, the Chinese were seen as “parasites” of the Philippine economy since their economic activities did not redound to the benefit of the country. Class: The Chinese as Economic Pariahs One of the arguments given by those opposed to the immigration of Chinese to the Philippines which echoed earlier U.S. justifications for the Chinese Exclusion Act in the U.S. was that Chinese labor competed with “native” labor. While in the United States “native” labor meant “white” labor, in the Philippines it pertained to the “indios” or “Filipinos.”4 Most of those who were of the opinion that Chinese laborers should be excluded agreed that the Chinese laborers in the Philippines, like those in the U.S., were hardworking and thrifty, and who, through the wage-contract system, managed to enter the country and work for lower wages. But according to O.F. Williams, appointed acting American consul to the Philippines since 15 October 1897, the “Filipinos” felt very badly toward the system for “it (took) work away from them and (prevented) their receiving wages and gaining prosperity” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 252). Furthermore, to allow Chinese immigration would lead the Chinese to “swarm over” the Philippines, and eventually the United States. Thus, the threat posed by Chinese laborers in the Philippines to “native” or “Filipino” labor was also a threat to “white” labor in the United States. Chinese laborers were considered undesirable for the reason that they were unidentifiable, i.e., as soon as they earned a “few dollars,” they developed “into something else,” i.e., as a trader or merchant, as expressed in the testimony of Neil McLeod, and reiterated by Warner (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 35 and 198). For the new colonial masters the prospect of having colonial subjects who were hard to locate or identify, and who could have “twenty names instead of one” (see Chapter 3) certainly did not appeal to Note that at the time when citizenship was becoming nationalized, the term “indio,” as applied by the Spaniards to refer to the predominantly Malay Christianized “natives,” was still sometimes used, as seen in Neil McLeod’s testimony (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 35). 4
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them. Finally, as mentioned earlier, the Chinese in the Philippines were seen as detrimental to the local economy because in general they “simply hoarded what money they could earn . . . or what money they could spare from their earnings, and went back to China with it” (Testimony of O.F. Williams, in U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 2, 252). Politics: The United States as an Imperial Power in the Pacific As a rising imperial power, and conscious of its image to the outside world and those opposed to its takeover of the Philippines, the United States tried to justify its actions by claiming that it was in the Philippines for altruistic and noble reasons, i.e., to preserve the Islands for the “Filipinos.” Governor Taft, for example, declared that “the American Government should do nothing [to] arouse the enmity of the people [i.e., the Filipinos] and induce them to a belief that the American Government would exploit the islands by admitting generally Chinese labor” (quoted in Fonacier 1949, 21). The newspaper Washington Star iterated this line of thinking when, in an editorial dated 12 November 1900, it stated that the United States had two options in relation to the Chinese problem: to be 1) governors of the Islands that would ensure the prosperity, sovereignty, and protection of the Filipinos or 2) capitalists that cared nothing for the inhabitants, but the profit that could be gathered from importing Chinese labor. It further declared that with the unbridled importation of Chinese labor, there would be “turbulence and danger,” and starvation for the Filipinos. If Filipinos, and not the Chinese, were to be used in developing the country, the editorial called for the Americans to train the Filipinos into “effective workingmen” as a solution to the labor problem.5 Ending with an argument that criticized the position of those who supported Chinese immigration to the Philippines, as well as a jibe against its colonial predecessor, it said: The true American course is plain and straight. On the one side is present profit and future danger, wrecked land and a crushed people a record of shameful tyranny, as disgraceful as ever was written by Spain. Like the Spanish colonizers before them, American colonial officials regarded Filipinos as “indolent,” in contrast to the hardworking Chinese. See, for example, statements made by A. Burlingame Johnson (Memo from A. Burlingame Johnson, ex-U.S. consul to Amoy, China, 1902, found in NARA File 370-69). 5
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On the other side will appear the growth of a people into prosperity and self-government, the discharge of a high trust for the benefit of civilization, a truly American demonstration of nation-making. Which shall it be? (reprinted in The Manila American, [28 December] 1901)
The course the United States took was to show the world and the Filipinos that the United States intended to rule by “benevolent assimilation.” However, it was to be an “assimilation” that excluded the Chinese. If concerns about domestic politics, whether in the Philippines and the United States, helped influence the outcome on the “Chinaman” question, these constituted only one aspect of the issue. Another aspect was the caution with which the United States and other countries viewed China. During this time, China was being “cut up like a melon” by European, Russian, and Japanese imperial powers into different spheres of influence, while the United States was looking for ways to increase its military and economic presence in the Pacific region, including increased trade with China (see Gill 1942, 95). But even if China was seen as weak, it was still considered a “sleeping dragon,” which, like Japan, could become a powerhouse and easily defeat its rivals with its 400 million people. Thus, the attitude of the U.S. toward China was a mixture of attraction and fear: with its huge population and large size, China held great potential as a market for American goods and products, but at the same time, it was potentially dangerous. Furthermore, when in 1900 the Boxer Rebellion broke out in China, images of thousands of Boxers joining the rebellion against foreigners in China increased American fear of the “yellow peril.” In other words, America’s perception of China and the latter’s position in world politics played a part in the decision of the U.S. government to exclude the Chinese in the Philippines. This amounted to the belief that allowing Chinese immigration into the Philippines would increase the “yellow peril” threat in the United States.6 In its report made after the investigations, the Commission pointed out that the Chinese in the Philippines had had a long history of trade with “natives” of the Islands, and that they exerted great influence on
6 It must be noted that the United States was also concerned about the possibility of Filipinos swarming into the mainland, and that U.S. officials compared the dangers of Filipino immigration to the U.S. with Chinese immigration (see Baldoz 2008, 12).
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the Philippine economy, especially in the realm of “commerce, industry, wealth, and production” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 152). It stated that the “chief reason for the prevailing and pronounced antipathy to the Chinese” was not due to the virtues or habits of the Chinese, but due to “labor competition” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 154). But it was not only in labor that they offered competition, but also in commerce. For instance, they monopolized the tobacco industry, and in general, the wholesale and retail trade (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 157–8). In concluding its report, the Commission acknowledged the following: 1) that there was Filipino hostility toward the Chinese, but it varied from place to place; 2) that Filipinos were less inclined to work than the Chinese; and 3) Chinese labor would be advantageous in developing some areas of commerce (e.g., mining), and some areas in Luzon, Mindoro, Mindanao, and Palawan populated by “wild tribes” or those which were uninhabited. As a result, its recommendation to the President of the United States was for a careful consideration of the “question as to how, where, and for what purpose the Chinese should be allowed to enter the Archipelago” (U.S. Philippine Commission 1899–1900, Vol. 1, 159). In the months leading up to the decision of the U.S. Congress to officially extend the Chinese Exclusion Act to the U.S. Pacific colony, the debates over the pros and cons of restricting Chinese immigration to the Philippines reached its peak (see Chu 2008). Ultimately, the decision to exclude the Chinese was based on the different arguments presented above, including the desire to show their new colonial subjects and anti-imperialists in the metropole that the goal of the United States in annexing the Philippines was to preserve “the Philippines for the Filipinos,” as well as to prevent the Chinese from using the Philippines as a stepping stone to the United States. On 29 April 1902, the U.S. Congress passed a law that not only extended the Chinese Exclusion Act in the U.S., but also officially made it operative in Hawaii and the Philippines.7 Under this new law, all Chinese entering as coolies were barred from entering the country. Chinese officials, For more information regarding the Chinese Exclusion Laws and its application in the Philippines, see Jensen 1975; Alejandrino 2003; and Gill 1942. Gill 1942 also contains an examination of certain cases involving the rights of entry into and deportation of some Chinese from the Philippines. 7
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teachers, students, merchants, diplomats and travelers were exempted. They were allowed to enter after securing Section 6 certificates. Section 4 of the Act also stated that Chinese who were living in the Philippines at the time of the promulgation of the law were allowed to stay as long as they registered themselves with the Collector of Customs within one year. In order to return to China to visit relatives, they needed to obtain from the Collector of Customs Special Return Certificates. Finally, those who were outside of the Philippines when the Americans took over the Philippines, but who could prove that they were residents in the Philippines under Spanish rule, were allowed to return. Since there was a confusion with regard to the interpretation of the terms “Chinese,” “Chinese persons,” “Chinese race,” and “a person of Chinese descent,” the War Department clarified the matter by stating that the exclusion laws applied to all persons who were directly descended from one or both parents of pure Chinese blood; and that the admixture of blood other than Chinese, when the Chinese blood predominated, would not be held to exempt persons from the operation of those laws. The definition also stated that while the question had not been passed upon judicially, if a concrete case arose in which the admixture of Chinese blood was less than half or in which the white blood predominated, then the Department would be inclined to decide in favor of the predominant white blood ( Jensen 1975, 67).
On 27 March 1903, the Second Philippine Commission under William Howard Taft passed Act 702 that implemented in the Philippines the Chinese Exclusion Act passed by the U.S. Congress. The law remained enforced until 1940, when a new law was created to allow the Chinese (as well as other foreigners except Americans) to enter the Philippines on a quota basis of 500 per year ( Jensen 1975, 78).8 As to the question of citizenship, the American colonial government decreed under the Philippine Bill of 1902, Section 4, that all those who were Spanish subjects prior to 11 April 1899 were deemed citizens of the Philippine Islands.9 Their children who were born in the Islands were regarded likewise (Azcuna 1969, 75). But the application of the 8 In the interim, various adjustments were made to the law. For instance, in 1904, Chinese laborers from the Philippines were also barred from coming to the United States. Protests versus the law and demands for its repeal would continue, but none succeeded in overturning it. For more details, see Jensen 1975, 107–9. 9 The exception to this applied to those who, under the Treaty of Paris of 1898, chose to remain Spanish citizens (Azcuna 1969, 75).
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Chinese Exclusion Laws of the U.S. to the Philippines barred the other Chinese from being eligible to apply for Filipino citizenship.10 Consequently, Chinese mestizo children of parents who remained Chinese subjects, despite the fact that they born in the Philippines, were also considered “Chinese.” Nevertheless, they had the option of becoming Filipino citizens but must state so within a year after reaching the age of majority or emancipation.11 Hence, we can see here that first-generation Chinese mestizos were classified as “Chinese” until the age of majority, when they could elect for either “Chinese” or “Filipino” citizenship. This was a departure from Spanish colonial policy that regarded those born of a Chinese father and a Chinese mestizo or indio mother as “Chinese mestizo.” Furthermore, the ethno-legal classification “Chinese mestizo” was formally abolished. In 1916, Section 4 of the bill was amended to authorize the Philippine Legislature to grant Philippine citizenship to specific classes of persons, and this was re-enacted by the Philippine Autonomy Act or Jones Act of 1916. In 1917, the Philippine Supreme Court changed the citizenship law by ruling that anyone, whether born of two Chinese parents or of mixed Chinese-Filipino parentage, was, by the principle of jus soli, when born in the Philippines a Filipino citizen ( Jensen 1975, 163). In 1920, the Philippine Legislature enacted the first naturalization law under Act No. 2927 which provided for the naturalization of those “native” to the Philippines, but did not possess Filipino citizenship.12 However, since U.S. laws prohibited the Chinese from acquiring U.S. citizenship, this act also extended the prohibition to those living in the Philippines, in particular, those who were not born in the Philippine or other United States territories (Hau 2000a, 167; Azcuna 1969, 76). In other words, many Chinese still could not apply for naturalization to Filipino citizenship. Among those also disqualified were polygamists or believers in polygamy. In 1923, the Philippine Supreme Court ruled that an adult Chinese who was born in the Philippines and then opted for Chinese citizenship upon his age of majority could apply to be naturalized as a Filipino since the person had “at least the latent right to Philippine citizenship” and that he may recover 10 For more information about succeeding laws on citizenship during the American colonial period, see Jensen 1975, 163. 11 This law applied as long as they never expatriated themselves to another country without any intention of returning to the Philippines. Women of Filipino citizenship, when widowed, also reacquired their Filipino citizenship (see Tranquilino Roa v. Insular Collector of Customs, G.R. No. L-7011 [1912]). 12 This law was subsequently amended in 1928.
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this citizenship under Act No. 2927 enacted by the Philippine Legislature on 26 March 1920 (Go Julian v. Philippine Islands, G.R. L-20809 [1923]). It was not until 1935, under the Commonwealth Period, that a naturalization law was promulgated to allow a Chinese not born in the Philippines to become naturalized as a “Filipino.” However, the Revised Naturalization Law (Commonwealth Act No. 473) also took away from those who were born in the Philippines but were Chinese the “privileged mode of acquiring Philippines citizenship” (Azcuna 1969, 76). Like their Chinese/alien fathers, they too had to apply for naturalization and were only granted citizenship provided they “met all the qualifications and none of the disqualifications” set forth by law (Azcuna 1969, 76). Among the qualifications were that he must 1) be at least twenty-one years of age; 2) have resided in the Philippines for a continuous period of ten years; 3) possess good moral character and believed in the principles of the Philippine Constitution; 4) own real estate in the Philippines worth at least 5 thousand pesos, or have a lucrative business or profession; 5) able to speak and write English or Spanish and any one of the Philippine languages; and 6) have enrolled his minor children in one of the public or private schools duly recognized by the Office of Private Education of the Philippines where Philippine history and other subjects were prescribed or taught as part of the school curriculum. Persons disqualified, apart from polygamists, included those who were 1) opposed to organized government; 2) support violence and other such acts to carry out their ideas; 3) convicted criminals of “moral turpitude”; 4) suffering from “mental alienation or incurable contagious diseases; 5) isolated from mingling with other Filipinos and opposed to learning their ways; 6) citizens or subjects of countries with whom the U.S. and the Philippines were at war; and 7) citizens or subjects of countries that did not allow them to Filipinos to become their citizens (Azcuna 1969, 76–7). Thus, during its three decades of colonial rule in the Philippines, the American colonial government, in nationalizing citizenship, had succeeded in creating a two-way classificatory system of “Filipinos” and “aliens” that effectively equated the Chinese with the term “alien.” The Chinese Exclusion Act and Its Consequences on Chinese Immigration Patterns and Demographics In 1899, the estimated number of Chinese residing in the Philippines was 40,000. In the census of 1903, the number was placed at 41,035,
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although other estimates put it at as many as 100,000. The following numbers show the population of the Chinese in the Philippines: Table 5: Chinese Population in the Philippines (Selected Years) Year
Population
1903 1908 1918 1933 1934 1935 1939
41,035 (source: 1903 Census) 40,00013 43,802 (source: 1918 Census) 150,00014 80,000 110,500 117,487 (source: 1939 Census)
While in 1894 the Chinese population in Manila comprised 48 percent of the total Chinese population in the Philippines, by 1918 the figure went down to 40.5 percent, and just below 40 percent in 1938 (Wong 1999, 17). What these figures show, albeit not completely accurate, was that despite the application of the exclusion laws, the number of Chinese in the Philippines continued to rise over the years. In comparison, while the number of Chinese in the United States continued to increase after the implementation of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882, it steadily declined after 1890. In fact, these figures in the Philippines are considered conservative, for not everyone fell under the surveillance of the American colonial authorities. Therefore, the actual numbers of the Chinese residing in the Philippines at the time are believed to be higher. There were several ways by which the non-exempt Chinese managed to enter the Philippines. One was through the help of immigration brokers who could coach them on how to enter the Philippines and prove—by being able to answer the questions of immigration officers—that they had lived in Manila during the Spanish period and thus eligible to enter the country ( Jensen 1975, 73). Another was to enter as a “minor child” of a Chinese merchant residing in the Philippines.15
13 This estimate is taken from a translated report to the emperor of China made by Yang Shiqi (楊士琦), imperial commissioner, dated 18 March 1908 (NARA BIA File 370-191). 14 This estimate is taken from Chen 1939, 50. 15 For an example of how some attempted, albeit unsuccessfully, to enter the Philippines as the “minor” child or children of a legal resident of the county, see Chua Yeng
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This method involved a Chinese merchant from the Philippine declaring upon his return to the Philippines that he had several children, and whose names were then recorded (Omohundro 1981, 17). In reality, however, some of these names were fictitious, and could be bought or used by anyone wishing to send his own son under the age of twentyone to enter the Philippines.16 This resulted in the similar practice of “paper sons” or “paper daughters” entering the United States. An interesting variation of this practice led to some Chinese entering as “Chinese mestizos.”17 This involved a Chinese merchant bringing his Filipino wife to China, having her live there for a few years, and upon returning to the Philippines, posing as the mother of several Chinese (both her own and those of others), the number of which depending on the supposed number of years she had lived in China. For every year she was there she could have one child, and at times twins. The “mother” and her “children” would then be given instructions and copies of questions that they would be asked before immigration officials. The interested parties also hired agents who were supposed to pay the immigration officials to ensure the smooth entry of the “mother” and her “children” (Gill 1942, 277–8). Once in the Philippines, those who entered as minor Chinese children under assumed names would therefore have “official” names apart from their real names. For instance, my paternal grandfather, seeking to enter the Philippines legally in the early 1900s, came in with the name Chu (Zhu; 朱) Ongco. Thereupon, he officially became Chu Ongco, although his real name was Go (Wu; 吳) Taco. The assumed name, registered in his landing certificate, became known as his tōajī miâ (daziming; 大字名) which literally means “big certificate name” because the size of the certificate was larger than a regular college diploma.18 v. Insular Collector of Customs, G.R. No. L-9853 (1914); Go Eng Chew v. Insular Collector of Customs, G.R. No. L-41422 (1934); and Teng Ching v. Insular Collector of Customs, G.R. No. L-42103 (1934). In the latter two cases, the minor children were denied entry after it was established that their fathers did not belong to the exempt class. 16 After 1907, the Philippine Commission, in an attempt to diminish the number of “minor children” entering the country, requested Washington that the minority age be lowered to sixteen ( Jensen 1975, 101). 17 For studies on or references to Chinese paper sons and daughters in the United States, see Hsu 2000; Lee 2003; Ngai 2004; Lau 2006; and Zhang 2008. 18 Wong writes that the Chinese in the Philippines had a propensity to procure several documents so as to obtain some form of protection, including those that would prove “his resident status in the Philippines” (1999, 31). Wong uses the example of people possessing both a tōa-jī and a teng-kì (登記), i.e., an immigrant and an alien
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Another way to enter the country was to be “smuggled” into it by entering through its other parts. A New York Herald article dated 20 February 1927 stated that “countless (Chinese) take advantage of the Philippines coastline, which is as long as that of the United States, to land and lose themselves in the population” (“Chinese Seek ‘Open Door’ In Philippines,” clipping found in NARA 370-A).19 Another, as we have seen, was to challenge deportations in court. Finally, one other method was to find other loopholes in the immigration laws (e.g., entering the Philippines as “travelers” and then immediately asking for a residence certificate since this was allowed), or using forged certificates of previous residence that could be bought from some customs officials ( Jensen 1975, 73). Consequently, laxity in implementing the exclusion laws also contributed to the continuous influx of Chinese into the Philippines (Gill 1942, 130–3).
certificate of registration, respectively. According to Teresita Ang See, a Chinese had to possess both certificates in order to stay legally in the Philippines. The immigrant certificate of registration (ICR) or yimin dengjizheng (移民登記証) was issued to those allowed to stay in the country permanently, as in the “green card” given to U.S. permanent residents. This certificate was also required of dependents of possessors of ICRs. For dependents who came in under an assumed name, their names written on their landing certificates or ICRs then became known as their tōa-jī miâ (大字名). Thus, Go (1996) writes that as a result of people buying of ICRs and entering the country under the names of another person’s “son” or “daughter,” many Chinese had “two names, one real and another indicated in the ICR” (80). I would like to thank Teresita Ang See, Go Bon Juan, and Napoleon Co for their contributions in clarifying this matter. Another example that can be included is the procurement of opium user certificates. When the American colonial regime, in an effort to regulate opium use among the Chinese in the Philippines, started to issue certificates for opium users, nearly 13 thousand (a third of the population at the time) applied for the certificates not because they were addicts, but to prove “that they were residents of the Philippines and could thus gain reentry” (Wilson 2004, 136). During the earlier period of American occupation of the Philippines, the military government also required that any Chinese who departed Manila during or prior to the outbreak of “hostilities” in the country, but wished to return had to produce “proof ” consisting of 1) the Spanish cédula, 2) a certificate of departure, and 3) “certificates setting forth the fact of the residence, made before the (American) Consul (in Xiamen)” (Letter of A. Burlingame Johnson, ex-U.S. Consul in Amoy, to David J. Hill, Assistant Secretary of State, Washington D.C., dated 21 December 1898, NARA 370–3). Thus, the more “papers” one possessed, the easier it was for the person to enter the country. The practice therefore today of Chinese modern transnationals acquiring several passports could be related to these earlier practices of procuring different types of documentation to prove one’s residency. However, this “propensity” to do so is better explained as a product of historical forces requiring, or at least necessitating, them to do so. 19 One apparent popular entry point was through Mindanao, where the Chinese were able to enter with the help of Muslim Filipinos who hid them in their vintas (traditional Muslim boats in Southern Philippines) (Gill 1942, 142–3).
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Figure 14. “A Warm Welcome Awaits Him (Le Espera Una Calurosa Recepción),” Free Press (4 September 1920). Courtesy of the Philippine Free Press. Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 242.
Naturally, the American colonial government continued to find ways to crack down on “illegal” immigration.20 Those who were found to be ineligible to enter were deported. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, as the problem of Chinese immigration continued to dog the colonial authorities another method used was to introduce legislation imposing more severe penalties on “illegal” Chinese immigrants. The issue did not easily die down as agitation for importing Chinese labor continued well into the 1920s, and attempts were made to remove the Chinese Exclusion Act in the Philippines due to the shortage of labor in the “rice, sugar, hemp, and other plantations” ( Jensen 1975, 103; see fig. 14).21 However, such efforts failed and, as mentioned earlier, the Act continued to be enforced until 1940. In terms of sex ratio, the number of “Chinese” women compared to men was higher than the ratio during the Spanish colonial period.22 20 In an attempt to curb illegal immigration, the Department of Labor took over the immigration office in 1937. It then discovered the practice of the Chinese going to China with their Filipino wives, only to return with their own children and those of others that were passed off as their “part Filipino” or Chinese mestizo children, as mentioned in this chapter (Gill 1942, 139). 21 In 1917, an Agricultural Congress was held in Manila, and on 30 August, “the farmers at the Congress expressed themselves as being decidedly in favor of Chinese immigration into the Philippines” ( Jensen 1975, 107). 22 However, we must take into account how “Chinese” was defined during the American colonial period. Since first-generation Chinese mestizas were considered “Chinese,” this had the effect of adding even more individuals classified as “Chinese”
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As indicated in Chapter 2, in 1903 the female-male ratio was 1:78 (517 females to 40,518 males). In 1918, the ratio grew to 1:13 (3,098 females to 40,704 males), and in 1939, the ratio was 1:3 (27,480 females to 90,007 males; and from a total population of 117,487).23 Furthermore, among children ages one to fourteen years, Chinese girls were becoming equal in number with Chinese boys, with 12,989 girls to 17,678 boys or a ratio of approximately 1:1.4 (Wong 1999, 18–9). The increase of women was brought about by a number of factors. One was the decision of the U.S. Supreme Court in 1900 that, under the Chinese exclusion laws, the wives and minor children of resident Chinese merchants could be admitted. Due to this, there was an increase in the number of young children under the age of twenty-one coming to the Philippines. Consequently, mothers and wives were also sent for. Another factor was the situation in China. As conditions in China worsened during the first few decades of the twentieth century, especially during the 1930s, more and more Chinese brought their women and families with them to the Philippines, even if just temporarily (see Omohundro 1981, 28).24 Thus, the population of Chinese women between July 1933 and January 1939 more than doubled, from 12,512 to 27,480 (Wong 1999, 19). By the 1940s, the sex ratio between men and women was more equal mainly due to the political and economic instability in China. As a result of more women coming to the Philippines, the number of Philippine-born children of “Chinese” parents increased, so that by 1926, 10 percent of the male children and 30 percent of female children were born in the Philippines that year (Omohundro 1981, 19). Moreover, as a reflection of more and more children being brought to or born in the Philippines, the age of the Chinese popula-
women, although this does not detract from the fact that “Chinese” women, especially those born and raised in China of Chinese parents, increased in number during this time. 23 The data on Chinese women in the Philippines is taken from the 1918 Census (cf. Fonacier 1932, 176). 24 Omohundro cites the Shandong Incident of 1929, the occupation of Manchuria in 1931, and increasing Japanese presence in their home provinces as prompting the Chinese men in the Philippines to bring their wives and children to the “relative safety of the Philippines” (1981, 28). In the wake of the Sino-Japanese War of 1937, Commonwealth president Manuel L. Quezon and High Commissioner Paul McNutt waived the visa requirements for family members of Chinese residents in order to allow thousands of them to be temporarily admitted to the Philippines (Wong 1999, 19).
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tion in the Philippines grew increasingly younger, as those who were below twenty years of age constituted 37 percent of the total Chinese citizens, compared to only 5 percent in 1903 (Wong 1999, 20). Finally, in terms of socio-economic class, due to the provisions of the Chinese exclusion laws, the Chinese population in the Philippines became increasingly mercantilist, with “around 50 percent of the 27,183 Chinese residents in Manila” claiming to be “merchants” by 1904 (Wong 1999, 29). Of the 18,062 Manila residents listed in the 1918 Census under the category of “yellow,” which would pertain to mainly Chinese and Japanese residents, 10,096, or 56 percent, were engaged in “Commerce and Transportation” occupations (Census Office 1921, 844–5). Changes in the Economy and Its Impact on the Chinese During the American colonial period, the participation of the Chinese in the Philippine economy expanded. Wong (1999) has done an exhaustive and excellent study on the role of the Chinese in the Philippine economy during the American colonial period, and before the Japanese occupation of the Philippines. Thus, there is no need in this chapter to go into detail about this topic except to provide a general picture. The first decade of the 1900s was one of economic hardship for many Chinese due to the political upheavals brought about by the revolution against Spain, the Philippine-American War, and the subsequent take over of the United States, a period marked by natural disasters, disease, and the imposition of high tariff rates on exports. The next two decades (1909–1929) however, beginning with the application of the Payne Aldrich Act of 1909 that established free trade between the Philippines and the United States (except for quotas on sugar), belonged to the “golden era” with the expansion of the export economy and the growth of the Philippine domestic economy. Policies that were instituted, such as a land tax, an internal revenue act, as well as those that created a stable legal environment, minimum government interference, and the building of infrastructure all led to this general economic growth that benefitted most entrepreneurs, including the Chinese (Wong 1999, 33 and 197). Some specific legislation, including the lifting of the travel restrictions imposed by the Spanish
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colonial government, also helped the Chinese. The abolishment of such restrictions meant that the Chinese could travel around, live, and reside anywhere in the country without any time limit. Furthermore, in codifying certain economic policies or measures, as well as “prescrib[ing] the rule of law in the Philippines,” the American regime removed the legal proscriptions that placed the Chinese in an economically disadvantaged position, such as having to pay more taxes due to differential rates of levies and dues (Wong 1999, 36). These developments were all part of a growing modern Philippine economy that was increasingly “integrat(ed) into the western marketplace, a process that began in the mid-nineteenth century and was strengthened during the early twentieth century by free trade with the United States” (Wong 1999, 196–7). In terms of economic activities the Chinese could be “found in almost every facet of Philippine economic life,” ranging from the domestic and foreign commerce to the public sector, manufacturing and cottage industries ( Jensen 1975, 118).25 Still, they made their mark mostly in the manufacturing industry, with some of the wealthiest dealing in the production or distribution of rice, lumber, and distillery products, while others engaging in other sectors like tobacco processing, footwear making, and coconut production. Another area in which the Chinese dominated was the retail trade, resulting in “illfeeling and friction with the Filipinos” ( Jensen 1975, 118). A political cartoon in the 9 August 1919 issue of The Independent reflects the kind of image Filipinos had of the Chinese retailer—a tough competitor to his Filipino counterpart (fig. 15). Their wide involvement in these economic activities that were primarily domestic-oriented was a result of a decline in Chinese participation in the Philippine export sector during the 1930s (Wong 1999, 58–9). Many continued to play the role of the middleman, expanding the “simpler wholesale-retail cabecilla-agent system” of the Spanish colonial period to a “more complex four-tiered . . . distribution network” that included importers and exporters, wholesalers, retailers, and
25 With the abolition of monopoly contracts in the Philippines under the American colonial regime, many of the Chinese merchants affected by this change shifted to agricultural export. They were able to weather the storm better than other Southeast Asian Chinese, “perhaps because opium and other revenue farms did not enjoy the singular importance in the Philippines that they did in the Straits Settlement or Java” (Wilson 2004, 141).
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Figure 15. “El Proteccionismo entre los Filipinos,” The Independent (9 August 1919).
sari-sari storekeepers (Wong 1999, 149–58). Data on their investments abroad was not available to this author, but as mentioned earlier, as the Philippine economy was becoming gradually integrated into the world market, many Chinese merchants also established businesses in Hong Kong, Xiamen, Singapore, and other parts of Southeast Asia. Examples include Chen Qingji (陳清機) who invested 250,000 yuan in 1913 to establish a bus company that would operate a QuanzhouAnhai line; and Li Qingquan (李清泉 a.k.a. Dee C. Chuan) and Huang Yizhu, co-owners of China Banking Corporation, who opened up an office in Xiamen in 1925 (Cook 2003, 245 and 262). What could help explain the economic success of these Chinese merchants or industrialists? In order to take advantage of the opportunities presented to them and to also protect themselves from the socio-political and economic changes in the Philippines and in the region, the Chinese merchants resorted to many of the strategies their predecessors had practiced during the Spanish colonial period. One such strategy was to create a credit system that enabled both small and big entrepreneurs to keep the cash flow necessary to engage in business flowing. During the Spanish colonial period, the Chinese had limited sources of funding (mainly from private individual creditors or small lending institutions such as remittance firms). In the American colonial period, however, the founding of the China Banking Corporation and
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the Mercantile Bank of China (both founded in the 1920s) provided Chinese merchants with much more financial resources to maintain or expand their business. Despite this, reliance on private creditors for sources of funding continued. Another strategy was to continue relying on political patrons—both local and foreign—as discussed in Wilson’s book on Chinese merchant elite activism (2004). Whereas during the Spanish colonial period this meant cultivating close ties with Spanish officials and other prominent or wealthy individuals from various ethnic backgrounds, Chinese merchants during the American colonial period worked to develop close ties with American and Filipino officials in the colonial government, as well as those from or representing the Chinese government. For instance, utilizing the compadrazgo system of the Spanish colonial period, Dee C. Chuan, a prominent lumber merchant in the 1920s and 1930s, had “distinguished Filipinos like Manuel Quezon and Sergio Osmeña” as godfathers for his children (Wong 1999, 75–6).26 Wilson also describes how the leaders of the Chinese mercantile community developed close ties with both external sources of authority and colonials by employing practices that he calls “liminal virtuosity,” which allowed them “to manipulate both colonials and mandarins” and to switch political loyalties as deemed expedient (2004, 17). One of the major “benefits” of cultivating such ties was having powerful connections capable of shielding or protecting the Chinese from any form of anti-Chinese legislation (even though these same allies could be initiators or creators of such legislation), as when the Beijing government joined in the protest against the implementation of the Chinese exclusion laws in the Philippines, or when the U.S. Supreme Court repealed the Bookkeeping Act of 1921 passed by the Philippine Legislature.27 Like the Chinese in the United States, the Chinese
Note however that after 1912, there was a “secularization of social relations” in Chinese diasporic communities around the world, as more diasporic Chinese dealt with governments “that cared nothing for their ritual symbolism,” and “with neighbors who did not share their ritual practice,” leading them to practice more secular rituals in their associations and even reject the “usual migrant associations in favor of the more “secular” ones, such as the rotary or sports clubs (McKeown 2001, 131–3). In relation to the diasporic Chinese treating “non-Chinese” as “ghosts,” the earlier cosmological meanings framing their relationships could have given way to a more “pragmatic” or “secular” perspective, although the rituals may remain in practice. 27 For instance, the “Prince of Qing” Imperial Commissioner, and president of the Board of Foreign Affairs in China, sent on 26 February 1902 a dispatch to Edward Hurd Conger (U.S. minister to China) seeking for leniency in the application of the 26
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in Manila also made use of the legal system as they had done during the Spanish colonial period to fight certain discriminatory legislation, as seen through some Philippine Supreme Court cases which will be discussed in Chapter 8. Among themselves, they formed organizations that were reminiscent of the trade guilds Chinese merchants established during the Spanish colonial period (see Tan 1972, 202–3). Patterning its own chamber of commerce after the organizations in China, the Chinese merchants formed the Manila Chinese Commercial Council in 1904, and in 1908 changed its name to the Philippine Chinese General Chamber of Commerce (Tan 1972, 176; PCGCC 1955, 甲 2).28 This organization was not a purely “business” organization, but also took over the functions of the Gremio de Chinos and also played the role of a charitable association. It often acted as the representative of the larger Chinese community of merchants in Manila. But the “younger” generation of Chinese merchants, i.e., those who were born in the 1880s and 1890s, and who came to prominence in the 1920s and 1930s, such as Dee C. Chuan, and the Sycip brothers (Albino and Alfonso), also joined business and trade associations that were composed of merchants of other ethnic groups, such as the Cosmos Club or the Wack Wack Golf Club, both of which had many Filipino and American members. In these “multi-ethnic” associations these Chinese merchants also took leadership positions. For instance, the Sycip brothers sat in the board of directors of the Philippine Carnival Association. But the type of associations or organizations that they joined ranged from the “respectable” ones such as the chambers of commerce to “underground” ones such as secret societies (Wilson 2004, 194). Furthermore, they established more associations tied to the native-place (tongxianghui; 同鄉會), dialect, clan, and surname (tongxinghui; 同姓會) associations, especially as more family members from China were being brought over and the number of “Chinese” families
exclusion laws, particularly in the treatment of Chinese merchants, who, together with laborers, were “driven in together and treated as criminals, and, if there (was) any mistake made by them in their verbal statements . . . (they were) not allowed to land, but (were) compelled to return to China” (NARA Dispatch, F.O. No. 335). 28 In 1927, its name was changed to Feilubin zhonghua shanghui (菲律賓中華商會) or the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce and in 1937 to Feilubin Minnila zhonghua shanghui (菲律賓岷里拉中華商會) or the Philippine Manila Chinese Chamber of Commerce.
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began to grow.29 Through these “networks” and social connections they recruited new apprentices to help in their businesses, and young apprentices in turn could rely on their employers’ or their own networks to help them adapt to Philippine society, such as hiring tutors to train them not only in business matters, but also in the languages (see Omohundro 1981, 58). Some of the adaptations also involved changing a number of business practices. For instance, certain Chinese companies, in an effort to compete with foreign and Filipino companies, also hired “Western” experts. Carlos Palanca Tan Quin Lay (陳迎來), founder of a distillery business called La Tondeña, hired American managers to run his different businesses. Another adaptation was using “Western” marketing and product innovation strategies. For instance, Quin Lay employed modern production technologies and branded his company’s products as close to European and American tastes that were becoming fashionable at the time, making his company competitive. Finally, while they conducted some of their business transactions outside of proscribed legal procedures, e.g., granting credit to a Chinese merchant largely based on the person’s creditworthiness, the Chinese merchants followed and made use—just as they had in the Spanish colonial period—of the Western-style bureaucracy and procedures surrounding such business transactions. For example, when extending credit, they drew up contracts containing provisions that required guarantors and adequate collateral to ensure the payment of large debts (Wong 1999, 129). However, the Chinese merchants were also often accused of—and, as Alfonso Sycip, one of the leading Chinese merchants at the time, even admitted to—the practices of price-cutting, tax evasion, and the adulteration of their products to undercut competition from competitors (Wong 1999, 118). The Great Depression, Japanese competition, and the impact brought about by the rise of Filipino economic nationalism during the 1930s and the Japanese occupation in the 1940s brought an end to the period of prosperity that marked the 1910s and 1920s.
29 Omohundro writes that the Chinese government through its representatives encouraged the establishment of these family organizations as a way to garner financial and political support (1981, 101).
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Differences between Spanish and American Policies toward the Chinese In assessing the impact of American colonial rule on the Philippines vis-à-vis the Chinese, past works often neglect or disregard the social implications and long term (negative) consequences of its anti-Chinese policies and focus instead on how the Chinese benefitted economically from the “lenient” policies of the American colonial government and the “stability” that it created in Philippine society during the first half of the twentieth century (e.g., Tan 1972; Jensen 1975).30 While it is true that under the American colonial government many Chinese achieved middle-class status or became wealthy, to attribute their rise in economic status solely or primarily to the more “liberal” or “enlightened” economic policies of the American colonial government is misleading. Past studies often neglect to relate these policies with the fundamental anti-Sinicism or xenophobia and efforts by the United States government to establish a Philippine nation-state built in its own image. This is not to say that the previous Spanish colonial regime did not discriminate against the Chinese, or that American anti-Sinicism was deeper or stronger. In fact, many of the issues and approaches that the United States used in dealing with the “Chinaman” problem were similar to those of the Spanish colonial regime. For instance, the Spanish colonial government, in an effort to control the Chinese, also restricted the movement of the Chinese around the Islands. Furthermore, the racial tropes contrasting the “Chinese” from the locals that the Americans 30 The seeming exception is Go (1996) who, while acknowledging that during the American colonial regime, economic policies toward the Chinese were “liberal,” hence allowing them to prosper, points out that the Americans encouraged wider Chinese economic participation because the situation also benefitted American companies and businesses, for the Chinese continued to play their “middleman” role and distributed American goods in the Philippines. However, since the Chinese became the “frontliners” of the Americans, they also became convenient scapegoats (Go 1996, 76–7). He also mentions that one “benefit” the Chinese gained during the American colonial period was the “freedom” they enjoyed in forming nationalist organizations, schools, and other institutions. However, he cautions interpreting such toleration under the American colonial regime as a consequence of the spirit of “freedom” and “democracy” the Americans fostered, since allowing “ethnic Chinese national consciousness to flourish was [actually] beneficial to American colonial rule in the Philippines” (Go 1996, 76). How it was beneficial Go does not make explicitly clear, but I surmise that by encouraging the development of nationalism among the Chinese, the Americans were able to create a division between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos,” and consequently, following the “divide-and-rule” policy, rule over their subjects more effectively (see Ang See 1990, 37).
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used also existed in the Spanish policy discussions toward the Chinese, associating the Chinese as “hardworking,” “disciplined, and “frugal,” while regarding the indios as “indolent” or “incapable” (see for example Comenge 1894, 215 and 237). Furthermore, just as the Spaniards utilized the Chinese as a buffer between Chinese mestizos and indios and as scapegoats for the general state of political and economic malaise in the colony, the Americans would later on create a racial divide between the “Chinese” and “Filipinos” by denying the former political rights while encouraging them to prosper economically, thus making it easy for Filipino economic nationalists to target them as economic scapegoats. In trying to find solutions the U.S. officials “found a great deal to respect in Spanish colonial law,” thus leading them to adopt many of the “former power’s civil and criminal codes, with changes only made to procedural and sentencing laws” (Kramer 2006, 209; cf. Fisher 1947, ix–x). However, toward the latter part of the nineteenth century Spain was an empire on the wane. The implementation of policies created as part of its belated attempt to systematize and streamline the colonial bureaucracy in the Philippines, including ways to control the Chinese, was hampered by concerns of political unrest. On the other hand, the United States was a rising imperial power, especially in the Asia-Pacific region. As Paul Kramer (2003) has pointed out, the United States first invoked the principles of “Anglo-Saxonism,” especially the principle of “racial exceptionalism,” to legitimize its annexation of the Philippines. However, the American empire soon began to distance itself from the British empire and to refer to its colonial rule in “nationalist-exceptionalist” terms in order to suit Filipino nationalist aspirations and counter American anti-imperialist oppositions (Kramer 2003, 45). British colonial rhetoric did not apply anymore, for the United States was trying “something entirely new to human history—not empire but ‘expansive republicanism’; not colonial rule but ‘tutelage in selfgovernment’; not oppression but ‘benevolent assimilation’ ” (Kramer 2003, 75). Unlike other imperial powers, the United States would govern its dependencies “on the basis of unprecedented selflessness, uplift, benevolence, assimilation, and the promise of eventual self-government” (Kramer 2003, 76). Thus, it was important to the Americans to “bring law and order to the archipelago, a mission that they considered central to the colonial enterprise,” so that the “Philippines [would] become a model of just and enlightened rule and a sharp contrast to colonial administrations elsewhere” (Wilson 2004, 191). But first, it
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had to create a “Filipino” nation characterized by “homogeneity” and “forged by transportation and communications infrastructure and by English as a common language” (Kramer 2006, 201). The U.S. hoped that these and other measures would lead “to a Filipino population that was not only loyal and laboring, but less internally differentiated” (Kramer 2006, 319). This is one of the main differences between the Spanish and the U.S. empires. For where the former tolerated or at least was ambivalent toward the mestizaje (racial mixing), the latter did not and aimed for homogenization.31 As I have argued elsewhere (Chu 2006), this meant finding ways to prevent the further mixing of the Chinese race with the indigenous races of the Philippines, and this was achieved not by officially prohibiting intermarriages between the Chinese and the “native” race as was the case in the United States, but by discouraging such unions. The United States enacted its segregationist policies through its citizenship laws, which made it less attractive for local women to marry Chinese men, since in doing so, their children were classified as “aliens.” It also discouraged such unions by not tolerating or accommodating the long-standing bigamous or polygamous marriage practices of the Chinese, commonly observed during the Spanish colonial period, which allowed many wealthy Chinese merchants to marry a local woman while having a wife in China.32 To be sure, the family code used by the American colonial regime basically followed the Spanish one. However, the new imperial power was intent on redefining the meanings of “family,” “marriage,” and other familial practices in its newly acquired territory to conform to its own ideals. Whether through direct and indirect, conscious and unconscious, or overt and covert efforts, the American colonial government, through its policies, structures, colonial officials, and local supporters in the Philippines failed to respect or recognize some of the local or indigenous long-term familial practices and instead aimed to transform these to follow more closely American and modern models. It is not within the scope of this present work to describe the details of how the American colonial government effected such changes. But an examination of a court case might shed more light on how these could have occurred.
31 Up until 1967, in the United States sixteen states still prohibited the intermarriage of two individuals from different races (see Cott 2000, 4). 32 It seems from Macleod that at the beginning of American colonial rule, this practice was first tolerated “by the [American] authorities without protest from the Protestant clergy” (1910, 4).
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This case involves the dispute over the wealth left behind by a wealthy Chinese merchant, Vicente Romano Sy Quia. Vicente was born in the village of Am Thau, about an hour’s walk away from Xiamen, in or around the year 1823.33 He left for the Philippines around the year 1840, and according to one testimony given during the case, was already living in Vigan, Ilocos Sur, in 1848 and working as a clerk and dry goods salesman for a Manila-based Chinese merchant by the name of José Gloria Lecaroz. He later on moved to Manila, where he died on 9 January 1894, intestate, and was buried at the Chinese cemetery in La Loma. His estimated wealth, worth 1 million pesos, became the focal point of contention between two families who claimed to be the rightful heirs. On the one side were members of Vicente’s “Chinese” family, and who were the plaintiffs in the case: his four grandchildren Sy Yoc Chay, Sy Jui Niu, Sy Joc Lieng, and Sy Chua Niu, the first two were the children of Vicente’s first son Sy By Bo who died in 1882, and the latter two were the children of Vicente’s second son Sy By Guit, who also died in 1882. On the other side were members of his “Filipino” family, the defendants in the case: his “Filipino” wife Petronila Encarnacion; his children Apolinaria, Gregorio, Pedro, and Juan; and grandson Gregorio Mendoza, representing his deceased mother Maria Romero Sy Quia who was one of Vicente’s daughters with Petronila. A few days after Vicente’s death, the Court of First Instance of the district of Quiapo ruled that his local wife Petronila Encarnacion and their four children were the “heirs abintestate.” However, in 1905 the plaintiffs filed a suit, claiming that Sy Quia had married Puan Niu in China in 1847, and that they, therefore, were the legitimate heirs. The defendants countered that Vicente’s marriage to Petronila in 1852 was the legal one and that he had never contracted any other marriage. In order to bolster their case, the plaintiffs brought in seven witnesses who all testified, before the vice-consul of the United States in Xiamen, that they witnessed the wedding of Vicente and Yap Puan Niu in 1847, and that he continued to stay there for three to four more years before returning to the Philippines. However, the defendants brought in nine witnesses who testified, either in the Court of First Instance of Manila or before the
33 Sy Quia became Vicente Romano Sy Quia when he chose to be baptized before marrying Petronila Encarnacion. In China, he was called Sy Quian or sometimes Sy Tiong Quian (Felix 1969, 191).
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justice of the peace of Vigan, that they knew Vicente to be a bachelor before he married Petronila in 1852, and that Vicente was in the Philippines during those years that the plaintiffs purported him to be in Am Thau. After a long drawn out court hearing, in which various complaints, rebuttals, and testimonies and counter-testimonies of witnesses from both parties had been submitted, examined, and reviewed, on 26 February 1908 the Court of First Instance of Quiapo rendered a judgment declaring that both the descendants of Yap Puan Niu and Petronila Encarnacion (who had died in 1906) were entitled to a share of the estate of Sy Quia. Apparently, the judge recognized that the descendants of Vicente’s Chinese family also had some rights to the inheritance. However, Vicente’s marriage to Petronila was recognized as the legal one. Therefore, by law, Petronila and her heirs inherited one-half of Vicente’s wealth, and the other half, divided into ninths of a share, was apportioned among her children (Gregorio, Pedro, Juan) and grandchild (Generoso); the grandchildren (Sy Joc Lieng, Sy Yoc Chay, Sy Chua Niu) of Yap Puan Niu and her grandson Sian Han; and to all of Petronila’s heirs.34 Unhappy with the decision, the plaintiffs demanded another hearing, and requested that the “court modify its decisions and conclusions of law by declaring that (they) were the only heirs of Vicente Romero Sy Quia . . . entitled to all the property left by the latter . . . (and) that Petronila Encarnacion, deceased, and her children, and heirs had no interest in the said estate of (Vicente)” (Felix 1969, 129). Later on, the case was brought before the Philippine Supreme Court. The principal question that the higher court tried to establish was whether there was enough proof to sufficiently establish the Chinese marriage, which would then entitle Yap Puan Niu’s descendants sole rights to the inheritance. On 19 March 1910, the five justices of the Philippine Supreme Court ruled, with one justice dissenting, that the Chinese marriage was not adequately proved, on the grounds that the Chinese family failed to produce documentary evidence that Vicente was legally married to Yap. Their ruling pointed out that when the trial court required the plaintiffs to submit the matrimonial letters as proof of the marriage between Vicente and Yap Puan Niu, the latter could not produce them, even though some of their witnesses
34 Petronila died in 1906. Hence, her share of the inheritance was to be divided among her legal heirs.
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stated that such letters were exchanged between the families of Vicente and Yap Puan Niu. Moreover, according to the court, the testimonies of the witnesses the plaintiffs produced were “conflicting,” “contradictory,” and “highly improbable” (Felix 1969, 132). Furthermore, they were unreliable because not only were they made in Chinese, but also made in a place far away, i.e., in Xiamen. Given this distance, one concurring justice, an American, opined that the Chinese party’s witnesses could have easily “invent(ed) as they pleased and color(ed) (their testimonies) as they would . . . [and] fabricate(d) and falsif(ied) with utter impunity” (Felix 1969, 159). Also, the justices dismissed the books that the Chinese side brought to the court. The books were supposed to have contained specific laws and provisions on citizenship, marriage, and inheritance in China. The information contained therein would have strengthened the argument of the Chinese party that Vicente was “a subject of the Chinese Empire and that his estate [therefore] should be distributed in accordance with the laws of China” (Felix 1969, 147). However, the books were in Chinese and had no Spanish translation. Thus, their authenticity was questioned, and they were judged by the justices to be “useless and of no value” (Felix 1969, 154). Furthermore, they ruled that Vicente, having lived in the Philippines for more than fifty years, should be considered a Spanish subject, even though there was no documentary evidence to show that he had actually applied for Spanish naturalization. As a consequence, most of the property he had left should be subjected to the “laws of the country in which it (was) located” (Felix 1969, 153). In addition, they stated that even if the Chinese marriage was valid, then it was through no fault of Petronila that she entered into a second marriage because Vicente perjured himself, thus deceiving Petronila, by declaring to be single. In such case, and in accordance to Article 1417 of the civil code of the Islands, the deceiving party lost all of his or her rights and interest to one half of the conjugal property to the deceived party.35 Also, a marriage contracted in good faith by one of the parties would produce the “same civil effects as a valid marriage with reference to the innocent spouse and the children born of such marriage, even though the same (was) subsequently declared null Two of the article’s provisions are: “The conjugal partnership expires on the dissolution of the marriage or when it is declared void,” and “The spouse who, by reason of his or her bad faith, causes the annulment, shall not receive any share of the property of the partnership” (Felix 1969, 194–5). 35
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and void” (Felix 1969, 146). Hence, Petronila would still be entitled to one-half of the conjugal property acquired during marriage, and her children considered legitimate. Moreover, since, on the account that he would have forfeited his share of the conjugal property for acting in bad faith against Petronila, then Yap Puan Niu and her descendants could not claim any property Vicente left behind, for there was nothing to claim. Lastly, the inheritance rightly belonged to Petronila and her descendants, for the reason that Petronila had brought 5,000 pesos into the marriage, and through “(her and Vicente’s) labor and industry at first, and subsequently by the labor and industry of their children,” the family made its fortune (Felix 1969, 122; cf. 141, 157). Following Spanish law which provided that a spouse had a right to conjugal property, particularly if that particular spouse had brought money into the marriage, the justices decided that only Petronila Encarnacion and subsequently her children were the rightful heirs to Vicente’s estate. The Chinese party appealed to the United States Supreme Court. However, on 14 April 1913 the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the decision of the Philippine Supreme Court. Upon closer reading of the reasons given by the concurring Philippine Supreme Court justices as to why Petronila and her descendants were the rightful heirs to Vicente’s wealth, one can see some erroneous assumptions arising from their ignorance of the familial practices of Chinese merchant families. For instance, they pointed out that some of the plaintiffs’ witnesses gave contradictory statements. However, in one case the testimonies were not exactly contradictory. When the witness Lim Chio stated that Sy By Bo, one of Vicente’s two sons by Yap Puan Niu, had two children, and that one of them was Sy Yoc Chay, the judges considered this to be “not true, because Sy Yoc Hay was only an adopted son” (Felix 1969, 133). Another witness clarified that Yap Puan Niu lost a natural son and that in his place Sy Yoc Chay was adopted. As we have seen in Chapter 1, “adopted” sons or children were also considered “true” sons or children in Chinese society, and that such distinction did not have the same meaning or bearing as in American society. Furthermore, the judges may have erred in stating that Vicente might have knowingly deceived Petronila when he declared himself to be single at the time of their marriage. But as I have shown in Chapter 4, many Catholic Chinese identified themselves as soltero or “single” when applying for marriage in the Philippines, a practice that the justices obviously did not know, or were not aware of. I suspect that Petronila and her family knew about Vicente’s
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other family in China, since it was quite commonplace for rich Chinese merchants to have families in both China and in the Philippines. Also putting into question the motivations of the Chinese party, one of the Philippine Supreme Court justices asked in his concurring decision why it took the plaintiffs eleven years after the death of Vicente for them to bring the matter to court, i.e., Vicente died in 1894, but it was only in 1905 that the plaintiff ’s filed the case. I surmise that one possible reason was that the plaintiffs might have thought that they would eventually get more of their share. Or, Vicente or Petronila’s family might have hidden from the Chinese family the extent of his wealth, and that it was only later that the latter knew about it. Finally, when the concurring justices argued that the inheritance should go to Petronila’s family because without her contribution of 5,000 pesos at the start of Vicente’s and Petronila’s marriage, and without the labor put in by the “Filipino” family, they discounted the practice that Chinese merchants often made their money in the Philippines and were expected to remit and distribute their income to their families in China. Furthermore, it was very possible that Vicente’s children and grandchildren from his Chinese wife had worked for his businesses, since it was shown that they had traveled to the Philippines and stayed at the house of Vicente’s brother, Sy Tay. In reading the case one could sense that the justices who ruled in favor of the Filipino family held a bias against the Chinese party and their witnesses. For example, as I pointed out in the preceding paragraph one of the justices expressed suspicion over the testimonies of the witnesses produced by the Chinese party, on the basis that these testimonies were made in Chinese and with an interpreter before the U.S. consul in Xiamen. Furthermore, they considered the absence of documentary evidence of the Chinese marriage as a strong case against the Chinese party, thus putting into question the validity of its claims. The justices also pointed out that the Chinese marriage should have been recorded because “among people who live in civilized communities and cities with a civilization of their own,” they, “like the Chinese, notwithstanding their remarkable backwardness with reference to more advanced and cultured races, generally speaking are not barbrians and do not live a nomad or savage life” (Felix 1969, 134).36 It should be noted that during the period under study, many marriages were sealed when a family decided to give a daughter away while the latter was still young, and that many families also adopted “little daughters-in-law” or simpua (Hokkien) for 36
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However, the dissenting justice, J. Johnson, argued that among people aged 50 and above there was probably no one who could actually “prove by documentary evidence, in the absence of public record, the marriage of their parents” (Felix 1969, 167). Furthermore, he stated that there was no proof “that the Chinese Government had a system of public records of marriage at the time of the marriage of (Vicente) with his first wife Yap Pua Nui, or that they have any such system now” (Felix 1969, 167).37 Indeed, the Qing government did not keep records of marriage contracts, and thus, the judge demonstrated an understanding of the Chinese party’s difficulty in trying to prove the validity of the Chinese marriage.38 He also recognized that 1) the Spanish colonial government tolerated or recognized the bigamous or polygamous arrangements of Chinese merchants in the Philippines, and 2) such arrangements were commonplace as to warrant the recognition of all families as legitimate heirs. Finally, Johnson opined that, even with Article 1417, which the concurring judges used to dispossess the Chinese family of any rights to the inheritance, he believed that it was not the intention of the wise legislators of the Spanish Government, where a man having a legal wife and children marries another woman and has children by such other woman, that the effect of the second marriage was to turn over to the second wife and children all of the property belonging to him, to the prejudice of the first wife and legitimate children (Felix 1969, 195).
Johnson argued that the most “just and humane” decision would be to divide the inheritance equally between the two wives and their respective descendants.39 By ruling in favor of Petronila and her family, the concurring Philippine Supreme Court justices may have undermined a longstanding acceptance of the local inhabitants of the Philippines of Chinese men maintaining two wives and families, one in China and
their sons (Wolf 1978, 152). Hence, it was possible that Yap Puan Niu was bethrothed to Vicente when she was young. 37 Marriages were defined by a legally binding contract, or failing that, determined by whether or not gifts had already been received (The Great Qing Code 1994). 38 I would like to thank Matthew Sommer for this information. 39 Johnson also disagreed with the contention of the appellants that the laws of China should govern the descent and distribution of Vicente’s property (Felix 1969, 202). Therefore, following the laws operative in the Philippines at the time of Vicente’s marriages and domicile in the country, both families were entitled to an equal share of the inheritance.
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another locally. It cannot be denied that the family of Petronila and of Yap Puan Niu knew each other. According to one of the plaintiffs’ witnesses, Sy Joc Lieng and Sy Yoc Chay, two grandsons of Sy Quia from the Chinese line, were sent to a private Spanish school in Manila at the expense of their grandfather. It was also shown in court that Petronila at one point after the death of Sy Quia gave them an amount of 4,000 pesos.40 The relationship between the two families may have been strained at worst and cordial at best, and such a relationship may have been the same with other Chinese merchant families that were dual families. However, with the ruling of such a celebrated case, which, as one of the Justices remarked—given Vicente’s social position—would have “far-reaching” implications, many Chinese merchant families may have found it more difficult, and possibly felt discouraged, to continue with having a “Filipino” family and a “Chinese” family (Felix 1969, 157). Naturally there were other factors (e.g., Chinese nationalist aspirations toward the “modernization” of Chinese families that promoted monogamy) that led to a diminution of not only intermarriages between Chinese and Filipino women, but also of having bigamous and polygamous marriages.41 However, the legal and judicial system instituted by the American colonial government was a contributing factor.42 In time, having more than one wife or one family became taboo, and the term “querida” that one finds in the testaments of Chinese merchants during the Spanish colonial period, referring to “mistress,” eventually assumed a more negative connotation in Philippine society.43 40 Joc Lieng and Yoc Chay claimed that this amount was given as part of their inheritance. This amount was even entered in the accounting books of Vicente’s brother. However, the justices dismissed this piece of evidence since the accounting entry did not explicitly specify that this money had been given as part of the inheritance (Felix 1969, 137). 41 As Cott states, “The United States has shown through its national history a commitment to exclusive and faithful monogamy, preferably intraracial” (2000, 5). For a discussion of how—partly as a campaign against Mormon and Native American polygamy—bigamy and polygamy were outlawed in the United States, see Cott 2000, 112–31. Note how some Americans, such as missionaries, who supported monogamy contrasted American society with those societies that practiced polygamy, such as India, China, or Hawaii. 42 For other cases involving Chinese merchants and their wives, see also United States Supreme Court case Sy Joc Lieng v. Sy Quia; and Philippine Supreme Court cases Son Cui v. Atanasia Guepangco y Lim, and José Yap Siong v. Dee Tim). 43 Another consequence of American colonial rule was to make informal marriages, again tolerated to a greater degree and commonplace under the Spanish colonial period, an undesirable marriage strategy.
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Furthermore, a Chinese man discovered to be practicing bigamy or polygamy was refused admission to the Philippines, and so were his children (Gill 1942, 164–5). In 1908, a boy named Tung Ma Cui, who was accompanying his father Martin Camena Tang Kisieng, was denied entry into the Philippines when a “Board of Special Inquiry” discovered that his father had married his Chinese mother around 1894 and then married a woman from the Philippines in 1898. Thus, it was ruled that the father had been living in a “state of polygamy” from 1898 until 1908, the year the boy’s mother died. As a result, the boy and his father were both denied the right to enter the country (Gill 1942, 164–5). The first Philippine Naturalization Law, Act No. 2927 of 1920, following American citizenship laws, barred anyone who believed in the practice of polygamy from obtaining citizenship (Azcuna 1969, 76). But more to the point, these measures were designed to avoid the “mestizo-ization,” and more specifically, the “Mongolization” of the “Filipino” race. Drawing on its experience on the Chinese in the United States, and guided and influenced by its imperial ambitions and ideology of “exceptionalism,” foreign policy relations with China, and its market and capitalistic interests in the Asia-Pacific region, the United States would pave the way and cement the earlier Spanish construction of the “Chinese” as an “alien” and “Other,” thereby causing the “disappearance” of the Chinese mestizo, and the construction of a dichotomous “Chinese” and “Filipino” political and ethnic identities in the twentieth century that frames the discussions of identity politics in the Philippines today.44 However, it was not only American anti-Sinicism and policies that accounted for the separation of “Chinese” and “Filipinos” identities. Other factors contributed to the increasing reification, homogenization, and demarcation of these ethnic identities, as the next sections will show.
44 Kramer cites that James Le Roy, writing in 1905, observed that Americans had stronger prejudices “based on race and colour” than Spaniards (2006, 192). Furthermore, in referring to John T. Macleod’s The Siding Scale, Kramer notes how the story of a Chinese mestizo duped an Englishwoman to marry him, and later on killing her when she was found to be unfaithful, and her body tossed among abandoned corpses, points to Anglo-Saxon aversion to impure racial formations, such as those within the “sliding scale,” i.e., the mestizaje in which “racial lines . . . and cultural markers skid loosely back and forth over their ‘racial’ origins” (2006, 27; cf. Macleod 1910, 32). I want to thank Paul Kramer for pointing out this reference to me.
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One of these factors was the rise of Chinese nationalism. By “Chinese nationalism” I refer to the ideology spread by leading thinkers from China during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that focused on “saving China” from being destroyed or overtaken by Western or Japanese powers, and encouraged patriotism among the Chinese. This type of nationalism also involved the construction of a “pure” Han racial identity based on an invented tradition and long history of shared values, attributes, habits, and culture.45 While the United States was busy building up and consolidating its imperial presence in the Asia-Pacific region at the turn and beginning of the twentieth century, the Qing government in China was desperately trying to stave off civil unrest and the disintegration of its empire. In a somewhat belated move, the Chinese government attempted to institute some changes to reform itself, such as the “Hundred Days Reform” under Emperor Guangxu that sought, inter alia, to modernize China’s educational system. As mentioned in Chapter 1, it also began to reach out to the Chinese living in Nanyang and elsewhere. In the years leading up to the lifting of the official ban on overseas travel in 1893, the Qing government “courted” those it began to refer to as huaqiao (華僑) or “overseas Chinese,” in order to emphasize the latter’s link to China, the “motherland.”46 It is interesting to note that the term referred to the “majority among the Chinese abroad who had not been born in China and whose ancestry abroad often encompassed more than one generation” (Douw 1999, 32). In time, especially after the Sino-Japanese War, the term huaqiao was being used officially to include all overseas Chinese, and the term was gaining popularity among these “overseas” Chinese due to the writings of reformists like Liang Qichao and Kang Youwei.47
45 For an example of a study on how Chinese nationalists engage in mythmaking or the invention of tradition, see Waldron 1990. 46 The term qiao (僑) in huaqiao is also a play on the similar sounding term qiao (橋) for “bridge.” This homonym connotes that the huaqiaos play (that of a bridge-builder) and points to their connections to China. 47 Douw points out that the “pitch” made by the Qing government was originally directed at the “wealthier strata among the business communities overseas,” and that it was around 1903 that the appeal spread to the lower strata (1999, 32).
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Chinese Nationalism in the Philippines Among the efforts the Chinese government undertook to reach out to the “overseas” Chinese was to establish consulates in Southeast Asia and in several countries. In the Philippines, the establishment of a consulate in 1898 was a result of the efforts from both the Chinese government and the Philippine Chinese merchants (see Chapter 3). Apart from creating consulates, the Chinese government also helped the “overseas” Chinese create institutions such as chambers of commerce, with the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce formed in 1904.48 Another way by which the Chinese government strengthened its ties with the “overseas” Chinese was to keep the latter informed of the developments in China. In Manila, Chinese newspapers began to appear more regularly after 1908, and had a longer publication life than in the late nineteenth century (Tan 1972, 135–7). The Qing government also sent several Chinese high officials to other countries to visit and rally the huaqiaos into supporting their efforts to modernize China, participate in the government in China, or to help in China’s fight against its enemies. For instance, in 1907 Yang Shiqi (楊士琦), the Junior Vice President of the Ministry of Agriculture, Industry and Trade visited Manila accompanied by a naval cruiser to showcase Chinese military and naval might (Tan 1972, 109). The Chinese in the Philippines responded to these overtures by sending money. The nationalistic rhetoric of China’s leaders and thinkers was aided by the treatment that the “overseas” Chinese themselves received in the countries where they migrated. Anti-Chinese policies in countries such as the United States, Canada, or Australia increased the sense of oneness among “overseas” Chinese, including those in the Philippines, so that (t)he mistreatment, humiliation, and oppression, real or imagined, of Chinese [outside of China] appeared as a provocative factor to draw Chinese at home and abroad to each other, and cause them to recognize and feel themselves one nationality (Tan 1972, 7).
When the Republic of China was founded in 1911, the Nationalist government in China further propagated a sense of “Chinese-ness”
48 These chambers were similar to the huiguan (會館) in the nineteenth century, except that these chambers assumed broader responsibilities that spanned not just business but also socio-religious and political functions (Omohundro 1981, 92).
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among the “overseas” Chinese by building Chinese schools in the “host” countries. Such schools ensured that those children who enrolled in these would grow up to be “Chinese.” Apart from the Anglo-Chinese School, schools established in the Philippines during the first two decades of the twentieth century included the Quiapo Anglo-Chinese School (1916) and the Chinese Patriotic School founded (1920) (Tan 1972, 157–8). The Chinese curricula and textbooks in these schools followed closely those prescribed by the Education Ministry in China, although most, like the Anglo-Chinese School, also had an English Department that followed the public school system in the Philippines.49 By the mid 1920s, there were more than five Chinese schools in Manila that had a total enrollment of more than 2,000 students (Tan 1972, 164). For the most part, the schools were “dedicated to preserving and reviving the interest of Philippine Chinese in Chinese culture, Chinese history and customs, and Chinese language and Chinese outlook” (Tan 1972, 165; see Chapter 8). Other organizations, organs, institutions, and associations established (e.g., dramatic clubs and trade guilds) also helped mobilize the Chinese and forge a sense of unity and nationalism. Finally, in 1909, the Chinese government granted citizenship to its “overseas” compatriots based on the principle of jus sanguinis, so that anyone with Chinese lineage or “blood,” whether born in China or elsewhere, was considered a citizen of China.50 Furthermore, the “overseas” Chinese began to be regarded not only as nationals, but also as “Chinese colonists” who would enjoy protection from their home government. As a result, even while in the Philippines the principle on citizenship since 1917 was clearly based on jus soli—i.e., those born in the Philippines of foreign parents were Filipino citizens if they decided to claim to be so at the age of emancipation—many Chinese born in the Philippines, having the option to become a Chinese citizen, often chose “Chinese” over “Filipino” citizenship ( Jensen 1975, 181).
49 It must be noted that at the turn of the twentieth century the thrust in China’s educational system was to adopt Western science and technology, but to retain Chinese moral and cultural values, especially from the precepts of Confucianism that emphasized filial piety (Cook 2003, 14). For more details regarding the establishment of schools in the first three decades of the twentieth century for the Chinese in the Philippines, see Tan 1972, 154–75. 50 The jus sanguinis policy was later adopted officially by the Kuomintang (KMT) in 1929, and became part of its law on nationality.
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All these developments helped propagate Chinese nationalism among the Chinese in the Philippines, which led them to see themselves apart from the “Filipinos.”51 This is not to say that the Chinese, prior to the rise of nationalism, did not see themselves as “different” from other people.52 However, this distinction came from what could be defined as a historical “strong sense of cultural pride and superiority,” in which the Chinese empire, to which their loyalty was owed, was seen as the center of a universal empire where the outer fringes were inhabited by barbarians and semi-barbarians (Tan 1972, 74). As we have seen in Chapter 4, the Chinese in the Philippines already used the word hoan-á to refer to the foreigners or even the locals, but this term carried a different connotation used within the context of nation-based discourses on race in the twentieth century.53 Moreover, it should be noted that the sense of nationalism among the Chinese in the Philippines waxed and waned with the political situation in China.54 After Yuan Shikai became president of the new Chinese republic in 1912 the period was followed by much political instability. Sun Yat-sen did not support Yuan’s administration, and upon the latter’s death, the newly established nation found itself governed by different warlords, and the ruling Kuomintang party was much destabilized and lacked a strong central government. Such political turmoil and instability did not necessarily inspire much faith among the “overseas” Chinese that the strong Chinese nation-state that they 51 De Ocampo lists different factors that can be attributed to a growing sense of community among the Chinese in the Philippines; among them were “the defeat of China by Japan in 1894–5, the partition of China in the so-called ‘Battle of Concession,’ the reform of (Kang Youwei), . . . the abortive uprising of Dr. Sun Yat-sen, . . . the publication of Chinese newspapers, the resentment generated by the American Exclusion Act of 1905, the visit of (Yang Shiqi) in 1907 with a suite and a cruiser, . . . the appointment of a Consul General in Manila, (and) the founding of an organ, Ching-to Times” (in Tan 1972, viii). 52 Wickberg also argues that they also began to have a sense of “communalism” during the latter part of the nineteenth century, brought about by factors such as their common experiences of discrimination in colonial Philippines as well as developments elsewhere such as the changing attitude of the Chinese government toward the “overseas Chinese” (154, 203–6, 209–12). 53 For a discussion on the discourse on “race” in China from the late Qing to the early twentieth century, see Dikotter 1992. 54 Wilson writes that during this period after 1912, “there is little to suggest that the majority of the community was fired by national issues,” since what mattered to many Chinese in Manila was “still the ties to the native place and in Manila” (2004, 180; cf. Wang 1981).
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had longed for would be established, and the various Beijing governments installed remained extremely unpopular among the Chinese in Nanyang (Cook 2003, 386). In the Philippines, the incipient stage of print capitalism during the first two decades of the twentieth century did not provide the Chinese in the Philippines with a strong sense of an “imagined community.” For instance, the Chinese newspaper Min-i pao (民意報) was founded in 1900 and folded in the same year, and the next newspaper to be established, the Ching-to-Times (警鐸新聞), only lasted from 1908 to 1909, and only had 400 subscribers. Furthermore, the Chingto-Times primarily carried “economic intelligence, providing market quotations” (Tan 1972, 111). Although KMT branches were founded in different parts of the Philippines, and the Kong Li Po (公理報), the party organ, was established in 1912, China, busy with its own domestic issues, was not politically influential when it came to international politics, leading its “overseas” compatriots to mostly fend for themselves (Wong 1999, 111). The nationalistic fervor among the “overseas” Chinese would reach another peak in the year 1919, during the May 4th Movement in China, in which its leaders, protesting the provisions in the Treaty of Versailles, called for a social, intellectual, ideological, and political revolution that would lead to the modernization of China (Tan 1972, 239). In Manila, students also staged a protest (Tan 1972, 168–9). The movement led to demands for, among other things, more equality toward women in the realm of education, politics, and family. For instance, it called for the “abolition of polygamy and the selling of women, freedom of choice in marriage, and reformation of family customs” (He 2008, 47; see also Witke 1971, 139–92). But in spite of the excitement generated by the May 4th movement, during this decade of warlordism in China (1916–1928), “commitment to the nation was subordinated to the locale” (Cook 2003, 350). Another peak was reached in 1925, when a number of British police officers shot Chinese demonstrators in Shanghai. Alongside all these events in China was a sudden proliferation of Chinese newspapers and periodicals in the 1920s and 1930s, “a time of intense activity in local Chinese journalism” (Tan 1972, 153).55 Teachers from China were The rise in Chinese newspapers could be partly attributed to an “increase in population, better transportation and communication facilities, improvement in education, and rising political consciousness” (Tan 1972, 136). 55
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also recruited to the Philippines when in 1926 the medium of instruction in the Philippine Chinese schools became Mandarin, instead of Hokkien or Cantonese that was previously used.56 By the early 1930s, all Chinese schools taught and used the national language. At this moment in Chinese history, the educational system within Chinese communities outside of China focused on promoting nationalism and reclaiming the Chinese born “overseas” to China by emphasizing the great civilization and culture of China, which schools wanted to instill in their students. Sun Yat-sen’s Three People’s Principles (nationalism, democracy, and people’s livelihood) became dogma, and in 1928, was assigned “as a compulsory text in schools and colleges” (Tan 1972, 247). These changes also reflected a change in China’s view of the huaqiao. As mentioned earlier, they were compared to European explorers and pioneers—brave compatriots who left their homelands to open new frontiers for the glory of China (Cook 2003, 391; see Wang 2003, 25–30). Another peak in nationalism was reached when Chiang Kai-shek managed to defeat the warlords in 1927, consolidate his government, and effectively assert central directives over “overseas” Chinese communities through its consulates. The Japanese attack in May 1928 also stirred strong nationalistic sentiments among the Chinese in the Philippines, leading to boycotts against Japanese goods. And this sense of nationalism reached a high pitch when Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931, and when Russia attempted to gain control of the Chinese Eastern Railway in the same region (Tan 1972, 277).57 Yet, loyalties at this time wavered between the “provincial” and the “national.” On the one hand, the “overseas Chinese” continued to support the fight against the Japanese. On the other hand, they, including the Chinese in the Philippines, would also support the Fujianese Secessionist Movement in 1933. This development is best understood within the context of the presence and participation of a number of prominent “overseas Chinese” from the Philippines in Xiamen politics. They established residences in that city and in Gulangyu and fashioned
56 The use of Mandarin as the medium of instruction in Philippine Chinese schools was in compliance with the directive from the National Board of Education of China (Tan 1972, 172). 57 Cook argues that the late 1920s saw relations between “overseas” Chinese and the KMT reaching a high point (1998, 393), while Douw writes that the “apogee” of the huaqiao discourse was between the 1910s and 1930s (1999, 34).
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themselves as “bridges of Chinese modernity,” as James Cook (2003) points out in his work. The participation of these Philippine huaqiao in the secessionist movement also arose from their increasing dissatisfaction over the political factions, civil unrest, general state of disorder and instability in China and in their ancestral villages, and Chiang Kai-shek’s seemingly pro-Japanese appeasement policies (Tan 1972, 300).58 From the perspective of Chinese community leaders in Manila, participation in the politics of Fujian was also a way to garner political recognition and power that many could not obtain due to racist and exclusionary policies of Western (both American and European) colonial powers (Cook 2003, 9). Chinese nationalism was only beginning in the late 1920s among the Chinese in the Philippines. It became more pervasive and deep, especially after the unification of China under the Nationalist government, the creation of an Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission in the Chinese bureaucracy in 1931, and the increase of Japanese aggression toward China in the late 1930s. To quote Tan, “There existed now an intensified sense of loyalty to China as a whole—as a country which should take precedence over family, clan and provincial loyalties” (1972, 290). This brand of nationalism included a form of cultural nationalism that was based on the Spencerian notion of social Darwinism, and built upon the cultural chauvinism of the past, that would create among the succeeding generations of “overseas” Chinese a stronger sense of Chinese-ness, and of the need to not only display patriotism to the “motherland,” but also protect the purity of the Chinese race and celebrate the glories of the Chinese civilization. Moreover, it was a nationalism that “viewed the nation as something cultural and racial rather than something limited to a territorial domain,” borne out of their experience from living in colonies that “were part of Western visions of the nation that extended far beyond the border of Europe and the United States” (Cook 2003, 366). But as I shall describe in Chapter 8, this form of Chinese nationalism in the Philippines celebrated both Han Chinese and Southern Min cultures.
58 For more information regarding the Fujian Secessionist Movement of 1933, and the participation of the Philippine Chinese in this movement, see Tan 1972, 292–314.
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Filipino Nationalism in the Early Twentieth Century Continuing the discussion on factors that contributed to the rise of reified and separate “Chinese” and “Filipino” identities in the twentieth century, we now turn to Filipino nationalism. In understanding how Filipino nationalism shaped this discourse, we first need to examine the general political system set up by the American colonial government during the first three decades of their rule, and the motivations that lay behind establishing such system. The General Political Background After a “civilian” government in 1901 replaced the military government headed by General Otis, the Philippine Commission, as the legislative body of the colony, went about creating laws and institutions to further pacify the Islands and establish the political and socio-economic framework for a “Filipino” nation. Apart from nationalizing citizenship, it set out, through a U.S. congressional act in 1902, to conduct a census that would take an “inventory” of its new colonial possession, and help define who the “Filipino” was.59 As mentioned earlier, the American colonial government sought to establish homogeneity out of the diversity of dialects and languages in the archipelago, and in conducting the census, it could therefore render its colonial subjects “visible,” and, as a result, “controllable.” Conducting the census was also one of the conditions set for “holding elections within two years of the census’s publication for Filipino representatives to the colonial legislature, to be known as the Philippine Assembly” (Rafael 1993a, 188). With the election of a Philippine National Assembly in 1907, the U.S. colonialists sought to “co-opt and control the emerging forces of Philippine nationalism” by “displacing nationalist demands onto a depoliticized economic sphere,” claiming that economic development was first needed before local nationalist and political aspirations could be met (Kramer 2006, 287). Kramer describes the strategy of the American colonial regime as “calibrated colonialism,” one in which— from the time some measure of Filipino self-rule was allowed with
59 For a study of how U.S. officials both delimited the boundaries of the national (U.S.) community while at the same time allowing for the expansion of its border overseas, see Baldoz 2008.
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the creation of the Philippine Assembly, to the period of “Filipinization” of the bureaucracy under Governor-General Francis Burton Harrison, and the passing of the Jones Act in 1916 that guaranteed the eventual yet an indeterminate timetable for the independence of the Philippines, and of the Tydings-McDuffie Act which finally set the date for Philippine independence in 1946—the Americans would slowly “open-up” to share power with the Filipinos, but only if the latter managed to “prove” themselves worthy of self-rule, an assessment that was to be made by the former. For this reason, from the 1910s to the 1930s the Filipino leaders would try to seek recognition from the Americans and the world in order to assesss their capacity to rule their own country. One of their strategies was to employ and contest the new racial formation introduced by the Americans that bifurcated the nation into “non-Christian” and “Christian” Filipinos. As the Americans divided the population into these two classifications to show how “Christianized” Filipinos were moving steadily toward “progress” under American tutelage compared to the “non-Christians,” Filipino leaders used a “nationalist-colonialist” rhetoric to assert that they, and not the Americans, had the right and the capacity “to conquer, rule, and uplift the savages in their midst” (Kramer 2006, 32). To extend Kramer’s analysis of how American racial formation created the bifurcated state of “Christians” and “non-Christians,” we can also point to the division that was created between the racialized “Filipino” and the equally racialized “non-Filipino.” Just as the Americans had “racialized religion” and territorialized race by relegating the “non-Christians” to the “Mountain Province” and “Moro Province,” so did they territorialize race by constructing the “Filipino” and the “non-Filipino” or “alien/Other.” In this case, they latched the “ontological” “Other” onto the body of the Chinese, who effectively became the “alien,” loyal and beholden to China (see Hau 2000a, 140). Encouraged by an immigration and citizenship policy that kept the Chinese legally and occupationally separate, Filipino nationalists established political and economic policies that would continue to discriminate against the Chinese.60 For instance, in 1921 the Philippine The legislations they would enact were part of their attempts at taking control of the Philippine government and economy, and to show the U.S. colonial masters their “capacity” to rule over not only their own “people” such as the non-Christians, but also the “aliens” or the “Chinese” (cf. Omohundro 1981, 17). 60
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Figure 16. “Lo que quiere el Chino,” The Independent (28 May 1921). Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 242.
Legislature approved the Bookkeeping Act that would require Chinese merchants to keep their books in either English, Spanish, or any Philippine dialect (fig. 16). After receiving complaints and legal challenges from the Chinese, the U.S. Supreme Court struck the law down as unconstitutional (Tan 1972, 197).61 In 1924, the Philippine Legislature proposed an immigration bill that would require all Chinese residents in the Philippines, within one year of the enactment of the measure, to present and show certificates authorizing them to reside in the Philippines. The bill also provided for the proper identification of the Chinese, and those found violating the provisions would be liable to imprisonment and deportation. The Chinese Chamber of Commerce lobbied the Governor General Leonard Wood to veto the measure. The newspaper The Philippine Herald commented that were Washington to veto the bill, it would make the Philippine Legislature look like it was “unable to legislate on matters that vitally affect” the
61 Attempts to revive the law were made in 1926 and in 1936 ( Jensen 1975, 131). The Act was not finally administered until 1938, after which the Chinese had to keep their books in either English or Spanish, or pay a translator (Omohundro 1981, 35, 69).
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country (quoted in Tan 1972, 184). The measure did not pass as Wood vetoed it on the grounds of constitutionality. The hands of the Philippine legislators were tied due to the policy that the U.S. Supreme Court was “authorized to review, revise, reverse, modify, or affirm” the final judgment and decrees of the Philippine Supreme Court related to all cases and proceedings in which the “constitution or any statute, treaty, title, right or privileges of the United States was involved” (Tan 1972, 196). Frustrated in their desire to achieve political independence, and intent on proving their “capacity” to control the “aliens” in their midst, Filipino nationalist leaders would push for economic nationalistic policies, starting with a campaign for Filipino consumers to buy goods produced and sold by Filipinos and culminating in the creation of a constitution during the Commonwealth period that “expanded the role of the state in economic development, largely through the creation of public enterprises to compete with the Chinese in several economic activities (Wong 1999, 198; cf. Jensen 1975, 139–43).62 By the late 1920s, there were already things perceived as “Chinese.” An editorial in the Sunday Tribune complained of the unassimilability of the Chinese, who, during the Spanish colonial period married local women, brought their children up to be “Filipinos, and were “Filipinos in everything but birth,” now wants to be known as a Chinese and he is proud of it. He wants his children to grow up as Chinese. He opens school for Chinese children only, he goes to a Chinese bank, eats in a Chinese restaurant, reads his news in a Chinese newspaper, lives in a house made by Chinese carpenters (quoted in Tan 1972, 334).63 62 Several provisions in the Commonwealth Constitution of 1934 limited Chinese economic participation, such as excluding Chinese citizens from owning certain types of land, and confining their control of corporations to less than 40 percent. For more information, see Omohundro (1981, 35). The Chinese merchants attempted to mitigate the impact of these Filipino protectionist efforts by showing their support, both in direct and indirect ways. For instance, as early as 1929 the Chinese business community promoted among its members to patronize “made in the Philippines” products, but this move was also a way to boycott Japanese goods. They also tried to paint the Japanese as the threat to the Philippine economy, and not the Chinese (Tan 1972, 371–2). 63 But this was not a nationalism that was purely or completely “anti-Chinese,” as both Filipino and Chinese leaders found a common ground in their aspirations for independence, sovereignty, and national unity and strength. For instance, the Filipino government supported the nationalist movement in China. On the other hand, China and the Chinese community sent their support and felicitations to the Philippine government in their fight for independence in the early 1930s.
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The first three decades also saw the proliferation of Filipino nationalistic papers that often depicted the Chinese in a negative light (fig. 17 and fig. 18). Furthermore, the pro-China behavior of the Chinese in the Philippines made the Filipinos view them as apart from themselves, so that in the 1920s, it was the accepted belief—accurate or not—of Filipinos that the Chinese owed his loyalty to China and not to the Philippines in which he lived. This was allegedly evidenced by his refusal to accept citizenship (Tan 1972, 336).64
But their “refusal” to obtain citizenship was not just borne out of their own nationalistic sentiment toward China. It was also motivated by official nationalist projects seeking to “curtail the Chinese domination of the (economy), and restrict Chinese access to, if not police their desire for, (citizenship)” (Hau 2000a, 138). This curtailment came out of the view that if the Chinese did seek citizenship, “it was merely for convenience” (Tan 1972, 336). From this perspective, the Chinese were viewed as threats to the national polity. For in their desire to acquire citizenship as a way to protect their business interests, they were seen as “pervert(ing) the ‘true’ value of citizenship . . . [by] contaminating political rights with economic considerations (Hau 2000a, 138).65 In as much as the Chinese contributed in the construction of this image identifying them with “money,” having brought with them their propensity to engage in mercantilist activity and to curry favor from powers-that-be with gifts of monetary value, other groups also played One incident that involved Filipinos “attacking” Chinese store-owners occurred on the third weekend of October 1928, when “385 rioters” were arrested after a “free-forall” fight happened on the night of 18 October, during which a policeman and several Chinese were injured and one Chinese killed. A newspaper article attributed the fight to “a quiet campaign” going on “for the last month against Chinese ‘sari-sari’ storekeepers by Filipinos who hoped to get their business” (“385 Rioters Arrested, 27 Persons Wounded,” The Manila Times, 20 October 1924; see also Fonacier 1932, 180–3). 65 It should also be noted that the economic nationalism or protectionist stance Filipinos had versus perceived Chinese economic domination of the Philippines, especially during the Commonwealth period, could also be traced to other factors. One was the depression in the world market at the time, following the Crash of 1929. Another was the application of “neo-colonial” policies in the Philippines by the Americans, which essentially created the space for political participation among Filipino elites while ensuring American domination or control of the economy. For instance, the Tydings-McDuffie Act of 1934, which provided for the transition toward political independence for the Philippines, also started the process of reversing the policy of no quotas for Philipine agricultural products. In this climate of increasing American protectionism, Filipino nationalist laws targeting the Chinese could be interpreted as a defense mechanism (see Schirmir and Shalom 1987, 35–58). 64
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Figure 17. “Mientra el Chino progresa, el Filipino se estanca,” The Independent, 23 June 1917. Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 240.
Figure 18. “The Chino says Nothing (El Chino Se Calle),” Free Press (25 September 1926). Courtesy of the Philippine Free Press. Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 243.
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a role. This identification of the “Chinese” as primarily homo economicus had its origins in the colonial times. We have already seen how, during the Spanish colonial period, the Spanish government created a situation in which the Chinese, who were denied certain political and legal rights enjoyed by Chinese mestizos and indios while being taxed the most, found it expedient, and oftentimes necessary, to “contribute” or “donate” money to protect their interests. The American colonial regime continued the practice of their predecessor by instituting citizenship laws that effectively denied the Chinese of the rights to naturalization and allowed them to participate indirectly in the “Philippine society’s political process and ‘general affairs’ . . . through money in the form of campaign contribution or philanthropic donations” (Hau 2000a, 163). American policies toward the Chinese were essentially contradictory in that they laid the legal foundations for, on the one hand, depriving the Chinese of the means of political participation in the Philippines while, on the other hand, encouraging Chinese economic activities within the colony (Hau 2000a, 167).
Furthermore, in its immigration policies, the Americans began to attach property ownership with the right of residence. When a Chinese laborer wished to file an application for a passport prior to his departure for China, he either had to show that he had family members in the Philippines or present proof of a “bonafide debt due him from someone who (was) still residing in the Philippine Islands,” and that said debt should amount “to P1,000.00 or he must have property valued at the above amount” before the passport was issued to him (Tan 1972, 102; Jensen 1975, 59).66 Thereafter, Filipino nationalists, continuing and elaborating on the citizenship law created by the American colonial regime, redefine(d) the ownership of the colony’s wealth and resources as rightfully belonging to “the Filipino people,” a concept that encompasses [Chinese] mestizo and “native,” but not Chinese . . . which, for all its shiftiness and instability as a term, is treated in political discourse as referring to a fixed, unchanging entity (Hau 2000a, 152).
This association of the “Chinese” with “money” and “class” was further crystallized in the naturalization requirements stipulated under 66 The passport would entitle him to return to the Philippines after an absence of not more than one year. Another way in which the Chinese laborer could prove residence was to show that he had familial ties in the Philippines.
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the Philippine Constitution of 1935. One of these made it a requisite that a Chinese alien demonstrated property ownership in order to become eligible for naturalization, “even though this requirement no longer applied to the rest of the population” (Hau 2000a, 152). To that end, the line drawn in the Philippines between who was “Filipino” and who was “alien/Chinese” was first based on “blood,” with distinctions made along racial categories of the “Celestials-yellow-MongoloidChinese” on the one hand versus the “Malays-brown-Filipinos” on the other; and then progressed to associating the Chinese with “money” as well. Throughout the Commonwealth period and the postwar years then, the ethnic identity of the Chinese would become closely identified with their economic occupation (Omohundro 1981, 84). Local Anti-Chinese Sentiments in the American Colonial Period At the beginning of the American colonial period, the Chinese “attracted little comment” as people’s ire was turned against Spanish friars and their vast landholdings (McCoy and Roces 1985, 223). However, in the late 1910s, certain incidents primarily related to the economy created another period of increasing anti-Chinese sentiment. Ever since the 1870s the Philippines had become a rice importer, and experienced periodic shortages. One such shortage occurred in 1919, leading to a rice crisis (Ang See et al. 2005, 36; McCoy and Roces 1985, 33). Poor Filipinos who could not afford the high prices were forced to go to neighboring towns to buy rice. While Chinese rice distributors did indeed engage in speculation, hoarding rice and raising its prices, Filipino landlords with large warehouses also hoarded their harvest. Moreover, other factors—including the supply of prime commodities being diverted to meet the huge demands of Allied armies in Europe, as well as “drought, poor farm management, and shortfall of imports”—played a role in producing the rice shortage (Wong 1999, 80–1). However, Chinese millers and distributors became the scapegoat for the government’s failure to address the problem (Ang See et al. 2005, 36).67
67 It must be noted too that by the 1920s the Chinese through their Tutuban Exchange held an absolute monopoly on domestic rice distribution, and controlled 80 percent of Manila’s retail trade (McCoy and Roces 1985, 244).
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This resulted in a number of acts of violence, especially against Chinese storekeepers in the provinces. On 16 September a play was staged at Cine Rizal that depicted the Chinese in negative terms. Entitled “Bloodsucker known as the Chino,” the play ended with a scene in which the Chinese were mobbed and maltreated (Ang See et al. 2005, 36). Another result of this increasing anti-Sinicism was the aforementioned Bookkeeping Act of 1921. In 1924, another spate of racial riots occurred in October of that year when an altercation between a Chinese storekeeper and a Filipino salesman left the Chinese dead and a policeman who came to investigate the incident ended up wounded. Rumors were circulated that some policemen were also killed, and this led to small bands of Filipinos attacking stores owned by Chinese, who were also beaten. Another rumor spread that some Filipino students were killed in Shanghai, and that Chinese storeowners were preparing to poison Filipinos (Ang See et al. 2005, 136–7). In the same year, mobs of Filipinos raged through Cabanatuan in central Luzon looting Chinese shops and killing some Chinese merchants when rumors spread that “Chinese shamans had slaughtered a Filipino infant” (Ang See et al. 2005, 222). In the late 1920s, another anti-Chinese movement arose when the price of rice jumped once again. Although there was no riot against the Chinese this time, the editorial of the Philippine Free Press, in its 13 October 1928 issue wrote: . . . probably it won’t be very long before the racial typhoon signal is hoisted again. For in the Philippines, as in some other countries, baiting the Chinese is a popular sport (quoted in McCoy and Roces 1985, 41).68
Sometime during the American colonial period, the saying “Intsik beho, tulo laway” (i.e., “short Chinese drooling” with beho derived from the Spanish viejo which means “short”) came into use. This epithet most likely arose from scenes of a Chinese laborer, whether as a stevedore or street vendor, exhausted from his day’s work, falling asleep and drooling afterward (cf. Hau 2003, 278). While today’s Chinese in the Philippines are known as mostly belonging to the mercantilist class, at the beginning of the twentieth century many of them came as jornaleros, or laborers. Despite the application of the Chinese
68 Other acts of “discrimination” against the Chinese included the 1923 Coastwise Shipping Act, which only allowed locally owned vessels to engage in coastwise trade (Wong 1999, 86).
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exclusion laws in the Islands, many still managed to enter, as explained earlier in this chapter. In order to escape the doldrums and hardships of everyday life, a number of Chinese resorted to smoking opium. While opium smoking was legal under the Spanish colonial period, it became illegal under the American colonial government. The Chinese in the Philippines therefore became, as they were in the United States in the late nineteenth century, associated with the negative image of opium smokers (see Chu 2006, 14–5). Another image that appeared during this time was that of the Chinese belonging to a race fond of gambling and of visiting prostitutes. They were also regarded as corrupt businessmen who often resorted to bribing law enforcers or politicians, or who belonged to Chinese tongs, or secret societies, that, while “gradually evolv(ing) into fraternal, mutual-aid societies,” were believed to be involved in “extortion, gambling and opium smuggling” (McCoy and Roces 1985, 64; see fig. 19). Moreover, the contrast between the growing impoverishment of the Filipino lower class under American rule (due to, among others, population growth and periodic recessions that led, for example, to Filipinos seeking work in Hawaii and in the metropole) and the number of Chinese becoming wealthier began to emerge and brought to the public eye (fig. 20). As in the Spanish colonial period, outsiders continued to view the Chinese as economic opportunists, who came to the Philippines only to make money and then take their money away with them when returning to China (fig. 21).69 Conclusion In this chapter I have tried to show how the combination of American racist policies (adopting or building up on earlier Spanish policies), imperial ambitions, Chinese nationalisms in China and the Philippines, as well as Filipino nationalism and efforts at nation-building contributed to the creation of distinct, territorially-based, and increasingly dichotomous “Filipino” and “Chinese” identities. The American colonial government managed to achieve this through the legislation of citi-
69 The early 1920s anti-Sinicism only tapered off toward the end of the decade, when xenophobia turned toward the Japanese (McCoy and Roces 1985, 223).
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Figure 19. “Pintong ‘milagroso,’” Lipag Kalabaw (4 April 1908). Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 235.
Figure 20. “Those Who Come And Those Who Go,” The Independent (4 September 1920). Reprinted from McCoy and Roces 1985, 128.
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Figure 21. “The Chinese immigration in the Philippines,” The Independent (18 September 1915).
zenship laws that effectively changed and affected the familial practices of Chinese merchant families. In particular, in trying to define what constituted a “family” and in its aversion to the “mixing” of race or miscegenation, it discouraged the long practice of intermarriages or consensual unions between the “Chinese” and local women, so that gradually, distinct “Chinese” and “Filipino” families began forming. Other factors, such as increasing Chinese nationalism and Filipino nationalisms, also contributed to this growing separation. For instance, the efforts of Chinese nationalists to create a “modern” nation and “Chinese” identity also led to changes in Chinese family practices and the status in women, such as the prohibition of concubinage or polygamy, as well as the recognition of equal rights for women. Filipino nationalists, in their goals of proving themselves “qualified” and ready to govern their own country, adopted the Western tropes on race and helped in the construction of a racial “Other” for the Chinese. Thus, it was during the first three decades of the twentieth-century that we find the beginnings of both a political (national) and cultural demarcation between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos.” In the next chapter, we will examine the adaptations and negotiations made by Chinese merchant families during this period. Of note will be how Chinese merchant families, faced with changing local and regional conditions, changed the way they utilized children and women in their families in order to collude with and evade the attempts by the dominant groups to localize them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHINESE MERCHANT FAMILIES: FAMILY, IDENTITY, AND CULTURE IN THE EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY Introduction Having outlined and described how the American colonialist project, along with Chinese nationalism (in China and in the Philippines) and Filipino nationalism in the early part of the twentieth century contributed to the reification of “Chinese” and “Filipino” ethnic identities, I now turn to an examination of the familial practices of Chinese merchant families during this period. In particular, I would like to show the adaptations made by members of these families in response to their changing local and global environments, in areas that affected the construction of their families and ethnic identities, and their social and domestic practices. More specifically, I would like to focus on the following areas: marriage practices, citizenship, education, naming, clothing, language, religion, residence and family composition, lineages, migration practices, inheritance, burial practices, gender roles, and social networks. Marriage and Citizenship It is not clear whether the United States followed the Spanish policy of requiring naturalization on the part of the Chinese man before he could marry a local woman (see Chapter 4). During the American colonial rule in the Philippines, there appears to be no legal barrier for a Chinese citizen to marry a woman with Filipino citizenship. Nor did his citizenship status change from marrying a local woman; he remained “Chinese.” Upon marriage, however, the Filipino woman lost her citizenship and would have the same status as her husband (see Gill 1942, 295).1 1 This appears to be a departure from Spanish marriage policy, which stipulated that the Chinese mestizo or indio wife maintained her ethno-legal classification even after marriage to a Chinese man.
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At the beginning of the American colonial rule in the Philippines, the Archdiocese of Manila recorded no intermarriage between Chinese men and local women in the year 1899 and only one for the following year. From 1901 to 1903, prior to the official implementation Table 6: Number of Catholic Church Marriages between Chinese Men and Local Women, 1899–1927 Year
Number of Intermarriages
1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 1914 1915 1916 1917 1918 1919 1920 1921 1922 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927
0 2 14 21 13 2 3 n/a 3 4 2 4 2 7 1 n/a n/a 0 n/a n/a n/a 1 2 1 4 1 2 3 1
Source: AAM IM2
2 The computation of the number of intermarriages is based on actual count by the author of marriage files found at AAM. During these years, some of the marriage cases belonged to couples who were both born in China and of Chinese parentage, or of Chinese mestizos marrying other Chinese mestizos. However, those marriages were not included in the tally. Furthermore, the set of documents (Informaciones Matrimoniales) used in tallying these intermarriages end in the year 1927.
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of the Chinese Exclusion laws in the Philippines, there was a spike in the number: 14 in 1901, 21 in 1902, and 13 in 1903. The explanation for this increase warrants future research. However, from 1904 to 1927, the number of Catholic marriage applications between the Chinese and local women decreased and remained at single digits. What would explain the decrease in the number of Church marriages after 1903? One possible reason was that the official implementation of the Chinese Exclusion Act, which made the Chinese who were not subjects of Spain prior to 1899 ineligible for citizenship. This discouraged Filipino women from marrying them, since, as noted above, they lost their Filipino citizenship upon marrying a foreign citizen. Consequently, civil marriages also diminished at the turn of the twentieth century, with no marriages being registered in a particular notary public’s volume (see RMAO CR 1902, Vol. 856).3 Therefore, during the American colonial period, the number of legal unions (whether obtained via the Catholic Church or civil weddings) between the Chinese and local women decreased, although the number of consensual unions between them may have increased, since, by not legalizing their unions, the Filipino “wives” could keep their citizenship, thus enabling them to own property and enjoying other rights accorded to Filipino citizens, but denied their alien “husbands.” For Chinese merchants who took in Filipino “concubines,” or “secondary wives,” their Chinese wives and families condoned this practice as long as “proper priority” was given them, in that the union with Filipino “wives” occurred only after the marriage in China (Omohundro 1981, 122; cf. Amyot 1973, 132). The order of these marriages did not always happen accordingly, though, because some Chinese men would marry in the Philippines before marrying in China. For the wealthy Chinese, having concubines, whether Chinese or non-Chinese, was also a status symbol.4 For those who were legally married, having
3 However, a caveat should be made here. Since, as mentioned in the Introduction, notarized records and other government records after 1903 were not accessible to this author, the rate of civil marriages between Chinese women and local women cannot be ascertained. 4 The situation, however, may be different for a Chinese employee. According to Omohundro, if an employee had a Filipina wife, his employer and associates, even when he became self-employed, tended to look down on him, on the assumption that “a man who married a Filipina was either already financially shaky, or soon would be, when Filipino relatives made their demands on him” (1981, 62).
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a Filipino wife, as we have seen in Chapter 7, could also be advantageous in bringing “paper” sons and daughters from China. The situation, however, would gradually change. A number of factors would reduce the number of Filipinas as partners. Obviously, one reason was the increase in the number of Chinese women in the Philippines. When Chinese men started to bring their families (wives, children, parents, relatives) to the Philippines, particularly after the 1930s, polygyny gradually disappeared, except maybe among the most affluent.The presence of affines (from in-laws to relatives) “to monitor [men’s] conduct after marriage” was a contributing factor in discouraging them from taking another wife or concubine (Omohundro 1981, 125).5 Another was that, at the height of Chinese nationalism in the Philippines in the 1930s, unions with Filipinas, whether legal or otherwise, began to be perceived “as a threat to the existence of the Chinese community by racial dilution and acculturation” (Omohundro 1981, 129). Thus, this particular practice of social endogamy in which Chinese men married Chinese or Chinese mestizo women could have started at this time. Finally, certain provisions in the citizenship laws also made it disadvantageous or unattractive on the part of one party or both to intermarry. In his study of Chinese merchant families in Iloilo, Omohundro notes that after the 1930s, and especially after the Communist takeover of China in 1949, marriages became predominantly “Philippinebased,” in that the practice of marrying a woman in China decreased. In constrast to the 1920s and 1930s, when most men returned to China to look for wives, after the 1940s and the 1950s this practice almost disappeared due to the difficulty of traveling back to China.
5 Omohundro also notes that in Iloilo, immigrant Chinese who arrived after World War II who had Chinese wives back in China tended to choose Filipino wives, and not Chinese mestizo wives, as concubines. Their reason for this was that marrying a Chinese mestiza “constituted a legitimate Chinese marriage because she had a Chinese father” and thus “she could not serve simply as a second wife” (1981, 129). Whether this was also true in Manila remains to be studied.
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Children and Citizenship Chinese Mestizo Offspring and Citizenship In the previous chapter, I mentioned that a Chinese mestizo born in the Philippines whose father was a Chinese was also classified as “Chinese,” but could elect to become “Filipino” upon the age of majority. In the course of American colonial rule in the Philippines, some Chinese mestizo children would encounter problems regarding their status, as evidenced in a number of Philippine Supreme Court cases. These problems often arose from the confusion and debates surrounding their eligibility for Filipino citizenship, which was often put into question due to their and their families’ itinerant lifestyle and bordercrossing practices. The first case, resolved in the year 1910, involved Eugenio Pascual Lorenzo whose father was a Chinese named Marcelino Uy Ju and whose mother was Apolonia Pascual. He was born out of wedlock in Santa Maria in the province of Bulacan, in the year 1874, and lived on Rosario Street in Binondo. When he was fifteen years old (in the year 1889), he left for China, where he stayed for nineteen years, until he decided to return to the Philippines in 1908. But upon his arrival on the steamer Taisang on 7 April, he was detained in the customs house of Manila on the grounds that he was a Chinese subject, since his father did not apply for Spanish naturalization, and correspondingly, could only enter with the proper documents required under the Chinese exclusion laws. The case was brought to the Court of First Instance of Manila, which ruled that Eugenio was a Filipino citizen on the grounds that he was born in the Philippines and, under the circumstances, should be allowed entry into the country. A subsequent appeal was made by the Acting Insular Collector of Customs leading the Philippine Supreme Court to weigh in on the matter. The Supreme Court ruled, siding with the Collector of Customs, that—even if indeed Eugenio was a Philippine citizen, by virtue of his long stay away from the country, his having become a subject of the Chinese empire (under the 1909 nationality law of China), and most of all, his admission that he had no intention of returning to the Philippines until the year before his actual return—he had forfeited his Philippine citizenship (Eugenio Pascual Lorenzo v. H.B. McCoy, 21 March 1910). A second case a year later involved Benito Muñoz, who was born in the Philippines on 11 January 1880, in Camalig, Albay to a Chinese
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named Antonio Muñoz Ting Jian Co and to Antonia Nacional, a Filipino citizen. When he was eleven years old (in the year 1891), his father brought him to China where he stayed till 1911 (until the age of thirty-one). When he attempted to return via the steamer Taisang and sought admission to the Philippines as a “native” and citizen thereof, the immigration officials denied him entry on the grounds that he was “an alien of Chinese race who present(ed) none of the required statutory proof that he (was) a member of the exempt class of Chinese persons” (Benito Muñoz v. The Collector of Customs, 23 November 1911). Benito, through his lawyer Hartford Beaumont, argued that he had intended to return to the Philippines, but was just constrained from doing so due to certain financial difficulties, and that he had “never intended to expatriate himself and had never taken any active steps to that end.” The Philippine Supreme Court ruled that, since the intention to return was admitted, and that Benito’s return was “prevented by circumstances over which (he) had no control,” he should be allowed to return and stay in the Philippines. In the same year (i.e., 1911), another case involved a Chinese mestizo Yu Kiao, who was born in Navotas, Rizal, in 1897 to a Chinese father Santiago Yulong and a Filipino mother Enrica Santos, who were both legally married to each other. He was baptized shortly after his birth and he was christened Pablo Yu. When he was around three to four years old, his father took him to China (around the year 1900), and both returned in 1904, when Kiao was seven. The Bureau of Customs in Manila arrested him on 1 August 1910, in Manila, and he was detained for not having the necessary certificate of residence as required by Act No. 702 of the Philippine Commission, and ordered deported. At the time of the trial Kiao’s parents had been dead. The point being decided was whether Kiao, if his parents were alive and had brought him to the Philippines from China, needed to have a certificate of registration, which he did not possess during his arrest. The Philippine Supreme Court ruled that, had his parents been alive, the “defendant, being a minor, would have had a right to enter the Philippine Islands without a certificate,” and subsequently had the right to remain in the country (The United States v. Yu Kiao, 2 October 1911). It must be noted that when the case was brought before the Court of First Instance in Manila, the judge had ruled that Kiao was a Filipino citizen, and that the Philippine Supreme Court affirmed this ruling, thus demonstrating that “ground of birth” (the principle of jus soli ) established Filipino citizenship (Gill 1942, 299).
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With the cases of Eugenio Pascual Lorenzo and Benito Muñoz, the Philippine Supreme Court followed closely and began to apply American legal principles in the Philippines, in that, if one had been absent from one’s birth country and desired to return, one could do so as long as a declaration of intentions had been made before one reached the age of majority (Gill 1942, 298–9). The next case discussed “definitely establishe(d) and applie(d) American” laws to the “matter of the acquisition of Philippine citizenship” (Gill 1942, 302). Tranquilino was born on 6 July 1889 in Mindanao. His father was the Chinese Basilio Roa Uy Tiong Co, and his mother Roa was the Filipina Basilia Rodriquez, who were both legally married to each other. Tranquilino’s father left for China in 1898, where he died two years later. In May 1901, his mother sent Tranquilino to China to study, and with the intention he would return, which he did ten years later, on 1 October 1910 aboard the steamship Kaifong, arriving at the port of Cebu from Xiamen, China. He sought admission to the Philippines, and at the time was a “few days under 21 years and 3 months of age” (Tranquilino Roa v. Insular Collector of Customs, 30 October 1912). The Collector of Customs, through its board of special inquiry, found that Tranquilino, under Section 4 of the Philippine Bill of 1 July 1902, an alien and, therefore, not entitled to land, with the Court of First Instance of Cebu upholding this finding. On appeal, Tranquilino’s lawyers C.W. Ney and M.M. Levering argued that Tranquilino, having been born in the Philippines, had the right, upon the age of majority, to elect to “become a citizen of the country of his birth.” The Philippine Supreme Court ruled on 30 October 1912 that Tranquilino was a Filipino citizen based on the following opinions: • That when Tranquilino’s father died, his mother effectively became his natural guardian; • That, following American citizenship laws, his mother also reacquired “the nationality of the Philippine Islands,” i.e., Filipino citizenship, upon the death of her husband since before she married Tranquilino’s father she was a Spanish subject;6
In this case, the American citizenship law that allowed a widow, formerly married to a foreigner, to reacquire her citizenship if at the time she was residing in the United States, was applied because Spanish law did not specify anything regarding this matter (Tranquilino Roa v. Insular Collector of Customs, 30 October 1912). 6
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• That Tranquilino, being a minor and following the citizenship of his mother, was a citizen of the Philippines on 1 July 1902, and since he never expatriated himself, remained so at the time of the case. The ruling of the Philippine Supreme Court also gave a “new interpretation” to Section 4 of the Philippine Bill of 1902, which spelled out which certain class of inhabitants of the Philippines were citizens of the Philippines (Gill 1942, 302). In its decision, the Philippine Supreme Court pointed out that the section did not declare which other inhabitants were not citizens, nor did it declare which inhabitants should be declared aliens of the country, and finally, it did not declare that a person in the same position as Tranquilino could not elect to be a citizen of his birth country. And since the Philippine Bill of 1902, enacted by the U.S. Congress, was designed to extend the Bill of Rights to all the inhabitants of the Philippines in order to protect them, to use Section 4 of the Philippine Bill to “declare that (Tranquilino) (was) an alien and not entitled, under the circumstances, to reenter the land of his birth and become a citizen thereof, would be a holding contrary to the manifest intent of (the U.S. Congress)” (Tranquilino Roa v. Insular Collector of Customs, 30 October 1912).7 This case followed closely that of Wong Kim Ark, who was granted U.S. citizenship on the basis of being born in the United States, even though both his parents were subjects of the Chinese empire.8 For Victorino Lim Teco, his case did not end in his favor. He was born in Manila on 8 November 1885, and was the legitimate son of a Catholic Chinese Apolonio Lim Teco and Chinese mestiza Lucia 7 The Philippine Supreme Court similarly adjudicated a case involving Santiago Vaño Uy Tat Tong, who, at the age of eighteen, attempted to enter the Philippines on 19 October 1909, together with his two sisters, Matilde and Celestina Vaño, aged fifteen and ten, respectively. The two sisters were allowed entry, but Santiago was not. Santiago was born on 11 October 1892, in Cebu, and lived there all his life. Santiago’s and his sisters’ father was Chinese, and their mother a Filipina. When their father became ill, he took them to China. After their father died, the three siblings immediately returned to the Philippines on the steamship Rubi. Basing their decision on previous cases, namely, U.S. v. Go Siaco ( January 4, 1909); Muñoz v. the Collector of Customs (23 November 1911) and Roa v. The Collector of Customs (30 October 1912), the Philippine Supreme Court ruled Santiago to be of Filipino citizenship and eligible to enter the country. For more information, see Santiago Vaño Uy Tat Tong v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 20 November 1912. 8 For more information, see United States v. Wong Kim Ark, 169 U.S. 649, (1898).
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Tiangco. When he was five years old (in 1890) he was sent to China, and stayed there until 1910, five years after he reached the age of majority. When he attempted to return on the steamer Yingchow on 14 October 1910, the Collector of Customs denied him entry, stipulating that his father was a Chinese subject on 11 April 1899, and that Victorino followed his father’s nationality, and that because he remained in China for five more years upon reaching the age of majority he therefore had elected to maintain his Chinese nationality and abandoned his right to Filipino citizenship. The Philippine Supreme Court upheld the decision of the court. Its deliberation of the case centered around whether Victorino had effectively expatriated himself by staying many years out of the Philippines, and ruled that, since he had neither returned to the Philippine immediately after reaching the age of majority, nor presented any reason for not returning earlier, he had effectively lost that right to elect to become a Filipino citizen (Victorino Lim Teco v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 15 January 1913). The next two cases discussed here offer an interesting picture showing that when it came to determining the citizenship of Chinese mestizo offspring, the Philippine Supreme Court was “consistent” in ruling that those born out of wedlock were invariably ruled as “Filipino” (Gill 1942, 315). The first case involved Ong Tianse, who was born on 20 February 1890 in Liloan, Leyte, out of wedlock to a Chinese named Manual and to Barbara Dangculos, a Filipina. He was given the name of Baldomero Dangculos. When he was four years old, his father took him to China, where his name was changed to Ong Tianse and where he remained for eighteen or nineteen years. In February 1913, at the age of twenty-five, he returned to the Philippines. The Collector of Customs ruled him to be a Chinese subject without the proper certificate of registration and, accordingly, had to be deported. The Court of First Instance of Surigao upheld the decision of the Collector of Customs, and Tianse appealed the case to the Philippine Supreme Court, contending that, under such circumstances when a person was born out of wedlock, he or she took on the citizenship of the known parent, and in his case, that of his Filipino mother. The Supreme Court, basing its decision on the earlier case involving Benito Muñoz, pointed out that anyone born to a Chinese father and a local mother in the Philippines was considered prima facie a “Filipino” citizen, and that when a “minor child had been taken to China and had remained there for several years,” this “was not a sufficient reason
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to change his status as a citizen of the Philippine Islands” (The United States v. Ong Tianse, 26 January 1915). The second case involved two minor children Cayetano and Marciano Lim, aged eight and fourteen years, respectively, who were born in China out of wedlock to a Filipino mother (unidentified) and a Chinese father. When their mother brought them to the Philippines, they were denied entry. The Philippine Supreme Court was of the opinion that “the Chinese Immigration Laws should not be construed so as to exclude infant children of a Filipino mother, born out of lawful wedlock, seeking entrance to the Philippine Islands for the purpose of taking up their residence with her in her native land” (Cayetano Lim and Marciano Lim v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 16 March 1917). Chinese Children and Citizenship As mentioned in Chapter 7, the Philippine Supreme Court in 1917 adopted the jus soli principle, which ruled that anyone born in the Philippines automatically became a Filipino citizen.9 Consequently, this paved the way for an offspring of Chinese nationals to possess Filipino citizenship even though their parents remained Chinese under the law, creating a situation in which parents and children could have different citizenships. Furthermore, in 1920 the Philippine Legislature enacted the first naturalization law under Act No. 2927 that provided for the naturalization of those “native” to the Philippines, but did not possess Filipino citizenship. On 17 November 1922, Julian Go applied to be naturalized. Julian was born in Iloilo on 7 September 1899, of Gotianting (father) and Chansi (mother), both of Chinese nationality. As a child, he had at one point spent nine years in China studying and, on another year, went as a visitor. At the time of his petition, he admitted to being a citizen of China and held a certificate of residence, dated 1 October 1903 and issued under the provisions of the Act of Congress of 29 April 1902. The question then facing the Philippine Supreme Court was whether he had the right to recover his Filipino
9 Following Cayetano Lim and Marciano Lim v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 16 March 1917, the Philippine Supreme Court also applied the same principle in the case involving Lim Bin (alias) Fermin V.C. Bio Guan, who, having been born in the Philippines to both Chinese parents, was recognized as a Filipino citizen and, as a result, could not be deported. For more information, see The United States v. Lim Bin (alias) V.C. Bio Guan, 27 September 1917.
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citizenship, by virtue of being born in the country. On 22 October 1923 it ruled, following the case of Wong Kim Ark and subsequent various cases, that Julian could recover his Filipino citizenship (Go Julian v. The Government of the Philippine Islands, 22 October 1923). The next case involving a Chinese citizen, born in the Philippines, reclaiming Filipino citizenship came ten years later. Teofilo Haw was born on 13 February 1916, in Gumaca, Tayabas Province, to Chinese parents. When he was around eleven years old (in the year 1927), his parents took him to China, where he stayed for another six years, until he returned to the Philippines. Upon arriving at the port of Manila on 19 October 1933, he “claimed the right to enter and reside in the Philippine Islands as a native born citizen thereof.” The Insular Collector of Customs denied him entry, on the grounds that his parents had permanently left the country to establish residence in China. Being a minor, Teofilo, accordingly, followed the domicile of his parents and was to be considered a Chinese citizen. However, the Philippine Supreme Court, citing Muñoz v. Collector of Customs, ruled that Teofilo had not lost his citizenship since he had not expatriated himself, which he could only do so after he reached the age of majority. Furthermore, while still under the control of his father he could not renounce his citizenship, nor was there evidence that his father had renounced it for him (Teofilo Haw v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 5 March 1934). What about Chinese Women? As resident Chinese merchants began to bring their wives and minor children from China to the Philippines, the question arose on whether they needed to produce Section 6 certificates as well. The Philippine Supreme court ruled in 1916 that, applying the law in the United States, the wives and minor children of resident Chinese merchants could also enter the Philippines without having to present the Section 6 certificate. Moreover, like the resident Chinese merchants who had obtained the Section 6 certificate and who could come and go as they pleased, so could they (see Jao Quim Cho v. The Collector of Customs of the City of Cebu, 17 November 1916, and Dy Keng v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 16 September 1919). As socio-political and economic conditions worsened in China during the first three decades of the twentieth century, more and more Chinese merchants brought their Chinese wives over. For these women whose Chinese husbands were Filipino citizens, and who were seeking
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admission to the Philippines, the country’s Supreme Court ruled in 1929 that they could enter as long as there was clear evidence, oral or documentary, that they were legally married to their husbands (see Antonio Chua Chiaco, in behalf of Ong Tio v. The Insular Collector of Customs, 21 March 1929). The 1935 Commonwealth constitution established certain changes that would affect both those of Chinese nationality and Chinese mestizos. A Chinese person born in the Philippines, but who had left the country to reside elsewhere (in this case China) could no longer claim Filipino citizenship and admission into the country upon their return. This can be seen in the case of Eugenio Tan Chonjoc, who was born in Leyte in 1913, and left for China in 1929, at the age of sixteen. After an absence of seven years, he wanted to return to the Philippines in 1936 and to seek admission as a Filipino citizen. However, the Collector of Customs denied his petition on the basis of the new constitution, which spelled out that those who were considered citizens included only those whose parents were citizens of the Philippines upon the adoption of the new constitution, or whose mothers were citizens and upon reaching the age of majority, elected Philippine citizenship (Gill 1942, 326). This new law clearly went against the earlier laws prior to 1935 that followed the principle of jus soli. Moreover, under the new constitution Chinese mestizos, in what seems to be a reversal of the Philippine Supreme Court ruling of 1917, whose fathers were Chinese (therefore aliens) and mothers Filipinos, did not automatically acquire the right to Filipino citizenship at birth, but could elect to become a Filipino citizen upon the age of majority. Again, in such cases the principle of jus soli did not apply. In this sense, the Philippine rule “differed from that of the United States . . . (in that the) American rule (was) that a child born of an American and of an alien parent acquired citizenship at birth” (Gill 1942, 327). Another change in the new constitution of 1935 was the permission given to Chinese citizens to become naturalized. Despite this, few took this opportunity for they “were emotionally and politically involved in the raging Sino-Japanese conflicts in China” so that “trying to become Filipinos even for business expediency was not an option” (Wong 1999, 8). Moreover, the difficulty and the costly procedure in obtaining citizenship also caused many to retain their citizenship, especially if one or some family members already possessed Filipino citizenship. Among the requirements that a Chinese merchant may have found difficult to
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fulfill was the one that pertained to the ten-year period of continuous residence in the Philippines. An applicant who left the country several times, “during which he got married and sired children abroad” was not qualified, as this proved a discontinuous residence in the country (Azcuna 1969, 78). Since many Chinese merchants often visited China, this requirement barred or prevented them from acquiring citizenship. To sum up, citizenship laws pertaining to the children of Chinese fathers who were “Chinese” citizens depended on whether these children were born out of unions with Chinese women or local women, and whether these unions were legal or not. From 1902 to 1917, legitimate Chinese mestizo children whose fathers were Chinese citizens and whose mothers were Filipino citizens were considered “Chinese” could opt for “Filipino” citizenship upon reaching the age of majority. In 1917, the Philippine Supreme Court ruled that anyone born in the Philippines, following the principle of jus soli, was considered “Filipino.” Thus, children of two Chinese parents with Chinese citizenship, who prior to the 1917 ruling also were considered Chinese citizens, were thus considered Filipino citizens when born in the Philippines. Moreover, it was ruled in 1920 that those who were born in the Philippines, but left for China and acquired “Chinese citizenship” still could, upon their return after the age of majority, apply for naturalization. As for those born out of wedlock between a Chinese father with Chinese citizenship and a Filipino mother, they acquired the citizenship of their mothers. However, the 1935 Commonwealth Constitution established a number of changes again. For one, it reversed the Philippine Supreme Court ruling in 1917 so that Chinese mestizo children born in the Philippines did not automatically acquire Filipino citizenship, but could opt for it upon reaching the age of majority. Furthermore, those who were born in the Philippines of Chinese parents and left the country for China could no longer claim Filipino citizenship upon their return, and Chinese mestizos who likewise left the country could only reclaim it if their mother were Filipino citizens and if they, upon reaching the age of majority, opted for Philippine citizenship. Acquiring Philippine citizenship for these children under the 1935 Commonwealth Constitution was therefore more difficult, and this could partly be explained by the more nationalistic stance of the Philippine Commonwealth government. On the other hand, with the principle of jus sanguinis being adopted by the Chinese government, many Chinese residents
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in the Philippines opted for their Chinese or Chinese mestizo children to retain their Chinese citizenship, as long as they found ways (such as bribing officials or cohabiting with Filipino women who possessed Filipino citizenship) to continue conducting their businesses in the country. Education As mentioned in Chapter 5, the first “official” school established for the “Chinese” was the Anglo-Chinese School, which opened in 1899. The school was mainly for Chinese mestizos. Other children were sent to China, especially when schools started to open in the last quarter of the nineteenth century (see Chapter 1). As noted in Chapter 6, the Anglo-Chinese school, which was located within the compound of the Chinese consulate in Binondo, emphasized Confucian learning, i.e., on the learning of the four books and five classics, but was complemented by an English section that gave instructions in the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic.10 In 1914, the Philippine Chinese Educational Association was established.11 The association was incorporated within the Bureau of Commerce and Industry of the Philippine Islands, and all the Chinese schools established since then were duly recognized by both the local Department of Public Instruction and the Chinese government (Tan 1972, 162). The schools followed the same system of instruction used in Philippine schools except that there were additional subjects as prescribed and required in official schools in China. Languages used were English and Chinese (initially Hokkien and later on Mandarin), and Chinese, Filipino, and American teachers taught the different subjects. The English texts were prescribed by the Secretary of Public Instruction of the Philippine government while the Chinese texts by the Ministry of Education of the Chinese Government (Tan 1972, 164).
10 Gong Shaoting, a juren, someone who passed the provincial examination in China and who possessed an intermediate degree, was appointed first superintendent of the school, while an American woman was head of the English Department (Tan 1972, 161). 11 Jensen, however, writes that the Philippine government did not authorize the Chinese department of the schools (1975, 171).
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Even though schools had been established prior to the 1920s, early attendance was low. For instance, from 1899 to 1911, attendance at the Anglo-Chinese School varied between 50 and 100 (Tan 1972, 161). The practice of some Chinese merchant families sending their children China for education could partly explain the low attendance in the Manila schools. Jensen writes that before the Japanese occupation of the Philippines an estimated 200 children of Chinese merchants were being sent annually to China for education (1975, 172; cf. Tan 1972, 165). However, as conditions in China worsened, the enrollment in local Chinese schools increased. In 1923, the Anglo-Chinese School had 348 students in the day and 402 in the evening (Tan 1972, 164). In 1935, there were 7,214 students enrolled in 58 Chinese schools all over the Philippines (Tan 1972, 157). Most schools established during the first thirty years of the twentieth century were secular, except for St. Stephen’s School that was founded in 1917 by the American Episcopalian Mission (Tan 1972, 158). The parish school in Binondo was not established until 1946. A major aim of the Philippine Chinese Educational Association was to instill in the students of the Chinese schools a strong sense of cultural and political nationalism. As Tan writes, One significant aspect of the school system was precisely its effort to revive traditional values of the Chinese community under the changing conditions of Philippine society. The schools were dedicated to preserving and reviving the interest of Philippine Chinese in Chinese culture, Chinese history and customs, and Chinese language and Chinese outlook (1972, 165).
In this way, the children were taught to regard China as the motherland, even if they intended to settle in Manila or the Philippines permanently. This orientation was strengthened by the Chinese Nationality Law of 1909 that regarded everyone, wherever they were born, as Chinese subjects entitled to the support and protection of the Chinese government (Tan 1972, 167). The Chinese government in the 1930s also expanded its control and reach of the minds of its “overseas” Chinese citizens by sending representatives to inspect the schools, giving out scholarships, and formulating a comprehensive plan for the improvement of education of the “overseas Chinese,” as well as to “promote a Chinese nationalism that included rather than excluded Chinese overseas as part of the Chinese nation” (Tan 1972, 175; Cook 2003, 390).
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Even while Mandarin was made the medium of instruction in the schools after 1926, as noted in Chapter 7, Minnan hua (閩南話), or Hokkien, was still used and promoted as part of a superior Minnan culture and history. This was due to the “provincialism” pervasive among the Chinese living in Nanyang in the early part of the twentieth century. In this version of Minnan “provincialism,” the people of Minnan were portrayed as descendants of those who moved to the Minnan region after the fall of the Tang dynasty. As a result, Minnan history and culture were linked to the “cosmopolitan golden age of Chinese commerce, poetry, and art” (Cook 2003, 369).12 This valorization of their own cultural background and attachment to their region may help explain why, when present-day Chinese in Manila use the Hokkien term lán-lâng, which literally means “our people,” the term pertains to the Minnan people. And when children are admonished to speak lán-lâng ōe (咱人話), i.e., “the language of our people,” the reference is not to Mandarin, but the Hokkien language (see Chu 2001). Another aim of the Philippine Chinese Educational Association was to prepare students, especially from families who could afford it, for admission to local higher technical and secondary schools, as well as to schools in Fujian. One of the secondary schools that many children of the Chinese living in Nanyang attended was in Jimei (集美) near Xiamen. Those who continued on to college attended either one of the institutions of higher learning in the Philippines or abroad. For those who went to China, a popular institution was Xiamen University (formerly University of Amoy), which was established by the Singaporean Chinese Tan Kah Kee in 1921. Some wealthy merchant families sent their children to Hong Kong for a more Western-style education. For instance, Calixto Dyyco sent his son Dee C. Chuan to study at St. Joseph’s College in Hong Kong between 1904 and 1905. The latter later went on to become a prominent lumber businessman in the Philippines. Other prominent Chinese merchants in the 1920s and 1930s received their degrees in U.S. universities, such as Marcelo Nubla who obtained a doctorate in law from Georgetown; See Chong Su in economics from Columbia University; and Albino Sycip in law at University of Michigan (Wong 1999, 75). As Aihwa Ong points Thus, “Chinatowns” in Nanyang and in other parts of the world are called Tangrenjie (唐人街), literally, “the street of Tang people,” since the Chinese diasporic communities, including that of the Philippines, treat the Tang dynasty as the period in which the Chinese culture flourished (Liu 1964, 234–6). 12
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out, during the imperial times and during the Republican period in China, to accumulate degrees was a way for people to rise above their social status, so that peasants acquired mandarin status and merchants rose socially in the eyes of officials. Sons of Chinese diasporic families, therefore, were “expected to collect symbolic capital in the form of educational certificates . . . that help(ed) raise the family class position and prestige” (Ong 1998, 141). Oftentimes, the university degrees obtained by children of Chinese merchant communities in the Nanyang placed an emphasis on “practical” arts and sciences, so that even though one’s children may have a degree in law or economics, the knowledge they obtained was used to advance the business interests of their families. For instance, Carlos Palanca Tan Quin Lay, founder of the well-known distillery called La Tondeña, “prevailed on one of his sons, Antonio G. Palanca, to become a chemist for the benefit of the family business” (Wong 1999, 182–3). On that account, children, even with a professional degree, were expected to participate or help in the family business. One reason for this was that Chinese citizens or aliens were barred from practicing certain professions reserved only for Filipino citizens, thus making it difficult, if not impossible, for these university-educated children to take on careers outside of entrepreneurship. But another reason was the importance given to “wealth” as a status, for while greatness in “traditional” China was measured in terms of one’s literary or scholarly achievement, in the “overseas” Chinese communities it was measured in terms of “one’s own ability to amass wealth” (Tan 1972, 241; Cook 2003, 170). This orientation can be explained by the long history of mercantilism in Minnan and among the Nanyang Chinese, whose itinerancy was a result of their search for economic opportunities and whose aims were to become successful merchants (Tan 1972, 241). However, during the rise of Chinese nationalism they continued to emphasize the importance of keeping one’s heritage and of practicing perseverance and industry they deemed to be part of “Chinese values” that contributed to their success. Furthermore, even as they valued economic success many Chinese merchants also aspired to become scholar-officials, as seen in the purchasing of scholarly ranks and titles from the Chinese imperial government by some of the wealthy merchants before the abolition of the examination system in 1905. After such titles were not available anymore, wealthy Chinese merchants continued to demonstrate their belief in education as a symbol of success by sending their children to schools or by becoming patrons
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of learning. However, such charitable acts—contributing money to build schools, temples, or other types of infrasture—might have served to mask corrupt practices, e.g., escaping property taxes, and to gain social status as prominent members of society. Consequently, “it is a stretch to construct these as acts of Confucian benevolence” (Ong 1998, 153). Naming and Identification It appears that during the American colonial period, fewer and fewer Chinese were baptizing themselves since the Chinese ministry of the Catholic Church in Binondo was quite inactive until after the 1920s. Consequently, this may explain why many of them retained and used their Chinese names. Only when they applied for naturalization and/ or for baptism did they adopt a Hispanicized name. Therefore, Cu Unjieng, who was born in 1867 and came to the Philippines at the age of fifteen, retained this name and only became Guillermo Araullo Cu Unjieng when he had himself baptized in 1917 (see Chapter 9). Chinese mestizo children, on the other hand, were more likely to be baptized and thereupon acquired Hispanicized names. Those who were born in China of Chinese and non-Christian parents retained their Chinese names. If they entered under an assumed name, they then had both the real and “false” name (see Chapter 7). But apparently, as they went to school or became adults, children of Chinese merchant families also were given a Hispanicized or Anglicized name. Thus, a Chinese could have several names during the American colonial period: the different kinds of names described in Chapter 3 (e.g., the xiaoming or “small name” given at birth) and a Western name.13 Moreover, American citizenship and immigrant laws, by making it difficult for non-merchant Chinese to enter the Philippines legally and thereby leading many Chinese to enter as “paper sons,” helped create another layer of identification for the Chinese in the Philippines. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, my great-grandfather used the papers of “Chu Ongco” to enter the Philippines. Consequently, his descendants officially became “Chu” instead of “Go,” so that my
13 Omohundro writes that there is also the “Chinese nickname or ‘store name’ by which acquaintances address one another” (1981, 18).
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father, who also had a Hispanicized name Luis, sometimes referred to himself as Luis Go, sometimes Luis Chu, Chu Tian Hua, or Go Tian Hua.14 Just like male children, female children were given generational names (see Louie 1998, 51). But it is unclear whether they possessed the same number of names that men did, although, upon entering the Philippines, they too were given Westernized names. For instance, my eldest paternal aunt who was born in the Philippines, then went to China at the age of three, upon returning to the Philippine seven years later was given the name “Victoriana.” In official documents, Chinese daughters also adopted their fathers’ “official” surname, whether real or assumed. Furthermore, once married, under Philippine law they took on their husbands’ surname and dropped their own. This was a departure from Chinese custom where women, while they did append their husband’s surname to their own, still kept their natal or maiden name.15 For this reason, Chinese merchants and their family members during the American colonial period, as in the Spanish colonial period, continued to practice having different names and surnames, to be used according to different contexts, i.e., in official or unofficial capacities, or whether among fellow Chinese or among non-Chinese.16
Among his peers and relatives, he was called by his personal name “Hua.” According to one scholar, “Women retained their own surname after marriage but usually put their husband’s surname in front of their own.” Thus, a “woman Wang married to Mr. Huang would be called as woman Huang Wang” or “Huang Wang Shi (氏)” (Yi, e-mail communication, 13 November 2008). In an essay entitled, “The Names of Married Women,” in The China Critic dated 6 December 1928 (NARA), the practice of Chinese women, especially among the “oversea (sic) Chinese,” to retain their maiden names after marriage was criticized by the newspaper as undermining the institution of the Chinese family system, for in retaining their names, married women not only created confusion as regards to their status, but also deny the duty of their husbands to protect them. 16 During the Cold War era, the U.S. government, already out of the Philippines as colonial masters, still continued to grapple with the multiple names of the Chinese. In 1953, the U.S. State Department, through its Office of Intelligence Research, published a manuscript called “Directory of Chinese Personal Names in the Philippines.” The foreword says that similar directories were being made for the Chinese in other Southeast Asian countries. No doubt the purpose of this directory was to keep track of the “overseas Chinese” during a period of intensified Cold-War conflict with China and the rest of the “Communist world.” However, the creation of this directory also is an indication of the long-standing problem that non-Chinese had had with Chinese names. Thus, it is stated that the “purpose of this directory (was) to furnish a key for research workers concerned with overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia, to enable them to disentangle the confused references to Chinese names appearing in the local non-Chinese press, directories, and political accounts” (U.S. Department of State 1953, 1) [Italics mine]. 14 15
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As families were becoming exposed to Westernization, and the practice of having “Westernized” or “Hispanicized” names for themselves and their children became expedient, some Chinese naming practices were adapted to reflect hybridization. For instance, adapting the naming practice described in Chapter 5, where male siblings belonging are given the same first character to denote their generational position in the lineage, a Chinese father in Manila gave all his sons names that began with the letter “A,” and their sons in turn were given names starting with “B” (Amyot 1973, 108). Clothing and Appearance While Chinese merchants or elites were capable of shifting their political affiliations and identities, so too were they able to shift their “appearances” to adapt to the changing times, particularly the drive toward modernization in China and the Philippines. As with those in China supporting the creation of a Chinese republic, the Chinese elites in the Philippines cut their queues, gave up their Mandarin garbs, and adopted a more modern “Western” style of clothing. One can see, for example, the transformation in men’s fashion in the picture of Cu Unjieng, dressed smartly in white tuxedo (fig. 22). As part of the modernization efforts in China, elite women also stopped binding their feet. Nevertheless, Chinese women’s clothing retained some of the “traditional” elements. In late Qing or imperial China, elite women often wore silk garments richly embroidered, loose fitting, and with an upright (sometimes called “mandarin”) collar. In the 1920s the style had changed into a more body fitting dress called the qipao (旗袍). It was a one-piece attire that initially reached down to the ankle and had slits measuring about a foot long on both sides. As the twentieth century wore on, the dress became shorter, ending just below the knees. However, for Chinese women who lived in the Philippines, their style of dressing reflected generational differences. Those who were born in the early 1900s tended to retain the ankle-length qipao till their old age. This may be due to the fact that among them, a good number had bound feet (especially when they were born in China before the abolition of foot-binding). On the other hand, those born in the 1910s and 1920s usually had their feet unbound, and could thus more easily adapt to a shorter-style qipao or even wear more “Westernstyle” modes of dressing. Women born in the Philippines in the 1930s
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Figure 22. Cu Unjieng. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
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and so on, upon reaching adulthood after World War II, tended to wear the same Western-style clothes of Filipino women. Language In terms of the language spoken at home, the situation varied from family to family, depending on the composition of its members. Where parents were both “Chinese,” Hokkien was the predominant language. Chinese fathers, however, who spent some time growing up in the Philippines, could also speak Spanish, Tagalog or a local Philippine language or dialect, and increasingly, English if they had a degree of English-based education. Chinese mothers mainly spoke Hokkien, and spoke the non-Chinese languages depending on the age when they moved to the Philippines and their level of exposure to these languages (whether in school or within their neighborhoods or communities). But among wealthy Chinese merchant families who managed to send their children to “Western” style schools in Manila, Hong Kong, the United States, or Singapore, English became “fashionable” to use within the household. For many Chinese merchant families, therefore, the language spoken at home could be a mixture of Hokkien, English, Spanish, and a local Philippine language (mainly Tagalog for those living in Manila). But what language did members of a Chinese mestizo household speak? This depends on whether this household belonged to a dual family. I suspect that initially, when the mothers were Chinese mestizas themselves, the children would be speaking Hokkien, especially if they were sent to Chinese schools. But if their “Chinese” halfbrothers were brought over from China, they may not have been “Sinicized” as much, being sent to non-Chinese schools instead. Other factors, such as birth order, gender, and residence, played a role in whether or not these Chinese mestizo children would grow up speaking Hokkien. Religion In the aftermath of the anti-clerical sentiment of the 1896–1898 revolution, the Spanish Dominican priests fled from the Philippines, including those who were assigned to the Chinese apostolate in Binondo.
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Consequently, the parish of Binondo was placed under the secular clergy, who “did not have the necessary personnel to understand the Chinese and their language” (Pax Romana 1966–1967, 5). For around twenty-five years, there was no specifically organized or on-going ministry designed to evangelize the Chinese, or attend to the needs of the Catholic Chinese, who were placed under the care of the parish priest of the “Filipino” church in Binondo. As a result, during the first two decades of the twentieth century, the number of Chinese conversion dropped (Garcia Letter to M.R.P. Provincial P. Silvestre Sancho, 25 February 1952, 1). However, the absence of a “Chinese” parish was not the only reason for this development. As we have seen in Chapter 2, the Spanish government in the nineteenth century had stopped classifying the Chinese and attaching political rights according to their religious status. Furthermore, changes in citizenship laws during the American colonial period discouraged intermarriages between the “alien” Chinese and Filipino women, removing another incentive for Catholic conversion on the part of the Chinese. From a letter of the Dominican priest Antonio Garcia, who later on became the parish priest of the Catholic Chinese in Binondo, we are able to catch a partial glimpse of the state of the Chinese Catholic ministry during this time. According to Garcia, the secular priest who was in charge of the “Filipino” parish of Binondo then was someone by the name of Bustamante. Since Bustamante did not speak Chinese, he assigned a Chinese layperson by the name of Angtuaco, who had “no religious instruction,” was of “depraved moral conduct,” and who had “two wives and purported to practice superstitions in his house,” to become the “official” of the Catholic Chinese (Garcia Letter to M.R.P. Provincial P. Silvestre Sancho, 25 February 1952, 1). Angtuaco’s principal duties were to collect among the Chinese donations or contributions for the religious feasts of the parish and to present to the parish priest those who desired baptism and marriage. However, he facilitated such requests by emphasizing the monetary aspect involved in these two sacraments, without requiring anyone to undergo religious instruction, and the parish priest went along with it. The outcome was that the Chinese perceived the acquisition of these two sacraments as “purely a question of money” and so that when they approached the parish priests “ordinarily the first and only question they habitually make is ‘How much is it going to cost?’ ” (Garcia Letter to M.R.P. Provincial P. Silvestre Sancho, 25 February 1952, 1–2). As a result,
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chapter eight no matter how many Chinese who had been baptized and married in the Catholic Church in the Philippines, the number of practicing Catholics was reduced much, with some rare exceptions of some educated youth in the Catholic colleges, but even the majority of these . . . habitually abandoned their religion, due to the anti-Catholic and pagan environment of their families, resulting to that [situation] in which almost all of the Chinese of the Philippines, even those that received baptism, remain as pagans as when they arrived from China and continue with absolute ignorance of our religion . . . (Garcia Letter to M.R.P. Provincial P. Silvestre Sancho, 25 February 1952, 2).17
This situation remained till 1923, when the Archbishop of Manila and the Apostolic Delegate, through a decree given by the Vatican, returned to the Dominican priests the task of administering to the spiritual needs of the Chinese (cf. Neira 1996, 6). A new Chinese parish, housed in the Binondo church, was created until such time a separate Chinese parish could be erected. In spite of this, this ministry did not flourish due to lack of resources. Furthermore, this act of putting the parish priest of the Chinese within the Binondo Church, administered by the parish priest of the Filipinos, completely hindered his liberty of action. Thus, in reality the parish priest of the Chinese, especially in relation to the use of the church, was completely subordinated to the parish priest of the Filipinos, since only an hour during Sundays was granted to him . . . so that his position seemed to be simply that of a coadjutor (Garcia Letter to M.R.P. Provincial P. Silvestre Sancho, 25 February 1952, 1).
Antonio Garcia was appointed to be the parish priest of the Chinese in 1939. The Binondo Church was destroyed during the Second World War, so the Archbishop of Manila granted some 700 meters of land at the back of the Binondo Church property (site of the old convent) on which a chapel, the convent, and a school called Crusaders Academy of Music were built in 1946. The Crusaders Academy School was and remains a school specifically for the children of Catholic Chinese. With the rise of more “Chinese” families in the 1940s and 1950s, following the Sino-Japanese War, the civil war, and the Communist takeover in China, we begin to see the practice of more and more children from these families being baptized at infancy or during early While it is important to remind ourselves that the description provided by Garcia regarding the behavior of Chinese converts was given through biased lenses, we nevertheless can reasonably assume that the quantity, not the quality, of Chinese converts remained low. 17
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childhood. The reasons for such practice may be attributed to the compadrazgo system, which enabled the parents of these baptized children to develop closer ties with the godparents of their children, and to the establishment of more Catholic schools specifically geared toward Chinese children.18 But among the children or young adults who, along with their entire family, arrived in the Philippines in the late 1930s and the 1940s, many did not convert to Catholicism until they were getting married, when, desiring a church wedding, they first had to be baptized. Many of them also did not attend “Christian” schools,19 and in terms of professed and practiced religion, many continued practicing Buddhism, simultaneously engaging in both Buddhist and Christian rituals as their ancestors had. With more and more “Chinese” women who practiced Buddhism coming to the Philippines in the early part of the twentieth century, Buddhist activities increased. The first Buddhist organization in Manila was founded in 1931.20 In 1937, the Mahayana Xinyuan Temple was built on Narra Street in Manila (Chen 1998, 234). Residence and Family Composition As families grew in size with the coming of women, children, cousins, or older relatives, houses were constructed in big residential compounds in order to accommodate the extended family. Merchant families would add new wings or sections to the original house as sons married, brought in their wives, and had children, forming what Omohundro calls the “extended patriarchal household” (1981, 121). The common 18 Foreign missionaries, expelled from China after the Communist takeover of 1949, established more Catholic schools for the Chinese population. The Jesuits who came from China opened one of these, Xavier School, which was founded in 1954. Thus began a more concerted and systematic attempt from the Catholic Church to reach out again to the Chinese in the Philippines. Consequently, a generation of Catholic Chinese in the Philippines had a stronger Catholic indoctrination than their parents’ generation arose after the 1950s. 19 In 1903, Episcopal Church in the United States set up its church in Manila. In 1929, a portion of its Chinese believers withdrew from the Episcopal Church and organized the Christian Church of Chinese in the Philippines. In the next year, some other Chinese believers organized the Christian Federation. In the next decades, other branches of American Christian sects were formed, such as the Overseas Chinese Baptist Church. For more information, see Chen 1998, 234–5. 20 As mentioned in Chapter 4, two Buddhist temples opened in Manila in the late 1880s (Wickberg [1965] 2000, 188).
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practice therefore was patrilocal residence, as daughters married out and lived with their husbands’ families. Amyot writes that among the wealthy, this extended family that lived in the family compound was the ideal (cited in Omohundro 1981, 136). The practice of adoption also continued, especially by childless couples, single men, or single women. Children whose astrological signs were found to be incompatible with their parents’ were also given to another family to adopt. These children or phō-ê (抱的) were often raised as if they were natural children, assuming the same duties and privileges, and referred to by affinal kin according to their place in the lineage. However, in time, American/Western and modernist notions of consanguinity began to seep into the consciousness of Chinese merchant families, so that biological kinship started to be viewed as superior to adoptive kinship.21 In his study of Chinese merchant families in Iloilo, Omohundro points out that the practice of bringing in young women (mui-tsai ) continued to be observed in the 1920s and 1930s. There is little reason not to believe that Chinese merchants in Manila did the same. As mentioned in Chapter 5, they were brought in to become as either servants or concubines. And as Omohundro notes, Some of (the) concubines later became business and political matriarchs with the passing of their powerful husbands and rivals; others escaped or were released at an early age and married other Chinese in the community (1981, 23).
In examining the familial practices of the Chinese merchant families in Iloilo, Omohundro writes that in the case of a “dual family,” when the Chinese wife and family joined her husband in the Philippines, the local wife “separated,” which meant that she “left the household with her (Chinese) mestizo children but remained a part of the man’s family, claiming some financial and inheritance rights from him” (1981, 125). The same can be said about Chinese merchant families in Manila.
For more information regarding the history of adoption in the United States, particularly on how adoptive kinship became stigmatized, see Carp 1998, especially Chapter 1. 21
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Binondo as “Chinatown” As more and more families, especially in the 1930s came to the Philippines, Binondo became more of a “Chinatown” that consisted of multi-generational “Chinese” families. Prior to the 1930s, Binondo probably remained about the same as it was during the late Spanish colonial period, with many merchant families consisting of a Chinese father, a Chinese mestizo or “Filipino” mother, their children, and extended kin, both from the father’s and mother’s side. Moreover, foreign merchants and their families, as well as wealthy Filipino and Spanish families lived in Binondo. Then, with the urban development of Manila, and the creation of “subdivisions,” many wealthy nonChinese residents started moving out of Binondo, to places such as Quiapo, Ermita, Malate, San Miguel, and Pasay. As more and more Chinese brought their families to the Philippines in the 1930s, Binondo became more “Sinicized.” Lineages: What Happened in the Philippines Lineage organizations were virtually “co-terminous” with villages in China. But in the Philippines, the lineage organizations, or in Hokkien, sì n chong chhin hōe (姓宗親會) became separate from the village association, or tông hiong hōe (同鄉會). As mentioned in Chapter 1, when lineage members leave permanently to settle elsewhere, the link to the lineage organization diminishes (cf. Amyot 1973, 37). Consequently, lineage organizations in Manila were more likely to be composed of members with the same surname regardless of village origin, and some recruited members belonging to different surnames.22 But even when under the Nationalist and Communist regimes, when lineages in China were being co-opted by the state apparatus intent on limiting the power of local organizations, the Chinese in Manila still retained a strong sense of affinity with their local villages and lineages, especially among the Chinese who came to the Philippines as adults during the early American colonial period. As Amyot writes, 22 Amyot, however, writes that a lineage organization in Manila could be based on a village of origin that was a lineage village. This may have been true in the beginning, but post World War II lineage organizations that exist till today are more likely to be, if constituting a single surname, composed of members from different villages of origin.
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chapter eight the situation until the late 30s was often as if families lived in China and as many males as could be spared commuted to the Philippines to work. The home remained in the emigrant community in China. The menfolk in the Philippines visited it as often as they could afford, perhaps every year or every other year (1973, 42).
Migration Practices As can be gleaned from the Supreme Court cases discussed earlier, the practice from the late Spanish colonial period of children, especially boys, being born and raised in China, and later on being brought to the Philippines at a young age, but old enough to start helping out in the family business, continued during the early American colonial period. If the male child was brought to the Philippines at a very young age, or born in the country, he perhaps would first complete his education, and when old enough, return to China to marry a woman arranged by his parents. As mentioned earlier, during the tumultuous period in China, especially in the 1930s, daughters, wives, and other kin started to be brought over to the Philippines. Occasionally members of the Chinese merchant families would return to the home villages for visits, especially if relatives such as one’s aged parents still lived in China. For instance, my great-grandfather came to Manila as a young man at the turn of the twentieth century. But he would return to his village several times, once in 1927 when he built a huge concrete colonial style house beside the ancestral home (fig. 23).23 Oftentimes, family members would accompany his trips back home. In the late 1940s, he returned for the last time, when feeling old and sick, he brought along my great-grandmother, grandparents, and one of my maternal aunts back to Jinjing. When the Communists were beginning to gain control of the whole of China, everyone in the family, except him, returned to the Philippines. He remained in the village until his death in 1951. But he was not immediately buried. The villagers waited for my grandfather to return to conduct the proper burial rites. But
23 According to the current caretakers of the house, he brought labor and materials from the Philippines to build the house. The architecture of the house combined features of the traditional Chinese home with those of the European homes. It had a courtyard at the middle of the house, and on top of the roof were two dragons that faced each other. On the other hand, it had a glass ceiling that allowed sunshine to penetrate into the courtyard, along with Corinthian columns and capitals.
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Figure 23. House of my great-grandfather. Courtesy of Richard T. Chu.
since the political conditions in China did not allow my grandfather to return, my great-grandfather’s remains stayed in the ancestral room inside the house for years, until news arrived from the Philippines that my own grandfather had died in 1954, and the villagers were advised to bury my great-grandfather that same year. Chinese merchants also continued the earlier practice during the Spanish colonial period of bringing their “Filipino” wives and children to China. There is no statistical data yet available to corroborate this practice, although a document, dated 13 April 1928, filed under the Bureau of Insular Affairs at NARA, refers to it. In the document it is stated that “hundreds of Filipina women married to Chinese merchants have been invading” the consulate in Amoy (Xiamen) and “demanding protection from the cruelty of their husbands, who also have Chinese wives in China” (NARA BIA File 370-A-11). Inheritance and Burial Practices The practice of inheritance during the Spanish colonial period, as outlined in Chapter 5, seems to have continued during the early American
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colonial period, in that Chinese merchant families, especially dual families, also did not strictly follow one inheritance law over another. We have seen the difference between Chinese inheritance law and the Spanish civil code, with the latter carried over to the American colonial times. For dual families, the common practice was to award the eldest (either Chinese mestizo or Chinese) son with a bigger share, since it was often expected that this particular son would carry on the family business enterprise. Prior to the 1930s, since the “Chinese” family remained in China, the Chinese family would have been awarded most of the money, especially if the Chinese merchant had planned on returning to China to retire, while the local wife and children might receive a lump sum. However, if the Chinese mestizo sons from the Philippine marriage assumed the leadership position in the businesses over their Chinese “half-brothers,” they might conceivably receive the bulk of the inheritance, notably if their Chinese “half-brothers” remained in China. But it was more likely the case that the male offspring from the Chinese marriage would also be brought over to the Philippines. A wealthy Chinese merchant could then also choose to divide his wealth equally among his sons, whether Chinese mestizo or Chinese, when all of them lived in the Philippines. Chinese mestizo or Chinese daughters also received either a dowry or an equal share of the inheritance, depending on which law or custom the family followed. The matter of passing on the inheritance to heirs or heiresses did not always proceed smoothly. Since Philippine law recognized bilateral inheritance, disputes would occur in cases when a wealthy Chinese merchant chose to follow Chinese customs of awarding sons more money (cf. Omohundro 1981, 150). Another dispute would occur when a son or an offspring who had Filipino citizenship was used as a “dummy” for land titles or businesses, hence, creating an “anticipatory expectation of inheritance” (Omohundro 1981, 151). And since Chinese convention also “neither follow a written legal code nor utilize written wills, or ui-chiok” (遺囑), tensions could arise from the heirs, as seen in the case of Vicente Romano Sy Quia. Furthermore, Chinese convention considered that “the officially married wife, the Chinese wife, the wife in the household, and the wife who bore the eldest son should have first priority as heiress,” and all other wives received “only lump-sum gratuities” (Omohundro 1981, 155). However, since these roles were not always found in the same person, a woman who could “claim one of these roles [could] press to be the one given priority (Omohundo 1981, 155).
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If their husbands died, Chinese wives rarely remarry, following the custom of female chastity in China (see Chapter 1). Complications that would arise from sharing or handling the inheritance from her first husband and those of her children with this husband with those of her second spouse and her children with him were another reason for not remarrying. Gender Roles Women in Chinese merchant families also played a part in the building of the family enterprise, whether as daughters, wives, or mothers. Daughters were sent to school but often did not proceed to obtain a high school or college degree. However, some degree of education would make them attractive marriage partners to sons of wealthy families. As wives, they too played some role. Before the influx of Chinese women to the Philippines, the Filipino wife or concubine of a wealthy Chinese could assume important economic positions within the family. In particular, in the case of a dual family, if her Chinese spouse died and the Chinese wife was still in China, the Filipino wife inherited the family business from her deceased husband.24 What role in the family enterprise a “Chinese” woman—one who came to the Philippines to join her husband—would assume depended on a number of factors. For one, if she had bound feet, then most likely her economic role was confined to managing the finances pertaining to the household, and relying on her husband to provide them with a monthly budget for herself, the family, and other dependents (cf. Omohundro 1981, 82). It would take another generation before Chinese women, born either in the Philippines or brought to the Philippines at an early age, could become more active in the family business, usually as a storekeeper or cashier. But if they were married off to sons of wealthy families then they would more likely take on the role of being housewives. One of 24 Naturally, her role could start to change when the primary wife, usually the wife from China, moved to the Philippines. However, if the “Filipino” wife was a Chinese mestiza, she could be regarded as the “primary” or the more influential wife. This depended on a number of factors, including, for instance, if her Chinese father was a prominent merchant in the community, or if she had been playing a major role in the family enterprise, especially if properties and businesses were placed under her name.
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the most important “duties” of a wife was also to bear sons to carry on the patrilineage and who upon growing up could help out in the family business. But whether Filipino or Chinese, primary wife or concubine, a woman in a Chinese merchant family continued to act within proscribed “Chinese” social and gender norms, which considered (and continue to consider) women as subordinate to men and, even as modernist ideas of what the role of a woman should be started to permeate in the minds of those born in the twentieth century, granting them equal rights and more freedoms, such “spaces” were only opened as long as their actions did not undermine patriarchy’s grip over them. Men’s and Women’s Social Network Men formed their social networks via associations, clubs, and other organizations. They also establish ties with classmates or business associates. Women from China, on the other hand, if they arrived as adults, wives, or mothers, were usually restricted to their network of other female relatives belonging to the same generational cohort, to the people within their households, or fellow Buddhist followers whom they met at the Buddhist temple (see Ang See 2004, 124–5). Chinese mestizo wives, in contrast, could have established a wider network via the Catholic Church and other “local” and “Filipino” women’s organizations. “Chinese” women born and raised in the Philippines, or who were brought in as young children and then went to school had more opportunities to form social networks outside their immediate families. So far I have not found any study or evidence of women’s associations in the first three decades of the twentieth century. Conclusion A number of local and global developments during the first three decades of the twentieth century impacted or changed the social and familial practices of the diasporic Chinese in the Philippines. Among the main developments were the colonization of the Philippines by a new set of colonial masters from an empire fast becoming a world power and the rising tide of nationalisms in both China and the Philippines.
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With the coming of the Americans, the long-standing practice of maintaining two (or more) families—one in China and another in the Philippines—began to recede, as American colonial policy found ways to discourage the practice of bigamy or polygamy and institute monogamy as the only ideal standard in marriage. The drive toward the creation of a “modern” Chinese nation-state along the lines of Western social norms of what constituted a “marriage” and “family” also contributed to the diminishing of bigamous or polygamous familial arrangements among Chinese merchant families. Consequently, such practice, even while it continued well into the twentieth century, became taboo. The influx of Chinese women to the Philippines as economic and political conditions in China deteriorated also mitigated the need to maintain families in two different places. But it also helped reduce the number of intermarriages between Chinese men and Filipinas, including Chinese mestizas. The disappearance of the “Chinese mestizo” ethnic classification under the American colonial regime; the disdain of the Americans toward the mestizaje; and the essentialization, homogenization, and reification of ethnic identities arising from nationalist constructions of a “Filipino-Chinese” binary— all these made intermarriages with non-Chinese an undesirable, if not unacceptable, practice, so that the social endogamy observed by Chinese men and Chinese mestizo women (of a certain class) during the Spanish colonial period became a practice that involved Chinese men and Chinese women. With the difficulty that Chinese nationals faced in obtaining Filipino citizenship, cohabiting with a Filipino woman could still be a practical alternative, thus giving rise to the view among Filipino families that Chinese men wanted to “marry” their daughters only for their citizenship. (Furthermore, as we have seen in this chapter, Chinese men brought Filipino women to China to have them serve as “second wives” or concubines in China.) But as long as the government could be bribed, cajoled, or convinced to allow the aliens in their midst to conduct and protect their businesses (and this was precisely what the American colonial government did, i.e., while denying the Chinese access to political participation, it “liberalized” the economy to enable their economic participation), then the need to find a “Filipino” partner was further mitigated. As far as familial strategies went, women continued to be utilized in ways that supported male domination and privilege within the family. Even as “modernist” ideas permeated the minds of the young
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diasporic Chinese, either through Chinese government propaganda or “Western-style” schooling, those belonging to the older generation still wielded power and influence. Furthermore, even among the new generation of Chinese raised in the Philippines in the 1930s and 1940s, the idea of “freedom” and “equal rights” accorded to women was still confined within the norms of patriarchy. Hence, while women began to be educated, participate in the running of the family businesses, and even start their own, they were still expected to behave in ways that subordinated their position to the men. How this specifically happened can be seen by using the study made by Janet Salaff of factory women in Hong Kong as a basis of comparison (cited in Ong 1998, 141). In her research, Salaff found that these women were allowed to obtain a degree of schooling. However, they had to shorten their studies and start earning money so that their brothers could obtain a higher education. Similarly, Chinese women in the Philippines were schooled to an extent they would make desirable marriage partners or effective employees of the family business. Meanwhile, the men, especially when young, were sent to the best schools that allowed their families to collect “symbolic capital,” a practice that could be traced to the accumulation of degrees or ranks in imperial and republican China. In the Philippines, such degrees, especially professional degrees, were only useful in so far as they helped expand their families’ businesses through the networks they established with their schoolmates or raised their families’ social profile. Once finished with schooling, men in the family were expected to carry out their filial duties of working for the family enterprise, as well as start a family that would continue the patriline. Such roles and responsibilities expected of the young and the women were often couched in terms of Confucian filial piety, and in the twentieth century, cultural norms, and behavior arising from Confucianism were also tied to what constituted “Chinese-ness.” Lost or ignored in this discourse were the effects of state discipline and of bourgeoning capitalism on these families, as well as the presence or absence of—as in the case of the reduced role of the Catholic Church—other hegemonic efforts to localize and discipline their subjects. In the case of the Philippine Chinese, “Chinese-ness” was a product of anti-Sinitic American colonial policies, Chinese and Filipino nationalisms, and Chinese negotiations to these. Among the Chinese merchant families, they had to adapt their familial strategies to the changing times. In dual (or even “tri”) families, decisions had to be made as to which
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members would become “Filipino” and who would become “Chinese” citizens; who would be sent to a “Chinese” school and to a “Western” school; who would be sent abroad to manage the family corporation in Hong Kong, Singapre, Taiwan, or elsewhere and who would stay in the Philippines; and what language was to be spoken at home. Such strategies could only be effective under the establishment of familial regimes of “Chinese kinship and family” that entrapped women and the young in the accumulation of wealth for Chinese families in diaspora (Ong 1998, 136–42). Yet, just as Chinese diasporic families, by controlling their “weaker” members, were able to evade and collude with the attempts of the colonial regime and the marketplace to control their bodies and resources, so were these members able to challenge, resist, or manipulate attempts of their families to discipline them. In this chapter, we saw examples of such counter-hegemonic efforts among Filipino women in China who went to the U.S. consul in Xiamen demanding protection from their Chinese husbands, or among the young members of the two families of Vicente Romano Sy Quia as they fought over his wealth. In order to provide more “flesh” to the flexible strategies employed by diasporic families and individuals during the first few decades of the twentieth century as described in this chapter, I will present in the next chapter the family history of Cu Unjieng, a wealthy Chinese merchant whose business empire reached its zenith during the 1920s, and the rest of Mariano Limjap’s life history under American colonial rule.
CHAPTER NINE
NEGOTIATING IDENTITIES WITHIN CHINESE MERCHANT FAMILIES: TO BE “FILIPINO” OR TO BE “CHINESE” Introduction In the early twentieth century, as several factors combined to create political, economic, and cultural notions of nation-based identities, members of Chinese merchant families of the nineteenth century adopted flexible strategies in order to negotiate the attempts of the American colonial government in the Philippines, the declining imperial and fledgling Nationalist governments in China, and Chinese and Filipino nationalists in the Philippines to localize them into disciplinable subjects. In this chapter, I will describe the commercial and familial practices of Cu Unjieng and his family, as well as those of Mariano Limjap, to provide examples of such practices. Cu Unjieng One of the most prominent Chinese at the turn of the twentieth century was Cu Unjieng (fig. 24). A discussion and examination of his life and socio-economic practices can enrich and deepen our understanding of how Chinese merchant elite families adapted to and negotiated the changes occurring within the Philippines and in China. Early Life Cu Unjieng (邱允衡; Qiu Yunheng) was born on 1 January 1867 in Cuoshang (厝上), a seaside village in Jinjiang County, prefecture of Quanzhou (Khu 2008, 9). Little is known about his father Qiu Jike (邱季科), except that he was born on 18 September 1834 and died on 15 November 1878. His mother was born on 5 November 1837, and was listed in the genealogy as Zhang Ge [niang] (張格娘). As mentioned in Chapter 1, the term “niang” is often appended to the name of women in genealogies, and was a polite term that can be equated
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Figure 24. Young Cu Unjieng photo. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
to “madam.”1 All published Chinese sources indicate that Unjieng’s personal name was Bingjun (秉鈞; meaning “to handle matters evenhandedly”) and that his literary name or zi (字) as well as hao name was Liquan (立權; meaning “to establish authority over matters”) (Khu 2008, 9; QZSZ 2000, 3845). Among his siblings, one brother Yunda (允達) stayed in China and studied to become a scholar, but did not pass any exams. Eventually, two of Yunda’s sons migrated to the Philippines. A younger brother named Yunyin (允蔭) remained in China and handled the remittances Unjieng sent him to disburse (Khu 2008, 19). Unjieng’s youngest brother, Yuncai (允財), also went to the Philippines, although the date is uncertain. Among his three sisters, two eventually married and had sons who went to the Philippines to help out in Unjieng’s business. The youngest sister, who had bound feet, moved to Manila in 1937 (Khu 2008, 17–8). While one of his brothers received a formal education, Unjieng did not. Instead, he attended one of the traditional clan schools or sishu (私 塾; see Chapter 1) and “wrote beautiful calligraphy” (Khu 2008, 40).
1 It often replaced the last character of a woman’s personal name and was widely used among the Chinese in Southern China.
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Commercial Life Unjieng arrived in Manila around the age of fifteen in 1882 accompanied by an older male cousin from his village (QZSZ 2000, 3845). He lived amongst kinsmen and townsmen in Manila, and early in his career took on various jobs. He worked as a second cook, a dyer, and then as a clerk for a Chinese textile firm, the Hap Hin Dry Goods Store, which also imported textiles (Khu 2008, 40; Lim 1930, 18). He became the store’s bookkeeper, then eventually the manager. In 1894 or 1895, he established his own business called Cu Unjieng and Company (大興有限公司) with “capital contributions from Huang Xiulang (黃秀烺 Uy Siuliong), Huang Chaoqing (黃潮卿), Ye Qizhen (葉其 臻), Yang Yulao (楊玉老), and others” (QZSZ 2000, 3845; Khu 2008, 47; Lim 1930, 18; Wong 1999, 42). The company, which established its office and shop on Rosario Street, had an initial capitalization of 12,000 pesos (Khu 2008, 47; Wong 1999, 42). As with some joint-stock companies created during the late nineteenth century, when trade with the West increased, it engaged in the buying and/or selling goods, especially textiles, to and from Europe. In 1897, Unjieng, along with Uy Siuliong, Uy Teng-Piao, Mariano Limjap, and Edilberto Calixto y Achuy established the Siuliong y Compañia (Siuliong and Company) (RMAO EBC 1897, Vol. 873, tomo 8, no. 707, 18 September). One of the provisions of the contract drawn up by the partners was that Uy Siuliong and Cu Unjieng would handle the administration and management of the company, and that in case of disagreement between the two, “Uy Siuliong’s decision (would) prevail” (RMAO EBC 1897, Vol. 873, tomo 8, no. 707, 18 September). It had a start-up capital of 75,000 pesos, and it was to “engage in importing and exporting, semibanking operations for the Chinese community (mainly the handling of remittances from Chinese in the Philippines to their families in China), extending crop loans, and underwriting the trips of merchant ships traveling to and from China” (Khu 2008, 48; Boncan y Limjap 2000, 8).2 Cu Unjieng placed the running of Cu Unjieng and Company to others, while he managed the Siuliong y Compañia, which prospered (Khu 2008, 48). By the time he co-established the Siuliong
In 1900, José Ignacio Palanca Go Quico mortgaged two lots, one located at 80 Santo Cristo and beside the “building of Don Justino Singian,” and the second located beside the “building of Doña Ciriaca Cobarrubias,” to the company in exchange for a loan of 10,000 pesos from Unjieng (RMAO GH 1900, Vol. 829, tomo 1, no. 113). 2
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y Compañia, Unjieng was classified under the first tax bracket, indicating that he was, by then, a wealthy merchant (RMAO EBC 1897, Vol. 873, tomo 8, no. 707, 18 September). He also had investments outside of Manila, such as in Aparri, a town in Northern Luzon; and in Hong Kong.3 In 1901, after the Americans had colonized the Philippines, Unjieng established a company named “Taijin,” along with Uy Siuliong, Yap Yunchang, and Yu Giocho a.k.a. Yu Loco. According to the contract the partners signed, the company was to set up office at 64 Rosario Street in Binondo, and was established with an initial capitalization of 84,000 Mexican pesos. Unjieng put in 48,000 and the other partners contributed 12,000 each (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 5, no. 619). The fifth clause of the contract designated Cu Unjieng as the manager and administrator of the company.4 In 1906, Unjieng started or founded the Yek Tong Lin Fire and Marine Insurance Col, Inc. (Yi Tongren Huozhu Yangmianjian Danbao Youxian Gongsi; 益同人火 燭洋面兼擔保有限公司), with fourteen Chinese investors and a startup capitalization of 500,000 pesos (Khu 2008, 64; Lim 1930, 18). Its primary service was to provide surety bonds for individuals and companies whose credit lines were too small to receive credit or loans from banks.5 He also helped found the China Banking Corporation (CBC), the first locally owned Chinese bank in the Philippines (Lim 1930, 19). As was pointed out in Chapter 7, the establishment of the bank was a welcome relief for many Chinese merchants, as the two existing banks, the Bank of the Philippine Islands and the Hong Kong
3 In a will that he drew up in 1901, Unjieng listed these other businesses or investments: shares in a silk store named “Un Gui-Chiong” located in Plaza Moraga; in another silk store named “Jam-Jap-Jin” located in Iloilo; in a fabric and general merchandise store named “Gui-Jap-Chiong” located in Aparri; in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation; and in a company in Hong Kong called “ChuteecLiong” (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290). He also stated that he did not specify everything that he owned “por no creer oportuno hacerlo,” i.e., “since there is no advantage in doing so” (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290). Khu provides the probable Mandarin transliteration and Chinese characters of these stores and companies listed in his will: “Un Gui-Chiong” (Yun Qichang or 允祺昌); “JamJap-Jin” (Sanhexing; 三合興); “Gui-Jap-Chiong” (Qihechang; 祺合昌); and “ChuteecLiong” ( Judelong; 聚德隆) (Khu 2008, 51–2). 4 The same clause also stipulated that while Unjeng had the power to terminate the contract and liquidate the company, he could do it only after the convocation of the other partners. 5 The company still exists today under a different name: Philippines First Insurance Co., Inc. (Khu 2008, 65).
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and Shanghai Banking Corporation mainly catered to other customers (Khu 2008, 74; Wong 1999, 131–2). The bank was incorporated under Philippine law on 20 July 1920 and began operating on 16 August 1920, at No. 90 Rosario Street (Wong 1999, 133; Khu 2008, 74). Unjieng was “one of the founders and incorporators of the bank and, as such, held a post as one of its eleven founding directors,” a position he held until 1937 (Khu 2008, 74–5). The bank was a possible alternative to borrowing from relatives or private Chinese moneylenders as well as the remittance firms (Khu 2008, 74; Wong 1999, 136–7). It set up a branch in Xiamen in 1925 and another in Shanghai in 1928 (Khu 2008, 75; Wong 1999, 134; Cook 2003, 235). Finally, he also built the first modern building in Manila, the Crystal Arcade or the Cu Unjieng Building, located on Escolta Street and the corner of T. Pinpin, in 1932 (Khu 2008, 76). Unjieng also made money investing in real estate. He created two real estate holding companies and placed most of his properties under them: Cu Unjieng Hermanos and Cu Unjieng e Hijos. He also established the Yek Tong Lin Loan Company Limited that dealt in loans and real estate (Wong 1999, 43). The offices of these companies were all in Binondo (Khu 2008, 76). Other landholdings included some lots in San Miguel, Ermita, Baguio, and Binondo. His career as a merchant was at its peak in the 1920s, when apart from these businesses, he also held several positions in various companies (Lim 1930, 19; Khu 2008, 77). Unjieng’s success as a merchant could partly be attributed to his friendship and business relations with other people of influence, including Mariano Limjap, who helped him start his own business. Another person of influence with whom Unjieng established relations was Manuel G. Araullo, who was the Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the Philippines at the time when Unjieng asked him to be a sponsor at his Catholic wedding to Dominga Ayala around 1917 (Khu 2008, 46–7).6 But, as I will elaborate later, his business also prospered and expanded due to the flexible strategies he employed within the familial realm. However, during the Great Depression, Unjieng’s businesses were hit hard. The China Banking Corporation experienced a financial
6 Manuel G. Araullo was later appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the Philippines.
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crisis in the 1930s, especially when a number of their clients defaulted on their loans (Wong 1999, 141; Khu 2008, 77).7 His own textile firm Cu Unjieng and Company, managed by a fellow villager named Cu Yeg Keng (and thirteen years Unjieng’s junior), suffered too, but managed to survive the Depression, although it ceased to operate during the Japanese occupation (Khu 2008, 78). Prior to 1929, Cu Unjieng and Company merged with the eponymously named companies Khu Yek Chiong (after his eldest son’s Yek-chiong’s name) and Cu Yeg Keng. Siuliong and Company, which was engaged in the remittance business also suffered because of competition from banks. The company, which also acted as commissioned merchants of western trading companies, was affected negatively as more and more Chinese engaged in direct importation themselves. Furthermore, an increase in sales tax encouraged importers to engage in direct importation, instead of relying on trading companies (Khu 2008, 79). In 1929, the company was declared insolvent (Khu 2008, 79; Wong 1999, 42–3). Cu Unjieng and His Legal Woes In the early 1930s, the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation filed a lawsuit against him, his son Mariano, and the godfather of Mariano, Rafael Fernandez, for “having obtained overdraft facilities of more than 1.4 million pesos between November 1930 and July 1931, by forging and pledging several warehouse receipts and crop loans agreements to the bank”, and for transferring the money they defrauded from the bank to Un Jieng’s bank accounts (Khu 2008, 80). Rafael Fernandez, being insolvent, was later removed from the case, which lasted for seven years and went all the way to the U. S. Supreme Court (Khu 2008, 80–1; Guillermo A. Cu Unjieng v. Hong Kong & Shanghai Banking Corporation, 27 September 1939). The father and son lost the case, and Mariano was meted a sentence of more than five years, but served only for over a year after receiving a presidential pardon
However, after rumors were dispelled and the Manila Clearing House assisted the bank in paying its depositors who wanted to withdraw their money, confidence returned in the bank and the bank stabilized and became even more successful (Khu 2008, 77–8). 7
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(Khu 2008, 81).8 As a result of the lawsuits, Unjieng had to sell some properties and businesses to cover the legal expenses (Khu 2008, 81).9 Socio-Political Participation As one of the leading Chinese merchants in Manila during his time, Unjieng was active in various socio-economic as well as political organizations and activities. Following the chaos of the Spanish-American war, he raised “several tens of thousand of pesos” in aid money and gave these for those suffering from war-related displacement and poverty (SSSZ 1998, 889). At the coming of the Americans, Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, who became acting Chinese consul on behalf of his son, found it difficult to continue heading the Shangju gongsuo. Cu Unjieng, who had been director of the gongsuo 1898–1899, stepped in to run the organization, and helped raise funds in order to continue its operation (QZSZ 2000, 3845; Khu 2008, 50). With the death of Carlos in 1901, Unjieng ascended to the top ranks of the Chinese merchant community in Manila. He is credited as “having been the one to actually raise the idea of establishing a Chinese chamber of commerce and to have contacted various businessmen to organize such a body,” putting the proposal to create such a body as early as 1900 (Khu 2008, 58; Lim 1930, 18). When it was finally formed as the Manila Chinese Commercial Council, Unjieng was elected the first president. He served as president of the chamber during the following years: 1904–1906; 1917–1918, and was vice-president for two terms: 1919–1920 (Wong 1999, 40; Khu 2008, 62). As head of the Chinese community, Unjieng helped lead the protest against the Chinese exclusion laws in the Philippines. After the revolution in China broke out on 10 October 1911, which led to the establishment of the Republic of China, Unjieng did his duty as a loyal Chinese citizen and donated 5,000 pesos to the uprising, and also 8 The family contends that Mariano was a victim of betrayal from Rafael Fernandez, whom they claim was the one who obtained the receipts and had them falsified. Innocently, Mariano signed these receipts without knowing they were forged (Khu 2008, 80). 9 The case would drag on until after the Second World War. See, for example, José Tiaoqui and Alfredo Hidalgo Rizal v. G.A. Cu Unjieng and Mariano Cu Unjieng, 31 October 1958. For other related cases, too many to list, the reader would be advised to search the following website: http://www.chanrobles.com.
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bought every bond issued by the Chinese government (QZSZ 2000, 3845; Tan 1972, 127). As a reward for his patriotic efforts, the Chinese government “awarded him a pair of plaques in 1914, each containing the inscription ‘Rexin gongyi’ (熱心公益) (‘For ardent concern for public welfare’) in real gold, handwritten by Sun Yat-sen” (QZSHQZ 1996, 406; Khu 2008, 62). Cu Unjieng’s Activities in China As noted in the previous chapter, many Chinese in Nanyang became involved in the building of Xiamen and regional politics in Fujian after the 1911 Revolution. The Chinese in the Philippines participated actively in these endeavors. In 1917, Unjieng, together with Huang Peisong (黃培松), Huang Xiulang (Uy Siuliong), Wang Dejing (王德經), Yang Jiazhong (楊嘉種; Yu Biao Sontua or Yu Kou Ko Sontua), and others made “plans to construct a light railway between Quanzhou and Dongshi (東石) (which lies roughly halfway to Xiamen),” but for unknown reasons, the project was not built (Khu 2008, 67–8). Unjieng also became involved with the Fujian Overseas Chinese Village Salvation Society (閩僑救鄉運動; Minqiao Jiuxiang Yundong) with another Manila Chinese Dee C. Chuan (a.k.a. Li Qingquan 李清泉), who was the moving force behind the movement. The society’s first meeting was held in November 1921 at the Club Oriental in Manila, and a year later, Unjieng was elected as one of the 71 deputy directors. During the warlord period (1916–1928) in China, the warlord who dominated southern Fujian was Chen Guohui (陳國輝). One of the primary goals of the society was to oust Chen. The Nationalist Government’s Nineteenth Route Army, under the command of Cai Tingkai, finally defeated him in December 1932 (Khu 2008, 69–70). Due to the disturbances in their home villages, many wealthy Chinese merchants from Nanyang moved their family members to or built homes in the relatively peaceful city of Xiamen and island of Gulangyu. Unjieng built a mansion in Gulangyu around 1917, located at 36 Huangyan Road (晃岩路), where he housed his mother and third wife. Meanwhile, he continued sending money to help his native village of Cuoshang. The funds were used to build fishponds, renovate the village temple, and for other projects (QZSZ 2000, 3845; Khu 2008, 69).
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Marriage Life As with many of the rich Chinese merchants in China and the Philippines, Unjieng had more than one wife. The next section discusses his unions with three women: Ong, Dominga Ayala, and Bai Fa. Unjieng and Ong Probably in 1890, Unjieng returned to China for a year, and it is believed that one reason he did so was to marry a young woman surnamed Ong (Wang; 王) from a neighboring village named Wubao (五堡) (fig. 25).10 Her full name is not known, since her name was listed Wang Lian [niang] (王連娘), thus the second character in her personal name might have been dropped.11 She was born on 9 July 1871. Therefore, when she married Unjieng she must have been nineteen or
Figure 25. Ong, the first Chinese wife of Cu Unjieng. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
10 The probable year of his marriage to Ong is based on his testament drawn up in 1901, in which he stated that his eldest son’s age was ten. Thus, he and Ong, whom he “married (casado) according to the rites of his country,” must have been married for at least ten years back (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290). 11 In Unjieng’s will drawn up in 1901, she was simply named as “Ong Sy” (王氏), which means “surnamed Wang” (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290; cf. Khu 2008, 43).
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twenty years old and Unjieng was twenty-three. After her betrothal, she remained in Cuoshang with Unjieng’s mother (Khu 2008, 41). She and Unjieng did not have any biological children. Ong eventually adopted a child named Yek-chiong (Yicong; 奕從), who was born on 26 September 1892. Ong never visited the Philippines. She died on 25 March 1911 and is buried in Cuoshang (Khu 2008, 42). Unjieng and Dominga Ayala His second wife was Dominga Ayala, a Chinese mestiza from San Pedro, Makati (fig. 26). Dominga was born on 4 August 1877, and was the third daughter of Huang Jinxing (黃金星) of Jiahe shan Xiangdian she in Tong’an county (同安縣嘉禾山祥店社) and Florentina Coronado. Dominga’s father probably converted to Catholicism and adopted the surname Ayala. He may also be related to Huang Xiulang (Uy Siuliong) the famous Manila tycoon who later became Unjieng’s business partner. So it is possible that at the time Siuliong and Unjieng already knew each other, and through this partnership or relationship, Unjieng met Dominga (Khu 2008, 43). Dominga was sixteen years old and Unjieng was ten years older when they were married. In later biographies of Unjieng, it is often stated that he “married” Dominga in 1893 (e.g., Lim 1930, 18; Wong 1999, 42). However, in his will in 1901, Unjieng did not identify her as a legitimate wife, since he was not legally married to Dominga at the time. As mentioned in Chapter 4, by 1892 the Spanish colonial government required that in order for a Chinese man to marry a local woman, he would have to be baptized and become a Spanish citizen. Since Unjieng did not apply for Spanish naturalization before or at that time, this may be the reason why he did not marry Dominga. As to why he declared himself as “soltero” while married to Ong, we can also guess. Perhaps he felt it would be easier simply to declare himself as such, and possibly hiding it from others, in order to avoid complications with the government or with Dominga.12 Dominga spoke Spanish and Tagalog, or a “mixture of both” and “understood Hokkien, although she did not speak it fluently” (Khu 2008, 43). Unjieng would eventually convert to Catholicism and forOn the night of 12 October 1900, Unjieng stood as one of the six witnesses to the testament of Ty Chiulo, who died that very same night. In the document that contained the act of protocolization of Chiulo’s will, Cu Unjieng was identified as “soltero” (single) (RMAO GH 1900, Vol. 829, tomo 7, no. 1128). 12
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Figure 26. Dominga Ayala. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
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malize his union with Dominga, probably in 1917, a few years after the death of Ong. With the passing of Ong in 1911, Unjieng may have felt that there was no more legal impediment to formalizing his union with Dominga. It must be noted however that he married another Chinese woman named Bai Fa in 1904. Another possible reason was that staying unmarried to Dominga did not constitute an economic advantage anymore. As noted in Chapter 8, if a Filipina married a Chinese she lost her Philippine citizenship. However, with the Philippine Supreme Court recognizing the principle of jus soli in determining one’s citizenship, thus making Unjieng’s and Dominga’s children “Filipino,” Unjieng and Dominga may have thought that it was not necessary anymore for Dominga to retain her Philippine citizenship. Finally, he may have finally decided to convert to Catholicism and marry Dominga, a devout Catholic, in order to satisfy the latter’s religious beliefs (Khu 2008, 46). As indicated earlier, he took as his baptismal sponsor Manuel G. Araullo, who was an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the Philippines at the time, and later Chief Justice. Following practices of many Chinese merchants in the nineteenth century, Unjieng adopted a Spanish name Guillermo, and took his sponsor’s surname, so that he became Guillermo Araullo Cu Unjieng (Khu 2008, 46–7). She and Unjieng together “would eventually have at least 17 children, 12 of whom survived to adulthood” (Khu 2008, 43). Dominga passed away on 2 December 1957, at the age of eighty. She is buried beside her husband at the Cu Unjieng mausoleum at the Chinese cemetery in Manila (Khu 2008, 86). Unjieng and Bai Fa When he was in Fujian on a visit, probably sometime in 1904, Cu Unjieng entered into a third union with another woman, whose name was Bai Fa [niang] (白發 [娘]), from Potou (波頭) in Anxi county (安溪) (fig. 27). She was born on 21 October 1886, and was eighteen years old when she married Unjieng, who was about thirty-seven. She remained in China, and later lived in Gulangyu. Fa eventually adopted one son and had three of her own. All four children would eventually go to the Philippines. She herself later moved to Manila in 1937, and lived with her sons Ching Yan, K.K., and Ching Yan in the Mayflower Apartments in Singalong, a district in Manila. She passed away on 25 February 1945, and is buried in the Chinese cemetery in Manila (Khu 2008, 63–4).
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Figure 27. Bai Fa. Courtesy of Josephine M.T. Khu.
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Unjieng’s Residences At the time that he drew up his will in 1901, Unjieng listed his residence as 12 Hormiga Street in Binondo, but he later moved his residence to 39 General Solano Street, a large house beside the Pasig River purchased from a certain Mr. Yangco, most likely Teodoro Yangco (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290; Khu 2008, 54–5). The date of the move is not exactly known, but it could not have been any later than the early 1920s. This house was located in one of the more posh neighborhoods in San Miguel where other rich people built their houses, such as Pedro Pablo “Perico” Roxas y Castro and his wife Carmen de Ayala y Roxas, Jacobo Zobel y Zangroniz and his wife Trinidad de Ayala y Roxas, Faustino Lichauco and his wife Luisa Fernandez, the Paterno family; and Mariano Limjap (Khu 2008, 55; cf. Gonzalez 2006).13 In their home on Solano Street, Unjieng and his family had both a Chinese and a Filipino cook, and also a Japanese gardener, and the house itself had a grand double stairway, a beautiful garden with a lovely fountain with red fish, and a footbridge. The gardens were at least partially visible from the street, and people would ask to come in to view the grounds. The house was on the bank on the Pasig River, and homes there, including [the Cu Unjieng’s], had floating platforms called ‘gabaras.’ [The Cu Unjiengs] would hold large receptions at their house, during which these gabaras were used (Khu 2008, 55).
As discussed earlier, Unjieng also built a mansion in Gulangyu, and a house in his ancestral village of Cuoshang. In the years that he is thought to have visited China, i.e., in 1904, 1906, 1911, 1915, 1921, and 1927. Unjieng would have stayed at one of his residences or divided his time between them. Later Life By the time the Japanese occupied the Philippines, Unjieng was already retired and had settled more or less permanently in the Philippines, since, at the time, many of his children from China had also been brought over. Under the Japanese colonial regime, he was detained for questioning. But because he was already inactive with the Chinese 13 The character of the street and neighborhood were to change in the early 1900s, as more and more industrial and manufacturing factories were built (Khu 2008, 55–6).
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Chamber of Commerce and did not hold any other office, he was released (Khu 2008, 82). Prior to World War II, Unjieng moved to a house on Dakota Street and Taft Avenue. The house would be destroyed during the “liberation” of Manila in 1945. From then on, Unjieng spent most of his time living in a country house he owned in San Pedro, Makati. He also would spend his last years visiting his children and grandchildren. But even though he was retired, he “was not entirely uninvolved in business affairs. He continued to dress in his habitual attire of a formal white suit with a bow tie and to visit the office from time to time” (Khu 2008, 83–4). He died on 17 October 1953, due to stomach cancer, at the age of eighty-seven. Two separate funeral ceremonies, one Catholic and another Buddhist, were held, both of which his children attended, although not everyone attended the Chinese ceremonies. The latter was organized by his son Yek-chiong, and held in the Xinyuan temple (信愿寺) in Manila’s Chinatown. What is interesting to note is that, during the funerals, Unjieng’s sons with Dominga wore white suits with black armbands, while his sons with Ong and Bai Fa “wore entirely black clothing” (Khu 2008, 85). It must be noted that among the Chinese, family members of the deceased wear white, while Filipinos wear black according to Spanish custom. So in this case, there was a switch in the funeral dress that the children wore. This may be explained by the recognition of his children with Dominga as the chief or principal mourners. He is buried in a mausoleum in the Chinese Cemetery. Over the years, other members of the Cu Unjieng family also have been buried inside the mausoleum. Family Life Altogether, Unjieng would have 17 children with his 3 wives. He had both natural and adopted children. Below are brief descriptions of them. His Son with Ong: Yek-chiong Khu Yek-chiong (邱奕從 Qiu Yicong) was born on 26 September 1892, and was the adopted son of Unjieng and Ong (Khu 2008, 89). He entered the Philippines in 1905 when he was thirteen years old. He was enrolled in the Anglo-Chinese School for about two years, and then was sent to Hong Kong to complete his schooling, studying
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at St. Stephen’s College, “an exclusive school for the sons of wealthy Chinese families” (Khu 2008, 95). Thereafter, he attended Hong Kong University for a year before “marrying in China and returning to Manila” (Khu 2008, 94–5). His Children with Dominga Unjieng’s and Dominga’s oldest son was Antonio (b. 1894 or 1896– d. 1914 or 1915). He was followed by Magdalena (or Nena; b. 28 June 1899–26 December 1987); Esperanza (Pacing; b. 10 July 1901– d. 23 September 1982); Mariano (b. 22 October 1904–d. 30 November 1983); Elisa (Ichay; b. April 1908–d. 21 July 1996); Leopoldo (b. 22 March 1909–d. 11 September 1996); Leonor (Loleng; b. 1 July 1910– d. 28 November 2006); Josefa (Chuping; b. 18 September 1911); Caridad (Caring; b. 14 August 1913); Alfonso (b. 8 August 1915– d. 11 October 2000); Benito (b. 9 September 1916–d. 5 January 2004); and Victoria Fe (b. 27 September 1918–d. 24 July 1997) (Khu 2008, 107). Antonio was brought to China at an early age to be raised by his mother and Unjieng’s first wife, Ong, in Cuoshang, and only returned to Manila in 1909. Thus, Dominga and her other children lived in China for several years in Cuoshang, perhaps around the first decade of the twentieth-century, followed by several more extended visits to the ancestral village (Khu 2008, 93–4).14 It was also believed that the two older sons Mariano and Leopoldo also stayed in China for extended periods when they were still young, and later returned to the Philippines in their teens (Khu 2008, 67). With the implementation of the Chinese exclusion laws in 1903, Dominga and her minor children probably went back and forth between China and the Philippines with ease, since Unjieng was a legal resident alien and possessed the Section 6 certificate for traveling. His Children with Bai Fa The oldest son of Unjieng and Bai Fa was Francis (or Ka Keng in Hokkien and Jiaqing in Mandarin; b. 1903–d. 1971); followed by Ching Yan (Qingyuan; b. 1907–23 July 2000); Leon (Bun Liong or Wenliang;
14 Khu believes that the eight oldest children (namely, Antonio, Magdalena, Esperanza, Mariano, Elisa, Leopoldo, Leonor, and Josefa) of Unjieng and Dominga had visited or lived in China at some point (e-mail communication, 16 December 2008).
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5 January 1915–21 November 1980); and Alfred (Khoon Hong, K.K., or Kungang; b. 14 July 1922–18 January 2005) (Khu 2008, 107). His Children’s Education As mentioned above, Yek-chiong, Unjieng’s oldest son with Ong, received schooling in both Manila and Hong Kong. His two other sons, Francis and Ching Yan, with his third wife were also sent to Hong Kong to study at the Diocesan Boys School. When they completed their studies, Francis (at age eleven) and Ching Yan (at age fifteen) were sent to Manila where they initially stayed with their “halfbrother” Yek-chiong (Khu 2008, 95). Later on, their two younger siblings, Bun Liong and K.K. were sent directly to Manila when they were old enough. At the time, Francis and Ching Yan had moved out of Yek-Chiong’s residence and had their own place, and their two younger brothers stayed with them. Bun Liong and K.K. enrolled in De La Salle College, a school attended by Unjieng’s other sons, with the exception of Mariano (Khu 2008, 95). As for Unjieng’s daughters, they all went to Assumption College, an exclusive girls’ school run by Catholic nuns (Khu 2008, 95). It can be seen that Unjieng sent his children to prestigious schools, or at least schools that would provide some symbolic capital, in ways akin to Chinese merchants in the nineteenth century sending their children to examination school, or purchasing degrees and ranks to increase their social status (cf. Ong 1998, 141). During Unjieng’s time, it was obviously important to send his children to learn English. This also meant sending them to private Catholic schools, whether in Manila or elsewhere, that were often ran by foreign missionaries. Cultural Practices at Home In terms of cultural practices, among Unjieng’s children, Yek-chiong, having grown up in China till he was thirteen, instilled in his own children the value of speaking Hokkien. He hired for them a tutor from China who lived with the family so that his children would learn how to speak the language, and at the same time, his children attended English-medium schools. As a consequence, the children became completely bilingual (Khu 2008, 95).15
15 The whole family, with the exception of Yek-chiong’s wife, was also able to speak some Tagalog (Khu, e-mail communication, 16 December 2008).
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Unjieng’s children with Bai Fa; namely, Francis (Ching Yan), Leon (or Bun Liong), and Alfred (or Khoon Kong or K.K.), also were fluent in Hokkien and English, having spent some time in China and attending English-medium schools. The third son, Bun Liong, married a woman from a Chinese family in Manila. Because she did not speak English and Tagalog well, she spoke to her children in Hokkien, while Bun Liong spoke to them in English. Therefore, in Bun Liong’s household the children grew up being fluent in both English and Hokkien, although, like their cousins, they spoke Tagalog as well. Ching Yan’s family spoke mostly English at home with some Hokkien, while K.K. (the youngest son), presumably did the same (Khu 2008, 95–6). Unjieng’s and Dominga’s children, on the other hand, spoke a mixture of Spanish, Tagalog, and English with each other, while some of the older siblings “undoubtedly used some Hokkien when communicating with (their father)” (Khu 2008, 96). The reason why his younger sons did not learn how to speak Hokkien may be due to the fact that, as more and more Chinese relatives from China came to the Philippines and provided the labor needed to run the family enterprise, the need to have the “Filipino” side of the family learn how to speak Hokkien might have been mitigated, and only the son or sons who continued to be involved with Un Jieng’s businesses, especially when they interacted with other Chinese merchants, would have learned Hokkien. The children of both Bai Fa and Dominga formed close bonds. Yek-chiong’s children also became close to some of both Dominga’s and Bai Fa’s children, since their ages did not differ much from each other (Khu 2008, 96). As in the case of Chinese merchant families that were “dual” during the Spanish colonial period, Chinese merchant families during the early part of the twentieth century (before bigamous and polygamous marriages became not only illegal, but also impractical) were extended families of “half-siblings” and adopted siblings, where having more than one “mother” or “grandmother” was an acceptable (if not common) practice, especially among the elite. In Manila, the descendants would recognize every member of the three households or families as cognates and affines—as part of one “family.” Later generations of “Filipino” and “Chinese” families would create distinctions or divisions, for example, between “half-siblings” and “real” siblings, referring to the former as mga anak sa labas (lit. Tagalog term for “children from the outside”) in order to brand them as people with whom they had little contact or who they did not treat as equals. In this dual or extended family, the children of Yek-chiong addressed Bai Fa as “San-ma” (Sanma in
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Mandarin [三媽] or “third grandmother”), although it is not known how the children of Dominga addressed Bai Fa or Ong when they were still alive (Khu 2008, 104). The children of Yek-chiong, Bun Liong, K.K., Francis, and Ching Yan addressed their “Chinese” uncles (i.e., the sons of Unjieng with Ong and Bai Fa) according to their rank in relation to their fathers, so that, as indicated in Chapter 5, if their father was younger than a particular uncle, the older uncles would be addressed as “X-peh” while the younger uncles as “X-chek.” However, when uncles were about the same age as their nephews or nieces, then the latter would remove the rank-order number and use the former’s personal names instead. For example, Yek-chiong’s children would address Bun Liong (third son of Unjieng and Bai Fa and the “eighth” son of Unjieng) as “Bun Liong chek” instead of “Peh-chek” (Bashu [八叔] or “Eighth younger paternal uncle”). It is also interesting to note that—at least among the children of Yek-chiong, Francis, Ching Yan, Leon, and Alfred—when they addressed their “Chinese” uncles they did so in a way that recognized all of their uncles, including the “Filipino” uncles, i.e., the sons of Unjieng and Dominga, as their fathers’ “brothers,” so that when addressing them they were addressed according to rank-order in relation to all other male offspring (see case of Mariano Limjap in Chapter 5). The rank order of Unjieng’s sons from his three wives, arranged based on their dates of birth, is as follows: • Yek-chiong (adopted son of Unjieng and Ong) as Son No. 1 of Unjieng • Antonio (first son of Unjieng and Dominga) as Son No. 2 • Mariano (second son of Unjieng and Dominga) as Son No. 3 • Francis (adopted first son of Unjieng and Bai Fa) as Son No. 4 • Ching Yan (second son of Unjieng and Bai Fa) as Son No. 5 • Leopoldo (third son of Unjieng and Dominga) as Son No. 6 • Alfonso (fourth son of Unjieng and Dominga) as Son No. 7 • Leon (third son of Unjieng and Bai Fa) as Son No. 8 • Benito (fifth son of Unjieng and Dominga) as Son No. 9 • Alfred (fourth son of Unjieng and Bai Fa) as Son No. 1016 In this fashion, Yek-chiong’s children would address Francis as “Sì-chek” or “Fourth younger uncle” and Ching Yan as “Gō-chek” or “Fifth younger
16 However, in the Qiu genealogy in Cuoshang, only the sons of Ong and Bai Fa, as well as Dominga’s oldest son Antonio are listed (Khu 2008, 91).
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uncle.” None of the sons of Dominga were addressed using the Chinese naming system. However, their ranking as sons of Cu Unjieng was taken into account when addressing the Chinese uncles. The children of Cu Unjieng’s Chinese children addressed their Filipino aunts and uncles (i.e., the sons and daughters of Dominga) as “Tito X” and Tita X,” respectively (Khu 2008, 104–5). However, Unjieng’s grandchildren through Dominga addressed their “Chinese” uncles using “Uncle X” (Khu 2008, 105).17 The ability of his children and grandchildren to get along with each other, especially with those who were similar or close in age to them, could be attributed to the way Unjieng divided his wealth and assets among his children. He made sure that his sons from each wife, whether adopted or not, were given a business to operate and the resources to support their own families. For instance, he helped Yekchiong set up his cloth import business and found the Mercantile Bank of China (Huaxing yinhang; 華興銀行), while grooming Mariano as his heir-apparent (Khu 2008, 99). Francis became Unjieng’s right hand-person when Mariano was too busy attending to the family’s other businesses (Khu 2008, 99). Alfonso had his own insurance company and invested in real estate at the same time. Benito, while he held a medical degree, became a successful businessman importing pharmaceuticals. Bun Liong had a cloth store and later a chipboard paper mill. K.K. became a “stockbroker and a founder of the firm Quality Investments and Securities” (Khu 2008, 101–2). Moreover, the “half-siblings” and their descendants would be employed to work together in Unjieng’s various businesses. For instance, Ching Yan, the second son from Unjieng’s and Bai Fa’s union, managed the Yek Tong Lin company, while Alfonso, Unjieng’s fourth son with Dominga, worked as treasurer (Khu 2008, 101–2). Francis and Magdalena’s daughter Tessie also worked for the company (Khu 2008, 96). This is in line with how previously, in Fujian and in Manila, Chinese merchant families deployed their children strategically in different places or businesses so as to minimize labor costs and to maximize profit. Marriage Partners Yek-chiong married Tan Chun-tee (Chen Chunzhi; 陳春治), daughter of José Tan Sunco (Chen Guangchun; 陳光純) who was a friend of
17
“Chinese” aunts would have been addressed as “Aunt X.”
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Unjieng.18 Unjieng arranged this marriage in fact (Khu 2008, 97). José was a prominent cloth merchant in Manila and one of the biggest landowners in the port city of Quanzhou, Fujian. (He) is noted for having founded one of the first schools for the education of girls in Quanzhou, and for having built that city’s Catholic Church. The bride and groom met for the first time on their wedding day in (Cuoshang) (Khu 2008, 97).
As mentioned in Chapter 1, the common practice in Minnan back then was for parents to choose the marriage partners of their children. It is not known for certain whether Unjieng chose the wives of his other Chinese sons, although their spouses reflected his connections with other prominent Chinese merchants, both in the Philippines and elsewhere. Francis married Anna Chua (Cai Yahao; 蔡亞好) who was the daughter of Chua Hamluan (Cai Xiannen; 蔡咸嫩), a wealthy Chinese merchant who established the Philippine Umbrella Factory. Ching Yan married Bau Voong Mai (Bao Fengmei; 鲍鳳美) of Shanghai, the third daughter of Bau Yien Chiong (Bao Xianchang; 鲍咸昌) of Ningbo, Zhejiang, one of the four founders of the Commercial Press in Shanghai. Bun Liong married Hitiu Hui Bon Hoa (Huang Qichou; 黄綺綢) who was the daughter of Hui Bon Hoa, one of the wealthiest merchants in Vietnam at the time and who also had business interests in Manila. Finally, K.K. married Carolina Yang, and later her younger sister Rosa upon Carolina’s untimely early death. Both women were daughters of Yang Pao Wang (Yang Baohuang; 楊寶煌), a prominent Chinese merchant involved in the insurance business (Khu 2008, 97–8). On the other hand, Unjieng’s sons and some daughters with Dominga, with the exception of Magdalena, married Filipinos (Khu 2008, 97–8). Among his seven daughters, four became wives and mothers. Magdalena married José G. Barretto, whose Chinese surname was Sy (Shi; 施) (Khu 2008, 96). José was a Chinese mestizo who was born in China (Lim 1930, 41). His father was Sy Pioco (Shi Biao; 施標) or also known as Pio de la Guardia Barretto Sy-Pioco, and who was also a prominent Chinese merchant in the late nineteenth century, having
I suspect that Tan Chun-tee, if born in the Philippines, was a Chinese mestiza, since her father was a baptized Catholic. On the other hand, since she did not have a Hispanicized or Western name, she could have been born in China, which might also help explain why she met Yek-chiong for the first time on their wedding day. 18
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served as gobernadorcillo of the Gremio de Chinos from 1892–1893 (Khu 2008, 96). His mother was Engracia Jacinto, who must have traveled to China for a number of times with Pio.19 José was an unusually well-educated man for the time. Besides being able to speak fluent Hokkien and write Chinese, he was able to speak Mandarin, and also to speak and write fluent Spanish. He was educated at Ateneo and graduated with a degree in Architecture from the Mapua Institute of Technology . . . [and] was one of the first one hundred registered architects in the Philippines (Khu 2008, 97).
The daughters who did not marry, Esperanza, Elisa, and Victoria Fe, were involved in charitable and religious organizations/activities (Khu 2008, 102). Use of Names and Surnames All of the children belonging to Ong and Bai Fa were given Chinese names, and in some cases Hispanicized or Anglicized names. It is interesting to note that all of Dominga’s children have Hispanicized names, while two of Bai Fa’s carried Anglicized names (Francis and Alfred). This may have been a reflection of where they were educated or raised. For instance, Francis went to school in Hong Kong. Most probably, Ong’s and Bai Fa’s sons would have more than just one name. For instance, the first son of Bai Fa also went by his Hokkien name Ka Keng, while the third son Leon also was known by his Hokkien name Bun Liong, while the fourth son Alfred went by K.K. (Khu 2008, 107). Similarly, Yek-chiong had several Chinese names, but did not have a Western name. It was possible that the children of Dominga had Chinese names, but if they had, these were forgotten (Khu 2008, 92).20
19 In a document dated 7 December 1895, Pio wrote to the Governor-General requesting the latter to grant his wife Engracia Jacinto, their two daughters Rosario and Rosa, and their criada (servant) Amilia Lerio passports to allow them to leave for Hong Kong for “health reasons” (RMAO VP Pio Barretto). Pio also had a daughter named Florencia with Paula Lacuesta. When Florencia was baptized on 15 November 1882 her father was listed as “unknown.” She became a servant of Pio’s household with his wife Engracia, and was later sent to school. Her mother Paula died in 1883. In 1904, Pio, with his wife Engracia, Pia Palomares (the godmother of Florencia), and his daughter Rosario acting as witnesses, sought the Archdiocese of Manila to prove that he was Florencia’s father and to correct the entry on Florencia’s baptismal certificate (AAM RB 1904–1905A 30.C.8). 20 I would also surmise that members of Unjieng’s Chinese side might have given Dominga a Chinese name, which might be either a transliteration of the name “Dominga”
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In terms of surnames, the descendants of Unjieng use different versions of his name. The descendants of Yek-chiong use “Khu” because when he entered the Philippines, his name was spelled as Khu, while those who descended from the Unjieng-Dominga union use “Cu Unjieng.” Among the children of the Unjieng-Bai Fa union, the children of Francis and Bun Liong use “Cu Unjieng,” while the children of Ching Yan and K.K. use “Cu” (Khu 2008, 106). Thus, you have a case here where siblings within a family have different (Romanized) surnames, although the Chinese characters of their surnames are the same. Scholars attempting to reconstruct family histories of Chinese diasporic subjects would do well to take note of the propensity of Chinese merchant families, even during the Spanish colonial period (see Chapter 3), to change their “official” names as expedient, to the extent that even within families, siblings could have different surnames, and those who Hispanicized their names could easily be mistaken for being non-Chinese. Unjieng’s Legacies For some unknown reason on 9 March 1901, when Unjieng was around thirty-four years old, he drew up a will that was notarized by Genaro Heredia. He listed his various businesses and assets (both those in the Philippines and elsewhere), and identified his heirs. In the fourth clause he stated leaving a pension of 100 pesos every month to Dominga Ayala from the time of his death while she was still living; and one-third of his shares and assets to his three brothers, two of whom were then living in China (Cu Untat or Qiu Yunda; 允達 and Cu Unyu or Qiu Yunyin; 允蔭), and one in Manila (Cu Unchay or Qiu Yuncai; 允財). In the fifth clause, he stipulated that the rest of his wealth would be divided equally between his two living sons then: Antonio Cu Unjieng and Cu Yag Bun (a.k.a. Yek-chiong). Since both were still minors at the time, Unjieng assigned his brother Cu Unchay as their tutor, and at the same, as the co-executor of his will, together with a relative Cu Yegkeng (Qiu Yijing; 邱奕經). Mariano Limjap and Telesforo Ablaza stood as witnesses. The whole testament was written
or not. In the case of Vicente Romana Sy Quia’s “Filipino” wife Petronila Encarnacion, she was known as “Ba Lang” by the Chinese relatives (Felix 1969, 189).
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in Spanish, and Unjieng signed his name in Roman script, indicating that he was also literate in Spanish (RMAO GH 1901, Vol. 830, tomo 3, no. 290). What is interesting to note here is that Unjieng in the fifth clause listed both Antonio and Yag Bun as Dominga’s sons under the care of Ong, instead of stating that Yag Bun was the adopted son of Ong. Khu hypothesizes that the reason why Unjieng made Yag Bun (a.k.a. Yek-chiong) Dominga’s son was that, in accordance to Articles 944 and 945 of the Spanish Civil Code, in case Unjieng predeceased Yek-chiong, Yek-chiong would inherit from Unjieng, and if Yek-chiong died before the age of majority, his inheritance, in “default of natural ascendants,” would be given to Dominga’s children (Khu 2008, 54). Again, here we see, as in Chapter 5 and earlier on in this section, that wealthy Chinese merchants engaged in flexible practices in order to negotiate the policies of dominant groups to control their bodies and resources. It was probably more convenient for Unjieng to declare both Yag Bun and Antonio as the sons of Dominga so as to avoid any complications arising from identifying one of them as his “legitimate” son and another as the “natural” son. This could also mean that Unjieng intended to keep the wealth he earned so far within the Philippines, as there might have been some economic advantage in doing so. When Unjieng died in 1957, all his children inherited something. Clan Gatherings For decades, the clan would meet four times annually, on the anniversary of Cu Unjieng’s and Dominga’s birth and death anniversaries. All of these meetings tapered off after about the year 2000 (Khu 2008, 105). Becoming “Filipino” or “Chinese” in the Early Twentieth Century Unjieng’s family life is a fascinating example of how wealthy Chinese merchant families lived. Unjieng owes his “success” not only to his personal abilities, astute business sense, and socio-political connections, but also to his use of flexible strategies within the familial realm. As seen in this chapter, within the public domain he managed to cultivate close relationships with prominent individuals, whether Chinese or non-Chinese. But this also meant adopting flexible and strategic familial practices that managed to manipulate or negotiate the local disciplinings of dominant groups. For instance, while he remained a
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Chinese citizen, his children with Dominga adopted Filipino citizenship, thus enabling his family to enjoy the rights accorded to citizens from both China and the Philippines.21 He and his family also practiced switching identities, or acquiring new or multiples ones. For instance, when Unjieng sent his children to obtain a Western-oriented education in the Philippines and abroad, while emphasizing their observance of certain “Chinese” customs, he and his family were able to take advantage of the trappings of modernity while remaining “traditional.” Furthermore, they adopted new (Westernized) names while retaining their “Chinese” names, and changed their appearances, as when Unjieng cut his queue and changed his garb from the robes of a wealthy Mandarin to the Western-style suit, (although among women this was not necessarily the case, especially among older ones). Also, Unjieng deferred Catholic conversion until it was expedient or necessary. Another way in which he negotiated or eluded the power and control of local authorities was to “deploy” his children and descendants in a manner that benefitted his family’s wealth and fortune. For instance, he distributed his children from his three wives among his businesses and likely had a hand in pairing his sons from Bai Fa with daughters of prominent merchants. Unjieng, along with other wealthy merchants who preceded him, such as Joaquin Limjap and Carlos Palanca Tan Quien-sien, can be regarded as the precursors of modern Chinese transnationals whom we read about in today’s news, people who practice “flexible citizenship” and who are “astronauts” and have “parachute kids” (see Ong 1999). While such practices were ways by which Chinese merchants during the Spanish and American colonial periods attempted to collude with and evade efforts of governmental regimes to localize and discipline them, these often involved dominating the young and the women in the family. One wonders, for example, how much freedom Unjieng’s sons had in choosing what degrees to obtain and careers to follow; his daughters in choosing prospective husbands; and wives in deciding familial and other matters that affect them personally. Moreover, from Unjieng’s family we can deduce how some “Filipino” and “Chinese” families after the 1930s came to be. I am positing the idea that in wealthy Chinese merchant families in the late nineteenth century in which the father was a “Chinese” and the mother a “Chinese 21 Throughout his life, Unjieng remained a Chinese citizen (Khu 2008, 46; Wong 1999, 42).
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mestiza,” and thus the children “Chinese mestizo,” there were factors other than the upbringing of the offspring within their particular families that would explain whether they would later in their lives become “Chinese” or “Filipino.” Since many wealthy Chinese merchants observed the practice of having dual—even “tri”—families, or of having more than one wife, they could decide on which of their families, depending on the particular or specific socio-historical and economic context in which they lived, would become “Filipino” and which ones would be “Chinese.” Chinese merchant families like Unjieng’s in the early decades of the twentieth century faced certain opportunities, challenges, and prospects. Locally, the American colonial regime instituted economic policies that combined minimum government interference with free enterprise so the Chinese were presented with opportunities to expand their businesses and increase their wealth, although during the Great Depression their businesses also suffered. In China, the transition of the country’s government from a monarchy to a republic and its quest for modernization also created opportunities for “overseas” Chinese to invest in their ancestral homeland. However, the citizenship laws in the Philippines made it difficult for Chinese to obtain “Filipino” citizenship, thereby causing many, like Cu Unjieng, to remain “Chinese.” Moreover, the adoption of the jus sanguinis principle in China encouraged them to remain “Chinese.” On the other hand, their Chinese mestizo offspring could more easily adopt “Filipino” citizenship, since they could opt to become citizens upon the age of majority, and, after 1917, citizenship was automatically conferred to them when they were born in the Philippines. Under such circumstances, it probably made sense for Unjieng to retain his Chinese citizenship, since one “branch” of his family was “Filipino” (that of his family with Dominga). As seen in his family’s history, he earlier may have wanted to “Sinicize” his children with Dominga by bringing them to China. However, this goal may have waned when he and Bai Fa had children who could be more successfully or easily “Sinicized.” Thus, within Unjieng’s family, in terms of legal identification some members remained “Chinese” while others became “Filipino”: his children with Dominga became “Filipino,” his son Yek-chiong remained a Chinese citizen all of his life, and all of the children of Bai Fa later obtained Filipino citizenship, although “with much difficulty” (Khu 2008, 94). However, culturally, the “orientation” of his children was more ambiguous, at least up until such a time when being “Filipino” or “Chinese” had not yet been essentialized or homogenized by cultural
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nationalism. In the previous chapter, I placed the rise of Chinese cultural nationalism in the Philippines around the latter part of the 1920s, when China was unified under the Nationalist Party with the defeat of the warlords, followed by a more concerted and systematic outreach toward the “overseas” Chinese through the establishment of schools, newspapers, and organizations, and the construction of a nation-based “Chinese” identity. It could be posited that the Chinese community in Manila in the 1930s became more close-knit, more nationalistic, and more inward looking as an ethnic group. Moreover, it could be that it was during this time that the Hokkien term chhut-si-á (出世子) was coined—a term that is only used in the Philippines.22 “Chhutsi-a” literally means “someone born outside,” and thus has negative connotations referring to one’s impurity in relation to the Chinese race.23 It may be that it was during this period that Chinese merchant families that did not establish dual families, in which the fathers, who were Chinese, and the mothers, who were Filipina or Chinese mestiza, would be imbued with cultural nationalism to make the conscious effort to turn their chhut-si-á offspring into lán-lâng or “one of their own.” Finally, as marriage laws under the American colonial period made it more difficult to create dual families that were common in the past, and with the increase of Chinese relatives and other family members moving to the Philippines to live with a Chinese merchant, the bigamous or polygamous arrangements of Chinese merchant families became less common during this period. Around this time, the mainstream “Filipino” society was also beginning to construct its version of “Filipino,” particularly after the 22 The earliest reference to this word can be found in Yang 1935. I would like to thank Go Bon Juan for helping me find this information. He also mentioned to me that for a time, the epithet chhut-si-á siáu (出世仔痟; lit. “sperm of a chhut-si-á”), was used as a derogatory term by the Chinese. However, it seems that no one uses this epithet anymore. 23 However, Go thinks that chhut-si-á does not mean “born outside the world.” Instead, in the early twentieth century, it was a term used by the Chinese immigrant generation for people who were born in the Philippines. Since many of those who were born in the Philippines were Chinese mestizos, the “local born generation and the (Chinese) mestizos) . . . became synonymous” (Go, e-mail communication, 22 October 2004). He further contends that when people from Minnan append the suffix “a” to a term, the resulting word is (e.g., hoan-á) often carries a slightly pejorative or derogatory connotation. While Go’s explanation for the origin of the word chhut-si-á is plausible, it needs to be further corroborated. In any event, the term has assumed the connotation of someone “different” and “inferior” to the “pure” Chinese.
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educational system had been revamped or changed during the Commonwealth Period in order to emphasize and make compulsory the teaching of the Constitution so that “Filipinos” would start to conceive of themselves as “members of a new social and political group that would eventually become a national state” (Smith 1945, 142). It is not within the scope of this book to examine in detail how these constructions of nation-based ethnic identities of “Filipinos” and “Chinese” took place. The goal of this present work is to identify the general contours and circumstances under which these occurred, and hopefully point the direction for future research. As aforementioned, the practice of bigamous or polygamous marriages and the creation of the dual families may also help to explain why during the Spanish colonial period, Chinese mestizo offspring who were raised in the Philippines were “allowed” to become more Hispanicized and Catholic. If they belonged to a Chinese merchant family in which they had Chinese “half-siblings,” especially brothers, then their fathers probably did not find compelling reasons to bring them to China and raise them there, although this did not preclude their father bringing them there for occasional visits, as seen in the case of Unjieng’s Chinese mestizo offspring with Dominga. But if a Chinese mestizo son was considered first in the genealogical line, or if the “Chinese” wife did not bear any son, then he may be brought to China to become “Sinicized.” However, prior to the rise of Chinese and Filipino nationalisms in the twentieth-century, his sense of “Chineseness” did not include identifying with a particular nation-state to whom he owed territorially-based legal, binding, and political loyalties. Thus, prior to the construction of reified and essentialized Chinese national identities in the 1920s and Filipino national identities in the 1930s, one’s identity remained fluid and ambiguous. This was especially true of the identity of first-generation Chinese mestizos, whose legal identities various forces sought to identify, change, manipulate, and construct throughout the first three decades of the twentieth-century. To reiterate, at the beginning of American colonial rule under the Philippine Bill of 1902, the offspring of a Chinese father and a local mother were considered “Chinese” until the age of majority, when they could opt for either “Chinese” or “Filipino” citizenship. However, in 1909, the Chinese imperial government, applying the principle of jus sanguinis, also considered them as subjects of the Chinese empire. In 1917, the Philippine Supreme Court ruled that anyone born in the Philippines, following the principle of jus soli, acquired “Filipino” citizenship.
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However, under the Commonwealth Constitution of 1935, the law reverted to the earlier version that Chinese mestizos born in the Philippines were considered “Chinese” but could opt to become “Filipino” upon the age of majority. While wealthy merchant families that were dual or multiple like that of Unjieng could split some children into “Filipinos” and others into “Chinese,” those who had no other sons but their Chinese mestizo sons faced a different situation. If their sons were born out of wedlock, then they invariably, following their Filipino mothers’ citizenship, became “Filipino” citizens too. When born out of legal marriage, the sons could opt to become a Filipino or a Chinese citizen. What they chose to be depended naturally on different factors, both internal and external. External factors would include the particular citizenship laws governing Chinese mestizo offspring. When citizenship was based upon the principle of jus soli it may have been easier for these Chinese mestizo sons (and daughters) to simply opt for “Filipino” citizenship, especially if there was no or little benefit to them becoming Chinese citizens. The adoption of the principle of jus sanguinis by the Qing imperial government and later by the Republic of China in determining Chinese citizenship certainly made it also easier for Chinese merchant families to choose Chinese citizenship for their Chinese mestizo children, especially when the 1935 Commonwealth Constitution did not grant automatic Filipino citizenship by birth. It would be harder to determine what “internal” factors, such as the particular life situation or political orientation of the family, affected the decision of families on whether to adopt Filipino or Chinese citizenship. Certainly, families imbued with Chinese nationalism may be more inclined to maintain or choose Chinese citizenship. But if being a Chinese citizen was not seen as advantageous or expedient, then they may adopt Filipino citizenship for their children, but made sure that they grew up to be culturally “Chinese.” For Chinese mestizos whose Chinese fathers had acquired Spanish citizenship prior to the American colonial rule, the choice was simpler and easier, for under the Philippine Bill of 1902 they were to be legally constituted as “Filipinos.” But if they belonged to Chinese merchant families with dual families, their transition to become “culturally” Filipino may have taken some time, as can be seen in the life of Mariano Limjap. To a degree, this can be explained by the fact that in the first decade of American occupation in the Philippines, the Chinese mestizos were still culturally and socially recognized as a separate entity.
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I base this argument partly on the records gathered from the First Philippine Commission formed in 1899. In one of the sessions held by the Commission to tackle the “Chinese Labor” question, the commissioners also conducted a hearing on the “Chinese mestizo.” This shows us that at least around 1899, and, I would posit, for several more years beyond 1900, the Chinese mestizos had not yet been considered culturally as part of the wider “Filipino” community. Even James A. LeRoy, the personal secretary of Dean Worcester, and whose writings about the Philippines from 1900–1909 “exerted a major force on American public opinion” (Gleeck 1996, iv), in 1905 still made a distinction between “pure-blooded” Filipinos and Chinese mestizos (cited in Gleeck 1996, 64).24 Mariano Limjap: From “Chinese Mestizo” to “Filipino” Mariano, by 1902 and under the Philippine Bill of 1902, was no doubt already classified as “Filipino” since his father Joaquin had opted for Spanish naturalization. And he certainly wanted to be identified with the Philippine nation. As we have seen in Chapter 4, Mariano participated in the Philippine Revolution against Spain. But he also participated in the fight against the American occupation of the Philippines. In 1899, he served in the Revolutionary Congress in Tarlac as sole representative of Manila. When the American forces caught up with the officials of the Republic in Pangasinan, Mariano was brought to Manila, where he was imprisoned and later released after taking his oath of allegiance to the U.S. (Manuel 1955, 249; Boncan y Limjap 1997, 38–40; NHI 1996, 153).25 Politically, Mariano remained active or involved in the business of nation-building. In December 1900, he attended the organizational meeting and became a co-founder of the Federal Party (Paredes 1998, 629; Boncan y Limjap 2000, 4).26 In the years immediately after his capture and release from his American captors, he turned to real estate. While buying properties in 24 Worcester was one of the members of the Schurman Commission sent by President McKinley to study the general situation of the Philippines in 1899. 25 Boncan y Limjap writes that “some sources” state that Mariano was captured in Tarlac. However, he does not identify these sources (1997, 42). 26 Florentino Torres and Felipe Buencamino also helped to establish the Federal Party. Part of its main objectives was to work for making the Philippines one of the states of the United States.
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parts of Manila and in other places such as Antipolo, Pasig, Marikina, Baguio, and Sibul, he continued establishing other businesses and buying shares in various companies such as the Compañia de Seguros de Filipinas, Tayabas Sawmill & Co., and La Perla, Inc. It also appears that he and Jacinto finally decided to liquidate the Limjap y Compañia and pursue their separate business interests (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 4). Together with 20 other businessmen, Mariano helped found the Camara Comercio de Filipinas on 19 July 1903. The name was anglicized in 1919 and it became the Chamber of Commerce of the Philippines (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 4–5). He also was one of the incorporators of the “El Hogar Filipino,” which was a “mutual building and loan association, similar to later U.S. savings and loan institutions” (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 9). Its founding was an important development since “it was the first organization in the Philippines that permitted even those with modest incomes to be eligible for construction loans” (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 9).27 But even while Mariano was participating fully in Philippine society, he maintained close ties with the Chinese community, both in private and in public. As we have seen in Chapter 6, he recognized his Chinese relatives in China and was in communication with them, and he met with them when they traveled to the Philippines or he may have met with them when he traveled to China. We know that he also spoke Hokkien. Furthermore, partly due to his father’s business connections, and partly due to his own, Mariano had extensive dealings with other Chinese merchants in Binondo. He even helped Unjieng start the latter’s own business. In fact, a sure sign of Mariano’s identification with the Chinese community can be seen from the incident involving the arrival of the Chinese cruiser Hai Chi on 8 November 1907. His Excellency Yang Shiqi, who carried the title of Junior Vice-President of the Board of Agriculture, Works and Commerce of China, was on board, as well as the Imperial Commissioner (The Manila Times, 6 November 1907; cf. Tan 1972, 110). According to newspaper reports, the Chinese official and his entourage were given a “brilliant reception” by the Chinese Chamber of Commerce. This reception, not quite coincidentally, was
27 Among the other incorporators were: Trinidad Ayala, vda. de Zobel; Pedro P. Roxas; Enrique Zobel; José de Garchitorena; Francisco Ortigas; and Eduardo Soriano.
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held by one of the most prominent “Chinese” businessmen of that time—Mariano Limjap.28 The front-page article states that: All the prominent Chinese residents of the city were present, to receive the royal commissioner and the officers of the cruiser Hai Chi . . . Major Robert H. Noble presented to the distinguished visitors the hundreds who called to pay their respects. In the receiving line were Consul-general Su Yu Tchu, Ho. H.E. Yang Shih Chi, Mrs. Limjap, Taotai Mue Yew Chung, Commodore Shin, and the President of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce of Manila (The Manila Times, 14 November 1907).
The 6 November 1907 issue of Cablenews American, in reporting the same event, also noted a band under the “direction of a leader of their own race,” using 20 musical instruments, mainly brass instruments and flutes, taken from the cruiser, to send forth “sweet music throughout the reception” while a local band played at the central court inside the mansion. Furthermore, apart from lights strung from one end of the place to the other, or circled around trees, there were also “immense silken banners of the Yellow Dragon of China (and) American flags.” And while Mariano Limjap and his wife Maria were busy entertaining his guests, his daughter, possibly the eldest Leonarda, was also busy “all the evening looking after the comfort of their guests, and received countless felicitations” (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 47). Is it possible, then, to surmise that Leonarda also knew Hokkien? This may be a possibility, given the close ties that her father had with many Chinese in Manila. Furthermore, exactly eight days prior to this reception, the Chinese Chamber of Commerce also hosted a “splendid reception at Mariano Limjap’s” to honor Secretary and Mrs. William H. Taft (Cablenews American, 6 November 1907). The headline of the article states “Chinese Hosts,” and goes on to explain that the Tafts were honored by the Chinese Consul-general and leading Chinese in the city, among whom were “Benito Si Cobieng, the president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce; Cu Unjien [sic], the ex-president of the chamber of commerce, and Tan Chu Tee, the instructor in English in the Chinese school.” And although Mariano was not listed as being one of the “leading Chinamen [sic],” his close association with the Chinese community, whether by way of business or close social relations, no
28 Antonio Tan, in describing this event, labels Mariano Limjap a “Chinese millionaire” (1972, 110).
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doubt made him very much part of it, so much so that his house was often used to host important guests of the Chinese community. Thus, we can see here that the Chinese community regarded him as very much part of it. His involvement with the Chinese business community, however, may have also been constrained by certain Chinese or Philippine citizenship requirements. Despite his closeness to the Chinese merchant community, he did not become an officer or member of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce. This may have been due to the fact that he was an active founding member and officer of the Philippine equivalent of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce. Mariano, as a Filipino citizen, may have not also been eligible to be a member of the Chinese chamber. Over the last decade or so of his life, Mariano expanded his business. He was involved in La Perla Tobacco, and was president of La Perla Inc., a company that manufactured biscuits and other desserts.29 Mariano also held positions in various companies, including: member of the Board of Directors of the Bank of Philippine Islands (BPI, formerly Banco Español Filipino, founded 1851), from 1908 to 1913; Director of the first BPI Board under its re-chartering in 1907; and member of the Board of Directors of the Philippine Tannery Office in 1921. He was also an investor of Filipinas Compañia de Seguros, now part of Ayala Corporation’s FGU Group, and of China Banking Corporation (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 20). Other businesses he had included owning rice plantations and rice mills in Nueva Ecija (which he left behind to his sons); a coal company; and a salt-making operation (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 13). He also became a well-known leader and philanthropist as one of the principal patrons who worked for the erection of the Rizal monument at the Luneta. Their work included taking charge of collecting funds by popular subscription and working toward the erection of the monument, which was unveiled on 30 December 1913.30 He
29 This company was located in Plaza Sta. Cruz, near the Philippine Tannery Office. In 1921, the company’s president was José Tiaoqui, the Manager and Director was Alfonso M. Tiaoqui, Assistant Manager and Director M. (sic) Tiaoqui, and Corporate Secretary and Director Maximino Paterno. The company had a popular retail outlet at 1112 Aceyteros, San Nicolas, and, in 1911, a certain Munroy owned the company (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 13). 30 Other members of the Commission included Maximino Paterno, Ramon Genato, Juan Tuason, Paciano Rizal, Teodoro Yangco, Ariston Bautista, Tomas Del Rosario, and Pascual Oblete (Boncan y Limjap 1997, 29–30; NHI 1996, 153).
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also gave out scholarships to “poor but deserving students at the University of the Philippines and other schools” (NHI 1996, 152). Many of these students had gone on to become “the best professionals in the city and provinces” (The Tribune, 5 March 1926). He also helped found the Liceo de Manila, the first school in Manila to have an “all Filipino faculty” (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 4). Finally, Mariano was a member of several clubs and donated money to these clubs as well as to charitable institutions, including the Bachelors’ Club and the Philippine Columbian Association (The Tribune, 5 March 1926), the Manila Jockey Club, Baguio Country Club, Cosmos Club, and Sociedad Tiro al Blanco (Boncan y Limjap 2000, 13–4). When Mariano died on 5 March 1926, the banner headline of The Tribune ran: “Limjap, Known for Altruism Passes Away: Noted Filipino Philanthropist Succumbs to Heart Failure.”31 He left most of his wealth to his wife Maria and to his children by her. In his testament, he explicitly stated that, whether he died in the Philippines or abroad, he must be buried in the North Cemetery (The Independent, 4 March 1926).32 At the end of his life, Mariano probably identified himself as mainly a “Filipino.” If one were to look at his socio-political activities during his latter years, his efforts were directed more toward helping establish the Philippine nation. His contact with the Chinese community may have also become less frequent, although he still traveled to Hong Kong, and probably to Xiamen. But after the 1910s and up until his death in 1924, the increasing nationalism both in China and in the Philippines may have made him more conscious about identifying himself as a Filipino. While his business associations with Chinese merchants may have continued, it appears that Mariano, as well as other Chinese mestizos like him, had diminished their interaction with the Chinese as ethnic boundaries between them and the “Filipinos” became more defined and hardened.
31 I would like to thank Raul A. Boncan for providing me a photocopy of this news article. 32 In 1913, Mariano bought a big plot of land in this cemetery and constructed the Limjap chapel. His grandson Raul A. Boncan surmised that the Limjaps must have started to spend All Saints’ Day in this cemetery after the purchase, but that they must have spent it before in the La Loma cemetery, and prior to that, in the Binondo cemetery. And who was buried in La Loma before? I believe Joaquin Barrera Limjap’s bones were re-interred in this cemetery after they were brought back from China.
CONCLUSION I am Chinese, and yet I do not sympathize with Chiang Kai-Shek . . . I am Chinese, and yet I take no pride in Mao Tse-Tung . . . I am Chinese, and yet my roots are Philippine. So why is it that I have never identified (and continue to feel that I will never be able to identify) completely with the Filipinos? Paul Stephen Lim (in “Flight ” 1982, 5)
The author of this essay was born in 1944 in Manila to two Chinese migrant parents who were born and raised in China and then migrated to the Philippines after getting married. By the time he left for the United States in 1968 to pursue a college degree he was already twenty-four years old. At the time when he described the contradictions he felt inside him, China was under the Communist Party, Chiang Kai-shek was the President of the Republic of China, Taiwan, and the Philippines was enjoying relative economic prosperity two decades after becoming an independent nation in 1946. The reference to both Chiang Kai-shek and Mao Zedong in his essay was a result of the political developments in China. In the 1930s, the country was divided between the “right” and “left” wing political parties, and after World War II, the Communist Party under Mao took over China, while Chiang moved his government to Taiwan. The Chinese in the Philippines, following politics in China, were also divided between the two camps. Because of the Philippines’ neo-colonial relationship with the United States, the Philippine government recognized the Republic of China as the legitimate “China,” and most of the Chinese in the Philippines obtained Chinese citizenship through Taiwan. Hence, when Lim traveled to the United States, he was carrying a Taiwanese passport. With the “closing-up” of China, travel to their ancestral villages for members of Chinese merchant families in the Philippines became difficult, if not impossible. As a result, a generation of “Chinese” offspring, like Lim, were born in the Philippines without any contact with the “motherland,” although some were able to go to Taiwan for visits due to the sustained efforts of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) to maintain close relations with the “overseas” Chinese. Most of those who belong to this generation of Chinese personally knew of or identified with no country other than the Philippines.
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After the Japanese occupation from 1942 to 1945, and after gaining independence from the United States in 1946, the new Philippine nation-state was eager to create new laws designed to continue the spirit of nationalism set in place under the Commonwealth period. One of these new laws was the Retail Nationalization Act of 1954 that attempted to wrest control of the retail trade from the Chinese. Other nationalistic policies included rendering certain professions open only to Filipino citizens, and nationalizing some industries.1 Hence, an anti-Chinese sentiment continued to pervade within Philippine society, adding to the sense of alienation amongst the Chinese like Lim.2 Lim writes that prior to his leaving for the United States in 1968, he would take the bus to the Manila International Airport, wishing he could go somewhere and leave the “two alien and opposing cultures that [he] had been born [to]” (1982, 5). Lim and those in his generation were “exposed” to these two cultures through, on the one hand, the collaboration between the Chinese community leaders in the Philippines and the Taiwanese government—by means of the family, organizations (surname, occupational, or same village), schools,3 and newspapers—to perpetuate their version of Chinese-ness, and, on the other, their life experiences growing up in the Philippines. Moreover, due to the continuing influence of the United States over Philippine society, and the disdain and discrimination with which the Chinese in the Philippines regarded the Filipino culture, Chinese merchant families, apart from ensuring that their children did not forget their Chinese heritage, also emulated the Western, particularly American, culture as a model of modernity (see Szanton Blanc 1997, 275). One manifestation of this “Americanization” can be seen in their naming practices, with Chinese parents naming their children after Hollywood stars (e.g., Marilyn, Gina, or Elizabeth for girls; Robert, Richard, or James for boys) or American personalities (e.g., John Kenneth Dy).
1 This forced the Chinese to move into the following areas: light manufacturing, wholesaling, and financial services and, in the 1960s and 1970s, property development (Wickberg 1997, 168). 2 Philippine and U.S. concerns, within the context of the Cold War, regarding the Chinese in the Philippines being sympathetic to Communist China were mitigated by the close relationship built between the Taiwanese and Philippine governments (Wickberg 1997, 169). 3 These schools numbered 168 in the 1960s with some 50,000 students, and continued to follow directives from the education ministry of the Nationalist government that had relocated to Taiwan (Tan 1972, 154–75; Purcell 1965, 563).
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Other factors affected, influenced, changed, enhanced, or negated the hegemonic versions of “Chinese-ness” from the 1950s and 1970s. Chief among these were the rise of Christian (both Catholic and Protestant) schools specifically for “Chinese” students and of a generation of university-educated Chinese who developed personal contact with non-Chinese; and the thawing of the Cold War which led to a closer relationship not only between the United States and Communist China, but also between the latter and the Philippines. In the 1970s, the Marcos administration transferred diplomatic ties from Taipei to Beijing. Following this, in 1975 Marcos issued Letter of Instruction (LOI) 270 that allowed the Chinese in the Philippines to apply for naturalization. Many Chinese during this time opted for naturalization. As a result, more than 90 percent of the Chinese in the Philippines today are Filipino citizens. Presidential Decree 176 was also issued requiring all Chinese schools to be “Filipinized.” This meant that, among other things, Chinese schools had to reduce the number of hours Chinese-language subjects were taught to one to two hours per day, hire only school administrators who were Filipino citizens, and teach textbooks approved by the Philippine government. Both the 1973 and 1987 constitutions also made changes to the citizenship laws, including those which granted Filipino citizenship to children whose fathers or mothers were Filipino citizens, and allowed Filipino women who married non-Filipinos to retain their Filipino citizenship (Wickberg 1997, 172). Currently, within the Chinese population in the Philippines one finds a good number of people, who, in spite of having Philippine citizenship, still experience a “split” or division within their identities. In a certain way, their sense of themselves is not dissimilar from Lim’s, except for their citizenship. Even though many Chinese today possess Filipino citizenship, they still experience a duality in their identities. Some members have come up with a term that reflects their “dual” identity: Tsinoy—a word that combines the word “Tsino” for “Chinese” and “Pinoy,” a colloquial term to refer to a “Filipino.” These “Tsinoys” can be likened to the Chinese mestizos described in this book, in that both are part of a “third culture” (Wickberg 1997, 177; Ong and Nonini 1997, 11). The main difference between the two is that the “Tsinoys” include both “Chinese mestizos and fully Chinese descendants” (Wickberg 1997, 177). A number of factors help explain this enduring sense of being both “Chinese” and “Filipino.” One is the belief among some Chinese that
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being “Filipino” or being “integrated” into Philippine society does not mean having to give up one’s “Chinese-ness,” hence, among other things, the push to continue running “Chinese” schools in the Philippines that offer Chinese language (either Hokkien or Mandarin) and culture courses. Another is the proximity of China to the Philippines that causes some Filipinos to be nervous or suspicious about the loyalty of the Chinese to their country (Wickberg 1997, 175). Third, which is related to the first two, is the sense among some Chinese (especially those born in the 1930s and 1940s and at the height of Chinese nationalism) that they are part of a wider “cultural” China. China, as a rising economic and political power both in the region and in the world, may yet become again an attractive and alternative site of identification, whether politically or culturally, since the Philippines, which remains relatively economically poor and politically unstable, cannot provide the status and security that one seeks. Finally, there is still, both within the Chinese community and mainstream society, a pervasive view that the “Chinese” or “Intsik,”4 visibly more prosperous, are still not only an ethnically, but also an economically separate group from the more than 50 percent of Filipinos living below the poverty line.5 4 The term in today’s Philippine society is not associated anymore with the earlier image of the “drooling Chinese laborer,” as most laborers are non-Chinese. However, it still carries a derogatory connotation. In an attempt to reclaim the word, the editor of a collection of writings by Tsinoy writers named the anthology “Intsik” (see Hau 2000b). 5 The situation is not helped by the presence of thousands of Filipino domestic helpers and contract laborers in Taiwan, Singapore, and Hong Kong, and the stories circulating about their experiences. In March 1995, a Filipina domestic helper named Flor Contemplacion working in Singapore was executed by the Singaporean government after she was convicted of killing a fellow Filipina domestic helper and her (Flor’s) employer’s son. Her execution created a huge outcry from the Filipinos, and strained Philippine and Singaporean relations for a while. A movie produced in the Philippines around her life and another movie showcasing the plight of Filipino domestic helpers in Hong Kong called Anak (2000) were big box office hits in the country. It is not within the scope of this work to analyze the impact of these cultural productions on the mindset of the Filipino viewers. However, it is fair to say that the depictions or the characterizations of the employers, ethnic Chinese Singaporeans or Hong Kongers, are often derogatory. For instance, in Anak, the employers of the Filipina domestic helper Josie confiscated her passport and locked her up in their hi-rise condominium while they took their son for a two-week vacation. With over 130,000 Filipino domestic helpers in Hong Kong today, and their ubiquity made much more stark as they congregate on Sundays in public places like parks and subway stations in the densely populated Chinese territory, it is easy for many people—whether local residents of Hong Kong or foreigners—to see the distinction between the poor Filipino domestic helpers and their rich ethnic Chinese Hong Kong employers. Such ethnic and class division, when conflated with national and regional issues, can again stir up
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My work is, therefore, a search for the historical reasons for this divide between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos” today. I chose to focus on the period between the 1860s and 1930s for the following reasons. First, this is the period in which a large number of Chinese migrated from Minnan to the Philippines, and as a consequence, the period from which most Chinese in the Philippines can trace their family histories back. Second, and more importantly, it is during this period that we can map out the construction of nation-based “Filipino” and “Chinese” identities that frames the discourse on ethnic identities in the Philippines today. Of particular interest to me is the question why today, apart from the perceived distinction between the “Chinese” and the “Filipinos,” intermarriages between the two that were pretty common during the Spanish colonial period are presently rare or discouraged (see Wickberg 1997, 167). Edgar Wickberg, in his pioneering works (1964; [1965] 2000), has provided a general explanation to the construction of this ChineseFilipino binary. Using a macro-historical view, he pointed out that during the latter part of the nineteenth century the Chinese mestizos underwent both a political and cultural “Filipinization.” On the other hand, the Chinese began to self-identify as a “national minority” and resorted to “communalism” as a way to protect themselves. Consequently, when the American colonial government nationalized citizenship the Chinese mestizos chose to identify as “Filipino” instead of “Chinese,” while the Chinese chose to become “Chinese.” However, influenced by works on nationalism, cultural anthropology, and negative sentiments against the ethnic Chinese in the Philippines. For example, on its 27 March 2009 issue, a Hong Kong magazine published a column written by a contributor named Chip Tsao, who, in referring to the Philippine government’s claim over the Spratly Islands which it contests with the Chinese government, calls upon the Philippines not to attempt to “flex its muscles” against its “master” [i.e., China] since it is a “nation of servants” with “more than 130,000 Filipina maids working as HK$3,580-amonth cheap labor in Hong Kong” (Tsao 2009). Following the uproar raised by many Filipinos—including an immigration ban imposed by the Philippine Department of Foreign Affairs against the writer—Chip Tsao apologized and the magazine removed his article from its on-line edition. F. Sionil Jose, a well-known Filipino writer and journalist, responded to the uproar by pointing out that Filipinos should not direct their rage toward the Hong Kong journalist, whom he describes as a “messenger who comes to us to tell the horrid truth about us,” but on those “who turned [the Philippines] into the garbage dump of the region: the oligarchs, the Spanish mestizos, the Chinese Filipinos and the treasonous Indios who sent their money abroad instead of investing it here in industries to create jobs for our people” ( Jose 2009). Jose’s article in turn led to several people who are subscribed to
[email protected], of which the author is a member, to denounce it as being anti-Chinese.
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Chinese transnationalism, I decided to examine the more intimate and mundane lives of Chinese merchants and Chinese mestizos in order to get a better sense of how they lived out and negotiated their ethnic identities vis-à-vis state and church proscribed ones. In particular, I investigated the commercial and domestic practices of certain Chinese merchant families (e.g., Limjaps, Cu Unjiengs) and individuals (including first-generation Chinese mestizos like Mariano Limjap and some Chinese mestizas) during this important historical period. From my research I came up with the following findings: • That Chinese merchant families and their members engaged in various flexible strategies in order to negotiate the efforts of dominant groups to control and regulate their lives and resources. • That these flexible strategies included the ability to switch their identities whether in terms of strategically adopting Spanish, Filipino, or Chinese citizenship; converting to Catholicism; Hispanicizing, Filipinizing, Sinicizing, or Americanizing oneself; creating a social network of friends and benefactors beyond one’s own ethnic group; possessing several names; maintaining dual families or practicing bigamy or polygamy; deploying different family members to handle and operate one’s vast business empire or to take advantage of economic opportunities in various places; transforming one’s business approaches to incorporate more “modern” techniques; and disseminating one’s wealth in an expedient and beneficial manner. • That these Chinese merchants and their families are precursors to modern Chinese transnationals in the Philippines like Henry Sy, Lucio Tan, and John Gokongwei who have employed “bordercrossing” strategies in order to take advantage of the different and more liberalizing economic policies under the Aquino, Ramos, Estrada, and Macapagal-Arroyo administrations
