Neocolonial identity and counter-consciousness

essays on cultural decolonization

Renato Constantino

• Publisher: Taylor & Francis
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781138895485
• eBook ISBN: 9781351711913
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Politics
• Index: Politics & International Relations

This title was first published in 1978. This book offers examples of the writings of Renato Constantino, one of the Philippines' most prolific essayists. Editor Meszaros summarizes their unifying theme: 'The colonial strangehold on consciousness is the crucial factor through which the whole society is dominated... The subversion of colonial consciousness through the development of a 'counter-consciousness' inevitably means also the end of colonial domination at all levels and in all spheres'. This collection includes thirteen essays, the earliest written in 1958 and the latest in 1976.

Introduction

"We see our present with as little understanding as we view our past because aspects of the past which could illumine the present have been concealed from us. This concealment has been effected by a systematic process of mis-education characterized by a thoroughgoing inculcation of colonial values and attitudes—a process which could not have been so effective had we not been denied access to the truth and to part of our written history. As a consequence, we have become a people without a sense of history. We accept the present as given, bereft of historicity. Because we have so little comprehension of our past, we have no appreciation of its meaningful interrelation with the present." Constantino wrote these words in his introductory essay to J.R.M. Taylor's monumental work — The Philippine Insurrection Against the United States— and they give a very good indication of the nature of his enterprise. He is described as a historian and political scientist. He is neither, in the traditional sense of these terms. He is a highly selective historian who is only interested in a "Usable Past": the programmatic title of the last chapter of his recent History of the Philippines.¹ And his concern with Political Science is no less partisan: a synthesis of knowledge in such a way that it should force his readers to re-examine their attitudes to the forces and events he describes. As a Filipino reviewer of a collection of his political essays put it: "Constantino addresses himself directly to our humanity, and seems to challenge us to prove it. Indeed, I find Dissent and Counter-Consciousness a moving piece of intellectual persuasion. . . That Constantino is able to recall his readers to their humanity should be a measure of his power as a writer."¹

Politics and history are closely integrated in Constantino's writings, in the service of demystification and cultural decolonization: the dual task which he consciously and passionately pursues. He knows full well that the price we are asked to pay for the routinized "objectivity" of academic historiography is the reduction of the rich and complex dynamism of the live social process into isolated "facts" and "events." Their transformation into petrified beads, with a hole in each, so that they can be conveniently arranged in a mechanical succession on the thread of lifeless chronology. In Constantino's views: "History for most of us is a melange of facts and dates, of personalities and events, a mixture of hero worship and empty homiletics about our national identity and our tutelage in democracy. History appears as a segmented documentation of events that occurred in the past, without any unifying thread, without continuity save that of chronology, without clear interrelation with the present."² To such view he opposes a conception of history which "must deal not only with objective developments but also bring the discussion to the realm of value judgments."³ And since the value judgments referred to arise from the agonizing choices and alternatives of the present, politics and history become indissolubly integrated.

But why history?

Well over a century ago a great national poet⁴ hailed the arrival of the railway with the following exclamation:

Why didn't you build it before?

Didn't you have enough iron?

Break and melt down all your shackles!

You'll have plenty of iron!

It is a tragic paradox of history known to us—i.e. that phase of history which Marx terms "pre-history"—that liberating potentials turn into enslaving realities, with the help of "false consciousness" articulated as the self-sustaining rationalization and legitimation of the prevailing order. In this respect the inherited form of historical consciousness—constituted through centuries of class domination, but asserting itself also in the eyes of the oppressed as the true and universally valid self-consciousness—is one of the most powerful shackles through which the past dominates the present and blocks the road to a meaningful future. Thus the emancipation of the oppressed is inconceivable without breaking and melting down the chains of this reified historical consciousness and without its positive counterpart: the reconstitution of the power of consciousness as a liberating force. This is why "historical materialism" must be historical. Not only in order to grasp the structures of domination in their historical genesis and contradictory development which foreshadows their dissolution, but also in order to help constitute the true historical consciousness of the new social agency: to render it conscious of its "historical mission" so that "pre-history" should give way to the beginning of "true history."

All these signposts of historical materialism—from "historical mission" to "true history"—clearly indicate that the development of an adequate form of historical consciousness, in place of the mystifying false consciousness, is vital to any radical critique of the prevailing structures of domination. Understandably, therefore, a profound concern for the study of history has been an integral part of articulating the socialist alternative from the moment of its inception, and some of the finest works of twentieth century scholarship are historical studies. However, for the intellectuals of the "Third World", concern with history assumes a particular urgency. For them the task of developing an adequate historical consciousness acquires the character of cultural decolonization in that the inherited form of "national consciousness" bears the marks of "internalized" colonial domination. The quest for self-identity is, therefore, inseparably also a radical revision of colonial-inspired historiography and the reorientation of historical consciousness towards asserting the interests of the dominated people.

There can be no cool detachment in this enterprise of cultural decolonization, since it involves the clash of irreconcileable interests. Thus when Constantino is accused of "sharply cutting corners in order to force a conclusion,"¹ his critics completely miss the point of his undertaking. For he is forced to do much more than just "cutting corners": he must cut diagonally across the whole field of mystifying colonial historiography, unceremoniously blowing up all the categories of "internalization" he can lay his hands on. The task is a fighting one and the stakes are painfully real: "The various justifications for our subjugation emanated from an adroit utilization of the past in order to serve colonial ends. Thus our 'liberation' by the Spaniards during the early days of occupation underwent successive rationalizations. The Americans, too, projected various rationalizations for their invasion until they were finally able to convince us that they came to educate us and to teach us the ways of democracy. These justifications have become part of our national consciousness. We learned to regard the cultures imposed on us by Spaniards and Americans as superior and, despite sporadic attempts to assert our national identity, we still tacitly accept the alienation of our own culture and the deformation of our economy as natural and unobjectionable developments. We look up to our conquerors and depreciate ourselves; we give respectful consideration to their viewpoint and interests and defend our own with diffidence or equate our interests with theirs. Nationalist voices have had some impact during the last two decades but the dead weight of colonial consciousness and the continuous influx of foreign cultural influences steadily erodes whatever gains have been made. A study of history which seeks to clarify the genesis and development of our peculiar consciousness can be a powerful factor in effecting our independence, both economic and intellectual."¹

When the stakes are as high as this, "cutting corners" is a very small price to pay for accomplishing a vitally necessary task. Its urgency requires to proceed as one can with the help of the available material ("1 make no claims to new findings, only new interpretations"²) even if the author is conscious of the limitations he is forced to accept: "When intellectual decolonization shall have been accomplished, a historical account can be produced which will present a fuller, more balanced picture of reality. To obtain a comprehensive knowledge of the activities of the masses in each period of our history will require painstaking examination of documents and all available records, including folklore, as well as inspired deduction. An arduous task, it is nevertheless possible considering what anthropologists and archeologists have been able to do with societies long dead. But since such a history will surely take decades of study, it must be postponed to a period when social conditions will afford scholars the luxury of spending years on this investigation."³ In the meantime—which may be a very long time—the imperative of emancipation is the only guide that can mark out the path to be followed by the searching examination and reinterpretation of the past in the service of the desired future.

Politics and history, thus constitute an organic unity, and the burning issues of the present give vitality to historical analysis. Inevitably, the search for an adequate historical consciousness becomes the assertion of national self-consciousness, and the arrogance of "great nation" chauvinism is opposed by the new-found dignity of the oppressed who are determined to free themselves. The matter is greatly complicated by the fact that the oppressor, having a firmly secured position in the world order of domination, can misrepresent itself as a true internationalist so as to be able to condemn any attempt at emancipation from its colonial rule as a dangerous capitulation to the "ideology of nationalism." To preach the virtues of international brotherhood while in fact representing the ruthless defence of the most selfish exploitative interests has always been a characteristic of imperial powers and the United States is no exception to the rule. "By virtue of its world leadership and its economic interests in many parts of the world, the United States has an internationalist orientation based securely on a well-grounded, long-held nationalistic viewpoint. U.S. education has no urgent need to stress the development of American nationalism in its young people. Economically, politically, culturally, the U.S. is master of its own house. American education, therefore, understandably lays little emphasis on the kind of nationalism we Filipinos need. Instead, it stresses internationalism and underplays nationalism."¹

To insist on the rights of nationalism under such circumstances and against the background of colonial ideologies and practices is thus equivalent to defending the elementary rights of emancipation and self-determination. It means that the arrogance of "great nations" and "world historical nations" must be openly challenged and the proud self-awareness of the so-called "societies without a history" must be clearly voiced by opposing the lessons of the reinterpreted "usable history" to the humiliating images of colonial supremacy which preposterously decreed that the societies which it brutally deprived of the power of self-development were a priori "societies without a history." It is the passionate assertion of this dignity and self-awareness which animates the writings of all those "Third World" intellectuals who—from Fanon and Che Guevara to Camilo Torres and Dom Hélder Câmara—opted for the struggle against the prevailing order, instead of accepting the rich rewards of a corrupt system for services rendered by the "trahison des clercs."

In the context of the Filipino struggle, the peculiarities of American imperialism significantly add to the difficulties of cultural decolonization. For it is relatively easy to identify an adversary who openly represses you, but rather more difficult when he purports to be your "liberator" and greatest friend: when he succeeds in misrepresenting your exploitation as generous "aid" for your "development" and "modernization." And this is precisely how American domination prevailed over its territories, including the Philippines. After the initial phase of brutal and bloody colonial repression it appeared in the guise of the "emancipator" whose only concern was that those consigned to his tutelage should be duly "educated" and developed to the point of "maturity" so that they can properly benefit from all those acquisitions which he was generously willing to put at their disposal. This new ideology of colonial domination was necessary not only because the sophisticated U.S. "liberator" replaced the primitive Spanish colonial rulers and thus had to appear to be diametrically opposed to them—if not in deed, at least in long-term intention: when, that is, the point of "maturity" is finally reached¹ —but also because in accordance with the given phase of capitalist developments, characterized by world-scale expansion and ever-increasing integration, the need for a direct and brutal (also rather costly) political-military domination was diminishing to the same degree as its functions were being successfully taken over by the increasingly more powerful structures of economic dependency.

Thus the emphasis of colonial rule shifted to a jealous control of education on one hand (which the U.S. refused to relinquish in the Philippines, notwithstanding all mystifying semblance of "autonomy," until as late as 1935)¹ and to the complete domination of the economy on the other. To quote Constantino: "Control of the economic life of a colony is basic to colonial control. Some imperial nations do it harshly but the United States could be cited for the subtlety and uniqueness of its approach. For example, free trade was offered as a generous gift of American altruism. Concomitantly, the educational policy had to support this view and to soften the effects of the slowly tightening noose around the necks of the Filipinos. The economic motivations of the Americans in coming to the Philippines were not at all admitted to the Filipinos. As a matter of fact, from the first school-days under the soldier-teachers to the present, Philippine history books have portrayed America as a benevolent nation who came here only to save us from Spain and to spread amongst us the boons of liberty and democracy. The almost complete lack of understanding at present of those economic motivations and of the presence of American interests in the Philippines are the most eloquent testimony to the success of the education for colonials which we have undergone."²

One of Constantino's inspirations in this analysis of Filipino society and of its relations with the United States is the late Claro M. Recto: a great nationalist politician who, towards the end of his life, produced a farsighted, unequivocal diagnosis of the contradictions of colonial politics. In one of his most powerful speeches he clearly spelled out the need for demystifying some of the most cherished ideals: "Colonies are acquired, colonies are governed, independence and freedom of nations are destroyed, withheld or curtailed in the name of liberty or democracy, or of so-called 'manifest destinies.' Likewise, civil liberties or the rights of the individuals have been suppressed or impaired in the very name of freedom and democracy. Soon after the Second World War, there was in the United States a three-pronged attack on labour unions, civil liberties and communism, all in the name of democracy and, later, of freedom. The campaign spread and crossed the Pacific, and so the Philippines granted Parity rights, a 99-year lease of bases, and accepted a status as a virtual protectorate, also all in the name of democracy and freedom. After over ten years of watching the dexterous manipulation of these words, it should no longer be difficult for many of us to realize our appalling naiveté."...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• INTRODUCTION