Posted on January 8, 2010 - by Vic

The Mother of Philippine Festivals

ONCE upon a time there was only one festival to speak of in the whole Philippine Archipelago. There was only the Ati-Atihan. And that was only in Kalibo, an old town in northern Panay.

In the sixteenth century, a pious Spanish priest noted that among the Visayan people it was not quite proper to drink alone or to appear drunk in public. The priest would have revised his opinion if he had been to ati-atihan where much of the fervor is fuelled by free flowing locally brewed spirits.

But few Filipinos today know that. Indeed the Philippines of today is not only a country of religious and civic fiestas but also of “festivals”. Check any month in the tourism calendar and you’re bound to find any number of festivals in these islands.

All though today, we have witnessed several offspring of this festival gathering, the mother of all Philippine festivals still remains the Ati-Atihan of Kalibo in January. After all, it is almost 800 years old to date.

Also, it is the only festival in a real sense. While the other festivals are spectator festivals where you go and watch, the Ati-Atihan is a festival of total immersion. There you kick off your shoes and dance in the streets like there was no tomorrow—alone, or hitched to whichever group you fancy. At the Ati-Atihan in Kalibo, there are no spectators. You don’t even have to be in costume. The Ati-Atihan of Kalibo is simply where you let your hair down!

How It All Began

The island of Panay in the Visayas is where this particular detail of Philippine history took place sometime in late 12th or early 13th century. For centuries hence, it has been commemorated in one specific place, in Kalibo, the capital of today’s province of Aklan—so we couldn’t be so wrong to assume that that was where this piece of history unfolded.

(Today’s Panay island is made up of four provinces: Aklan, Antique, Capiz and Iloilo—no, make that five for reasons of politics to include Guimaras, erstwhile a small island belonging to Iloilo, which somehow rose as a province on its own a few years back).

In the beginning there were only the little black people, the ati, living in Panay. They were ruled by a king, Marikudo, and his queen, Maniwang-tiwang. Then their world changed when in boats came the taller, more advanced brown people from the Indonesian archipelago. Tradition tells us that these migrants, a merry mix of tribes under ten datus led by Datu Puti, were fleeing from a cruel king back home, in search of a new land.

(In fact, it was one of those waves of migration from China, the Malay Peninsula and the Indonesian archipelago. The mixture of these races gave birth to today’s Filipino.)

The newcomers came upon the little black people of Panay … and bargained with the latter for their land. This deal is written in history as the Barter of Panay. In exchange for a gold salakot (hat) for Marikudo and a gold necklace for the queen, the atis agreed to take to the mountains, relinquishing the lowlands to the newcomers.

As the new settlers prospered in their new land so the story goes, they began to hold festivities. To honor the absentee atis from whom they owe their new life and land, the brown settlers covered their bodies in soot in mimic of the little black people. Thus was fashioned, the “ati-ati”—which means mock, or imitation, ati.

Thus also was born, the Ati-Atihan Festival.

Centuries later, the Spanish colonizers came. But try as they might, the new, white, European masters could not part the brown natives from their “pagan” festival of dancing and merry-making in soot-blackened bodies. (Old-timers recall that even through the Japanese Occupation during World War II, the natives of Kalibo braved the incredulity of the occupying forces and went on with their festivity when the third Sunday of January—the traditional festival date—came along.)

If you can’t lick ‘em join ‘em, the Spaniards must have thought because before you knew it, the Santo Nino, the Holy Child, became the rallying icon and the rallying cry (“Viva, Senor Santo Nino!”) of the Ati-Atihan. The soot-blackening, street-dancing festival became religious in nature, complete with a torch procession!

The Beating of the Drums

I have been to Kalibo since the early 80’s. And I’ve grown accustomed with the beating of the drums every January of every year when I visit. In fact, the drums come as early as Christmastime in December—faint and sporadic at first, growing louder and louder and bolder and bolder as the third week of January comes along.

But the beating of the drums, in themselves herald of revelry, are but the accompaniment to wild costumes and wild dancing in the streets … which builds up and climaxes into a gigantic frenzy on Saturday and Sunday … and culminates in a huge procession that lasts into the night of Sunday evening.

(And then you wake up on Monday morning and everything is peaceful and quiet again. A curious silence returns. Like there was no beating of drums and lilting xylophone music that crept up on you from faint and sporadic in late December to a soaring crescendo only yesterday. Only the litter of festival remains on the road for the street sweepers.)

Such is the heady excitement of the festival that for days building up towards the climax on the third Sunday of January, all the streets of downtown Kalibo naturally swell with revelers—natives and guests and tourists, shoulder-to-shoulder—and there is no better way to move around than on foot.

(According to one of my friends in Kalibo, the Ati-Atihan festival was also the only time he ever saw Caucasians—tourists—mingling with the soot-blackened natives like towering white gods. Years later, Boracay, the paradise island at the northern tip of Aklan, shot to international fame and today, Caucasians, as are other nationalities, are no longer so conspicuous where I come from.)

No, the Aklanons don’t invite guests to their festival. They simply present themselves at their door, and they are happy to have them.

I guess this is the reason why other festivals of quite recent vintage in other parts of the country seem now to be more famous and look more exciting: they advertise, they promote their festivals; Kalibo doesn’t.

Need the Aklanons advertise something, which has always been there in the last 800 years?

Remember now: when you come to Kalibo’s mardi gras you don’t just look. You warm to the merry beat of the drums and plunge into the dancing and have the time of your life. Hala bira!