Manila at the Spanish contact
Carmen Guerrero Nakpil, when she was chair of the Manila Historical and Heritage Commission, called out the annual “Araw ng Maynila” celebration, reminding those who cared to listen that June 24, 1571, was the foundation date of Spanish Manila. It was, she said, correctly called “Araw ng Kastila.” Nakpil pushed for a reorientation: a commemoration not a celebration of Spanish Manila. She wanted Manileños to see beyond June 24, 1571, to the Maynila (not “nilaD”) of Soliman, of Lakandula, and further beyond, where our true identity lay under layers of foreign influence. Generation Z sees things differently today. Based on events posted on social media, “Araw ng Maynila” has been dropped and, embracing the once loathsome colonial past, rebranded as “Dia de Manila.”
Gen Z is different because they can look back on the past without resentment. Nilad (sic), a group that conducts heritage tours, uses the tagline “celebrate what remains.” It reminded me of a conversation with the eminent anthropologist E. Arsenio Manuel four decades ago, who said that we should excavate Fort Santiago in search of the remains of Soliman’s palisades. As this meant dismantling the oldest part of Intramuros, I asked, “What if we don’t find anything there? Can’t we preserve what remains?” Manuel replied, “Intramuros is a layer that covers our precolonial past, it shouldn’t even be there.”
Manila at the Spanish contact is described in a handful of documents translated from the original Spanish in Volume 3 of the 55-volume “The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898,” compiled by Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson in the early 1900s. “A Relation of the Conquest of Luzon” is a document that described a Spanish expedition from Panay in 1569, that sailed to Luzon, with particular reference to Mindoro and Manila. The author noted that it was not accurate to describe the inhabitants of Luzon as “Moros” because some of them ate pork, which is not allowed in Islam. The Spanish traveled on native boats and had as reinforcements “Pintados” or the tattooed warriors from the Visayas.
They were told that Manila was “large and very strong,” but when they arrived, the writer was underwhelmed: “It is not more than one-tenth as large as and as strong as in Mexico [Nueva España].” Manila’s military strength was based on “twelve pieces of small and inferior artillery and a few culverins.” It was said, in Mexico, that Manila had a population of 80,000 Moros, to which the narrator noted, “Indeed one should subtract 78,000 … from the said village of Manilla and those in its environs, including women and children, who were present in great numbers.” He added that, “the Indians had some pride, and it seemed to them that the Spaniards were very few and could be easily slain, even if only with clubs.”
Physically, Manila was “situated on a tongue of land extending from east to west between the river and the sea, and a fort had been built on the extreme western end of this peninsula at the entrance to the port. The sea makes a very large harbor about thirty leagues in circumference, and bordering upon this harbor are many villages among which is that of Manilla.”
Two footnotes accompany the above text explaining the etymology of Manila. The first we know all too well, that “May-nila[d]” referred to a place overgrown with Ixora manila, a small tree bearing white flowers. Then there is “May-dila” that referred to “a place that has a tongue, alluding to a tongue-shaped island formerly at the mouth of the Pasig River.”
From the account, three rulers are mentioned by name. First, “Laya,” better known to us as Raja Matanda, described as: “lately deceased, who died a Christian.” Second, Raxa Soliman, described as “suspected of lack of good faith.” Third, “Alcandora,” that is obviously a Spanish corruption of “Lacandola” or Lakandula. Tondo, his territory, was on the northern side of the Pasig River, across from Maynila. None of them, according to the narrator, were absolute rulers, that they did not have great power and authority, because villages could have “five, six, or ten chiefs each of whom possess 20 or 30 slaves, whom he has the power to sell, or treat as he pleases … timaguas (that is to say freemen) over whom the chiefs have no power—except that timaguas are under obligation to follow their own chief when war arises … he who has the most gold and riches is the greatest chief and of the highest nobility, and is the most respected, in accordance with the vanity and vainglory of this world.”
His description of the inhabitants of Manila will make the modern reader recoil: “… the men are of medium size, and dark … there is no manner of footwear. Among them the manner of dress and ornamentation is very indecent. The women are exceedingly ugly and most indecent … They can only be compared to mares glutted with hay … there is no difference between the chief and his slave … in the matter of eating and drinking [they do so] most vulgarly.” At this point I closed the book and searched other volumes for a more sympathetic primary source text. This is why history is contested territory, our relationship with the past, to use a social media term, complicated.
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