Panorama Vol. XII, No.2 (February 1960)

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Part of Panorama

Title: Panorama Vol. XII, No.2 (February 1960)
Issue Date: Vol. XII, No.2 (February 1960)
Year: 1960
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extracted text: IBTJARY iO Centavos CONTENTS A rticles Machine to Copy Brain’s Methods............................. Our Sense of History.................Encarnacion Alzona Giant Ape: Clue to Human Evolution ..................... Rediscovering Our Past .... Horacio de la Costa, S.J Salt Extraction in Israel ........................................... Our Cultural Heritage So-Called .......... ................. Armando F. Bonifacio Ancients on Time ........................................................ Delicadeza ................................................ Rene Since Who May Be Buried at Arlington?........................... Good Housekeeping Folk Wisdom.......... Translated by Hilario Francia Electronic Lung............................................................ Folk Literature............................. E. Arsenio Manuel Porpoise ‘Pings * in on Target ................................... Customs and Traditions in Indonesia ....................... R. Soemarno Soeroharjono New Sea Depths................................................... Philippine Superstitions .......... Armando J. Malay How to Raise Prawns.....................Serapio A. Bravo Balloon to Play Satellite Role................................... Penguin Secret.............................................................. 2 3 16 18 22 24 29 31 34 36 38 39, 66 68 78 80 84 89 91 Poetry Dahcer from the Dance......................... A. G. Hut ana 51 Fiction Mother’s Ring..................................Teresita Z. Dizon 52 Regular Features Book Review: The Cave.....................Leonard Casper 59 Literary Personality — LXI: The Case of Erie Stanley Gardner ... 64 PANORAMA is published monthly by the Community Publishers, Inc., Inverness St., Sta. Ana, Manila, Philippines Editor: ALEJANDRINO G. HUFANA Foreign contributing editor: Leonard Casper Art director: NARCISO RODRIGUEZ Business Manager: Mrs. C. A. MARAMAG Subscription rates: In the Philippines, one year P5.00; cwo years P9.00. Foreign subscription: one year $4.00 U.S.; two years $7.00 U.S. Single copy 50 centavos. Zell ]/out friends about the Panorama, the Philippines’ most versatile, most significant magazine today. (jive them a year’s subscription — NOW! they will appreciate it. Subscription Form ................. 1 year for P5.00 ...........z.....2 year? for P9.00 ................. Foreign subscription: one year $4.00 U.S. Name ............................................................................................... Street ........................................................................................................ City or Town .................................. Province ................................. Enclosed is a check/money order for the amount specified above. Please address all checks or money orders in favor of: COMMUNITY PUBLISHERS, INC. 1986 Herran, Sta. Ana, Manila —M^kittc to Copy drains Methods — Investigators in neurology at University College London are building a massive automatic computer for the principal purpose of testing theories about the learning capacity of the brain. The machine will “think”; that is, it will scan shapes such as the letters of the alphabet and simple words and after ana lyzing and absorbing this visual information it will “say” (through a loudspeaker) what it has seen at precisely the same rate as that of a fairly intelligent human subject. This is being achieved by building into the computer an electronic network regulated by about 4,000 tubes, each one of which is an electro-mechanical equivalent of the nerve cells of the brain and body, known as neurons. Part of the machine was on display in the anatomy depart ment of University College this week when it was announced that the Nuffield Foundation had given a further $100,000 toward the basic hardware. The computer should be in action by 1960. The theory underlying the apparatus is that individual living nerve cells or neurons do not have a simple “on or off” or “yes or no” action; that is, they are capable of doing far more than merely stopping a message or sending it flying on toward other reception centers as do the tubes in a digital computer. According to Dr. Wilfred W. Taylor, designer of the machine, nerve impulses (generated by neurons) change the message trans mission power of the spark gaps (known as synapses) that link the fibers of one nerve cell to the next. This,, in effect, is how the brain (or the new machine) “learns.” On the basis of this theory, he is building a net work of in terconnected tubes into an analog or non-digital computer whose output efficiency depends on what has previously been fed into it. ' Its “memo.y,” therefore, is not centralized but is distributed through billions of possible permutations in route-circuits and signal strengths. For instance, the machine will almost certainly recognize and instantly spell out the letter O, but it may have some initial difficulty in distinguishing between an O and the addition of a tail in the letter Q. But by practice, that is by the repeated use of the extra circuits put into operation by the “sight of the tail of the Q (as seen through a battery of photoelectric eyes), it will eventually add Q to its repertoire of immediately recog nizable shapes. Electronic counters distributed throughout the apparatus will tell the investigators how long the machine takes to “make up its mind” and also the electronic strength of its spoken “convictions.” This mechanical representation of learning can be done best by what communication engineers call an analog computer or a machine that simulates the basic activity of another machine or a living process. Panorama GOOD HEARING FEBRUARY 1960 VOL. XII MANILA, PHILIPPINES No. 2 By Encarnacion Alzona Ou off JHutO'Uf efore the establishment of the Commonwealth in 1935 Philippine education was entirely dominated by for eigners—first by the Spaniards and afterward by the Americans. Thus, for more than four centuries since the coming of Spain the Filipinos had no direct voice in the deter mination of the type of education that they should have on account of their status as a subject people. However, leading Filipinos, the thinking and patriotic Filipinos, had not been altogether inarti culate during that long colonial period. Even under Spain, when they did not enjoy freedom of speech, they voiced their senti ments in respectful petitions in which they pointed out to the authorities the great need in this country for primary schools as well as schools of agriculture, trades, and fine arts. Such schools, though they left much to be desired, were eventually established and re mained in existence until the end of Spanish rule in 1898. Under the American regime the Filipino nationalists manifested great concern about popular edu cation. , Their most eloquent and brilliant spokesman, Manuel L. Quezon, later to become the first president of the Commonwealth, on the occasion of the installation in 1915 of Ignacio Villamor as the first Filipino president of the Uni versity of tne Philippines, the highest institution of learning sup ported by the State, said: ". . . We are spending every available cent of the public con fers (for education) not only be cause we want our children to learn what they need to know in order to face successfully the national problems of life and to satisfy tneir intellectual wants, but also in order that they may become patriotic Filipino citizens. “Note please, ladies and gentle men, that I said ‘Filipino citizens’, and I mean it. "We want our boys and girls to be taught that they are Fili pinos, that the Philippines is their country and the only country that God has given them; that they must keep it for themselves ana for their children; and that they must live for it, and die for it, if necessary. This is the thought that I want strongly to impress upon the President of the Uni * versrty of the Philippines . . HIS STATEMENT has not lost v its aptness and timeliness to this day. In fact it might as well be repeated and pondered in this thirteenth year of our Republic when we are striving to maintain the institutions of a free society and to build a nation sufficiently strong and vigorous to resist the assaults of a new and formidable imperialism that is threatening to destroy throughout the world numan freedom and dignity—the freedom and dignity that free men have won at the cost of so many painful sacrifices, so much blood and sorrow, and which are still denied to millions of men in the benighted regions of the globe. The adherence of the Filipinos to the free institutions of the West can easily be appreciated by glanc 4 Panorama ing at their past. The establish ment of a Spanish rule here in the 16th century inevitably ex posed the inhabitants of these Is lands to Western culture. Among other things Spain introduced the Roman alphabet. By the 18th cen tury it had replaced the indige nous ones, its use having become general throughout the Archipel ago. The adoption of this West ern form of writing had far-reach ing cultural implications. For one thing it brought the Filipinos in tellectually closer to the Western nations than to their Eastern neighbors and for another, it faci litated and hastened their recep tion of Western ideas. It is note worthy that one of the cultural trends of our times is the move ment in the Oriental nations which had adhered to their indi genous alphabets to adopt the Ro man alphabet realizing its useful ness and convenience in a world that is fast extracting, figuratively speaking, due to scientific advance ment and the resulting revolution in the means of communication and transportation as well as in the methods of warfare. In this respect the Filipinos enjoy a cul tural advantage for having adopt ed it centuries ago. NwrrriNGLY Spanish rule in tensified the innate passion for education of the Filipinos. The Spaniards found the inhabitants of these Islands in possession of written languages and according to the first Spanish chroniclers themselves, every man and wo man here could read and write in their own characters, adding that they were so fond of read ing their writings that the mis sionaries had to destroy them, be lieving them to be the cause of their slow conversion into Christ ianity. This highly commendable lit eracy, however, was to decline markedly during the Spanish re gime due to the change in the system of writing and the govern ment’s neglect of public education, which was one of the principal grievances of the Filipinos against Spain. When finally Spain, need ing the clamor for popular educa tion, promulgated’the Educational Decrees of 1863 that provided for the establishment of primary schools for boys and girls in the towns, the people still complained that she did not establish as many and as good public schools as were needed. It was significant that as soon as the Filipinos were able to establish a government of their own—the short-lived. Philippine Republic (1899-1901) ^they forth with provided for free compulsory education and even created a uni versity at Malolos—La Universidad Literaria—while war was still going on and they were fighting for survival against great odds. Although Spain neglected the education of the masses, on the other hand she provided for high er education, establishing colleges and universities, not of course for February 1960 5 the benefit of the Filipino origin ally, but of the Spanish children who could not be sent for one rea son or another to the mother coun try for their education. In the course of time and through per sistence, driven by their passion for learning, select Filipinos gain ed admission to these educational institutions and even under the most adverse circumstances ac quired an education equal to that possessed by the educated Span iards. Thus arose an elite of edu cated Filipino intellectuals,- im bued with Western ideas, cultur ally the equal of the educated Spaniards and in truth of educat ed men of all countries at that time. *yHE rise of an intellectual elite among the Filipinos had tremendous implications for the future of the country. For it was this elite that became the ardent champion of their oppressed coun try that clamored for better edu cational opportunities for their people, that provided the essential leadership in the popular move ment not only for social but also economic and political reforms, that denounced in vigorous ac cents the excesses and abuses of the Spanish officials in the Islands, that inspired the masses to rise finally in armed revolt against Spain. An articulate and patriotic elite, it became the object of per secution quite understandably by the Spanish colonial authorities. These Spaniards were not stupid. They knew that the educated Fili pinos—the ilustrados as they called them—were a real menace to Span ish sovereignty over this colony, or La provincia espanola de ultramar, as Spaniards preferred to call it. Rizal’s mother, Teodora Alon so, clear-sighted and highly intel ligent woman, with an accent of sadness said to her husband when the two were discussing the edu cation of their gifted son who at 16 already held a Bachelor of Arts degree from the Ateneo Municipal de Manila: “Don’t send him any more to Manila; he already knows enough; if he gets to know more, he’ll be beheaded.” Her prophecy was tragically fulfilled. Ana not only her son but many other Fili 6 Panorama pino intellectuals in the flower of manhood met the same tragic end, sacrificed on the altar of Spain’s imperialist design. Indeed, during the Spanish period in the Philip pines higher education was inti mately associated with unhappi ness, with tears and sorrow. Soon after the Americans had succeeded to destroy the ill-fated Philippine Republic, they organ ized a civil government for our country, filling some responsible positions in it with Filipinos drawn from our intellectual elite. They named Cayetano Arellano, legal luminary, chief justice of the Supreme Court and five other not ed Filipino lawyers were made as sociate Justices—Victorino Mapa, Manuel Araullo, Raymundo Melliza, Ambrosio Rianzares, Julio Llorente, and Gregorio Araneta. Florentino Torres was appointed attorney general. To the second Philippine Commission, the high est legislative body then, were ap pointed Trinidad H. Pardo de Tavera, Jose Luzurriaga, and Benito Legarda. Many other educated Filipinos—lawyers, physicians, en gineers, surveyors, accountants, pharmacists, teachers, skilled pen men—all trained during the Span ish era, were drafted into the gov ernment service. Q iher Filipino intellectuals, such as Rafael Palma, Jose Palma, Fernando Ma. Guerrero, Cecilio Apostol, Epifanio de los Santos, Rosa Sevilla, Fiorentina February 1960 Arellano, and Jose Abreu, were active in journalism, writing for the organ of the Filipino nation alists—£7 Renacimiento. These Filipino intellectuals spoke and wrote in Spanish, so that for the first three decades at least of the 20th century, Span ish was the most used official and journalistic language in the Phil ippines. This being so, the official documents in our archives—the records of the legislative, execu tive, and judicial branches of the government—pertaining to that pe riod as well as the writings of many of the thinkers who then flourished were in the Spanish language. Hence, when the learned Senator Claro M. Recto was asked at a public forum held under the auspices of the Order of the Knights of Rizal on May 15, 1959 by a university professor as to whether he was in favor of the teaching of Spanish, without the least hesitation he replied in' the affirmative, citing the reason iust stated. In truth the Spanish language has become part and parcel of our culture and a com mand of it is rightly regarded by the intellectuals as an essential part of the equipment of the edu cated Filipino. It is fortunate there are still Filipinos possessing a mas tery of this Western language, for enlightened governments in the world today are encouraging the study of modern languages in res ponse to the demands of world politics and international trade. They realize that the possession of as many modern languages as one can acquire gives many ad vantages not only to their posses sor but alsp to the country to which he belongs. Filipinos in general have an aptitude for learn ing languages and two or three modem languages will certainly not be an intellectual burden to them. The Spanish-educated Fili pinos at the arrival of the Ameri cans in a short time acquired an admirable command of English. ^hat forthwith endeared the first Americans in the Philippines to our people was their zeal in opening public schools and in teaching the Filipinos the Eng lish language even before the pa cification of the country. For this reason Filipinos lavish praises on those pioneer American teachers. As a result of the introduction of the principle of freedom of edu cation by the Americans, private schools have multiplied and flour ished in this country. Today, as an evidence of their prosperity, they are housed in imposing edi fices and they are constantly en larging their plants despite the fact that they rely solely on tui tion fees for their maintenance, a phenomenon thaj arouses the won der of many a foreign observer. Their large number and prospe rous condition clearly demonstrate the continuing passion for educa tion of the Filipinos upon whom they depend for their support. Higher education received an impetus in 1908 with the crea tion of the University of the Phil ippines, which is patterned after the American state university. The private educational institu tions officially recognized as uni versities are now twenty, thirteen of them being established in Ma nila and its environs and seven are found in the Visayas, and this in a country with a population of only 23,000,000 or so. And more astounding is their enrollment. One private university at Manila boasts of a student body of 38,000 including its primary and second ary schools. In addition to these universities there are a number of institutions of collegiate rank. 8 Panorama M'hese private educational establishments have a peculiar ity that has perturbed many a thinking Filipino. Some of them are controlled by foreign nation als. And the question is asked: Should we allow foreigners to edu cate future Filipino citizens? Did not Plato long ago sound the dan ger to the State of such a prac tice when he said: "Youth is the time when the character is being molded and easily takes any impress one may wish to stamp on it. Shall we then simply allow our children to listen to any stories that anyone happens to make up and so receive into their minds ideas often the very opposite to those we shall think they ought to have when they are grown up?” Concern about this singular educational condition was voiced recently in the very hall of our Senate by a brilliant member of that body who advocated that the heads of all educational institu tions controlled by foreigners should be Filipinos to insure that the youth they were educating would turn out to be patriotic Filipinos. Several years ago the govern ment prescribed that such school subjects as the History of the Phil ippines and the social sciences were to be taught only by Fili pinos. Apparently this is not a sufficient safeguard. It is not enough to require of the classroom teacher a sympathetic understand ing of the history of the Filipino people and a sincere respect for February 1960 9 their aspirations. Most important of all in any educational organ ization are the capitalists who con trol its financing. It is their atti tude that in the final analysis de termines the quality of education in the school. J further reason for concern s' about these private schools is that they are patronized by a large number of leading Filipino families, for there is a prevailing notion that they provide a higher standard of instruction than those under Filipino control and the public schools. Presumably their graduates will be the social and political leaders in our communi ties. Yearly our higher schools gra duate thousands of young people. These holders of college and uni versity degrees today constitute our treasure and our problem. Al ready some observers are express ing alarm at, the increasing num ber of unemployed intellectuals and the possible consequences of this social phenomenon on peace and order in the country. It seems timely therefore that our educators pause and reexamine our educa tional concepts and practices. Are these degree-holders unemployed because the education they were given did not stress individual selfreliance, dignity, and industry, or are these virtues unfashionable? Are our educational institutions more concerned with quantity rather than quality? They might as well ponder these and similar questions. With regard to self-reliance, some instances come to our mind that seem to indicate that this vir tue is on the decline. Noticeable is the widespread habit of many citizens of seeking the assistance of public officials, even of Malacanang, in the solution of their personal problems, cluttering up the government offices daily. There is the common impression that everything, even if it is con trary to law, can be obtained through proper connections, or perhaps through bribery. In Ta galog parlance the word for it is pakiusap, a failing that can be traced to the Spanish colonial ad ministration when bribery was rampant in official transactions, perhaps the best explanation for the weakness and inefficiency of 10 Panorama that government. How many up right persons and honest govern ment officials have lost cherished friends because of their refusal to go against the law, to honor the pakiusap system of administration? *Yhe practice of pakiusap has v dire implications for our edu cational endeavors. Because of it and the popular belief in its effi cacy, doubt is growing in certain quarters that training, ability, and intellectual excellence are neces sary in securing jobs or attaining public distinction. The awareness that jobs and other things as well are obtainable through influence or proper connections certainly does not encourage the youth to cultivate their talents or to apply themselves seriously to their stu dies. Neither does it help create a favorable environment for edu cation or the pursuit of excellence. Armed with a diploma, even if it were a mere scrap of paper, a young man can get what he wants provided he cultivates the right persons. Moreover, do not they see around them men and women possessing no academic training, no intellectual ability, no virtue whatever, in high and distin guished public positions? Still fresh in the memory of many of us was the case of a man notorious for his uncultivated and undisci plined mind who attained poli tical eminence and intoxicating popularity. After his remarkable achievement, he became the fa vorite topic of conversation and one often heard smart students saying that they would not study hard inasmuch as intellectual at tainments were unnecessary in rising to the political summit. In deed the task of the educator is rendered arduous in a society that chooses to bestow its favors on its undeserving and incompetent members. Even some parents of students resort to pakiusap whenever their children receive due punishment from school officials for some mis demeanor or failure to meet the scholastic standard of the institu tion. There are mothers who shed tears in pleading for leniency for their erring children and if they fail to get the desired result, they withdraw them from that school. Thus, sometimes parents can be held responsible for the lowering February 1960 11 of academic standards and the un dermining of school discipline. he baneful practice leads also to the loss of personal dig nity. Forgetting their dignity men ana women holders of college and university degrees stoop to beg ging for positions and favors from those in power. Have our people lost their traditional sense of dig nity? In our history we read that dignity was one of the outstanding virtues of our ancestors. To pre serve their dignity they were will ing to suffer poverty and woe to anyone who dared to hurt it. The revival and popularizing of this virtue would be a desirable edu cational aim for it is highly essen tial in winning the respect of our fellowmen here and abroad. Our government would be better res pected if the men and women in it are imbued with a deep sense of dignity. Have our schools failed to im press upon our youth the value of industry? In the history of our people industrious men and wo men were very much admired by their contemporaries. Even today in our communities the indus trious man is extolled while his opposite is derided or taunted. In our folklore we have the story of luan Tamad (Juan the Lazy),’ holding up in ridicule a lazy man. J gnacio Villamor has left us a little volume entitled Indus trious Filipinos based upon a series of lectures he delivered early in this century under the auspices of the Sociedad de Conferenciantes Filipinos headed by the cul tured Judge Estanislao Yusay. De dicated to the Filipino youth it consisted of short biographies in English of 40 Filipinos among whom were Rizal, Benedicto Lu na, Pedro Cui, Mateo Carino, Jose Ma. Basa, Luis R. Yangco, Ro man Ongpin, Clemente Jose Zulueta, Isidro de la Rama, Enrique Mendiola, Gregorio Araneta, Datu Undaya Amai Kurut, Esteban Jalandoni, Valerio Malabanan, Aleja de la Cruz, Lorenzo Guer rero, Gregorio Crisostomo, and Manuel Artigas. They were men who, working in diverse fields of human endeavor under very try ing conditions, contributed in large measure towards the build ing of our nation. After reading that book one cannot help but feel proud to belong to a nation that has produced such exemplary citizens who would be an asset and an honor to any people. 12 A young independent nation like ours undoubtedly has a press ing need for industrious men and women, if our Republic is to sur vive. As Ignacio Villamor and other Filipino thinkers had said, no people could progress unless they were industrious. It would dishearten them to behold so many idle men and women walk ing aimlessly or just standing at street comer frittering away val uable time, or the long queues of men and women before the ticket windows of the cinemas in the City of Manila mofninq and after noon, during normal working hours. Among other agencies our schools perhaps can help remedy this deplorable situation by intro ducing into the school program activities that are calculated to de velop habits of industry among the students. And our educators might consider these questions: Is there too much play and too little work in the school? Are the stu dents devoting too much time to joining or holding elaborate pa rades, costly floats, queen or beau ty contests, dances and the like? -^ow and then a bold com mencement speaker does not hesitate to say that many college graduates are unfit for their chos en callings. In plain language the aualitv of their training is so poor tnat tney could not be employed. To what could this be attributed? To the indiscriminate promotion of students regardless of their grades, as in the public schools? To academic laxity? To huge clas ses, so huge that teachers nave to use a microphone to be heard by those in the back seats? To in competent teachers? To lack of proper guidance or counselling? Or to family pride and conceit which he has no aptitude whatso ever? Criticisms of our public and pri vate education made in good faith should stimulate our educators to scrutinize our educational system rather than to cast aspersions on the critics. Being a human insti tution there is always room for improvement in it. Our school curricula can cer tainly profit from a’ periodic scru tiny. It is possible that there may have accumulated in our educa tional cupboard considerable tri via that ought to be thrown away. For example, is it advisable to spend the time of the senior high school students who are between 13 fourteen and fifteen years old in the discussion of “dating, steady date, blind date, when to date, courtship, engagement, honey moon, etc.?”* Obviously lifted from some foreign source, the terms alone being peculiarly Am erican colloquialism; are they suit able for fourteen- and fifteen-yearold boys and girls whether from the psychological or pedagogical point of view? These customs are alien to us Filipinos and are frowned upon by our elders. Such matters are decided within the family. By dignifying them as class material for discussion, they as sume an undue importance in the minds of young boys and girls and turn their attention away from their academic work. • Revised Teachi.•« Guides for Second ary Schools Health Education, Division Bul letin No. 6, s. 1959, Division of City Schools, Manila, Bureau of Public Schools. Ji lso in the materials for study s' there may have crept in mis leading if not altogether erroneous subject-matter. Take, for instance, the outline entitled Philippine Problems for secondary schools. Item No. VII in this outline is “Religious Problem”. We have no religious problem in the Philip pines. Our Constitution guaran tees freedom of religion and here adherents of diverse religious sects live in peace, unmolested, free to worship according to their beliefs and to carry on their church acti vities without hindrance. They re ceive the equal protection of the law. This is one of the freedoms of which our Republic can boast. In addition there seems to be in the secondary schools an undue proliferation of courses in Philip pine subjects; such as, Philippine History, Philippine Problems, and Communitv Problems. Some prac ticing teachers believe that there is much overlapping and repeti tion in the teaching of these sub jects which, being so closely re lated, can very well be combined into a single course, leaving their detailed study to the higher schools. In the zeal of filling the minds of students with Philippine information, education runs the danger of becoming parochial. And at this time of rapidly ex panding knowledge, the civilized man will soon cease to be civil ized if he is left behind. The early introduction of students to the world of science has become imperative in order to stimulate as early as possible. their interest in the undoubtedly important study of science which it is hoped will furnish the remedy for hu man ills. The catalogues of our higher schools likewise contain numerous academic offerings which prompt us to ask these questions from tne pedagogical standpoint: Do these institutions have a sufficient num ber of qualified professors to han dle these courses? Do they have adequate library facilities and lab oratories that such courses require? Unless they do, these courses will 14 Panorama be treated very superficially and students will derive little benefit from them. jf lthough at the start we implied that with the establish ment of the Commonwealth edu cation passed on to the control of Filipinos, nonetheless it has re mained under American influence. This is inevitable in view’ of the following factors: (1) Our edu cational system is patterned after the American; (2) The language of instruction is American; (3) All the books used until lately are by American authors and even those by Filipinos are in the ma jority adaptations of the Ameri can-educated. It is also no secret that America has continued her active interest in Philippine edu cation to this day, as it is clearly demonstrated by the existence here of such agencies as the U.S. Educational Foundation, ICA, aqd Philippine Center for Lan guage Study, the presence of Am erican consultants and exchange professors in our educational es tablishments, and the continuous award of scholarship, travel, and leadership grants to Filipino citi zens not only bv the American government but also by private American foundations. Of course America’s cultural activities are not confined to the Philippines alone. Being a w’orld power she maintains cultural es tablishments in many other coun tries as well. Because of her farflung cultural interests her rival Soviet Russia accuses her of "cul tural imperialism.” America has also many w’ellequipped and famous colleges and universities whose doors are open to the nations of foreign countries, including the Philip pines. In general the Filipinos who had studied at these institu tions are great admirers of Am erica. It is not therefore strange that the Philippines, though inde pendent, should remain in the cul tural orbit of America. No other power has done as much as she in preserving and promoting cul tural ties with her former de pendency. Here then are a few implica tions for education of certain forces in our distant and recent past. Manifestly Philippine educa tion of the present day is the pro duct of historical circumstances. * * * “Hear about the elephant who got his trunk caught in his mouth and swallowed himself?" February 1960 15 When comes another? GIANT APE: Clue to Human Evolution A “magnificent” photograph of a jaw of a giant ape that lived in China half a mil lion years ago has been received from a Chinese scientist. The giant apes roamed the for ests when the cannibal called Pe king Man was alive. Whether these fearsome-looking ancient apes and ancient men preyed on each other is not known. But the existence of both at the same period of pre-history has been established beyond doubt by fossil relics. The giant ape is called Gigantopithecus. It is estimated that it stood between twelve and thirteen feet in height. This correspondent has now re ceived a description and a photo graph of the ape’s jaw, the first to be seen outside China, from Dr. Pei Wen-chung of the Aca demia Sinica. Dr. Pei was the man who found the first skull of Peking Man in 1929. Besides the jaw and fifty teeth of the giant ape, Dr. Pei says, “there are five more or less com plete skulls of Peking Man, four teen jaws and a hundred and fiftytwo isolated teeth.” This is the first news heard about the famous relics since 1941, when a major of the United States Marines tried to bring them back to the United States in his personal baggage. He was interned by the Japanese and the baggage was lost. 1}r. Pei stresses the fact that in appearance the new jaw is more like that of a man tnan. any other ape alive or dead. It was found recently in a high cliff cave at Liucheng in Kwangsi province, South China, by a peas ant, Tan Hsiu-huai, who was dig ging for bone manure. Thinking that the jaw was a “lung-ku” Cdragon bone), used in certain Chinese medicines, he tried to sell it at the local mar keting co-operative, where officials had been warned to look out for anything of scientific or cultural value. Dr. Pei writes: "My opinion concerning the giant ape of Kwangsi at the pres ent time before finishing the ex cavation and studying tne speci men in detail can be condensed as follows: “The geological age of GigantoDithecus is Middle Pleistocene” (400,000 to 600,000 years ago by 16 Panorama Dr. Pei’s reckoning, but 200,000 to 400,000 years ago on the more conservative European time-scale). “It is fundamentally a giant ape, therefore I endorse Koenigswald’s first idea.” (The Dutch pa leontologist Dr. G. H. R. von Koenigswald found and named the first teeth of the giant in Hong Kong and Canton drug stores in 1935 and 1939. He saia they were the relics of a manlike ape. Others thought they were the teeth of an ape-like man.) “Gigantopithecus possesses more * human characteristics than any other known fossil of recent age. “It is contemporary with Sinan thropus (the scientific name of Peking Man). That means that during the Middle Pleistocene there lived a branch of human ancestor which developed gradual ly toward the stock of recent man while one line of anthropoid ape struggled with nature but, due to its gigantism of body and inferior skill in primitive labor or hunt ing animals for food, became ex tinct.” * ¥ Antique Phonograph THhat is believed to be one of th? oldest phono graphs in the world was discovered among piles of junk at the National Science Museum in Tokyo, Japan. Records showed that the machine, named the "sound reviving machine” was made in 1878, just one year after Thomas Edison invented the talking ma chine. Creator of the machine is believed to have been a British physicist then visiting Japan at the invita tion of Tokyo Physical Science University. ¥ February 1960 17 Beneath the pile Rediscovering Our Past By Horacio de la Costa, S.J. The seventeenth and eight eenth centuries are undoubt edly the most neglected pe riod in Philippine history. There are several reasons for tnis. One is the barrier of language. The younger generation of historians nave had a formal schooling which does not (normally) equip them with even a reading knowl edge of Spanish. Thus, unless they take the trouble to acauire this necessary tool by themselves, the bulk of the source material for the period in question is in accessible to them. They are ob liged to make what they can out of the few documents translated into English—chiefly those in the well known collection of Blair and Robertson. We cannot, of course, be sufficiently grateful to these in dustrious compilers for making available what they did; the point is that this is practically all we have in English, an infinitesimal fraction of what they were unable or did not choose to translate. In effect: our knowledge and interE rotation of two centuries of our istory remain today substantially as they were fixed fifty years ago by two American scholars. But there is more than the bar rier of language between us and the documents. The vast bulk of them is physically inaccessible to the ordinary investigator. The his torian of almost any other nation which originally formed part of the Spanish empire has at his disposal any number of published Panorama collections of documents, more or less critically edited. They may vary in completeness or faithful ness to the original manuscripts, but they are at least usable in the sense that any student may expect to find them in the major public libraries. In the Philip pines, collections of this kind can De counted almost on the fingers of one hand. What indeed do we have? We have Retana’s Archivo del bibliofilo ftlipino, five small octavo volumes; we have Pastells’ edition of Colin’s Labor evangelica, in which excerpts from the Philippine section of the Archives of the Indies are used to illustrate the text; and having mentioned these two, we are hard put to it to name a third. Not that no other documents have been published, but they have been published in obscure periodicals outside this country, or in limited editions long since out of print and now almost as rare as the manuscripts themselves. For basic research in the seven teenth and eighteenth centuries, then, we must go to the manu scripts. Where are they? They are scattered in archives and libraries all over the world. However, the largest concentrations are in the Arch ives of the Indies in Seville and the National Archives in Ma nila. To go to the first is out of the question for all but a happy few Filipino historians. The sec ond is here indeed; but who knows what it contains? It has neither catalogue nor calendar, and lack of funds for mainten ance and servicing has reduced it to a mere pile of rapidly disin tegrating paper. 'J1 hus, it seems impossible at the present time for the schol ar who is not on a fairly generous research grant to undertake any study of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries which will be solidly based on an adequate reading of the sources. This con sideration is enough to send most students away in search of greener pastures; the period of the Revo lution, for example, or contem porary social or economic history. Still, if one is persistent and will ing to settle for limited objectives, he has an option. The period is covered by a number of narrative histories and annals written by the official chroniclers of the reli gious orders in the Philippines. Some of these are fairly extensive and detailed, such as that of the Augustinian Fray Gaspar de San Agustin and his continuator Fray Casimiro Diaz. Others run into several folio volumes, such as the Dominican histories begun by Fray Diego de Aduarte. All of them deal not only with the his tory of their particular Orders but with general ecclesiastical and sec ular history as well. In fact, at least one of them, that of the Recollect Fray Juan de la Concep cion, is professedly a general his tory. Its fourteen volumes form February 1960 19 the basis of the one-volume sur vey published in the nineteenth century bv Joaquin Martinez de Zuniga, through which, by the way, Concepcion’s version of many of the events and institu tions of his period has passed, wit tingly or unwittingly, into our modern textbooks. These are definitely secondary sources, save for those events oc curring within their authors’ life times which fell under their di rect observation. They were writ ten from a point of view and un der the impulse of preoccupations which are not those of the mo dern secular historian. Still, an astonishing amount of information can be derived from them, if one only had the patience to read them through and the broad un derstanding to transpose the es sential fact from their antique idiom to ours. But it is precisely this patience and understanding which we lack, and this is the third reason why so large a por tion of our history has been so singularly neglected. For many of us, these “monkish” chronicles are almost entirely worthless, being written by men who were either naivelv credulous or thoroughly bigoted and very often both. This was the position taken by the originators of our nationalist move ment, for reasons understandable enough in the circumstances in which they found themselves. Unfortunately, by making the per petuation of this outdated anticler icalism an act of patriotic piety, we deliberately cut ourselves off from a significant section of our national past, and render our re constructions of it open to the identical charges of naivete and bigotry. t any rate, I see no valid reason for assuming a priori that a seventeenth-century Span ish cleric is congenitally unable to perceive a historical fact, and having perceived it, to express it in suitable language. Incidentally, we may as well clear up a minor point before we proceed. The cler ics in question, be they Augustinians, Franciscans, Dominicans of Jesuits, did not write “monkish” chronicles, for the simple reason that they were not monks. True, Marcelo del Pilar wrote with bit ter eloquence about "monkish despotism”—la soberania monacal en Filipinas—but does the fact that Del Pilar was a patriot justify our perpetuating his inaccuracies? Anv handbook of Catholic in formation will explain the differ ence between a monk and a friar; yet how many otherwise reputable scholars who undertake to write on Spanish or Spanish colonial historv bother to look it up? Ad mittedly a minor detail, from which no argument can be de rived against the essential reliabilitv of their narratives. But then, why are we suddenly so much more exacting when there is a question of a “monkish” chronic ler? Because Pedro Murillo Velar 20 Panorama de believed that a hair of the Bles sed Virgin Mary’s head was in his day preserved in the church of San Pedro Makati, does it follow that his splendid account of the Moro wars does not deserve exam ination? Because Archbishop Par do of Manila spelled Wyclif “Ubicleff”, are we to conclude that he was an ignorant persecutor of Protestants? And while we may rightfully take issue with Gaspar de San Agustin’s delineation of the Filipino character, are we ob liged to throw his evidence out of court even on those points where his idee fixe is not involved? By all means let us read these histories critically; but let us read them. Only by doing so can we reestablish contact with those vi tal roots of our own culture from which the Revolution and the subsequent American regime tended to cut us off. It is some times alleged that we Filipinos have no culture of our own. This is demonstrably false. A more ac curate statement would be that by and large we have no very deep or sharply defined consciousness of how tremendously rich and va ried our. culture is, and this be cause we have been accidentally— and, it is to be hoped, temporari ly-severed from the historic ori gins of that culture. We must re discover our past; and one good way of going about it is to re new our interest in the two hun dred-odd years between the conquista and the opening of the Suez Canal when the Philippines ceased to be merely an archipelago and became a nation.—Philippines International. ¥ February 1960 21 * * ¥ Who's Boss? “Tell me—who is the real boss in your home?” “Well, my wife bosses the servants—and the children boss the dog and cat—and. . . .” “And you?” “Well, I can say anything I like to the gera niums" They shall not want Salt Extraction in Israel Israel will soon make public an invention designed to transform the oceans into li mitless cheap reservoirs of water fit for human consumption and agriculture. The Government is completing a pilot plant that utilizes a new process—freezing sea water and then melting it—that was invent ed in Leningrad and perfected in Tel Aviv by a refugee engineer from the Soviet Union. It is based on the fact that ice formed by freezing sea water is free of minerals. Actually, the process is older than the 63-year-old inventor, Alexander Zarchin. On the Sibe rian coast, the Russians have long been cutting blocks of ice from the frozen Sea of Japan and cart ing them to a reservoir on a mountain top. In the summer, the molten ice has been flowing down to the city of Vladivostok to sup ply the populace and the ships in the harbor with clear water. Mr. Zarchin’s invention is de signed to achieve artificially on the semi-tropical shores of the Mediterranean what nature has been doing on the frigid coast of the Sea of Japan. By conventional means, it requires thirty-five kilo watt-hours of energy to freeze one ton of water. Mr. Zarchin says that the de salination of a ton of water by. his method will require only three or three and a half kilowatt-hours of energy. However, even if it takes as many as six kilowatt-hours it will still be worthwhile for a country like Israel, which pays heavily for her water supply. The inventor hit upon his idea in 1933 when he was assigned by the Red Army to study the prob lem of water supply for troops in the Turkmenistan area, where the water is brackish. He designed machines in which water was frozen by evaporation and then melted. His Israeli invention is a great improvement, for it provides for a continuous process of freez ing and melting. As explained by the inventor, it works in this manner: VUater is pumped from the sea ■ • and sprayed at almost no pressure into a vacuum tank. Be22 Panorama cause there is no air pressure in the tank to hold the water’s mole cules together, the water begins to evaporate. This causes the tem perature to drop below the freez ing point, and part of the water freezes as it drops. Thus the sea water spraying into the tank is divided partly into vapor, which floats to the top, and into ice crystals and brine, which fall to the bottom. The mixture of ice and brine is pumped from the tank to a con veyor belt. The brine, in which all the salt is concentrated, seeps through the belt and is drained back into the sea. The ice crys tals are conveyed by the belt to another vessel. Meanwhile, the vapor at the top of the tank is constantly siphoned out to maintain the state of va cuum. It is piped to the second vessel, where it meets the ice crys tals again. The vapor restores tne latent heat to the ice and causes it to inelt. Mr. Zarchin is unable to recall how he happened to think of the freezing method in the first place. He assumes that the thought grew out of widespread discussions about polar exploration in 1933, when the Red Army gave him the problem. Newspapers reported at that time that explorers would supply themselves with clear wa ter by melting polar ice. Mr. Zarchin had been a re search assistant at the Leningrad ¥ Technical Institute. He was as signed to examine an Austrian machine for the distillation of wa ter by electro-osmosis and to re port on the practicability of adopt ing it for desalting brackish water. He reported that the method was too expensive, and he recommend ed freezing. After a year’s work he developed a machine, which was mounted on a truck and put into operation as a mobile desalinator. The Soviet Government awarded a prize to the inventor. Shortly afterward, he was arrested for “Zionism,” which is a criminal of fense in the Soviet Union. He was sentenced to the asphalt mines west of the Ural Mountains for five years. In prison, he invented a method for the extraction of lacquer from bitumin. After his release in 1939, he lived in Moscow illegally because the terms of his release barred him from forty-eight cities. When the Soviet Union entered the war against Germany in 1941, he served in a labor battalion near Leningrad. He became ill and was evacuat ed to Tashkent. There he bought the passport of a dead Polish re fugee. With that document he left the Soviet Union after World War II and reached the displacedpersons camps in Germany. He arrived in Israel in 1947. ¥ ¥ February 1960 23 Our (Cultural Heritage So-Galled By Armando F. Bonifacio any discussions about na tionalism involve, either implicitly or explicitly, re ferences to our so-called cultural heritage. Statements have been made to the effect that among the means that would help in the formation of nationalism is to fo cus our people’s attention on the value of our own distinct Filipino culture. There is no apparent agree ment, however, as to whether the recognition of the value of our distinct Filipino culture is ante cedent to nationalism or conse quent to it. Some even believe that it is, in itself, what we mean by nationalism. And yet, without having to deal with the verbal controversy at this level, we seem to experience a great deal of embarrassment When in doubt as to whether we have a Fili pino culture that we can call truly our own, just consult actual manifesta tions around us of what at the start had been for eign, Can we even face this fact? whenever we are asked to point to the so-called Filipino cultlire. Is there a distinct Filipino culture? The perennial exhortation seems to be that, assuming there is the Filipino culture, our main task is its preservation. We think then of our papag system in the barrios, the barber shop “filosopos”, the bakya insti tution, our strong and almost con genital familial loyalty, the unsa nitary hand-kissing as a form of respect for our elders, our cara baos and the plow and other pri mitive means of agriculture, and a host of other traditional cus 24 Panorama toms and institutions which are admittedly anachronisms in the modern world. We are embar rassed because we cannot seem to accept that these are the things we should preserve and perpe tuate, without at the same time being bothered by the thought that this might be an expression of something like a downright cultural regression. There are indeed beautiful things which we could preserve, among them the Tagalog Kundimans which are reflective of the sensitive and sentimental charac ter of our people. There is also the myth about our Filipino wo manhood and her classic shyness and tenderness. There is also something about the traditional Filipino gentleman, known for his gallantry, for his devotion and his hardworking character. These things are indeed beautiful, and' stories about them seem to sound more like fairy tales than real-life stories. What then are we to preserve and perpetuate? Most certainly not our plows, our papag institu tion, our so-called strong family ties. With respect to our family ties alone, one writer (Thomas R. Mc Hale: "The Philippine Cultural Matrix and Economic Develop ment,” Comment, Number 2, First Quarter, 1957) pointed out that this particular institution does more harm than good to our pres ent economy. Our business enter prises are family organizations. Top executives of a business or ganization are there not so much because of their competence, but because of blood-relationship with the owner-president. Thus busi ness decisions cannot be done without having to regard senti mentalities involved in family re lationships. He wrote: "A family business enterprise . . . engenders constant conflict between business and household obligations and needs. It can buy, sell, sue, invest and spend only in relationship to family condi tions. The corporation can mea sure its actions with the yardstick of efficiency, marginal-productiv ity and profitability. The family enterprise invariably subordinates such criteria to those of family rather than market values.” If what we are to perpetuate include these ridiculous and wornout institutions, then nationalism, whatever that may be, would con tribute more to the retardation than to progress of this country. here is something uncom1 fortably fictitious about our so-called culture. 'Jhere -seems ton be-a-presumption, based on fake C belief, that we do have a distinct f And thir^esumption'is 'monTrevealing of our growing dislike for things foreign than anything else. It seems that in the minds of our people there is a growing rebel lion against our pernicious colon February 1960 25 ial attitude. Our people are be ginning to realize perhaps out of sheer envy or jealousy for other more advanced Asian countries, that the so-called colonial mental ity is inimical to the progress of our nation. And undoubtedly, this realization is more pronounced in the minds of the leaders of the Filipino nationalist movement. Indian nationalistic movement seems to be in a much better state because when the leaders of this movement started to rebel against the same colonial mentality of the Indian people and urged them to regard and value what is charac teristically Indian there was some thing unique and tangible they could preserve, something still practical even in the modern set ting. The vast Indian population and land, in spite of the ruthless British exploitation, did not suf fer much transformation. Much of what is uniquely Indian remained, as the Indian character seems to be less pliable. Our cultural history, however, is quite different. There was in the first place behind us three burdensome centuries of Spanish subjugation and tyranny. The Spaniards, not caring so much for the plight of the Tilipino “na tives”, saw that it was better to keep our people in the state of ignorance and primitivism than enlightenment. Educational op portunity was limited to the weal thy class. The Educational De cree of 1863 was a royal order that contemplated the establish ment in the Islands of a thorough public school system, but for one reason or anotner, this royal or der was never put into effect. It is no wonder that our national leaders came from the ranks of the elite and educated class who had the chance to go out of the coun try to see for themselves by com parison the facts about their peo pie. But when our national lead ers agitated for reforms, such re forms were not granted and it had to take a bloody revolution to boot out the Spanish colonial power which kept a large segment of our people in complete ignorance. Throughout the three centuries of Spanish occupation, the culture to which our people was exposed was the Catholic religion and the vulgarities of the friars and the guardias civiles. Majority of our people, because they were kept in ignorance and no systematic education was introduced, were not prepared to accept a new cul ture. If they assimilated features of the new culture, it was out of blind imitation and not out of de Jiberate and intelligent choice. Cf”hus, there was the old and primitive Filipino culture and the alien and strange Spanish cul ture. Three centuries did not make “Spaniards” out of Filipinos, but at least throughout this long pe riod of cultural intercourse a pe culiar cultural synthesis resulted. Our languages became a mixture 26 Panorama of the local and the Spanish lan guage which is now the petpeeve of our linguists. The Visayan lan guage contains a lot of Spanish impurities. Many of our ways of living and thinking are charac teristically Spanish. This also goes for many of our superstitions and beliefs. This cultural anomaly was even made worse with the coming of the Americans. The Americans came to this country, not with the object of saving our people from eternal damnation, but supposedly to bring enlightenment ana demo cracy to our people. The famous Benevolent Assimilation Proclama tion of President McKinlev laid down the basic premise of Amer ican occupation, to wit: “. . . it should be the earnest wish and paramount aim of the military administration to win the confidence, respect, and affection of the inhabitants of the Philip pines : by assuring them in every possible way that full measure of individual rights and liberties which is the heritage of free peo ples . . .” This proclamation is of course only half of the truth for the other half is basically economic. ". . . hunger for markets and for opportunities to invest capital profitably . . . entered into the shaping of the Far Eastern po licy of the United States.” (Ken neth Scott Latourette: The Am erican Record in the Far East, 1945-1951, Macmillan Company, New York, 1952, p. 12) The good intentions back of the American conquest were re vealed by the fact that together with the occupation troops came the educators and legislators. The Bill of 1902 was supposed to train our national leaders in the diffi cult art of self-government. In deed the Americans were quite effective in making our people be lieve that they had an unselfish regard for the inhabitants, that thev came as "friends” and not as tyrannical and vulgar conquer ors. The effect of this trust on the Filipino psychology cannot be gainsaid. Another new culture was thus introduced to the country and the dynamics of cultural as similation began to work in a ra pid pace. In so short a time as half a century we find that many of our people are more "Ameri can” than Filipino. /□fter half a century of cultural exposure, our culture was no longer a synthesis of the so-called purely Filipino and the Spanish, but a synthesis of three forces, including now the Ameri can. Our spoken language testifies to the Spanish and American in fluences. At this point the leaders of the Filipino nationalist movement are at a loss as to which culture thev are speaking of—the Filipino cul ture before the Spaniards, or the Filipino-Spanish culture, or the Filipino-Spanish-American c u 1 - February 1960 27 ture? We could perhaps include, if we have to go further back, the Muslim and the Chinese in fluences. The Chinese influence certainly cannot be ignored in an exhaustive analysis of the so-called Filipino culture. If we should be speaking of the purelv Filipino culture, we must be thinking of the time of Lapu-Lapu or even earlier, but we cannot do so because we do not have much historical facts about this era. Our relative close ness to the Chinese and Japanese mainland suffices us to believe that even before recorded history Chinese and Japanese cultures had registered effects on the Fili pino way of life. If we have to speak of the Fili pino-Spanish culture which was relatively more advanced than the previous era, this undoubtedly is not distinctly Filipino either. In fact, if we have to be very strict with our view of culture, no cul ture is distinctively one people’s. Somehow or other, external influ ences must come in, unless we are thinking of a mythical or com pletely isolated community of men. Considering the foregoing, ad vocates of a return to our cultural heritage must therefore think twice, and determine just where we are supposed to go and which are we supposed to value. At least what is certain is that those who revere our cultural heritage are not simply interested in build ing a huge museum to house the primitive implements that sus tained the life of our people. We are not simply interested in pre serving the features of our old culture as curiosity pieces to am aze the tourists. The whole issue perhaps goes back to simple semantic distinc tion. Our culture now is not Am erican nor Spanish nor Chinese. It is a synthesis or the product of various interacting cultural forces. And if we are looking for a distinct Filipino culture, we do not have to turn to the past, mistyeyed and sentimental. A look at ourselves before an honest mirror will give us the picture of our selves, unflattering perhaps, but nevertheless of ourselves. It would perhaps take a lot of courage and integrity for us to say: “Well, this is our own. Let’s face it.”—Inquiry. ¥ ¥ ¥ “What does your husband work at? “Intervals.” ¥ 28 Panorama Old boys' reckoning Mcients on Ziwie fl t takes a shockproof, waterproof anti-magnetic watch to keep the wheels of modern civilization going. Time was when a knotted rope did just as well. Certain primitive tribes, who never split a second, carried the practice of dividing time by knots into the twentieth century, the National Geographic Society says. On planning a party, a Guiana In dian chief sent identical strands to the coterie. Each guest untied one knot every morning. And when he worked past the last one, it was time to honor the invitation. Debtors and creditors used the same twist. Should the day of rec koning come too fast, the debtor might wheedle a new cord or get leave to retie a few knots in the old one. Since the dawn of society, every civilization has been preoccupied with finding a better way to tell time. Cave man no doubt watched the movements of sun, moon, and stars. He gauged short spans of time bv the shadows of trees and cliffs. It occurred to him one day that he could cause a neater, sharper shadow by setting up a pole in a clearing, with a stone or stones to measure the march of the image. Ipso facto, the first crude sundial. The sundial’s shortcomings are apparent, especially on dark days. Nonetheless, it has served man long and well. The science of dial ing was taught in British schools as late as the seventeenth century. It is possible to buy a modern sundial with a swiveling base, ad justable to daylight or standard time. ‘W! any thousands of years ago, an early hydraulics expert figured out a means of calculating time without sunlight. Of un known nationality, perhaps Chi nese, the genius came up with the water clock or clepsydra—“thief of water.” In its simplest form the clepsydra is a bottlenecked vessel February 1960 29 that gradually loses water through a tiny hole in the bottom. The water clock reached its peak of usefulness in the golden age of Greek and Roman oratory. Some speakers were suspected of putting muddy, sluggish water in to their clepsydras to steal a bit more time. In time clever mechanics added wheels, dials, and ingenious gad gets to the clepsydra. One of the most famous was given to Charle magne by the Shah of Persia. This gold-inlaid water clock fea tured twelve doors that opened in sequence and remained ajar to mark the hours visually. At 12 o’ clock, miniature horsemen popped out to close all the doors. Throughout its long service, the clepsydra had distinct disadvan tages. Water freezes and evapor ates. The clock was expensive and bulky. Sand was the answer. Origin of the handy, portable, non-freez¥ V ing sandglass is lost in time, but it may have been used in Alexan dria at least two-and-a-half centu ries before the Christian Era. The hourglass inspired a mode of dress in later years, and became a sym bol in Father Time’s hand. Fire has always been a con venient timekeeper. Chinese and Japanese burned knotted ropes. Alfred the Great regulated his activities with banded, time-keep ing candles. In recent times Dutch and German farmers used lamp clocks with calibrated-glass oil ves sels. Invention of the truly mechan ical clock is generally credited to the tenth-century monk Gcrbert. Nowadays people everywhere depend more and more on it, and less on the old devices or natural phenomena. “It is past the time of the cock crow” may be a delightfully noetic phrase, but it hardly helps the ha rassed commuter catch the 7:02. ¥ Centrifugal Force Much has been learned about the nature of gravitation through its resemblance to another phenomenon, inertia, es pecially in the form known as centrifugal force. Centrifu gal force is independent of material, is not a function of temperature, and cannot be cut off by any form of screen. In fact, centrifugal force, like gravitation, seems to be a function only of the mass involved and the space and time coordinates of the system. —S. Araneta ¥ 30 Panorama It's in the blood DELICADEZA By Rene Sinco In my grandmother’s Antillan house with the big red roof and the azotea with the pot ted palms in Negros, there used to hang in the sala a framed piece of clotn on which were embroi dered in red thread of silk the names of virtues, such as Patience, Constancy, Charity, and nine or ten others, but the one that puz zled me was the word Delicadeza. That one was embroidered in white and done in an exquisitely florid hand. “That,” Grandmama used to instruct us, “is an impor tant virtue. Put that into your heads. The virtue that distinguish es the true hidalgo (gentleman) from somebody without manners, a barbarian; the mark of a true lady.” It was one of those grand words so hard to define, that smack of an age of ritual and good graces. It could mean a softmannered way of speaking, grace ful movements, prudence, tact, or a subtle way of putting things. Sometimes it meant all these at the same time. My grandmother, disciplinarian that she was, de manded we observe all of them, most specially when we had vi sitors. Delicadeza—hallmark of a Genteel Tradition, of an age of laces and horse buggies. But it is still a part of our na tional character, though we no longer consider ourselves living in a Genteel Age. One remembers the episode in Rizal’s No/i Me Tangere where the hero, Crisostomo Ibarra, find ing himself momentarily friend less in a party, accosts a group of ladies. “ ‘Allow me,’ he said, ‘to overstep the rules of strict eti February 1960 31 quette. It has been seven years since I have been in my own country and upon returning to it I cannot suppress my admiration and refrain from paying my res pects to its most precious orna ments, the ladies.’ ” His boldness, of course, was met by a stony silence by the ladies in question, although Ibarra’s manner of ap proach is described by the author as “simple and natural.” But Ke was not working according to pro tocol, which required a middle man to do the introduction. This silent refusal to begin an acquain tanceship on the part of the iadies is a good example of lady-like de licadeza, which has, in the tradi tion of Maria Clara, a touch of maidenly coyness that was sup posed to be attractive to the males. Nowadays, such is no longer the case, party-going-wise. But de licadeza expresses itself in a dozen or so ways in our relationship with others. Take, for instance, the disconcerting habit of many Filipinos to conceal the truth which Carmen Guerrero-Nakpil mentioned in an article in Philip pines International. When an em ployee wants to leave a job for another with better pay, does he approach the boss and tell him that he is quitting for that reason? Oh no. He invents a subterfuge: he has to leave for the province because of a sick or dying rela tive, or he has to take a vacation in Baguio because of failing health. Behind the subterfuge lies something that is ingranied in the Filipino psyche, and it is this sim ply: his inability to offend the other person’s feelings. Which is one way of saying that the boss is sure to feel offended if he is told the reason why his employee is leaving. Delicadeza—one has to be careful about hurting the other person’s feelings. Hence, a spade is not called a spade, and both parties engage all too happily in a grand illusion of sorts. Many foreigners notice that Filipinos take offense all too easily. Which makes criticism, no matter how legitimate, a difficult thing to do in these parts. One music critic of a metropolitan daily once criticized the faulty performance of an up-and-coming pianist in the most matter-of-fact, unbiased manner possible. In no time, the relatives of this hapless pianist started calling up by phone the critic to ask him if he had any thing personal against the pianist in question! One can never be certain whether one has lost the friendship of a writer simply be cause his books were roundly panned. Delicadeza—amor propio-. they go together. It is tough to draw the line between the objec tive and the subjective, the ra tional and the emotional, the im personal and the personal. To cri ticize a person’s wrong is consi dered by many as an assault on his very person, and so the ac cepted method to employ is to 32 Panorama handle the situation with kid gloves, as much as possible. I n his book The Life and Deeds * of Admiral Dewey (1898), Joseph L. Stickney, Dewey’s aide, describes this dominating flaw in the Filipino character as follows: "The moral obligation to tell the truth does not weigh heavily upon the Filipino. The civilized natives often like to conceal the most tri vial shortcoming, or even without any excuse whatsoever, and the detection of a falsehood brings no regret except chagrin that the practice has not been more dex terously carried out.” A careful study of Philippine history will provide an explana tion for Stickney’s comment: co lonialism is, at least partially, to blame. Centuries of Spanish do mination has brought about injus tices that caused all kinds of psy chological torment on the lnaios. Somehow the Filipino, as a de fense mechanism of sorts, has de vised a way of covering up short coming in order not to incur the superciliousness of his white mas ters and also as a means of “sav ing face.” It is all emotional, cer tainly, and colonialism is in a way responsible for the emotionalism of the Filipinos, who, for decades and decades, have not been orient ed in rationalizing things cooly, detachedly. Suddenly, freedom burst wildly in the horizon and, with the American regime, mass education enabled the Filipino to partake of matter-of-fact attitudes and practicality, a sense of objec tivity and impartiality. The Fili pino soul began to break away from the cocoon of complacency, timidity, and moral isolation, to assert its own moral integrity. In governing the state, delicadeza is definitely a drawback; emotional ism and hypersensitivity to criti cism have characterized many gov ernment administrations and often the results have been loud politicking, character-assassination, noisy internal squabbles (delica deza clouding the real issues), ra ther than quiet deliberation, dis passionate discussion, and prompt action.—Philippines International. ¥ ¥ ¥ Drop tear for the poor lady who reduced 65 pounds and then found out that it was her face peo ple disliked. ¥ February 1960 33 Last call WHO MAY BE BURIED AT ARLINGTON? Technically, Arlington Na tional Cemetery, in Virginia, is on exactly tne same foot ing as the 96 other federally sup ported cemeteries in the united States and its possessions. All are reserved for men and women who have been on active duty with the armed forces of the United States or of a wartime ally, their wives or husbands, and their de pendent children, and all operate under the same rules. There are no geographical restrictions; a qualified person may be buried in any national cemetery. But Arlington, for a number of reasons, has become an unofficial national shrine. It’s located direct ly across the Potomac from the nation’s capital. The three Un known Soldiers, of World War I and of World War II and of Korea, are buried there. So are General John J. Pershing, Admi ral Richard E. Byrd, and thou sands of other servicemen from every war since the Revolution. It is also the largest of the na tional cemeteries (408 acres) and one of the most beautiful. It’s not possible to make an application for /\rlington in ad vance. When a serviceman or veteran for whom burial there is desired dies, a member of the family or the funeral director wires the superintendent of the cemetery, requesting burial for the deceased ana giving details of his military record. (His last service must nave terminated honorably, and he must have been a U.S. citizen at the time.) The super intendent makes all arrangements, a process that usually takes up to two working days. The widow of a man buried ■ at Arlington may also be bu ried there, provided she has not remarried. So may a dependent child—one who was under 18 and unmarried at the time of death or who, though over 18, was un married and incapable of selfsupport. A wife or child who precedes 34 Panorama a service member in death may also be buried at Arlington, if the husband or father signs a state ment that he eventually intends to be buried in the same or an adjoining grave. No family may have more than two grave sites. Children are bu ried in the same grave with either parent. (The first casket is low ered; subsequent ones are placed on top of it.) A site adjoining her husband’s may be reserved, at the time of his death, by his widow; she must renew her request every two years. But even if she fails to do this, she may still be buried in an adjoining site, if it’s avail able, or in the grave with her husband. As at other national cemeteries, burial at Arlington is free. There is no charge for the plot or for the simple, uniform headstone placed on the grave. The family, however, pays funeral expenses up to the time the casket reaches the cemetery. Servicemen and veterans are buried with military honors. The funeral cortege is escorted from the gates of the cemetery to the ¥ grave site, where it is met by a military guard of honor, who act as pallbearers. During the brief committal service, conducted by a chaplain of the dead person’s faith, the pallbearers hold an American flag over the casket; at the close, they fold it and give it to the chaplain, who presents it to the next of kin. A rifle squad then fires a farewell salute, and a bugler plays Taps. Officers of high rank or officers or men who have per formed especially meritorious serv ice are often awarded further honors, such as a caisson, drawn by matched horses, to bear the casket to the grave, a band with muffled drums, and an 11- to 17gun salute, depending on rank. Mot everyone entitled to burial at Arlington exercises his privilege—fortunately, or the cemetery would soon be over crowded. Many prefer private bu rial. Others prefer a national ce metery nearer home, where the grave can be visited frequently. The expense of providing trans portation to Arlington is another factor that keeps burials within bounds.—Good Housekeeping. ¥ ¥ Drag Him In "Does Sullivan live here?” they asked. “Sure and he do,” she replied. “Just carry him in” * February 1960 35 Have you heard? FOLK WISDOM Translated by Hilario Francia, Jr. 1. Proverbs We entreat the coconut Not to reach so high If a beetle should burrow The whole pith will rot. (Magdalita ang niyog Huxvag magpapakatayog Kung ang uwang ang umok-ok Mauubos pati ubod.') When there was no gold to guard He stood haughtv and proud When it came his way He stooped to obey. (Ng walang hiring ginto Doon nagpapalalo Ng magkaginto-ginto Doon na nga sumuko.^) He who accepts the wound Will not suffer the pain But to him who does not A mere scratch will canker. (Ang sugat ay kung tinatanggap Di daramdamin ang antak Ang aayaiv at di payag Galos lamang magnanaknak.') Be steady, Bar, Before the coming tide I’m just a little creeper And around you I’ll cling. (Katitibay ka tulos Sakaling datnan ng agos Ako’y mumunting lumot Sa iyo’y pupulupot.^) Dinghy, adrift on the sea, Blown back by the northwesterly Tossed forward by the southerly. (Lunday, kung aanod-anod, Pinihaw ng balaklaot Kaya lamang napanulot Ng umihip yaring timog.') There are robust men Who are noble when in the saddle And like aetas in battle. (May lalaking masigla Ginoo kung tumugpa Aeta kung sumalunga.') 36 Panorama When the plate is clean And the flagon empty Love is gone. (Kung ang kilaxvin ay masaid At ang toytoy ay matiti Tapus ang pagkakaibig.) There are big things light and soft And small things you can’t hold aloft. (May malaking halaghag May munting di mabuhat.) You may be famous as a millionaire But to yourself a pauper. (Mayaman ka man sa sabi Dukha ka rin sa sarili.) Spend ybur blessings now, Tomorrow you are gaping. (Ubos-ubos biyaya Bukas nakatunganga.) The s'ampaguita turned red And the gumamela white! (Nula ang sampaga Nuti ang gumamela!') The tender sore And the ripening herb. (Nagmumurang tibatib Nagmamatandang kulit.) How lovable when absent How loathesome when present. (Sinisinta kung wala Ng makitay isinumpa.) 2. Riddles Fair lady, so close To the lilac. Toasted Rice (Maputing dalaga Nagtatalik sa lila.) (Binusang Bigas) I am black, I am ebony, The gentleman loves me. Quality (Itim ako, itim ako, Mahal ako ng ginoo.) (Uri) Whether left or dexter The tail will take care. Rudder (Pakana’t pakalhva Ang buntot ang bahala.) (Timon) A bamboo receptacle Can become a bell. Umbrella (Maging bongbong isimpan Saka maging mongmongan.) (Payong) When there was no gold to guard He stood haughty and proud When it came his way He stooped to obey. Straw (Ng walang biring ginto Doon nagpapalalo Ng magkaginto-ginto Doon na nga sumuko.) (Day ami) February 1960 37 Ikckonk lung Following extensive research' and close cooperation between the medical profession and precision engineers, an electronic lung which can replace iron lungs, has been perfected. Called the Barnet Ventilator, the lung has been a joint ven ture by several British electronic companies, each of which con tributed specialized knowledge and technical facilities. In the past patients have had to be put in an iron lung, which is essentially an airtight box in which pressure is varied, by means of pumps, between positive and negative values, each cycle causing the lungs to inflate and deflate within correct pysiological limits. The iron lung is an effective machine for sustaining life, but, since only the head of the patient is outside the lung, de pendence upon nursing staff is complete. The patient has no liberty whatsoever. Treatment of such cases by means of the Barnet ventilator gives the patient considerable freedom. Instead of being encased in a box, the patient is linked to the ventilator by two plastic tubes. Breathing is sustained by the alternation of positive and negative pressure, air being pumped into the lungs during the positive phase and extracted during the negative. The, number of respirations per minute, the ratio of inspir atory to expiratory time and the volume of air entering and leav ing the lungs are matters of very great importance. By using the Barnet ventilator any or all of these facilities can be instantly and precisely adjusted within physiological limits. The iron lung is large and heavy, and when it is necessary to move a patient, transport problems arise. The Barnet ven tilator, on the other hand, is very portable and weighs only 56 pounds. It has built-in batteries from which its transistorized cir cuit will run for up to 20 hours without recharging. In addition to its use in polio, the ventilator is of the ut most value in every case of respiratory insufficiency arising from any cause. 38 Panorama So they have! By E. Arsenio Manuel 7 he culture, experiences and sentiments of a people usually find expression in their literature—whether oral or written. In a preliterate society this expression attains ideal soil for growth in its myths and leg ends, folk tales, rituals, poetry, and songs. Advanced or civilized peoples still make folk literature, but this is not so rich nor so ima ginative; they are, however, the makers of written literature in which they excel. Each period and epoch in the cultural history of a people therefore produces the corresponding type-mirror for the ample reflection of their culture. For instance, Tagalog is compa ratively poor in its folk literature but rich in its written literature. Some mountain peoples of North ern Luzon, on the other hand, have a wealth of folk literature that cannot be matched by the combined richness of that of Lu zon lowlanders, although they do not have any developed written literature. This may be explained by the fact that the mountain peoples were really never vanquished by the Spanish conquistadores. They were thus able to preserve their primitive culture. The lowlanders, on the other hand, easily submit ted, not bloodlessly to be sure, to the might of the conquerors, or to the more softening influence of the cross. Their culture, therefore, became adulterated; and although on the whole it got enriched, some of its ancient manifestations were totally wiped out. Sometimes, though, a people shows a strong disinclination to give up what is native in the face of disorganiz ing foreign forces, and when this happens, the event serves as an index of the virility of the group. The unwritten literature of the Filipinos is the result of the .effort of the masses at oral expression, whether conscious or unconscious. It is traditional and for that rea son has age; it is rooted in anti quity. Behind it are thousands of years of development. Customs February i960 39 and superstitions gave it impetus; it developed into myths and leg ends, folk tales and stories; then into folk songs and ballads, later flowering into narrative poems and epics. In a mythological period the people felt veritable truths in their myths. With retelling, these myths gained audience as society grew and lent permanence to this folk type until they became a part of tne culture of the people. The creation of the earth and sky, of the first man and woman, of fire and water and of other mysterious forces of nature—these were easi ly the subjects of fear and vene ration and consequently of popu lar thought and belief. /I mong the ancient Bisayans of Negros Island it was believed that the land was caused by Manaul, the king-bird of the air, who, to put a stop to the war between tne sea and the sky, lift ed rocks up in the air ana cast them down to become the first lands. This fabulous bird was the same one who pecked at the bam boo that yielded the first man and woman. Iloko farmers appear to have preserved a trace of tne same folk-motif of the first man and woman coming out of a bamboo cast into the sea by Angngalo, a cyclopean giant to whom is as cribed creative acts of supernatu ral character. He juggled with mountains—at times lifting them bodily to other places. He dug 40 holes with his fingers to make great valleys, urinating into them afterwards to convert them into bodies of water. Angngalo’s gstring could dry the waters of the sea and his principle could be held firm across the Abra river gap for people to use as a bridge. This legendary figure finds its counterpart in the Ibaloy myth of a giant who used to extend his arms across the swollen rivers. More significant still is the Atayal tale from Formosa of a man sixty fathoms tall “whose phallus was of a size large enough (on which) to cross a river.” The Iloko ver sion ties up with the Formosan Atayal. Among the Manobos of Minda nao, the creation of the world is attributed to the first great Manobo, Makalidung, who set it on posts. Close to the central pillar he had his abode in company with a python; he shook the posts whenever he was angered, there by causing earthquakes. This gi ant has his counterpart in Taliakud, the Tagbanwa chief deity of a seven-floor underworld, and in an Ifugao Atlas of the underworld known as Tinukud. The belief in an Atlas, or god who supports the earth world, seems to be widespread in the Philippines, and tne name ap plied to this supernatural deity is nearly always derived from the same stem tukud (tukud, tokod —meaning post or support) which is common in many Philippine languages. Folk imagination finds an in teresting expression in the story of how the sky came to be. The Bagobo version attributes the sky’s present position to a woman pounding rice. She accidentally hit it with her pestle, thus rais ing it where it is now. This tale is widespread in Mindanao—the Tiruray modifying it a little. Here the pounder is on top of a mound. The Moro version has it that once upon a time an average person would bump his head against the sky if he stood erect. The same is found among the Subanons and the Bilaans, except that in this last, the rice-pounaer suspends her grandchild in a patadyong against the low sky. A Hiligaynon variant is more picturesque, for here a war-dancer hit the sky with his spear. A similarly interesting ver sion is the Iloko story. Here, a tired and hungry husband comes from work and finds his wife pounding rice. Taking hold of another pestle he starts helping his wife pounding rice and in his haste he hits not only the sky but also the comb, earrings, ana necklace which his wife had stuck there. The comb became the moon, the precious stones, the stars. H flood myth that is common 1 among the mountain peoples of Northern Luzon center around the story of a brother and a sister who, after the flood, were the only ones who survived. They became the ancestors of the Igorots. This February 1960 41 is somewhat enlarged in the Bontok version where the sons of Lu mawig, the God-hero, inundated the world to raise mountains to enable them to catch pigs and deer. In the Ifugao story, which is greatly expanded, Wigan’s son and daughter marry to give birth to children who populated the Ifugao world. It is among the Ifugaos that myth recitation has reached a high point of develop ment, becoming indeed part of every Ifugao ritual. Among the Tirurays of Minda nao, the first man was created by Sualla who touched into life one of the eight Khnemontao wood carvings in the place of the sun, and from one of his ribs was cre ated the first woman. His first child died, but out of him came immeasurable benefits: from the teeth of Mentalalan, the child, sprouted the first corn, from his navel grew the first rice, and from his hands the first banana plants. But Sualla’s sister was a devilish sort—Satan’s female counterpart— and, envious of her brother’s crea tions, she threw down her comb which became the first pig which destroyed the banana plants; she snat her buyo from her high abode in Bonggo to tum it into infesting rats to eat the rice and com. Myths in their genuine form are prose narrations. But the Ifu gao myths used in their rituals are metrical—which perhaps indi cates a more developed form. Bal lad recitations became a medium of emotional expression of the dailv life and experience of the people, and as they already prob 42 Panorama ably had developed rhythms in their rituals, it was now an easy matter to contain their stories in ballads. There is little reason to suppose that the growth was so, nevertheless this might be sur mised if one took into considera tion the idea that rituals are prob ably as old as subjects of folk literature came in answer to the needs of a more sophisticated so ciety. CT HAT PRELITERATB societies * could develop the ballad form into folk art seems to point to the possibilities of crowd expression if given the impetus and the chance for growth under auspicious con ditions. Consider, for instance, this excerpt from a Bontok ballad both from the elemental feeling it arouses and the pagan energy achieved through simplicity of narration: there are, they say, two cousins: let 'us fetch wood; then, they say, they go to fetch wood, then, that younger brother goes, they say, then the girls make much noise weaving; why! I shall sit down here, as here I have found girls, says the younger brother, they say; * * » I shall masticate for the child; the older brother says: I won’t allow you to masticate for my child; then the younger brother weeps, then he says: alas! my wife, she will be married to another one. The above is a representative example of the advanced develop ment of this folk type among our mountain peoples. Most Tagalog ballads have degenerated into co mic and tragico-comic beats and themes. Such pre-Spanish songs as the household diona and talindao have been entirely lost. So have the wayside songs indulanin and dulayinin, and tne boat songs suliranin and manigpasin. Filipino folk literature finds its highest point of development in its epics. While other ethnic groups in the plains and along the coasts do not possess sustained narratives of epical character, it is not a sure indication that they did not have them once upon a time. Their simple literature gave in to the more sophisticated out side influences which relentlessly gained inroads as time passed. On the other hand where there were all the favorable conditions the lit erary historian could ask for in Ifu gao environment that assured the flowering of folk literature in that mountain region. Here, shut off by mountain fastness from with out, with a wonderful rice-terrace civilization that furnished a steady supply of victuals for the body, the Ifugao had all the time and leisure to develop a rich folk lit erature. February 1960 43 In no other instance has folk lore become so neatly and beau tifully intertwined with a people’s customs and beliefs as among the Ifugaos. Every phase of the life cycle is studded with countless ceremonies to gain the favor of the gods; or with sorceries and reli gious rites designed to overcome an enemy in battle. The Ifugaos have more than a thousand and five hundred deities whom they believe have to be propitiated. From rituals it is but an easy step to folk literature. Let us pick up the threads of customs and lore brocaded into the rich tapestry of the folk lit erature of the first social class of the Ifugao society, the kadangyan class. Particularly let us see this group in its marriage celebration to oDserve the workings of the myth, epic, and song. Courtship is initiated by an emissary of the boy with an oral recitation of the family history, including heroic exploits, of his ancestors. This us ually includes an enumeration of the assets and properties of the boy’s family to tne satisfaction of the girl’s party. If no hitch deve lops, the boy starts working for the girl’s parents until he comes of age. Preparations for the mar riage are then made. The marriage ceremony is ela borate with the rites taking almost the whole day, for the gods must be propitiated with prayers and the recitations of the deeds of leg endary heroes—the idea being to insure, by analogy or sympathetic magic, the happiness and prosper ity of the couple. Neither are Dad omens left alone, for there follows a series of appeasements and sa crifices. Certain religious ceremo; nies, the uyauy for instance, must be carried out before the wedding festival is finally performed. Pvery night for fifteen to thirty days, the whole neighbor hood celebrates in music, dance and song, the last five days be ing the climax of the uyauy. On the first night of the last five days which is called the holyat, a select group sings the Alim, one of theepics of the Ifugao-people. It is tne story of a marriage that failed due to the ignorance of the man. Meanwhile ricewine flows freely. The singing of this epic may take two days, after which the priests continue it with the Baltong and then the Guway which is sung under the house. This ends the uyauy. But not the singing. Us ually two men, hand in hand, stand on the threshold of the new home and sing the Danew which is a blessing song. In other parts of the house and in the yard, the old men join the young in danc ing, stopping only to tell more legendary stories of gopas. The groom is finally crowned with the bird kalaw’s head, com plete with accessories and trap pings. The bride, in turn, is given her gifts of iewelry and beads. The couple then begins a series Panorama of visits—to relatives in other vil lages, where singing and dancing likewise take place. In the morn ing a priest recites the hangal, an apology to the gods of animals. It is a sort of poem recited be fore animals are butchered. Ano ther day of feasting follows and finally the couple is blessed by the priest in a ritual called haliqonup. This terminates the uyauy festival. But not the various other rituals which must be observed! Follow ing thfe harvest season next to the marriage celebration, the villagers from the man’s place go to the girl’s farm to harvest the crop, and vice versa. This is the height of thanksgiving. Here the Hudhud is sung. It is another epic, closer to the people than the Alim. In the granary where the harvest is brought, the old folks sing the bonbonwe, a question and answer type of song on kindred subjects. The younger men and women ex change love songs called liwliwa, a prelude to courtship. Now, at last, the couple are ready to re ceive the final blessing and bene diction—the honga—and after al most a year of colorful festival and merrymaking, the ritual, the dance, and the song are over. <The color and wealth of these 1 festivals can hardly be dupli cated anywhere, except perhaps in Mindanao among the Maranao Moros. The long narrative poems of this people are just as rooted in the tradition of the people as those of the tribes of Northern Luzon. The darangans, as these narrative poems are called in Ma ranao, are epical both in concep tion and structure. Of these, how ever, only one seems to have been fully recorded. This is the Bantugan, a fragmentary translation of which exists in English. This piece requires three nights of sing ing to finish. It has been described as possessing such sustained beau ty and pathos that women have been known to weep hearing it sung. Among the Sulu Moros, an epic of lyrical quality, the Pa rang Sabir, is well known. This epic, however, has never been written down completely, and only a fragment in an inadequate English translation is available. The Tagban was of Palawan also possess a rich though untapped popular literature, and among their long narrative poems which they call dagoy and sudsud, there are pieces of epic range. Every ethnic group in the Phil ippines is the possessor of a rich February 1960 45 lore and so long as these groups do not become absorbed by strong er peoples, their folk creations are likely to be retold and recited and sung for all time. The Manobos of Southern Mindanao, for in stance, had been pushed time and again by migrating peoples from without until they Decame bottled up far in the hinterland where they have lived and preserved their lore to a surprising degree. One long poem of epic breath, the Tatuaang, is reported from this area. On the other hand, the Bikols used to have an epic which has been partially lost. Among the Ibaloy people bearing the Drunt of outside contact, one or two old native priests still remember their great folk traditions, among which two related epics—the Kabuniyan and the Bendian—still survive. It is feared that unless these are ac tually written down, these folk stories will be lost to us. The Iloko narrative poem, Lam-ang, has certain epic qualities and pre Spanish elements which would date it among the earliest narra tives of length in existence. It seems unbelievable that the metrical romances of Europe, which started to fall out of public favor after the Spanish Cervantes had ridiculed and parodied them in his Don Quixote, would find fertile ground in the Philippines where the institution of knighterrantry was as totally strange as snowfall. But the seed was some how disseminated; it sprouted and grew, and finally flowered in Fran cisco Baltazar’s Florante at Laura towards the second third of the nineteenth century. 'Wetrical romances of Medieval Europe were the pro duct of folk creation and legiti mately belong to folk literature. In Tagalog a considerable num ber of awits and corridos were anonymous, though some authors were audacious enough to put their names on the title pages. The metrical romances became very widely popular and very soon every class had its share of the delightful literary fare. Even the farmer, home from his labor, found rest reading this cheap lit erary repast. Inaeed everybody found in the metrical romances endless entertainment, drawing from them quotations to prove a point, reciting them, singing them, and even dancing to their musical rendition. In Tagalog alone there used to be about two hundred awits and corridos. In Iloko, Pampangan, 46 and in other Philippine languages, the count is probably a little less. But the Iloko has preserved a na tive piece which snows very little traces of Spanish influence. This is the Lam-ang. Compared with other metrical romances in the , Philippines the Lam-ang has no definite meter or stanzaic pattern —a fact which certainly points out to its more native origin. It is a thousand-line epic in mono rima. This may indicate further that the native versifiers did not show much concern for the me ter or regular syllabic counting, and yet their folk literature was no less richer for the lack. There is a very interesting folk development of the awit closely associated with the song, and this is. the dance. This element appears to be the contribution ot the southern Tagalog to the develop ment of the awit. In Quezon province, the dance is an insepar able feature of the awit. The awit celebration may indeed start with out a dance, but it eventually leads to the dance. In a tapatan, for instance, the performers start in front of the house of the celeb rant reciting verses. The moment they succeed in ascending the stairs, the interest begins to cen ter on the clever maneuvering of the incoming participants to make those already in the house swav to the rhythm of the song. As soon as they have succeeded in doing this, they are welcomed into the sala and the affair become^ one continuous singing and dancing. The whole metrical romance may be sung and danced in this way for hours on end. The parti cipants, having committed whole romances to memory, pit their ta lents one against the other. One dancer sings a stanza or two and another takes it up and, alternate ly picking the narrative, finishes tne song. A more trying way was for one to pick out one stanza at random from any -text and the other continue with the next fol lowing stanza. A variation was for one to recite any enigmatic'pas sage for the other contestant to answer or continue. There was al7 ways a fresh supply of dancers and participants to replenish those whose voices became hoarse. Thus the awitan became a vociferous display and contest of folk dance, song, poetry, humor, and much wit. Jr is difficult to ascertain how folk poetry came to be. It could have originated from some deep emotional feeling in man. Such a stimulation might be in the form of grief over the loss of a beloved. Thus, the Iloko dungaw is not merely a lament similar to the Tagalog taghoy or panambitan, but it is emotionally charged with poetry in the truest sense of the word. The dung-aw is a stylized lamentation which recites the story of the deceased, his per sonal history, his achievements, and sometimes an apology for his February 1960 47 failures and misconduct. Any at tempt to record the dung-aw is beset with difficulties. An intruder will invariably produce self-cons ciousness on tne part of the high ly-aroused poet, a disturbance such as this often affecting the spon taneity of the sentiment and the How of id^as of the grief-stricken mourner. For this reason we are not aware of any really good text in Iloko taken down freshly and directly from the fullness of the poet’s grief. Among the Igorots of eastern Benguet, the same custom exists. One such lamentation was record ed and translated into English. According to the account written for us by Father Alphonse Claerhoudt, as soon as the man had breathed his last, the women be gan pounding rice below the nouse, picking up the rhythm of his life with the sound of pound ing pestles. Meanwhile near the body of the dead man lay the wife. She did not look at her hus band’s face nor at his body. She sobbed and gave way to her sor row and let flow all the tears in the heart. Oh pity me, oh you my brother! Oh pity me, oh you my husband! You died, alas, oh you my brother! You died, alas, oh you my husband! What’s left to me, and what remains there? To me, a poor and useless creature? They all, yes all, they will forget me Who was to you just like a baby! No never can I stop my weeping Forever would I cry, forever, forever, If crying made me not ashamed! And when I think now and remember That nothing, nothing to console ye I can present to you my husband, No, never can I stop my weeping Forever would I cry, forever. It is true, our work was always heavy, And ’twas perhaps our sorry fate In poverty to work and live! We did our best and slaved together To raise some pigs and feed some cattle. But we had none of ours, you know it, No we had none to us belonging! Oh brother, patience, oh weep not, brotner, Because your sister gives you nothing Of all we work’d for once together. I turn’d the kettle on the ashes, 48 Panorama As signal, yes, a sorry signal, Of poverty we always lived in! Alas, our nope is gone forever, With me remains not e’en the slightest! No, never can I stop my weeping, Forever, would I cry, forever If crying made me not asnamed!, ttention might be called to several thipgs in this con nection: the elementary passion aroused in the bosom of a be reaved one; the innate response manifested in the natural flow of feeling, the outburst coming from the lips of an individual without training; and the outward mani festation resulting in poetry and song at the same time. The stu dent of the beginnings of litera ture will find no better example of spontaneous poetry as in this exceptional instance where grief bleeds the heart and the heart bursts into genuine poetry. Some authors believe that in folk sayings may be found the early beginnings of folk poetry. Folk sayings are short but they carry the load of a thought. Con sider for instance the Tagalog say ing which runs like this: Ang pakikisindi Daan ng pakiktbangi. In prosaic terms this simply means that acquaintance might breed close friendship—and the Filipino husband or wife does not like this. The rendition is too naive and does not carry the rich imaginery implied in the original. The folks have other outlets for dressing up their ideas in fig urative speech. This may be seen in their riddles. Whereas a Bikol would disguise the mushroom like this: Harong co sa buclod saro an tokod, My house on the hill has but a single post— his Tagalog brother would more fully describe it thus by juxtaposi tion— May binti, walang hita; May tuktok, walang mukha. He has a calf but no thigh; He has a head but no face. Another example might be giv en to show the simplicity of folk description. Whereas the Igorot would regard the three heads of stone as ‘ houses facing each other that cannot be burned,” the Bikol would prefer to represent them as "three brothers who have but one name,” and the Tagalog would say it in this wise— Tatlong magkakapatid, Sing-iitim and dibdib. Three brothers (or sisters) With equally black breasts. A naughty boy or girl would just change the "breasts’7 to "anus” and you have a hot contest in riddles. Children would recall every riddle and pit their memory one against the other in a preco cious display of wit and banter. Many never get the correct an swers, but in time they learn some February 1960 49 of them, and thus unknowingly they become the effective carriers of folk humor. The riddle contest may proceed smoothly and the sources may seem inexhaustible until some rogue would pop up with a riddle having a double meaning, such as the following in Tagalog— Malayo pa ang sibat Nakanganga na ang sugat. The spear has hardly been aimed, But the wound gaps wide open. Of course this would at once arouse a cry of objection from the virgins, ana while they may not actually recoil, this may be the signal for the end of tne game. Bugtungan or riddle-contests are held during wakes, or even dur ing baptismal parties and other social gatherings. (T herb are many other mani1 festations of folk poetry as the talinhaga and palaisipan which are forms of the riddle; the cLdit, bibit, and karagatan which are ri tualistic or religious in nature; and the duplo and sabalan for popular poets who have mastered tne poe tic art as only provincial poets can—adhering to classical forms, rigid beats, romantic or common place themes, and florid style. These poets are well versed in the contents of the corridos and the Pasion, and in the lives of the saints, and are adept in the mani pulation of words, in the use of the rejoinder and the repartee. These folk types had their hey day in Tagalog oral literature, but only the duplo found acceptance in the popular literature of con temporary Philippines. As now practiced, the duplo has deve loped into the Balagtasan—a lite rary type as remarkable for its exhuberance as its ancestor was for its excrescence, a poetical con test between two parties which may have one or more poets each defending a side of some urbane or absurd subject. For this reason it will decline for want of a better muse. Folk literature is the fruition of the creative mind of the mass of the people in a preliterate so ciety. The people are familiar, as a rule, witJT their floating litera ture. This is so because they have a part in its making,, in its trans mission and preservation. The lore of the group is the property of all; it is a part of the primi tive man’s culture. Indeed tne socalled “uncivilized” man may often be more cultured than his modem brothers, for he is steeped in the literature people and is more familiar with his own native lore. really of his 50 Panorama DANCER PROM THE DANCE What happened was: the man was mad with style, Though built for it in mind the flesh was not, His thoughts danced, true, but his feeling was an exile That traced an ego that desired the unbegot. The dance ivas fiery, it consumed the. dancer, He wozdd have lasted it had he left fire Alone to style • • • The man was fast, the madness faster: The country was in trouble but could not retire, The dance was mad and madder he who danced, The conscience of the tribe one with the man, And very soon the world — according to his plan. — by A. G. Hufana February 1960 51 fiction MOTHER’S RING by Teresita Z. Dizon Even the sky was cloudless: I would have a nice trip to Manila the next day. While packing my things eagerly that afternoon, deciding wnich clothes to bring with me or to leave so as to lessen my baggage, I heard father say, “Don’t take the seven o’clock bus, Dina. It’ll be too early.’’ He probably noticed that my disappointment was great for I glanced furtively at him and kept silent. Stopping once in a while with my packing, I would place my arms akimbo and try to figure out why he had to postpone my trip so. “Nardo and Tito need you to teach them in their les sons,” he continued. Even towards evening, at sup per, the trip was still in my mind. I could not help staring at father. He sat at the head of the table, chewing quietly, his mouth half filled. Once in a while he glanced at me, trying, it seemed, to find something on my face. I noticed the extraordinary si lence. Usually there would be in cessant remarks and loud chuck ling over Nardo’s foolishness un til supper would be over. The spoons of the two boys clattered on their plates. Then I would look at their innocent faces. If pos sible I did not want to leave them. Yet I was wishing all the while that they would be intelligent enough to finish their lessons ear lier so I could leave the next day at my pleasure. eyes travelled across the table. I saw mother. She was silent. I dared not look at her face. I might find tears. Judg ing by her sad face, which I could only picture for my eyes were cast down, she resented my departure. I noticed her gold ring which glistened under tne light. It look 52 Panorama ed like a band of light itself wound around the slim ring fin ger of her right hand. Since I was sixteen I had admired that ring. It was an old-fashioned one, with no stone at all. On its flat tened surface was delicately in scribed a crown. It was old but always shiny. My grandmother gave it to her, she once told me. That was when she was married to my father, she said. "I will give this to you someday,” she assured me. In that silence my mind seemed to whirl. It circled about the ring. The afternoon before a letter had announced the approval of my application for a job with the Surety Insurance Company. The manager was expecting me for an interview the next day. I hurried to my friend Alu and told her. Alu had just graduated from the Manila Central College. I consi dered her lucky for during her third year in college she had met her fiance. ' "I can imagine the joy of hav ing a monthly salary,” I said to her. “Maybe I will be able to buy all the things I have been dream ing of. Even a bungalow some day, who knows?” "You silly dreamer. But I don’t blame you, you are still young.” Alu was older than me by one year. How dared she regard me still young at nineteen. Her face was flushed, and I knew by then she was thankful for me. “Come, let us celebrate the event. Let’s go outing,” she sug gested. “That is a nice idea. But, you know, I have to be home before six. Mother needs me to cook sup per.” “Oh, we will be back even be fore sundown. Don’t worry, dear,” she said. lu did not have to worry about coming home early. Purita, her eldest sister, would take care of everything. We sauntered along the stony road. Hand in hand we walked along. At first I did not notice the roughness of our path. By the roadside were stray weeds with red and yellow flow ers. Brilliant ones. “Alu, these are beautiful,” I ex claimed pointing to a cluster of red ones. “Yes, they are, but they are only weeds. Let’s look for roses over this way,” she said, dragging my right hand along. We searched for roses but we could not find any. We saw only the bright-colored blossoms of the weeds. “We can get some real roses over there,” she said, pointing towards a clump of bushes. The way was rough and we jumped from one stone to ano ther like acrobats. “I am tired,” I said with a moan. “Look at those spines. Do you think we can go over that muddy creek down there? I tell February i960 53 you, it is impossible to get those roses.” At my insistence we turned back. A plate on the table was empty. No more rice for serving. I took the plate and filled it up in the kitchen. Three scoops of the lad die was enough. "Please pass it over," father said. Then I placed two spoon fuls on each plate of the two boys and gave the half-filled plate to mother. She scraped some on her plate and handed it back to me. I laid it gently on the table. I enjoyed seeing the process. "Eat some more,” mother said. "You have to prepare yourself for tomorrow’s journey.” Her voice refreshed me. I drew a deep breath. few hours ago Tito had been playing "Remember Me” on the piano while Nardo stood in front of the mirror squar ing his shoulders, trying to bal ance them with great effort. Just two weeks ago ne had arrived home with a sprained shoulder. He had been playing ball with some of the kids in the neighbor hood. The living room was bright for the lights were all on. At tne cen ter, father and mother sat con versing. Tito spotted me at the door. He called out to me to play "La Boheme." Everybody was at tentive. My fingers glided among the keys smoothly, for I knew they were listening. After supper mother started washing the dishes. All the while the trip the next day and the ring seemed to haunt me. I felt un easy. I looked at her directly. She was still young. Her tightly pursed lips made her more beautiful. Maybe she wanted to cry but my presence held. I groped for a topic of conversation but could not find any. One by one the plates came out clean and shiny. Their pure white appearance thrilled me. I wiped them as she handed them to me. "Dina,” she said at last, while she continued scrubbing the plate. She rinsed it and handed it to me, fixing her eyes on mine. "To morrow you will go. Keep in mind that in Manila you will meet different kinds of people. Be good to all of. them and every thing will go well.” "I won’t fail you, mother.” I noticed her transfer her glance from me to the plate I was hold ing. This made me move my fin gers with more precision and care. I feasted my eyes on the white ness of the chinaware which glis tened the more after I had wiped it dry with the cloth. "Do as your father tells you. It would be better to help your brothers first before you go. Your father needs rest, you know that.” "Yes, mother, I will.” I cleared my throat. There was a lump in it. It was painful. I tried to swallow hard to keep back my tears. But the ring. How I wished 54 Panorama she would give it to me now. To morrow I will go, I said to my self. “Keep those dishes now. Be careful with them,” she said as she entered the sola. utside, the street was thronged with people. It was still early. I watched them scurry away as I sat near the window. My chin rested on my arms which in turn rested, coiled, on the window sill. Then I heard a thousand voices. I knew them to come from nowhere. Streaks of mist passed my eyes. They glided one by one with ironic ease. I did not move. Under the trees not far from where I was were two young peo ple. They were lovers. At first I tried to avoid them. I found my eyes fixed upon the moon. It was round and bright. But farther north were little masses of clouds, dark ones, which seemed to threat en its brightness. A slight fear crept over tne. I tried to conceal my annoyance. Again I found the two lovers. The mist passed by me, floated to them, covering their faces once in a while. I recog nized her face at last as the moon light penetrated itself through the trellissed pattern of the leaves. She was young, about eighteen. Her yellow dress with black but tons running across from her col lar to the lower portion of her skirt clung to her slender body. It seemed I heard the boy say, "When I will go home I will bring you some fruits of the trees my father and I planted near our house. Oh no, I will just reach them out to your hands because you will be there with me.” The girl smiled. She seemed to understand. "By the way, here take the handkerchief in exchange for the one you gave me yesterday,” the boy continued. He handed her a maroon and white one. “This is a nice hanky!” she ex claimed. "You know I took that from my mother’s store. That is the best of the lot. He grasped her hand tightly. He tried to kiss it. "Don’t,” she said, as she tried to shake off his hand. “Why?” he asked. “Lovers us ually hold hands,” he continued, as he tried to catch her hand once more. He began to hum a song. “That is ‘You,’ my favorite,” she said, her smiling eyes fixed upon his. “Yes, I’ll sing it to you to re member me always,” he answered. ■ knew that face, a handsome ■ one. He had a muffler around his neck. His cream-colored shirt was pale white in the moonlight. Now he was singing the song softly. The thousand voices grew softer. The hush of the leaves as the cold wind passed through the branches of the trees provided the accompaniment. She raised her face. Her eyes were closed. "If this is but a dream I hope I will February 1960 55 never wake up,” I heard her utter. The little masses of clouds were moving towards the moon. “Too near. Too near,” I mur mured. Now the voices drew near me. The mist flowed back and forth. The song ended. She opened her eyes. She looked around. “Where are you?” she queried. He had disappeared. “Where is he?” I asked myself as I peered through the darkness. The handkerchief was there. She held it firmly, looked at it blankly and cried. At last I felt the flow of blood in my veins. The wind had swept away the mist. It was dark all around. The cloud had touched the moon. I noticed that I was crying. I felt weak, stood up and walked, stumbling in the darkness. Finally, I reached the room. Mo ther was there waiting. “Where have you been?” “I didn’t know you were wait ing for me. I was just at the win dow.” I dared not look up. She might see my tear-stained face. I was ashamed of it. “Dina, here is the ring. Take good care of it.” I stared at it. The two . . . the two lovers. I was hurt. “Mother, please keep it for me. I will ask for it some other day. I have decided not to take it just yet.” The next day I took the trip ■ to Manila. Neon lights greet ed my squinting eyes as the bus arrived along the boulevard. I held my grip tightly as the machine dodged here and there from the other running machines. It tooted its horn, pushed itself through the crowd who stopped to make a way for it. We passed by the window displays. Bunches of roses caught my attention. Up on a signboard was boldly inscribed: Artificial Flowers For Sale. I twisted my lips wryly. “Artificial, everything!” The house of Tita Binay, mo ther’s twin sister, was in Rizal. I stayed there. Everyday I took a ride to the office to be once again with the typewriters and adding machines. I befriended them re luctantly. The letters from home, kissed by the tender lips of my loved ones, were comforting. I did not forget them. The hall was fastidiously decor ated. It was the firm’s anniver sary. The clink of thin glasses gave an air of monotony in the room. Days before, lavish prepara tion had been made. The specula tion among the employees was great. “Looks as if the whole month of December’s salary would not cover your gown,” I heard one exclaim. Only a mild feminine chuckle followed. A faint smile covered my face. Home, the fa mily was in my mind that instant. From a table where Lourdes, a co-employee, and 1 were sitting, we saw two men approaching. They were conversing. One of 56 Panorama them, Augusto, an old acquaint ance, introduced his companion to us. We danced. An old song made me shrug my shoulders. I felt hot, irritated. Yes, I remember that night, I said to myself. I bit my lips hard. "Are you angrv with me?” he asked. "No.” The music forced me to pic ture a dancing dummy with a me chanical heart pounding incessant ly. Unconsciously I drew back. He clutched my hand, twisted my fingers gently. I stared at him. I remembered somebody, some body whom I have met before in my dream or somewhere. he very next day I met him at the corridor of the build ing. “This is for vou,” he said. He gave me a white rose. I kept the rose in a vase near the type writer on my table. Every morning at the office a white rose awaited my arrival. Well at least I don’t have to look for roses here in Manila, I said to myself. They just come. His curly hair shaven on both sides of his head reminded me often of the boy in the garden. His lips were always parted by a smile. “I love the shape of those lips,” Lourdes once said as we paused and took our time out from the piles of desk assignments in the office. After supper we would con verse together. “It’s getting late. You better go,” I used to say. He would hold out his hand to me. “Hold my hand please. Press it hard,” he would say. Many months passed away. It was late in the afternoon, I ar rived at Tita Binay’s house, tired. I wanted to be alone. Walking past the porch, down the lawn, I found myself standing under the trees. There I was alone. I un consciously inclined my head up wards and sighed. I suddenly re membered. Everything was simi lar. Those trees, the girl, alone. Afraid and frightened I was about to run away. But, there from the distance I saw him coming. I looked up at the moon. No clouds. I smiled. He also smiled. As though he knew. “Yes, I know I would find you here, Dina.” When he leaned forward to brush off an insect that had alight ed on my shoulder, his ring ar rested my attention. I remembered mother’s ring. His ring was dif ferent from mother’s, though. It had fine little white stones on it. He pulled it off from his fin ger and said, “Keep it for me, Dina. Will vou be the mother of my children?” “They still need me,” I an swered as I shook my head slight lySoon it was June, three years after that afternoon in the garden I started for home. There was still the winding stony road, the huge acacia trees. Farther in the dis tance was the house. As I ap proached the wide-open door, February 1960 57 everything was quiet. “What happened to him? Why didn’t you tell me?” My questions were left unan swered. I knelt near the bed. Father was pale. He recognized me. A sad smile covered his face. He tried to raise his hand. It fell with a heavy thud. Mother took my hand and led me to the ad joining room. She motioned me to sit down. VU hy didn’t you tell me you were coming?” “I wanted to surprise you.” I looked uneasily at her finger. She noticed and smiled. “You have come for this per haps. After all those years I know you would come to ask for it.” "Yes, Mother, we will have some visitors tomorrow—his mo ther, his father and himself,” "You mean the man you intro duced to us a year ago?” I did not answer. She knew the answer for I saw her nod her head. “What time are they coming?” "About eleven in the morning.” “Father is sick. I won’t take the ring yet. We can wait.” “Are you sure of . . .” "I am,” I interrupted. "Tell them please. I won’t leave you in such a condition. I love him, yes but you also.” I buried my face in her bosom tenderly. “I won’t take the ring yet.” I had no tears then, although in the distance as if in a dream I could hear some one whistling the song, "You.” Gallant Robot A towering six-foot man of tin is the friend and creation of Sherwood Fuehrer, a fourteen-year-old inventor from Cranston, Rhode Island. The robot’s name is Gismo, and Sherwood made him from a one-half horsepower electric motor, pieces of scrap metal, an old oil burner, a mortar fuse, camera and telephone parts. In spite of his varied anatomy, he has many accomplishments: he can speak, blink his eyes, shake hands, throw a ball, lift a ten-pound weight — and offer candy to a lady! * 58 Panorama Book Review THE CAVE * * Robert Penn Warren, The Cave (New York: Random House, 1969). By Leonard Casper Boston College PART I: In the midst of italicized ironies at the conclusion of World Enough and Time, Warren’s commentary modulates long enough to contrast modern commercial distractions with the reverence of Indians once afoot in “The Hollow Land,” place of great caves, Kentucky. Here the tribes fought and hunted but never dared dwell because “It was a holy land, it was a land of mystery . . . the gods lived here.” Before the officious disregard of European settlers, self-instructed in justice, “The gods fled, either into the upper air or deeper into the dark earth.” Any mythic reference here is too fleeting even to be enigmatic. But the reader who does bother to wonder, on the run, can scarcely accommodate those sacred caves to earlier womb-tomb imagery in the novel. There is a uterine remoteness about both Gran Boz’ hideaway, his canebrake settlement; and Beaumont’s dungeon prison where, while awaiting execution, he recalls those impulses to hide forever which came to him as a boy secure in secret underground passages. Like recurring submarine images in Warren’s canon, these are symbols of a characteristic desire to be unborn, to be among the uncommitted dead, to be relieved of both time and eternity: and as such they are contrary to any concept of caves as a place of sanctified encounter. In World Enough and Time Warren was unprepared to explore fullv the still-buried meaning of his many chambered symbol. The reference is a memorandum only, a map ping of coordinates for some Jong day’s later search. Warren, a Vanderbilt student at the time of Floyd Collins’ entrapment at Sant Cave, Kentucky in 1925, refused to take part in the heroic exploitations that followed. Neverthele.ss, the inci February 1960 59 dent was too revealing of the dark side of man’s good intentions to be forgotten. During the last stages of World Enough and Time Warren felt those commotions—the collision, interpolation, peremp tory fusion, projection—which mark the burdening of simply chron icled character with eventfulness. Four more works were to inter vene before, in late summer 1957, the actual writing of this com munal attendance on disaster coyld begin. However, the minotaur and clutch-doll imagery, respectively, in Brother to Dragons and Band of Angels were preparations for the work in progress. ^^uch progress of historic accident through a labyrinth of associations towards personal configuration in fiction is the writer’s equivalent, practicing his craft, of his own life-web philosophy, the inevitability of revealed interconnections. An initial insight has grown, appropriately, into a system of correspondences massively engaged, in The Cave. No previous work of Warren’s has been structured so completely according to apparently discrete but thor oughly parallel multiple points-of-view. Here, theme is influential in form almost totally. Yet only to the reader is the interpenetration of dreams, both evil and hopeful, visible; and self-admission is with held from just enough characters, who like Mrs. Bingham resist introspection or take refuge in fabrication, to prevent the over perfection of a tour de force. While the essential problem of each—reconciliation of man’s many identities—has been a commonplace with Warren ever since "Brother, My Brother” appeared in the June, 1925 issue of Fugitive magazine, never has it found such epitome and focal occasion as in the enigma of Jasper Harrick’s motives. Jasper is no Floyd Collins in disguise (Ike Sumpter’s reference to the original establishes it Actively as a much earlier analogue and even as an incentive to his own exploitation); but rather an image only in the moving minds of others. He is opportunity—and his own ambiguity is wellcommemorated in their uneasy grappling with choice and conse quence. Although he is the immediate cause for the whole moiling activity around the cave, the disclosure of his death functions as neither climax nor conclusion because in the interim the novel, through its characters, recognizes that his fate is only accessory to their own conflict with first and final causes. Greater than the temptation to make Jasper a fractional coun terpart of Collins, and thereby to burden history with sole respons ibility for inferences drawn from its casual facts, must have been the attractiveness of familiar romantic mythology associated with the land. Jasper’s half-Indian heritage, together with those affini 60 Panorama ties already remarked in World Enough and Time, suggest an appropriateness to the character’s end, his being sealed up forever enshrined in an earth-chamber, his sacred source. Nevertheless, War ren’s intimate connection with the New Agrarian philosophy in the 1930’s did not leave him susceptible to the sentimental, however engagingly elevated. His repeated indictment of the Western Dream —that change of place alone can restore innocence, in full fresh righteousness—reached a climax in Brother to Dragons with his ac cusations against Jefferson, visionary of human perfectibility and, to some disciples, the very prophet of Agrarian life. Jasper is not the spirit of the wilderness, returning to its kind. Nor is he pres ented as the “buried god” of fertility rites sacrificial death will redeem the countryside—although his father and Nick Papadoupalous wish for their own sake that he were. His deliberate re moval from visible action and the equivocal nature of his own reasons for cave-crawling prevent assignment of any single, simple, or positive meaning to Jasper: this is as the theme requires. Jasper become a caver, in casual “dark-dreaming” completion of himself “with the whole earth tucked in around him,” as Monty enviously says; or to escape having to live up to his fa ther’s spitting image, as Celia charges? When Jasper prefers the seasonless underground because “a lot of things don’t matter down there,” is this a death-wish subtly stated, womb-longing, the trap of timelessness-as-despairing-disengagement, a new Great Sleep? Or is it some superior stage in the act of transcendence, relinquishment of the “boot”-body which liberates his spirit for enjoyment of the immutable, timelessness-as-eternity? If his inward journeying earns him the name of new frontiersman, is his search for easement (as it was with Western Dreamers) or for steadfast truth, midpoint unmoving? To such riddles there are almost as many answers as there are images of Jasper; for he is no more knowable than the need of others—which expresses him—permits. Does Truth change, as Jack Harrick and Mac Sumpter agree; does God? Or only the image of these in the sickly human eye? The heart of each man’s mystery lies with’Jasper in that weightless center of the world “where all bargains are debated, and all transactions are made.” But who is there unafraid to go, confront himself in loneliness? On different occasions Jack and Nick complain that no man can trace how he came to be himself (partially because there is a natural resistance to certain admissions). How, then, can one ex pect to pass judgment on another? Yet—Warren argues the dilem ma-others are necessary context and cause for self-knowledge. February 1960 61 In earlier novels the affected search for identity often was, in fact, a search for impossible innocence. It proceeded vicariously, and therefore vainly, through submission to, then vengeful dis avowal of another’s role as projected prototype. Senator Tolliver is Perse Munn’s proxy father—and scapegoat; Murdock is Jerry Cal houn’s; Fort is Jeremiah Beaumont’s; Bond and Rau-Ru are Manty’s; more deviously, Willie Stark is Jack Burden’s. In their frustration a few discover confirmation of«that ideal process prescribed by Cass Mastern: “It is human defect—to try to know oneself by the self of another. One can only know oneself in God and in His great eye.” Struggling towards this ideal, man’s passionate appetite for exaltation may find expression in religious travesties such as those orgies inspired by evangelist Corinthian McClardy in World Enough and Time. The confusion of desires, the violent insistence on self-discovery through exploration of another’s body is a motif current throughout the novels but perhaps epitomized in the tor tuous history of Sue Murdock’s failure to find fulfillment with any of three lovers; or condemned Beaumont’s division of his dun geon hours between minute recordings of his motives and lustful use of his wife—both mechanisms for justification. In The Cave selfhood is asserted not through night-riding viol ence or meat-axe vengeance, but through sexual outrage and quasi violation. With an impulse largely unconscious (described inde pendently by two characters as the fierce "clawing out” of some inner animal) human need gropes through lust for love, through desire for a reality beyond desire. Rachel’s protest—“I’m just not going to let you use me for some kind of Grade-A masturbation”— is descriptive of both Ike’s self-glutting and those substitutes for higher satisfactions generally acceptable to society. During intima cies with his wife, Nick Papadoupalous keeps his eyes closed, to assist the illusion that platinum-blonde Jean Harlow is the partner in this love-act and, consequently, that it is purified. For the same reason—self-assurance: no one even gets Nick’s name right—when his wife is sick, he uses Dorothy Cutlick, a near-albino, in the dark of her rented room. Similarly, Isaac, sensing that his father’s mar riage was prompted by envy of his wife’s first lover, feels that he was conceived in the dark, as a kind of accidental by-product of Mac Sumpter’s self-gratification. Even Rachel acts most pleased with her lover because “You give me, me, Ikey.” She kisses him, eyes closed, remote, withheld. Old Jack Harrick, in a fit of con fession, recalls the unnumbered girls, many unnamed as well, "wanting something from him, always a different something, but something, and always something he didn’t care whether in their 62 Panorama emptiness, they ever got or not.” His enumeration of the ignored and ignorant is counterpart to the orgies, appropriately in the dark, committed when word of Jasper’s death panics spectators into proof of their own brute vigor and their will to survive. "1" he pattern of sexualism as violation or indifference, as an act B of self-assertion only, is most prominent in the first third of the novel. Only gradually, in a kind of inverted Freudianism, does it become clear that far from all acts and objects symbolizing sexual drives, these drives themselves are kinetic accessories or expressions —shadows in a Platonic cave—of even more intangible metaphysical needs. Realization comes at a pace suited to the unsteady struggle of those few for whom the sex act purges physical desire without satisfying some deeper raging claim. In the midst of his resentment of Jo-Lea’s cold sufficiency, and with intentions of another sort altogether, Monty finds himself pleading his love, for once, from his very “innards.” The same blinding compulsion had once driven his father to his knees, during a night walk among the dogwood with Celia. Their bodies were dreaming the same dream, in joy; when suddenly he felt the terror of not knowing who he was, and only her hand sustained him; so that he croaked out, “Marry me . . !” Years later Nick Papadoupalous as suddenly senses the decency in his overfed, bed-ridden wife, an ex-stripteaser, as she refuses to earn blackmail for them by performing an abortion. Holding her cupped hand in his, he examines its emptiness and recognizes his own. A single touch—instinctive, not violent—silences the lonelipess of people even in the act of expressing it. (To be concluded') ¥ ¥ * Mother Complex Father: Your young man approached me and asked for your hand, and I consented. Daughter: But 1 don’t wish to leave mother. Father: Such feeling displayed by a child is ad mirable. Take your mother with you. ¥ ¥ ¥ February 1960 63 Literary Personality — LX I * • Exclusive Panorama Feature. Zke Case of Srle Stanley Gardner he late John Foster Dulles used to be a Perry Mason fan; Einstein died with a Gardner book on his bedside table . . . Evelyn Waugh may have been wrong when, in 1949, he called Erie Stanley Gardner the “best American writer,” but he was certainly referring to one of the richest and widely read writers of all time. It is no coincidence that heads of several law schools are de voted Perry Mason readers. Born in Massachusetts, Gardner was admitted to the California bar in 1911 and practiced law for twenty years in California. Always he championed the underdogs, those of whom others despaired. In the meantime, since his fees were chari tably small, he tried to write for a living. With the creation of Perry Mason, the brilliant courtroom lawyer who (currently on television) has yet to lose a case, not only because he reads the statutes well but because he knows how, dramatically, to expose the guilty witness at the bar of justice. Gardner has published his hundredth novel, and others are on the way. “I never get tired of writing them,” he says, although he is now over seventy and could afford to rest. “I have very little social life, and sometimes 1 start work at 4 a.m. I love work. I used to write longhand, but then I bought a typewriter; next an electric typewriter, and finally I began to dictate my novels.” He travels widelv. so that there is little danger of his source of adventurous material running dry. Even more unusual is the fact that, as he says, “I’ve never forgotten what I’ve written.” If the law has a million loopholes, Gardner can write forever about them without repeating himself. Most of his titles begin with "The Case of”—followed by alli terative, or at least suggestive, punchlines: the Negligent Nymph, Careless Kitten, Lame Canary, or Singing Skirt. His most recent is The Case of the Waylaid Wolf (a reverse Little Red Riding Hood); it is expected to sell enough to make his total sales, since <1933 and in America alone, over 110 million copies! At his ranch in California, he dictates his works—occasionally several at a time— 64 Panorama to shifts of seven secretaries on a six-day week (their salaries alone run over $5000 each month). His record is a book completed in three and one-half days. Reporters say, “He has been known to excuse himself from a house guest for an hour and say he had to write a chapter. Within an hour he would be back, the chapter finished.” Besides his publishers and television, he writes for radio and the movies. Forty-nine of his books have sold over a million copies apiece, in all editions; 11 have exceeded two million. The Case of the Lucky Legs (1934) has sold over three million: and these figures do not count translations into 13 languages! To “relax” from Perry Mason, he also writes about Bertha Cool, a female "pri vate eye,” but under the pseudonym, A. A. Fair. He is one of his greatest competitors. Critics—some of them jealous—complain that he constantly fol low's formulas; that he works fast because most of each novel is sheer dialogue, in or out of the courtroom; that no symbolic im plication is apparent in his work, no maturing vision, as for ex ample in the equally prolific work of George Simenon, French detective writer. Yet more than second-rate minds enjoy him. Is it because he still is on the side of the underdog? He has organized the Court of Last Resort, lawvers and trained technicians who re consider evidence of "hopeless” cases where it is suspected that justice has gone astray. Many an innocent man owes his freedom to Erie Stanley Gardner, who has never forgotten why, years ago, he decided to defend poor people of minority groups, the helpless, the victims. ¥ ¥ ¥ Pun On Can A canner, exceedingly canny, One morning remarked to his granny, "A canner, can can Anything that he can, But a canner can’t can a can, can he?” February 1960 65 Sound off! Porpoise 'Pings’ in on Target The porpoise apparently lo cates fish and objects in the water in much the same manner that a destroyer “pings” in on an enemy submarine. The porpoise’s sight-by-sound process is based on the same prin ciple used by Navy sonar or ma rine fathometers for locating un derwater objects, by sending out a series of noises and then pick ing up the reflected echoes. For “auditory glances” the por poise sends out a series of sound pulses. The experiments proved that the porpoise has a supersensi tive auditory mechanism for pick ing up any reflected noises. So sensitive is the porpoise’s auditory system that it can hear a single BB shot dropped into the water or a half teaspoonful of wa ter dropped from a height of five or six feet, Dr. Kellogg reports. The experiments showed that the porpoise is capable of reacting to sound vibrations in water at least as high in frequency as eighty kilocycles a second—or two full octaves above the hearing threshhold for man. y N THE EXPERIMENTS, an object, such as a fish, was dropped into the water. The noise of the splash provoked “a torrent of sput tering sound pulses” as the por poise dashed toward the target. When the object was lowered quietly into the water, there might be a delay of ten or fifteen min utes before the porpoise spotted it with random “auditory glances.” The experiments also established that the porpoise uses its echo ranging system for avoiding colli sions with underwater objects. By a series of experiments, the scientists ruled out the possibili ties that the porpoises were as sisted in their underwater detec tion by sight, smell, temperature or touch. The experiments, for instance, were conducted in murky water or in the dark of night, but still the porpoise was able to swim through a maze of underwater ob jects to home in on targets. It also proved capable of avoiding solid but invisible objects such as a glass door. The experiments, supported in 66 Panorama part by grants from the National Science Foundation, were con ducted with two shallow-water porpoises, or bottlenose dolphins, donated by the Marine Studios of Marineland Florida. The porpoise is one of the smaller of the toothed whales, and thus is related to the giant sperm whale. The porpoises, known for their playfulness and intelligence, prov ed to be reluctant subjects. The young male dolphin "appeared to be quite dependent upon the more mature female dolphin and swam immediately to her side in times of stress or excitement,” the re port said. The female dolphin, in turn, "displayed a certain reserve or sophistication by withdrawing, of her own choice, from participa tion” in two of the major experi ments. To Thy Kingdom Come “Pilot to tower, pilot to tower: plane out of gas; am one thousand feet and thirty miles over the ocean, what will I do?" “Tower to pilot, tower to pilot: repeat after me —Our father who art in heaven . . .” if * * It's in the Drawer! “Fasten your seat belt, please," said the stewar dess, as they were about to take off. “Oh, dear!" cried the woman. “I didn’t even bring one!" * ¥ if What's in a Name? “Why did Friday wake up at dawn every morn ing?" “Because Robinson crew so" if February 1960 67 Brown brother's ways Customs and Traditions in Indonesia By R. Soemarno Soerohardjono /F TWO PEOPLES come from the same land of origin, they are likely to show common traits in customs and traditions, even though the one may have settled down much later than the other. Investigations in the field of ar chaeology, anthropology, biology and philology have led to the hy pothesis that the present inhabit ants of the Indonesian Archipe lago are not the original inhabit ants. According to a theory of Prof. Kern, they must have ori ginated from areas in Further In dia, from where they migrated to the Indonesian Archipelago in several batches, with intervals of hundreds of years between one batch and the next. The original inhabitants they encountered, ei ther fled into the inaccessible for ests and mountains or were exter minated. What has especially strengthened scientists in their be lief that the peoples of Indonesiamust have come from a common land of origin, is similarities in the languages of these people and in their domestic tools. It is natural that geographic conditions greatly influence a peo ple’s customs and traditions. Peo ple living on the seaside wall na turally have different customs from people in the mountains. It is similarly easy to understand that people living in a cold cli mate must have different customs from people in the tropics. A no mad life of continual going, leav ing and traveling, typical for poor and barren areas, will not likely be found in rich and fertile coun tries. In the light of these consi derations, it is hardly surprising that, widespread though the Indo nesian people may live, over an extensive archipelago, they never theless show similarities in cus 68 Panorama toms and manners, as a result of the same geographic and climato logical conditions. Contacts with other people with different cultures have a great influence upon the customs and traditions of a people. This is especially apparent when we consider to what extent the west ern culture has brought about changes in the ways of living of the Indonesians. As a matter of fact, the educated part of the In donesians have to a very large ex tent discarded traditional customs and manners, and adopted the Western way of life. As a general rule, people with a higher degree of civilization will influence people with a lower standard of culture. The closer the contact, the more intensive the influences will be. A glance on the map will make it quite clear that the various parts of the extensive Indonesian Archipelago: are not equally favorably situated for contacts with foreign ers. The coastal areas of West Su matra, situated on the important navigation route between China and India in the old days, were most favorably situated. On the other hand, large parts of the in terior of Borneo are entirely inac cessible for foreigners. This explains the great differ ences in civilization between, for instance, the inhabitants of Java and Sumatra and those of Central Borneo and Irian. Considering the three most im portant factors that determine the nature of customs and traditions in certain areas—country of origin, geographical conditions, foreign contacts—we arrive at the conclu sion that customs and traditions in Indonesia are bound to show not only great diversity, but also traits of conformity. There is great diversity due to the nature and the extent of influences from out side, but at the same time there is unity on account of the com mon land of origin and equal geo graphic and climatological condi tions. There is a close connection bet ween religion and customs. The most important religion in Indonesia is tne Mohammedan religion. Of late years, Christian ity has made many adherents among the Indonesians, especially in the Minahassa (in Northern Celebes), and in Ambon. There is, however, the remarkable fact in Indonesia that not every per son who calls himself a Moham medan is indeed one. This is, for instance, the case in Central Java, where part of the population is poor and un educated. Though these people call themselves Mohammedans, they often know very little of the Mohammedan doctrines. Most of them still have a strong belief in evil spirits which must be propi tiated in order to ward off bad luck and disasters. A great many still believe in magicians and mira February 1960 69 cle workers, witches and wizards, and are very often an easy victim for unscrupulous impostors who call themselves magicians. This explains why, in a Mo hammedan country like Java, cus toms and traditions very often show fundamental features of pri mitive animistic beliefs. The principal events in a man’s life being birth, marriage and death, it is understandable that the most remarkable customs and traditions of a people center around these three milestones. Birth Ceremonials w hen a woman is expecting a child she has to observe all kinds of rules and prohibi tions: 1. She has to keep herself clean, wash her hair, cut her nails, etc. The basic idea underlying this custom is that a woman in this position is regarded as physically unclean. Sihce the rate of death caused by childbirth is naturally very high among uneducated peo ple, the fear of death is very strong in the minds of mothers expecting a baby. In the event of death by childbirth the mother should therefore return to her Creator in a condition of physical cleanli ness. An expectant mother is, how ever, not allowed to wear orna ments, jewels or flowers, since this is believed to cause miscar riage or, at least, a difficult child birth. 2. The expectant mother must keep a strict diet. 3. Offers should be brought to ward off evil influences and spe cial formulas and prayers said at fixed times. At the seventh month a spe cial ceremony, called “tingkeban”, should be held, consisting in the bathing of the expecting mother by a “dukun”. The water used for this purpose is kept in a bowl and strewn with flowers. Special formulas are said. After the bath ing, the expecting mother puts on, and immediately takes off, again seven sets of clothes in quick suc cession. Each time an older per son, preferably one of the parents of the women, says: “No, this doesn’t suit you. Put on another dress”. This procedure of putting on and taking off clothes in quick succession is to induce an easy and quick birth. The nearest re latives and friends, are invited to attend the ceremony. The foods served on this occasion are of a definite kind, each having a spe cial significance, mostly bearing on easy childbirth. In the evening, a wayang performance is usually given, the story preferably deal ing with the birth of the hero Gatotkacha, a popular figure in the Hindu epic Mahabharata. After the child is born, the pla centa is cut with a sharpened piece of a special kind of bamboo. This scalpel is carefully preserved, to be used again later when a 70 Panorama brother or sister is born. The pla centa is regarded as a younger brother of the baby, who will, from the spiritual world, watch further over the well-being of the older brother or sister. According ly, special care should be taken of it. it should be put in a new earthen pot, which should then be provided with special articles, e.g. a coin, a pencil, a sheet of pa per with Arabic characters, a needle, salt, some grains of red rice, flowers and perfume. Each of these articles has a special sig nificance. The paper with the Arabic characters, for instance, is believed to have a favorable in fluence afterwards on the ability of the child in learning to write and to read, particularly the Qur’ an. The pot with the placenta should be buried with special cere monial by the father of the baby. For this special purpose the father should be formally dressed. He carries the pot in a “slendang” (a sling or scarf) while holding an umbrella over his head. Immediately after the birth the baby should be washed. This again should be done according to fixed rules. “Golden water’’ should be used. The name is derived from the yellow color, obtained by mixing the water with the yellow juice of a kind of root with medi cinal merits. A brightly polished coin should be immersed in the water. After being rubbed in with a wet and sticky mixture, pre pared from many kinds of spices and other ingredients, the baby is then very tightly wrapped up in strips of cloth, so tightly that it cannot even move its arms or legs. Before putting the baby in bed, a special charm should be read. Curiously enough, this charm is in Arabic and characteristically Mohammedan in words and spirit. Immediately after the child has been laid in bed, three crashing blows are dealt on the bed. This is to prevent the baby from grow ing into a jumpy and easily star tled child. The first few days after the baby has been born are the most dangerous. Special precaution’s should, therefore, be taken for the safety of the baby. An oil lamp should be kept burning day and night. Under the baby’s bed there should be provided rice, moulded into the shape of a mountain, with a red “lombok” (Spanish pepper) on top. The rice should be kept in a semi-global coconutshell. An egg is mostly added to the rice. This offering is intended for wan dering spirits so as to put them in a friendly mood. The most dangerous time, how ever, is the day on which the last remnant of the navelstring falls off. On that day thQusands of spirits, each with evil intent, are believed to be swarming around the baby. In order to guard it against these evil spirits, it should be borne on the mother’s, or a relative’s, lap for a period of 24 hours. In the course of this February 1960 71 period, the baby must under no condition be laid down on the bed. In order to mislead the evil spirits from their real objective, a cylindrical stone, roughly painted with lime so as to give it a face, eyes, a mouth, in order that it snail more or less resemble a hu man being, is laid in the imme diate neighborhood of the baby. The spirits will then take the stone for the baby and direct their attacks on it. Finding an unusual ly hard substance, they will soon give up and retreat. Tne cylindri cal stone used for this purpose is an instrument for crushing medi cinal herbs, roots and spices, and on that account it is believed to have magical powers to resist evil spirits. Marriage lso in this respect much has changed owing to modern influences. Ceremonies attending an Indonesian marriage nowadays do not differ substantially from those in other countries. In former days, the choice of a wife or a husband was not made by the young people themselves, but by their parents. When a boy has reached the age of eighteen, the parents begin to look seriously out for a suitable partner for him. As soon as they have found one they send a trusted person to the parents of the girl. In veiled terms the person of confidence tries to find out whether the parents of the girl are willing to consider a marriage between their daughter and tne boy in question. If so, an agreement is made on what day tne parents of the young man can come and see them in order to have a look at the girl. On the fixed day the young man’s parents, accompanied by their son and a few older rela tives pay a formal call on the young girl’s parents. An Indone sian house being in fact a double house, composed of a front one which serves for a reception hall, and a back one where the people actually live, the male guests are received in the front house and the female guests in the back one. Care should be taken that not a word should be mentioned about the real purpose of the visit. Both sides should make it appear as if the visit is just a casual friendly call. The guests should not be offered anything but tea or coffee and cigarettes or sirih. After talking for a while about unimportant things, the host in vites his male guests to join the women in the back house. This is the important moment, for very soon the future bride is expected to come and serve sirih for the women. She is not allowed to look at anyone, but should keep her eyes fixed downwards and say no thing. Feeling all eyes fixed on her she, is, of course, very ner vous. And indeed everyone watch es her attentively, especially the young man. It is therefore that this visit is called “nontoni”, i.e. 72 Panorama taking a look. After serving the sirih, the young girl immediately withdraws again, without even for a moment having looked at the man who will perhaps be her husband. Shortly afterwards, the guests' go home where they discuss the merits or imperfections of the fu ture bride. The young man is not allowed to take part in these dis cussions. Sometimes his opinion is asked on this matter, but this is by no means necessary. If the pa rents should decide in favor of the young girl, they send a formal letter to her parents asking for her hand. Then it will be entire ly up to the parents of the girl whether the suit is accepted or not. In case the suit is accepted, the wedding day is fixed forthwith. This is done according to a rather complicated calculation of favor able and unfavorable days. Mohammedans^ for instance, prefer to contract marriages during the month when the religious pilgrim age is made to Mecca. Some time, however, may elapse between the formal letter of ac ceptance and the wedding day. This is especially true in tne case when the young girl has one or more elder unmarried sisters. The usual custom is for her wedding to be deferred while the family members take all possible steps to marry off the older sisters. In such a case, the young man’s parents usually send presents to the parents of the girl as a con crete confirmation of the agree ment reached by both parties. These presents vary in quantity and quality according to the fin ancial standing of the givers, but they must include three impor tant articles that really form the nucleus of the gift: a special kind of ring made of two diamonds set in a band of gold, a batik kain and a batik breastcloth. Rich fa milies often give other valuable ornaments in addition to the ring and also more kains and more breastcloths, but these are kept apart from the three articles men tioned before. Foodstuffs and fruit are also included in the gift. If for some important reason or other, the girl’s parents should change their minds and decide to cancel the marriage, custom re quires them to send double the amount and the value of the gifts to the young man’s family. It is therefore easily understood that the parents of the young man are usually lavish in their gifts, since the more valuable the gift, the surer are they that their son will get the desired bride. A few days before the wedding takes place more presents arrive in the home of the bride from the future parents-in-law. Meanwhile, the bride’s house is being busily prepared for the coming festivity. A provisional open building of very light material, mostly bam boo, with wooden planks and a thatched roof, is erected in the February 1960 73 yard surrounding the house. A profusion of pale green coconut leaves gives the house a festive aspect. In most cases, an arch, de corated with palm leaves, is erect ed in front of the house to en hance the festive aspect of the whole. When the “day” arrives, early in the morning, the bride is woken up. Immediately after her usual morning bath, she is dressed in her marriage splendour. The dressing, which is quite a long and complicated affair, is usually supervised by a middle-aged wo man who is an expert in such mat ters, assisted by some other mar ried women, mostly relatives and close friends. The bride in Sumatra wears a two-piece ensemble, consisting of the bodice and the lower part or skirt. The bodice is a kind of blouse of a red color which reaches down to the knees, embroidered with gold threads. The lower gar ment is called the “kain”. Over this ensemble is draped a sort of veil, called the “slendang”. Both “kain” and “slendang” are, like the bodice, of a red color richly embroidered with gold threads. The bride’s hair is knotted in a certain special fashion. The whole head is then decorated with gold en hairpins. Rings, necklaces and bracelets adorn the bride’s fingers, wrists and breast. The Javanese bride wears a black velvet “kabaya”, an upper garment which reaches to the hips and which is also edged with gold threads. Her lower garment is a richly embroidered “kain”, the background of which is of a redbrown color and falls in a train in front. Round her neck, the Javanese bride wears three necklaces of different lengths. A golden belt encircles her waist with a large clasp in front richly set with je wels. Above her forehead she wears a comb, also jewel-set. Her long hair is rolled into a knot which is covered with melati flow ers. Golden hairpins and a gar land of melati flowers which is pinned to the hairknot and falls to the shoulders, complete the headdress. After the ceremonials, these melati flowers, as in the case of the bride’s bouquet in a European wedding, are given to the bridesmaids in order that they may soon follow suit. When the bride is fully dressed, she is conducted by her brides maids—two, four or at most six— who are all dressed in black cos tumes with special headgears, to the bride’s room where she has to sit on a richly decorated sofa. There she waits for the most ex citing moment in the day for her, the moment when she will behold the man who has been chosen to be her husband. Meanwhile, the bridegroom is fetched by some middle-aged wo men of the bride’s family. On his arrival, he is welcomed by other women who throw rice-grains at 74 Panorama him and wash his feet. In Java, the bridegroom is wel comed by the bride herself who, accompanied by the bridesmaids, goes out the house to meet him. At a distance of two meters from each other, they throw flowers or sirih leaves at each other. If the bridegroom gets the first throw, it means he will be his wife’s pro tector in their life together; if the bride throws first, it is an unpleas ant token that he will be a hen pecked husband. The funny thing about this is that the bridesmaids all do their best to make the bride get the first throw. In Java, the feet-washing is also done by the bride. On the floor a basin of water is put ready, and beside it, a plate with an egg and sirih leaves on it. The bride groom stands before the basin, the bride bends down on her knees and makes the “sembah” for him, subsequently washing his feet and breaking the egg. She then rises to her feet and conducts him to her house. The official, religious marriage ceremony is performed by a Mo hammedan priest prior to the ac tual meeting of the bride and bridegroom, and is usually attend ed by a small circle of male rela tives and friends. At this ceremony only the bridegroom is present, the bride being represented by a male relative, usually her father. Death Ceremonials £ince the majority of the In donesians are followers of Is lam, the rites performed in case of death are Islamic, mixed with some traditional ceremonies which are the remains of Hinduism. OnFebruary i960 75 ]y in areas like Bali and Lombok where the people still cling to the belief in Hinduism, cremation of dead bodies still takes place ac cording to the requirements of Hinduism. Then there is a mi nority group of Christians, chiefly in the Minahasa, Ambon and the Moluccas, who of course follow the dictates of Christianity in per forming their funeral ceremony. When a member of an Islamic family dies, he is at once placed in such a way that he lies with his head in a North-Westerly di rection, and his hands crossed over his waist. The direction is pres cribed by Islam in connection with the Holy town of Mecca lying to the north-west of Indo nesia. Incense is then burnt on a charcoal fire and is kept burn ing near the bed on which the dead person lies. This habit is a relic of Hinduism. As soon as possible the nearest relatives and friends are informed of the sad news and the time is set for the funeral. In the villages this is done simply by beating tne "bedug” or. sounding the tong tong”. On hearing these sounds the people will assemble on their own accord, eager for the news. In areas where the people are strict observers of Islamic customs, they usually dress in black when visiting a house of death. They usually bring some contributions to the bereaved family in the form of rice or money or white cotton, according to the custom in the different localities and of an amount in proportion to the cir cumstances of the givers. Every body lends a helping hand in the preparations of the Funeral. When relatives and friends have arrived, the body is washed. No matter how many people parti cipate in this washing, their num ber must be odd. If die dead per son is a man, the washing is done by the sons or, in their absence, by male relatives; if a woman, by tne daughters or female relatives. A deceased possessing neither sons nor daughters is laid out on banana trunk, pulled out in thin layers, while the washing is going on. After being washed, the’body is wrapped in a shroud of white cotton and laid on a bier, while prayers are offered according to Islamic rites. The male relatives then carry the bier out of the house. On arriving at the front door, the bearers stop awhile to allow relatives of the deceased who are still under-age to walk three times the bier. This again - is not an Islamic custom. On the way to the graveyard, prayers are said and coins are scat tered at the cross-roads. The bier is carried shoulder-high, while an umbrella is held by a relative or friend to shade the head of the deceased. Some one in the pro cession carries a sirih box, a spit toon and a mat wrapped up in white cotton. Mohammedans do not bury 76 Panorama their dead in coffins ‘but directly in the earth. On arrival at the grave, the body is taken from the coffin and lowered into the earth, whenever possible, in such a way that the eaTth does not fall on the hndv when the grave is filled up.. This is usually contrived by dig ging a side passage at the bottom of the grave, making a sort of shelf for the body to rest on. The dead is then laid down on its right side, with the head in a north-western direction to face Mecca. Islamic people believe that the dead undergo an examination whilst in the grave as to his/her beliefs and behavior during his/ her life on earth. To equip their deceased for this examination, a set of questions and answers is chanted before the grave is filled in. After the grave has been filled again with earth, wooden slabs are placed at both the foot and head of the grave. At fixed times after the funeral, namely the third, seventh, forti eth, hundredth and thousandth day, offerings or “sedekahs” are offered and friends and relatives are invited to join in the prayers for the repose of the soul of the deceased. This last custom is not prescribed by Islam. The Hindu rites, as mentioned before, are still practised in Bali and Lombok. According to these rites, the dead must be burnt in order that his soul may be cleared from impurity and thus may be reincarnated. This is a rather ex pensive ritual and not every Bali nese can afford it. In consequence, a modification has come about. The dead body is first buried, the bones being ritually burnt if and when circumstances permit. The cremation will then take place in the form of a burning in effigy. In case of a cremation, the oody or bones are carried to the crema tion site in a high tower, “wadah”, constructed from bamboo and draped with stuff, paper and tinsel. The funeral procession zig zags across the road again and again, jolting the bones or body, going in circles at cross-roads, all with a view to confusing the spirit of the departed that he will not be able to find his old home but proceed right away to his future domain. Upon arrival at the place of cremation, the bones are taken down from the tower and placed in a coffin made in the form of some animal. The Brahmans make their coffins in the shape of a r ow. the Katryas in that of a lion, the Waishyas in a figure from a fable, and the Sudras in that of a fish. Prayers are then said and both coffin and remains vanish to gether in the flames. This brief sketch is merely in tended to give a very general idea of traditional customs in Indone sia and, particularly, in Java. De tails may vary in other islands, but the underlying general philosopnv is greatly alike. — Indone sian Review. February 1960 77 [urcka! New Sea 'Depths Discoveries of new ocean depths and new underwa ter mountains, valleys and plateaus have been reported by two civilian research scientists. The two carried out a preliminary International Geophysical Year survey aboard the British subma rine Telemachus. The scientists are S. Gunson, a geophysicist with the Australian Bureau of Mineral Resources, and H. Traphagen of the Lamont Geological Observatory of Colum bia University in Rockland Coun ty, N.Y. Capt. G. D. Tancred, head of the Royal Australian Navy Hydrographic Section, was also with the expedition. The Telemachus covered 12,000 miles and made 138 dives in the Tasman Sea, in the Pacific off New Zealand, and near the Kermandec Islands, Fiji and New Caledonia. During the dives, the scientists plumbed a new depth in the Ton gan Trench, which is about six miles deep; found an underwater extension of New Caledonia ex tending toward New Zealand, and explored the lightless world with mountains as high as Everest, great valleys, and plateaus onetnird as big as Australia. In addition, they examined part of the earthquake fault that runs down to the thermal regions of New Zealand. It is this line that, it is said, can bring disaster to million in China, Japan, the Philippine Islands, New Guinea and the South Sea Islands. During the cruise the Telema chus was taken down 240 feet for about an hour at a time. 78 Panorama At depths unaffected by winds, waves or currents, the scientists made their observations at fiftymile intervals. of the most important in struments was a Vening Meinesz pendulum brought from the Lamont Observatory. Timed to one-millionth of a second, it was used to measure variations in the earth’s gravitational acceleration. From its readings, they were able to chart the undersea crust of the earth and determine the type of its rock composition. A mass of lead, for example, would affect the swing of the pen dulum. Timing the swing would give the scientists the information they sought, since lead exerts a greater gravitational force than other substances. The Royal Australian Navy’s Hydrographic Section has carried out many marine surveys with the object of making Australia’s east ern coast safe for shipping. Cap tain Tancred described this coast as at present “far from safe.’’ “We know little about the routes along our coast, and in the seas about us," he added. ‘There is enough work to keep three ships and three tenders busy for twentyfive years.” He said the survey ship H.M. A. S. Barcoo, which has done a great deal of work in charting the coastal shipping lanes, recently discovered a 15,000-foot plateau rising from the seabed 200 miles off Newcastle. She also reported: A mountain 11,000 feet highmuch higher than Australia’s highest, Mount Kosciusko (7,320 feet)—thirty miles to the north of the plateau; Another plateau, 13,000 feet high, between the mountain and Lord Howe Island, 436 miles northeast of Sydney; An underwater mountain range 200 miles south-southwest of Ga bo, near the Victoria-New South Wales border. February i960 79 Philippine By Armando J. Malay Many primitive customs and ideas, when described to enlightened people by those who have been witnesses to such practices or privy to such concepts, are immediately branded as mere superstitions. Because on the surface they appear to be fantastic, little thought is given to the possibility that, after all, they may be the products of quite sound reasoning. This is not to say that all su perstitions have a sound basis. In the Philippines, as a matter of fact, the majority of superstitions are irrational. But closer examina tion of a few of them will show ^thdt they have a valid basis. Take, for example, one of the rural tests by which a culprit is discovered. In the eastern part of the Philippines, particularly in Quezon province and in the Bicol provinces, when a person misses a property, say a wallet, and he 80 Panorama i February 1960 believes that his companions in the house or one of his immediate neighbors must be the pilferer, he invites all of them and asks them to spit on the ground. The one whose spittle is the thickest is ad judged to be the guilty person. One familiar with tne sp-called lie detector or polygraph of the most advanced police departments in the world will see that this saliva test works on the same principle. A guilty person will ex2_perience some physiological reac tions when confronted with a charge. Among other reactions, his throat will become dry and his saliva will be more viscous. The polygraph records such bodily re actions as heavier breathing, great er perspiration, stronger heart beats, all indicating—so sleuths be lieve—that the individual under the test is hiding something. Of course the results of the polygraph test are not presented in court as an evidence o£ guilt; so far, courts of justice do not give probative value to lie detector tests. But criminal investigators, confronted with a number of sus pects one of whom might be the guilty person, are given a “lead” on which they may work. There * in lies the value of the polygraph in modern criminal investigation. But the spittle test carried out by rural Filipinos becomes a final Judgment and one will readily see tow dangerous to an individual's security the implicit belief in this test can be. Or take another example: the itch-producing trees. Scattered all over the Philippines are trees, one of them known locally as kamandag (meaning poison), which will cause a person’s body to itch if he stays underneath. And the only way by which the hapless victim can rid himself of the terrible itch is to dance a jig. These trees, during their flow ering, period, scatter pollen which irritates the skin of man or beast on which it falls. The pollen is so fine that the rural Filipino does not see it fall. When he goes under the tree in bloom, the in evitable happens. So he dances— he has been told he should do that—and the pollen is shaken off. Thus he is relieved. Medicinal superstitions, at least some of them, are not as irra tional as they appear on the sur face. All over the big island of Luzon, the cure-all in most rural communities for sluggishness, headaches, doldrums, etc. is to have the neck pinched. This is called bantil. Any member of the family may pinch the sufferer’s neck all around. Some first dip their thumb in coconut oil before pinching. Those who submit to this treatment can claim that they feel relieved afterwards, and they put more trust in the bantil than in aspirin or any other pill. The scientific explanation for the cure could be that by pinch ing the neck, the “doctor” also pinches the blood vessels to the head, thereby hastening the flow of the blood and perking up the sufferer. Bodily massages nave the same effect, as does standing on one’s head to cure a cold. Two other medical practiced that come to mind are tne bury ing, up to the neck, in the hot sand on the beach, of a person suffering from rheumatism, and the tying of, a person who has h id a fainting spell to a tree near a colony of red ants. I’m sure that some medical experts would be able to “rationalize” these two ru ral practices. The pagan tribes of the Philip pines are too often branded as backward but in at least one prac tice, connected with burial of their dead, they could show up their more enlightened brothers of the lowlands. Most pagan families abandon their homes or bum it when a member of the family dies, and transfer their hom^s. Panorama 82 They believe that unless they do this, another member will die. Considering that the deceased must have left a lot of germs in the house where he expired, and that sanitary facilities in the pagan areas are nil, one will readily see that abandonment or burning of a house is really a very hygienic practice. This recalls to mind that in the Philippines, during the early days of the American re gime, entire communities were put to the torch to stop the spreaa of cholera and other dreadful epi demics. Of course when a Mangyan or a Manobo abandons or burns his house, sanitation and hygiene are no consideration at all. He simply believes that un less he moves away, his gods will surely take another member of his family, if not himself. As one who has dedicated him self to the compilation of Filipiniana, I cannot help but exult sometimes when I come across a belief or practice which, upon ana lysis, shows a rational basis. Then I say to myself, as a representative of what we like to call the enlight ened class: “Not all fhe sheen is on your side of the glass, man!” —Eighth Pacific Science Congress and the Fourth Far Eastern Pre history Congress. February 1960 83 How to Raise Prawns By Serapio A. Bravo -e— ew people know that r * prawns (more familiarly known as “sugpo”) are not only appetizing as food but nutri tious as well. Nutritionists say that the large shrimps are rich in protein and can greatly improve 84 Panorama the national diet. But strangely enough, outside of the Bureau of ‘Fisheries and a handful of fish pond operators, very little has been done to fully exploit prawn raising on a larger, industrial scale. Studies show that fresh shrimps in the local markets are very in adequate compared to the demand for the seafood. The little supply that one finds in a few market stalls are drawn mostly from catch es of trawls in Manila Bay, Lingayen Gulf, Malampaya Sound, Ragay Gulf, San Miguel Bay and fishponds in various provinces. Statistics indicate that produc tion of shrimps and prawns in the Philippines leaves much to be desired. In 1954, only 5.8 million pounds of the seafood was pro duced from Philippine seas and ponds. Commercial fishing vessels reported the following production of shrimps and prawns: For 1956: Manila Bay—560,142 kilos; San Miguel Bay—265,963 kilos. For 1957: Manila Bay—281,232 kilos; San Miguel Bay—425,547 kilos. Since the demand for the sea food is great, what can be done to step up the production of prawns in tne Philippines? Fishery experts reveal that prawn culture in ponds, with proper management methods, can be developed to yield a supplementary crop. With this method of production experts say that prawn fisheries have very promising commercial possibilities in the Philippines. The prawn which thrives best in local fishponds with "bangus” is the Penaeus monodon (Fabricius) or the “sugpo” as it is called in Tagalog. It is sometimes iden tified as the “tiger shrimp” because it is spotted like the tiger. The Erawn is greenish brown, with rown spots scattered over its body. The maximum size of the adult prawn reaches up to 230 millimeters or more. Prawns breed in the sea, out side bays or offshore about 10 to 12 miles from land. They choose places where the saltiness of the water, the depth and temperature are more conducive to their growth. The female of the specie depo sits its eggs freely in the sea. The females are differentiated from the males by their size. They are always larger, longer in length and heavier in weight than the males. Sex organs also help dif February i960 85 ferentiate them. The female has a rounded sex organ in its abdo minal region called the "thelycum.” The male has a clasper-like organ called the "petasma.” Fertilized eggs, deposited near the bottom of the sea, are first hatched. Then these pass inter mediate stages before reaching adulthood. The diameter of the eggs ran^e from 0.27-0.29 milli meters. Female prawns are known to deposit over a million eggs in one setting. In figures this ranges from 850,000 to 1,000,550 eggs or more. A sort of metamorphosis takes place before it reaches the adult stage. First, the egg undergoes a change, the so-called “nauplius” stage. During this stage, the egg swims freely and is at the mercy of the currents and waves of the sea. After some time it reaches the "zoea" stage. At this point, one takes note of the budding appendages of the prawn and its elongation. One can also differentiate its body organs such as the eye, carapace and tel son. The last stage in its larval his tory is the "mysis stage.” Here, the prawn’s growth is notably fast. Complete development takes place before it reaches the adult stage. Its more distinct character istics appear. Once the prawns be come adults, they thrive inshore or inside bays. By then they mea sure from 5-10 millimeters in length. At this point, they begin to migrate into river mouths, es tuaries and ponds where sea wa ter is available. "£xperts say that prawns like to spawn from April to Sept ember. Prawns seem to spawn twice a year, considering the abundance of fry in river mouths throughout the year. Because of the amazing growth of the Penaeus monodon prawn which grows thrice as fast as other species, its large scale cultivation in fishponds could mean a big im petus to the shrimp industry. Its rate of growth has been noted as even faster among the females than in the males. In this light; "sexual isolation” could be made possible in cultivation and culture. One could aim at hastening the rate of growth and shorten the time of cultivation for commercial purposes. 86 There are four commercially known prawn species which de mand a high price at marketable size in the Philippines. These are the “sugpo or tiger shrimp” or Penaeus monodon (Fabricuis); the “hipon-puti or white shrimp”; P. indicus (Milne-Edwards); the “hipon-bulik or spotted-groomed shrimp" P. Canaliculatus (Oli vier). The “sugpo” is largest in size, heaviest in weight and commands the highest price in the market. It costs as mucn as P6 a kilo or more in local markets. It also can be easily raised in fishponds in con trast with the other species. With a brackish fishpond, “sugpo” cul tivation is possible. 'jp o raise prawns, one has to rid the ponds of all fish and animal life, except natural flora and fauna. This is done by dry ing the pond for a week or two. As a start, one has to collect fry from the river mouths since prawns do not deposit their eggs in ponds. Collection of the fry is done by means of tying grass and weeds in bundles, tnen immersing them in water from 12 to 24 hours. The grass and weeds are then tied to a string at one to two feet interval. Its two ends are tied to two poles planted into the water. The fry cling to the grass and, by means of scoop nets of “sinamay” cloth, one can easily scoop the fry out and place these in native earthen jars or “banga” for transport to ponds. The earthen jar is ideal because of the cool temperature it offers while the fry is being transported. During the spawning season, many fishermen catch fry for com mercial reasons. One “banga” con tains a hundred fry and sells for PIO or less per hundred. Fry abound from July to September and the wise fishpond operators purchase these for cultivation and culture at this time. After collecting the fry, raising them in small tanks or ponds proves helpful to prevent a high rate of mortality before they are transplanted to the ponds. At the fishponds they grow very rapidly. Experiments nave proven that from the fifth to the sixth month, the “sugpo” attains a commercial size of about 70 millimeters up. This largely depends on the na 87 tural conditions of the ponds dur ing cultivation. One has to see that the ponds are rich in'nutrient materials for the "sugpo” to feed on. The ponds have to be well taken care of. A constant change of water is done at intervals to maintain the natural saltiness of the water, the oxygen content of the water, the phosphate content of the water, etc. If the prawns are artificially fed, then tne rate of growth could be tremendously hastened. Other factors to be con sidered are the algal growth, "phy toplankton” growth and other na tural conditions of fishponds. A study of the food and feeding habits of prawns shows that the "sugpo” feeds on minute floating plants in the water called “phyto planktons,” small worms in the mud, fish larva, floating animals called “zooplanktons,” small shells, detritus and Foraminifera. Foraminiferans are round min ute animals found in the sea and brackish waters. During its early stages, the “sugpo” thrives on al gae, minute plants and detritus. During its adult stage, it feeds on worms, shells, and other slow mov ing animals like the foraminife rans. Artificial feeding is possible in prawn cultivation. Experiments indicate that the “sugpo” can feed on fish meat and mussel meat. Prawns are definitely omnivorous. The “sugpo” thrives all over the ¥ ¥ islands from Aparri to Jolo. Be sides being raised in fishponds, the “sugpo” is one of the prin cipal catches of otter trawls, beam trawls and “corral” fisheries. The best fishing grounds known are Lingayen Gulf, Manila Bay' and many other coastlines as far south as Davao Gulf. Prawns are best caught during nighttime. This is when they come out from their burrows to feed. The prawns are often called “demersal” animals because they live mostly at the bottom of the sea, mostly by burrowing in the mud. 7 n the Dagat-dagatan Salt-water Fishery Experiment Station in Malabon, Rizal, varied research projects on how to raise more prawns and other related biolo gical aspects are being conducted. Physiological experiments on the best conditions where prawns live are also being made. Food and feeding habits are being checked. Growth rates and life cycles of this important fishery product are similarly being worked out. The station saw its start in 1936 as a reservation for possible fish ery experimental research as en visioned by the late President Ma nuel Quezon. However, it was only after the war that biological experiments were undertaken by Filipino scientists.—Sunday Times Magazine. ¥ 88 Panorama Ballast away! BALLOON TO PLAY A SATELLITE ROLE A12-foot spherical balloon has been built to be floated in space by a future Ex plorer satellite of the U.S. Army. The aluminum-clad balloon—or subsatellite as it is officially des cribed—would be much larger than scientific satellites now plan ned, and thus far more visible in space. Officials of the National Ad visory committee for Aeronautics, which designed and built the sub satellite. estimated that the sphere would be visible to the human eye at dawn and dusk at an alti tude of 800 miles, and under op timum conditions as high as 1,600 miles. The balloon, made of plastic film and aluminum foil, has been designed to provide accurate in formation on the density of space as it floats at high speeds around the world. February 1960 89 In a collapsed state, the bal loon would be carried to orbiting speed and altitude along with the satellite proper. Then it would de tach from its satellite and be in flated by a bottle of gas. I n the near vacuum of space, B the balloon would orbit around the world like the instrumented satellite. Because of its light weight, however, the balloon would be highly sensitive to the slight air drag of space, and gra dually fall behind the satellite. Studies of the distance between the satellite and sub-satelljte would permit accurate measure ments of the density of space. The balloon experiment will be conducted by one of the two—or perhaps three—additional Explorer satellite firings authorized by the Defense Department as a prelude to probes of the moon by space vehicles. The satellites will be part of the s International Geophysical Year, which ends in December. What scientific experiments will be conducted by the additional Explorer satellites is being kept a tight secret by the Unitea States National Committee for the Inter national Geophysical Year. Com mittee spokesmen have declined to discuss any future t satellite experi ments on the ground that release of such information would tend to “build up” public hopes, which would be dashed if a launching failed. The balloon experiment, it ■ was learned, is being prepared for an Explorer satellite scheduled to be launched several months hence. It is hoped that the satel lite and its balloon companion can be launched in a generally northto-south orbit, thus making them visible over much of the United States. The balloon and its bottle of inflating gas will weigh about 15. pounds. The instrumented pay load of the first Explorer satellites weighed 18 pounds. The Army believes, however, that this “pay load” can easily be increased by 50 per cent through improvements in the Jupiter-C launching missile. A similar but much smaller bal loon experiment has been pre pared bv the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics for one of the satellites to be launched by the Navy’s Project Vanguard. The Vanguard subsatellite will be onlv thirty inches in diameter. The advisory committee is now studying the feasibility of launch ing 100-foot inflatable spheres to act as communications relay sta tions in space. Meanwhile, Project Vanguard is scheduled to trv to launch sev en scientific satellites in the re maining months of the Interna tional Geophysical Year, with the first expected in mid-April. There is a possibility of an eighth launching. Vanguard launched a test satel lite on March 17. * 90 Panorama Ahoy! Penguin Secret O OViet explorer told Unit in ed States scientists of a new Russian doctrine for aircraft in the Antarctic: fly high over brooding penguins. Dr. Mikhail M. Somov, who led the first of the current series of Soviet expeditions to Antarc tica, described a disaster in the penguin world that occurred re cently near the Soviet base at Mirny. Emperor penguins, he ex plained, lav their eggs on ice and then brood them, embedded in folds of flesh in the abdomen. He observed that they had no fear of anything approacning on the sur face-even the most fearsome trac tor. But this nonchalance did not *pply to something in the air. The Russians found a rookery whose population Dr. Somov esti mated at about 20,000 of the great, eighty-pound birds, all brooding. To make an accurate count, the Russians sought to obtain an aer ial photo, but when the plane came over, “thousands of the birds panicked,” Dr. Somov said. As a result, the ice was cov ered with scrambled eggs and fur ther attempts at aerial photogra phy were abandoned. The empe ror penguin lays only one egg a year, and mortality among the re sultant chicks is heavy in the harsh polar climate. Hence the species holds precarious grip on existence. D Somov spoke to those who are to man the various Am erican scientific stations in Antarc tica during the coming year. They have been assembled in Washing ton for outfitting and for final briefings by scientists and polar specialists. February 1960 91 He outlined a more conservative program for the projected Soviet transcontinental crossings than had been indicated in Soviet press reports. The initial crossing is not to begin until a year from now. This would enable the Russians to establish Station Lazarev on the Queen Maud Land coast—the destination of the crossing—and scout out a tractor route to that point through the costal moun tains. Subsequently a second crossing would be made to the planned Bellinghausen Station on Thurs ton Peninsula. This would also await the green light from those at the station who would first have to insure that the base could be reached from the inland plateau. Bellinghausen and Lazarev Sta tions are both to be established this year. Perhaps the most important geo graphical revelation bv. Dr. Somov was the discovery that the area that has been described as the Pole of Inaccessibility is heavily crevassed. The area is near the crest of a dome-shaped plateau of ice that blankets the Antarctic hin terland. J t had been found to be utterlv featureless by both Soviet and American aerial explorers, rising tc almost 14,000 feet at its highest point about 9,000 miles from the sea. No peak is known to break the surface anywhere in this vast region, but multiple cleavage of the ice near its summit suggess that a great mountain range lies buried there. Dr. Somov said aerial survey had indicated that the actual sum mit of the ice was midway bet ween this area and the presen location of Station Sovietskayt the most remote of the outposts Hence it is proposed? in the com ing weeks, to shift Sovietskaya about 220 miles to that summi', rather than the 440 miles to rhe Pole of Inaccessibility as orig 1ly planned. This u'ould somewhat re e the transcontinental tractor ro which is due to run from Sta n Vostok, to the South Pole, to new site of Sovietskaya, and t. a to Queen Maud Land. Dr. Sor ■ ;v emphasized that feasibility of he traverse was still "uncertain” r id might not be completed for th vears. ¥ ¥ ¥ Get wise, girls, the best way to get around a man is to hug him. 92 Panorama Me ntion: All organization heads and members I Help pour club raise: funds painlessly... Join the Panorama “Fund-Raising by Subscriptions” plan today! 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