I. The Art of Basketweaving

A fallen palm leaf calls my name.

I pick it up and observe it with child-like curiosity. I gently stroke the strong and fibrous fronds, still bright and green with life. This leaf must have freshly fallen, maybe by a forceful gust of wind.

I glide my fingers to the edge of the leaf and split the strand in half. I take my two strips and split them again. And again. And again. I’m creating threads, but I don’t know what to do with them. All I can think about is how these threads could make a fine basket. But of course I don’t know how to do that. How could I possibly make a basket? And where did this idea even come from?

I become obsessed with the fallen palm leaf, and the concept that something destined to decompose back into the Earth may have more life to live. More than anything, I desperately want to learn how to weave a basket.

When I tell my friends about my encounter with the palm leaf and my random calling to basket weave, they laugh and say “Why do you want to weave a basket so bad?” I reply: “Honestly I don’t know. It just seems like the right thing to do.”

When I really think about it, it’s not a big surprise that I’m drawn to this palm leaf. As a kid, I could spend all my time playing outside among the trees and the dirt, where everything had a purpose. 

Fallen branches and detritus make for a sturdy fort with good coverage. Cool rocks make for new pets, as long as you give them each their own name. A dab of tree sap is a lovely aromatic and a perfect adhesive for sticking twigs and leaves together. A string of daisies makes a beautiful necklace, bracelet or even a flower crown. And a concoction of flowers, pebbles, twigs and soil mixed with fresh water come together to create a magic fairy potion. 

Mother Nature and her many gifts (living and nonliving) made up my playground as a child. By that logic, the fallen palm leaf is like a toy from my childhood. But I know there’s something more mature and practical about my basket weaving epiphany.

A few weeks have passed since my encounter with the palm leaf. I find myself at the beach laying belly down with the gentle warmth of the sun dancing on my back. I’m relieved to be reading my book Think Indigenous in such a peaceful place. Every time I read this book, I have a pen in hand, prepared to reflect on a revelation. Something about indigenous spirituality resonates so deeply with me -- I’m always hungry to learn more. 

I stumble upon a passage about Filipinos (surprising for a book primarily about Native American indigenous spirituality). My eyes widen and my jaw drops as I read the lines:

“The Filipinos are world-renowned master weavers and their weaving invokes patterns and symbolism that represent their ancestors' folklore [and] nature-based spirituality…

In the olden days, in some villages, the girls went through traditional rites of passage through the art of weaving… One type of weaving would continue throughout her life: the art of weaving plant fiber into baskets.”

Wow. Just wow. How could I receive a sign any clearer than that? My ancestors were literally speaking through me when I experienced an intense desire to weave a basket, apparently out of nowhere. The same way they spoke through me when I discovered my alignment with nature-based spirituality and was inspired to start this blog.

Part of me lights up with joy to uncover what seems like a well kept secret about my own ancestors’ identity and craft. I take it as a sign that my ancestors are in lock-step with me. Yet another part of me casts a shadow of judgment over my lack of knowledge. How could I not have known about this earlier?! This is my own culture, after all. 

Truthfully, there’s a lot I’m still in the process of learning and unlearning when it comes to reconnecting with my indigenous roots. So much of my culture has been buried due to hundreds of years of colonization. My own family has not taught me any of this, and by no fault of their own. They have forgotten our indigenous history over the course of several generations. Or more accurately, the culture was beaten out of their elders. My ancestors fought hard for their sovereignty, but over many hundreds of years, after many hundreds of thousands of deaths, most of my country learned conformity as a means of survival. Those remaining lessons were passed down to the following generations. My family, and the overwhelming majority of Filipinos, were force fed the ways of the colonizer (most especially Spain and America). As of now, the main way for me to remember my ancestors is to follow my intuition intently. This is how they speak to me.

I recently learned that Indigenous tribes from the Philippines continue to practice the beautiful art of basketweaving and are renowned conservationists of the ancient forests where they sustainably gather their materials. Due to climate change, however, they have been experiencing compounding struggles to produce their sacred art form. During the summer seasons, extreme heat dries up the vegetation, forcing them to forage deeper into the forests, while limiting the hours when they can safely harvest. And during the wet seasons, increasingly powerful and frequent typhoons and flash floods inundate the crops, preventing them from gathering for many days at a time. Climate change is a harsh reality in the Philippines. As an island nation in the Global South, they are one of the most vulnerable places in the world to the impacts of a warming planet.

Reflecting on the Indigenous Filipino basket weavers and their intimate relationship with the changing land prompts me to ponder my own mission, and the reasons for starting this blog. I realize that being an environmentalist is inherently rooted in my identity as a Filipina woman -- I was destined to do this work. Importantly, my environmentalism also runs parallel to my decolonization work (the unlearning of my indoctrinated colonial mindset and the return to indigenous practices). The two are complementary and necessary.

I arrive at the thesis that in order to heal this earth, environmentalism must be coupled with decolonization. 

In practice, that means we must restore our sacred and harmonious connection to Mother Earth in order to survive this generation and the generations to come. Whether you are religious, atheist, agnostic, spiritual, or somewhere in between, everyone must agree that we depend on this planet and its abundant gifts to survive here. We live in nature, while nature lives in us. That is the basis of nature-based or indigenous spirituality. Understanding that we ARE nature, and by respecting and tending to it, we take care of ourselves. This reciprocal relationship with Mother Earth is how many indigenous cultures around the world center their spiritual beliefs.

Part of decolonization work is also remembering the value of community -- our shared self. In Filipino culture, this term is called Kapwa. Kapwa is the truth of the shared self, our sense of deep belonging to one another. Our indigenous ancestors interacted with the world in a way that constantly reinforced their identity as a collective. Each time they exchanged with other people, the land, the sky, the water, the celestial, and other non-human life, they learned something new about themselves. Kapwa invites you to see your oneness with the universe. Kapwa reminds you to love and respect all existence on this Earth, as you love and respect yourself. But of course that cannot be accomplished if you are neglecting your own wounds. That’s why a large component of indigenous spiritual practice is about uncovering the parts of you that are guarded with pain or trauma, and putting in the work to heal and grow (also known as “shadow work”). This is the only way we can ground and replenish ourselves, support our Kapwa, and realize the urgency of this moment.

I have often shared with my loved ones that “my religion is my pursuit of becoming a better person every day.” Was that not the whole purpose of religion when the concept was first introduced? Or, in some cases, was it for the few and powerful to control an entire peoples’ belief system, so those people could be controlled in every aspect of their lives? Decolonization is separating ourselves from the flawed belief systems that fear-based religion and modern society indoctrinates us into. It opens our eyes to the most important things in life, like taking care of the land that takes care of us. It is the first step in our collective liberation.

Becoming a “better person” does not mean making more money, acquiring more land, or earning a higher status. Yet these are all tenets that define our dominant capitalistic culture -- that which thrives on unapologetic individualism. To me, becoming a better person means living in alignment with nature-based spirituality and Kapwa, both of which fuel my sense of belonging in life. It means protecting the Earth with every fiber of my being, because I honor the insurmountable value and ephemeral beauty that is stored on this planet. It means inviting others to see the world through my lens, as we have a dwindling window of time to resolve our climate crisis before it’s too late.

I have faith in myself and my community that we can do the necessary work to address this crisis, not necessarily because I’m an optimist, but because I understand that faith is necessary for survival. Our ancestors dealt with a whole host of challenges with significantly fewer resources than we have now. They struggled through rampant wars, extreme poverty, food insecurity, global pandemics, and natural disasters. Every generation faces its own existential threat that leads them to believe the world is ending. And most every time (thus far) people have come together to implement a solution before it's too late. Humans are incredibly resilient in that way.

The biggest challenge with addressing our current climate crisis is that people have politicized the issue and created inseparable division among parties, hindering any significant progress. The people in power are truly apathetic to those who are at the forefront of climate change, such as my ancestors and relatives of the Philippines. Their apathy and inaction kills more people every single day. They are indoctrinated into a self-destructive value system that places profits over people. Of course this model is unsustainable -- true wealth can only exist in the heart of a community. At a time like this, it is critical for society to center Kapwa and return to our indigenous practices as a collective. The fate of the world is literally depending on it.

And where do I fit in, in all of this? I’m just a girl who wants to weave a basket. 

But that’s precisely it. I know now that my epiphany wasn’t a coincidence. I was called to that palm leaf for a reason. It was a vessel for my ancestors to guide me further down the path of nature-based spirituality, Kapwa, and my indigenous identity. Now it’s my duty to continue walking that path, so I can uncover the buried truths of my ancestors, and weave a new climate reality for my people.

To each of my readers -- thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for walking this path with me.