Racism in the Outback

I am finally home in El Paso to enjoy Thanksgiving with my family.  After almost a year away from home, I spent the last month in the tropical savannah of northern Australia.  Upon coming home, I had many stories to tell my family from this amazing place on the other side of the world.  But for this blog, I will share a story that I have not yet shared with anybody.

I was picking up supplies in Darwin before heading back into the outback for field work.  This meant a trip to LiquorLand for a crate of delicious and expensive Carlton Draught.  The liquor store was crowded, and I was standing in line with a case of beer and a credit card.  Suddenly I heard a ruckus behind me.  I spun around and saw a young white LiquorLand cashier scold a young black Aboriginal Australian.

“Why are you doing that?!?  Why are you waving your arms around?!?”  The cashier thrust his face inches from the black man and stared him dead in the eye. “Answer me!!”

The Aborigine mumbled something I could not hear.

“That is not an answer!!  Why are you waving your arms around?!!?  Are you trying to cause trouble?!!?”

Without saying another word, the Aborigine immediately walked out of the liquor store.  I only noticed the customers in line paying any attention.  All others continued scanning the shelves for their favorite brew.  After chasing the black man out of the store, the cashier went back to his register and faced the young woman waiting at the front of the line.  She was another black Aboriginal.

The cashier’s eyes glared at the woman with razor concentration.  “Are you with him?!!?  What did he do?!!?  Why was he waving his arms?!!? “

 The Aborigine mumbled something I could not hear.

“ ‘nah’ is not an answer!!  Answer me!!  Why was he waving his arms like that?!!?  What trouble is he causing!!”

 The Aboriginal woman mumbled.  “He is not with me.”

“Now that is an answer.  That is better.  When you see him, tell him to stay out of this store!!” 

 I have seen small hints of racism in my travels this year.  I felt uncomfortable when my Slovene friends made degrading racial jokes against Serbians.  But this encounter left me dumbfounded.  Worse yet was the reaction, or rather inaction, of all the other customers in the store.  Judging by their casual attitude to unwarranted interrogation of two Aborigines, I figure this scene is still common between the two races of Australia.  I did not know what to do as I stood in line.  When my turn came up to purchase the beer, the cashier was perfectly pleasant and professional.  It is such a dichotomy in my mind when an otherwise likable young man was a blatant, unapologetic racist at the flick of a switch.  How can these two personalities exist under the same skin?  I can just imagine such a scene occurring here in a local El Paso liquor store between a White cashier and a black customer.  All customers would protest and scream bloody hell!  The cashier would be lucky to get away with just a firing but would more likely get a couple of good fists to the face behind the store alley.  The complacency of the Australian customers was what unnerved me the most about the whole episode.

I got the impression that the relation between Whites and Aboriginals in Australia was one of mere toleration and not complete acceptance.  They got along because they had to get along.  While I was escorted by my Australian hosts deep in the Outback, we passed a group of Aboriginal people, including men, women and children, trying to flag us down by their parked car by the road.  The engine hood was up; a sure sign of car trouble.  Although we had a toolbox and an emergency satellite phone, we passed them by.  I have lived in rural regions of New Mexico most of my life, and a rule of hospitality is to stop and help if you are able when you see a person in distress by the road.  There are too many sparsely populated areas up there and car trouble could be more danger for the driver than the car.  

As he drove past them, my host turned to me and said, “Some advice – when you see them trying to flag you down, don’t stop.  Just keep driving.”

I understood the rationale.  It could be a trap.  They could be armed.  They may rob us of our cash!  But  as the days passed, I traveled that same stretch of road numerous times, and while the Aboriginal family had long since left the scene, their abandoned car never left that spot on the side of the road.  Each day we passed, the car lost a little more value due to human scavengers and vandals.  If this were a trap, the thieves were certainly dedicated to keeping up the front, even at the expense of their own vehicle. 

I only stayed in northern Australia for a month, and never spoke to a single Aborigine, so I have a very biased, ignorant and myopic view of the race relations that I witnessed there.   But I do know that the British first colonized southern Australia around 1800, and the northern Darwin region of Australia around 1830 or so.  The invasion of White colonists is extremely recent in the history of the ancient Aboriginal culture.  It is only 200 years or so, give or take, that they have had to share the same land.  At only 200 years of relations, I suspect that the current relation between Australian Whites and Australian Aborigines is about the same relation that existed in the United States say about the year 1830 between American Whites and American Aborigines.  Just a hunch …

With all the traveling I did this year, Rosemary suggested I get a gig on TV like Anthony Bourdain.  Nah, that would not work for me.  My travel show would be too much like my blog articles: instead of writing about the amazing tropical wildlife that I saw, I instead write about what made me nervous and uncomfortable.  Who wants to watch that?  Besides, I can’t eat all the food that he does in his show. 

I am glad to be back home.  Happy Thanksgiving everybody.

We grieve to our gods

During my recent European travels, I visited the Narodni muzej Slovenije in Ljubljana.  The ancient Roman artifacts there just whetted my strange fascination with old tombstones and graveyards.

About the time that Jesus was said to have been born in Bethlehem, the region now known as Slovenia was annexed by Roman Empire.  Recently, I was fortunate enough to visit the beautiful country of Slovenia, and I made a point to visit several of the national museums in the short time I was there.

Although all remnants of the Roman Empire are now buried, underwater, or scattered in ruins, traces of it can still be found in various places.  The original castle foundation in the town of Škofja Loka dates back to Roman times.  I wanted to see more Roman artifacts from the region of Emona, as the capitol city of Ljubljana was known at the time.  So I was amazed when I saw the Roman tombstones housed in the Narodni muzej Slovenije (National Museum of Slovenia).  Dozens of tombstones from the Roman era were dredged out from the bottom of the Ljubljanica River and placed on display in the museum.  I was fascinated by these tombstones, because these were the records of ancient common people as they grieved to the pagan gods who carted the dead into the afterlife.  Not a single tombstone appealed to the Christian Deity, which for some reason only increased my fascination.  All the tombstones were inscribed in Latin, but placards gave translations into several European languages including English.  Photographs were not allowed, but I did have a pencil and an old Wal Mart receipt in my wallet.  It was enough for me to scribble the beautiful, sad, and poetic lines written by Atimetus, an otherwise unknown common individual who lived in ancient Emona.  He died two millennia ago, and the only trace he left of himself, was his inconsolable appeal before his gods.  Here is all I had room for on the back of that old Wal Mart receipt:

Urbana, the slave of Iulius Salvine, lies here.  Atimetus, her companion in servitude, had this monument erected.

You have stolen me from my husband, from my children, cruel gods, why have you taken me so soon?  I had only lived for three decades and already a mound of earth conceals my bones and ashes.

Now carry quickly on, traveler, forward where the road leads you!  All will subsequently meet their fate after me.

There were dozens of tombstones in the museum with equally tragic but beautiful inscriptions.  I only bothered to copy one.  I have said many times on this blog that our gods are always there for us to express our profoundest and deepest emotions.  It is true now, and it was true 2000 years ago.  Perhaps my fascination with tombstones is due to this constant reminder that people are drawn to their deities when they have no other way to express their overwhelming grief. 

Is there a point to this article?  Nope.  Just writing this down and putting my thoughts online before I clean out my wallet and lose that Wal Mart receipt forever.

The Bone Church

I have been fortunate to travel to several different European countries this year.  I use my Facebook account to keep my family in New Mexico updated on my European adventures.  I am currently in western Czech Republic, otherwise known as Bohemia, enjoying the local historical sites, and indulging in the famed Bohemian food, spas, mineral baths and beer.  I wrote the following short article for my Facebook account.

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I have read a lot about the 16^th century Reformation in Europe, and while I find the subject fascinating, I quickly forget a lot of it because I have no visceral attachment to the subject.  A lot of that has changed now that I have actually visited Europe, and seen for myself some very small effects of Europe’s dark history.

We visited the nearby town of Kutná Hora, just a few miles outside of Prague.  I quickly got the impression that they were once sister cities, and maybe even rivaled each other in this Bohemian province of the Holy Roman Empire.  A name that I only vaguely remembered from my history lessons, Jan Hus, is all over this town.  He was a Czech priest who lived in this area back in the early 15^th century.  It turns out that Hus read a little too much John Wycliffe, and decided that the Catholic Church was corrupt in its practice of Indulgences.  He began to openly preach this and against other Church doctrines.  At the time, Bohemia was part of the Holy Roman Empire, and to defy the Catholic Church on fine points of dogma was to not only commit heresy, but also treason.  There was a long series of Church Councils, trials and papal schisms during this time, but the short story is that Jan Hus quickly found himself excommunicated.  He was tried for heresy and burned at the stake in 1415.

After the execution, nearly the entire population of Bohemia remained loyal to Jan Hus, and revolted against the Catholic Church.  During the next 15 years, the Pope instituted five separate Crusades against the followers of Jan Hus, now known collectively as the Hussite Wars.  And this brings me back to my visit in Kutná Hora. 

I felt like an ignorant hick, looking at all the monuments to the Hussite Wars, and trying to recollect the dim memory of what they were.  We visited the historical museum, and even though there were no guides or signs in the English language, we saw pikes, spears, maces and other weapons, along with contemporary paintings of their use.  Using these weapons to personally crush or impale another human over dogma disputes is savage to me, but history is not a Disney movie.  We visited the silver museum and learned how Kutná Hora gained its fortune and importance from the region’s famed silver mines.  We also learned as an almost trivial fact, that there were so many dead bodies left in the wake of the Hussite Wars, that corpses were simply tossed into the mines.  We visited the beautiful Baroque Gothic church, Chrám Nanebevzetí Pany Marie.  Like most of these old churches in Czech Republic, it still conducts mass, but is today mostly used as a museum and cultural marker.  Inside were hung paintings depicting the Hussite Wars.  Again, no signs or guides were printed in English, but I could make still make out the graphic depictions of slaughter as righteous acts of God.  Just across the street from the Chrám Nanebevzetí Pany Marie was the grim Sedlec Ossuary.

The Sedlec Ossuary - popularly known to tourists as The Bone Church.  I tried to gain an introspective feeling at the Sedlec Ossuary, but for some reason I could not.  I still do not know quite what to feel about the place.  There were signs printed outside the church (including one in English) that warned visitors to remember that the church was now home to between 40 and 70 thousand people who were killed in the Hussite Wars, and to please remember to be respectful on the church grounds.  The small church, now known as an ossuary, or bone box, was one of the strangest sights I have ever seen.  Apparently, so many people were killed in this region during the Hussite Wars, that there was no room to bury them all.  So they were placed where room could be found.  Renovations to the Chrám Nanebevzetí Pany Marie still turn up bodies buried in the church’s foundation, and a couple of them were even on display.  But the small Sedlec chapel in Kutná Hora had won fame because it was the site where a pilgrim had once sprinkled dirt that he had collected from Golgotha, the sight of the Crucifixion.  What better place to bury the countless numbers of dead?  It already had a famous cemetery because of the legendary dirt from Golgotha, so bodies had to be exhumed to make room for the sudden influx of new casualties from the war and placed inside the chapel.  Upwards of 70,000 of corpses were stuffed into the Sedlec chapel.  Beginning in the early 16^th century, various efforts were made to clean the Sedlec Ossuary out, but final work was done in 1870 when a woodsmith named František Rint was commissioned to display the bones in an orderly fashion. 

Rint took the commission and created one of the most visited tourist attractions in the Czech Republic, but also one of the most beautiful and disturbing pieces of art I have ever seen.  The chapel is still surrounded by the old graveyard with the legendary dirt sprinkled from Golgotha, and walking past the tour buses and concession booths I walked inside.  The signature of the artist František Rint was plastered to the wall, created entirely out of human bones.  To the left was the Coat of Arms of the artist’s benefactors, again created entirely out of human bones.  The chapel itself was morbid, fascinating, beautiful, disturbing and reverent all at the same time.  Bones from some 70,000 people were artistically arranged, piled, stacked and organized in a way that left me speechless.  Alternating patterns of skulls and crossbones were interwoven along the wall tiles.  Two enormous altars of bone stood in the main sanctuary.  The bones were used with stunning ingenuity.  Hip bones and shoulder blades were fanned in a circular pattern around a group of skulls as a kind of macabre halo. Bone arrangements hung from the ceiling in a way that reminded me of marionettes.  Candle holders were made of arrangements from spinal vertebra.  Everything, the choir loft, the pulpit, even the ceiling tiles, was overlaid with a mosaic of human bones.  The enormous chandelier that was in the center of the chapel was also ingeniously created entirely out of human bones.  Finally, the four alcoves where I would normally see an altar or confession booth in any other traditional Catholic Church were piled to the ceiling with human bones.  Each pile was arranged in a pyramid shape, and included two skulls that guarded a candle holder arranged into the stack of bones.  

Visiting this chapel and wandering around the graveyard left me a little drained.  So we left for the nearest food court and indulged in more of that famous Czech sausage and beer!

My review of Bauckham's 'The Gospels as History' Part 1

I just returned from a long walk in the desert with my dogs, and while I should have devoted my attention to watching out for rattlesnakes, my attention was instead focused on some downloaded audio lectures. Yes, it was time to join the rest of the 21st century world, shove crappy white plugs in my ears, and take my ipod out on a walk with me with part 1 of Richard Bauckham’s lecture series ‘The Gospels as History'. So why not listen along, write your own review, tell me what you learned, or comment back to my own review!

Not sure who to thank for this idea – LikeAChild, DMA, DaGoodS, but DaGoodS has written his review here. I will read what others have to say when I am finished writing my own review.

Before I begin my review, I think it is fair to give my own attitude to the whole subject and study of ‘The Historical Jesus’. The subject, no matter what theological perspective the student of the subject holds, is tainted. It carries historical, philosophical and emotional baggage. Many historians attempt to pull the “Jesus of History” from the Gospels, which portray a “Christ of Faith”, and various methods of filtration are used. The Gospels are not long. It takes a few of hours to read through the four canonical Gospels. But these sparse sources have yielded countless pages of attempted historical reconstruction. I suppose the fact that the Gospels are such a puzzle is what gives them their allure.

The only “Lives of Jesus” that I find satisfactory are those that are de-constructive. I have read my fair share of “Historical Jesus” books, including Bauckham’s own Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, and each time a book attempts to construct a historical Jesus, I come away more confused than enlightened. The only ones that I can personally make sense out of are those that show what we cannot know. My thinking is most influenced by David Friedrich Strauss’ Life of Jesus, and Charles Guignebert’s Jesus, both of which deconstruct the Gospels into historically unworkable minutia, and demonstrate that the True History of Jesus is hopelessly buried under heavy accretions of myth and legend. As frustrating as this conclusion may be to the historian, this is the only view that I find personally satisfying. I do think that the Gospels do contain history, but the history it does contain is locked away and hidden between the lines.

I want to state this upfront to place my initial view of the subject in contrast with the more conservative view of Bauckham. To my surprise Bauckham does not devote time in his lecture to arguments or evidences for considering the Gospels as History. That the Gospels are history, or at least some kind of history or historiography, is a given. Bauckham wishes, rather, to consider what kind of historiography the Gospels are. I wish to read any book on Jesus assuming the same bedrock foundation that the author lays, so I will do so with Bauckham. Let us then assume, with him, that the Gospels are indeed history of some kind, and let us see what conclusions we can come up with. He asks, under what genre of ancient history can the Gospels then be categorized?

I think Bauckham is correct to ask this interesting question, and it is something I also often think about. I also think the Gospels are a history of some sort. Perhaps historiography is a better term for what needs to be considered. Historiography, as Bauckham explains it, is ‘literature about what happened in the past’. I think Bauckham makes a great observation here, and I agree with this distinction. The problem from here is categorizing these types of historiography or ‘literature about what happened in the past’, or even defining what is meant by ‘historiography’ as opposed to strict history. ‘History’ in the sense of historiography can be gleaned from nearly anything, an extreme example perhaps being the apocalypses of the Old Testament. No, the stars did not fall, and the world did not shake on its foundations, but history can be gathered behind the veil of this fantastic language. Does this make most anything open to the genre of historiography? Perhaps so. However, as the lecture continued, Bauckham seemed to back away from this initial view of ‘historiography’ or ‘literature about what happened in the past’ to trying to justify the Gospels as strict ancient biography. The question of historiography, then, I think was not addressed. Rather, I think Bauckham was trying, in his lecture, to see how far he could move the Gospels away from mere ‘historiography’ and into the more solid ground of Biography and History.

Bauckham compares the Gospels to the various forms of histories found in ancient history and biography. In doing so, I can’t help but think that Bauckham narrows the criterion for History just enough to include the Gospels in that genre, then once included, he widens the gap again by claiming that the Gospels are biography, but of an extraordinary type. For instance, he lists the various genres of biography used in the Greek and Roman world, and compares those descriptions against the Gospels as ancient biography. In comparing the Gospels with these other ancient biographies, Bauckham notes the similiarites as justification for placing the Gospels in the genre of ancient Biography – opening prologue, narrative length, an active object of the narrative or subject of the biography, formal structure, etc. But once fitted narrowly in, Bauckham then widens the criteria by claiming that genres of history and biography are malleable, flexable, and change over time.

Bauckham pulls this trick a few times. He variously states that the Gospels fit in the genre of history, yet they have unique traits, yet they are biography, yet not like the biographies of the philosophers or sages. It seems a case of fitting the argument to match the conclusion. Bauckham goes on to talk about the different criteria that the ancients used when considering the validity of their biographies. He claimed that biographers were considered more reliable when they were near their sources. I don’t really know about this, but this seems more of a modern idea of history. Do we know anything about what the ancients considered as criteria for sound historicity? Perhaps there are plenty that I am just unaware of, but I am aware that even contemporary history was not unaffected by fantastic hagiography. For instance, just off the top of my head, I can think of one of Plato’s contemporary biographers, his own nephew Pseusippos, who studded Plato’s life with the fantastic, such as that he was the son of Apollo.

When Bauckham stated that histories were generally considered more reliable if they were written by eye-witnesses or a source close to an eye-witness, I confess that I said aloud “Oh boy, here we go…” knowing that the implication was towards the traditional authors of the Gospels. Does Buackham have a statement from an ancient philosopher or historian that states these criteria, or is Bauckham extrapolating our criteria back onto the ancients? And if so, why extrapolate this particular criteria if he did not have an end in mind – that of vindicating the historicity of the Gospels?

Bauckham makes some interesting claims about the Gospels to demonstrate their uniqueness as Biographies, and Jesus as a unique biographical figure. Bauckham states that the uniqueness of Jesus should not prove difficult to consider as history, if we consider the uniqueness say, of the biography of an ancient athlete, should one be found. A biography of an athlete would surely be unique, but historical, so why not a unique biography Jesus? Do I really need to state what is obviously wrong with this analogy? The baggage that the study of Jesus brings, is the baggage of his miraculous deeds, divine birth and his claims concerning the divine. This is the problem of historicizing this figure, and mere analogies like this almost never work. Jesus is unique, because he is portrayed as unique, and the problems of historicizing such a fantastic, divine character are not the same problems of historicizing a mere athlete. This almost seems to be trivializing the whole approach – as if the history of Jesus were really that easy. Bauckham as much as admits this when he considers the type of person that, he says, the Gospels present Jesus as. Jesus was not merely a sage, not merely a wise teacher – Bauckham claims that Jesus of all the Gospels is portrayed as the unique Messiah and the Son of God. He is certainly a national Messiah, but is also portrayed as a salvific figure for the whole world. While I think there are problems in the Gospels with all these claims, I will ignore that for now and move on to where I think Bauckham really derails his own approach to the study of the Gospels as merely history.

The Gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy which demonstrates Jesus is of the heritage of David, the national Messiah of Israel, and Abraham, the Messiah of the Gentiles – so that Jesus represents both Israel and the World. (Abraham as Messiah of the Gentiles??? Did I hear that right?) The Gospel of Luke is more interested in Ceasar Agustus, via his order of a census, while the Gospel of Matthew is more interested in the local ruler Herod, and his order to Slaughter the Innocent. This contrasting reach of Jesus between the two Gospels, Bauckham says, also demonstrates the uniqueness of the Gospels of History – and at this point I think that Bauckham has left the world of history and entered the world of Supernatural Design. Describing the irony between the two Gospels, the one focused locally, the other focused globally, as evidence that the Gospels are each individually unique biographical documents, is really a more sophisticated way of describing the four Gospels as “each true, but each miraculously designed by The Holy Spirit to focus on one particular aspect of Jesus” – an approach that I do not think anybody would claim is historical.

I think I have typed enough on this, and I have some house chores I must get to. In summary, an interesting listen, and I will listen to the remaining three lectures, but I can’t help but think that my initial categorization is correct. The Gospels are indeed unique literary creations, and were probably unprecedented when they were written. They fit in the literary genre of, not biography, not history, not sage wisdom, not philosophy, not apocalypse, not hagiography, not mythology, but a jumbled combination of each. A genre called …

Gospel.

The Myth of Lapu-Lapu

In Rizal Park, in downtown Manila, stands an enormous statue has been raised to honor the Philippine hero Lapu-Lapu. He, according to local history, was responsible for the death of the Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan in 1521. The statue, as I stood next to it, appeared to be over 40 feet tall. Lapu-Lapu, is depicted as young, extremely muscular, and with a grave, authoritative expression, as he rested on a massive broadsword, of a type that I am almost certain did not exist on the Philippine Islands before the arrival of the Spaniards. Surrounding the reflecting pool adjacent to Lapu-Lapu, were busts of dozens of other Philippine heroes from decades and centuries past.

Poor Magellan was nowhere in sight.

Not that there isn’t one. I know that Manila once had a large monument to Magellan during the American colonial period. But I never saw one while I was there.

But the monument to Lapu-Lapu? Stand in Rizal Park, and you cannot miss it. It towers over everything.

I asked RoseMary why Lapu-Lapu, known primarily as the man who killed Ferdinand Magellan, was so revered in Philippines. She said that Lapu-Lapu represents the Philippine Spirit, the spirit that keeps outside influences from imposing their will on the strong Philippine people.

As she said this, I read the placard on Lapu-Lapu’s statue. It claimed he was Muslim. I had to remember that not only is Philippines one of the most devoutly Catholic countries on the planet, about 1/3 of them are just as devoutly Muslim. They are a divided nation.

Magellan, captain of a fleet of five ships, and desperate to find a Western sea route to the Orient, sailed from the city of Seville, Spain in September, 1519. It was not until March, 1521, after having suffered storms, savages, mutiny, and starvation that they landed on what would later be christened the Philippine Islands (after King Philip II of Spain). The sea-worn expedition first saw the native people on a small island that is known today as Homonhon or Jomonjol. According to the accounts written at the time, the natives shared with the explorers what they had – coconuts, chickens, and palm wine.

From here, Magellan again sailed through the Philippine Archipelago and eventually made his way near the south end of Leyte on the island of Limasaua, where they met the local cheiftans who, at the time, were at war with each other. Magellan and his crew were desparately in need of food, but the food on Limasaua was limited, I assume because it was a time of war. Magellan, in a desperate search, set sail again, this time reaching present day Cebu in April 1521.

Cebu, at the time, appears to have been a large trading center, as junks from Siam and China were present at the time Magellan landed there. Trade appears to have been heavy, even at that time. Magellan and his crew of Spaniard mariners were initially resisted by the Cebu warriors, but Magellan eventually found himself in the court, and in the favor, of the local Cebu warlord Humabon.

Humabon, also involved in current tribal warfare, appears to have been able to see the advantage of having seemingly powerful ocean voyagers as allies. He invited Magellan to seal a compact of friendship with a ritual that was common at the time. The two chiefs would wound themselves in the chest, then suck and drink each other’s blood, as a blood contract. It is uncertain whether Magellan participated in this ritual, but this type of ritual had been observed and recorded many times by subsequent Spanish settlers.

In return, the ritually minded Humabon was much impressed with the celebration of the Catholic Mass – also a ritual of blood drinking. All records indicate that the Cebu warriors were eager to accept the Catholic faith, if only as a means of making themselves more powerful warriors against their adversaries. More than 800 Cebu warriors were baptized, including their chief Humabon. Magellan also left a small gift for Humabon, or as he was now called, Carlos, the Christian King of Cebu. I will talk more about this gift in a future article.

It appears that both sides got what they wanted out of the deal. The Spaniards under Magellan received food and provisions. The Warriors of Cebu under Humabon learned of powerful new ceremonies, and Spanish allies, both of which would help them overcome enemies.

Those enemies were the warriors from the island of Mactan. Humabon, the Christian King of Cebu, now considered Magellan and his Spanish sailors as warrior allies, and depended on them to help fight. After sailing to the island of Mactan with about 50 men, Magellan was killed, according to local legend, by Lapu-Lapu, the Mactan warrior, by a wound to the arm and spear thrusts to the chest. Apparantly, Magellan had ordered Lapu-Lapu to convert to Christianity and pay obeisance to the Christian King (Humabon), but I did not learn enough of those details while in Philippines, so I will not elaborate on any supposed attempts at forced conversion.

Here is the irony in all this. Lapu-Lapu has come to symbolize Philippine resistance against Spanish occupation. As I said earlier in this article, RoseMary says that he represents the Philippine spirit of resisting foreign influence. But this left me very puzzled. Spain occupied the Philippine Islands for centuries. Philippines adopted their religion, and the influence of the Spanish language permeates the Tagalog language. I asked RoseMary if Lapu-Lapu was raised to such mythic status after Spanish occupation ended around 1898? Where was Lapu-Lapu before that? Had Lapu-Lapu become a symbol of resistance during their war with Spain? But Lapu-Lapu, according to other local customs, has also come to symbolize resistance of the Spanish faith, that is Catholicism. Lapu-Lapu was, according to tradition, Muslim. I have to suspect that this part of the myth arose in the Muslim regions of Philippines, a faith which reached the Philippine Islands centuries before Spain brought Catholicism.

What am I saying in all this? I guess it is my clumsy way of expressing the power that Myth holds on all of us. A huge part of history is myth. Myth is made of symbols. Myth is what empowers people, emboldens them to change their own perceived history. I am slowly learning that, and slowly believing to be true, that we all work on myth. Myth is a large component of what each and every one of us forms our own reality out of.

I don’t have any way of knowing if Lapu-Lapu really resisted the Catholic religion in favor of his own fervently held Islamic religion. I don’t know if Magellan struck the first blow by burning down the houses on the island of Mactan. I don’t know if Magellan ordered a conversion of Lapu-Lapu and the Mactan people. I don’t know if Humabon and his Cebu warriors really converted to Catholicism peacefully or if they were coerced. Based on the evidence that I have seen, I suspect it really was a peaceful conversion, but in the end I really don’t know for sure. Nobody knows what Lapu-Lapu really looked like. He may have been tall and muscular, or short and skinny. He may have been young, middle aged or old. But the myth dictates that he was strong, vibrant, and stands in a pose to seemingly challenge the entire world. So the myth betrays him in the way the Philippine people need him to be portrayed.

So there he stands in Rizal Park, the Lapu-Lapu of the Philippine people, the Lapu-Lapu that you need in your life, your history, your culture. There stands Lapu-Lapu, sword drawn, guarding Rizal Park, guarding the Philippine Islands from unknown future invaders. There stands Lapu-Lapu, to give the Philippine people personal strength, pride and a glorious past.

Behold – not the Lapu-Lapu of History, but the Lapu-Lapu of Faith.