A trowel (/ˈtraʊ.əl/), in the hands of an archaeologist, is like a trusty sidekick – a tiny, yet mighty, instrument that uncovers ancient secrets, one well-placed scoop at a time. It’s the Sherlock Holmes of the excavation site, revealing clues about the past with every delicate swipe.
If history textbooks were grocery aisles, the Ifugao section would probably be somewhere in the back, near the index, filed under “Cultural Minorities” or “Also Happened.” There is often a photo of the rice terraces, usually taken from the Banaue Viewpoint, with a caption that says they are over 2,000 years old and built by mountain groups.
Then the lesson quickly moves on to the Battle of Mactan, the Cry of Balintawak, and the Declaration of Independence. The terraces are presented as symbols, but rarely are they explained as part of a historical process. And certainly not as a political one.
In the last Time Trowel essay, I noted that the 2,000-year age often attached to the Ifugao Rice Terraces does not hold up to archaeological scrutiny. Radiocarbon dates, stratigraphy, and analysis of agricultural systems all point to a more recent origin.
Based on two decades of research, we now understand that the terraces were likely constructed around 400 to 500 years ago. In archaeological terms, that is recent.
These terraces were not built in isolation from colonial events. In fact, their construction and expansion coincided with Spanish colonial pressure in the lowlands. The Ifugao were never isolated during the colonial period. They maintained active engagements — economic, cultural, and political — with neighboring groups and colonial agents.
The terraces are better understood as part of a larger strategy to engage, negotiate, resist, navigate, and adapt to external forces.
Radiocarbon dating has been essential in rethinking the timeline of Ifugao history. A radiocarbon date of AD 1300 from the Banaue confirms that people were already living in the region prior to Spanish contact.
Excavations at the Old Kiyyangan Village (OKV) site suggest even earlier occupation, with dates going back 1,000 years before present (BP). However, these early dates do not indicate the presence of rice cultivation.
Botanical analyses from these layers have not yielded rice remains, suggesting that wet-rice agriculture was not practiced during the earliest phases of settlement. This absence reinforces the idea that intensified rice terrace construction was a response to later colonial entanglements rather than a long-standing tradition.
This matters. It reframes the terraces not as artifacts of a vanished past, but as material responses to historical disruption. The Ifugao shifted then intensified wet-rice cultivation, reorganized their economy, and invested heavily in ritual and community life as a way to strengthen their autonomy.
Their terraces were part of a deliberate political and cultural strategy. They were built in response to threat, not as a product of isolation. They show how upland communities adapted and asserted control over their future in a rapidly changing world.
But the national curriculum continues to sideline these histories. Philippine nationalist history, largely shaped during the American colonial period, emphasized a singular story of nationhood. This story focused on heroes, battles, and key dates that followed a linear narrative of colonization, revolution, and independence.
While this framework helped create a shared sense of identity, it also flattened the historical experiences of communities that followed different timelines. Groups like the Ifugao, Kalinga, Subanen, and Aeta groups are often described as untouched by colonization or outside the mainstream, when in fact they actively shaped their own histories and contributed to broader national developments.
The marginalization of local histories has consequences. Studies in education and psychology show that young people with a strong ethnic identity tend to perform better in school, have higher self-esteem, and are less likely to experience depression or suicidal ideation. Knowing that one’s community has a meaningful and valued history provides young people with a foundation for confidence and resilience.
When schools and textbooks ignore or misrepresent those histories, students are left with the impression that their communities contributed little to national development. This message is not only inaccurate, it is harmful.
When we teach that the terraces are ancient and disconnected from colonial history, we strip them of their context. The terraces were built by communities who responded to political and economic change with innovation and resolve.
This is a story that should be front and center in our national narrative. It challenges the idea that progress and political agency only existed in the lowlands or in cities. It shows that upland communities were not passive or frozen in time, but actively shaped their world.
Local histories, when properly understood, reveal the complexity of the Philippine past. They show that there are many ways to resist, to thrive, and to define identity. Including these stories in history curricula does not fragment the national narrative. It enriches it. It provides students across the archipelago with a fuller sense of how different communities met the challenges of colonialism, modernity, and state formation.
Imagine a classroom in Kiangan or Mayoyao where students read about how their ancestors used engineering, agriculture, and ritual to defend their land and way of life. Imagine students seeing the rice terraces not only as a tourism backdrop but as proof of their community’s creativity, organization, and long-term planning. That knowledge is empowering.
History is not only about past events. It is about who is allowed to tell the story and who is visible in that story. By centering local experiences like that of the Ifugao, we help create a historical narrative that is more accurate and more inclusive. And we also help communities recognize that their histories are not peripheral, but essential to understanding who we are as a nation.
If we continue to tell young people that their communities did not accomplish anything, we should not be surprised if they start to believe it. But if we teach them that their ancestors reshaped mountains to protect their future, we give them the tools to shape theirs. – Rappler.com
Stephen B. Acabado is professor of anthropology at the University of California-Los Angeles. He directs the Ifugao and Bicol Archaeological Projects, research programs that engage community stakeholders. He grew up in Tinambac, Camarines Sur. Follow him on bluesky @stephenacabado.bsky.social