Ever wonder where those impressive, six foot tall Native American chief carvings come from? The ones you see in New Mexico and Arizona when you’re on a road trip through the Southwest?
I never thought about it, honestly, I suppose I assumed they were carved by Native Americans. Well, the other day I was bumping along in a tricycle on my way to a barangay called Kiangan. I was looking around, enjoying the scenery—the overhang of green, the small shops along the road, the mothers standing outside chatting with their children on their hips. We passed a carving shop, and under the cover of a tarp I saw a three foot tall Native American head, complete with an elaborate headdress. I was completely stunned. Did I see that right? What was a Native American chief carving, complete with an elaborate headdress, doing in Ifugao?
My language teacher, Manang Susan, is married to a carver. I went and spent some time with them one afternoon, and they showed me around their woodshop. Manong Johnny, Susan’s husband—a quiet man with a thick chest and arms—owns a carving shop in Banaue and in Kiangan. He and his employees make all sorts of designs—beautiful benches with animal heads and tails on either side, dressers, desks, chicken bookends, tables, and…Native American carvings.
“You saw the big Indian?” Manang Susan laughed, holding her pregnant belly. “That is our shop in Kiangan!”
“You carve Native Americans?” I asked, “Why?” I just couldn’t imagine how it all happened.
Manang Susan spoke again—she often spoke while Manong Johnny sat next to her nodding with his shy smile. “Oh there was a Peace Corps volunteer in the 80’s,” she said, “And he set up a carving shop in Manila. He exports carvings to the U.S., especially those Indian carvings, we make thousands of them here.”
Thousands? I couldn’t believe it! I laughed aloud. “Manang,” I said, “That would be like if our Native Americans carved statues of the Ifugao in their ritual clothing and sold them to you in the Philippines! Isn’t that crazy?”
She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, but it is what they want, so it is what we carve for them.”
It’s weird to live in a world where it’s cheaper to have Ifugao locals carve Native American Chiefs and ship them to the U.S. rather than have Native Americans carve them and sell them down the road. But that’s what happens with globalization—the world gets so flat, you hardly know where you’re from anymore.
I never thought about it, honestly, I suppose I assumed they were carved by Native Americans. Well, the other day I was bumping along in a tricycle on my way to a barangay called Kiangan. I was looking around, enjoying the scenery—the overhang of green, the small shops along the road, the mothers standing outside chatting with their children on their hips. We passed a carving shop, and under the cover of a tarp I saw a three foot tall Native American head, complete with an elaborate headdress. I was completely stunned. Did I see that right? What was a Native American chief carving, complete with an elaborate headdress, doing in Ifugao?
My language teacher, Manang Susan, is married to a carver. I went and spent some time with them one afternoon, and they showed me around their woodshop. Manong Johnny, Susan’s husband—a quiet man with a thick chest and arms—owns a carving shop in Banaue and in Kiangan. He and his employees make all sorts of designs—beautiful benches with animal heads and tails on either side, dressers, desks, chicken bookends, tables, and…Native American carvings.
“You saw the big Indian?” Manang Susan laughed, holding her pregnant belly. “That is our shop in Kiangan!”
“You carve Native Americans?” I asked, “Why?” I just couldn’t imagine how it all happened.
Manang Susan spoke again—she often spoke while Manong Johnny sat next to her nodding with his shy smile. “Oh there was a Peace Corps volunteer in the 80’s,” she said, “And he set up a carving shop in Manila. He exports carvings to the U.S., especially those Indian carvings, we make thousands of them here.”
Thousands? I couldn’t believe it! I laughed aloud. “Manang,” I said, “That would be like if our Native Americans carved statues of the Ifugao in their ritual clothing and sold them to you in the Philippines! Isn’t that crazy?”
She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, but it is what they want, so it is what we carve for them.”
It’s weird to live in a world where it’s cheaper to have Ifugao locals carve Native American Chiefs and ship them to the U.S. rather than have Native Americans carve them and sell them down the road. But that’s what happens with globalization—the world gets so flat, you hardly know where you’re from anymore.
Manong Johnny with a Bulol carving
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