Guizhou the Glorious

Story and photos by Ino Manalo

Few visitors coming to Western China may have heard of the province of Guizhou. Though it is actually
just next door to Yunnan, Guizhou’s reputation has been eclipsed by its much more famous neighbor.
Even among the Chinese this area has long been seen as a wild frontier prone to conflicts. Today of
course, Guizhou is very peaceful, offering much to the venturesome traveler.

The city of Guiyang is the provincial capital and it was here that I began my journey. From Guiyang we
drove to Congxiang , our base for visiting the mountain villages. The trip would take almost all day and it
was dark when we arrived in Congxiang.

The next morning I arose early to walk around. What I found was a rather drab community scattered
along the edges of a large muddy river. Everything seemed so grey and lifeless until I encountered one
of the women from the villages carrying her produce to the market. Her costume, with its jewel-like
patches of elaborate embroidery, foretold that what was in store for me once we set out to explore the
mountain communities.

Guizhou is one of the smaller provinces of China with 38 million people. Staggering as this number may
be, Guizhou only ranks 15th in terms of residents. In fact, population density is much lower than that of
the Philippines and there are vast areas which are practically uninhabited.

As we drove beyond Congxiang, I saw that the mountain slopes had been terraced. Gazing at the
unscrolling vistas of emerald staircases against a clear blue sky during our rest stop, I recalled the
writings of Arsenio Manuel. It was from this grand old man of Philippine anthropology that I had learned
of a theory suggesting how, hundreds of years ago, people from the Yunnan area may have actually
traveled to Luzon. Migrating to our shores they brought with them many of the traditions of their
mother country among which was terrace building.

Surrounded by the glorious Guizhou landscape, one ponders: was Manuel correct? Did I share common
ancestors with the farmers walking along the road accompanied by what were clearly carabaos?
Contemplating these questions of kinship, I smiled at one of the farmers who cheerfully returned my
furtive greeting. For that moment, I would have to content myself with his smile.

The fields that we were driving through produced a wide range of crops which insured a fascinating
indigenous cuisine. We were able to savor different types of rice which came in a rainbow of hues:
purple, red, brown. One specialty was a dish of sautéed potatoes distinguished by a remarkable
freshness and crunch. There was also a simple but delicious platter of scrambled eggs of a rich golden
hue so unlike the pale chalky version that came from chemical addicted poultries. When my hosts
learned that I loved eggs they made sure that I was served my favorite dish every single meal!
Later on, we had the chance to wander around one of the villages nestled amidst the terraces. This
particular community belonged to the Miao, one of the various ethno-linguistic minorities that lived in
the province. The Miao were a fiercely independent group. On many occasions in the past they had led
uprisings against the Imperial government. These rebellions were often manifestations of the concern
that local identities would not be swallowed up by the growing Han majority.

The Miao villagers met us for a welcome ceremony at the gateway to their homes. We were offered a
brief musical performance by a reed pipe ensemble. Punctuating the performance were gun shots fired
from an ancient homemade rifle. The music was fascinating but what captured my attention was a little
boy who, while watching the entire ceremony intently, never let go of his father’s hand.

Further along the entrance path we were shown the stump of what had evidently been a magnificent
tree. Though sacred to the village, it had been chopped down to be used as a pillar for an important
building in Beijing. At first, the villagers had been reluctant to part with their arboreal treasure but they
were eventually persuaded by the central authorities. Their sacrifice was rewarded by a kiosk that was
built over the remains of what must have once been a massive column of the forest with great branches
that embraced the sky. Listening to the old man who was explaining the story to us, I fell to thinking
about what the Miao thought about losing their sacred tree. Was it situations like this that had worried
them about the integrity of their identities?

We also had a chance to view the exhibits in two small museums. The first had panels on indigo dyeing
while the second housed a collection of implements used in everyday life. The displays were somewhat
dusty and uninspired but I was already quite charmed by the very idea that such a small community
would have two galleries. What was even more impressive was that a cement tank filled with water had
been built right beside the main exhibition building as a safety measure in case of fires. The collection
pieces were definitely in good hands!

Towards the end of the morning we were brought to a clearing where the young people danced for us.
Their movements were energetic, without a tinge of self-consciousness. They all seemed to be enjoying
themselves. There was a demonstration of the blessing of the trees and even a wedding ceremony
between a maiden and a hapless member of our party. Once again I could not help but wonder: what
did these youthful dancers think of their visitors? Did it bother them to repeat sacred rituals for our
enjoyment or was this all just part of a day’s work? Who determined what the villagers would present to
us? Was it some tourism bureaucrat or was it the people themselves?

Dancing and singing were also on the program when we visited the village of the Dong minority. The
Dongs are famous for the huge towers that they have built using only timber from the surrounding
forests. We sat in one of these while the people serenaded us. The voices of the Dong were shrill and yet
strangely hypnotic . I was reminded of the singing of the Philippine Cordillera or even of the Pasyon.
Perhaps this was further evidence of the veracity of Manuel’s theories.

Interestingly, the Dong village also had its museum. Entering this I saw that what was on display were
mostly pictures depicting important events in the lives of the community’s residents. Among the photos
were snapshots from visits of national officials as well as trips of various villagers to some of China’s
more iconic sites. At first I was amused especially when I recalled the Miao galleries with their more
conventional offerings of implements and craft products. Then it struck me: this was an exhibit which
showed visitors what was important to the people who had made this museum. Things were well-kept
and immaculate indicating that whoever ran the place valued what they were doing. Who was to say
that a village museum should contain household utensils? Why could villagers not showcase images that
made them proud?

Back in the capital city, we had been taken to see the provincial museum. Here we saw sanitized exhibits
on the different ethno-linguistic minorities of Guizhou where local costumes were displayed as artifacts
that titillated audiences with their colors and patterns. Very little explanations were given. One hardly
understood how things were used or what they meant. The emphasis was on entertainment and
spectacle.

Contemplating what I saw I realized that in many countries, images of minority groups are often used to
provide local color amidst a panorama of national harmony. Usually left out are the manifestations of
conflict and dissent, the nuances of difference which inevitably arise whenever people interact with
each another. One is rarely given a glimpse of what smaller communities think and feel for such intimate
details are drowned by the overpowering national narratives of unity.

Fortunately we were also taken to see the Ethnology Museum, a private institution designed and
administered by the enterprising Ms Janlly. This is one place that makes stopping in Guiyang worthwhile.
Here we saw hundreds of fabrics from the surrounding areas carefully displayed. Instead of shock and
awe we were treated to detailed expositions on the symbols that had been lovingly embroidered and
woven into the cloth with time-honored hands. What an amazing contrast.

Among the exhibits was one with pieces of cloth festooned with what was apparently a very important
symbol for the people of Guizhou: a bird with a fish in its claw. The text explained that this was a
fertility symbol : the bird evoked the male element with the female element, the fish, caught in its
embrace. My mind was reeling. I was reminded of our Sarimanok back home. Little had been written on
this well-known icon. I couldn’t even remember reading a discussion about what it stood for. Yet here,
from the mountains of Guizhou, came a clue. Was this another thread in an epic story that enshrouded
different peoples whose ties and bonds were now lost in time?

For now, Guizhou with its terraces, its mesmerizing singing and its embroidered panels of birds and
fishes would keep its secrets. Perhaps in the future, other travelers will discover their own answers.