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Regional Minorities and
Development in Asia

Asia has undergone strong economic growth since the Second World War.
However, it also experiences growing economic and regional disparities brought
about by this unprecedented development. This economic growth cannot be
considered sustainable without taking into consideration the social development
of minority populations, as well as the fundamentals of minority rights.
The chapters in this book work from the premise that an environment that favours
the emergence of various conditions necessary for the development of minority
populations will contribute towards further economic development and prosperity,
as well as the social cohesion of the entire country. Bringing together perspectives
from Economics, Development and Area Studies, Geography, Anthropology, and
Sociology, the contributors provide local narratives that shed light on some of the
different needs, situations, and methods of problem solving.
This diverse approach gives a nuanced perspective on social, economic and
political inequality, and the ways in which people are constructing varied responses
to the challenges of modernization. Through the comparison of the characteristics
and realities of minority region development among countries in East and Southeast
Asia, this book provides a better understanding of the development-related
challenges faced by minority regions in the current context of modernization and
globalization.

Huhua Cao is Professor in the University of Ottawa’s Department of Geography,

where he is a specialist in the application of geostatistical approaches to urban and
regional minority development.

Elizabeth Morrell is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Political and International

Studies at Flinders University, South Australia. She is Acting Director of the
Flinders Asia Centre.
Routledge Contemporary Asia Series
1 Taiwan and Post-Communist
Europe
Shopping for allies
Czeslaw Tubilewicz
2 The Asia-Europe Meeting
The theory and practice of
interregionalism
Alfredo C. Robles, Jr
3 Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural
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Edited by Anthony Reid and
Michael Gilsenan
4 Asian-European Relations
Building blocks for global
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Edited by Jürgen Rüland, Gunter
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5 Taiwan’s Environmental
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Toward a green silicon island
Jack F. Williams and Ch’ang-yi
David Chang
6 Taiwan’s Relations with
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A tail wagging two dogs
Su Chi
7 The Politics of Civic Space in
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8 Trade and Contemporary
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10 Kim Jong Il’s Leadership of
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Jae-Cheon Lim
11 Education as a Political Tool in
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Edited by Marie Lall and Edward
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12 Human Genetic Biobanks in
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Edited by Margaret
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13 East Asian Regionalism from a
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Current features and a vision for
the future
Edited by Tamio Nakamura
14 Dissent and Cultural Resistance
in Asia’s Cities
Edited by Melissa Butcher and
Selvaraj Velayutham
15 Preventing Corruption in Asia
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Strategic and policy challenges
Edited by Julien Chaisse and
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18 Regional Minorities and
Development in Asia
Edited by Huhua Cao and
Elizabeth Morrell
Regional Minorities and
Development in Asia

Edited by Huhua Cao and

Elizabeth Morrell
First published 2010
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

by Routledge
270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2009.

To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s
collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.

© 2010 Editorial selection and matter, Huhua Cao & Elizabeth Morrell.
Individual chapters, the contributors.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or

utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Regional minorities and development in East and Southeast Asia / edited by
Huhua Cao & Elizabeth Morrell.—1st ed.
p. cm.—(Routledge contemporary Asia series)
1. Economic development—Southeast Asia—21st century. 2. Minorities—
Southeast Asia—Social conditions. I. Cao, Huhua. II. Morrell, Elizabeth,
1945–
HC412.R462 2009
338.950089—dc22 2009004009

ISBN 0-203-87343-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-55130-7 (hbk)

ISBN10: 0-203-87343-2 (ebk)
ISBN13: 978-0-415-55130-4 (hbk)
ISBN13: 978-0-203-87343-4 (ebk)
Contents

List of illustrations ix
Notes on contributors xii
Acknowledgements xvi

Introduction: from consciousness to responsibility 1

HUHUA CAO
ELIZABETH MORRELL

PART I
Overcoming exclusion 17

1 From rebels to governors: ‘patronage autonomy’ and

continuing underdevelopment in Muslim Mindanao 19
MIRIAM CORONEL FERRER

2 Balancing livelihoods, limited options, and the state:

alleviating poverty in critical environments 43
ELIZABETH MORRELL

3 The hunter’s spirit: autonomy and development in

indigenous Taiwan 59
SCOTT SIMON
PART II
Development or underdevelopment? 77

4 Sustainable futures? Displacement, development and

the Muong 79
BARBARA RUGENDYKE
NGUYEN THI SON

5 Access to education for girls in minority regions of Gansu:

a geographic perspective 99
HUHUA CAO
JING FENG

PART III
Ethnic integration and cultural revival 119

6 Reviving Malay connections in Southeast Asia 121

MINAKO SAKAI

7 The Miao of China: an emerging nationality 139

PETER M. FOGGIN
SÉBASTIEN CARRIER

8 Globalization and regionalism: the rise of a new cultural

movement in Bali, Indonesia 157
THOMAS REUTER

Index 171
Illustrations

Plates
1.1 Women NGO workers with the Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil
Society, Sulu Island, 2006 21
2.1 Sacks of siong stockpiled beneath the house of a local distributor,
waiting for an increase in market prices 50
3.1 Taroko people purchase groceries from a Han Taiwanese
entrepreneur 66
3.2 A Taroko church choir sings for tourists at Taroko National Park 68
3.3 Taroko men protest for hunting rights at Taroko National Park 72
4.1 Home in resettlement village 81
4.2 Traditional home at Ban Khanh 89
4.3 Threshing rice in a resettlement village 92
5.1 Discussions are a mandatory part of the educational curriculum in
Tibetan monasteries 102
5.2 Hui minority girls in Linxia Autonomous County, Gansu 105
5.3 A classroom in Dongxiang Minority Autonomous County, Gansu 108
5.4 Typical landscape of a poverty county: Dongxiang Minority
Autonomous County, in winter, Gansu. 113
6.1 Haji Djohan Hanafia from Palembang, Indonesia, with his award
received from the Malay Islamic World Movement 130
7.1 A distinguished Hmu cloth merchant in the market town of
Chong’an in eastern Guizhou 142
7.2 Sharing-strong-drink ceremony at a funeral of the Liuzhai Miao
(Hmong) in the north-west of Guizhou province (Xinkai village) 147
7.3 Hmu housing in the village of Dahongzhai (Taijiang county) in
eastern Guizhou province 149
7.4 A Ghao Xong woman in western Hunan (Laodong village in
Fenghuang county) spinning wool into yarn in the traditional way 150
8.1 Hindu temple ritual in Bali 163
x Illustrations
Figures
4.1 Map of case study villages and Cuc Phuong National Park 82
4.2 Age structure of population in case study villages 84
4.3 Levels of education for all villages 85
4.4 Number of respondents who observed use of forest resources 90
5.1 Location of Gansu province and its minority regions 103
5.2 Spatial distribution of middle school aged girls’ non-attendance
rate in minority and non-minority regions of Gansu, 2000 108
5.3 Influential factors in school aged girls’ non-attendance rates, 2000 111
5.4 Correlation between the minority proportion and the middle
school aged girls’ non-attendance rate in minority counties in
Gansu, 2000 112
7.1 Map of the geographic distribution of the main Miao groups of
China 141

Maps
Map of East and Southeast Asia xvii
Map of Philippines and Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao 18
Map of Sulawesi Island, Indonesia 42
Map of Taiwan 58
Map of Vietnam 78
Map of Gansu, China 98
Map of Malaysia, Indonesia and Philippines 120
Map of Miao in China 138
Map of Bali, Indonesia 156

Tables
1.1 Estimated Moro and non-Moro population in Mindanao,
1903–2000 24
1.2 Mindanao Muslim and non-Muslim population, 2000 25
1.3 Poverty incidence (percentage) by region, 1997 and 2000 28
1.4 HDI and other social indicators in Moro provinces (among
77 provinces) for 1997, 2000 and 2003 29
1.5 Percentage distribution of income sources of ARMM and
non-ARMM local government units, 2001 30
1.6 Total project cost (in million Philippine Pesos) of ongoing
projects 33
A.1 Provisions of Republic Act 9054 (table) 36
4.1 Occupation by age of male villagers 87
4.2 Occupation by age of female villagers 88
5.1 Minority autonomous regions in Gansu 104
 Illustrations xi
5.2 Comparison of minority and non-minority counties in Gansu
province, 2000 106
5.3 Average rates of non-attendance at primary and middle schools
for school aged children (6–15 years old) in Gansu, 2000 107
Notes on contributors

Huhua Cao is Professor in the University of Ottawa’s Department of Geography,

where he is a specialist in the application of geostatistical approaches to urban
and regional minority development. He has been involved in extensive research
projects in Canada, Asia, Eastern Europe and Africa. One of Dr Cao’s main
research fields focuses on the socio-economic development of Francophone
minorities under the urbanization process in Canada. Since 2000, Dr Cao has
been twice recognized by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council
of Canada for that research, particularly on the accessibility of social serv-
ices to Francophone minorities. In recent years, Dr Cao, of Chinese Manchu
ethnic extraction, has developed a series of collaborative research projects with
Chinese colleagues. He has written numerous articles related to the development
of minorities in collaboration with international academics. Dr Cao is one of the
principal editors of Inclusion and Harmony: improving mutual understanding
of development in minority regions, China: Ethnic Publishing House, 2008. As
guest editor for the International Convention of Asian Scholars (ICAS) pub-
lication series, Dr Cao has finalized another book entitled Ethnic Minorities
and Regional Development in Asia: reality and challenges, to be published by
Amsterdam University Press in 2009.
Sébastien Carrier is a PhD candidate in geography at the Université de Montréal,
and associate research fellow at Guizhou University’s Southwest Minority
Language and Culture Research Institute, China. After being involved in
research on the health status and risk factors of the Miao (Hmong and A-Hmao)
in Yunnan province, his current work focuses on the socio-economic impact of
rural-urban labour migration on Hmong communities in China. Since 2006 he
has done intensive ethnographic fieldwork among this minority group in Dafang
county of north-western Guizhou province.
Miriam Coronel Ferrer is a Professor in the Department of Sociology in the
University of the Philippines, Diliman, Quezon City and previously served
as the Dean of the College of the Social Sciences and Philosophy of the same
University. She holds both a PhD and a Master’s degree (Sociology) from the
University of Wisconsin-Madison.
 Contributors xiii
Jing Feng is currently pursuing her PhD in social geography in the Department of
Geography, University of Ottawa, Canada. Since her undergraduate years, Ms
Feng has had a great interest in minority regional economies. She obtained her
Master’s degree researching urban-rural income disparities in Gansu, Western
China, where she spent four years focusing upon regional economic imbalances.
Her current research aims to understand the process and pattern of urban devel-
opment in minority regions, especially access to public services in healthcare
and education.
Peter M. Foggin has been professor in the Department of Geography of the
Université de Montréal since 1979. His PhD from McGill University was in the
area of urban geography and he has collaborated considerably with colleagues in
Peking University on the topic of middle-sized cities in China. However, more
recently his research has mainly been on the health status and risk factors of
geographically and/or socially isolated populations. His publications include a
number of detailed papers that have appeared in Social Science and Medicine.
Initially working along these lines in northern Québec in Canada, he has more
recently done work on this topic both in Mongolia and in western China. His
teaching has centred in recent years on the human geography of China and of
Southeast Asia as well as on cultural geography. His research, however, might
well be seen as a part of medical geography, sometimes described as the geo-
graphical side of epidemiology and public health. One of his chief current
interests is that of promoting conservation and sustainable development on the
Tibetan Plateau through work with the Canadian NGO, Plateau Perspectives.
Elizabeth Morrell gained her PhD in Asian Studies, and is a Senior Lecturer in
the School of Political and International Studies at Flinders University, South
Australia. She is Co-director of the Flinders Asia Centre. Elizabeth has a strong
research focus on the eastern Indonesian island of Sulawesi where she has con-
ducted longitudinal studies of social, political and economic issues. Her current
research interests follow the post-Suharto democratic transition, and in particu-
lar the linkages between civil society and socio-economic development. She
also has a strong focus on sub-national regionalism, and is leader of a region-
alism research group at Flinders University. Elizabeth’s recent publications
include ‘Participatory planning in Indonesia: seeking a new path to democracy’,
Policy Studies 28(1), 2007 (co-authored); Securing a Place: small-scale artisans
in modern Indonesia, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2005; and
‘What is the news? The new local press and democracy in Indonesia’, Asian
Journal of Social Science 33(1), 2005.
Thomas Reuter is a Senior Research Fellow in Anthropology in the School
of Political and Social Inquiry at Monash University. After obtaining a PhD
from the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at the Australian
National University, he taught at the University of Heidelberg, Germany. More
recently he has held ARC Post-doctoral and Queen Elizabeth II Fellowships
at the University of Melbourne. He is the author of: Custodians of the Sacred
xiv Contributors
Mountains: culture and society in the Highlands of Bali. Honolulu: Hawaii
University Press, 2002; The House of Our Ancestors: precedence and dualism in
Highland Balinese society. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002; and Inequality, Crisis
and Social Change in Indonesia: the muted worlds of Bali. London: Routledge,
2003. Thomas served as President of the Australian Anthropological Association
from 2002 to 2005, was a co-founder of the World Council of Anthropological
Associations and is currently Deputy Chair of this organization. His research
interests are focused on the anthropology and politics of religion, marginality
and representation, social organization, status, hierarchy and social justice, eth-
nographic method and the theory of intercultural relations.
Barbara Rugendyke is Associate Professor in Geography and Development
Studies at the University of New England in Australia. Since completing an
undergraduate degree in Economic Geography and Asian History, she has had
a long-standing interest in social justice. Her PhD focused on the policies and
practices of Australian non-government development assistance organizations
working to alleviate poverty in developing nations. Barbara’s ongoing research
interests include the activities of non-government development assistance
organizations and the impacts of their advocacy work, projects and programs;
community development planning processes in marginalized indigenous com-
munities; and the social and environmental impacts of nature based tourism
development. Recent publications include her edited collection NGOs as
Advocates for Development in a Globalizing World (2007), and, with John
Connell, Tourism at the Grassroots: villagers and visitors in the Asia-Pacific
(2008), Routledge.
Minako Sakai holds a PhD in anthropology from the Research School of Pacific
and Asian Studies, the Australian National University. She is currently a Senior
Lecturer and teaches Indonesian studies at the University of New South Wales at
ADFA campus, Canberra. She has published widely on the topic of Islamization
of Gumay rituals of South Sumatra, Indonesia, and local identity politics and
regionalism in the Malay world. Her recent research interests include Islamic
activism through the development of Islamic economy in Indonesia ‘Community
Development through Islamic Microfinance: serving the poor in a viable way’ in
Expressing Islam (2008), ISEAS. She is the editor of Beyond Jakarta: regional
autonomy and local society in Indonesia (2002), Crawford House Publishing,
and is a co-editor of the Politics of the Periphery in Indonesia: social and geo-
graphical perspectives (2009), NUS Press.
Scott Simon, Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology
at the University of Ottawa, received his PhD in Anthropology from McGill
University, where he specialized in the anthropology of development. He also
has a BA in East Asian Studies from Indiana University. He has lived, studied
and conducted research for a total of two years in Zhejiang and seven years
in Taiwan. Currently working on the political and legal anthropology of indi-
geneity and development in the Austronesian communities of Taiwan, he has
 Contributors xv
done ethnographic research on this topic in both Hualien and Nantou counties
of Taiwan since 2004. He has published on various aspects of development in
Taiwan, including Sweet and Sour: life worlds of Taipei women entrepreneurs.
Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003; and Tanners of Taiwan: life strat-
egies and national culture. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. He is also President
of the Canadian Asian Studies Association.
Thi Son Nguyen graduated with an undergraduate degree in Geography and
received her doctorate with an emphasis on tourism from Hanoi University
of Education, Vietnam. Son also completed a Master’s degree in tourism geo-
graphy at the University of New England, Australia. Her doctoral research
involved the analysis of contemporary tourism development at a national park,
delineating natural and cultural resources use in and around national parks and
making recommendations about the implementation of eco-tourism. Son is a
Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Geography, Hanoi University of Education,
Vietnam. Her teaching and research focus is on the socio-economic geography
of Vietnam and tourism, especially as it relates to environmental conservation
and local development. She teaches several courses on tourism and eco-tourism
in undergraduate and Master’s programs at the faculty and for other universities
in Vietnam. In addition to teaching, Son has engaged in projects concerning
tourism development, and education about conservation among local commu-
nities within and surrounding national parks.
Acknowledgements

Our sincere thanks go to the members of minority groups who shared with us their
problems, hopes and aspirations. We in turn hope that our research can influence
the policy designers, development program managers, and other decision mak-
ers, to bring about ways of life which provide opportunities for people to achieve
their dreams.
The editors would like to acknowledge the financial support of the University of
Ottawa in publishing this book. They are also grateful to Jing Feng and Ruibo Han
from the University of Ottawa and Marie-Eve Reny from the University of Toronto
for their invaluable assistance in preparing the manuscript for publication.
Map of East and Southeast Asia (Sources: Online Map Creation [http://www.aquarius.
geomar.de/], with modification)
Introduction
From consciousness to responsibility
Huhua Cao and Elizabeth Morrell

Since the Second World War, Asian nations have experienced some of the fast-
est economic growth in the world. This growth was especially rapid in East and
Southeast Asia, where the initial onset was the emergence of the ‘Four Small
Dragons’ of South Korea, Taiwan, Singapore and Hong Kong during the 1970s.
That was soon followed by the remarkable growth of the ‘Big Dragon’ China from
the 1980s. Southeast Asia exerted its presence amongst the so-called miracle eco-
nomies, notably in Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam and Indonesia. Although slowed
to differing extents by the economic crisis from 1997, most of these economies
have been refocused and are again stimulating great change. Yet, parallel with the
extraordinary growth, in particular of the ultramodern metropolises and the littoral
zones, unequal development has generated economic and regional imbalances.
As well, development has often been inappropriate and ineffectively controlled.
These factors have impacted in particular upon ethnic, religious and other minority
populations such as people living in remote communities. If this is to be overcome,
prominent issues to be addressed are the type and levels of development which
should be pursued. The aim of this book is to examine specific local needs and
issues, as well as responses to development and impacts of various projects, in case
studies which allow comparative observations.
The concept of international development was introduced to post-colonial and
other politically transformed countries by the Western powers after the Second
World War. Since then it has become evident that economic growth alone is not
sufficient. The errors of recent history have shown that achieving balance bet-
ween economic security, human well-being, social cohesion and minority rights is
one of the most important objectives to be met as nations modernize. Prioritizing
economic progress did not achieve either the social equity or the multi-sectoral
dynamism essential to maintain adequate levels of human welfare and security. A
long-standing weakness of development has been that planners and policy mak-
ers largely ignored local needs and circumstances in their attempts to impose
‘advanced nation’ criteria upon the diverse populations in the countries of the
so-called developing world. Some analysts have argued that, rather than helping,
the earlier decades of development represented a ‘poisonous gift’ (Rahnema 1997:
381). Despite some successes, development more often produced and maintained
inequality and exclusion (Rist 1997).
2 H. Cao and E. Morrell
Even now, after approximately half a century of internationally funded assist-
ance and intervention, many populations still face ‘decreased opportunity, political
and economic disempowerment, and general insecurity of food, social safety, polit-
ical and legal representation, and financial well-being’ (Jones 2004: 145). Not least
of the problems to emerge from the economic approach was the accumulation of
massive debt in receiver countries. Other often-noted difficulties have been caused
by the demand for natural resources which led to environmental degradation and
loss of income for local communities. As well, international development programs
did not prevent ineffective governance and fragile states. More recently, local and
global insecurity has increased as extremists invoke inequality as one rationale for
terrorism. For these and other reasons, it has become clear that economic growth
cannot guarantee vulnerable populations the freedom to fulfil their abilities, or to
achieve social and political rights regardless of their identity or their place in soci-
ety. It is equally clear that economic growth cannot be sustained without taking
these issues into consideration.
In recent decades, largely at the prompting of non-government organizations and
international donors, the ideals of development have broadened, expanding from
the previous economic emphasis and Western models of modernization. Sen, for
example, has argued for a new paradigm of development as freedom for people
to ‘lead the kind of lives they have reason to value’ (Sen 2000a: 10). This focuses
on human well-being and a quality of life that allows people to function satisfac-
torily in their current social context and with available resources. In this sense,
development includes access to adequate nutrition, clothing, shelter, healthcare,
life expectancy, education, freedom of thought and expression, participation in
the public and political spheres, security and safety, access to economic resources
including employment and income-generation, and also levels of personal auto-
nomy. Sen’s basic freedoms build human capability, and are linked across social,
economic and political fields. As resources and access to them improve, so should
the level of capability to take advantage of available opportunities. Several chapters
in this volume (Morrell, Rugendyke and Nguyen) analyze the extent to which this
is occurring, although they find that local abilities and resourcefulness are often
stymied by state control and mismanagement.
The conundrum of concurrent economic growth and inequality has been prob-
lematized in what Rigg has termed ‘developmental pessimism’ (Rigg 1997: 279).
From the late 1960s, critiques warned of widespread underdevelopment which had
become ‘a form of consciousness’ imposed by the rich nations on the poor (Illich
1997: 97). In the approach which came to be known as post-development from the
early 1990s, increasing criticism questioned the desirability, aims and objectives
of development paradigms. Critics pointed to the many weaknesses and failures
in projects which defined poverty in Western terms of materiality, and which saw
Western modernization as the benchmark for prosperity. Wolfgang Sachs’ ‘obitu-
ary’ to development in 1992 delineated a fool’s progress of donor-funded projects
which have reduced global diversity, destroyed environments through industrial-
ization, and increased the gaps between rich and poor – internationally as well as
within nations. Arturo Escobar described this as the ‘loss of an illusion’ when the
 Introduction 3
consequences of development became clear to participants on both sides of the
process (Escobar 1995: 4). Asserting that development discourse and practices
became yet another means of power and control over indigenous or ‘backward’
communities, Escobar saw the development industry as a destructive force,
which reduced local cultures to objects of standardization and bureaucratization.
For Escobar and other post-development theorists, state and institutional policy
established neo-colonial hierarchies, and was viewed as ‘a means to achieve cog-
nitive control and social regulation’ (Mosse 2005: 4). Overcoming this imbalance
required paying increased attention to local aspirations, situations and knowledge
(Escobar 1995).
Countering this pessimism, Rigg points out that, despite the evident difficulties,
within developing societies there is not a rejection of development itself, but of
the way in which it has been carried out (Rigg 2003). This is evident in regional
versions of development which often reject industrialization or inappropriate large
scale projects, yet in which people still display a desire for many of the tangible
and intangible benefits offered by modernization – from improved schools and
health services to consumer goods such as motor bikes and mobile phones. In his
analysis of cultural influences upon political power, Pye has summarized this by
writing that ‘Asia is modernizing, but in ways that are different from the Western
experience’ (Pye 1985: 10). Regional case studies often indicate adaptations of
modernity and progress which integrate local interpretations with national and
global norms (Tsing 1993; Hewison 1999; Morrell 2005). Mosse explains also
that recent ethnography, including his own, suggests alternatives to the notion of
development as dominance, and aims to ‘reinstate the complex agency of actors’
(Mosse 2005: 6). In this view, development is a transaction between many parties,
including the most subordinate, and is a social process rather than a monolithic
imposition – even though development ‘rarely works counter to existing patterns
of power’ (Mosse 2005: 19).
Approximately six decades of international development assistance have taught
us the dangers of uniform policies, and created awareness that projects should
be relevant to particular requirements and situations. In addition, as the concept
of development has evolved from the technocratic economic expansion model,
scholars and practitioners have encouraged a local focus and emphasized human
development. Concepts of ‘progress’ are moving closer to the more responsive
and inclusive post-development ethos sought by Escobar, Sachs and others. At the
same time, increased democracy in many Asian nations is fostering awareness of
human rights, labour issues, environmentalism, and the impacts of globalization.
Greater accountability from governments and other institutions in the development
process is also being sought. This is accompanied by increased local autonomy in
many countries, which is allowing unprecedented levels of local input into plan-
ning, decision making, and policy implementation.
4 H. Cao and E. Morrell
Minorities and their regions
Disenchanted with reliance upon market and state, many observers came to view
increased local power and autonomy as the favoured option to overcome marginali-
zation (Rist 1997; Rigg 2003). For this and other reasons, decentralization policies
have been introduced in many developing countries to encourage growth which
addresses local needs and contexts. Various ways of doing this have been imple-
mented throughout Asia, although with mixed results. For instance, as Coronel
Ferrer describes (this volume), the Philippines government acknowledged the
ancestral domains of cultural minorities when it made the decision in 1986 to cre-
ate autonomous regions in Muslim Mindanao and the Cordilleras (see also May
1997). Yet, because of flawed policies and implementation, this has not overcome
core problems in the region. In another example, China has implemented poli-
cies aimed at developing minority areas and promoting equitable access to some
social services, such as education (Cao 2008). In 1984, the Law for Autonomous
Governing of Minority Regions was passed. Among other things, it emphasized
the autonomy of local governments in deciding on education in local minority lan-
guages (Zhou 2001). In 2000, China introduced the Western Region Development
Strategy to address disparities between the eastern and western areas. Indonesia
has been undergoing democratic reforms since the downfall of former President
Suharto in 1998. These include the introduction of a radical decentralization pro-
gram throughout the archipelago which aims to improve equity and reduce regional
dissatisfaction. In all of these cases – as in many others – achieving balanced power
structures remains a highly contested process. This is often because increased
autonomy is granted to address situations of political turmoil or transition, and
the stronger groups in a given society are better placed to assert authority, leaving
minorities unable to gain significant advantage.
Most chapters in this book discuss the more usual form of minorities, that is,
those based in ethnic or religious difference. However, minority status can also
be caused by a range of other factors including physical and linguistic isolation,
migration, gender imbalance, political exclusion, limited education, extreme pov-
erty, and the lack of civic rights. The concept of minority often implies particular
needs, although minorities are not always economically deprived. For example,
the Chinese populations in Malaysia and Indonesia are numerical minorities which
have been economically influential, although politically subordinate. Minorities
are by definition numerically disadvantaged, and exhibit some degree of differ-
ence from the majority. Yet minority status is not always inherent, and the various
authors in Grew (2004) describe how minorities have been constructed – especially
when authorities restrict access to rights, power and resources. When a minority
is established, differentiation from the majority may then be ‘reinforced by social
discrimination, spatial separation, or legislation’ (Grew 2004: 12). Nevertheless,
the construction process is not always led by the state or controlling majority.
Although it is often a consequence of nation building, it can also be a bottom-up
activity to meet particular circumstances. A similar process is described by Sakai
(this volume), in which ethnic Malays in Indonesia and the Philippines are actively
 Introduction 5
constructing a minority identity to strengthen ties with their more prosperous peers
who form a strong majority in the neighbouring nation of Malaysia.
The most obvious minorities are tribal, ethnic and religious groups – some
of which are indigenous, others are not. The distinction between these is often
vague, with the broader rubric of ethnicity commonly describing groups within
which members are united by elements of culture including language, history and
usually religion. As these distinctions are blurred, so too is the related terminol-
ogy. Because of derogatory connotations, some minority groups prefer not to be
described as such. To avoid these problems, many non-government organization
workers in the Philippines now refer instead to ‘ethnic’ communities. Similarly,
Grew explains that discourse originating in France has avoided the term ‘minor-
ity’, preferring to use ‘marginal’ or ‘excluded’ (Grew 2004: 1). Nevertheless, the
term minority is useful – and is used in this volume – to describe populations that
are disadvantaged numerically as well as in other ways, for example socially or
politically.
The words minority, ethnic and indigenous are fluid and difficult to define
because they have different meanings and interpretations according to context
and location. For this reason, the United Nations Working Group on the Rights of
Indigenous Peoples could not formulate an encompassing definition of indigeneity,
and instead encouraged self-identification and definition within particular groups
(Coates 2004). Coates’ historical analysis identifies descriptors used by indigenous
communities, their supporters and external observers. Prevalent among these are
‘traditional lifestyle’, ‘societies in transition’, ‘geographical isolation’, ‘distinct-
ive culture’, ‘original inhabitants’, ‘comparatively small populations’, ‘profound
sense of identity with place’, and peoples who ‘lack political power’ (Coates 2004:
2–14). Mackerras’ (2003) examination of terminology also demonstrates its com-
plexity and ambiguity. In simple terms, religious groups can be either single- or
multi-ethnic communities bound by religious belief and identity. A tribal group
usually refers to a small society united by a culturally distinct set of traditions,
sharing a common dialect, and is often characterized by a traditional authority.
Tribal groups are often considered as indigenous because they existed before the
creation of states. Indigenous, or native, groups have a particular tie to the land
they inhabit, or a region they once inhabited.
In theory, and sometimes in practice, when indigeneity is officially recognized
by the state, communities can have access to some forms of affirmative action,
including protection of their land and traditions through various policies. Yet, in
the interests of national unity and economic growth, governments have often dis-
regarded and undervalued these groups except perhaps when a distinctive culture
offers tourism opportunities, or attractive images for nationalist symbols. Duncan
writes of development as a ‘civilizing project’ in which ethnic minorities and indi-
genous groups are standardized in nation building via education, incorporation into
a world religion, and also into the national economy (Duncan 2004: 3). As part
of this, indigeneity has come to connote an unequal power relationship, which is
notably a characteristic when ethnic groups do not possess the political influence
necessary to reverse their poor status.
6 H. Cao and E. Morrell
Despite some exceptions, most ethnic minorities in Asia experience high levels
of poverty (Mackerras 2003). Yet it is important to avoid categorizing indigen-
ous and other minorities as poverty ridden societies, beset with social problems.
Li’s study of upland communities demonstrates how overcoming the stereotype
of ‘innocents, victims or villains’ helps to more fully understand their agency,
and contributes to awareness of minority aims and objectives (Li 1999: xv).
Internationally, increasing attention has been paid to the rights of these small-scale
communities, especially since the United Nations Year of Indigenous Peoples in
1993. As a result of raised consciousness, many groups have sought improved
equity. In Indonesia, for example, an organization known as the Alliance of
Indigenous Communities in the Archipelago (Aliansi Masyarakat Adat Nusantara)
was formed in 1999 to support and lobby for the rights of indigenous groups (Li
2001; Lucas and Warren 2003). Nevertheless, despite a heightened awareness of
the issues faced by the world’s ethnic and indigenous minorities, poverty and dis-
crimination are still major and persistent problems.
Throughout the developing world, many minorities are disadvantaged by mod-
ernization. Examples abound in Africa and Latin America. However, this book
focuses on Asia because in that region vast populations mean that development
policies, economic growth and rapid social change are impacting upon larger num-
bers of people. Asia is also home to approximately one third of the world’s ethnic
groups, most of which are minorities (Vervoorn 2006), and collectively these can
represent large percentages of national populations. Indonesia alone has more than
1,000 ethnic and sub-ethnic groups (Suryadinata, et al. 2003: 6). Although precise
figures are difficult to obtain, more than half of Indonesia’s 230 million people,
and almost half the population in Laos, Burma and Malaysia, are members of
minority groups. Even where overall minority populations are smaller, diversity
can be extensive. Vietnam has 53 ethnic minorities and Cambodia an estimated
36 (Clarke 2001: 417–19). China has 56 ethnic groups in total, one of which is the
majority Han Chinese, and 55 of which are minorities (Gladney 2004). Taiwan’s
population of almost 23 million is composed of a majority of Han Chinese (98 per
cent), of which 13 per cent is Hakka, 72 per cent Hoklo (Southern Fujianese), and
13 per cent Mainlanders. Indigenous Taiwanese represent 2 per cent of the total
population (Corcuff 2002: 163).
Minority groups tend to occupy a less advantageous position in the wider
societies where they are found (McNeish and Eversole 2005). Some face social
exclusion, and some are victims of what Sen has identified as unfavourable inclu-
sion; that is, inclusion based on unequal terms as ‘a part of capability deprivation
and a cause of capability failures’ (Sen 2000b: 5). Unfavourable inclusion is not
always the consequence of unequal policies, but the result of institutional and struc-
tural weaknesses which benefit certain groups at the expense of others. Forms of
exclusion vary, yet primarily entail some form of discrimination which hinders
access to the opportunities available to others in the community. One example
is a policy that prioritizes particular groups. This was the basis of the Malaysian
government’s New Economic Policy, a socio-economic program implemented in
the 1970s to address economic imbalance for the ethnic Malay population, and
 Introduction 7
which disadvantaged the nation’s Chinese and Indian populations (Liew 2003).
The NEP was introduced following race riots in 1969, to strengthen education,
poverty alleviation and ownership of assets among the ethnic Malays. The policy
formally ended in 1990, although its tenor is evident in current policies, and many
non-Malays – particularly the poorer Indian communities – continue to feel disad-
vantaged. Whereas exclusion denies opportunities for improvement, unfavourable
inclusion does provide opportunities, although these are limited. Sen explains that
the variation between opportunities for the privileged and the unprivileged is often
quantitative. Yet, the difference can also be qualitative, because although the same
number of opportunities may exist, groups may not have equal access to those
opportunities (Sen 2000b). Unfavourable inclusion is manifested in various ways.
For instance, it often takes the form of unequal land rights policies, or preferential
policies which contribute to maintaining groups’ distinctive status, yet which do
not adequately consider the specific interests of those groups.
Although social exclusion and underdevelopment occur in all societies, they are
more common in multi-ethnic nations (Figueroa 1999), and have each generated
various forms of antagonism between marginalized groups and the state. These
antagonisms have often emerged as a result of state integration policies that lacked
sensitivity to local needs and realities, especially in ethnic minority areas. This is
an important reminder that development cannot be separated from politics – either
at the stage of concept, policy, implementation, or outcome. For example, poli-
tics are integral to the socio-economic disparities which hinder the establishment
of a common good and produce communities often characterized by ‘sharp con-
flicts of interest’ (Gupta, et al. 2004: 30). While those disputes often prompt the
eventual inclusion of marginalized groups in development policies and programs,
many governments demonstrate inability or unwillingness to address adequately
the underlying causes of conflict.
This is exemplified by continuing crises in a number of Asian locations where
state policies have consolidated existing conflict or generated new violence, as seen
in Burma, southern Thailand, and with Moro mobilization in the Philippines. Smith
(2005) describes how the socio-economic marginalization of minority groups has
constituted an important factor in the rise of ethnic conflict and violence in Burma.
Government policy left minority groups particularly disadvantaged, and they have
the highest HIV/AIDS, maternal and infant mortality rates in the nation. They also
face high drug addiction problems that undermine productivity and affect their
health. Generally, Burma’s minorities suffer more health problems than the rest of
the population. Access to clean water is more difficult, and the availability of edu-
cation is lower. Recent cease-fire agreements have supported establishing ‘politics
through development’, considering social welfare a major priority for national uni-
fication (Smith 2005: 72). In the Philippines, state marginalization of indigenous
groups and the Moro Malay communities has taken various forms, including the
violation of land rights as outsiders exploited local ignorance of legal procedures
(May 1997). As Coronel Ferrer illustrates in Chapter 1, the relative deprivation
of Moro areas in the Philippines has provided one of the main bases for ethnic
mobilization, including separatist conflict. The Moro tensions also demonstrate
8 H. Cao and E. Morrell
how ethnic complexities are often exacerbated by policies that encourage the
migration of majority populations into minority areas, or minority migrations to
majority areas. In many cases this resettlement gives rise to land use and tenure
disputes which can exacerbate already existing rivalries or escalate into culturally
defined communal violence.
Conflicts often begin with governance or political decisions which impact nega-
tively on local economies and then turn into ethno-religious violence (Acciaioli
2001; van Klinken 2003; Dreyer 2005). In some cases, economically or politic-
ally based conflicts may also serve the purposes of legitimising ethnic or religious
turbulence. Where conflict threatens stability, territorial integrity or national sov-
ereignty, governments often respond with military suppression which reinforces
ethnic discord and exacerbates the already vulnerable life conditions in minority
areas.

Taking responsibility: community or state?

The issues discussed above also demonstrate that the necessary conditions for
cohesive development include strong civil society which incorporates effective
social institutions such as community and religious organizations. This follows
the view promoted by international donor organizations that civil society is crit-
ical to ‘developing the social and political capacities of the poor, increasing their
effectiveness in influencing governance institutions and making the latter more
responsive to their needs’ (Canadian International Development Agency 2006:
2). Although the expansion of civic engagement cannot alone solve the problems
of minority groups, civil society institutions facilitate interaction between the
public and private domains, and can be the conduits through which local social
movements question and attempt to transform dominant discourses of power and
development. As many contributors to this volume show, increased inclusion of
marginalized groups depends upon the extent to which political and social institu-
tions can work together to find a compromise that integrates grassroots and state
interests. This process requires that the objectives of the state be reconciled with
local agency and cultural norms. However, as Scott’s study of state intervention
revealed, the different perspectives of state and society can be difficult to resolve,
especially when the central state promotes a mainstream solution, and a periphery
fights for the maintenance or the revival of local specificities (Scott 1998).
State controlled modernization often means cultural and political exclusion
(Duncan 2004) because governments are selective in the rights and opportunities
they extend to minorities. This selectivity does not only occur in developing coun-
tries, and ‘even the richest nations move only reluctantly beyond limited measures
aimed at alleviating poverty’ (Coates 2004: 265). Nor is selectivity restricted to a
particular style of governance. Asia’s disadvantaged minorities are governed by
democracies, military regimes, socialism and communism. Whereas the problems
of minorities are often blamed on capitalism’s demand for resources and cheap
labour, Coates argues persuasively that disadvantages emerge principally from dif-
ferences between ‘surplus and subsistence’ economies – which exist in all political
 Introduction 9
and ideological systems (Coates 2004: 268). As he explains, within any type of
governing system, because the production of surplus is given higher priority than
subsistence agriculture or industry, imbalances are generated.
Many examples show that the state can be an impediment to poverty allevi-
ation, and innovations such as public-private partnerships and privatization are
increasingly promoted as effective alternatives. Successfully merging both state
and non-state interests has provided the framework for rapid development in South
Korea, Taiwan and China (Gupta, et al. 2004: 21). Nevertheless, the state remains
the dominant player in socio-economic development planning and policies, and
therefore has ultimate responsibility for its success or failure. Researchers in this
book highlight ways in which the state has failed to work with formal and informal
institutions representing minorities’ interests, or has failed to implement effective
development models. Clearly, many issues can be dealt with more adequately by
the state, and others are better understood and addressed by private institutions or
non-government and community organizations. Identifying the appropriate actors
is important, and the reconciliation of state and other interests requires understand-
ing of the areas relevant to each type of actor.
Moreover, improved equity in state-society relations implies that the state will
attempt to introduce development which will be contextually specific and adapted
to the distinct needs of each social group. In many nations, however, development
policies are still imposed through a top-down approach that ignores the building
of strong local social institutions, and pays little or no attention to broad-based
community participation. The process of building civic engagement is assisted
when local hierarchies are eroded, allowing ‘dense networks of interaction’ to
facilitate state-society collaboration (Gupta, et al. 2004: 42). That process is also
assisted when detrimental power relationships are equalized through diversify-
ing local income sources, introducing reforms to land ownership and use, and by
increasing formal and informal education. Yet, because most government legisla-
tors and administrators are drawn from majority populations, states often exploit,
ignore or mishandle the development of minorities, rather than assisting the proc-
ess. This phenomenon has been especially common in countries where the state
has attempted to promote opportunities for minority groups on the basis of certain
conditions like acceptance of the ethnic majority’s culture, and fluency in national
languages.
Recent changes, led by major international donors and the World Bank, have
introduced participatory approaches that view civic empowerment and human
development as mutually supportive and interdependent. Poverty alleviation
projects have been increasingly focusing on expanding awareness of citizen rights
and responsibilities among minority communities, especially by including them
in local decision-making processes. However, observers continue to debate the
effectiveness of participatory approaches. For example, case studies such as those
in Cooke and Kothari (2001) indicate many weaknesses, although others are more
optimistic (as those in Hickey and Mohan 2004). Breakdowns in participation have
often occurred because projects lacked sensitivity to local requirements, or have
been too closely linked to the state apparatus which may be inefficient or corrupt.
10 H. Cao and E. Morrell
This is often difficult to avoid because international donors must maintain working
relationships with government institutions in the countries in which they operate.
The result is that, although development assistance organizations recognize the
importance of diversity and have attempted to draw on local skills and knowledge,
they have often been unable to truly impact upon the empowerment of minority
communities in a major and positive way.
A strong civil society that adequately represents the interests of the most vul-
nerable and the least influential communities increases the chances of equity and
favourable inclusion. The case of Indonesia throughout the Suharto years dem-
onstrates that economic growth alone does not produce social cohesion. During
the three decades of Suharto rule, state-society interaction was strictly controlled,
and the only social institutions permitted were government sponsored. Despite the
proven economic gains of that period, dissatisfaction with authoritarianism grew
until 1998 when Suharto was forced to step down. Since that time, new civil soci-
ety organizations have been established, and efforts are in place for a more socially
oriented and democratic form of governance and development.
In 1977 Giles, et al. argued that the might of a minority community arises from
the interaction of the three following components: demographic density, social
status, and position in terms of institutional rank. Paasi (1986) affirmed that insti-
tutions are in fact at the base of the regional development process, and act as
socialization instruments. He recognized the fundamental role institutions have in
the establishment of a sense of belonging within a community, and the construction
of a collective identity. More recently, Putnam’s analysis has drawn attention to
the importance of social ties, networks and institutions in simultaneously contribut-
ing to community strengthening, economic development and effective governance
(Putnam 2000). In a comparison of Asia and Africa, Thompson and Thompson
(2000) have pointed to the weak civil society of many African nations as a central
factor in the region’s underdevelopment. In Asia, one of the most cogent arguments
can be found in the correlation between Burma’s restricted civil society and the
nation’s severe socio-economic conditions (Liddell 1999). Yet, despite increasing
acceptance that the emergence of civil society and citizenship enhance a nation’s
prosperity, most minority communities continue to lack the knowledge, experi-
ence and institutions which make effective, targeted and realistic civic engagement
possible.

Framework of the book

To be sustainable without dependence upon outside help, development must give
regional communities the capacity to negotiate continuous social, economic and
political transformations. The objective of this book is to encourage interdisciplin-
ary discussion and comparative analysis of some barriers to this. The local focus
is deliberate because we believe that, as Bryant and Parnwell (1996: 2) found in
their environmental study, the contradictions and complexities of development
are ‘most fruitfully analysed and understood at the regional level’. In this book we
integrate discrete illustrations of the issues faced by minority groups in a range
 Introduction 11
of regions. In doing so, we aim to stimulate a broadly based readjustment of the
existing imbalances between majority and minority groups, the privileged and the
unprivileged, the included and the less included.
An ethnographic approach can be an effective means of analyzing success and
failure because development is a social process (Mosse 2005). Following this, the
book presents case studies by researchers who conduct extensive fieldwork in Asia.
Our ethnographic approach is extended to encourage a multidisciplinary under-
standing of development challenges in minority communities. The book brings
together scholars from the fields of Economics, Development and Area Studies,
Geography, Anthropology and Sociology, providing local narratives that shed light
on some of the different needs, situations and methods of problem solving. This
diverse approach aims to give a more nuanced perspective to social, economic
and political inequality, and the ways in which people are ‘constructing varied
responses to the challenges of modernization’ (Rigg 2003: 324).
Acknowledging the vastness of East and Southeast Asia, the book does not
attempt to be geographically comprehensive. Instead, it offers a comparative envir-
onment, and the wide sweep of case studies springs from the region’s diversity.
For example, studies engage ‘traditional’ communities, capitalist societies, social-
ist governments, and some of the varied forms of democracy found throughout the
developing world. Across the range of regions, the authors identify micro-level
concerns, and indicate ways in which people hope to shape their futures. Because
religion, indigeneity and ethnicity are often difficult to separate, especially when
people assert cultural identity in the pursuit of empowerment, authors in this book
work within a broad interpretation of ethnicity. Many case studies also illustrate
the cultural factors which differentiate minorities from their surrounding national
communities, although the principal focus is on minority groups that are disadvan-
taged by limited access to – and representation within – the political sphere, as well
as disposition of socio-economic resources. The groups discussed are the Muslim
Moros in the Philippines, the isolated Miao, Hui and Tibetans in China, resettled
Muong in Vietnam, diasporic Malays in wider Southeast Asia, island and mountain
communities in Indonesia, and indigenous groups in industrialized Taiwan.
The book examines three broad themes which are impacting upon minorities.
The first looks at causes and consequences of unfavourable socio-political treat-
ment, and discusses ways in which this may be overcome. For example, although
many nations have decentralized their systems of governance in search of eco-
nomic and/or political change, studies in this volume confirm the view that regional
autonomy alone does not necessarily bring benefits. Decentralization may have
negative effects on the development process if it is not implemented effectively.
That is, if the decentralized system is characterized by corruption and clientelism,
lacks the necessary human and financial resources to be competent and produc-
tive, or does not transparently represent the interests and needs of members of
all social categories. Coronel Ferrer analyzes why autonomy failed to improve
socio-economic conditions in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao where
the Filipino Muslims, or Moros, are concentrated. She concludes that the major
hindrances to equitable socio-economic conditions are corruption, bad governance,
12 H. Cao and E. Morrell
centralizing tendencies by the national government, the lack of transparency, and
the lack of institutional capacity.
In another example of poor state-society relationships impacting negatively
upon assistance projects, Morrell focuses on isolated communities in Indonesia.
This chapter highlights a range of reasons why projects in remote rural com-
munities have failed to meet poverty alleviation, agricultural or environmental
objectives. Despite Indonesia’s radical decentralization program and commit-
ment to democratic reform, a major barrier to success is the lack of accountable,
transparent and concerned local government leadership. In many regions, local
authorities remain largely unresponsive to the needs of communities over which
they exert control. Bureaucratic and paternalistic governance perpetuates the social,
economic and political exclusion of marginalized groups. On the other hand, cen-
tralized policies are also often difficult to reconcile with local realities. Simon
explores aspects of hierarchical interaction in the ways the indigenous commu-
nities of Taiwan respond to discourses of entrepreneurial development. Among
these communities, entrepreneurship takes on a wider meaning, to also include
increased autonomy and self-determination. Simon’s example of the Taroko’s
struggle for self-determination in Taiwan is further evidence that effective devel-
opment requires the community’s consent and involvement, as well as the respect
of local norms.
Part II addresses other shortcomings in development projects, notably some
which have contributed to underdevelopment in Vietnam and China. Rigg (2003)
reminds us that modernization can on the one hand increase choices (for instance,
by widening markets away from the informal economy or subsistence agriculture),
while often simultaneously restricting opportunities (for instance, by reducing
or destroying traditional livelihoods). Tourism introduces such dichotomies.
Attracting visitors has become a major source of revenue throughout the world,
with governments actively pursuing tourism opportunities. Concurrently, increased
environmental awareness in developing countries has led to the establishment of
many new national parks and protected areas. Often, this involves resettlement
of forest dwellers. Although nature-based tourism has the potential to provide
alternative income generation options, Rugendyke and Nguyen found that tourism
has not been able to improve the livelihoods of the Muong in northern Vietnam.
Despite the disruptions of resettlement in a national park, the Muong have received
inadequate support to establish and maintain tourism-related local businesses, and
only few tourism benefits have passed to local communities.
While China has been experiencing considerable growth following the economic
reforms of 1978, the nation simultaneously faces dramatic increases in regional
inequality. Among the key reasons for this polarization are the quality of and
accessibility to basic education for children. Since the establishment of the law
for nine-year compulsory education in 1986, children’s education has progressed
remarkably in most parts of China. It has, however, remained persistently prob-
lematic in the western provinces, particularly in remote regions, rural areas and
minority communities. Cao and Feng examine reasons for the limited school enrol-
ment of girls, and the poor quality of education in the minority regions in Gansu
 Introduction 13
province, one of the remote regions in Western China. Exploring the cultural,
physical and spatial manifestations of this, they highlight three important factors
that explain the low enrolment and high dropout rates of girls in schools. These are
the underdeveloped economic conditions in which they live, their socio-cultural
environment, and an overall inadequate management of educational services.
Part III focuses on cultural revivalism as a tool to achieve development goals,
and demonstrates how the construction of minority status can be utilized in a
bottom-up and non-state process. Internal factors which influence the type and
practice of development include local values and norms – a vital ingredient of
which is often religion. Strengthening cultural identity can offer an alternative
to more mainstream forms of development which have been locally perceived as
inadequate or inappropriate. In the past decade, emergent ethno-nationalism has
impacted upon the world in many ways, and is influencing the way development
is conceived and implemented. With this as a background, Foggin and Carrier
examine challenges pertaining to linguistic, educational and socio-economic
development as well as trends in acculturation, integration and assimilation among
the Miao in China. They found that Miao regional and linguistic identity has the
potential to assist socio-economic development, although is not yet utilized effec-
tively. In a contrasting example, Sakai discusses how Malay identity has become
an attractive common ground for ethnic Malay communities across Southeast Asia,
especially in the Philippines and the Indonesian archipelago. The renewed interest
in pan-Malayness among the diaspora has been produced by feelings of margin-
alization in their respective adopted countries. Most importantly, shared ethnicity
has become the basis for economic and business advantages through extended
Malay connections.
Reuter closes this part of the book by pointing to the importance of identity
movements and by considering some of the reasons for their emergence. He ques-
tions the validity of certain concepts of culture, including those which can be
described as fundamentalist. This chapter focuses on a recent ‘fundamentalist’
cultural revival in Bali, Indonesia, which grew from a sense of disenfranchise-
ment among the Hindu Balinese who are a minority in the world’s most populous
Muslim nation. Rather than merely retreating into traditional cultural heritage,
the movement utilizes ethnic identity to confront contemporary issues includ-
ing socio-economic insecurity. This chapter serves as a reminder that although
the world now has an increased awareness of minority and indigenous rights,
achieving those rights remains problematic. As the studies in this volume show,
translating the discourse and rhetoric of awareness into a practical and equitable
reality is fraught with difficulties – which, even if unintentional and unforeseen,
can also be avoided.

Reflecting on the challenges

Minorities in Asia’s developing countries engage with modernization according
to their different needs and challenges. Each pathway to development must fol-
low its own particular route, because those pathways are determined by a range of
14 H. Cao and E. Morrell
different conditions. The case studies demonstrate that, in meeting their responsi-
bilities towards minority communities, authorities and planners must pay increased
attention to local circumstances, ideas and attitudes. Yet several broad sets of chal-
lenges are also evident in the following chapters. These are minimal local decision
making in contexts where regional autonomy has remained symbolic or where
the state has remained centralized; socio-economic marginalization; restricted
income generation and social mobility; and assimilationist systems of nation build-
ing which have produced identity politics among minority groups. Many of the
case studies intersect these broad categories, illustrating the complexity of finding
solutions to the various challenges. In general terms, however, solutions reside in
increased local participation in government policy making and implementation;
strengthening local economies; improving the provision of social services includ-
ing education; and the need for governments and other authorities to rethink their
response to ethnic difference.

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16 H. Cao and E. Morrell
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Part I

Overcoming exclusion
Map of Philippines and Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (Sources: Online Map
Creation [http://www.aquarius.geomar.de/], with modification)
1 From rebels to governors
‘Patronage autonomy’ and
continuing underdevelopment in
Muslim Mindanao
Miriam Coronel Ferrer

Among the Philippines’ 80 provinces, those of the Moro region are at the bottom
of human development. They are ranked the highest in income poverty and out-of-
school youth, and the lowest in life expectancy, functional literacy and population
without piped water sources. This long-term deprivation has produced one of the
most enduring bases of ethnopolitical mobilization, led by two major armed groups,
the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) and the Moro Islamic Liberation
Front (MILF). This chapter examines autonomy given to the Moro provinces in
an attempt to overcome conflict. It argues that effective autonomy has not been
achieved because of structural infirmities, especially in the relationship between
the regional government and the Philippine state. In particular, the chapter focuses
on how ‘patronage autonomy’ has characterized this relationship.
The relationship of political institutions to human insecurity and armed collect-
ive action has been studied extensively either to understand how certain political
conditions have caused insecurity and armed collective action, or to see how
changes in political institutions have reduced or resolved ethnic mobilization. On
the latter, a common assumption is that institutions that allow for greater political
participation or self-government increase the security of ethnic groups and reduce
conflict. Specifically, variables like the type of political system (parliamentary/
presidential, federal/unitary), regime (authoritarian/democratic), electoral and
political party system, degree of political repression and economic success and so
on have been explored. Findings have been mixed and generally point to multiple
factors to explain how certain institutional changes like federalism have succeeded
in quelling ethnic unrest in some cases, reduced rebellion but not protests due to the
enhanced political competition enabled by the system, may have actually encour-
aged more violence, or failed to do any of these in other circumstances.1
In the Philippines, autonomy as a compromise to the more radical option of
secession was expected to respond to the sources of ontological insecurity that gave
rise to Moro mobilization. The widely held assumption that autonomy will support
human development and effectively solve the armed conflict can be gleaned from
the writing of this Moro scholar:

Autonomy will surely make the delivery of goods and services faster in the
sense that certain decisions and resources may no longer pass the long and
20 M.C. Ferrer
unnecessary route from Mindanao to Manila then vice versa. Local govern-
ment officials will be saved from wasting their precious time and resources
commuting between their places and Manila. In other words, autonomy is
making government closer to the clients. (Tanggol 1990: 1)

In 1990, the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) was established

as a medium of self-governance of Filipino Muslims. However, the ARMM has
performed poorly as an instrument of human development. This paper seeks to
explain why regional autonomy has failed to improve socio-economic conditions in
the five provinces and city where the Filipino Muslims or Moros are geographically
concentrated.2 A major factor for the autonomous regional government’s incapacity
to meet the expectation will be traced to institutional and other structural weak-
nesses of the national state and the regional government, and the national-regional
patronage relationship that characterized the process of instituting and operation-
alizing autonomy. Thus, this paper argues that regional autonomy did not produce
the expected outcome not necessarily due to the principles underlying autonomous
governance, but because of the structural infirmities besetting the regional govern-
ment and the Philippine state that have reproduced patronage, corruption and other
ills, and failed to make the regional government truly autonomous. In effect, more
than the kind of political institution introduced, the nature of the Philippine state
posed the greatest obstacle to the attainment of a functional regional autonomy.
The Philippines is a unitary, republican state. Despite powers devolved to the
local governments in 1991, the political system is still centralized. The president
wields tremendous powers, both real and symbolic, formal and informal. The
two-chamber Congress has co-equal powers and puts checks on the executive
branch. However, its members also need the goodwill of the president to access
pork-barrel funds that have been inserted under various line items in the budget
and are at the discretion of members of Congress to allocate to their respective
pet projects. Congressional seats, especially in the nationally elected Senate, are
take-off points for the highest office of the land. While members of Congress com-
pete with the presidency for the political limelight and prerogatives, they are also
part of the fluid web of patron-client ties, and beneficiaries of the spoils system that
characterize the dominant attitude of politicians towards the resources and powers
vested in the state. Beginning in the 1950s, the broadened developmental functions
of national government further enhanced the centralization of powers in the execut-
ive and national legislature. Fleeting networks and alliances among local politicians
and national officials competed for control of the state in regular elections, a proc-
ess disrupted only during the authoritarian regime of Ferdinand Marcos from 1972
to 1986. Local patronage networks were incorporated into the national arena and
local elites increasingly depended on national government resources.
Patronage politics has long been acknowledged as the bane of the Philippine
state and society. Patronage relations distort electoral and governance processes
and institutions at the local and national levels, and in the relationship between
the local and national governments. Early and contemporary scholarly writings
have pointed to societal patron-client ties penetrating the political sphere and
 From rebels to governors 21
influencing its dynamics, although providing a measure of political stability with
regular turnover of power.3 Other scholars meanwhile emphasized the coercive
rather than the soft side of supposedly mutually beneficial patron-client relations
(Sidel 1999; Rocamora 1995). Despite these different insights, patronage politics
where dominant clans sit as chief patrons in their respective bailiwicks persists
in interlocking ways. Jobs, government positions, contracts, protection from the
law, and favourable legislation continue to be exchanged for political support.
Concurrently, powerful rent-seeking and political families dominate Philippine
political institutions (Coronel, et al. 2004; McCoy 1994). The patronage system
plus ‘clan politics’ or political dynasty-building have proven to be a tough system
that could not be dismantled by piecemeal reforms.
The reinstatement of constitutional democracy in 1986 reorganized and opened
up spaces for more political elites to compete in the political arena utilizing their
respective social networks. For instance, a new leadership base is the former human
rights, anti-Marcos activists, and rebel leaders. The party-list system introduced
in the 1987 Constitution allowed representation of workers, farmers and other
marginalized sectors and political groups. Under the restored presidential system,
Congress limits and checks on presidential power through its power to pass the
annual budget law; approve or veto presidential appointment of Cabinet secretar-
ies, department heads, and ambassadors; approve or veto military promotions and

Plate 1.1 Women NGO workers with the Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil Society, Sulu
Island, 2006 (Miriam Coronel Ferrer)
22 M.C. Ferrer
the declaration of martial rule; and to investigate anomalies in government ‘in aid
of legislation’. Thus, although the fixed, single six-year term of the strong presi-
dency guarantees a locus of patronage lodged in the presidency for a considerable
period of time, members of Congress are ‘strong men’ in their own right, each
with his/her web of patronage networks and bailiwicks. The Local Government
Code of 1991, which devolved more powers to the local governments (provinces,
municipalities and cities), has also allowed more room for elected local officials
to undertake their own projects and build mini-fiefdoms where the different posts
are occupied by various family members like musical chairs.
Mindanao, including what today is referred to as ‘Muslim Mindanao’, has not
escaped the trap of patronage (and clan) politics. The location of central powers
in Manila ensured a client role for Moro (and Mindanao) political elites, although
national elites also depended on the latter to deliver political support for electoral
and governance purposes. Since the 1920s, Moro elites were accommodated into
the political institutions of the ‘Filipino’ state-in-the-making. By building alliances
with the national political parties and (Christian) governors in the other Mindanao
provinces, their own power and prestige in their locality were boosted (Abinales
2000: 35). This type of integrationist and accommodationist approach that began
during the American colonial regime produced a new crop of secularly educated
Muslim elites, most of whom initially came from the traditional aristocracy
(McKenna 1998). By the 1950s and 1960s, the latter had learned to manoeuvre
their way in the new political environment and succeeded in representing the Moro
constituency in the national political arena. The introduction of mass suffrage in the
1950s produced a situation where ‘status and power – the heart of politics – became
linked with extracting benefits from the national system’ (Mastura 1992: 147).
While the relationship between the national and local politicians can be said to be
mutually beneficial to their respective political careers, the fact is the local is sub-
ordinated to the more powerful national elites due to greater powers and resources
enjoyed by the latter. The end result is selective benefits thrown to the local part-
ners depending on the interests and power configuration at the centre. The series
of institutional arrangements that were set up may have been well-intentioned but
short in structural change that would allow full exercise of autonomy. In particu-
lar, the lack of fiscal autonomy of ARMM and its dependence on the support of
the executive and legislative branches of government have not allowed it to inde-
pendently address the human development needs of the Moro population and tied
its fate to the policy choices of the national elite.
Instead of real autonomy, what we see in practice is ‘patronage autonomy’.
Rebels turned governors – despite sincere efforts to effect substantial changes in
the social and political process in the legal arena – entered the system and found
themselves weak and dependent on presidential backing and largesse. Their effec-
tiveness as governors was stifled by the constricting institutional design of the
Philippine state, and the logic of patronage politics. Their strength was contingent
on the goodwill of and priority given by the national government, particularly the
president, and the legislature where Moros are poorly represented.
The paper will focus on why ‘patronage autonomy’ has not resulted in the
 From rebels to governors 23
socio-economic development of the Moro minority population in the Philippines.
Before doing so, it will first provide a background to the conflict. Second, it will
review the autonomy laws that have been instituted as part of peace agreements
signed between the government and the Moro National Liberation Front.

Context of armed conflict

The Moro rebellion in Southern Philippines was spurred by objective and felt
historical injustice suffered by Muslim ethnolinguistic groups in Mindanao,
the southernmost island grouping of the Philippines. Under the December 1898
Treaty of Paris, Mindanao was transferred to the United States by Spain as part of
the ‘Philippine Islands’. The US successfully crushed Moro resistance by 1913.
Filipino Muslims were minoritized and marginalized economically, socially and
politically in the next decades.
Mindanao developed into a settler colony from the early to mid twentieth cen-
tury. Spontaneous and organized migration of (Christianized) populations from
Luzon and the Visayas islands was encouraged as part of state policy to increase
food production, develop uncultivated areas, balance population distribution and,
consequently, diffuse land tensions in parts of the country where peasant discontent
was being transformed into a radical social movement. From 1913 to 1919, seven
agricultural colonies were established in Cotobato Valley and Lanao. Basilan was
opened up for agricultural expansion by virtue of Acts passed by the American
colonial government. The Philippine Commonwealth set up the National Land
Settlement Administration to administer the same thrust. After the Second World
War, the succeeding Philippine Republic likewise created agencies to pursue the
task of resettlement. These included the Economic Development Corporation in
1950 and the Land Settlement and Development Corporation which handled the
resettlement of Hukbong Mapagpalaya ng Sambayanan (Huk) guerrillas from
Luzon, and the National Resettlement and Rehabilitation Administration in 1954.
Migration to Mindanao peaked from the 1930s to 1950s.
In 1903, Muslims made up 76 per cent of the Mindanao population. By 1960,
they constituted only 23 per cent. At present, Muslims remain the majority in only
five of 26 provinces of present-day Mindanao, namely Sulu, Basilan, Tawi-tawi,
Maguindanao, and Lanao Del Sur, and in only one city, Marawi (see Tables 1.1
and 1.2). Meanwhile, there are also Muslim populated municipalities and baran-
gays scattered in other parts of Mindanao and, increasingly, in Luzon and the
Visayas (and Sabah, Malaysia), among them refugees and economic migrants.
Nationwide estimates of the Muslim population ranged from three to seven mil-
lion in the 1990s, or approximately 5 per cent of the total Philippine population.
The Office of Muslim Affairs, however, has considerably higher estimates of about
10.9 per cent of the Philippine population in 2000 (Philippine Human Development
Network 2005: 14–15).
State policies not only resulted in the minoritization of Muslims and other indi-
genous highland populations in the island grouping of Mindanao, Sulu and Palawan
where they historically resided. The Moros also lost control and ownership over
24 M.C. Ferrer
Table 1.1 Estimated Moro and non-Moro population in Mindanao, 1903–2000

Year Mindanao Moro As percentage Non-Moro As percentage

Population Population of Mindanao Population of Mindanao
Population Population

1903 327,741 250,000 76 77,741 24

1913 518,698 324,816 63 193,882 37
1918 723,655 358,968 50 364,687 50
1939 2,244,421 755,189 34 1,489,232 66
1948 2,943,324 933,101 32 2,010,223 68
1960 5,686,027 1,321,060 23 4,364,967 77
1970 7,963,932 1,669,708 21 6,294,224 79
1975 9,146,995 1,798,991 20 7,348,084 80
1980 10,905,243 2,504,332 23 8,400,911 77
1990 14,269,736 2,690,456 19 11,579,280 81
2000 17,819,899 3,679,228 20.6 14,140,671 79.4
Sources: Che Man (1990), Census 1990 and 2000 (National Statistics Office).

land and tribute collection as state laws overrode customary laws. Homestead
arrangements for migrants and the infusion of American capital for the planta-
tion economy in the region hastened land lost to newcomers. The 1902 Land
Registration Act required the acquisition of a Torrens Title as proof of ownership of
land. In 1905, the Public Land Act declared all unregistered lands effectively public
land. Thus, prior occupancy no longer provided sufficient basis to claim ownership.
Although some datu (local chiefs) were able to title lands under their name, many
indigenous Muslims who traditionally enjoyed usufruct rights failed to acquire land
titles due to disagreement or lack of appreciation for and understanding of the new
laws. Others did not have the resources to finance cadastral surveys that, under the
Cadastral Act of 1910, became mandatory before the granting of titles. Migrants
and foreign corporations interested in opening tracts of lands to plantations, on the
other hand, acquired land through the legal processes provided.
As the rest of Mindanao grew, Christianized settlers took over the leadership
of the majority of the local governments, except for the remaining towns and
provinces where Moros remained dominant. Moro elites who collaborated with
the government leadership found their leverage weak. Guided by aristocratic
mentalities, they did not do much to address the human development of their con-
stituents strategically even as they collaborated with the ruling elites to access
some benefits. In the 1960s, some eventually chose to break with the system and
advocated separatism. Full-blown separatist movements would, however, be led
by non-traditional elites like the Moro National Liberation Front founding lead-
ers Nur Misuari and the religious scholar Salamat Hashim, who later led the Moro
Islamic Liberation Front.
 From rebels to governors 25
Table 1.2 Mindanao Muslim and non-Muslim population, 2000*

Region Total Muslims Muslims Non- Non-Muslims

Population (percentage) Muslims (percentage)

IX – Western 2,752,743 308,290 11 2,444,453 89

Mindanao
X – Northern 3,216,540 186,405 5.8 3,030,135 94.2
Mindanao
XI – 3,670,651 98,332 2.7 3,572,319 97.3
Southern
Mindanao
XII – Central 3,215,227 516,615 16.1 2,698,612 83.9
Mindanao
CARAGA 2,091,505 7,483 0.4 2,084,022 99.6
ARMM 2,873,233 2,562,103 89.2 311,113 10.8

Total 17,819,899 3,679,228 20.6 14,140,670 79.4

Note: *2000 Census population data were reorganized according to new (as of 2002) regional
arrangement, which includes the province of Basilan.

Instituting regional autonomy

In 1986, the Aquino government seriously sought ways to resolve the Moro rebel-
lion. The 1987 Constitution mandated the institution of an autonomous government
for Muslim Mindanao. Peace negotiations with the Moro National Liberation Front
enhanced the prospect for a collaborative process. However, the MNLF subse-
quently rejected Republic Act 6734 or the Organic Act for the Autonomous Region
in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) that was passed in 1989. The MNLF protested
the process of the drafting of the autonomy law and, given the minority status of
Moros in Mindanao provinces that were part of the claimed Bangsa Moro (Moro
Nation), opposed the provision calling for a referendum to determine the cities and
provinces to be included in the regional government. Only four provinces voted for
inclusion in the ARMM (Sulu, Tawi-tawi, Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur) in 1990.
Christian-dominated provinces refused inclusion, as did one of the remaining five
Muslim-dominated provinces (Basilan) and the only Muslim city, Marawi.
The Moro National Liberation Front participated in governance only in 1996,
when a comprehensive peace agreement with the Ramos administration was
forged. As part of the September 1996 Peace Agreement, MNLF leader Misuari
agreed to form and chair a transitory Southern Philippines Council for Peace and
Development (SPCPD) charged with overseeing the economic development of
then 14 Mindanao provinces and nine cities considered as constituting the claimed
historic Bangsa Moro territory.4 The settlement was achieved not insignificantly
because of the Ramos administration’s perceived demands of the global economy
– namely, political stability, peace and order. Ramos made economic growth and
global competitiveness the linchpin of his career as president. His ‘Philippines
2000’ program aimed to move the country to newly industrializing country status
26 M.C. Ferrer
by the end of the century. An important segment in this turn-of-the-century vision
is the development of Mindanao as part of the East ASEAN Growth Area, which
includes Brunei, Malaysia’s Northern Borneo territory and Indonesia’s northern
islands.
Ramos promised Misuari a slew of development projects in return for Misuari’s
acceptance of the two-phased process starting with the transitory Southern
Philippines Council for Peace and Development to the legislation of amendments
to the Organic Act that will enhance the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao.
Among the more than P. 3 billion promised projects were the building of airports
and various facilities, and an economic support fund for the Moro provinces. In
1997, Nur Misuari ran for ARMM governor and won with the support of the rul-
ing party. Official development assistance from Japan, the World Bank, the United
Nations system and other governments came in to finance the Southern Philippines
Zone of Peace and Development, which the SPCPD supervised.
Misuari’s weak performance as administrator justified the succeeding adminis-
tration’s half-hearted support for the ARMM and the SPCPD. But while Misuari
was also to be faulted for acting like a chief and enjoying a new lifestyle replete
with fully armed bodyguards, he was also handicapped by limited powers given
to him as SPCPD chair and ARMM governor. The SPCPD was merely an exten-
sion of the Office of the President, its functions, powers and budget subject to
presidential approval. As former government negotiator Eliseo Mercado argued,
the potential of the Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development to
become a showcase of Moro governance for peace and development was not met
because of ambiguous powers, unclear coordinative structures with existing struc-
tures including the local government units (LGUs), their lack of enthusiasm to
participate in the SPCPD, and insufficient logistical and administrative support for
its operations.5 In effect, the promised ‘backing’ from the national centre did not
fully materialize. The SPCPD also suffered from public antagonism due to tradi-
tional biases against Misuari and the Moro populace he represented, and other local
governments’ and agencies’ preferences for their own constituents. Local govern-
ment officials made exaggerated claims of Moro takeover of Christian-dominated
towns and provinces (Ferrer 1997). The Southern Philippines Council for Peace
and Development’s constitutionality was challenged in the Supreme Court.
In the 2001 Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao elections, the adminis-
tration of Philippine president Gloria Macapagal Arroyo arranged and supported
the candidacy of Parouk Hussin. Hussin headed the new Moro National Liberation
Front Council of 15 that split from the faction led by Misuari, with the support of
agents of the national government. Misuari launched a short-lived rebellion after
it became evident that the Macapagal-Arroyo administration did not show enthusi-
asm for his projects and had shifted support to the new MNLF faction. In January
2002, he was arrested and jailed.
Republic Act 9054, which amended RA 6734, called for a new referendum in
2001. The result was the expansion of Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao
to include Marawi City and Basilan province (but not its capital Isabela City). The
2001 amendments further improved on RA 6734 by providing more powers and
Another random document with
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the others after a distressing wait of ten minutes at the inward lock.
“Begob, I thought we was all lost. ’Twas a close shave. But I’ll go no
more below. I’ve had enough.” He was thinking of a small bank
account—six hundred dollars in all—which he had saved, and of a
girl in Brooklyn who was about to marry him. “No more!”

But, at that, as it stood, there was no immediate danger of work

being offered. The cave-in had cost the contractors thousands and in
addition had taught them that mere air pressure and bracing as
heretofore followed were not sufficient for successful tunneling.
Some new system would have to be devised. Work on both halves of
the tunnel was suspended for over a year and a half, during which
time McGlathery married, a baby was born to him, and his six
hundred had long since diminished to nothing. The difference
between two and five dollars a day is considerable. Incidentally, he
had not gone near his old foreman in all this time, being somehow
ashamed of himself, and in consequence he had not fared so well.
Previously Cavanaugh had kept him almost constantly employed,
finding him faithful and hard-working, but now owing to stranger
associates there were weeks when he had no work at all and others
when he had to work for as little as one-fifty a day. It was not so
pleasant. Besides, he had a sneaking feeling that if he had behaved
a little more courageously at that time, gone and talked to his old
foreman afterward or at the time, he might now be working for good
pay. Alas, he had not done so, and if he went now Cavanaugh would
be sure to want to know why he had disappeared so utterly. Then, in
spite of his marital happiness, poverty began to press him so. A
second and a third child were born—only they were twins.
In the meantime, Henderson, the engineer whom Cavanaugh had
wanted to consult with at the time, had devised a new system of
tunneling, namely, what subsequently came to be known as the pilot
tunnel. This was an iron tube ten feet in length and fifteen feet in
diameter—the width of the tunnel, which was carried forward on a
line with the axis of the tunnel into the ground ahead. When it was
driven in far enough to be completely concealed by the earth about,
then the earth within was removed. The space so cleared was then
used exactly as a hub is used on a wagon wheel. Beams like spokes
were radiated from its sides to its centre, and the surrounding earth
sustained by heavy iron plates. On this plan the old company had
decided to undertake the work again.
One evening, sitting in his doorway thumbing his way through an
evening paper which he could barely read, McGlathery had made all
this out. Mr. Henderson was to be in charge as before. Incidentally it
was stated that Thomas Cavanaugh was going to return as one of
the two chief foremen. Work was to be started at once. In spite of
himself, McGlathery was impressed. If Cavanaugh would only take
him back! To be sure, he had come very near losing his life, as he
thought, but then he had not. No one had, not a soul. Why should he
be so fearful if Cavanaugh could take such chances as he had?
Where else could he make five dollars a day? Still, there was this
haunting sensation that the sea and all of its arms and branches,
wherever situated, were inimical to him and that one day one of them
would surely do him a great injury—kill him, perhaps. He had a
recurring sensation of being drawn up into water or down, he could
not tell which, and of being submerged in ooze and choking slowly. It
was horrible.
But five dollars a day as against one-fifty or two or none at all
(seven, once he became very proficient) and an assured future as a
tunnel worker, a “sand-hog,” as he had now learned such men as
himself were called, was a luring as well as a disturbing thought.
After all, he had no trade other than this he had begun to learn under
Cavanaugh. Worse he was not a union man, and the money he had
once saved was gone, and he had a wife and three children. With
the former he had various and sundry talks. To be sure, tunneling
was dangerous, but still! She agreed with him that he had better not,
but—after all, the difference that five, maybe seven, instead of two a
day would make in their living expenses was in both their minds.
McGlathery saw it. He decided after a long period of hesitation that
perhaps he had best return. After all, nothing had happened to him
that other time, and might it ever again, really? He meditated.
 As has been indicated, a prominent element in McGlathery’s
nature was superstition. While he believed in the inimical nature of
water to him, he also believed in the power of various saints, male
and female, to help or hinder. In the Catholic Church of St. Columba
of South Brooklyn, at which McGlathery and his young wife were
faithful attendants, there was a plaster statue of a saint of this same
name, a co-worker with St. Patrick in Ireland, it appears, who in
McGlathery’s native town of Kilrush, County of Clare, on the water’s
edge of Shannon, had been worshipped for centuries past, or at
least highly esteemed, as having some merit in protecting people at
sea, or in adventures connected with water. This was due, perhaps,
to the fact that Kilrush was directly on the water and had to have a
saint of that kind. At any rate, among other things, he had
occasionally been implored for protection in that realm when
McGlathery was a boy. On his setting out for America, for instance,
some few years before at the suggestion of his mother, he had made
a novena before this very saint, craving of him a safe conduct in
crossing the sea, as well as prosperity once he had arrived in
America. Well, he had crossed in safety, and prospered well enough,
he thought. At least he had not been killed in any tunnel. In
consequence, on bended knees, two blessed candles burning before
him in the rack, a half dollar deposited in the box labeled “St.
Columba’s Orphans,” he finally asked of this saint whether, in case
he returned to this underground tunnel work, seeing that necessity
was driving him, would he be so kind as to protect him? He felt sure
that Cavanaugh, once he applied to him, and seeing that he had
been a favorite worker, would not begrudge him a place if he had
one. In fact he knew that Cavanaugh had always favored him as a
good useful helper.
After seven “Our Fathers” and seven “Hail Marys,” said on his
knees, and a litany of the Blessed Virgin for good measure, he
crossed himself and arose greatly refreshed. There was a pleasant
conviction in his mind now, newly come there before this image, that
he would never come to real harm by any power of water. It was a
revelation—a direct communication, perhaps. At any rate, something
told him to go and see Cavanaugh at once, before the work was well
under way, and not be afraid, as no harm would come to him, and
besides, he might not get anything even though he desired it so
much if he delayed. He bustled out of the church and over to the
waterfront where the deserted shaft was still standing, and sure
enough, there was Cavanaugh, conversing with Mr. Henderson.
“Yis—an’ what arr ye here fer?” he now demanded to know of
McGlathery rather amusedly, for he had sensed the cause of his
desertion.
“I was readin’ that ye was about to start work on the tunnel again.”
“An’ so we arr. What av it?”
“I was thinkin’ maybe ye’d have a place fer me. I’m married now
an’ have three children.”
“An’ ye’re thinkin’ that’s a reason fer givin’ ye something, is it?”
demanded the big foreman rather cynically, with a trace of
amusement. “I thought ye said ye was shut av the sea—that ye was
through now, once an’ fer all?”
“So I did, but I’ve changed me mind. It’s needin’ the work I am.”
“Very well, then,” said Cavanaugh. “We’re beginnin’ in the mornin’.
See that ye’re here at seven sharp. An’ mind ye, no worryin’ or
lookin’ around. We’ve a safe way now. It’s different. There’s no
danger.”
McGlathery gratefully eyed his old superior, then departed, only to
return the next morning a little dubious but willing. St. Columba had
certainly indicated that all would be well with him—but still— A man
is entitled to a few doubts even when under the protection of the best
of saints. He went down with the rest of the men and began cleaning
out that nearest section of the tunnel where first water and then earth
had finally oozed and caked. That done he helped install the new
pilot tunnel which was obviously a great improvement over the old
system. It seemed decidedly safe. McGlathery attempted to explain
its merits to his wife, who was greatly concerned for him, and
incidentally each morning and evening on his way to and from his
task he dropped in at St. Columba’s to offer up a short silent prayer.
In spite of his novena and understanding with the saint he was still
suspicious of this dread river above him, and of what might happen
to him in spite of St. Columba. The good saint, due to some error on
the part of McGlathery, might change his mind.
Nothing happened, of course, for days and weeks and months.
Under Cavanaugh’s direction the work progressed swiftly, and
McGlathery and he, in due time, became once more good friends,
and the former an expert bracer or timberer, one of the best, and
worth seven a day really, which he did not get. Incidentally, they were
all shifted from day to night work, which somehow was considered
more important. There were long conversations now and again
between Cavanaugh and Henderson, and Cavanaugh and other
officials of the company who came down to see, which enlightened
McGlathery considerably as to the nature and danger of the work.
Just the same, overhead was still the heavy river—he could feel it
pushing at him at times, pushing at the thick layer of mud and silt
above him and below which with the aid of this new pilot shield they
were burrowing.
Yet nothing happened for months and months. They cleared a
thousand feet without a hitch. McGlathery began to feel rather
comfortable about it all. It certainly seemed reasonably safe under
the new system. Every night he went down and every morning came
up, as hale and healthy as ever, and every second week, on a
Tuesday, a pay envelope containing the handsome sum of seventy-
two dollars was handed him. Think of it! Seventy-two dollars!
Naturally, as a token of gratitude to St. Columba, he contributed
liberally to his Orphans’ Home, a dollar a month, say, lit a fresh
candle before his shrine every Sunday morning after high mass, and
bought two lots out on the Goose Creek waterfront—on time—on
which some day, God willing, he proposed to build a model summer
and winter cottage. And then—! Well, perhaps, as he thought
afterward, it might have been due to the fact that his prosperity had
made him a little more lax than he should have been, or proud, or
not quite as thoughtful of the saint as was his due. At any rate, one
night, in spite of St. Columba—or could it have been with his aid and
consent in order to show McGlathery his power?—the wretched
sneaky river did him another bad turn, a terrible turn, really.
 It was this way. While they were working at midnight under the
new form of bracing, based on the pilot tunnel, and with an air
pressure of two thousand pounds to the square inch which had so
far sufficed to support the iron roof plates which were being put in
place behind the pilot tunnel day after day, as fast as space
permitted, and with the concrete men following to put in a form of
arch which no river weight could break, the very worst happened.
For it was just at this point where the iron roof and the mud of the
river bottom came in contact behind the pilot tunnel that there was a
danger spot ever since the new work began. Cavanaugh had always
been hovering about that, watching it, urging others to be careful
—“taking no chances with it,” as he said.
“Don’t be long, men!” was his constant urge. “Up with it now! Up
with it! In with the bolts! Quick, now, with yer riveter—quick! quick!”
And the men! How they worked there under the river whenever
there was sufficient space to allow a new steel band to be
segmentally set! For at that point it was, of course, that the river
might break through. How they tugged, sweated, grunted, cursed, in
this dark muddy hole, lit by a few glittering electric arcs—the latest
thing in tunnel work! Stripped to the waist, in mud-soaked trousers
and boots, their arms and backs and breasts mud-smeared and wet,
their hair tousled, their eyes bleary—an artist’s dream of bedlam, a
heavenly inferno of toil—so they labored. And overhead was the
great river, Atlantic liners resting upon it, thirty or fifteen or ten feet of
soil only, sometimes, between them and this thin strip of mud
sustained, supposedly, by two thousand pounds of air pressure to
the square inch—all they had to keep the river from bleeding water
down on them and drowning them like rats!
“Up with it! Up with it! Up with it! Now the bolts! Now the riveter!
That’s it! In with it, Johnny! Once more now!”
Cavanaugh’s voice urging them so was like music to them, their
gift of energy, their labor song, their power to do, their Ei Uchnam.
But there were times also, hours really, when the slow forward
movement of the pilot tunnel, encountering difficult earth before it,
left this small danger section unduly exposed to the rotary action of
the water overhead which was constantly operating in the bed of the
river. Leaks had been discovered from time to time, small tricklings
and droppings of earth, which brought Cavanaugh and Henderson to
the spot and caused the greatest tension until they had been done
away with. The air had a tendency to bore holes upward through the
mud. But these were invariably stanched with clay, or, if growing
serious, bags of shavings or waste, the air pressure blowing outward
from below being sufficient to hold these in place, provided the
breach was not too wide. Even when “all hands” were working
directly under a segment wide enough for a ring of plates, one man
was told off to “kape an eye on it.”
On the evening in question, however, after twenty-eight men,
including Cavanaugh and McGlathery, had entered at six and
worked until midnight, pushing the work as vigorously as usual,
seven of the men (they were told off in lots of seven to do this) were
allowed to go up to the mouth of the tunnel to a nearby all-night
saloon for a drink and a bite of food. A half hour to each lot was
allowed, when another group would depart. There was always a
disturbing transition period every half hour between twelve and two,
during which one group was going and another coming, which
resulted at times in a dangerous indifference which Cavanaugh had
come to expect at just about this time and in consequence he was
usually watching for it.
On the other hand, John Dowd, ditcher, told off to keep an eye on
the breach at this time, was replaced on this particular night by
Patrick Murtha, fresh from the corner saloon, a glass of beer and the
free lunch counter still in his mind. He was supposed to watch
closely, but having had four glasses in rapid succession and
meditating on their excellence as well as that of the hot frankfurters,
the while he was jesting with the men who were making ready to
leave, he forgot about it. What now—was a man always to keep his
eye on the blanked thing! What was going to happen anyway? What
could happen? Nothing, of course. What had ever happened in the
last eight months?
“Sssst!”
 What was that? A sound like the blowing off of steam. All at once
Cavanaugh, who was just outside the pilot tunnel indicating to
McGlathery and another just where certain braces were to be put, in
order that the pilot tunnel might be pushed forward a few inches for
the purpose of inserting a new ring of plates, heard it. At a bound he
was back through the pilot hub, his face aflame with fear and rage.
Who had neglected the narrow breach?
“Come now! What the hell is this?” he was about to exclaim, but
seeing a wide breach suddenly open and water pour down in a swift
volume, his spirit sank and fear overcame him.
“Back, men! Stop the leak!”
It was the cry of a frightened and yet courageous man at bay.
There was not only fear, but disappointment, in it. He had certainly
hoped to obviate anything like this this time. But where a moment
before had been a hole that might have been stopped with a bag of
sawdust (and Patrick Murtha was there attempting to do it) was now
a rapidly widening gap through which was pouring a small niagara of
foul river water, ooze and slime. As Cavanaugh reached it and
seized a bag to stay it, another mass of muddy earth fell, striking
both him and Murtha, and half blinding them both. Murtha scrambled
away for his life. McGlathery, who had been out in the front of the
fatal tunnel with others, now came staggering back horribly
frightened, scarcely knowing what to do.
“Quick, Dennis! Into the lock!” Cavanaugh called to him, while he
himself held his ground. “Hurry!” and realizing the hopelessness of it
and his own danger, Dennis thought to run past, but was stopped by
the downpour of water and mud.
“Quick! Quick! Into the lock! For Christ’s sake, can’t ye see what’s
happenin’? Through with ye!”
McGlathery, hesitating by his chief’s side, fearful to move lest he
be killed, uncertain this time whether to leave his chief or not, was
seized by Cavanaugh and literally thrown through, as were others
after him, the blinding ooze and water choking them, but placing
them within range of safety. When the last man was through
Cavanaugh himself plunged after, wading knee-deep in mud and
water.
“Quick! Quick! Into the lock!” he called, and then seeing
McGlathery, who was now near it but waiting for him, added, “In, in!”
There was a mad scramble about the door, floating timbers and bags
interfering with many, and then, just as it seemed as if all would
reach safety, an iron roof plate overhead, loosened by the breaking
of plates beyond, gave way, felling one man in the half-open
doorway of the lock and blocking and pinning it in such a way that it
could be neither opened nor closed. Cavanaugh and others who
came up after were shut out. McGlathery, who had just entered and
saw it, could do nothing. But in this emergency, and unlike his
previous attitude, he and several others on the inside seized upon
the dead man and tried to draw him in, at the same time calling to
Cavanaugh to know what to do. The latter, dumbfounded, was
helpless. He saw very clearly and sadly that very little if anything
could be done. The plate across the dead man was too heavy, and
besides, the ooze was already pouring over him into the lock. At the
same time the men in the lock, conscious that although they were
partially on the road to safety they were still in danger of losing their
lives, were frantic with fear.
Actually there were animal roars of terror. At the same time
McGlathery, once more realizing that his Nemesis, water, had
overtaken him and was likely to slay him at last, was completely
paralyzed with fear. St. Columba had promised him, to be sure, but
was not this that same vision that he had had in his dreams, that
awful sense of encroaching ooze and mud? Was he not now to die
this way, after all? Was not his patron saint truly deserting him? It
certainly appeared so.
“Holy Mary! Holy St. Columba!” he began to pray, “what shall I do
now? Mother of God! Our Father, who art in Heaven! Bejasus, it’s a
tight place I’m in now! I’ll never get out of this! Tower of Ivory! House
of Gold! Can’t we git him in, boys? Ark of the Covenant! Gate of
Heaven!”
 As he gibbered and chattered, the others screaming about him,
some pulling at the dead man, others pulling at the other door, the
still eye of Cavanaugh outside the lock waist-deep in mud and water
was surveying it all.
“Listen to me, men!” came his voice in rich, heavy, guttural tones.
“You, McGlathery! Dennis!! Arr ye all crazy! Take aaf yer clothes and
stop up the doorway! It’s yer only chance! Aaf with yer clothes, quick!
And those planks there—stand them up! Never mind us. Save
yerselves first. Maybe ye can do something for us afterwards.”
As he argued, if only the gap in the door could be closed and the
compressed air pushing from the tunnel outward toward the river
allowed to fill the chamber, it would be possible to open the other
door which gave into the next section shoreward, and so they could
all run to safety.
His voice, commanding, never quavering, even in the face of
death, subsided. About and behind him were a dozen men huddled
like sheep, waist-deep in mud and water, praying and crying. They
had got as close to him as might be, still trying to draw upon the
sustaining force of his courage, but moaning and praying just the
same and looking at the lock.
“Yis! Yis!” exclaimed McGlathery of a sudden, awakening at last to
a sense of duty and that something better in conduct and thought
which he had repeatedly promised himself and his saint that he
would achieve. He had been forgetting. But now it seemed to him
once more that he had been guilty of that same great wrong to his
foreman which had marked his attitude on the previous occasion—
that is, he had not helped him or any one but himself. He was a
horrible coward. But what could he do? he asked himself. What
could he do? Tearing off his coat and vest and shirt as commanded,
he began pushing them into the opening, calling to the others to do
the same. In a twinkling, bundles were made of all as well as of the
sticks and beams afloat in the lock, and with these the gap in the
door was stuffed, sufficiently to prevent the air from escaping, but
shutting out the foreman and his men completely.
 “It’s awful. I don’t like to do it,” McGlathery kept crying to his
foreman but the latter was not so easily shaken.
“It’s all right, boys,” he kept saying. “Have ye no courage at aal?”
And then to the others outside with him, “Can’t ye stand still and
wait? They may be comin’ back in time. Kape still. Say yer prayers if
ye know any, and don’t be afraid.”
But, although the air pressing outward toward Cavanaugh held the
bundles in place, still this was not sufficient to keep all the air in or all
the water out. It poured about the dead man and between the chinks,
rising inside to their waists also. Once more it threatened their lives
and now their one hope was to pull open the shoreward door and so
release themselves into the chamber beyond, but this was not to be
done unless the escaping air was completely blocked or some other
method devised.
Cavanaugh, on the outside, his whole mind still riveted on the men
whom he was thus aiding to escape, was the only one who realized
what was to be done. In the panel of the door which confronted him,
and the other, which they were trying to break open, were thick glass
plates, or what were known as bull’s eyes, through which one could
see, and it was through the one at his end that Cavanaugh was
peering. When it became apparent to him that the men were not
going to be able to open the farthest door, a new thought occurred to
him. Then it was that his voice was heard above the tumult,
shouting:
“Break open the outside bull’s eye! Listen to me, Dennis! Listen to
me! Break open the outside bull’s eye!”
Why did he call to Dennis, the latter often asked himself
afterwards. And why did Dennis hear him so clearly? Through a
bedlam of cries within, he heard, but also realized that if he or they
knocked out the bull’s eye in the other door, and the air escaped
through it inward, the chances of their opening it would be improved,
but the life of Cavanaugh and his helpless companions would
certainly be destroyed. The water would rush inward from the river,
filling up this chamber and the space in which stood Cavanaugh.
Should he? So he hesitated.
 “Knock it out!” came the muffled voice of his foreman from within
where he was eyeing him calmly. “Knock it out, Dennis! It’s yer only
chance! Knock it out!” And then, for the first time in all the years he
had been working for him, McGlathery heard the voice of his
superior waver slightly: “If ye’re saved,” it said, “try and do what ye
can fer the rest av us.”
In that moment McGlathery was reborn spiritually. Although he
could have wept, something broke in him—fear. He was not afraid
now for himself. He ceased to tremble, almost to hurry and awoke to
a new idea, one of undying, unfaltering courage. What! There was
Cavanaugh outside there, unafraid, and here was he, Dennis
McGlathery, scrambling about like a hare for his life! He wanted to go
back, to do something, but what could he? It was useless. Instead,
he assumed partial command in here. The spirit of Cavanaugh
seemed to come over to him and possess him. He looked about,
saw a great stave, and seized it.
“Here, men!” he called with an air of command. “Help knock it out!”
and with a will born of terror and death a dozen brawny hands were
laid on it. With a mighty burst of energy they assaulted the thick plate
and burst it through. Air rushed in, and at the same time the door
gave way before them, causing them to be swept outward by the
accumulated water like straws. Then, scrambling to their feet, they
tumbled into the next lock, closing the door behind them. Once in,
they heaved a tremendous sigh of relief, for here they were safe
enough—for the time being anyhow. McGlathery, the new spirit of
Cavanaugh in him, even turned and looked back through the bull’s
eye into the chamber they had just left. Even as they waited for the
pressure here to lower sufficiently to permit them to open the inner
door he saw this last chamber they had left his foreman and a dozen
fellow workers buried beyond. But what could he do? Only God, only
St. Columba, could tell him, perhaps, and St. Columba had saved
him—or had he?—him and fifteen other men, the while he had
chosen to allow Cavanaugh and twelve men to perish! Had St.
Columba done that—or God—or who?
“’Tis the will av God,” he murmured humbly—but why had God
done that?
 But somehow, the river was not done with him yet, and that,
seemingly, in spite of himself. Although he prayed constantly for the
repose of the soul of Thomas Cavanaugh and his men, and avoided
the water, until five years later, still there was a sequel. By now
McGlathery was the father of eight children and as poor as any
average laborer. With the death of Cavanaugh and this accident, as
has been said, he had forsworn the sea—or water—and all its works.
Ordinary house shoring and timbering were good enough for him,
only—only—it was so hard to get enough of this at good pay. He was
never faring as well as he should. And then one day when he was
about as hard up as ever and as earnest, from somewhere was
wafted a new scheme in connection with this same old tunnel.
A celebrated engineer of another country—England, no less—had
appeared on the scene with a new device, according to the papers.
Greathead was his name, and he had invented what was known as
“The Greathead Shield,” which finally, with a few changes and
adaptations, was to rid tunnel work of all its dangers. McGlathery,
sitting outside the door of his cottage overlooking Bergen Bay, read it
all in the Evening Clarion, and wondered whether it could be true. He
did not understand very much about this new shield idea even now,
but even so, and in spite of himself, some of the old zest for
tunneling came back to him. What times he had had, to be sure!
What a life it had been, if a dog’s one—and Cavanaugh—what a
foreman! And his body was still down there entombed—erect, no
doubt, as he was left. He wondered. It would be only fair to dig him
out and honor his memory with a decent grave if it could be done.
His wife and children were still living in Flatbush. It stirred up all the
memories, old fears, old enthusiasms, but no particular desire to
return. Still, here he was now, a man with a wife and eight children,
earning three a day, or less—mostly less—whereas tunneling paid
seven and eight to such as himself, and he kept thinking that if this
should start up again and men were advertised for, why shouldn’t he
go? His life had been almost miraculously saved these two times—
but would it be again?—that was the great question. Almost
unceasingly he referred the matter to his saint on Sundays in his
church, but receiving no definite advice as yet and there being no
work doing on the tunnel, he did nothing.
But then one day the following spring the papers were full of the
fact that work would soon actually be resumed, and shortly
thereafter, to his utter amazement, McGlathery received a note from
that same Mr. Henderson under whom Cavanaugh had worked,
asking him to call and see him. Feeling sure that it was the river that
was calling him, he went over to St. Columba’s and prayed before
his saint, putting a dollar in his Orphans’ box and a candle on his
shrine, and then arising greatly refreshed and reassured, and after
consulting with his wife, journeyed over to the river, where he found
the old supervisor as before in a shed outside, considering one
important matter and another.
What he wanted to know was this—did McGlathery want to take
an assistant-foremanship under a new foreman who was going to be
in charge of the day work here, one Michael Laverty by name, an
excellent man, at seven dollars a day, seeing that he had worked
here before and understood the difficulties, etc.? McGlathery stared
in amazement. He an assistant-foreman in charge of timbering! And
at seven dollars a day! He!
Mr. Henderson neglected to say that because there had been so
much trouble with the tunnel and the difficulties so widely advertised,
it was rather difficult to get just the right sort of men at first, although
McGlathery was good enough any time. But the new shield made
everything safe, he said. There could be no calamity this time. The
work would be pushed right through. Mr. Henderson even went so
far as to explain the new shield to him, its excellent points.
But McGlathery, listening, was dubious, and yet he was not
thinking of the shield exactly now, nor of the extra pay he would
receive, although that played a big enough part in his calculations,
but of one Thomas Cavanaugh, mason foreman, and his twelve
men, buried down below there in the ooze, and how he had left him,
and how it would only be fair to take his bones out, his and the
others’, if they could be found, and give them a decent Christian
burial. For by now he was a better Catholic than ever, and he owed
that much to Cavanaugh, for certainly Cavanaugh had been very
good to him—and anyhow, had not St. Columba protected him so
far? And might he not in the future, seeing the position he was in?
Wasn’t this a call, really? He felt that it was.
Just the same, he was nervous and troubled, and went home and
consulted with his wife again, and thought of the river and went over
and prayed in front of the shrine of St. Columba. Then, once more
spiritualized and strengthened, he returned and told Mr. Henderson
that he would come back. Yes, he would come.
He felt actually free of fear, as though he had a mission, and the
next day began by assisting Michael Laverty to get out the solid
mass of earth which filled the tunnel from the second lock outward. It
was slow work, well into the middle of the summer before the old or
completed portion was cleared and the bones of Cavanaugh and his
men reached. That was a great if solemn occasion—the finding of
Cavanaugh and his men. They could recognize him by his big boots,
his revolver, his watch, and a bunch of keys, all in position near his
bones. These same bones and boots were then reverently lifted and
transferred to a cemetery in Brooklyn, McGlathery and a dozen
workers accompanying them, after which everything went smoothly.
The new shield worked like a charm. It made eight feet a day in soft
mud, and although McGlathery, despite his revived courage, was
intensely suspicious of the river, he was really no longer afraid of it in
the old way. Something kept telling him that from now on he would
be all right—not to fear. The river could never hurt him any more,
really.
But just the same, a few months later—eight, to be exact—the
river did take one last slap at him, but not so fatally as might have
appeared on the surface, although in a very peculiar way, and
whether with or without St. Columba’s aid or consent, he never could
make out. The circumstances were so very odd. This new cutting
shield, as it turned out, was a cylinder thirteen feet long, twenty feet
in diameter, and with a hardened steel cutting edge out on front, an
apron, fifteen inches in length and three inches thick at the cutting
edge. Behind this came what was known as an “outside diaphragm,”
which had several openings to let in the mud displaced by the
shield’s advance.
Back of these openings were chambers four feet in length, one
chamber for each opening, through which the mud was passed.
These chambers in turn had hinged doors, which regulated the
quantity of mud admitted, and were water tight and easily closed. It
was all very shipshape.
Behind these little chambers, again, were many steel jacks, fifteen
to thirty, according to the size of the shield, driven by an air pressure
of five thousand pounds to the square inch, which were used to push
the shield forward. Back of them came what was known as the tail
end of the shield, which reached back into the completed tunnel and
was designed to protect the men who were at work putting in the
new plates (at that danger point which had killed Cavanaugh)
whenever the shield had been driven sufficiently forward to permit of
a new ring of them.
The only danger involved in this part of the work lay in the fact that
between this lining and the tail end of the shield was always a space
of an inch to an inch and a half which was left unprotected. This
small opening would, under ordinary circumstances, be insignificant,
but in some instances where the mud covering at the top was very
soft and not very thick, there was danger of the compressed air from
within, pushing at the rate of several thousand pounds to the square
inch, blowing it away and leaving the aperture open to the direct
action of the water above. This was not anticipated, of course, not
even thought of. The shield was going rapidly forward and it was
predicted by Henderson and Laverty at intervals that the tunnel
would surely go through within the year.
Some time the following winter, however, when the shield was
doing such excellent work, it encountered a rock which turned its
cutting edge and, in addition, necessitated the drilling out of the rock
in front. A bulkhead had to be built, once sufficient stone had been
cut away, to permit the repairing of the edge. This took exactly fifteen
days. In the meantime, at the back of the shield, at the little crevice
described, compressed air, two thousand pounds to the square inch,
was pushing away at the mud outside, gradually hollowing out a cup-
like depression eighty-five feet long (Mr. Henderson had soundings
taken afterwards), which extended backward along the top of the
completed tunnel toward the shore. There was then nothing but
water overhead.
It was at this time that the engineers, listening to the river, which,
raked by the outpouring of air from below, was rolling gravel and
stones above the tunnel top and pounding on it like a drum, learned
that such was the case. It was easy enough to fix it temporarily by
stuffing the crevice with bags, but one of these days when the shield
was repaired it would have to be moved forward to permit the
insertion of a new ring of plates, and then, what?
At once McGlathery scented trouble. It was the wretched river
again (water), up to its old tricks with him. He was seriously
disturbed, and went to pray before St. Columba, but incidentally,
when he was on duty, he hovered about this particular opening like a
wasp. He wanted to know what was doing there every three minutes
in the day, and he talked to the night foreman about it, as well as
Laverty and Mr. Henderson. Mr. Henderson, at Laverty’s and
McGlathery’s request, came down and surveyed it and meditated
upon it.
“When the time comes to move the shield,” he said, “you’ll just
have to keep plenty of bags stuffed around that opening,
everywhere, except where the men are putting in the plates. We’ll
have extra air pressure that day, all we can stand, and I think that’ll
fix everything all right. Have plenty of men here to keep those bags
in position, but don’t let ’em know there’s anything wrong, and we’ll
be all right. Let me know when you’re ready to start, and I’ll come
down.”
When the shield was eventually repaired and the order given to
drive it just twenty-five inches ahead in order to permit the insertion
of a new ring of plates, Mr. Henderson was there, as well as Laverty
and McGlathery. Indeed, McGlathery was in charge of the men who
were to stuff the bags and keep out the water. If you have ever seen
a medium-sized red-headed Irishman when he is excited and
determined, you have a good picture of McGlathery. He was
seemingly in fifteen places at once, commanding, exhorting,
persuading, rarely ever soothing—and worried. Yes, he was worried,
in spite of St. Columba.
The shield started. The extra air pressure was put on, the water
began to pour through the crevice, and then the bags were put in
place and stopped most of it, only where the ironworkers were
riveting on the plates it poured, poured so heavily at times that the
workers became frightened.
“Come now! What’s the matter wid ye! What arr ye standin’ there
fer? What arr ye afraid av? Give me that bag! Up with it! That’s the
idea! Do ye think ye’re goin’ to be runnin’ away now?”
It was McGlathery’s voice, if you please, commanding!—
McGlathery, after his two previous experiences! Yet in his vitals he
was really afraid of the river at this very moment.
What was it that happened? For weeks after, he himself, writhing
with “bends” in a hospital, was unable to get it straight. For four of
the bags of sawdust burst and blew through, he remembered that—it
was a mistake to have sawdust bags at all. And then (he
remembered that well enough), in stuffing others in, they found that
they were a bag short, and until something was secured to put in its
place, for the water was streaming in like a waterfall and causing a
flood about their ankles, he, McGlathery, defiant to the core, not to
be outdone by the river this time, commanded the great thing to be
done.
“Here!” he shouted, “the three av ye,” to three gaping men near at
hand, “up with me! Put me there! I’m as good as a bag of sawdust
any day. Up with me!”
Astonished, admiring, heartened, the three of them jumped
forward and lifted him. Against the small breach, through which the
water was pouring, they held him, while others ran off for more bags.
Henderson and Laverty and the ironworkers, amazed and amused
and made braver themselves because of this very thing—filled with
admiration, indeed, by the sheer resourcefulness of it, stood by to
help. But then, if you will believe it, while they were holding him
there, and because now there was nothing but water above it, one
end of the shield itself—yes, that great iron invention—was lifted by
the tremendous air pressure below—eleven or thirteen or fourteen
inches, whatever space you can imagine a medium sized man being
forced through—and out he went, McGlathery, and all the bags, up
into the river above, the while the water poured down, and the men
fled for their lives.
A terrific moment, as you can well imagine, not long in duration,
but just long enough to swallow up McGlathery, and then the shield,
having responded at first to too much air pressure, now responding
to too little (the air pressure having been lessened by the escape),
shut down like a safety valve, shutting off most of the water and
leaving the tunnel as it was before.
But McGlathery!
Yes, what of him?
Reader—a miracle!
A passing tug captain, steaming down the Hudson at three one
bright December afternoon was suddenly astonished to see a small
geyser of water lift its head some thirty feet from his boat, and at the
top of it, as it were lying on it, a black object which at first he took to
be a bag or a log. Later he made it out well enough, for it plunged
and bellowed.
“Fer the love av God! Will no one take me out av this? Git me out
av this! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
It was McGlathery right enough, alive and howling lustily and no
worse for his blow-out save that he was suffering from a fair case of
the “bends” and suffering mightily. He was able to scream, though,
and was trying to swim. That old haunting sensation!—he had had it
this time, sure enough. For some thirty or forty seconds or more he
had been eddied swiftly along the top of the tunnel at the bottom of
the river, and then coming to where the air richocheted upward had
been hustled upward like a cork and literally blown through the air at
the top of the great volume of water, out into space. The sudden shift
from two thousand pounds of air pressure to none at all, or nearly
none, had brought him down again, and in addition induced the
severe case of “bends” from which he was now suffering. But St.
Columba had not forgotten him entirely. Although he was suffering
horribly, and was convinced that he was a dead man, still the good
saint must have placed the tug conveniently near, and into this he
was now speedily lifted.
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Captain Hiram Knox, seeing him
thoroughly alive, if not well, and eyeing him in astonishment. “Where
do you come from?”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” bawled McGlathery. “Me arms! Me ribs! Oh! Oh! Oh!
The tunnel! The tunnel below, av course! Quick! Quick! It’s dyin’ av
the bends I am! Git me to a hospital, quick!”
The captain, truly moved and frightened by his groans, did as
requested. He made for the nearest dock. It took him but a few
moments to call an ambulance, and but a few more before
McGlathery was carried into the nearest hospital.
The house physician, having seen a case of this same disease
two years before, and having meditated on it, had decided that the
hair of the dog must be good for the bite. In consequence of this
McGlathery was once more speedily carted off to one of the locks of
this very tunnel, to the amazement of all who had known of him (his
disappearance having aroused general excitement), and he was
stared at as one who had risen from the grave. But, what was better
yet, under the pressure of two thousand pounds now applied he
recovered himself sufficiently to be host here and tell his story—
another trick of his guardian saint, no doubt—and one rather
flattering to his vanity, for he was now in no least danger of dying.
The whole city, if not the whole country, indeed, was astounded by
the accident, and he was a true nine days’ wonder, for the papers
were full of the strange adventure. And with large pictures of
McGlathery ascending heavenward, at the top of a geyser of water.
And long and intelligent explanations as to the way and the why of it
all.