More Than Eight Million Join the Jesus Nazareno Feast and Traslacion, the Philippines’ Largest Devotional Ritual

 

Devotees trying to climp up the andas (Photo by John Carlo Magallon)

In the afternoon of January 8, 2025, groups of devotees starting arriving at one of the Philippines’ largest public park, Rizal Park, in heart of the capital, Manila, many came walking barefoot from different parts of Metro Manila and vicinities. By evening, devotees came in droves for the vigil and other activities on the eve of the Feast of Jesús Nazareno, popularly called the Feast of the Black Nazarene, which is marked by the Traslacion, the Philippines’ biggest devotional ritual.  

By 12:30 A.M., the crowd was estimated to have reach about 70,000, scattered on streets at the southern part of Rizal Park—Roxas Boulevard, Kalaw Avenue and Padre Burgos Avenue—near the Quirino Grandstand, where the Traslacion procession would start. A large number of devotees were young men but there were also women, toddlers and old persons. Several groups came carrying their standards and in group uniforms. Some have also brought their own images of Jesus the Nazarene, big and small. The large ones were mounted on karosas (carriages), furnished with lights and bedecked with flowers, which they stationed on the sides of the streets. A few even mounted a station or altar, complete with sound systems, blaring with “Himno del Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno,” composed by the late National Artist for music Lucio San Pedro. People would stop to have their towels wiped on the images and to pray. 

 The vigil participants had filled the Quirino Grandstand grounds, which was surrounded by bands of people, queuing for the Pahalik, the touching of the feet of the church’s Jesus Nazareno image. Many have camped out on the streets, where vendors wove their way among the crowd and couple of brass bands went around, performing the hymn. Many people tried to sleep among the growing piles of garbage. 

At the grandstand, the Misa Mayor (High Mass) was celebrated at midnight, led by the Metropolitan Archbishop of Manila, Cardinal José F. Advincula. The program continued, which included testimonies from celebrity devotees such as Dimples Romana, Angeline Quinto, McCoy de Leon, and Coco Martin.

At 4:41 A.M., the Traslacion procession began as the andas, the carriage bearing the centuries-old image of Jesus the Nazarene or a replica, was pulled with ropes by devotees, amidst waving of towels and handkerchiefs and lights from mobile phones.  

The Traslacion, Spanish for “transfer,” is an annual commemoration and ritual reenactment of the transfer of the wooden image of Jesus the Nazarene, popularly called Itim na Nazareno (Black Nazarene) because of its dark color, from Bagumbayan (now Rizal Park) and Intramuros to Quiapo Church on January 9. 

Made by Mexican artisans, the image was brought to the Philippines by the Augustinian Recollects believed to be on May 31, 1606. It was first enshrined at the Church of San Juan Bautista in Bagumbayan in Manila and then transferred to San Nicolas de Tolentino Church in nearby Intramuros in 1608. In 1787, it was again transferred to its current home, Quiapo Church, which is dedicated to Saint John the Baptist and would later be called Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene. 

Over the years, devotion to the image of Jesús Nazareno has prospered, extending from the district of Quiapo to the whole country, and the procession has grown to involve millions of participants. The practice has also seen the melding of Filipino folk beliefs and practices with Roman Catholic faith. 

There have been several developments since the time I have written and directed a short documentary, “Poong Nazareno: The Feast and Traslacion of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo, Manila” (2021), for the project of International Information and Networking Centre for Intangible Cultural Heritage in the Asia-Pacific Region under the auspices of UNESCO, in collaboration with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, in 2018 and 2019.  

            By that time, the procession has become unwieldy, lasting many hours, as many participants jostle to get near the andas, take hold of the ropes used in pulling it and participate in carrying the image, and climb up the andas to touch the image, which are seen as acts of devotion. Devotees who participant in pulling the ropes or carrying the andas are called “mamamasan,” one who carries or bear on the shoulder.

The vicinities of the procession would be inundated by deluge of devotees, mostly men, dressed in maroon and gold, the colors of the garments of the image. The longest recorded procession is in 2012 with 22 hours and 14 minutes.

            In 2018, the event and procession drew more than two million participants, according to the National Capital Region Police Office, and lasted for 21 hours, 54 minutes, while the 2019 procession clocked up 21 hours and 13 minutes, with about four million participants in the Traslacion as well as in preceding events starting on 31 December 2018. Others estimate the number to be both six million in 2018 and 2019. 

The 2020 Traslacion lasted for 16 hours and 36 minutes, with about 2,300,500 devotees joining the procession, according to the Manila Public Information Office. A total of 3.2 million participants was estimated. 

            Traslacion activities were halted in 2021, 2022 and 2023 because of the coronavirus pandemic. In 2023, instead of the Traslacion, the church organized a procession called Walk of Faith on January 8, following a route similar to the Traslacion’s, but without the iconic statue; drawing about 88,000 participants, according to Quiapo Church; and lasting for more than two hours.

            In 2024, the Traslacion was held again, attracting 6,113,598 devotees to its several activities and lasting for 14 hours and 59 minutes. It was also notable for the use of a bulletproof glass case, made by Filipino automotive manufacturer Sarao Motors, Inc., to protect the image from damage and zealous devotees. The lower portion of cross is left exposed for those still wanting to touch a part of the image. 

            The year also saw several milestones for Quiapo Church and Traslacion. The church was declared a national shrine on January 29, 2024, and Cardinal Advincula decreed that the official title of the church is the Minor Basilica and National Shrine of Jesus Nazareno on October 3, 2024. Quiapo remains to be Saint John the Baptist Parish.

            Many refer to the January 9 commemoration as a pista (feast), although the feast day of Jesus the Nazarene is every Good Friday. But on September 6, 2024, during the 38th National Meeting of Diocesan Directors of Liturgy of the Philippines, January 9 was formally declared as a liturgical feast, to be observed in all the dioceses throughout the country and paving the way for the 2025 observance to be a significant one. 

“Makasaysayan ang ating piyesta sa taong ito sapagkat sa unang pagkakataon, ito ay hindi na lang piyesta ng Quiapo o ng Maynila, kundi ng buong Filipinas (Our fiesta this year will be historic because for the first time, this is not only a fiesta of Quiapo or Manila, but of the whole Philippines). We call it a liturgical feast.Sa bawat diocese, sa bawat parokya, ito ay kanilang ipagdiriwang (In every diocese, in every parish, it will be celebrated),” said Bishop Rufino Sescon, Jr., rector of Quiapo Church, during a press conference on January 3, 2025. 

             For the 2025 feast and Traslacion, the theme, “Mas mabuti ang pagsunod kaysa paghahandog sa mga umaasa kay Jesus” (Obedience is better than offering for those who depends on Jesus), was adopted. A novena was held prior to the Traslacion, beginning on 31 December 2024 and including a series of activities and events aside from regular Masses such as the Walk of Thanksgiving, visitation to barangays in Quiapo, the blessing of replicas and standards, and the pahalik, the practice of kissing parts of Jesus Nazareno image. Kissing is now discouraged and is instead replaced by touching or wiping with towel or handkerchief. 

            While the Feast of Jesus Nazareno is observed in other parts of the country and even in a few Filipino communities abroad in the past, 2025 saw more places and bigger observations. Among the biggest were celebrations in Bacolod City, Negros Occidental; and Cagayan de Oro City.  In Bacolod, hundreds of devotees joined a procession that started at the San Sebastian Cathedral and ended at the Queen of Peace Parish-Redemptorist Church, where a replica of the Black Nazarene image, a gift of the Quiapo Church, is enshrined. On the other hand, thousands were reported to join the procession that started at Saint Augustine Metropolitan Cathedral and ended at the Jesus Nazareno Church. Other areas that observed the feast included Cawayan, Solano in Nueva Vizcaya; Alfonso and Magallanes in Cavite; Capalonga in Camarines Norte; Catarman in Northern Samar; Dumlog, Talisay City in Cebu; Tagum City in Davao del Norte; Davao City; and Amor Cruz, Laak in Davao de Oro.

            The biggest observation remained to be in Manila. When the andas left Quirino Grandstand to tackle the 5.8-kilometer route, there were about 230,000 people in the area, while about 16,700 were at the Quiapo Church, where Masses were held hourly. 

The procession proceeded to Katigbak Drive, Padre Burgos Street and Finance Road. It reached Ayala Bridge at 10:10 A.M. By noon, it was on Quezon Boulevard, where participants reached over 1.7 million, according to the Nazareno Operations Center. It proceeded to Arlegui Street, Fraternal Street, Vergara Street, Duque de Alba Street, Castillejos Street and Farnecio Street but was delayed because the andas tilted and devotees tried to climb up the andas. 

 At 5:57 P.M., the andas finally reached Plaza del Carmen and the Minor Basilica of San Sebastian and Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel for an important part of the procession, the Dungaw, literally meaning “gaze” or “looking out of the window.” The image of Nuestra Señora del Carmen was brought out into a balcony to “meet” the image of Jesus Nazareno. 

By six in the evening, people praying and waiting at Quiapo Church was estimated to be at around 713,600, according to the Manila Disaster and Risk Reduction Management Office. At 6:40 P.M., a second rope pulling the andas snapped, delaying the procession. The first one has snapped earlier. The andas was now being pushed by participants. 

People at Quiapo Church swelled to about 802,600 at 7 P.M., according to the Multi-Agency Coordination Center. It reached 950,600 at 8 P.M.

From 9 P.M. to 1 A.M., the procession was around the vicinity of the church, and finally arrived at 1:26 A.M. after 20 hours and 45 minutes. Quiapo Church tallied a total of 8,124,050 participants.

            The Feast of Jesus Nazareno and the Traslacion of the image are a compelling demonstration of Filipino religiosity but it also earned notoriety in several ways. Criticisms, which are valid, point out fanaticism and idolatry, violations of rules such as liquor ban, damage to private and public properties, injuries sustained by participants, belligerent behavior, clashes with police, other participants and residents, concern on self’s devotion more than the wellbeing of others, and the amount of waste produced in its aftermath. 

Moreover, a group of devotees, the Hijos del Nazareno Central, filed a case against drag queen Pura Luka Vega, for what was perceived as “religious offense,” a performance and self-expression of their own experience and interpretation of religion and not even an attack, leading to the drag performer's arrest in 2023. The group has participated in already widespread condemnation and active persecution, together with politicians, of a member of a community that has been long been persecuted and marginalized by the church and society, even going against the advice of several priests of showing love and focusing on more pressing social problems. 

            As the practice grow in magnitude, it is hoped that next phase of evolution for this tradition would be more transformative and edifying, emphasizing the way we live and treat others more than the way we worship, and the Christian values of selflessness, concern for others and love. 

People flock to Rizal Park for the vigil on the eve of the Feast of Jesus Nazareno (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Replicas of image of the Jesus Nazareno brought by devotees on the eve of the Traslacion  (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Start of the Traslacion procession (Photo by Aram Jan Lascano)

The andas leaves Quirino Grandstand for the hours-long Traslacion procession (Photo by Aram Jan Lascano)

Thousands hold their hands up as the andas passes by (Photo by Yummie Dingding)

The andas carrying the image of Jesus Nazareno among the sea of devotees (Photo by Yummie Dingding

Devotees strive to reach the ropes to help pull the andas (Photo by Yummie Dingding)

Devotees, mostly men, jostled each other to get near the andas (Photo by John Carlo Magallon)

Faintings and injuries among participants have always been occuring (Photo by John Carlo Magallon)

For the article published in the Daily Tribune: https://tribune.net.ph/2025/01/12/the-philippines-largest-devotional-ritual 

Physicality of Piety: The Traslacion of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo

The Traslacion is famous for the   intensity of the devotees, some of which try to get near and touch the   image

The Black Nazarene is one of the images of Jesus Christ that inspires intense veneration among the dominantly Catholic Filipinos. It is the image of Jesus of Nazareth with dark complexion, carrying the cross on the way to His crucifixion. 

Every year on January 9, the image is brought out for the commemoration of its transfer or traslacion or arrival at Quiapo Church, also known now as the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene.

Held in Quiapo, a densely populated district of Manila, the capital of the Philippines, the annual traslacion procession has caught the attention of and fascinated the whole nation as well as the world for its fervent devotion and massive number of participants.

A Quiapo resident, Fernando “Butch” Zialcita, who is an anthropologist and a professor at the Department of Sociology and Anthropology of the Loyola Schools, Ateneo de Manila University, where he heads the Cultural Heritage Studies Program and specializes in heritage and identity, art and its cultural context and the interface between the foreign and the indigenous, shared his thoughts on this Filipino Catholic tradition in an interview in December 2018, parts of which was featured in the short documentary “Poong Nazareno: The Feast and Traslacion of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo, Manila” (International Information and Networking Centre for Intangible Cultural Heritage in the Asia-Pacific Region under the auspices of UNESCO and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, 2021).

 

Roel Hoang Manipon (RHM): What is the Traslacion of the Black Nazarene? 

Fernando N. Zialcita (FNZ): Traslacion in Spanish simply means “to transfer.” So, it’s an important event that takes place [where] one image is transferred to another place, or one image is brought into procession around the district and brought back to the church. Maybe, the idea is to have people participate in a procession because it’s an act of piety. It also dramatizes their belief. So, basically, traslacion is that. It creates an occasion for pageantry and celebration.

 

RHM: What is the background and history of the Traslacion of the Black Nazarene?

FNZ: Technically, the first transfer, I think, took place in the 1780s. Kasi (Because) originally the Nazareno (the Black Nazarene, as colloquially called in Filipino) was not in Quiapo Church. I think originally it was in the church of the Recoletos in Intramuros. But for some reason or the other, the Recoletos took pity on the people of Quiapo, so they had it transferred. So ‘yun, traslacion (So that’s it, the traslacion). Pero (But) now when you talk about traslacion, it’s really just bringing the image around the district.

 

RHM: What is the history of the Black Nazarene image?

FNZ: Actually, I did research on this but the exact date of the arrival we don't know. We know the exact date of the coming of the Recollects who brought the image with them. I think it’s about 1605 or something like that. So, they propagated the devotion to the Nazareno, through the cofradia, which means “confraternity.” So, it caught on. So very popular with all social classes. It’s not only for the working man but even for the middle class, it’s important. 

 

RHM: What are the practices preceding the Traslacion?

FNZ: I have to admit something. I’ve never really been inside the church during the transfer to the andas. What is andas? There are two kinds of floats in the Philippines. One is you carried on the shoulders. That’s andas. It’s common in Spanish-influenced countries. The other one is more Filipino, the karosa. It’s a carriage on wheels. So, it’s easier. That’s more common the Philippines. I think this one is andas, so it’s pulled along. Now, I don't know exactly what takes place inside the church, the transfer.  Prayers were said and then it’s brought down. There are two images. There's an image that stay in the high altar. Another image is brought from a side chapel and put on the float. And then it’s carried out. As it is carried out, the bells start peeling. So, after several rounds around the district, it finally is brought back to the church. Now, people want the Nazareno to pass their particular street because they feel blessed by the visit.

 

RHM: What are the beliefs associated with the Traslacion or the Nazareno that are particular to the practice? 

FNZ:  Well, I don't think it’s particular to Quiapo. I mean, in general, the belief that when the image of the saint or a holy figure passes in front of your house, it's a blessing. Now, what makes this different is the physicality. Let me explain that. I have to nuance it because throughout the Philippines, physicality is a very important part of processions because Filipinos are very physical in their display of faith, especially the men. The men, many men are not happy with just praying, you know, in silence. They have to show their faith through a masculine way, through in this way competition, struggle with other men. So now, physicality is also shown in other processions throughout the country like the [traslacion of Our Lady of] Peñafrancia. The image is transferred from ah church to church, and men struggle to touch it. Why the touching? Because the belief is the image represents Christ. So, when you touch the image, you get some of the blessings, some of the power of the image, which you can give to others. That’s why they buy a handkerchief like that and then you pass it on to others. So, they can bring them to their homes and use them for curing purposes. It’s very indigenous. It’s both. It is Catholic but also very indigenous.

 

RHM: What makes the Quiapo traslacion Filipino?

FNZ: The physicality. Well, even in Spain, celebrations are quite physical. But this one is different because it’s the men competing with each other to touch the image. It reminds me actually of the Naked Festival in Japan. The Japanese have a festival called Festival of the Naked. Men in their loincloths enter a room that’s dark. First of all, there’s a light. Then a sacred stick is thrown by the Shinto priest in the middle of the men. The lights turn off and the men scramble for the stick. Scary, no? It lasts only for several minutes because finally somebody retrieves the stick and the lights are turned on again. But this is Japan, an advanced country, very technological. It has a similar custom. It’s popular among Japanese. Now, I think both Japan and the Philippines value again the fact that men, to show their masculinity, must exert the effort. 

Now, in the Philippines, I think there’s another thing to remember. In a sense, the image of Christ is treated like an anting-anting, like an amulet. In the Philippines, you cannot get the full strength of the amulet unless you pass through trials. So, the trial is for the men to show that they’re able to withstand all the pulling and pushing. Only then can you get the full power of the image. Because there are beliefs in amulets like, for example, ‘yung on Good Friday, if you bury a cat at the crossing of two streets, you can get it. Leave the cat there until the bones dry. And then, you get the bones again but it has to be done at midnight. See, there’s an element of threat. There’s a belief, for example, of the banana tree as a mutya, an essence. If you stand under the banana tree at midnight of Good Friday and let the mutya enter your mouth, you can get the power of the banana tree. But you have to battle with dangerous spirits. You cannot just get it easy, on easy terms. So, it's the same principle. You get the full strength of an amulet only if you exert power. I think that’s the underlying belief in Quiapo. 

 

RHM: Who are most attracted to the practice? 

FNZ: First of all, men. I think you’d get men of different ages. But I see a lot of young men, from youth to middle-aged. I think also one reason for the attraction is because they go in groups. They go in barkada (friend group). The men come in groups, each with a banner and they call it estandarte. They come in groups. And I think part of the attraction is you’re coming with your friends, and you show off to each other that you’re manly. I think it’s part of it. Now, the women joined only now. Women are joining within the past fifteen years. Now, women feel more liberated so they join in denims and t-shirts. They join to compete with the men. It’s a sign of feminist liberation.

 

RHM: Do you think this is also a kind of rite of passage for the young men? 

FNZ: Yes, I think so. It’s the same principle I notice in the flagellation, which people connect with sin, it’s not. Another thing, Filipinos are obsessed with sin. It’s really a rite of passage for many people. It’s a way to show that you’re strong. Hindi ka takot (You are not afraid). I notice also in Pampanga and Bulacan— I’ve studied the flagellations there—there are people who do it alone but there also young men who do it in barkada. They do it in groups. So, you can infer that this must be a way of showing solidarity with the group. 

 

RHM: Has the Traslacion practice evolved? Has it changed much? 

FNZ: Oh, yeah. My mother tells me that before the war, all this competition was hardly there. I mean, it’s not like what it became in the 1950s, sixties, seventies. Now, it’s really disorderly, and my mother was saying—because she’s from Quiapo—before it was more orderly, before the war. And also, it was a formal occasion for the families living in Quiapo. People were dressed in formal clothes watching the procession. Kasi (Because) what I think, what has happened is this: Manila became very proletarian after World War II. You know, massive migration to the city because this was where the factories were opening up. I don't think everybody had equal chances in Manila. You may get a job but how much does it pay and we didn’t give you housing. I think it was part of these insecurities also. That is why it expanded, it attracted a lot of men who wanted to pray for relief from their sufferings. And it has grown in ever since. In the 1950s and sixties, that was already big but still relatively orderly compared to today. Today, wow, it has grown large.  

I mean the monsignor, who changed the route by having it started at Rizal Park early in the morning, was hoping he would shorten the procession. What happened is this? They started at Rizal Park, passed through MacArthur Bridge, passed through Recto, entered Quiapo. But it attracted more, more people from outside this district. Now, the monsignor also wanted to shorten the route by removing certain streets. Why does it have to pass all these streets? This is just a wooden statue. People didn't want that. Although there were fire trucks that were placed to block the way, the men physically lifted the fire trucks. Imagine. So, now it’s much longer, and probably I don’t want to watch it anymore because I cannot predict anymore when it will pass by such and such a time, because I used to watch it from a friend’s house. I knew more or less by eight o’clock, oh, it’s going to pass. No, I cannot, because it ends the next morning. Ah, forget it. Never mind. So, it became really became long. That’s one evolution. 

Another evolution was in the 1950s and sixties, there was only one image. When I came back from my studies abroad, I realized, wow, so many images. Small images, big images, shamans, ordinary people presenting their own images like toys. In other words, it’s no longer as centralized as before. Before, it was centralized. Church only, one image. Now, many images. Decentralized. In fact, there are even shamans, you know, making this gesture; they’re blessing people on their own. In other words, people don’t have to get the blessing from the priest. The shaman can give you his blessing. So, decentralized now. It's amazing.  

 

RHM: Have folk beliefs seeped into the religion and practice?

FNZ:  That’s normal in any living religious tradition. I am teaching a class on people and culture in Southeast Asia. It’s the same thing in Thailand. They thought that Thai Buddhism would become purer kasi (because) more people are educated. Baliktad (It was the other way around). It has become actually more magical because people migrating from the province bring their own beliefs with them. It is more magical, more belief in amulets now in Bangkok.

 

RHM: The Traslacion has been criticized in many ways. What is your take on that? 

FNZ: Well, let’s put it this way, my approach to their allegiance is different. I'm talking about Christianity. True Christianity should result in concern for other people whether you know them or not. That is true Christianity because the essence of Christianity is love, or specifically agape, sharing. I don't see that in the [Traslacion of the] Nazareno. It’s really sharing only with people you know, your barkada, or people in the procession. But I wonder how many of those who join have concern for their fellow human beings. But you can see the garbage, walang (no) sense of social responsibility. 

 

RHM: What is the common way of transferring this practice? How is it transferred from generation to generation?

FNZ: Well, I think, it is easily transferred because, you know, the father did it, because the father showed the example and the family thinks it is effective so they follow. But I'll give you one example of an actual transfer. This Atenean friend who joins the procession. You would think Ateneans don’t join but some do. He’d join the procession because when he was born, he was a blue baby. No pun intended. His lungs were weak. So, the father promised that if the boy will grow strong, he would join the procession annually. So, the father died. It was passed on to him. By the way, in the Philippines, vows are passed on to children. That’s also the case in the flagellations. They’re passed on. 

 

RHM:  What is the most interesting aspect of this practice for you? 

FNZ:  The most interesting aspect? Well, I guess the immensity of the crowd. Huge crowds. Never seen elsewhere. Huge, immense. 

 

RHM:  Is there an explanation for this popularity? 

FNZ: Well, many things. People need help. As a sign of masculinity. It’s also a way to accept, to get the bisa, the power of the amulet. In this case the amulet is the image of Christ carrying his cross. That’s the amulet.

 

RHM:  Does this practice reflect anything about the Filipino? 

FNZ: It reflects the way many Filipinos approach religion. For the educated, it’s more spiritual. It’s less physical. But for many Filipinos, especially the men, it has to be physical. It has to be. 

Devotees regularly visits the image  in Quiapo Church

The Black Nazarene in new attire after the pabihis on December 29, 2018

On the eve of the Traslacion, devotees hold vigil and bring along their replicas

The procession on narrow Hidalgo Street in Quiapo

The traslacion procession going through Palanca Street in Quiapo

Thousands of people awaited the  image's return to the basilica

The traslacion culminates with the  return of the Black Nazarene to Quiapo Church

Bohol’s Artisanal Sea Salt Making Nominated for Inclusion in the UNESCO Urgent Safeguarding List

Bohol's asin tibuok, which means 'whole salt' in Cebuano (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

After the inscription of the practice of weaving the piña, the pineapple leaf textile, of the Akeanon people of Aklan, in the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) on December 6, 2023, the Philippines has nominated the making of asin tibuok, Bohol’s artisanal sea salt, to be included in the UNESCO intangible cultural heritage list but this time in the List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding.

Established in 2010, the Urgent Safeguarding list is one of the three UNESCO intangible cultural heritage (ICH) lists, and it comprises ICH elements that are in danger of vanishing and that “require urgent measures to keep them alive.” The other two are the Representative List, comprising "practices and expressions [that] help demonstrate the diversity of this heritage and raise awareness about its importance," and the Register of Good Safeguarding Practices. 

These lists are maintained in accordance to the 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage and aim to foster better safeguarding and wider awareness and recognition of ICH elements.

            The Philippines has one practice inscribed in the Urgent Safeguarding list—the complex thanksgiving ritual buklog of the Subanen people of western Mindanao, which was included in 2019. 

            The nomination of asin tibuok were prepared by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, the National Museum of the Philippines and the provincial government of Bohol in collaboration with the mangasinays, or local salt makers, other culture bearers and practitioners, the municipal government of Alburquerque, and the cultural organization Bohol Arts and Cultural Heritage Council. Requirements were submitted by end of March this year.

“It was an idea that was brought to us by the National Museum of the Philippines who closely work with the mangasinays of Alburquerque. They saw a need to protect traditional salt making from threats to its viability. We talked with the mangasinays and they are worried of the future of salt-making, due to only few young people want to take up the craft,” said Gavin Michael G. Cubillo, Project Development Officer of the Center for Culture and Arts Development of the provincial government of Bohol. “I believe submitting to UNESCO can help them protect their heritage and make sure that the long history of salt-making is not forgotten among Boholano youth. We want to make sure that they are empowered, and we want to ensure the continuity of their way of life.”

 

Old Salt-Making Practice

            Asin tibuok making is one of several traditional salt-making processes that is still being practiced in the Philippines today. The name means "whole salt" in Cebuano, the language predominantly used in Bohol, because the salt is not in granule form but is sold in big chunks the shape of an egg nestled in the shell of cracked pot. The ways of making this sea salt have largely remaining intact since olden times, before the arrival of the Spaniards in sixteenth century. 

“Ang asin tibuok usa ni siya ka artisanal sea salt nga widely in the Visayas Region in the Central Philippines. Saunang panahon, in the seventeenth century, gihulagway kini in detail gyud ni Fr. Ignacio Alsina, isa ka Jesuit chronicler, bahin sa asin tibuok, na kini gitawag na ‘sal de Bisayas’ or salt of the Visayas (Asin tibuok is an artisanal sea salt that was widely produced in the Visayas Region in Central Philippines. In the seventeeth century, Father Ignacio Alcina, a Jesuit chronicler, described the asin tibuok, calling it ‘sal de Bisayas’ or ‘salt of the Visayas’),” said Rachelle “Tata” C. Lacea, administrative officer of the National Museum of the Philippines’ Bohol Area Museum in the island province’s capital, Tagbilaran City.

She further said, “Sauna pud, until in the twentieth century, daghan pang mga lugar or mga lungsod nga nag produce ug asin tibuok, dili lamang ag atoang nailhan karon nga Alburquerque, daghan pa ni. Sunod sa lungsod sa Alburquerque mao ang lungsod sa Loay, Valencia, ug ang Anda. So, until the twentieth century, daghan kaayo ni sila nga mga gitawag nato na producers of asin tibuok. Not until today, not until this year 2024, mao na lang ang atoang lungsod sa Alburquerque which is seventeen kilometers away from the city (In the 20th century, there were many towns which produced the asin tibuok, not just the Alburquerque, which were Loay, Valencia, and Anda. Not until today, not until this year 2024, Alburquerque is the only town which produces the asin tibuok. The town is seventeen kilometers away from the city).”

 

Laborious Process

The process of making asin tibuok is long and laborious, taking several days. It begins with gathering dry coconut husks, or bunot, from inland and upland areas and transporting them to the kamalig or salt-making workshop, which is in the mangrove area. In yesteryears, these husks are carried on the shoulders, transported by gakit or bamboo raft on the river, or carts pulled by carabaos.

The husks are collected in soaking enclosures called paril and are allowed to soak in seawater for three to six months to absorb the salt and other minerals. Mangasinays prefer making salt during the hot dry months of April and May when the tides are higher, filling the paril with more seawater.

The sea-soaked husks are then chopped into smaller pieces and are dried under the sun, getting these ready for burning. For several days, the salt makers continuously keep the fire burning, piling more coconut husks and sprinkling it with sea water using the traditional bamboo sprinkler called sag-ob or a modern-day watering can. The burning process produces a mound of hard ash and salt mixture called gasang.

Salt makers then break up the hard gasang into smaller pieces and gather them for the filtering process with the use of the sagsag, a funnel-shaped filter made of buri leaves. After placing the gasang into the sagsag, seawater is then poured into it to get a concentrated salt solution or brine called tasik, collected in a pasong placed at the bottom.

After enough brine is collected, the cooking process begins using the salt clay pots. Called kulun or k’un, the clay pots are used specifically for salt making, made by a few potters near the salt-making area.

The clay pots are arranged on a lagaan, a long stove made of hardened ash, inserting rocks into the set for stability. The makers fire the stove and then constantly pour the tasik into the pots using a lagang or shell scoop, a bagol or coconut shell or a modern-day can. The cooking process continues until salt forms inside the pots. The bottom of the pots usually cracks, signaling that the asin tibuok is now fully formed. The pots of salt are left to cool down overnight and then scraped clean. 

Until the early 1990s, salt-makers took the salt to upland areas to trade for un-milled rice and other produce such as corn, sweet potatoes and purple yams. According to an old salt maker, they produced salt twice a year, in time for the harvest season.

            The salt was used to flavor rice porridge and a variety of dishes such as the traditional halang-halang manok tinunuan. It is also used to cure meats and fish and it was also fed to cattle and carabaos for their mineral needs. 

Salt-making is practiced within families, the knowledge and skills passed on from one generation to the next.

 

A Declining Practice

Through the years, the practice of making asin tibuok declined, almost to the point of vanishing. In the salt-making area of Alburquerque, once bustling with salt workshops, there are now about four families left still making asin tibuok. 

Several factors contribute to the decline including diminishing demand and lack of interest among the younger generation.

“Di gyud sila. Kay ako sauna pagsugod ani akong gi ingnan nga tan-aw mo diri aron maka-mao mo ba. Aron dili mawala ning pagbuhat sa asin. Di man gyud sila kay cellphone man hilabton. Hago maning trabahua The younger ones are not into it. I told them to observe so that they can learn, so that the practice of salt-making will not fade away. But they are not interested. They are into their cellphones. This is because the work involved is really hard,” related 74-year-old salt maker Nestor Manongas. “Mao nang daghan ko gi tudluan nga mga kabataan aron dili mawala ning asinan kay ako tiguwang naman ko aron naay mo sunod, di gyud (I have taught many youths so that salt-making will not vanish, because I am already old, so that someone will carry on after me, but they are not really interested).”

            Younger generations, while knowing the basics of salt-making, tend to pursue other kinds of livelihood that are more lucrative and less labor-intensive, often migrating to urban centers.

            Also contributing to the decline of asin tibuok making is the enactment of Republic Act No. 8172 or An Act for Salt lodization Nationwide (ASIN Law) in 1995, which prevented asin tibuok from being sold in markets. 

“Itong ASIN Law gi-require ang mga balay na mu gamit ug iodized salt, mao ni ang nakapahinay sa atoang asin tibuok. Kung dili na iodized salt or FDA approved, so usa gyud na ang naka pahinay sa atoang asin tibuok (This law requires households to use iodized salt. If the salt is not iodized or FDA approved, it is not recognized in the market),” Lacea said.

With the salt remaining unsold, several makers were forced to shut down several salt workshops, to leave their practice and find other means of livelihood.

Additionally, threats to the environment also have impacts on salt-making. Pollution and other factors adversely affect quality of seawater, the main resource of the practice. Mangasinay prefer making salt during dry months and climate change can have impacts on the frequency of the practice. Other resources, such as firewood used in “cooking” the tasik are also diminishing.  

            The decline in asin tibuok making also affected other practices such as clay pot making. There are now very few potters in the town of Alburquerque. 

 

Recent Resurgence

But in recent years, people are discovering and rediscovering asin tibuok and it started gaining popularity.  Several chefs and food makers have also began using the artisanal salt. 

With the renewed attention on asin tibuok, a sense of community pride crystallizes for this chunk from its culinary heritage. It has become a cultural icon and marker of identity of Boholanos, symbolizing their creativity and craftsmanship; reflecting their way of life, familial strength, and history, and representing the resiliency and dedication of culture bearers.

“Ang proseso sa pagama ning asin tibuok ni reflect sa dedikasyon, gugma, ug pagkamakugihon sa mga Alburanon sa among cultural values and heritage (The process of making asin tibuok reflects the dedication, love, and diligence of the people of Alburquerque towards our cultural values and heritage),” said Don Ritchie P. Buates, mayor of Alburquerque.

            The realization of the significance of the asin tibuok led to its nomination to the UNESCO list. Cubillo said that the inscription will mean “continuity of something that’s meaningful to them.”

“The ICH not only represents their livelihood but it also represents their pride of place and their identity as cultural bearers. Salt-making has a long history in the community of Santa Fe and to the rest of the coastal communities of eastern Bohol and it has shaped them to who they are today,” he said.

 

Pride and Duty

A UNESCO inscription does not only mean honor for people of the island province in the Visayas in central Philippines. It also entails the duty and responsibilities of the state, the community and other stakeholders in crafting safeguarding measures for the practice.  The nomination form requires safeguarding and action plans.

            The communities and bodies involved have outlined a five-year safeguarding plan for asin tibuok’s continued practice and transmission, identifying five objectives. One goal is strengthening community engagement, which aims “to foster a sense of community ownership and pride in the practice of making asin tibuok through activities that aim to strengthen social cohesion and collective responsibility for safeguarding the tradition.” Other objectives include addressing environmental risks, which involves implementation of “measures that mitigate threats to salt-making sites and essential resources, including policies granting exemptions to certified salt-makers for traditional asinan sites;” revitalizing intergenerational transmission, which means encouraging “younger community members to participate in the transmission of knowledge and skills related to asin tibuok, instilling an appreciation for the tradition among younger generations; and enhancing economic sustainability and promoting slow food principles, meaning exploring “opportunities that would support the economic sustainability of asin tibuok through involvement in Slow Food principles, prioritizing sustainable and locally sourced ingredients while promoting the value of traditional culinary practices.”

“We want to see an increase among mangasinays and the younger generation to take part in safeguarding their community’s heritage. Right now, there are only few who practice pag-asin because of lack of interest from the youth. With an aging population of cultural bearers, it’ll be hard to safeguard the tradition with few practitioners left,” Cubillo said. “We hope to put up schools of traditions where the youth can learn about their rich heritage and history and where they can also be encouraged to actively take part in protecting their sense of self and empower their community.” 

“Another thing we want to see is to inspire local legislators to do their part in safeguarding heritage by coming up with policies and ordinances that can preserve our culture for generations to come,” he added.

The process begins with gathering dry coconut husks (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

The kamalig or salt-making workshop in a mangrove area in Santa Fe, Alburquerque (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Dry coconut husks are soaked in seawater for several months (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Sea-soaked and chopped coconut husks are dried under the sun (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Coconut husks are burned and intermittently doused with seawater (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

A mangasinay making sagsag, a funnel-shaped filter, with buri leaves (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Salt-makers setting the salt pots at the oven (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Workers 'cook' the brine at the oven to make salt (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Salt pots at the oven (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Freshly made batch of asin tibuok  (Photo by Roel Hoang Manipon)

Asin tibuok makers in Alburquerque Rosendo Datoy and his wife Teresita (Photo by Roel Manipon)