How the Homelands book uses photography to stand with Indigenous struggle.

Written by Chesca Santiago
September 5, 2023

For over a century, photographic representations of Indigenous peoples have not been without sin. During the American colonial rule, photographs of Filipinos taken by zoologist Dean C. Worcester served as indispensable tools of subjugation for the empire. Until today, the protocol for the camera remains: a fetishized portrait of the community’s day-to-day fare, a patronizing caricature of their customary ways. What often emerges is at best a misrepresentation—at worst, an act of oppression.

To take on the camera, then, entails a responsibility that must necessarily reach beyond the frame. Such is a commitment upheld in the production of Homelands, a photography book that unfolds the decades-long work of documentary photographer Jacob Maentz with Indigenous and historically marginalized groups in the Philippines.

Last August 16 to 20, the book was formally launched through an exhibition-preview and a series of discussions with the Homelands team. Part of the roster of activities was a conversation with social anthropologist Neen Sapalo, one of the book’s collaborators, on the colonial past of photography. It was through here that the book’s intentions were laid clear to me.

I sat down with Jacob (over Instagram direct messages) and Neen to discuss these.

Photography as a site of power

Jacob’s self-published Homelands was more than ten years in the making. From 2011 to 2020, the photographer paid visits to communities across the Philippine archipelago and collected thousands of photographs—218 of them handpicked for Homelands. In close awareness of the stories within and beyond the frame, Jacob knew that each photo forms a crucial part of a grand narrative—thus, the decision to compile them in a book.

“After almost 10 years of working with communities, a book seemed like a great medium where these photos could live, not as individual images, but as part of a cohesive narrative and in physical form. I wanted to create something that would allow for both discovery and reflection and a space where deeper conversations about the indigenous struggle for land and self-determination can begin,” he shares.

From the outset, it was an undertaking sensitive to the colonial and political perils of photography. Jacob points to the oft-overlooked role of the camera, most prominently through Worcester, in imposing American colonial rule. “Photography is one of the most important tools in communication, but historically it was used by the powerful to dominate the less powerful and control representations… Images from the 1890s to the 1930s taken of Indigenous Filipinos were used to validate the US presence in the country.”

Thus, with Homelands came Jacob’s resolution to not merely evade—but also to rectify—the transgressions of his field. “With photography's history in mind, I think it's even more important today that we work together in solidarity—to get things right. Acknowledge our biases and create meaningful relationships with the people we are putting inside the frame.”

A context of endangerment

Yet such commitment requires not just mere adjustments on exposures and shutter speeds. In producing the book, Jacob enlisted a team of writers, researchers, and artists who would bring the photographs closer to the lived struggles of its subjects. Among these is Neen Sapalo, a social anthropologist and Assistant Professor from UP Diliman.

For two and a half years, Neen joined the Homelands team in conversing with Indigenous community leaders, Indigenous peoples advocates, human rights advocates, lumad school volunteers, and Indigenous peoples who are under attack by the state. Through their narratives, the team was able to sensitize the photographs to the realities of the communities. The 218 images were punctuated with 18 essays by writer Nicola Sebastian and several other advocates, putting their socio-political context at the forefront.

“Jacob chose to work with an anthropologist and a writer so that the pictures can be provided with social and cultural context. We wanted to emphasize that the primary context is that of struggle: indigenous struggles regarding land and life and other related issues. And I think that’s very important, because we don’t want to just publish a series of photos of IPs that show that they’re laughing, enjoying, being resilient, while also featuring their tapestries, without contextualizing that these rich cultures are in the middle of a civil war, a war of endangerment and maybe even extinction,” Neen emphasizes.

Solidarity through co-generation of knowledge

The team’s two-and-a-half years of research work was guided by the principle of co-generation of knowledge. Other frameworks impose a pre-determined project and limit the participation of the community to comments and suggestions. However, co-generation requires working hand-in-hand with the community in every step of the process, especially as early as the planning and agenda-setting stages.

Neen clarifies this further: “Co-generation of knowledge is not just letting them participate in the process of doing research or making books, but actually working and collaborating with communities with them in the lead. It’s supposed to be them leading you, them identifying the problems they want to solve and the issues they want to address, that your knowledge and skills can help out with.”

Employing the framework, then, is an act of solidarity with the community—fostering work that is meaningful and grounded to their needs. “That is the framework that we favor especially when working with Indigenous peoples because obviously, our indigenous peoples know what their main problems and issues are. They actually know or at least have an idea about how to address these problems. They understand the root cause of their problems. They know their realities and struggles better than us,” Neen shares.

Glitz against poverty and strife

After more than a decade of visits, photographs, and conversations, what emerged in Homelands is a sincere account of indigenous peoples’ realities—far from any attempt of whitewashing their struggles in favor of romanticized, bygone fantasies.

As Neen reminds us, the glitz, glitter, and smiles in the photos are embedded in a context of poverty and strife. And to exclude these from the conversation runs the risk of repeating the crimes of history.

In the end, Neen reiterates: “I think it’s very important that they see and appreciate the beauty and complexity of the IPs in the Philippines but also contextualize these and understand the many problems that plague them, as well as the urgent issues they are confronted with. That’s the holistic view on IPs—you view what they offer to the world but also what the world is getting, or taking from them.”

Homelands is available for purchase at artbooks.ph.