Ask any Filipino with a Spanish-sounding surname and they will tell you that their great-grandfather or great-grandmother was a Spaniard. Some families tell stories they heard from elders that their family actually came to the Philippines with Ferdinand Magellan or the other conquistadores! This claim is very common, but when you look for these so-called Spanish ancestors in the church records, you will notice that many of these were actually described as indios.
The thing is, the Spaniards never fully intermarried with the natives in the Philippines as they did in Mexico, Venezuela, and their other former colonies. And according to verifiable archival documents, more than 90% of each town's population were described as indio (or native Filipino) in most church records. During the Spanish period one could be described as a peninsulares or a Europeo Espanol, an insulares or a Filipino Espanol, sangley, a mestizo (usually mestizo Espanol or mestizo sangley), infieles, or the most common of all: an indio.
If one was a peninsulares, that meant he or she was a Spaniard born in Spain. An insulares was a Spaniard born in the Philippines. A sangley was a Chinese. A mestizo was a half-breed; a mestizo Espanol means he was half Spaniard and Filipino, while a mestizo Sangley meant he was half Chinese and Filipino. Those described as infieles were the Moslems who were usually taken into homes as servants or slaves. Finally, an indio was a native inhabitant of the Philippines.
Other families may have had Spanish ancestors, but records in the church say otherwise. Of course it also very possible that a Spanish ancestor did exist in some cases, but after some time the descendants of the said Spaniard were considered local-bred and thus were identified as indio. This is highly likely, though we have no more records to prove it.
The thing every Filipino has to understand upon starting a genealogical quest is this: the
Claveria Decree of 1849 has many repercussions when it comes to Filipino culture in general, and in Filipino genealogy, in particular. Domingo Abella, former head of the National Archives, stated in his introduction that only time will tell if the decree has been bane or boon to Filipinos.
On the one hand, because of this decree, Filipinos began to use surnames legally. Some historians would argue that Filipinos already had surnames prior to the decree, but based on my study of old records, only the Spanish, mestizo (part indigenous Filipino, part Spanish or Chinese), and Chinese families had surnames. Even half-breeds with surnames sometimes forgot they had surnames already. Moreover, the principalia (the ruling native families) were no different. Though many of them mimicked their Spanish overlords and had surnames, most of these were religious or very popular Hispanic surnames. I believe that Governor Claveria is to be appreciated for this decree simply because he made sure that the use of surnames is standardized and legalized. Forget the actual reason behind it (taxation, census, monitoring for the forced labor, etc.). What I am thankful for is the simple fact that had it not been for the decree, I believe I would have been called today as Todd Alexander, and my father before me would have been named Alexander Adriano, and his father would have been Adriano Wenceslao, and so on. The pre-1849 Filipino pattern of naming was predictive: if Jose’s father’s name is Pedro, then the boy would be known as Jose Pedro.
Another conclusion made by Domingo Abella in the publication of the Catalogo is this: that genealogical study has been made more difficult because of the decree, especially once one goes beyond 1849. However, in my experience, I have not been able to encounter this difficulty. In fact, the surname decree has made my research beyond 1849 relatively easy. My great-great-grandfather, Bonifacio Lucero, was born prior to 1849, and was originally named Bonifacio Jose, the second name after his father Jose Lucero. If not for the surname decree, I would have had a hard time connecting him farther since Jose Lucero was sometimes known as Jose Luciano or Jose Francisco in different records. This, plus the fact that many records have been either lost or destroyed, would have made it more difficult to trace beyond 1849.
One repercussion of this decree, however, remains painfully clear: many people in the Philippines whose surnames are the same should not automatically conclude that they are related. Whenever people would ask me about the possibility of relatedness between two people sharing the same name, I would always ask them if they know the origin of their family. If they tell me that the two same surnames come from the same town, I would confidently claim 95-99% probability of being related. If they are from different towns but from the same part of the province, there is a lesser probability of relatedness. One only has to remember that some provincial heads in 1849 distributed the same pages in the decree to two or three towns, thus there would always have been the high chance of duplication of surnames in these areas. And when one family name is found in two distant cities, towns, or provinces in the country, then the chances of being relatives are almost slim to none.
In the end, it would be up to the patience of every Filipino wishing to unearth his roots to try hard to verify if his surname came only due to the 1849 decree, or if they’ve always had it in their family. Whatever its effects on Filipino historiography, the Claveria Decree is just another reminder of how colorful Philippine history is.
Many families would later discover that, perhaps, the old stories told to them by their elders are, unfortunately, not accurate, such as being descendants of foreigners, having foreign blood, coming to the Philippines with Magellan, and so on. In the long run, one’s bloodline matters little. What is important is the tracing, preservation, and transmission of these histories so future Filipinos and their descendants will have an idea as to where they have been, and where they are headed.
(C) Todd Lucero Sales, 2012.
