8
Economic and Ecological Crisis

Introduction

The health of the Benguet vegetable economy in the 1950s and 1960s masked an underlying environmental deterioration. Soil erosion and exhaustion, water-table depletion, deforestation, and pesticide contamination threatened the sustainability of commercial agriculture from the beginning. During periods of prosperity such problems were not apparent, as nutrient subsidies and imported substitutes allowed continued expansion. But when the vegetable industry suffered a partial collapse in the mid-1970s, environmental degradation began to form an economic constraint. Unable to obtain adequate supplies of commercial fertilizers, farmers could not easily coax crops from the depleted soils. Furthermore, the economic trauma deepened the ecological wound; when the price of petroleum-based fuels suddenly exceeded the means of most farmers, deforestation accelerated.

The Benguet farmers have not, however, merely allowed themselves to be buffeted by adverse economic winds, nor have they succumbed to environmental calamities. Rather, they have responded with a series of innovations, permitting them to continue farming, and, in some instances, to prosper. In the language of human ecology, they have adapted to their precarious condition through continual readaptation, based on opportunistic responses to ever-changing circumstances. But their very solutions have sometimes made matters worse. A few well-off growers, for example, have derived great profits in clearing the high-elevation eastern oak forests, but in so doing they have diminished the water supplies of many lower and older farm districts.

Environmental deterioration puts Benguet farmers in a wrenching bind. To survive they must jeopardize their futures. And with the national economy unable to absorb many rural migrants—at a

time when local population is mounting rapidly—human pressure on the land lies heavier every year. And the growing ecological debacle should not be considered in human terms only. As chemically intensive agriculture expands, natural areas are diminishing and a number of species face extinction.

If one were to seek culprits, both wealthy agriculturalists and certain powerful government officials would have to be named. Large-scale farmers, both Chinese and Igorot, have financed the poorly graded roads and the wastefully bulldozed gardens in the cloud-forest highlands, while military and other high officials have underwritten the illegal clearing of the diminishing pine stands. But to lay all blame at the feet of these individuals would be to obfuscate larger social and economic processes. Almost all local residents approve highly of road and farm development in the cloud forest and they have consistently encouraged it. Most consider the responsible entrepreneurs as the progresso benefactors of the larger community. The denudation of the pine lands is also problematic; Cordilleran residents need fuel and construction lumber, and the profits made here help support a segment of the community.

The conjunction of economic movements and environmental effects presents a seemingly inescapable bind, a tragedy as classically defined. This becomes evident in studying government policy, where actions designed to abet the vegetable industry consistently exacerbate land degradation, while those formulated to protect the environment deepen the farmers' economic plight. As a result, official policies have been ineffectual at best, and occasionally calamitous.

Despite this gloomy prognosis, I am not ready to conclude that the Benguet farm economy is doomed. Nature is surprisingly forgiving; wildlife may be exterminated, but gardening will likely struggle along as farmers devise solutions to each new ecological impasse. And a more fundamental release, based on a complete agroecological reorientation, is not unimaginable. Some farmers are now experimentally cultivating tree crops in hopes that they might support a more economically secure and environmentally benign agriculture for the future. The success of this project, however, depends as much on the well-being of the Philippine economy as on the health of the trees; at present it is hard to say which looks more vulnerable.

Boom, Bust, and Readjustment

Boom

In the mid-1960s, most observers agreed that the Benguet vegetable industry would continue to thrive. The Philippine economy was expanding, vegetable consumption was increasing, and the escalating American presence in Vietnam presented a new market. In 1964, the Mountain Province Development Authority (MPDA), an agency patterned after the TVA (Fry 1983: 228), inaugurated its development program by declaring that vegetable production had not yet reached half of its potential. The MPDA leaders held up Benguet, with its market gardens, mines, lumber mills, and hydroelectric dams, as a model of economic growth for the rest of the Cordillera (MPDA 1964:5).

Because farm expansion was still thwarted by the scarcity of capital, development agents turned to new sources of funding. MPDA planners looked to government functionaries (especially those with the Development Bank of the Philippines) to facilitate new bank loans. As with other Benguet economic schemes, the goal was not merely to assist farmers but also to displace the Chinese, thus "nationalizing" the industry (Baguio Midland Courier , Oct. 9, 1966). In the late 1960s, many Buguias farmers were financing garden expansion through bank loans. Although collateral was necessary, a land claim—through title or tax declaration—proved sufficient. This prompted a minor land rush, as gardeners hurried to declare the remaining open lands in order to qualify for loans.

Development authorities also encouraged the forming of local credit unions, and by 1969 mutual loan associations emerged in both Buguias and Bad-ayan. Official rules limited loans to two times the amount of an individual's savings, and placed a cap of 3 percent on monthly interest payments. Through the early 1970s, these two credit unions operated successfully.

Bust

But the optimism of the late 1960s vanished rapidly in the early 1970s as the vegetable industry suffered two destructive blows: the imposition of martial law in 1972, and the energy crisis of

1973. Soon after assuming dictatorial powers, Ferdinand Marcos attacked Benguet's political leaders and seized the local news media. When oil prices skyrocketed the following year, the Manila government used its new powers to "guide" the country's agriculture through the crisis. Unfortunately for Benguet, it considered vegetable growing an expendable luxury. Fertilizer was now scarce, and authorities earmarked the available supplies for lowland rice and corn, attempting even to prevent delivery to the highlands (Baguio Midland Courier Nov. 25, 1973). The official view was that the world now faced a food crisis, and that the Benguet people should respond by cultivating sweet potatoes and other staples (Baguio Midland Courier Sept. 29, 1974).

The Benguet farmers, of course, continued to grow vegetables. Desperate for fertilizer, they soon resorted to extralegal methods of procurement. The leaders of the Buguias Credit Union were at one point arrested after returning from the lowlands with a truckload of ammonium sulfate; political opponents of the co-op leaders had evidently informed the local military.

The vegetable industry languished through 1974 and 1975. The state eventually allowed fertilizer sales, but supplies remained inadequate. Moreover, fewer persons in the cash-strapped Philippines could now afford temperate produce. On November 2, 1975, the Baguio Midland Courier reported that massive quantities of Buguias vegetables were rotting in the fields. Although many farmers blamed the industry's middlemen, some community leaders began to attribute their dilemma to state policy and international oilmarket manipulations. Local government suffered too; by August 1975, the Benguet treasury had lost some 1,000,000 pesos of tax revenue (Baguio Midland Courier Aug. 29, 1975).

The vegetable industry also had to endure "crony capitalism," Marcos's practice of helping companies that supported his regime at the expense of businesses owned by individuals perceived as enemies. Thus the Philippine Planters Company, a quasicooperative that both manufactured and distributed agricultural inputs, nearly expired when it was ordered to deliver supplies below cost. The main beneficiary was the rival Philippine Phosphate Company, owned by a friend of the president.

The state did not entirely abandon the vegetable industry, however, and as the food scare abated it again devised new credit

schemes. Development authorities futilely attempted to revive the marketing cooperatives, but most farmers now regarded any government meddling with suspicion. Once again, economic planners looked to bank loans. In 1974 the Development Bank of the Philippines put forward a new scheme by which groups of five farm families could receive credit in common, each household acting as a guarantor for the others (Baguio Midland Courier Sept. 22, 1974). And in 1976, the same bank established a branch in Abatan, further facilitating credit procurement in Buguias (Baguio Midland Courier Nov. 30, 1976).

But all such loan programs eventually failed. Even after the vegetable industry partially recovered, few farmers could pay their interest charges. When the banks threatened foreclosures, gardeners lobbied successfully for easier terms (Baguio Midland Courier Aug. 2, 1976). But this only delayed the reckoning; by the late 1970s, some 59 percent of loans to Benguet farmers were delinquent (Buasen 1981:22).

Ultimately, the inability of the Benguet farmers to repay their loans proved disastrous only for the lending institutions. Despite their powers of foreclosure, the banks could not recoup their losses. For delinquent loans secured with titled property, a bank theoretically could sell the land after the borrower had failed for a given period to make payments. In the resulting auctions, however, no one would offer adequate bids; in essence, the growers maintained solidarity against the outside financiers. Land titles thus passed to the banks as "acquired assets," but as assets of no utility. The banks could only hope that the original owner would eventually want to regain the title, necessary if he or she were to sell the parcel legally. But even here the borrowers held the advantage, since the original loans had been greatly devalued by inflation. The banks lobbied for a retroactive inflation index, but with no success.

By the end of the 1970s, official lending institutions refused to extend new credit to the average Benguet farmer, a person now considered an unacceptable risk. Wealthy growers still managed to qualify, but sometimes even they would first have to bribe the responsible loan officer.

The other new font of capital, the local credit unions, have had mixed histories. A few co-ops, notably Bad-ayan's, have continued to thrive, helping local farmers expand their fields and weather un-

favorable markets. The Buguias Central Credit Union, however, crumbled in the mid-1970s. Some former members allege that its officials were too lax and disregarded loan regulations. By the 1980s, capital in Buguias was again scarce, and wealthy farmers and traders again reclaimed the financial structure of the local vegetable industry.

Readjustments

By the late 1970s the Benguet vegetable industry had only partly recovered. Input costs remained stubbornly high relative to the price of vegetables. Moreover, the entire Philippine economy had stagnated, and the market for temperate produce no longer expanded at its previous pace. Growers lived on thinner profits, and suffered losing seasons more frequently.

But a series of agricultural innovations ameliorated the beleaguered vegetable economy. In Buguias, several new crops, notably beets and summer squash, provided some farmers with healthy gains for a few seasons. Beet culture diffused in the late 1970s after a dealer discovered a small but unfilled culinary niche in the festive dishes of the Chinese New Year. Beets brought jackpot harvests for the early adopters, and they came to be the favored crop for a number of fields along Asinan ("salt") Creek that are too saltimpregnated for other vegetables. Summer squash first appeared in Buguias fields after a Chinese wholesaler advised a local dealer of a potential market. Growers soon discovered in squash an ideal crop for the warm months; planted in the early dry season it yields abundant fruit by March. Once the heavy rains arrive, however, the vines wither from fungus infestations. But zucchini squash remains a seasonally important crop in Buguias. Other nearby vegetable districts do not produce it; higher elevation areas, such as Lo-o and the Mountain Trail, are too cold, and farmers in Kabayan (according to Buguias sources) simply do not realize the value of this crop.

Improvements in irrigation technology overshadowed the introduction of new vegetables. In the late 1970s, Benguet farmers discovered that they could efficiently transport water in garden hoses or PVC (polyvinyl chloride) pipes, and that they could use water pressure to power simple sprinklers, known as rainbirds. A rain-

bird can effectively irrigate any field, regardless of slope. Although expensive to install, sprinkler systems offered overwhelming advantages, and within a few years they had been adopted by a large majority of farmers in Buguias and neighboring villages.

As gardeners adopted rainbirds, the available water supply effectively doubled, for in the old ditch delivery systems as much as half of the flow had been lost through seepage and evaporation. Furthermore, the rainbird's gentle sprinkling was found to be more effective than flooding and discouraging to a variety of pests as well. (This same period marked the spread of thrips, small insects troublesome during the dry season but sparing crops that are regularly sprinkled.) Its greatest advantage, however, was in allowing sloped fields to be cultivated year-round; this significantly increased the annual harvests of most growers. As a result, cropping schedules became more flexible, and water conflicts diminished for a period.

Not all Benguet farmers benefited from the rainbird revolution. Many poor growers could not afford hoses, while most farms along the Mountain Trail simply lack water during the dry season. In several favored Mountain Trail locales springs allow some irrigation, but even with rainbird delivery the water supply along the ridge is presently insufficient and is rapidly declining.

Transformation of the Vegetable Trade

Vegetable traders also changed their practices after the economic crisis. In the mid-1970s, the large-scale traders essentially abandoned Buguias. They continued to buy and sell vegetables in Trinidad, but now they purchased from small dealers rather than from individual growers. Russell (1983:93) argues that the introduction of light utility vehicles allowed a new group of small-scale traders to insert themselves between growers and wealthy dealers. As these small traders struggled among themselves, long-term dealer-farmer obligations gave way to more competitive bidding. The large traders then found it more profitable, and less risky, to retreat to Trinidad where they could remain one step removed from the vegetable growers.

Although this scenario partly accounts for the transformation

of trade in Buguias, it must also be noted that the large-scale traders' abandonment of Buguias coincided with the rise of the New People's Army in the local hinterlands. Local interpretations of this timing vary considerably; while some claim that the wealthy capitalists feared imposition of a "revolutionary tax," others argue that the two developments were coincidental.

In any case, by the mid-1980s, a new and diverse system of vegetable trading had emerged in the upper Agno Valley. To this date, the large agribusinesses of northern Buguias municipality continue to transport produce in large trucks, but for the most part they haul only what they grow on their own farms. In Buguias Village, however, almost all vegetables are now carried in light utility vehicles. Of the twelve such trucks present in the village in 1986, five were owned by full-time traders, the others by farmers who transported their own crops and, for a small fee, those of their neighbors. These part-time traders increasingly sell their produce not in Baguio but rather along the Mountain Trail. Tagalog traders, recognizing the trend, now drive up the highway to flag down passing trucks, hoping to haggle a better deal from the road-weary farmers than would be possible in Baguio.

The five full-time vegetable dealers of Buguias presently operate on a local scale and drive small vehicles, but otherwise their practices mirror those of the large-scale traders of the precrisis days. Farmers often sell to the highest bidder, but many are again in debt to, and thus tied to, a specific trader. In some respects farmer-dealer obligations were strengthened in the mid-1980s when traders began to sell rice. They can undersell (or, as is more usual, "underlend") store owners, both because they subsidize their own transport costs (it is inefficient not to carry a backload), and because they do not pay as much tax as a store proprietor. As this has deprived shopkeepers of their most profitable commerce, many now devote most of their time to their own fields, opening their businesses for only a few hours a day.

Despite the adverse economic climate, an ambitious and resourceful individual may still prosper in the vegetable trade. At present, one dealer in particular runs a thriving business, and he may well reach the position of baknang in the space of a few years. This man had been an ordinary farmer when an injury forced him to seek another line of work. Beginning as a commissioner (pur-

chaser) for another trader, he soon graduated to full partner. Not long afterward he bought his own small truck (soon to be joined by a second) and established an independent business. Some observers have attributed his initial success to a simple but clever (and exhausting) tactic: he would tour the Baguio market each evening to discover which vegetables were short, rush back to Buguias to secure a supply, and then return to Baguio in time for the next day's sales.

The Precarious State of the Vegetable Industry

Just as the vegetable industry began to recover from the debacle of the mid-1970s, it received another blow: the assassination of Benigno Aquino in 1983 and the attendant round of inflation and economic decline. Once again, the prices of agricultural chemicals, fuel, and consumer goods increased faster than did those of vegetables. Rice especially escalated in cost, and by 1985 many families could scarcely afford their staple food.

The Buguias people had long since adjusted to an inflationary environment by such means as tying salda mortgages to the price of hogs. But inflation eroded their living standards nonetheless. This is evident by viewing wages in swine equivalents. In 1970, thirty ten-hour days brought in enough money to purchase a large hog (at 10 pesos a day for labor, 300 pesos for the animal); by 1985, nearly twice as many days (fifty-seven) were required to obtain the same hog (at 35 pesos a day for labor, 2,000 pesos for the animal). Fuel provides another index of decline. In the late 1960s, most households living in the village center cooked with kerosene or liquid petroleum gas; by the mid-1980s, the majority had returned to wood, an increasingly scarce and expensive commodity itself.

The current economic standing of Benguet's commercial vegetable farmers vis-à-vis other Igorots who have retained subsistence agriculture is another question, and one on which evidence is mixed. Although market gardeners undoubtedly enjoyed greater prosperity prior to the early 1970s, several scholars claim that they are losing ground to, and may well have been surpassed by, subsistence growers. Carol DeRaedt (personal communication) argues that while vegetable farmers are often perceived as wealthy, mostly

because they handle large sums of money and often own vehicles, this is, in fact, belied by their hopeless debt and ever-declining returns. An anonymous contributor to the First Cordillera MultiSectoral Congress (Cordillera Consultative Committee 1984:167) states this in more certain terms: "[The Benguet vegetable farmers] have become poor relatives to their sisters and brothers who have not adopted cash crop agriculture."

Other evidence suggests that such pronouncements are premature. Beyond doubt, all Buguias residents prefer to risk market participation rather than return to subsistence. Elders remember the prewar days as a time of hardship, for which they voice little nostalgia. Indeed, several elderly individuals refused even to discuss the prewar days, saying simply, "Life was bad—we only ate sweet potatoes." Furthermore, communities previously excluded from market participation for lack of infrastructure have readily adopted commercial growing—even if it entails sharecropping—as soon as road access is gained. Of course, one may argue that local people suffer false perceptions here, but I would prefer to trust their judgments. After all, they have in many circumstances proved themselves keen observers of economic opportunity.

In any case, even if Benguet vegetable growers remain the envy of their subsistence-farming neighbors, the good times will not necessarily persist. Many seemingly intractable problems confront the commercial economy. Most of these are environmental, and will be discussed at length in the following pages. But one specifically economic threat is worth considering briefly here: the growth of a competing temperate vegetable industry in central Luzon.

A good measure of state-supported research has recently been directed toward breeding cultivars that can tolerate the lowland climate, at least during the low-sun season. Some success has been achieved with cabbage and cauliflower. Not only does this contribute to a potential oversupply, but the generally inferior lowland vegetables are often intentionally mislabeled as "Baguio produce," undercutting the market for the genuine product. More significant, perhaps, is the emerging vegetable center of Tagaytay, a few hours drive south of Manila (see Figoy 1984:37). Here a cool ridge top blessed with excellent highway connections to the capital offers an ideal environment for temperate crops. But the Philippine economy

is not expanding quickly enough to absorb the increased supply, and the Benguet farmers may well suffer as a consequence. Despite both declining living standards and the precarious state of the entire industry, the growing of vegetables still presents a strong lure. Many farmers can easily weather economic turmoil and change. In frontier zones, new opportunities for accumulation continually emerge, drawing ever more villages into the commercial network. But the biggest attraction is the jackpot. As long as it is still possible for a lucky farmer to realize great profits on a single crop, few will resist the temptations of the vegetable economy. But as the local population quickly expands, the possibility of a major jackpot harvest will be open to ever fewer farmers.

Demography

Population Trends

Demographic growth has been a crucial component of recent environmental degradation in Buguias. Although the exact pace is impossible to gauge, given the unreliability of early census data, it is clear that the local population grew at a rapid rate during the American period. The available figures show Buguias municipality more than doubling in two decades, rising from 2,611 inhabitants in 1918 to 5,691 in 1939 (Republic of the Philippines 1960a , v. 1, pt. ii:35–2). Not surprisingly, the war interrupted this expansion; the 1948 figures show a gain of only 203 persons during the previous decade.

After the war, when statistics—although still suspect—improve, a demographic boom is clearly evident. By 1960 the municipality had swollen to 8,658 persons; ten years later it had reached 12,402; and in 1980 the figure stood at 17,556 (Republic of the Philippines 1960a , v. 1, pt. ii:35–2 and Buguias Municipality 1983:12). The rate of increase is presently diminishing, and stability in the near future is not likely; even assuming a decline in natality, government statisticians expect Buguias municipality to hold 23,819 individuals by the year 2000 (Buguias Municipality 1983:13). The barangay (village) of Buguias repeats this pattern in miniature; its 1960 population of 869 had increased to 1,300 by 1970 (Republic of

the Philippines 1960a , v. 1, pt. ii:353, and Republic of the Philippines 1970, v. 1(10):1,2), and by 1986 local officials estimated the community's population at well over 2,000.

The social and ecological consequences of this rapid demographic expansion are palpable. Since the national economy does not easily absorb rural migrants, the growing population requires an expanded agricultural base. New gardens must be cleared and existing ones cultivated more intensively. Yet intensification is already advanced; after the "rainbird revolution" most fields produced year-round, and increased labor or chemical inputs yield exceptionally low marginal returns. New irrigation systems could expand dry-season production, but the potential here is also limited. The most feasible option in recent years has rather been the expansion of the garden area, entailing the cultivation of ever more marginal sites. A second option is migration to new agricultural areas, including both the eastern cloud forest and the few frontier zones remaining in the lowlands of Nueva Vizcaya.

Local Attitudes and Population Growth

The Buguias people are well aware of the problems arising from their quickly growing population. Even the ancestors are sometimes asked to intervene; during one recent ritual a manbunung chanted a prayer that might be loosely translated, "We have become many but the land does not become wide, so please help our children who have gone to the lowlands to make their gardens." According to almost all local observers, today's average nuclear family is larger than that of prewar days. While they partly attribute this to decreased child mortality, women generally concur that the birth interval has shortened. Some facetiously conclude that whereas in the prewar period couples required three years to conceive their first child, many today can seemingly produce an infant in only three months.

In exploring these changing fertility patterns, attention must be paid both to cultural attitudes and to the economic role of children. The data here are curious. As in much of the world, Buguias parents generally prize large families, and many saw the postwar fertility increase as a great boon. But, in contradiction to some influ-

ential demographic theorists, the high value the Buguias people accord to numerous offspring is not easily attributable to economic calculations. According to several scholars (Mamdani 1972, Caldwell 1978), one should expect high birthrates where children confer more to the domestic economy than they consume. Under such conditions, the more children a couple have, the more they may hope to prosper. Low birthrates, in contrast, are expected in societies in which children are an economic drain. Yet in Buguias, children are abundant even though they cost much and contribute little.

Young children in Buguias do occasionally labor in behalf of their parents, but school and play consume most of their time. They do, however, care for younger siblings; this does not directly add to the family budget, but it does free their parents. Adolescents, especially young men, often devote themselves to gainful labor, but the money they earn is their own, and few accord significant sums to the family account. Although children as young as six may carry vegetables, even at this age they retain their own wages; parents usually must ask for a part of the earnings, but not all children agree to share. Indeed, young men even in their twenties commonly remain a net financial drain on their parents, supporting themselves periodically but returning home when in financial straits. Education beyond the sixth grade is also a significant cost for those who continue. In short, virtually everyone in Buguias agrees that children are a net expense. It is the few basig couples—those without charges to support—who enjoy unexpected prosperity.

Cain's (1981) demographic thesis focuses in part on social security; couples often have numerous children, he claims, in the hope that at least one will be able to give them adequate care should they become ill or when they reach old age. This theory also fails in Buguias. Here the few elders who are too infirm to work are always supported by their extended families.

The high birthrate in Buguias is perhaps, in contrast, linked to the peculiarly local cultural value of children. Buguias religion revolves around ancestor worship, and most persons believe that the ancestral spirits maintain their power through the actions of their descendants. The more numerous one's progeny, the greater one's chance of attaining a high afterworld position. Childless prede-

cessors—even wealthy ones—are eventually forgotten, excluded from genealogical reckonings. As one elder phrased it (in English), "If you have no children you are erased from the map of Buguias."

Nevertheless, a demographic sea change may be near. Worry about the future availability of farmland is widespread, and some individuals openly question the value of having large families. Parents with inadequate land to support their children properly now endure quiet censure. Women educated up to the high school level, and especially the college level, generally desire only three or four children. Young men, however—especially those without an education—often hope to raise, as they put it, as many children as they can afford.

In accordance with the Philippine national population program, subsidized contraceptives are available from the barangay clinic. Although some couples make use of them, artificial birth control is not a standard practice. Both devout Pagans and Christians feel moral qualms, and many women fear the side effects of certain methods. Contraception may one day be accepted, but as it now stands even couples who (claim to) desire ending their reproductive careers often continue to have children. And regardless of future changes in attitude, the present age structure ensures that the population will continue to expand. Given the economic conditions of the Philippines, social and ecological strains will increase with it. One casualty will certainly be Buguias's forests.

Deforestation

Pine and Oak Forests: 1930–1980

Although pine is vital for local subsistence, government policy under both the American and the Philippine regimes has always favored industrial users, especially the large mining corporations. The state long ago awarded the pines of greater Buguias to the Heald Lumber Company, which constructed two sawmills in the vicinity (at Bad-ayan and Sinipsip on the Mountain Trail) before the war. Not all of the region was logged, however, and several healthy stands survived in and near Buguias Village. To ensure an adequate supply of mine supports, the state has, at various times and with variable success, attempted to prevent the Benguet people

from cutting trees in the concession areas. But through the American period timber was plentiful and most forestry agents were lax in the enforcement of official rules.

By the late 1950s, however, the Buguias people and the government foresters came into sharp conflict. Forest guards were now ordered to require official approval for every pine cut. Furthermore, local residents could no longer make new tax declarations unless their plots were certified as containing no pines. Since agriculture had to expand, gardeners were forced to clear new plots surreptitiously, uprooting all potentially incriminating pine seedlings before the inspection teams could arrive. Although this entailed needless destruction, farmers felt they had no alternative.

Foresters classify the high-elevation oak woodland as non-economic, since its stubby and gnarled trees are worthless as lumber. They do consider it vital watershed, however, a function that became particularly important after two hydroelectric dams were installed on the middle Agno in the 1950s. Most recent government forestry reports have accordingly advocated cloud-forest preservation (see, for example, MPDA 1964). Yet no safeguards have been implemented. The cloud forest of Mount Data, for instance—the source of the four major rivers of the Cordillera (the Agno, Chico, Abra, and Ibulao)—officially lies within a national park, yet most of it has long since been abandoned to cabbage fields. Benguet conservationists, led by Sinai Hamada, publisher of the Baguio Midland Courier , fought hard to protect the Mount Data forests, but to no avail.

Through the late 1960s, the pine forests of Benguet continued to dwindle under pressure from both corporate and indigenous logging. Even when National Power Company agents joined the foresters in pressing for conservation the state could not act effectively; as with other environmental issues, conflicting interests demanded contradictory actions. For example, in January 1969, Marcos banned all cutting in the upper Agno watershed, but Heald Lumber Company protested and within a few days he rescinded the order (Baguio Midland Courier March 9, 1969). In 1975 a more far-reaching ban protected all pine trees within 50 kilometers of Baguio, but a year later, when lumber ran short in the gold mines, Heald again received special exemptions (Baguio Midland Courier Sept. 12, 1975).

Although the Marcos regime could not thwart corporate logging (if indeed it had ever intended to), it could harass Igorot farmers and woodcutters. During the early martial law period, forest guards often arrested decree violators. This period witnessed a renewal of purposeful seedling destruction by local farmers resisting forestry interference. By 1976, however, the enforcement power of the state simply began to evaporate; with the New People's Army (NPA) on the rise, forest guards rapidly retreated. Although the NPA later withdrew from the Buguias region, the state did not attempt to reassert its forestry authority.

Meanwhile, through the 1970s the novel oleoresin industry seemed to portend the salvation of the Benguet pines. The insular pine produces copious, high-quality resin, long used by the Igorots in the form of saleng. When forest researchers discovered that resin extraction would not harm the trees (Veracion 1977), development agents began to encourage local tapping. If the Igorots could tap commercially, foresters reasoned, they would protect old trees and nurture saplings. On February 1, 1970, the Baguio Midland Courier hopefully announced that the solution to the "kaingin problem" (Tagalog for swidden field) had at long last been discovered.

The Buguias people quickly moved into the naval-stores industry. Individuals who had been instructed in the proper tapping techniques obtained licenses; these persons invited others to tap under their permits in return for a percentage of the profits. For a few years a number of residents of the higher reaches of Buguias extracted a substantial supplementary income. But the practice soon proved to be unsustainable; few tappers followed regulations closely, and most trees were over-drained. The fire threat was also heightened since resin often continued to dribble out of the tap scar, and the accumulated deposit would easily combust during a grass burn, in turn igniting the entire tree. Moreover, the tappers seldom realized the desired profits. By the early 1980s, the oleoresin industry lay in ruins.

Recent Forestry Practices in Buguias

Although the state's withdrawal from the forests of Buguias allowed the local inhabitants to develop the resource as they wished, the community government has been unable to reconcile the inevi-

table conflict of interests within the village. A few entrepreneurs have discovered great profits in cutting, hauling, and selling wood, both for lumber and fuel, to outside interests. This small-scale commercial logging owes its existence to the chainsaw, an expensive but profitable investment. By the early 1980s, the buzz of chainsaws emanated daily from the slopes above Buguias, seeming to foretell the demise of the remaining pine stands.

Few Buguias citizens are pleased when the sawyers sell local wood to outsiders. But firewood is in strong demand, especially in Lo-o, where large-scale farmers must provide meals for their many hired workers. Even more profitable is the traffic in construction lumber. The same chainsaws used to fell trees also mill them, and the boards thus crudely produced fetch a high price in the expanding metropolis of Baguio. Four men working half a day can (in 1986) reportedly earn as much as 1,000 pesos, provided they cut a timber stand with good road access. Even under less favorable conditions, saw owners commonly pay their workers 50 pesos for half a day, an impressive wage by Philippine standards. Because of community opposition, commercial loggers usually work surreptitiously, often at night. But this does not substantially limit their operations. In 1983, one particularly valuable stand located on the northeastern border of Buguias Village yielded an estimated 50,000 board feet over a three-month period.

Such profiteering demands protection over and above the cover of dark; usually it entails the complicity of government agents, especially military officials. In exchange for a share of the profits, officers of the Philippine Constabulary have ensured black-market loggers uninterrupted felling and safe transportation. In a few instances, military men have instigated cuts, contracting for lumber that they then sell through their own networks. Barangay officials have lodged protests with the Bureau of Forest Development (BFD), but the foresters are powerless to challenge the military hierarchy.

Conflicts have also erupted between professional sawyers and tax declaration holders. Although some individuals declared pine stands precisely with an eye to their potential timber harvests, in other cases woodcutters have descended on stands without the declaration holder's knowledge. Some woodsmen willingly placate angered declaration holders with cash payments, but others argue

that a tax declaration gives only cultivation rights, and that the plot's trees should be free for the taking. With the rapid rise of such conflicting claims, even tong tongan proceedings have difficulty resolving the contentious issues surrounding local commercial logging.

Yet in a few other Cordilleran regions pine forests have expanded in the postwar period. This is particularly true in Sagada (in Mountain Province), where villagers have assiduously planted seedlings in abandoned swiddens (Preston 1985). But in Benguet, and especially in Buguias, pine stands are in retreat. A few villages in the Buguias region have established communal forests to protect the diminishing resource, but even here removal outpaces growth. Thick stands remain only in the few rough and roadless areas; wherever soils are fertile, gardens encroach and road development follows. Knowledgeable individuals predict that few if any sizable pines will be left near Buguias by the year 2000. Seedlings continue to sprout vigorously, but few seem likely to reach maturity.

The cloud forests face less immediate threats. Valueless for lumber and disdained as firewood, oaks are cleared in large numbers only for garden expansion, or occasionally for speculation. Although the Mount Data forest is now gone and the oaks of eastern Buguias municipality are falling fast to expanding gardens, along the main Cordilleran ridge and eastward into Ifugao province wide expanses of cloud forest remain virtually untouched. They too may disappear as roads push eastward, but not for some years into a very uncertain future.

Development Plans: Social and Agroforestry

Benguet foresters despair over current forest trends. Their daunting challenge is to design programs that at once protect watersheds, ensure timber availability, and yet do not interfere with the Benguet farmers' livelihoods. With this in mind, officials of the Bureau of Forest Development have attempted to foster local participation in arboriculture.

Several Cordilleran scholars have excoriated the very notion of "social forestry," claiming that it represents yet another attempt by outsiders (or by capital, more generally) to gain control of local re-

sources (see Parpan-Pagusara 1984:59). While this may well be true for some projects, the recent plans implemented by the BFD office in Abatan and forwarded by the scholars at Baguio's Forestry Research Institute (FORI) seem neither so ambitious nor so threatening.

For many years forestry officials have touted the Japanese alder (Alnus japonica ), a fast-growing species that both protects slopes and fixes nitrogen. At various times they have distributed free seedlings, which school children were required to plant in the early 1970s. Yet the program has enjoyed only marginal success. As of 1986, seedlings were scarce, and since alders do not regenerate spontaneously here, they are at best maintaining their position. Another social forestry program of the 1960s encouraged farmers to plant pine seedlings around their gardens, but this could not help but fail. Pines shade crops and extract nutrients, while, at the time, the mere presence of trees could jeopardize a land claim. This is the kind of project rightly denounced by Baguio activists, but such approaches have by now been largely abandoned.^[1]

More recently, development agents have begun promoting fruit crops. Orchards would not replenish wood supplies, but they could protect watersheds, minimize erosion, and provide an alternative income should the vegetable industry again falter. In 1976, Benguet planners unfortunately gave top priority to coffee and mango culture (Baguio Midland Courier March 28, 1976). Although coffee is an old Cordilleran crop, disease and market fluctuations have kept it from fulfilling its early promise, and mangoes thrive only on the lowest slopes, where they are still out-competed in the market by the lowland groves.

Temperate fruit offers another possibility. Although winters are not cold enough for true dormancy, Bauko municipality in Mountain Province is able to produce meager crops of both apples and pears, and a team of development workers has suggested temperate fruit culture in the Lo-o basin as well (Duhaylungsod n.d.; Dar 1985). Citrus is another option; several farmers near Baguio have derived excellent returns from small plantings of improved orange and lemon varieties, and one Buguias resident is now nurturing a small orchard. Viral diseases, endemic in indigenous trees, pose a threat, but a joint Philippine and German development program now provides resistant root stocks and advises participants in control methods.

Even if diseases could be eradicated, most Buguias farmers would probably resist fruit growing. The single annual harvest would translate into fewer jackpot opportunities, and growers find the prospect of waiting several years before the first harvest as disconcerting. New orchards also require substantial amounts of capital, and Buguias farmers fear predatory children would deprive them of the long-awaited harvest. Nevertheless, the one citrus grower persists in seeing tree crops as Buguias's hope, a possible substitute for the imperiled vegetable industry. That the community at large could be persuaded to make such a drastic change cannot be ruled out. It would not be the first time the Buguias people had completely reoriented their production system.

Water Shortages, Erosion, and Biocides

Water Shortages

The loss of forest cover has reduced dry-season stream and spring flow throughout northern Benguet, a problem that has become acute along the Mountain Trail. Only the high semiplateaus (Sayangan-Paoay, Natubleng, and Mount Data) have ever had adequate water for dry-season cultivation, but as their vestigal woodlands are gradually cleared, even previously dependable springs have desiccated, leaving farmers desperate for water. Hoses and PVC pipes have allowed some to tap more distant flows, but as the water table continues to drop, many farmers have been forced to abandon cultivation during the dry months.

Lying deep in the Agno Valley, Buguias enjoys a relatively abundant water supply. The Agno still flows strongly and dependably, and the waters of the larger side streams (Toking and Capuyuan) are plentiful. Numerous springs and seeps in the lower valley augment the supply. In the village's higher reaches, however, the dry season is increasingly a time of water stress.

Water scarcity is nothing new to Buguias. Before the war, poorly irrigated rice fields often withered toward the end of the growing period, for it was simply too difficult to bring water out of the deeply incised creek beds or from the main river. As new irrigation

systems were built, terraces expanded, consuming all new deliveries. Growers achieved partial rationing, but disputes could not be avoided.

Vegetables demand less moisture than do paddies, and as carrots and cabbages replaced rice on most terraces, water was temporarily abundant once more. But as new vegetable terraces were built, demand again outstripped supply. Garden hoses and PVC pipes brought another spell of relative plenty—until subsequent garden expansion brought on a new round of water scarcity.

As of the mid-1980s, only specific areas of Buguias experience severe water shortages. In general, the lower valley is still abundantly supplied. On the higher slopes, however, only select fields located near springs or seeps could produce dry-season crops before the spread of rainbirds. When hoses and sprinklers were diffused, the numerous hillside rivulets could also be tapped. But as these are mere trickles in the dry months, gardeners soon quarreled over the scanty seasonal supply. Some hamlets have instituted informal rationing, but gardeners still argue heatedly when water runs low. Some individuals even disconnect their neighbors' hoses at night in order to reconnect their own to the dwindling flow.

Lacking an adjudication precedent, Buguias elders cannot easily mediate the growing number of water disputes. Some irrigators strongly adhere to a local version of the doctrine of "prior appropriation," holding that the individual who first tapped a source should have superior rights. Other water users (generally those who started irrigating later) argue for communal (hamlet-level) control. One party to a recent water conflict became desperate enough to engage a lawyer, a rare and distinctly antisocial move. The attorney allegedly informed his client that neither side had any legal rights whatsoever, and the conflict had to be settled within Buguias. Eventually, in this case, a compromise was reached in tong tongan.

In the dry season of 1986, water quarrels intensified. As gardens and irrigation facilities have spread, many springs and small streams have steadily diminished. Finally, in March 1986, several formerly perennial brooks ceased to flow, destroying a number of standing crops.

Large-scale irrigation systems, tapping the waters of either To-

king or Capuyuan creeks, could eliminate water scarcity through large areas of Buguias, but this would require assistance from the National Irrigation Authority (NIA). So far, only one Buguias hamlet, Tanggawan—traditional home of the elite—has managed to secure such governmental aid.

Erosion

In increasingly large areas, erosion exacerbates water shortages. On Buguias's eastern slopes, many small streams are entrenching, making water delivery even with hoses ever more difficult. Near Asinan Creek the problem is compounded: as the stream has cut downward the salt spring has migrated headward, forcing gardeners to extend their hoses ever further upstream to find fresh water.

Topsoil loss more directly threatens many gardens. Scattered throughout Benguet are former vegetable fields now abandoned for lack of soil (Dar 1985:136). Typhoon-generated erosion, taking the forms of sheet wash, gullying, and slope failure, can be extraordinary. Terracing mitigates the danger, but even the best-engineered terraces occasionally fail. Moreover, most farmers purposefully keep some fields sloped for wet-season drainage. And landslides, slumps, and debris flows may strike regardless of agricultural engineering; a massive flow in central Buguias in the late 1960s devastated several tens of hectares both in its source area and in its deposition zone. Neither place has yet been reclaimed. Farmers usually rebuild small slump scars, even if it takes several years. But even a small slope failure can financially devastate a family if it destroys an entire crop.

Buguias's climate and geology conspire to generate frequent and severe slope failures. Intense and prolonged rainfall periodically saturates a deeply weathered and unstable mantle. Human practices compound the problem. Deforestation and road construction are obvious culprits; many private roads are severely gullied in a single season, while all roadways channel runoff and thus contribute to gullying in nearby fields. Even more destructive is the purposeful diversion of water during floods. When a typhoon strikes, farmers often dig ditches and build embankments to protect their own fields. This funnels the flow into their neighbors' gardens,

who must then redouble their own efforts. A frantic battle ensues, as each grower tries to protect his or her own fields even at the expense of those adjacent.

In the late 1970s the bulldozer appeared as a new agent of erosion. Where agriculture is rapidly expanding, wealthy farmers find it expedient to bulldoze fields of several hectares. Many of the resulting "cut-and-fill terraces" erode severely after a single rainy season. Equipment operators often do not even save the topsoil; instead they merely push it aside to provide a foundation for the terrace fill. This does not usually concern the farmer. Supplied with enough fertilizer, the subsoil yields adequately. And even those agriculturalists who do strive to conserve often find their newly bulldozed fields ravished. One wealthy Buguias couple spent over 30,000 pesos for plastic drain pipes and stone retaining walls for a new field bulldozed near Baguio, but lost virtually the entire investment in a single storm.

With the deforestation of surrounding hillsides, typhoon-induced erosion seems to have become more severe in recent years. The worst disaster to date occurred on July 15 and 16, 1989, when typhoon Goring devastated Buguias, causing fifteen deaths in the municipality. After the storm, the Baguio Midland Courier reported one Buguias elder as saying, "Maybe the gods are angry, there are no more trees on Mount Data."

Many vegetable districts along the Mountain Trail are more susceptible to erosion than is the Agno Valley. Soil loss along the ridge was aggravated, according to most local observers, by careless Chinese farmers who were more concerned with fast profits than with sustainable practices. By the early 1950s, development agents began to focus on erosion control. The state soon insisted that only farmers who had constructed terraces and planted grass or trees on steep slopes could gain land titles. In the 1960s, the Mountain Province Development Authority, with funding from the UN and USAID, initiated a more ambitious bench-terracing project (Baguio Midland Courier July 9, 1967). The irony of teaching some of the world's preeminent terrace engineers how to construct simple earth benches was apparently lost on the sponsors. Moreover, many farmers, particularly sharecroppers, have resisted making the necessary investments for financial reasons, while much land is purposefully kept in slops for wet-season root crops.

Biocides, Human Health, and Faunal Destruction

The biocides continually sprayed on the Buguias landscape have poisoned many farmers as well as entire aquatic ecosystems. Farmers occasionally use officially banned poisons (Medina n.d.); many more overapply legal pesticides and dispose of the residues improperly. In earlier years, growers often washed their backpack sprayers directly in streams, even those providing drinking water. Local ordinances now prohibit this practice, and barangay officials continually warn of pesticide hazards. Buguias residents will not even eat their own cabbage grown in the dry season because they know it is highly contaminated. Few warnings are forthcoming, however, from company agents, the individuals who provide most new information on chemical-intensive agriculture.

Few Buguias streams have potable water, owing both to chemical residues and to amoebic and bacterial pathogens. In the center of town, several spring-fed domestic water systems were installed shortly after the war using the steel pipes supplied as war reparations by the Japanese government. These frequently clogged pipes spew rusty water, but more worrisome are the contaminants entering the spring-boxes in runoff from adjacent fields. In the dry season, desperate farmers often tap the community's drinking water supplies to irrigate their gardens; when the domestic systems are reconnected, the water runs brown for several hours. Barangay officials have battled to maintain and even to improve local drinking water, but funds are limited, and farmers upslope are reluctant to jeopardize their own livelihoods for the benefit of those living in the center of the community.

The effects of pesticide and fertilizer ingestion, derived from field exposure and from eating and drinking, are impossible to evaluate without a medical study. But indirect evidence suggests adverse impacts on human health. Virtually all Buguias residents argue with conviction that people die younger today than they did before the war, despite the much-improved postwar diet. Although this probably results from age-related memory distortion (old people seem much older than they are to children), the community's intellectuals, persons of critical and discerning bent, agree that average longevity may have declined. (A few elders, however, actually

blame the supposed life-span shortening on the varied postwar diet: people today are no longer "preserved by sweet-potato vinegar.") A more plausible culprit would be agricultural chemicals. But regardless of actual mortality trends, acute pesticide poisoning is not an uncommon diagnosis in local clinics.

Pesticides, fertilizers, and silt have destroyed most of the aquatic life that once spiced the local diet. Eels have been virtually extirpated, and other species are now rare. In Lo-o, the surviving river life is simply too contaminated to be edible (Figoy n.d.). In Buguias, sculpins, tadpoles, and water bugs are still avidly consumed, although almost exclusively by the young men who value highly such pulutan (rich snacks that complement gin).

But agricultural chemicals are not the sole cause of faunal destruction. Many land animals have been locally exterminated through habitat destruction and overhunting. In Buguias, the only remaining "game" mammal is the rat, although a few civets may still dwell in the thickets along Toking Creek. Deer survive only in the steep pinelands between Natubleng and the Agno, and although wild hogs still roam the cloud forest of eastern Buguias municipality, they are now rarely seen. Humans long ago drove monkeys out of the Agno Valley, and they now seem to be doing the same in western Ifugao. Snipes, herons, and wild chickens, formerly abundant in Buguias, are gone, victims of overhunting, rice-field conversion, and garden expansion. Song birds are rare and diminishing in number, and such as remain are still avidly pursued by young boys. The migratory birds caught seasonally along the mountain crests continue to return annually, but even they come in smaller flocks than in past years.

A few officials, both local and national, have endeavored to save the Cordillera's wildlife, but all actions have been futile. In 1970, the state declared a large part of the upper Agno basin a game refuge, evidently an empty gesture (Baguio Midland Courier Oct. 4, 1970). Some conservationists saw in martial law a potential wildlife reprieve, since most guns were confiscated (Baguio Midland Courier July 22, 1973); indeed, Kabayan residents credit this move for the survival of the deer herd below Natubleng. But habitat destruction and population expansion join as an inexorable force against which wild animals cannot stand.

Within recorded history, the Cordillera has not supported abun-

dant wildlife; the scarcity of large fauna is repeatedly noted by nineteenth-century German travelers. But this does not make the current destruction of wildlife any less tragic. Nor is faunal extinction the only concern; many of the cloud forest's numerous endemic plants may well be exterminated within the next few decades. While most local residents decry this loss, they, like the Bureau of Parks and Wildlife, cannot prevent it; to do so they would have to counteract enormously powerful forces, cultural as well as economic. For even if agricultural expansion could somehow be contained, the young men of the community show no inclination to abstain from hunting any animal, however rare it might be.

The Vegetable Frontier

Beginning in the late 1960s, and accelerating through the following decades, the high-elevation region of eastern Buguias municipality was opened to commercial agriculture. Although a few vegetables had been grown here since the 1940s, large-scale production was initially held back by poor transport. When feeder roads finally penetrated the pine-oak border zone, gardening was suddenly very profitable; soils were fresh, waters abundant, and weeds and other pests uncommon. But the local inhabitants could not easily harvest the rewards, as they lacked the capital needed both to clear the land and to farm it intensively. Entrepreneurs from the Agno Valley realized the bulk of the profits in most eastern villages.

Geographical Patterns of Expansion

The southern Cordillera's vegetable zone has gradually projected outward in several different salients over the past twenty years. As the road network has been extended, ever more communities have been able to take up commercial farming (see map 8). In the 1960s and 1970s, several projections pushed westward from the Mountain Trail heartland. But further movement to the west is uncertain. In much of Bakun municipality, for example, progress is impeded by steep and rocky slopes and by the locally active New People's Army.

Map 8.
The Road Network of Buguias and Nearby Locales.
Some of the smaller and more recent roads are not indicated.
Note also that the Agno Valley Road north of Kabayan
Barrio is seldom passable during the rainy season.

Northward, the vegetable frontier has recently enveloped several Northern Kankana-ey villages in Mountain Province. Here local residents who had previously labored on Mountain Trail farms introduced commercial production. Yet these communities essentially retain subsistence orientations, with vegetables forming subsidiary cash crops (see Voss 1983). The same is true in several Ifugao villages in the Kiangan region, where vegetable gardens are presently increasing in acreage.

In recent years, the main thrust of expansion has been eastward from the Agno Valley, particularly in Kabayan (Calanog n.d.) and Buguias municipalities. In greater Buguias, development in the 1960s and early 1970s was concentrated in the north. Contractors gradually extended feeder roads east from Lo-o and Bad-ayan into the oak-covered hills. In 1976, however, the main frontier shifted southward after the Buguias-Bot-oan road was inaugurated. Intended as the first leg of a proposed highway into western Ifugao, this route terminated at the then insignificant hamlet of Bot-oan. Within a few years, Bot-oan had become a major agricultural and commercial center, and the seat of the new barangay of Catlubong, carved out of the territory of Buguias proper.

Bot-oan, sitting on the pine-oak border, is ideal for most temperate vegetables. Here a relatively flat saddle is endowed with abundant water and unusually light and friable soil. Yet the local inhabitants had little interest in vegetable culture before the mid-1970s. A few had grown and sold peas, but most still raised swine for their minimal cash needs. Hog raising no longer yielded much profit, however, in large part because hogs could no longer roam free.

The Bot-oan people, considered the least "progressive" of all the residents of greater Buguias, lacked both the knowledge and the capital necessary to exploit the new opportunities the road provided. But several prosperous couples quickly moved up from the Agno Valley to develop the land. Before long, they composed a local elite, whose exogenous origins their poorer neighbors did not forget. Only one local resident ascended into the elite stratum, a rise made possible by many years of work in the Saudi oil fields.

The outside developers first hired workers, both locals and Kalanguya immigrants from Ifugao province, to clear new gardens. But by the 1980s most had turned to bulldozers. Usually they would turn the newly made plots over to local sharecroppers. Many share-

croppers later cleared their own tiny gardens, giving Bot-oan today a mixture of large and small holdings.

Not long after the road arrived, other entrepreneurs opened a number of stores and a periodic market emerged as well. Impetus for retail expansion came from both the growing local economy and from Bot-oan's newly strategic position vis-à-vis western Ifugao. The village now occupied the closest roadhead to Tinoc and Tucucan. By 1985, several hundred Tinoc residents were making the trek to Bot-oan twice each week, returning home the same day heavily laden with goods ranging from rice and gin to treadle sewing machines and iron sheeting.

More profitable than stores are transport vehicles. During the long wet season few trucks can negotiate the steep climb out of the Agno canyon; the three Bot-oan entrepreneurs who own powerful International Harvesters able to make the climb form an effective, if seasonal, transport oligopoly. Nevertheless, Bot-oan retail prices are on average lower than those of Buguias. Buguias residents find this perplexing and infuriating, and most attribute it to the noncompetitive environment of their own increasingly marginal community.

The Bot-oan road has also allowed the Kalanguya people of Tinoc and nearby villages greater participation in the market economy. Tinoc now lies at the far eastern fringe of the vegetable empire, the position previously occupied by Bot-oan itself, where high-value, lightweight crops can be grown profitably. Peas in particular have made inroads into local swiddens. Physiography itself contributes to pea culture, Tinoc being somewhat protected from the typhoon winds that frequently destroy fragile trellises farther west. After a severe storm, Tinoc growers can reap high profits in the inflated pea market. Lately, a few growers have gambled on other crops; by early 1986, young Tinoc men were carrying fifty-kilo sacks of carrots to the Bot-oan market during price peaks. To date, however, seldom are such vegetables valuable enough to bear the cost of portage over the tortuous, muddy, and leech-infested trail linking the two villages.

In southern Buguias and northern Kabayan municipalities, contractors pushed two other feeder roads to the edge of the cloud forest in the 1970s. Here, in contrast to Bot-oan, almost all local residents had been cultivating small commercial plots since the 1940s,

carrying their produce first to Kilometer 73, then to Buguias Central. Road development allowed some to expand their gardens, but most have remained small operators. Outside entrepreneurs have not found these areas attractive, in part because their slopes are steep and their water insufficient. Furthermore, since the locals already had gardens of their own they have been reluctant to accept sharecropping arrangements.

Continuing Road Development

Eastern Buguias municipality's road development in the 1970s was financed largely by the national government and by the United States, whose motivations were mainly military. At the time, Bot-oan formed an NPA stronghold. By the early 1980s the NPA presence diminished, and state funding evaporated. A road extension into western Ifugao—a remaining NPA refuge—was still planned, but this proved too expensive and dangerous. After the 1984 legislative elections, politicians seemingly abandoned the road, much to the consternation of the Kalanguya people of western Ifugao province.

Through various creative financing schemes, feeder-road construction continues. Wealthy farmers, especially those living in the Bot-oan area, occasionally build private roads. Road developers sometimes convince the barangay to assume maintenance costs, effectively passing all burdens to the public sector. Barangay roads are usually maintained through cooperative work parties, with some communities occasionally purchasing bulldozer time.

Less prosperous farmers sometimes jointly finance road construction in their hamlets. In a typical case, each farmer directly benefitting will donate something on the order of 500 pesos, with wealthier growers usually contributing severalfold more. One such project in Buguias was unsuccessfully negotiated for several years; the interested farmers all sought different corridors, since all wanted close access but none wished to lose any land. Although they finally reached a compromise, one barangay official fears that erosion safeguards were discarded in the process. A similar road in another Buguias hamlet had eroded so quickly that it was downgraded to a buffalo-cart path after several years.

The municipal and provincial governments share responsibility for major roads, generally those entailing construction costs of over 50,000 pesos. Funding is politically charged, as villages compete for road access. In 1985, the Buguias municipal council released funds to extend the Bot-oan road southward toward the upper Capuyuan drainage. Southern Buguias municipality marked this as a victory, since in their eyes the more powerful northern interests usually monopolize road funds. This project also generated some unusual local opposition, as a few elders argued that it would only bring in more gin and associated social ills.

Land Speculation

The new roads east of Buguias have provided opportunities for speculators as well as gardeners. Local land speculation dates to the credit schemes of the late 1960s; bank loans had to be secured with real estate, whether titled or declared, and the only broad areas still available lay in the eastern reaches of the municipality. While property claims were officially limited by one's ability to pay tax (as determined by the assessor), even persons of moderate wealth could obtain tens of hectares of undeveloped land.

Although these lands were initially declared as loan collateral, a few individuals realized their development potential should a road reach the area. By the early 1970s, a handful of speculators rushed to stake out lands along the planned transport corridor between Bot-oan and Tinoc. One wealthy Buguias couple even claimed a plot on the highest pass, intending to build a cafe there to service the buses that they thought would soon ply the Tinoc route. Such explicitly speculative declarations were largely held by residents of Buguias and nearby valley communities, but a few locals also claimed large plots, in part to protect themselves from the outsiders. By the mid-1970s, virtually all lands of any agricultural potential had been declared.

A tax declaration is difficult to define in the cloud forest. Landmarks are rare, visibility through the dense forest is low, and movement is constrained. Some speculators thus cleared their plots of all woody growth. Although most cloud-forest trees readily stump-sprout, continued recutting has reduced these parcels to a low

scrub. This needless degradation has prompted some resentment, but no one is powerful enough to contend with the economic interests involved.

Few of the Buguias speculators reaped the profits they had anticipated. The Tinoc road stalled and the general pace of transport development slackened. When the vegetable industry stagnated, many could not afford their taxes, and therefore allowed their declarations to pass into delinquency. As feeder roads were slowly built, most declarants sold their remaining parcels piecemeal, sometimes at a fair profit, to the wealthy Bot-oan farmers.

But when the municipality initiated extension of the Bot-oan road in 1985, several declaration holders finally made good. It is of interest that the most successful was not a speculator but rather a local ritualist. Many years earlier, this modest man had declared several hectares of relatively flat and rich land near his home and exactly proximate to the future roadway. He managed to pay his taxes, while leaving virtually the entire plot in virgin oak forest. When the road pushed through, his parcel suddenly gained value, and when a wealthy Bot-oan farmer offered him 20,000 pesos a hectare, he happily sold.

In 1975, before even Bot-oan had road access, a hectare of land in this area could hardly have sold for 200 pesos. The following years saw fierce inflation; by 1985, the price of a large animal had increased some tenfold. Yet as this case shows, prime land on the cloud forest fringe could appreciate as much as a hundred times. Clearly, land speculation could yield spectacular gains.

By early 1986, this particular plot had already been bulldozed clear of vegetation and topsoil. The new owner had hired several local residents, who had earlier raised hogs for their cash needs, to sharecrop the land. Potential tenants are not lacking here; the market is a strong lure, and most residents prefer to begin gardening by working for a successful entrepreneur rather than by cultivating a tiny and underfinanced private garden.

Agricultural development in eastern Buguias municipality has primarily benefited three parties: wealthy farmers, a few lucky land speculators, and bulldozer owners.^[2] For most local residents, the results are mixed. Although now more prosperous than before, they must share the risks and the dim future of the vegetable industry. Nor is expansion itself without economic contradictions;

the overall vegetable harvest grows faster than demand, lowering profits elsewhere.

But the eastward march of the vegetable frontier is most threatening ecologically. As the cloud forest of eastern Buguias municipality vanishes and as new irrigation works are installed, stream flows gradually diminish, undercutting Agno Valley irrigators. In several areas of the municipality, formerly verdant rice terraces are now dry, most likely because of water development upslope. As their natural endowment deteriorates, farmers in the lower valley may find it exceedingly difficult to compete with those who have recently developed rich, new lands. And as economic and ecological problems mount, social and political turmoil grows apace.