Hodder 2009

Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.
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10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.x
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OrientalismPublishing
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2009 Blackwell
the Philippine Polity Publishing Ltd
Orientalism and the Study of the Philippine Polity

Rupert Hodder*
University of Plymouth
Abstract
Although a critique of orientalism in the study of the Philippine polity has emerged
comparatively late in the day, it has stimulated a lively, and often acerbic, debate.
The aim of this paper is to report on aspects of the original debate, and to comment
on its implications for subsequent analyses. The argument that American scholar-
ship has transformed Philippine politics into a negative ‘other’ and ‘essentialized’
political behavior, and the equally forthright responses to these criticisms, have
brought home in a very direct, immediate, and emotional sense, the significance
of the Philippine polity’s dimensionality. The business of then accommodating that
dimensionality – the multiple qualities of any given actor, and the multiple roots,
ramifications, and meanings of any given practice or understanding – requires detailed
conceptual and methodological development, and presents an important challenge
to Philippine studies.
Introduction
Corruption is widely viewed as one of the most serious problems facing
the Philippines. Particularistic interests lying outside the country’s political
and bureaucratic organizations severely weakened and distorted those organ-
izations; and it is in these external interests – economic and social – that
real power is to be found. In this context of limited (but concentrated) wealth
and weak government, clientelism and patronage have remained themes cen-
tral to the study of the Philippine polity for over six decades, though, in
more recent years, the conceptual base for analysis has broadened as varia-
tions on those themes have evolved or alternative models of the polity have
appeared (Hutchcroft 1998; Landé 1965, 1996; McCoy 1993; Putzel 1999;
Sidel 1999; Thompson 1995; Wurfel 1988).
Threaded through many of these approaches, old and new, is the
influence – both spoken and unspoken – of Weber’s notion of rational
bureaucracy. This influence is often somewhat general and amorphous in
nature. For instance, the personalistic or particularistic quality of the Philippine
polity resonates with Weber’s view that modern bureaucracies are more the
exception than the rule: ‘even in large political structures such as those of the
ancient Orient, the Germanic and Mongolian empires of conquest, or of
many feudal structures of state. In all these cases, the ruler executes the most
© 2009 The Author
Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd
Orientalism and the Philippine Polity 919
important measures through personal trustees, table-companions, or court-

servants. Their commissions and authority are not precisely defined and are
temporarily called into being for each case’ (Weber 1997: 196–7). But com-
monly Weber’s influence also takes on a far more specific and explicit form,
as in the case of, say, Hutchcroft’s patrimonial analysis, Sidel’s references
to charismatic authority in his interpretation of bossism, or Thompson’s
exploration of sultanism1 in his analysis of the anti-Marcos struggle.
It is interesting to note that Weber’s work on bureaucracy often appears
to speak more easily to studies of the Philippine polity than to studies of
its civil service. (After all, the Philippine civil service certainly aspires to all
of the specific characteristics possessed by a ‘bureaucracy’ as understood by
Weber.) This affinity probably has much to do with the general and creeping
bureaucratization of life in the West and the relative weakness of that process
in the Philippines today. As Hutchcroft argues, the personalistic, informal
and irregular qualities of the Philippine state leaves it some distance from a
strong, regularized, formal, impartial, legal-rational economy and polity of
the kind described by Weber as a bureaucratic administration. In particular,
argues Hutchcroft, the Philippines lacks calculation2 in the administrative and
legal sphere; and family and business are not clearly separated. The essential
question facing the Philippines (and many other developing countries) is how
it might transform itself from its present condition of patrimonialism into a
regularized, legal-rational, and bureaucratic state. It is, in other words, Weber’s
apparent foresight (see, for instance, Ritzer 2006, 2004), and the failure of
the Philippines to bureaucratize as deeply and effectively as many Western
societies, that charges Weber’s work with analytical power: comparing ‘what
should be’ with ‘what is’ provides a frame with which to construct possible
explanations for the actual state of affairs in the Philippines today.
It is also interesting to note that a critical appraisal of these studies through
the glass of orientalism arrived rather late in the day. But arrive it did: in
a series of lectures and publications, Ileto (see, in particular, 1999, 2001)
argued that by ‘essentializing’ Philippine political behavior and presenting
the Philippines as a negative ‘other’, American scholars idealized American
democracy and justified American colonialism. Not surprisingly, Ileto’s
criticisms stimulated a lively, and often acerbic, debate. Yet during their
publication over the last 10 years, these discussions – which raise matters
of signal importance to Philippine studies – have not attracted quite the
attention they deserve. The aim of this paper, therefore, is to report on aspects
of this debate, and to comment on its implication for subsequent analysis.
Criticism
Ileto’s direct criticisms attracted equally spirited countercriticism, espe-
cially, though not exclusively, from those American scholars who were the
subject of his initial attacks. The very influential work of two scholars in
particular – Lande and Sidel – figure prominently in his critique.
© 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.x
920 Orientalism and the Philippine Polity
When Lande began his work in the Philippines in the 1950s, he was
struck by the fact that in every province it was members of the wealthier
classes or their representatives who led the two major political parties, and
who benefited from government policy and action. How did they manage
to win the votes of the poor? An important part of the answer, Lande argued,
was the system of patron–client relationships or political clientelism: ‘the
upwards flow of votes from ordinary voters to wealthy candidates . . . and
in return, the downward distribution of public and private funds and other
favors to individual leaders and their followers among the voters. Hoping
to share in this distribution of benefits, poor voters could not afford to
vote their class interests by supporting candidates of the Left’ (Lande 2002:
120). During the years of martial law under Marcos, the two-party system
collapsed and was replaced by competing presidential candidates all of
whom were heavily dependent on their home regions for support, and
treated political parties as transitory electoral vehicles. Philippine politics
has certainly changed, but, in the rural areas at least, personalism and
clientelism remain important elements of electoral politics (2002: 122).
From Lande’s point of view, then, there is very little to connect his
studies with the assertion that his portrayal of the Filipino political system
provided a useful backdrop against which to highlight the advanced nature
of American democracy. Lande acknowledges that he made mention of
clientelist parties in the southern United States and in eighteenth-century
England. But he is specialist in the study of comparative politics, and he
made no binary distinction between East and West. ‘Rather, I was interested
in the process of modernization. Whether [Ileto] likes it or not, modern-
ization, however one defines it, did come earliest in the West and has led,
in much of the West, to changes in social, economic, and political institu-
tions that are widely admired in other regions of the world, including the
Philippines’ (2002: 123). And far from presuming that Philippine culture
and behavior are fixed, it was his argument ‘that clientelism is a function
of the economic dependency of the poor, and will become less widespread
as the economy becomes more productive and the poor become less depen-
dent on personal or governmental patrons’ (2002: 124).
Lande then goes on to pick up and develop what appears to be his central
concern: that his conscious and subconscious motives are the subject of
extensive and incorrect speculation.
[Ileto] suspects me of being more than a passive observer of Philippine politics,
in part because it is the product of decades of American tutelage. He wonders if
my work is not in fact an attempt to shore up a construction of a ‘normal’ Philip-
pine politics that is already under threat by a mainly Marxist-nationalist challenge
to the post-war construction of history and politics. He thinks that I fear that
the American-style party system will end up not being the sole vehicle of politics.
He says that I think that the kind of politics offered by totalitarian rivals is un-
Filipino. In fact I think that totalitarianism is bad for any society. He says that
despite my criticism of the party system and my hope that it would change, I
still favor constitutional democracy. Of course I do. And I hoped, then as now,
that Philippine democracy, while remaining constitutional, will become more
truly democratic by becoming more participatory and more equal. (2002: 124)
As for Ileto’s claim that the use of words such as ‘moods’, ‘unpredictable’,
even ‘fluid’ to describe party switching by Filipino politicians is indicative of
Lande’s desire to feminize Philippine politics, is quite simply nonsensical – ‘I
chose the words to describe reality, not to feminize Filipinos’ (2002: 125).
In reply to Ileto’s suggestion that Lande’s research may be colored by his
friendship with Senators and congressmen, as well as by his race and gender,
Lande asks ‘how can one study the tactics of politicians without getting
to know them? And why my gender?’ And in response to Ileto’s attempt to
impute to Lande the Hobbesian view that personal relations are basically
founded on domination and fear, Lande states unequivocally: ‘That is
not my view, nor that of other political scientists’ (2002: 126–127).
Lande argues further that Ileto’s inaccurate speculations are the product
of Ileto’s method of criticism.
An inherent weakness of any ideologically driven, politically-engaged approach,
such as Critical Theory or Postcolonial Theory, is that it commits the true
believer to finding what his theory expects him to find and thus may lead him
to misunderstand or distort reality. It can also lead him to assume a malign intent,
where there was none. That is why Ileto’s critique of American scholarship on the
Philippines may please other postcolonial theorists, but will leave mainstream
scholars, who judge a work by its factual accuracy and analytical persuasiveness,
not by the nationality or gender of its author, unimpressed. (2002: 127)
At the core of Sidel’s rebuttal, too, is his objection to the motives wrongly
attributed to him. Sidel, however, begins by distancing his own views from
Lande and the patron–client framework. While, like Carl Lande, Sidel was
trained as an American political scientist, Sidel’s research, unlike Lande, ‘was
undertaken many years after the political science literature on patron-client
relations had lost its original appeal and momentum, and . . . at a time, when
it was abundantly clear from local accounts that coercive pressures played
a much more important role in social relations and political competition
in the country that had previously been acknowledged by scholars’ (2002:
130). Indeed, Sidel’s exploration of Philippine politics was based on funda-
mentally different premises:
I rejected the assumption that the Philippine political system reflected and
reproduced the preferences and proclivities of Filipinos, that Filipinos got the
government they wanted (and thus, implicitly, deserved). Politicians, in other
words, did not simply respond to the demands of their constituents: they, and
the political system in which they were embedded, in considerable measure
determined, disaggregated, and diffused these demands. The perpetrators, not
the victims, were to be identified and blamed. (2002: 130–131)
Sidel argued that local bosses – in municipalities, congressional districts
and provinces – emerge and become entrenched under certain structural
conditions. Widespread poverty and economic insecurity greatly accentuate

the significance of state resources, and provide officials who control those
resources (and state regulatory powers) with the means to accumulate private
capital. The actions of the Philippines’ American rulers – who ‘subordinated
a weakly insulated state to officials elected locally and under a restricted
suffrage’ (2002: 132–133), and who superimposed this system upon an
economy at such an early stage of capitalist development – was bound to
produce ‘bossism’. Since access to resources is the overriding priority,
and since that access is controlled by locally elected politicians, then the
provision of public goods and services is very likely to be dependent upon
the discretion of those local politicians (2002: 136–7).
Not only was the foundation of Sidel’s work different from Lande’s, but
so was his motivation. Sidel’s aim, from the start, was:
to provide insight, evidence, and ammunition to those forces in the Philippines
who were working to deepen the process of democratization . . . and to expose
and undermine those forms of local authoritarianism that seem to be thriving
under conditions of formal democracy in the country.
I was thus especially gratified when my own research proved to be useful to
Filipino investigative journalists and political activists, and on more than one occa-
sion I involved myself in efforts to assist people who were clearly victimized
by the local bosses who formed the focus of my research. Here the advantage
of being a foreigner – perhaps of being an American in particular – was not
the supposed analytical clarity and comparative perspective that is said to come
with distance, but my relative ‘untouchability’ as a well-connected ‘Kano poking
around in dangerous waters without fear of getting hurt. (2002: 131–132)
Sidel, though, was careful to put distance between himself and American
‘muckrakers’ for whom the Philippines did not measure up to the standards
and ideals of American democracy. Indeed, he was at pains ‘to reverse this
logic’ (2002: 132). He was keen to show that bossism was the product of
American colonialism and owed very little to indigenous Filipino political
culture. The ‘big men’ or ‘men of prowess’ – the precolonial counterparts
of modern bosses – were no less the product of structural conditions.
Precolonial political organization corresponded to particular ‘conditions
of land abundance, dispersed settlement, and shifting cultivation, with
kinship reckoned cognatically (bilaterally), and lineage ineffective in regulating
succession to political leadership. Under these circumstances, it is suggested,
power rested – in large part by default – on what Max Weber described as
charismatic authority’ (2002: 135). Today’s bosses may be understood as
latter-day ‘big men’ only insofar as underlying structural conditions have
remained close to those obtaining in the precolonial era (2002: 136).
In the light of this record, Ileto’s argument that Sidel set up the Phil-
ippines as a negative pole against which to compare real American democ-
racy, and believes that Spanish friars and American constables (by suppressing
the emergence of bosses) ‘saved the natives from themselves’, amounts to
little more than a crude and unconstructive caricature. Nowhere in his
work does Sidel suggest that American democracy should be idealized or

that precolonial big men reflect distinctive Filipino cultural traits. To the
contrary: ‘All my writings on local bosses in the Philippines have shown
that local forms of authoritarianism flourish under conditions of liberal demo-
cracy, not because of the passive acquiescence of Filipinos, but because of
the weight of colonial history and the dull compulsion of economic rela-
tions, in which American colonialism and global capitalism are clearly both
deeply implicated’ (2002: 138).
Comment
It is too soon to say whether or not Ileto’s arguments will have a lasting
effect on the study of the Philippine polity. All that can be said at the moment
is that the Philippines’ limited success in constructing a Weberian-style
rational bureaucracy, and in reducing personalism, impropriety and cor-
ruption, remains uppermost in the minds of many of its politicians, civil
servants, journalists and academics. Nevertheless, the debate is important,
and this is so in three respects.
1. First, Ileto’s arguments are infused with an interest in what may be
described as his subjects’ ‘dimensionality’. This refers to the various
meanings that actors attach to practice and understandings; to the multiple,
and often contradictory, qualities (such as beliefs, values, motivations,
intentions and emotions) which any given actor possesses; and to the
multiple roots and ramifications of any given practice or understanding.
The term is not Ileto’s, and a concern with dimensionality is not contin-
gent upon a decision to interpret studies of the Philippine polity through
‘orientalism’ (although, for Ileto at least, there does seem to be a connec-
tion). But ‘dimensionality’ carries with it the sense of his concern well
enough; and it implies that a certain practice or understanding may (by
virtue of its various dimensions) form part of different contexts simul-
taneously and, therefore, require various explanations.
Ileto’s interest is made especially clear during his counter-response to
Sidel in which he endorses Resil Mojares’ determination to explore the
complex and dimensional relationships among politicians and constituents
rather than to identify victims and predators and to apportion blame (2002).
It is this kind of attention to detail, to variation, to possibility, and to
dimension that Ileto would like to bring to the study of politics. Yes, con-
ditions in towns such as Tiaong, Dolores and Candelaria have fostered
predatory and local despotism; but there also exist among the towns’ elites
expressions of common good, a sense of community, justice and fairness.
Moreover, ‘these sentiments are not just the effects of recent democratizing
experiences, the birth of the radical movement, or . . . modern education since
the American-era tutelage. They were already present in those “backward”
and “crime-ridden” towns from the 1860s in a form that was, of course,
suited to those times or to the structural conditions prevailing then’ (2002:

173). Yes, municipal governments could be dominated by a boss-mayor, but
not always nor as often as is sometime thought. Bossism can be understood,
argues Ileto, only if it is set ‘within a field of possible responses to structural
conditions, and if we recognize that its materialization also spawned the
elements that would critique and possibly subvert it’ (2002).
2. Second, the debate initiated by Ileto illustrates both the sensitivity

surrounding motive and so (in a very intimate and personal way) the
relevance and significance of dimensionality. Ileto’s criticisms sting partly
because the scholars he criticizes find the motives ascribed to them repre-
hensible, and partly because the webs of structure and culture in which
those scholars are said to be entangled makes any escape from ascription
quite impossible. No matter how well scholars may think they know
their own minds, they are being told by Ileto that they are mistaken. There
is a delightful irony here, for it is under the terms of their own models
of the Philippine polity that American scholars confidently impute
motives to Filipino politicians, civil servant, business leaders, and
constituents. Sidel’s and Lande’s frustration at Ileto is probably no
more intense than the exasperation felt by many Filipino scholars at the
ease with which American scholarship wrongly assigns motives to other
Filipinos; and is likely to be exceeded only by the frustration of those
politicians and civil servants to whom American scholars attribute motives.
In this regard, the remarks of one legislative officer in the Philippine
Senate are telling. Despite the many and obvious faults with the country’s
political and bureaucratic organizations, there is much that is good and
much that works; and there is, to his mind, no question that there are
many politicians and civil servants who have the best interests of the
country at heart. And yet, instead of recognizing and encouraging these
strengths, ‘. . . we always see things in terms of what’s the problem . . . we’re
so negative. It’s gone so negative . . . Kawawa naman ang mga Pinoy [poor
old Filipinos!]: we think we are so corrupt, we’re so bad, we’re so dumb.’3
This chronic self-doubt is rooted in part with the lack of closure on so
many questions surrounding political leaders from Rizal, Bonifacio and
Aguinaldo at the birth of the country, to Roxas and Laurel families during
World War II, and to Marcos, Ninoy Aquino, Cory Aquino, Ramos and
Estrada . . . ‘There is always this feeling of . . . sweeping dirt under the rug
– the dirt is still there. There wasn’t really an effort to take out the dirt
and throw it in the trash and start again.’4 But part of the explanation
also lies with ‘the idea that the westerner knows more than we do . . . We’ve
survived, we’ve copied the western style . . . We’ve been under the old
west . . . and the new one and we’re adapting to it. We [have had] barely
100 years . . . You guys were worse than us . . . You had despots and dic-
tators and . . . the popes [have] killed so many people . . . And [yet] now
they all say [disparagingly] “democracy here” [in the Philippines]’5
The scholars criticized by Ileto are undoubtedly aware that their models
do not always capture the dimensionality of their subjects. This is clear in
their original work, and in their responses. Lande concedes that American
scholars have often missed or downplayed both the patriotic motives of
members of the elite, and the fact that reciprocity is the essence of clien-
telism (2002: 122). Sidel, too, acknowledges that while he was careful not
to explain away the legitimating claims of local bosses as expressions of an
instrumentalism, or to rely only on macro-economic conditions, his analysis,
for better and for worse, did give more emphasis to more objective con-
siderations (2002: 133–134). But if there is in these admissions the sense
that shaving away dimensions is an acceptable and necessary part of analysis,
then it leaves the reader wondering why scholars grant for themselves dimen-
sionality and self-determination, and yet so often deny these qualities to their
subjects. Just how reliable, then, are the scholars’ models and the motives
they impute?
3. Third, the debate sparked by Ileto appears to illustrate a general feature
common to the models developed by American scholars, and to Ileto’s
critique. American scholars may be quick to assign motives blanket-fashion,
but so too is Ileto. The motives he ascribes to American scholarship are
intended to be read not as an expression of his sense of irony, but as a
product of the structural and cultural conditions shaping scholarship
and, indeed, American society more generally.
One interpretation of this feature is that it is, perhaps, a necessary quality
of thought about a complex and dimensional world: thought-anchors are
needed if the analyst is to make sense of the world even though as a conse-
quence certain of its aspects are flattened or excised. Another interpretation
is that it is a product of the privilege and Realpolitik of academe. Azurin
(2002), a Filipino writer who is highly critical of Ileto, puts this case with
a deal of energy:
foreign researchers usually proceed from a departmental perspective or ‘school
of thought’. Also, they bring with them to the field site a carefully chosen set
of books to convince themselves of the validity of their research entry point,
objective and methodology. Among those of us who have mostly stayed at home,
there is this longstanding . . . joke – that any archaeologist from Michigan doing
fieldwork in the Philippines will sooner or later unearth the remains of ‘chief-
doms’. Why so? Principally because this notion of settlement structure and
dynamic is what their mentors had primed them to discover . . . Consider, too,
that their research time and budget is not infinite, nor are [they] gifted with
infinite knowledge or patience to explicate the diverse and confounding data.
(2002: 144)
Consequently, the researcher must spotlight: that is, they must concentrate
efforts ‘on the particular issue being “problematised” . . . [while] blurring
the “peripheral” concerns and factors intertwined with the multifaceted
reality’ (Azurin 2002, 145).
The limits imposed by departmental perspective and spotlighting – reinforced

by publish-or-perish, finish-or-fail demands of universities characterized
by a culture of careerism among students and staff, and a utilitarian attitude
to education and research – compel the scholar to play it safe. The result
is publications comprising a mix of risk-averse analysis and advocacy,
empirical field data and institutional bias (2002, 145, 146). The problems
which beset western studies of the Philippines are to be explained not by
‘orientalism’ but by ‘scholastic academism – an institutional process of
resonating or elaborating on a regimen of knowledge as perpetuated by a
‘school of thought’ or by the ‘masters of discipline’ (2002, 147).
IMPLICATIONS
It is clear that the dimensionality of the Philippine polity is widely recog-

nized, though perhaps it is fair to say that the meaning and significance of
that dimensionality is understood by Filipino writers with greater imme-
diacy. And yet it also appears that scholarship (regardless of nationality)
finds it difficult to give primacy to this quality.
How, then, should analysts deal with, and account for, the dimension-
ality that confronts them every day? Take, for example, an attempt by a mem-
ber of the Lower House to influence (in contravention of civil service
rules) the appointment of a principal to a school. This may often exhibit
a number of facets. Patron–client relations of the kind envisaged by Lande
– the distribution of favors and funds in return for electoral support in
one form or another – are undoubtedly part of the story (for teachers have
an important role in the administration of elections). But so, too, is a politi-
cian’s desire to repay a debt to a family friend, or her genuine interest in
the school and a concern that if she does not make the selection then another
politician will have another less worthy candidate appointed. Another facet,
then, is a frustration with what appears to be, from the point of view of
those concerned, the misallocation of authority. Under a system of govern-
ment (American in origin) that emphasizes the separation of powers and
the further division of authority within branches of government and among
agencies, the exercise of control and the number of actors involved in the
struggle over who really runs government are bound to be major issues as,
indeed, they are (argues Peters 1995) in America. Filipino politicians often
feel that they have more than enough authority over certain matters that
they see as peripheral, and far too little over matters that are central to
their interests and duties.6 This creates much dissatisfaction, prompting them
to take whatever measures necessary (proper and improper) to perform
what they hold to be their necessary functions and duties. This may also
go some way to help account for political interference in civil service
appointments more generally. Again, Lande’s patron–client relations are
certainly an important consideration: placements in the service are made
by politicians to reward supporters or keep them onside, and to establish
networks of insiders through which decisions (on, say, policy, spending, and
the implementation of projects and programs in their districts) are shaped or
determined, and funds siphoned off to meet election expenses. But the
extraction or burying of information, or a wish to stonewall and undermine
political opponents, are motives no less significant. There are also politicians
and political appointees who believe that the varied demands made of
them – and the poorly thought-out legal, procedural, organizational and
political in which they operate – leaves them with little choice but to
influence appointments (especially of those whom they know and trust)
in the bureaucracy if they are to do their best for their nation and meet
the needs of their constituents. It is also the case that politicians offer
support to those seeking appointments either out of sheer politeness8 and a
wish to show good form, or out of a desire to help a family in trouble.
One way of dealing with this kind of complexity is to continue with
the adjustment and application of existing models. Each study limits itself
to a particular dimension of the polity; but as long as the analytical frame-
work chosen and its underlying assumptions are not transformed into abso-
lutes, nor made a vehicle for careerism, then these efforts might, in aggregate,
yield a rounded and dimensional account of the Philippine polity.
Another way of accommodating dimensionality is to become concep-
tually footloose. This point is well made by Kerkvliet (1995) who argues that
models – particularly if they are held to explain large swathes of a society
– are very likely to be totalizing and prescriptive. It is more productive to
scrutinize the Philippine polity while keeping in mind ‘all or as many avail-
able interpretations and approaches as possible and remaining open to being
surprised by findings that do not fit any of them’ (p. 419).
Still another possible approach is to shift emphasis away from those struc-
tures, cultures, or phenomena that scholars believe prescribe or condition
the behavior and motivation of their Filipino subjects, and towards an under-
standing of their subjects’ understanding of their own world and their place
within it. What are their representations of the circumstances, constraints,
and opportunities they face? What are their versions of ‘structure’, ‘culture’ and
‘self ’. How, and to what extent, do their representations inform subsequent
action? And to what extent, and how, are their actions portrayed in
subsequent representations? Analysts are now drawn into a difficult multi-
disciplinary arena where phenomenology or more specifically (and perhaps
more usefully) intentionality,9 and the social psychologists’ notion of social
(common and shared) representations,10 become of special interest. And
in building up accounts of interactions between the subjects’ representations
and practices, analysts are brought face to face with a number of challenges.
Insofar structure and culture are considered as independent and conditioning
phenomena, scholars can no longer rely on their incorporation into the
architecture of their models. Instead, representations – including a subject’s
representations of ‘culture’, ‘structure’ or ‘self ’ – take on a particular
saliency in an understanding of the organization and coordination of
action and behavior. And since representations are complex, dimensional

and probably in constant change, then the reality out there – the composite
pattern of practices informed by representations – is likely to be extremely
fuzzy. This may be so even at a smaller scale. As Katz and Kahn note in
their discussion of role sending and receiving within organizations:
Each individual responds to the organization in terms of his perceptions of it,
which may differ in various ways from the actual organization. In the immediate
sense, the individual responds not to the objective organization in his objective
social environment but to that representation of it which is in his psychological
environment. (1967, 177)
Scholars would also need to operate within a context that possesses a strongly
reflexive quality, and in which it is a simple truism to say that the scholar
cannot be entirely objective. How, then, does the analyst elicit and distin-
guish between representations and practice? It is possible, through careful
and multiple triangulation and observations, to achieve a serviceable por-
trayal of aspects of practice in the Philippine polity. But that portrayal is itself
no more than a representation. To what extent and in what ways is it influ-
enced by the scholar’s own experience and personality, or by common (and
possibly inaccurate) representations drawn from politicians, civil servants,
and constituents? And to what extent, and in what ways, might the accumu-
lating weight of academic analyses – once disseminated through universities
in the Philippines and overseas – begin to alter the practices that scholars
seek to explain? Take, for instance, the heavy emphasis on corruption and
its eradication within the civil service. This has contributed to a thickening
of policing and oversight layers, and to a purist or absolutist interpretation
of rules as civil servants attempt to preempt and deflect any suggestion that
they may be acting improperly. Inflexibility and a lack of experimentation
and creativity follow, and potentially valuable practices are left hidden or
undeveloped simply because they are not regarded as ‘formal’. To what
extent has scholarship contributed to this malaise by elaborating upon existing
representations of weakness, distortion and corruption, or by creating new
ones, and feeding them back into the polity?
Conclusions
Ileto’s critique of American scholarship, and the equally forthright responses
to these criticisms, have brought home in a very direct, immediate, and
emotional sense, the significance of the Philippine polity’s dimensionality.
However, the business of accommodating that dimensionality in analysis
clearly requires detailed conceptual and methodological development, and
asks the analyst to revisit notions of intentionality and social representa-
tions. A number of other questions will also need to be considered. How
far should the scholars focus on the analysis of what are held to be either
objective or subjective conditions? How hard should they strive for a
rigorously objective account or give way to subjectivity? To what extent

should scholars commit themselves to political advocacy? How concerned
should scholars be about what they feel to be the misinterpretation of their
work? To what extent should they attempt in their writing to preempt
the possible misinterpretation and accumulation of their ideas such that,
drawn into practice, they might begin to exert a negative influence on
their subjects? And how far are scholars able to break the link between
their analyses on the one hand, and ego, self-esteem and careerism on the
other? In answering such questions, perhaps one principle which ought
to guide discussion is the extent to which those answers lead scholars
to facilitate or impede the accommodation of dimensionality and the
flow, exchange and development of ideas. If scholars becomes less willing
to consider other possible interpretations, more reluctant to challenge
accepted ideas, more afraid to take risks, and more afraid to release
thought occasionally from the anchors that hold their discussion to
particular channels, then those answers need to be reconsidered. For
what is research about if it is not about trial, error, experimentation and
imagination?
Short Biography
Rupert Hodder is a member of the School of Geography and the Plymouth
International Studies Center at the University of Plymouth. He is currently
working on a study of the Philippine civil service.
Acknowledgements
This paper forms only a part of a wider study on the Philippine civil service.
There are a great many people who supported me during this project (and
who are continuing to do so). Their names, their contributions and my
deep gratitude will be made plain at a later date. I would, however, like to
acknowledge here: Senator Miriam Defensor-Santiago for all her help; Dalmen
Enterprises (Davao) for its generous financial support; Obeth and Tessie
for all their hard work; and my department for allowing me the time and
room to conduct much of this work in the Philippines.
Notes
* Corresponding author: Rupert Hodder, School of Geography, Faculty of Science, University
of Plymouth, Drake Circus, Plymouth PL1 8AA, UK. E-mail: r.hodder-1@plymouth.ac.uk.
1
See also Linz and Chehabi (1990), cited in Thompson (1995).
2
The term is a reference to Weber’s notion of end-rational or instrumental action around
which, he believed, an effective bureaucracy forms; and, therefore, to the elimination from
official business of ‘personal, irrational, and emotional elements which escape calculation’
(Weber 1997: 216).

3
Pawid, L., Legislative Staff Officer, Office of Senator Gordon, interview with the author, The
Philippine Senate, Pasay City, September 17, 2007.
4
Ibid.
5
Ibid.
6
Cayetano, A. P., Senator. Interview with the author, the Philippine Senate, Pasay City,
December 19, 2007. This question on the misallocation of authority, and its relation to the
dimensionality of political behaviour, is considered in a little more detail elsewhere (Hodder,
forthcoming).
7
Inocentes, A., Undersecretary, Department of Education. Interview with the author, October
1, 2007; Konstantino-David, C. Chair, Civil Service Commission, Quezon City. Interview
with the author, December 27, 2007; Pawid, L., Legislative Staff Officer, Office of Senator
Gordon. Interview with the author, The Philippine Senate, Pasay City, September 17, 2007.
8
These points are made frequently by politicians who will insist that, in most cases, their
endorsements are only recommendations and are provided only if the applicant is qualified. The
claim is often confirmed independently by low-level officials involved in the administration of
selection procedures (and who read the traffic in letters) and by high-level officials involved in
decision-making. From their perspective there is no question that while many applications are
accompanied by references from politicians, these letters are indeed commonly treated only as
recommendations by both civil servants and politicians. However, this is not always true, and
there is considerable variation from one agency to the next.
9
See, for instance, Dilthey (1976) and Durkheim (1984).
10
See, for instance, Farr and Moscovici (1984).
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Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.

Orientalism and the Study of the Philippine Polity

important measures through personal trustees, table-companions, or court-

conditions. Widespread poverty and economic insecurity greatly accentuate

work does Sidel suggest that American democracy should be idealized or

suited to those times or to the structural conditions prevailing then’ (2002:

2. Second, the debate initiated by Ileto illustrates both the sensitivity

The limits imposed by departmental perspective and spotlighting – reinforced

It is clear that the dimensionality of the Philippine polity is widely recog-

action and behavior. And since representations are complex, dimensional

rigorously objective account or give way to subjectivity? To what extent

© 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.x

© 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.x

© 2009 The Author Geography Compass 3/3 (2009): 918–931, 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00236.x

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