Fanhasso - 10 Years Later
10 years ago the cultural arts group Inetnon Gefpågo premiered "Fanhasso, Fanhita, Fanachu" a musical journey through Guam History and Chamorro issues written by Michael Lujan Bevacqua and Victoria Leon Guerrero, with choreography by Vince Reyes. The musical was directed by Clifford Guzman. The cast was made up of island youth in the group Inetnon Gefpågo.
“Decolonization Before Our Eyes”
Michael Lujan Bevacqua
Marianas Variety
Fanhasso. Fanhita. Fanachu. These are strong, deep words which we should keep with us as we face, whether as a community or individuals, the challenges of our lives. Reflect. Come together. Rise.
These three words come from the title of a play which I co-wrote with Victoria Leon Guerrero, directed by Cliff Guzman and was performed recently by the Chamorro cultural dance group Inetnon Gefpago in celebration of their 10 year anniversary. The content of the play was a mixture of the huge collection of dances which Inetnon Gefpago has created or adapted over the years, with a story of Chamorro empowerment through the celebration of Chamorro history and culture.
Although there are many different interpretations and understandings on Guam about what decolonization is or might mean out there; some cultural (reviving practices), some political (changing political status), some fearful (turning back the clock), one of the reasons why I was so excited to work with Inenton Gefpago, one of the now numerous Chamorro cultural dance groups on Guam is because of the way they have over the past 30 years, brought about a very real example of what decolonization is.
We all know the tragedies whereby Chamorros were prohibited from practicing certain cultural forms when the Spanish colonization began in the late 17th century. The transmission of some knowledge, history and culture was radically disrupted. As a result we do not know what those dances looked like.
But, the true tragedy of that loss is not how the dances themselves were lost, but how Chamorros from that point would see themselves fundamentally differently, and amongst other things, incapable of creating their own dances again. Under the Spanish and up until today, Chamorros lost their sovereignty, or their ability to see themselves as not just a distinct people, but one who is not simply battered about by the violent waves of the world, but a people who have control over their culture and their destiny.
From then on, even though Chamorros continue to exist as a people with their own language and culture, whatever happens after that moment is always tainted with the notion that it is not really theirs. Chamorros borrow new dances from other cultures and dance them and eventually make them their own, but constantly qualify their dancing as never really belonging to them, but always saying that this dance isn’t really Chamorro, but comes from Spain, Mexico, the Philippines or the US. Even though Chamorros had the ability and creativity to start their traditions anew, for centuries a set of paralyzing thoughts dominated the minds of Chamorros: that because the continuity of their culture was cut, they could never authentically claim these art forms again. There could never truly be “Chamorro dances” again.
Thirty years ago, that began to change. People started to research what information could be found on ancient dances, they traveled to other islands to see what sorts of themes native various Pacific dances and chants had. Eventually new Chamorro dances were created, not meant to represent how Chamorros danced 400 years ago, but rather each as a recreation or an homage to that era. At first, these dancers were sometimes mocked and laughed at for “making things up,” but in time much of that changed. When we look around the island today, Chamorro dances are fixtures at all public events, and there are dozens of different groups and styles to watch or join.
This is the nature of decolonization. It can start off small and something which most people resist or refuse to believe because it seems to contradict the very flow of history, but when it does happen, literally the ground beneath our feet changes, and most don’t even notice. For example, the crowds of people who snickered at the first generation of Chamorro dancers, now eagerly send their children and grandchildren to join the same dance groups.
We should all congratulate the many teachers and leaders who have made this act of decolonization possible, and we should look to this as an example of how, even though the tragedies of history bear down heavy upon the Chamorro people, that trauma should not and must not define our lives. The violence of colonization, recent or ancient, haunts a people and makes them at times feel cursed, inferior or dependent. Decolonization is something which each passing generation takes on in their own way and is at its core about the empowerment of the colonized, the instilling in them a feeling of control over their present and future. But when a true act of decolonization takes place, it is truly a marvel to witness. For it is the feeling of seeing something which was assumed impossible for so long, manifest right before your very eyes.
This year, the cultural arts group Inetnon Gefpågo celebrates its 20th year anniversary. As with so many things in 2020, a grand celebration and an in-person beautiful gathering — ironically the group’s name means “beautiful gathering” — cannot take place.
That year, the musical “Fanhasso, Fanhita, Fanachu” was performed for their 10-year anniversary celebration at the Sheraton Hotel. Vince was the musical’s choreographer and Clifford Guzman the director.
The script was written in the wake of the release of the draft environmental impact statement for the U.S. military buildup the year earlier. The Department of Defense had released a document of more than 11,000 pages, which outlined the potential impacts of their plans for increasing their presence on the island.
The community was given 90 days to read it and respond to it through public comments. It was during this period that the organization We Are Guåhan emerged, formed from individuals initially coming together to help divide up the reading and interpreting of the draft environmental impact statement and then disseminating it to the wider community.
The buildup up till that point had been depicted in the media and by local leaders as a “golden ticket,” something that would make Guam’s economic dreams come true. For those that pored through those thousands of pages, the truth according to the studies of the Defense Department itself was much different. One thing that galvanized public attention at the time was the intended use of Pågat for a firing range complex, which would close off the area to the public.
We wrote “Fanhasso, Fanhita, Fanachu” looking ahead into the future, when the buildup was in full swing, and Pågat had been taken by the military and construction begun. A group of young CHamorus, formerly of a cultural dance group, are drawn by a voice in their dreams to the Pågat area. There they reconnect with the spirit of Fu’una and learn their history through series of dances and chants by taotaomo’na. When the morning comes, they must make a choice about whether to make a stand for their island and culture or let Pågat be lost.
In 2014, this musical was reimagined as the play “Pågat” and premiered at the University of Guam. Up until this day, I still have community members ask me when there will be a “Pågat” revival. I often remark that rather than a revival, there should be a sequel, perhaps titled “Litekyan.”
Next week’s webinar will feature actors and dancers from the original performance, who will share their memories and also talk about where they are in their lives now, 10 years later. More than anything, the hope for this webinar is to provide another reminder about the importance of cultural arts in terms of empowering our community, most importantly our youth.
Come join us next Tuesday to learn more.
Michael Lujan Bevacqua is an author, artist and activist who works for Sen. Kelly Marsh.
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