It seems that, for many people, a “dialogue” looks a lot like an argument, where someone wins based on invisible, yet implicit, ethical standards. This seems to be especially true in discussions on cultural identity and appropriation, where gatekeepers (not culture-bearers) impose very clear boundaries.

Cultures do not have strict boundaries; many borrow (or take) stories and technologies from each other. Something can only ever be fully defined when it is not moving, but that would mean that it is dead. Culture is the current in a river of shared humanity, ever living, ever flowing.

What, then, can it look like to affirm and respect differences, while acknowledging the humanity that connects us all?

Creating Differences

In our attempt to understand the world, we end up endlessly categorizing things into one or the other. In both the scientific arena and the sociopolitical sphere, we have become aware of hierarchies, dichotomies, and differences. In our criticism of certain structures, we are not truly dismantling them; rather, we are constantly affirming them. Even within my field, there is a tendency to contrast indigenous, non-Western values to Western values, usually to show how morally superior we are to the corrupt and hollow West. The most this says is that we value different things, not necessarily that one is better than the other. After all, Western values are indigenous to Western culture in the sense that they evolved through their own history and geopolitical affairs.

As it is popularly understood, a major difference between Western and Eastern cultures is that the former is more individualistic, and the latter more collectivistic. Mindless interaction between the two has been, for better or worse, either by fetish or fear. That there are “individualistic” and “collectivistic” cultures is one of the lazier generalizations in cross-cultural psychology. Furthermore, it has nothing to do whatsoever with geographical location: many cultures in South America are community-oriented, whereas many people from industrialized cultures in Eastern Asia are more ambitious and isolated. When we speak, therefore, of “West” and “East” (or even, Global North and Global South), we are not talking literally; we are talking philosophically.

I was born and raised as a Filipino, so this essay comes from my perspective, shaped by the culture I have gotten used to. It is a Filipino perspective, but it is not the essential or foundational one. But let us be clear: culture is not bound by one’s nationality. There is no singular “American” culture any more than there is a singular “Filipino” or “Japanese” or “Italian” culture. When we say that some people are more or less “Filipino,” we are not setting them against the standards of a culture, but against the standards of a nation, which is an imagined geopolitical thing—and this is largely shaped by the agendas of those in power.

Within what we know as the United States, there are many cultures, and even within a group such as “Asian-Americans,” there are still more varied cultures depending on one’s heritage. Within the Philippines, there are many cultural dichotomies (hating kultural), each representing various social locations by birth, affiliation, or socioeconomic status: taga-lungsod (urban) and taga-probinsya (rural), burgis (elite), and bakya (masses), Kristiyano (Christian, but more generally referring to lowlanders), and katutubo (Indigenous People). There are also nuances by group and by family, which are often lazily described by outsiders in terms of stereotypes.

So, when we refer to “culture,” we are actually just talking about adaptive differences shaped by biology, geography, and history. This applies to small groups, but also to groups that come together. Cultural heritage is how we have survived and decorated the places we call home. Language and fashion develop based on what is useful to us. For example, we Filipinos do not have a native word for snow—we borrow the Spanish nieve—because it does not snow here. However, we do have many words for rice at all stages of its household use, even for when it is past its freshness. We are also shaped by our interactions with other cultures, either by imposition or assimilation.

Much has already been said about the colonial history of the Philippines, and about how many foreign standards are still imposed today. This is true in economics and politics, but also in smaller, everyday things. For example, in Metro Manila, where the thick concrete absorbs the heat of the tropical sun, warm jackets are worn to signify status and coolness. Colonial mentality is often impractical. That said, as writer Nick Joaquin pointed out in Culture and History, many technologies that we enjoy today were brought in through trade and colonization—this includes our modes of transportation, cooking techniques, the printing press, etc. Adobo, the jeepney, and the Barong Tagalog are distinctly “Filipino” even though they are of foreign origin.

There is also much to talk about regarding the interplay of various cultures, and how each one manifests in various places. We can see this in the experience of immigrants everywhere (there are millions of Filipinos living and working abroad), the dominance of Manila-centric ideologies across the varied regional cultures of the Philippines, the enduring hospitality of locals to even the rudest foreigner, and so on. We engage in intercultural dialogue wherever we go, even without leaving our place of residence. In fact, we are allied with each other despite all our differences because we are all human. And so, instead of imposing what has worked for us, it would do us well to learn the many ways of living in the world.

Learning to Listen

Our divisiveness today is rooted in the same human tendency that led to capitalism, totalitarianism, and colonialism, that is, a mindset characterized by kaniya-kaniya (to each their own). Even with good intentions toward collective liberation and indigenization, we might enter haphazardly into the territory of ethnocentrism, xenophobia, and jingoism.

When we view the “colonizer” only as a dangerous foreigner, we tend to ignore the colonizer within, which is the tendency we all have to enter without consent (panghihimasok) and to take without permission (pananakop).

What might it look like to move from the possession and ownership of culture, land, and power to collaboration, stewardship, and mutual flourishing?

As an antidote to harmful social conditioning, we can revisit the intuitive and indigenous. At the core of Philippine folk psychology is a recognition that we are part of a larger whole, not as a singular thing, but as an interplay of interconnected yet beautifully diverse parts. This is most popularly known as Kapwa, a Filipino term that refers to a common identity and a sense of belongingness. The Ilokano concept of Nakem also stands out, as it refers to the relationship of one’s interiority to the larger ecology of people, nature, and spirits. At the meeting of self and other, we see that, despite our differences, we grow from the same earth. It is, as the Bisaya would say, our Kahimtang, our place and shared condition.

Now, if we seek to engage in genuine dialogue across cultural differences within and beyond nations, we can revisit an interesting approach from the Philippine indigenization movements. It is called the kros-katutubo or cross-indigenous approach. The idea is simple: instead of treating other cultures as targets for analysis and domination, we treat them as sources of wisdom. “Indigenous” simply refers to whatever emerges naturally from a particular culture, and so a cross-indigenous approach is essentially a round table, with everyone welcome to sit in. Each of us becomes a culture-bearer. This is relevant in ethical and collaborative social science research (as opposed to exploitative and agenda-driven research), but it is also useful in everyday conversations. This is, fundamentally, an application of Kapwa philosophy. If we are to encourage multicultural diversity, this approach can be incredibly valuable and nourishing.

With respect to the great scholars who came before me, such as Virgilio Enriquez, Rogelia Pe-Pua, and all other critical Kapwa-oriented researchers locally and globally, here are a few important principles for Kros-Katutubo Dialogue:

1. When faced with something or someone new, welcome it or them as an opportunity to recognize a different aspect of your own personhood. Feel with them, be mindful of their moods, and carefully adjust your manners depending on whether something seems appropriate to do or say.

2. Remember that, even if someone is a stranger, they are still knowledgeable in their own way; they have their own life experiences, and they have much to teach you. Be open to this.

3. Do not be quick to sell or expose the knowledge you receive. Your first thought must be whether what you do with this new knowledge will benefit the other. And, if you do have the opportunity to share what you learn, let it be affirmed by them, to ensure that you truly understand.

We do not have to “go native” to understand a different culture, but working with local communities can help us develop our fluency in Kros-Katutubo Dialogue. In this age of information, we are constantly in connection with various cultures around the world, and despite the anonymity and scatteredness of our online spheres, there is the potential to practice intercultural dialogue. In the midst of global confusion and polarization, Kros-Katutubo Dialogue can help bridge divides and guide us toward a collective understanding of the planet we all call home.