“Poetry in a Bottle: The Story of Basi” (The University of the Philippines Press, 2024) by Arturo G. Pacho and Sigrid M. Salucop is much more than an introduction to the traditional sugarcane wine of the Ilocos Region. It goes beyond a discussion of an alcoholic beverage, it presents basi as a symbol of Filipino identity, creativity and heritage.
Consider the very title of the book. It uses basi as a “work of art containing stories, emotions and cultural memory.” It shows how basi has become the inspiration for literature, songs, community celebrations and age-old traditions. It pays tribute to the basi workers and the role of basi in the economic, social and cultural lives of the Ilokanos. It strives to keep basi production and the industry alive, naming the countless nameless workers involved in its production beyond the individual basi maker and producers. These include the sugarcane farmers, suppliers of materials used in basi making, gatherers of essential bark and leaves, bus and truck drivers, sari-sari store owners, hotels and restaurant establishments that cater to tourists, etc.
Even those who have not imbibed basi get to be acquainted with it through the narratives captured in the book. The book yields a host of interesting information for the reader just being acquainted with this sugarcane wine.
Basi, as it is called in the vernacular, comes in different varieties to suit different tastes. The bitter, stronger kind is referred to as basing lalaki or a man’s drink. The sweeter version is a woman’s drink. A third kind, interestingly enough, is meant for very old men. But don’t let these gender labels lead one to think they show how women are regarded in Ilocano society. They produced a courageous and an extraordinary Gabriela Silang, after all. Ubing, the Ilocano word for child, is another type of basi – not meant for children but to point out that it is fermented only for six months.
Basi making may have had its origins in Chinese winemaking. But more research to ascertain this has yet to be made. This traditional drink which predates Spanish colonization has been indigenized in a way because the boiling sugarcane juice is mixed with natural fermenting and flavoring agents from the bark and leaves and fruits of the samac/samak tree and fermented in earthen jars.
Basi is such a part of Ilocano culture that it plays a major role in family feasts and celebrations. The degree of merriment may be measured by the stories, the feasting, the endless drinking of guests. Before the wedding itself, basi is presented along with the many gift offerings to the parents of the bride, along with blankets, home utensils and even a carabao. This is the Ilocano courtship ritual, during which a jug of basi is shared with both families, guided by the lore that “if you have wine, you can negotiate.” The drinking together is viewed as a “symbolic act of communion and strong family ties,” also meant to shed inhibitions and apprehensions about the wedding.
During death rituals, before a celebration begins, the guests are washed with water and basi by the widow to ward off the hovering spirit of death.
For many of us, basi is familiarly associated with the Basi Revolt of 1807, which arose from the Spanish government’s monopoly over basi production. The pages devoted to this important historical event highlights how a simple local beverage became intertwined with struggles for justice, freedom and economic independence. That basi carries much political and historical meanings beyond conjuring the sentiments of childhood and homecomings.
The origin of the grievance stemmed from the strict enforcement of the Wine Monopoly Act which stipulated that the making, distribution and sale of alcoholic beverages, basi included, would be controlled by the Spanish administration.
This was serious enough for the Ilocanos who depended on their heritage drink for their livelihood. Another contributing factor was the severe drought from 1803 to 1807 in the Ilocos, resulting in the failure of agricultural crops. Men were also conscripted to work in the Spanish militia with low and unfair compensation, or even with none at all. Others were made to do forced labor, keeping them away from home and families.
It was in this hostile and volatile environment when two men, Pedro Mateo and Saralogo Ambaristo, decided to stage a rebellion that started up in Piddig in the north. The rebellion was initially successful when rebel forces ransacked towns and confiscated supplies from the Spanish armory. The rebellion gained more followers with this. Until the Spanish forces and the clergy sought help from Manila. The rebels lost heavily with the reinforcements and the two leaders were captured on Sept. 30, 1807. A swift trial for Mateo and Ambaristo followed with their death by hanging at the Vigan Plaza on Oct. 3.
Though a short-lived rebellion of 18 days, history remembers the Basi Revolt as a step towards the Philippine Revolution of 1896, 89 years later. Historian Gregorio Zaide wrote in 1990: “Notwithstanding their failure, the early Filipino revolts were of vast significance … they proved that the Filipinos were not satisfied to remain as an oppressed, dependent people and that if given the chance to do so, they never hesitated or faltered to strike for dignity, liberty and happiness.”