RËNDAWI KËADATAN: Decolonizing Gender Activism: Lessons from the Tëduray and the Guardians of Nature
UPI, Maguindanao del Norte (MindaNews/ 28 July) — In the heart of the
mountains, where trees speak and rivers are watched over by guardian
spirits, the Teduray people live with a sacred sense of balance. Here,
gender is not boxed, and nature is not owned. As a child, I did not
learn this truth from textbooks or classrooms—but from the wisdom of my
grandfather and the lived spirituality of my people.
“Kago se tifos-tifosën da kayëw nan kë ënda mëgëtaw go.” (Do not cut the tree without asking permission).
I remember carving a toy out of a tree branch when my grandfather said these words. When I asked him why, he explained, “Kën katom da kayëw nan ëwën soy mantay de” (Humans do not own the trees. Spirits protect them).
He told me of Tunung, a guardian spirit who watches over nature as it grows. It was in that moment I began to understand that nature has rights, and so does every being within it. If trees are to be treated with reverence, how much more should we treat all human beings—regardless of their gender—with dignity and respect?
The Teduray Concept of Equality: Kesgilew-gilew and Serefeng
Among the Teduray, we live by the principles of kësgilëw-gilëw and sërëfëng, meaning “equal level” or “highest form of equality.” This indigenous philosophy guides us to treat every being—human or spirit, tree or river, man, woman, or non-binary as equal. This is not just an ideal, but a practice embedded in our daily lives and rituals.
Growing up, I saw this sacred equality in action. In our rituals, spiritual leaders Bebe Mofënda, Bebe Mokuryo, Bebe Mëngalang, Bebe Nono —were all treated equally, regardless of gender identity. My own mother was a respected leader, and never once did she have to defend her place in our community because of her gender. Inclusion was not something we fought for; it was something we lived.
Nature as a Mirror of Gender Diversity
My friend Jomar Mosela once shared a powerful reflection:
“E kluhanay de nohok ëwën soy mëntëfëwalëy de ëwën soy do mëntëfëwalëy libun de lok lagëy, fëdiyo ton ewen deb kafaya e lok bongo, ide lukës amuk ëwën do nohok remasi sa mulak brab dakël tin ënda mëgonokën, dëb bero we tanding ro mënlagëy lok mëgonok mënlibun bëno bero we ewenen këtanding ro bëké mëntëfëwalëy ide nohok mëlaw bë ëtëw mëntigan so bë ëtëw kë sërëfëng tom sa mëlaw sëgilëw-gilëw ëtëw we” (Some plants are naturally female, while others develop as male and cannot bear fruit. Papaya trees that produce flowers but not fruit are still considered a natural part of life. Elders view this as normal—not a flaw. Similarly, in human beings, this diversity is a natural part of life. We are all equal).
This view is not symbolic—it is literal. Just as we do not punish a tree for not bearing fruit, the Teduray do not punish individuals for not conforming to binary gender roles. Our way of understanding gender is deeply rooted in nature, and nature teaches us that diversity is part of balance.
The Clash: Colonized Education and the Erasure of Indigenous Gender Systems
When I left the community for formal education, I entered a system that saw my truth as a lie. Teachers—many of whom were not indigenous—taught us that there were only two genders, and anything outside that binary was unnatural. Suddenly, my world split in two: the one that accepted me at home, and the one that condemned at school and in church.
Even nature, once a mirror of our values, became a battleground. Trees like papaya were destroyed when they didn’t bear fruit—interpreted as failures, not as valid expressions of life. This thinking, when applied to people, is dangerous. It destroys not only trees but also the spirits, stories, and selves of those who live beyond the binary.
Reclaiming Gender Activism from the Ground Up
In college, I joined social movements advocating for gender rights. But I began to notice that mainstream activism, though necessary, often drew from Western frameworks that ignored the richness of indigenous gender systems. Gender activism needs to be decolonized. We must not only include indigenous perspectives we must center them.
The Teduray are not newcomers to gender justice. We are its keepers. Our community doesn’t need to “catch up” with modern ideas we’ve already lived them, long before the West had language for it.
Mëntëfëwalëy: Becoming Whole, Not Changing Form
In Stuart Schlegel’s book, Wisdom from the Rainforest, he writes about Idëng Ukà, a respected member of the Teduray community who was recognized fully as a woman. Not in spite of her assigned sex at birth but because, simply, she was a woman.
The Teduray term mëntëfëwalëy libun means “one who has fully become a woman.” This is not a transformation, but an affirmation. A mëntëfëwalëy libun is not seen as a man who became a woman, but as a woman who affirms her identity through her actions, her spirit, her choices, and her way of life.
Unlike terms such as “transsexual” or even bakla, which can carry connotations of being incomplete or in-between, mëntëfëwalëy is whole. The presence of male anatomy does not make someone “less” of a woman. It only means, as Schlegel once explained, that such a woman may not bear children and therefore does not require marriage, which in our culture primarily serves to raise offspring.
We must also be precise: mëntëfëwalëy (becoming completely) is not to be confused with mëntëfuwalëy,which comes from the root mëntëfu (punishment) and implies becoming something through violation. The difference is crucial one is sacred becoming, the other, spiritual consequence.
A Call to Listen to the Forest
As society pushes for inclusion, we must remember that not all progress comes from new laws or global frameworks. Sometimes, the most radical truths have always been here carried in the winds, whispered by trees, and spoken through the rituals of people like the Teduray.
The Teduray have long lived in a world where gender is not policed but honored, where identity is not debated but affirmed, where everyone has a place in the circle. To decolonize gender activism is to listen—truly listen—to the voices of the rainforest, the elders, and the spirits.
It is time we understand that the wisdom the world seeks may not be new. It may be ancient. And it may be growing, quietly, in the mountains.
(MindaViews is the opinion section of MindaNews. Edward Intang Abelardo is a proud Tëduray young leader and staunch advocate of the Non-Moro Indigenous Peoples (NMIP) in the Bangsamoro Region. He has amplified the voices of Mindanaon Indigenous communities across local and global platforms—merging grassroots activism with strategic political engagement. Recognized as an Indigenous Peoples Champion of BARMM, Edward continues to be at the forefront of the movement for self-determination, cultural preservation, and meaningful inclusion in governance. The title of this column, Rëndawi Këadatan, means “The Light of Culture”)
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