11/21/2025
On 21 November 1849, Governor-General Narciso Clavería y Zaldúa issued a decree that set out to standardize the surnames of the native population. The measure aimed to resolve what colonial authorities dramatically described as “confusion in the administration of justice, government, finance, and public order,” a situation they pinned on the “general lack of surnames which distinguished them by families” (Clavería 1973, x).
𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝟭𝟴𝟰𝟵 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗔 𝗗𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗦
Javier Leonardo V. Rugería
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On 25 April 1873, the común de principalia of Gubát—then still under the Province of Albay—elected Don Tomás Endeno as their gobernadorcillo or town mayor. Albay’s alcalde mayor, Don Luis Pita Santamarina, reported that the town’s electors, a group of thirteen, included past (pasados) and present (actuales) cabezas de barangay such as Don Mariano Encinas, Feliciano Escalante, Fruto Estareja, Pedro Espino, and Vicente Estipona.
The freshly elected mayor then nominated his relative, Don Mariano Endeno, as teniente mayor, Remigio Estavillo as juez mayor de sementeras, and Teodoro Espedido as juez mayor de ganados. At first glance, one can’t help but notice a curious little quirk: the surnames of all these men march in neatly under the same letter. This pattern—hardly exclusive to Gubát—can be traced to a far-reaching administrative reform rolled out across the Philippine colony some two decades earlier.
On 21 November 1849, Governor-General Narciso Clavería y Zaldúa issued a decree that set out to standardize the surnames of the native population. The measure aimed to resolve what colonial authorities dramatically described as “confusion in the administration of justice, government, finance, and public order,” a situation they pinned on the “general lack of surnames which distinguished them by families” (Clavería 1973, x).
Before the decree, many natives simply picked from a slim menu of Christian names—San José, Santos, de la Cruz, and the like—creating a kind of island-wide echo of repeating surnames. These names weren’t even hereditary. As the decree pointed out, “family names are not transmitted from the parents to their children, so that it is impossible to prove the degrees of consanguinity” (ibid).
While such naming habits worked well enough within local communities, they gave the colonial state quite the administrative headache—especially as it grew more intent on tidy record-keeping, clear legal identification, reliable tribute collection, and, of course, keeping a careful eye on its subjects.
To remedy these administrative headaches, Clavería ordered the compilation and distribution of the Catálogo Alfabético de Apellidos, a sweeping alphabetical inventory of family names that included both Spanish surnames and indigenous ones gathered by the Fathers Provincial of the religious orders. Once the Catálogo reached the provinces, the alcalde mayores assigned each town a specific letter—essentially giving every community its own alphabetical “zone”—and families were to choose surnames beginning with that letter. The result was a set of naming patterns that would soon become hallmarks of nineteenth-century Philippine municipal life.
After assembling each town’s curated list of surnames, the alcalde mayores forwarded these to the parish priests, who then distributed them to the cabecerías (barangays) with help from the gobernadorcillo and other members of the principalia. The head of each family selected a surname from the town’s list, which he—and all his descendants—would carry from then on.
The pattern visible in the 1873 Gubát election, where municipal officials and members of the principalia sport surnames beginning with “E,” is one of the more charming footprints left by this sweeping administrative reform.
Domingo Abella (1973, vii) observes that this pattern is especially striking in Bikol, where the alphabet “is laid out like a garland over the provinces of Albay, Sorsogon, and Catanduanes.” He elaborates: “Beginning with A at the provincial capital, the letters B and C mark the towns along the coast beyond Tabaco to Tiwi. We return and trace along the coast of Sorsogon the letters E to L; then starting down the Iraya Valley at Daraga with M, we stop with S to Polangui and Libon, and finish the alphabet with a quick tour around the island of Catanduanes.”
Because of this alphabetical choreography, we find, for example, the Benavente, Bellen, and Bañares families in Bacacay; the Frivaldo, Fresnido, and Flores families in Bulusan; and the Ribaya, Roncesvalles, and Regalario families in Oas.
The legacy of the Clavería Decree of 1849 lives on in the widespread adoption of Spanish—and even indigenous—surnames across the Philippines. Its imprint also lingers in the very architecture of Filipino local communities, where alphabetical clustering quietly shaped patterns of kinship, local governance, and social recognition. The case of Gubát shows how a seemingly dry bureaucratic reform could reach straight into the intimate sphere of families, subtly reorganizing the social fabric of pueblos and weaving colonial reform—if not outright authority—into the rhythms of everyday life.
Does your town have its own signature surname patterns? Which ones pop up everywhere you turn?
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The Rurip Series is a collection of essays or articles by Saysay Bikol that "submerge" into timely, seasonal, and historically significant themes of the Bikol region. Inspired by the word rurip, meaning to dive, each piece delves deeply into cultural, social, or historical topics vital to Bikolano identity and way of life.
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REFERENCES
Abella, Domingo. 1973. “Introduction.” In Narico Claveria y Zaldua’s Catalogo Alfabetico de Apellidos. Manila: National Archives.
Claveria y Zaldua, Narciso. 1973. Catálogo alfabético de apellidos. Manila: National Archives.
Libro de Bautismos, Bacacay, 1865-1870 via FamilySearch.org.
National Archives of the Philippines. 1873-1887. Varias Provincias-Sorsogon, SDS 003781.
Padron de Almas, Bulusan, Sorsogon, 1874-1881, 1883-1887 via FamilySearch.org.
Padron de Almas, Oas, Albay, 1889-1892 via FamilySearch.org.
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