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Baguio Smile, Baguio City (2025)

30/09/2025

Guinness Book of World Records

The largest gong ensemble and largest banga (pot) dance participants, February 15, 2023.

09/09/2025

What’s in a Name? The Igorot Debate

In many parts of the Philippines, the word Igorot has often been misused as an insult, thrown around to mean “ignorant” or “uncivilized.” Yet the word itself carries a history that tells a very different story, one tied to the mountains and the people who have lived there for generations.

In 1958, Mountain Province Representative Luis Hora even filed a bill in Congress to ban the use of Igorot. He believed the term was derogatory. It was opposed and the bill never passed, but it sparked a question that remains unresolved to this day: Who are the Igorots, and do they actually want to be called that?
Historian William Henry Scott shed some light on this in his writings. He cited Dr. Trinidad Pardo de Tavera, a Tagalog scholar from the early 1900s, who explained that the word comes from the Bago tribe word "golot," meaning “mountain chain," with the prefix "i," meaning “people of” or “dwellers in.” In short, igorot simply translates to “people of the mountains.” Tavera compared the similarities of the "golod" to the tagalog word "gulod." But gulod means hill, not mountains.

Among the Bagos (or Bagbag-o) of the Ilocos fringes, believed to be descendants of Igorots themselves (Kankanaey) who moved to the lowlands, the term golot is still remembered. According to Scott's article, during the time of writing, locals still say, “Nagapodad Golot,” or “They came from the mountains.”

The earliest records from the Spanish used the term Igolot. It was only in the 18th century that the spelling shifted to Igorot, in Antonio Mozo’s 1763 Noticia Historico Natural. Later, during the American colonial period, Igorot was used in ethnological surveys as a collective label for the highland peoples of the old Mountain Province (present Cordillera): Bontok, Ifugao, Benguet, Apayao, and Kalinga. Over time, many accepted to use the name as part of a shared identity.

Even so, not everyone has embraced it. Some argue that their ancestors never used the word. Others dislike it because of the negative meaning attached to it by lowlanders. The alternative, Cordilleran, is also debated; it comes from a Spanish term for “mountain ranges” and is used in other parts of the world, making it less distinct to the Philippines.

The fight against stereotypes has also been long and difficult. The father of Philippine photography, Eduardo Masfere, spent decades documenting Igorot life, showing through his lens that these people were never the “hideous” caricatures painted by outsiders. Yet the earliest worldwide exposure of the Igorots was at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair, where they were displayed as live exhibits. To many foreign eyes, they were treated as curiosities rather than human beings.

Today, that image is being rewritten. Igorot communities have since migrated across the globe, proudly sharing their traditions and redefining their place in the modern world. Organizations like the Igorot Global Organization (IGO), founded by representatives of the six Cordillera provinces, are working to promote Igorot culture and welfare internationally. Their efforts have helped reclaim the name, transforming it from a label of shame into a source of pride.
Many people are even surprised to learn that their friendly neighbor, skilled coworker, or charismatic classmate is a full-blooded Igorot, forcing them to rethink outdated assumptions. Igorot organizations, both local and abroad, are multiplying, proving that identity can be reshaped and reasserted on one’s own terms.

While the debate continues, this writer believes that Igorot is still the best term to use as the collective name for these unique mountain people. Teacher and columnist Jose Dulnuan captured this sentiment beautifully in his poem:

"I am an IGOROT.
Let me be treated as I deserve
With respect, if I am good, with contempt if I am no good,
Irrespective of the name I carry.
Let the term Igorot remain and the world use it
with the correct meaning attached to it."

At the end of the day, names carry the weight of history but also the power of choice. The word Igorot may have once been misused, but in the hands of those who bear it, it continues to evolve into a symbol of identity, resilience, and pride.

Photo: A pencil sketch of Eduardo Masferre's photo.

01/08/2025

The Legend of Guboy: How the Ifugaos Learned to Till the Land
(Recalling the legend written by William Henry Scott)

In the olden days, before hardship touched the mountains of Ifugao, life was effortless and food was never scarce. The people lived in ease and abundance, for their land was blessed with a miraculous crop called guboy, a wondrous plant that grew on vines crawling freely around villages.

Unlike the rice we know today, guboy was as big as a pumpkin, heavy, yet soft and starchy when cooked. It was the people's staple food - no planting, no harvesting, no pounding needed. They simply picked it, and placed it in pots to boil. And so, the people became content... and then, lazy.

Seeing this from above, Mahnongan, the spirit of the Skyworld, grew displeased. The people no longer gave thanks, no longer worked, no longer offered sweat to the soil. So Mahnongan sent a pestilence - hordes of wriggling worms and locusts that devoured every last guboy vine on the land.

The people wailed and begged for mercy. They cried out to Mahnongan, to restore their bounty. But Mahnongan answered from the heavens:

"This is your punishment for laziness. If you want your guboy back, you must learn to work for it."

Moved by their desperation, Mahnongan descended and handed them tiny seeds - nothing like the guboy they once knew.

He told them: "Clear the forest. Shape the land. Plant these. This is your new food, if you still desire life."

So the people picked up tools they never used before. They cut through forest, tilled rocky ground, and built paddies where none existed. They planted the strange little seeds with hope and labor. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. At last, green stalks rose from the earth.

But when they bore fruit, disappointment struck again. The grains were tiny, nowhere near the size of the beloved guboy. They have to pound it to get the rice inside.

The people cried again to Mahnongan:

"Why are these not the same? Why give us a poor replacement?"

And Mahnongan replied:

"Because abundance without effort breeds laziness. These grains are small, but they will multiply - if you nurture them. From now on, you must plant every year, tend every crop, and protect your forests, for they give the water that feeds your rice."

Humbled, the people obeyed. They began to carve the mountains, shaping them into what would become the famous rice terraces of Ifugao - layer upon layer of land born from sweat, persistence, and reverence. They crafted tools and made luhung to easily pound the rice. Both men and women worked.

Looking down from the Skyworld, Mahnongan smiled. The people had learned the value of labor, the virtue of gratitude, and the delicate balance between land and life.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

This is how I remember the article I read maybe two decades ago. It was written by William Henry Scott, who retold the story as he heard it from an elder in Ifugao. I found it in a book that compiled his articles originally published in Midland Courier. I've searched the internet for other sources on the legend of Guboy, but found none. I wonder if there are still elders today who can recall this legend.

28/07/2025

Baguio: Where the Seat of Government took a Summer Vacation
By your seasonal tour guide

Today, Baguio City is known for its cool mountain air, pine trees, and colorful festivals - but more than a tourist haven, it was once envisioned as a seasonal seat of power. During the American colonial period, the city briefly served as the summer headquarters of the national government, and although that practice ended over a century ago, one institution - the Supreme Court - still carries on the tradition.

The idea of creating a hill station in the Philippine highlands was inspired by British practices in India. American colonial administrators, struggling with Manila’s heat, saw the Benguet highlands as an ideal escape. Following the partial completion of Benguet Road (later known as Kennon Road) under Colonel Lyman Kennon, the Philippine Commission held its first session in Baguio from April 22 to June 11, 1904.

During that session, Baguio was officially declared the “Summer Capital of the Philippines”. The move was symbolic at the time - legislative in nature - but it laid the foundation for future developments.

In 1909, Baguio was formally incorporated as a city through Act No. 1963, passed by the Philippine Commission in Manila on August 9, 1909, and made effective on September 1, 1909. This legal charter gave the city political and administrative structure and fueled the rapid development of public buildings and government cottages in anticipation of a recurring summer exodus from Manila.

From 1909 to 1913, the Insular Government - led by the Governor-General and supported by various executive bureaus - transferred its operations to Baguio during the summer months. The government operated from The Mansion and nearby cottages built specifically for the so-called “Baguio Season.” Over 80 cottages, dormitories, athletic fields, and other facilities were constructed in the city’s government center. This is why we have a Cabinet Hill where cottages for cabinet members were built.

However, the seasonal transfer proved to be costly and logistically impractical. Transporting documents, staff, and equipment via Kennon Road, which was finally completed in 1905, posed safety and financial challenges. By 1913, Governor-General Francis Burton Harrison ended the practice amid criticism from Filipino legislators who considered it a colonial luxury.

While most of the government returned to operating year-round in Manila, one branch never stopped migrating to Baguio every summer: the Supreme Court of the Philippines.

Since the early 20th century, the Supreme Court has held its summer sessions in Baguio, typically from April to May, conducting oral arguments and deliberations in its Session Hall along Upper Session Road. This tradition continues today, making Baguio the Summer Capital not only in spirit but in judicial practice.

Even after its brief role as a seat of power ended, Baguio grew into a major center for education, arts, and culture. The presence of institutions like the Philippine Military Academy, Camp John Hay, and University of the Philippines Baguio solidified its identity as the intellectual and cultural capital of the Cordilleras.

In 2017, Baguio became the first Philippine city recognized as a UNESCO Creative City, for its commitment to crafts and folk art.

Today, though Baguio is no longer a seasonal capital in a political sense, the city continues to carry its historic title with pride. Its legacy lives on not only through pine-scented breezes and heritage architecture, but also in the enduring presence of the nation’s highest court.

More to come about tourist destinations and history from your seasonal tour guide .

20/07/2025

Less is More: What Cordilleran Textiles Taught Me About Good Design

As a graphic artist, I used to think I knew a lot about design. I had Pantone guides, trendy font pairings, and a browser history full of Behance and Pinterest. But then I got serious with Cordilleran textiles, and they politely told me to sit down, sip some tapey, and learn from centuries of actual design wisdom.

Because these weaves know design better than most people on Canva.

Color: Less is More (Unless You’re a Fiesta Banner)

First lesson: color. Cordilleran weaves are not shy with their reds and blacks and for good reason. Red could mean bravery, black grounds the earth, and white is used just enough to make everything pop like a well-placed emoji in a text message. These colors aren’t just for looking pretty, they have something to say.

Now imagine a well-meaning but overly excited designer (hi, sometimes it’s me) trying to add pastel pinks, turquoise gradients, or heaven help us - neon green to “modernize” a traditional weave. You don’t modernize centuries of identity with something called “Millennial Purple.”

Cordilleran textiles whisper, “Pick a color. Mean it. Then stop.”

And honestly? They’re right.

Shapes: Not Just a Zigzag, That’s Someone’s Ancestor

Let’s talk about the shapes. You see a diamond, you think, “Nice geometric flair.” But no, sir, that’s not just flair. That could represent eyes, ancestors, or spiritual protection. Those zigzags? Lightning. Or mountains. Or the trip to the rice terraces during rainy season. Either way, those patterns are not just filler. They carry stories. Some even warn people not to mess with the wearer.

So if you’re tempted to take motifs from different tribes and throw them all into one modern mashup for a shirt design... don’t. That’s like mixing tribal symbols the way people mix sinigang and spaghetti sauce, it just doesn’t go, and someone’s lola will definitely get mad. And it’s not just about cultural appropriation issues but beauty and aesthetics.

Minimalism: Why the Best Designs Know When to Shut Up

Here’s where it really hit me: some of the strongest Cordilleran designs are actually very simple. One stripe. Two colors. A single bold motif. That’s it. But it’s enough to say, “I belong,” “I remember,” or “This is who I am.”

Meanwhile, some of us designers (again, I’m guilty) treat our canvases like a buffet table, just keep adding! More textures! More drop shadows! More “design flair!” until the final output looks like a confused festival tarp.

Cordilleran textiles remind us of the value of restraint. It’s like that friend who doesn’t talk much, but when they do, everyone listens. That’s good design. Not the one yelling in six typefaces.

When Design Becomes a Cultural Oopsie

Not every combination is a good idea. I’ve seen designs where patterns from different tribes were stitched together like a design buffet, Kalinga beside Ifugao beside Bontoc, and not in a collaborative or respectful way, but more like “I Googled tribal patterns and copy-pasted what looked cute.” But it may not convey what you really want to communicate.

Tip: If you don’t know what a pattern means, don’t treat it like clipart. It’s better to ask, research, and collaborate with someone who lives that culture. That’s the difference between cultural appreciation and appropriation, or what we call... design sin.

So if you’re a designer like me, perhaps you can learn from Cordilleran textile design:

Choose your colors like they mean something, because they do.

Let your shapes tell a story, don’t just decorate.

Respect tradition, you’re not just designing; you’re handling heritage.

And sometimes, the best design move is to step back and let the weave speak.

Because in the end, good design doesn’t need to shout, it just needs to know what it’s saying.

And Cordilleran textiles? They’ve been saying it loud and clear, long before we had Adobe Illustrator.

16/07/2025

When the Ground Moved and We All Changed: A Personal Memory of the July 16, 1990 Earthquake in Baguio

I was just a teenager, not yet of legal age. That afternoon, July 16, 1990, I was tending to our small sari-sari store in front of our house. It was just another quiet day… until it wasn’t.

At first, I thought a truck was passing by. The ground rumbled lightly, like a familiar vibration on the road. But then the soft drinks started falling from the shelf. Candy jars clattered to the floor. The shelves rattled violently. That’s when I knew, this was no passing truck.

I jumped out of the store’s display window and ran to the street. But my mother wasn’t following. My older brother and I rushed back in. She stood frozen. “Saanak makakuti,” she said (I can’t move.) Her eyes were wide, full of fear. We had to carry her out.

Outside, neighbors were spilling into the streets, shouting, crying. Then we looked up electric wires were swaying like jump ropes in the wind, and we held our breath, praying the poles wouldn’t snap and electrocute us all.

We made our way to a portion of the road where no house or building could fall on us. There, we waited, stunned and speechless, as aftershocks rumbled under our feet. The mountain air, once crisp and calm, now carried a heavy silence.

When things settled, we went back inside. Glass shards crunched underfoot as we swept the floor. Then, just about an hour later, a friend of ours came over. He asked if we had seen his sister—she hadn’t come home yet. Maybe, he thought, she was at a friend’s house.

There were no jeeps running, so we walked with him, more than a kilometer away to Km. 6, to check their house. She wasn’t there. So we kept walking, this time toward Baguio.

By the time we reached Km. 4, a lone jeep finally passed. It dropped us in Magsaysay. From there, we walked to Melvin Jones, where many people had gathered. The field looked like a makeshift evacuation center. But no sign of his sister.

Now our search had shifted from a personal mission to something larger. We began to realize how much the city had changed in just a few hours.

The Royal Inn had collapsed right where the Jollibee on Magsaysay now stands. Another hotel on Harrison looks like a big hand pushed it to fall on its side. Hilltop Hotel’s upper floor had crumpled like folded cardboard. We heard it would later collapse completely after another aftershock.

A floor of a UB building had caved in. It was only later that I would learn one of the casualties was an old classmate from elementary. And the round building across the gym, our usual hangout as high school students, was gone too.

We pushed on to BGH, thinking: if people were injured, maybe they would be taken there. What we saw was heartbreaking. All patients were outside, lying on stretchers or makeshift beds in the hospital garden. Life-saving machines were silent. Those who needed oxygen had to be pumped manually, by hand, by exhausted staff and volunteers. It looked like a warzone, only quieter, more solemn. We walked around, trying to help, trying to see if we’d recognize someone.

Eventually, we decided to head back. Our families would be worried. By then, jeepneys had started to move again, so the ride back was quicker. And there she was - our friend’s sister, waiting at home. Laughing at us. She didn’t even know we were out looking for her.

We sat there for a while, all of us stunned and grateful. We told stories of what we saw. And for the first time that day, we laughed too. A tired kind of laugh - but a real one.

It’s been decades since that day. But every July 16, I remember it all, the shelves falling, the dancing electric wires, the collapsed buildings, the lifeless machines at BGH, the aching walk through a wounded city.

Iconic structures crumbled, the Hyatt Terraces Hotel collapsed, killing guests and workers inside. Other major buildings like Nevada Hotel, Hilltop Hotel, and the Royal Inn were reduced to rubble. A University of Baguio building gave way, taking the lives of students, including young children. The round building across the UB gym, a common hangout for teens, also fell.

All access roads to the city - Kennon, Marcos, and Naguilian - were blocked by massive landslides, isolating Baguio for months. Communication lines were cut, electricity was down, and people relied on radios, candles, and one another.

I remember how, in a single afternoon, I went from a teenager tasked to sit in a sari-sari store to someone walking through a disaster zone, searching for a friend’s sister, searching for understanding.

I remember how the ground moved. And how we, as a city, rose.

That week changed all of us. We saw things no teenager should see - fear in our parents' eyes, neighbors injured, strangers crying for missing loved ones. But we also saw kindness: food shared among strangers, hugs between people who had never spoken before, teenagers like me walking across broken roads just to check if a friend was okay.

Thirty-five years later, I still remember the sound the earth made. But more than that, I remember walking those cracked streets looking for a friend - and finding, in the middle of all the destruction, something even stronger than concrete: the kind of love, loyalty, and resilience that refuses to collapse.

Where were you during that fateful day?

27/03/2025

Creative Placemaking in Baguio: Redefining the City’s Identity Through Local Arts and Crafts

One of Baguio City’s unfortunate identity is the "Ukay-Ukay Capital of the Philippines," a moniker that reflects its booming thrift shop industry. While this has contributed to the city's economy, it has also overshadowed Baguio’s rich cultural and artistic heritage. As a designated UNESCO Creative City, Baguio must prioritize local crafts and rid itself of the "Ukay-Ukay Capital" label, fully embracing its identity as a hub for creativity and artistic excellence.

The Need for Creative Placemaking

Several weeks ago, Ma’am Venus Tan, the co-Chairman of the Creative Baguio City Council (CBCC) told us of Creative placemaking project, an approach to urban planning and development that uses arts and culture to strengthen the identity of a place. This means moving beyond the commodification of surplus goods and instead fostering an environment where local creative industries thrive. This includes not only visual arts but also crafts, music, performance arts, literature, and culinary traditions.

By investing in creative placemaking, Baguio can enhance its cultural landmarks, develop public spaces that highlight Cordilleran traditions, and provide sustainable opportunities for its creative community. This shift would not only elevate the city’s cultural prestige but also attract more discerning visitors who value authenticity over cheap commercial goods.

Revitalizing Baguio’s Creative Economy

Here, I am borrowing Ma’am Venus Tan’s Rev-Bloom project when she was the DOT-CAR Regional Director, Revitalizing Baguio’s Creative Economy. To redefine Baguio’s identity as a true Creative City, here are the things I believe should be considered, and this is for you aspiring politicians and most especially the current ones sitting at the city council:

1. Prioritizing Local Artisan Markets – Instead of allowing cheap mass-produced items to flood Baguio’s markets, there should be stronger support for initiatives. Spaces such as the Baguio City Public Market, Wright Park, Mines View, etc. should highlight local craftsmanship.

2. Strengthening Policies for Local Creatives – City ordinances should prioritize locally made products in key commercial areas. For example, rental incentives and tax breaks can be provided to businesses that sell handmade crafts and locally sourced products rather than Divisoria or Shopee/Lazada products.

3. Developing Artistic Public Spaces – kudos to private creative spaces like Tam-awan Village and BenCab Museum, but the government should make use of the parks where they allowed commercial stalls to celebrate the indigenous artistry of Baguio. They can be utilized cultural and creative hubs integrated into public parks and urban centers to visually reinforce the city’s creative identity.

4. Educational and Entrepreneurial Support – Programs that mentor and train young artisans in both traditional and contemporary art practices will ensure the sustainability of Baguio’s creative economy. These creative hubs can be venues for incubators to help creatives turn their crafts into viable businesses.

5. Tourism and Branding Shift – Instead of marketing Baguio as a destination for thrift shopping, tourism campaigns should emphasize its unique crafts, culinary scene, and cultural heritage. Festivals like the Ibagiw Creative Festival should be amplified to attract visitors who seek authentic cultural experiences. And our parks should be utilized as such. Apay dakayo kayat yo nga agpapada ti lako tayo idiay Cebu ken Davao? Isu met laklako da tatta idiay Wright Park ken Mines View.

6. Jumpstarting Other Businesses – Creative placemaking should also serve as a catalyst for other businesses. Vendors who currently resell mass-produced goods from Divisoria, items that can be found in almost every tourist destination across the country, will eventually realize that selling local creative products not only supports the local creative industry but is also more lucrative. By shifting their focus to locally made items, these businesses can tap into a growing market of consumers looking for authentic, high-quality, and culturally significant products unique to Baguio.

7. Rebuilding Lost Industries – The rise of the ukay-ukay industry has come at a cost: it has destroyed other lucrative creative businesses in Baguio, particularly the once-thriving shoe-making, leather, and made-to-order tailoring industries. Before the influx of surplus clothing, Baguio had a strong tradition of handcrafted leather goods and bespoke tailoring, which provided stable livelihoods to skilled artisans. I know this because I was there. I learned leather craft in General Luna, a once thriving shoe-making center. Revitalizing these industries through creative placemaking can restore local craftsmanship and create more sustainable economic opportunities for the city.

Moving Forward: A Creative and Sustainable Baguio

A while ago, ma’am Venus told me let’s move forward. Baguio has always been a melting pot of creativity, from its indigenous Cordilleran roots, Western-influenced booteries, leather artisans, Ilocano tailors, to its modern-day artistic movements. The city (and you city council) must take bold steps to ensure that its identity is not diluted by mass-produced consumerism like those being sold at Wright Park and Mine’s View. Apay awan aya products tayo ta Divisoria products ti ilaklako da? By prioritizing local arts and culture through creative placemaking, Baguio can truly live up to its status as a UNESCO Creative City, one that champions its own creative spirit rather than mass-produced trends.

Establishing a creative placemaking should jumpstart the shift by showing the local businesses that local products can also thrive, even if they are priced higher. It will attract a different kind of clients, not those who can only afford a 10-peso keychain but those who appreciate high-value products.

The shift away from the "Ukay-Ukay Capital" label is not just about rebranding; it’s about reclaiming Baguio’s true essence. By nurturing its creative economy, the city can pave the way for a more sustainable, culturally rich, and economically thriving future, one where artists, artisans, and local entrepreneurs are at the heart of its development. Baguio must embrace and uphold its Creative City designation as its primary identity, ensuring that local craftsmanship, indigenous artistry, and cultural heritage take center stage.

This is what UNESCO Creative Cities Network is asking Creative Cities, creating programs and budget that give more support to the local creatives.

26/02/2025

Old Churches

14/02/2025

Among the murky waters of sadness sprung the green leaves of hope. A hope that a beautiful you will come along.

Baguiosmile

08/02/2025

Support Local: The Value of Handcrafted Productions

In an era dominated by mass production and globalized trade, the importance of supporting local handcrafted productions cannot be overstated. These artisanal products are more than just commodities; they are embodiments of culture, craftsmanship, and community spirit. When we choose to buy local, we contribute to the preservation of traditional skills, the sustainability of local economies, and the promotion of ethical consumption.

One of the most compelling reasons to support local handcrafted goods is the preservation of cultural heritage. Many artisanal techniques have been passed down through generations, each piece telling a story of its origin. Examples are our weaving and woodcarving, these crafts reflect the history and identity of a community. Without local patronage, many of these traditions risk fading into obscurity, replaced by generic, factory-made alternatives that lack authenticity and soul.

I remember one time when a tourist stopped by our street exhibit and saw my handmade bolo ties. She scoffed, saying, "Gawa-gawa lang naman mga yan dito. Sa Australia ako bibili para tunay na bolo tie."

Not only did she insult local crafters, but she also got it wrong. Australia is not the origin of bolo ties—they, too, are influenced by the original designs. Bolo ties were conceptualized in the United States, inspired by Native American artistry.

My bolo ties, on the other hand, carry the same Western influence, as the Philippines was colonized by the Americans for 48 years. But what makes mine unique is how I incorporate local culture into the designs - the mini gong and lingling-o icons - the design tells a story of Baguio as a melting pot of cultures.

Beyond cultural significance, purchasing handcrafted products supports local artisans and small businesses. Unlike large-scale manufacturers that prioritize efficiency over quality, local craftspeople invest time, skill, and passion into every piece they create. By choosing to buy from them, consumers help sustain livelihoods and empower artisans to continue their work. This, in turn, strengthens local economies, as money spent within a community is more likely to circulate and benefit other small businesses.

Another critical aspect of supporting local handcrafted productions is ethical and sustainable consumption. Mass-produced goods often involve exploitative labor practices and environmentally harmful production methods. In contrast, many local artisans prioritize sustainable sourcing of materials and ethical labor conditions. By opting for handcrafted goods, consumers make a conscious choice to reduce their ecological footprint and advocate for fair labor practices.

Moreover, handcrafted products offer uniqueness and superior quality compared to their mass-produced counterparts. Every piece is made with attention to detail, ensuring durability and individuality. Unlike factory-made goods, which often prioritize quantity over quality, local crafts are designed to last, making them valuable investments rather than disposable commodities.
Supporting local handcrafted productions is not merely about making a purchase; it is about fostering a culture of appreciation for artistry, sustainability, and community development. By choosing local, consumers actively preserve traditions, empower artisans, and promote ethical consumerism. In a world that increasingly values convenience over craftsmanship, supporting local is a powerful statement of respect for both the past and the future.

I believe this is why the Creative Cities Network was established by UNESCO, to make the local creative industry the main driver of the economy. If there is big support for local products, cities with thriving creative communities can steer away from industrial manufacturing dominated by China, thus spreading the wealth of the world to non-industrialized regions especially the marginalized sectors that have their own creative products.

- Carl Taawan a.k.a. BaguioSmile

Baguio Smile

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