OUR ANCESTRAL DOMAINS ARE BETTER THAN THE AMERICAN INDIAN RESERVATIONS
OUR ANCESTRAL DOMAINS ARE BETTER THAN THE AMERICAN INDIAN RESERVATIONS
This may sound provocative, even politically incorrect, but it needs to be said: our ancestral domain system is, on paper, better than the American Indian reservation system. The irony, of course, is that many American Indian reservations still enjoy a better quality of life than most of our ancestral domains. That contradiction deserves serious reflection.
Let us start with land ownership.
In the United States, many people assume that Native American tribes own their reservations. That is largely a misconception. Most reservation lands are held by the US federal government in “trust.” The tribe is the beneficiary, but the title remains with the State. Selling, leasing, or mortgaging the land often requires approval from Washington. Add to that “fee lands” and “restricted fee lands,” and you get a checkerboard of ownership that complicates governance and economic development.
In the Philippines, the Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act (IPRA) takes a radically different approach. It recognizes Native Title. The law says ancestral domains were never public lands to begin with. They have belonged to Indigenous Peoples since time immemorial. The state is not granting ownership; it is merely recognizing a pre-existing right. That distinction is powerful—and globally admired.
So why do I say our system is better?
First, our IPs own the land. They hold Certificates of Ancestral Domain Title (CADT). This is not land “held in trust” by the government. It is ownership, plain and simple.
Second, our IPs have veto power. Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) gives communities the legal right to say no to mining, dams, roads, or any project that threatens their land. In the US, tribes are consulted, but the federal government still holds “plenary power” and can override objections.
Third, our ancestral domains are where people already live. Unlike the reservation system, which historically involved forced relocation—the Trail of Tears being the most infamous example—our law allows Indigenous Peoples to remain on their sacred lands, burial grounds, and forests.
But here is where the uncomfortable truth comes in.
The main issue is not land ownership. It is the quality of life.
Generally speaking, many American Indian reservations have better access to basic services—healthcare, education, roads, water, even tribal police forces and functioning tribal governments. Despite poverty, there is institutional presence.
In our ancestral domains, ownership exists—but services are often absent. Schools are far. Clinics are understaffed or nonexistent. Roads stop where ancestral lands begin. Land titles mean little if children are malnourished and mothers die in childbirth.
This is our paradox: we have a stronger legal framework, but weaker implementation.
So what should we do?
We need an overall coordinator for ancestral domains. Right now, services are fragmented—DENR here, DepEd there, DOH somewhere else, NCIP overstretched everywhere. No one seems fully accountable.
Could the DILG play that role, given its mandate over local governance? Or should the NCIP be strengthened, professionalized, and funded enough to truly act as the lead integrator of services, not just a regulator of FPIC?
Land grabbing continues despite CADTs. Armed conflict persists in many domains. These are not legal failures—they are governance failures.
Our ancestral domains are better than American Indian reservations in principle, in law, and in moral foundation. We should stop apologizing for that.
What we must now do is the harder task: make ownership meaningful by delivering dignity, security, and opportunity to the people who rightfully own the land.
RAMON IKE V. SENERES
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