Meet Ate Lanie — The Rise of a Transwoman Shaman
By: Jaime Martin Ko Atilano
Tags: Representation, Books, Fantasy, LGBTQ, Transgender

“She is a beautiful woman who looks to be older than me, but still youthful. Her body is radiating but isn’t translucent like mine. Her brown skin is reminiscent of the earth, clay crafted in perfection…She wears a beaded necklace and a beautiful golden amulet reflecting the Moon’s silver light. Her energy feels grounded and firm, like the earth, though she stands here, floating in the sky. She reminds me of the symphonies of nature, the trees, and the soil. Remarkable.”

Today I’d like to talk about one of my favorite characters to write. She is the divine and flower-like Babaylan of the Taal Kingdom: Ate (ah-teh) Lanie.

Ate Lanie is a transwoman shaman from the Kingdom of Taal who draws power from Lakapati, Deity of Fertility and Agriculture. She serves as a mentor for our protagonist, Mala, on their journey, as she teaches them about the power of lakas, while also showing them that one’s identity is not defined by their biological sex.

The concept of coming out as trans is magical, but that doesn’t mean it is imaginary. In history, many trans shamans existed in the pre-colonial Philippines and had influential social roles in their community. Ate Lanie is a character that celebrates transwomen as these powerful leaders. According to the Aswang Project, the rise to Shamanism for Transwomen, or gender variant/nonbinary spiritual intermediaries

“are found in many Pacific Island cultures, including the bajasa of the Eastern Toradja people of Sulawesi, the bantut of the Tausūg people of the South Philippines, and many other shamans of the pre-Christian Philippines. The Babaylan and Katalonan (shamans in the Visayan and Tagalog regions) were female, but were often transwomen (sometimes called Bayoguin or Asog) who were assigned male at birth, but identified — and were socially accepted — as female. In regards to the Philippines, it is important to point out that the transgender shaman is almost exclusive to the areas that were influenced by the Indianized Kingdoms. The concept does not exist in early anthropological and ethnolinguistic studies done in Northern Luzon, the mountainous areas of Mindanao, and about the indigenous Negritos.”

As I wrote a story about shamans in the Philippines, it was indeed culturally and historically pivotal for me to ensure that a transwoman was represented in the most beautiful and powerful light.

LGBTQ+ representation is as important as ever, in today’s society. Trans representation is lacking in practically every form of media, and when they are given the spotlight, books, and movies keep creating transgender characters as aggressors/villains. But in reality, trans people are far more likely to be victims of violence — not causing the violence. The Trans Murder Monitoring project reported 331 murders of trans and gender-diverse people globally in the year to September 30, 2019, according to the United Nations Development Program (UNDP). From a CNN article, Susan Stryker, author and Yale University gender studies professor told CNN, “as a historian, I’ve just seen this for so long, and it’s such a longstanding trope. It’s like a trans person is someone who is deeply deranged and is a danger to other people and kills people out of their own sense of being psychotically flawed.” We can see this example in stories like JK Rowling’s Troubled Blood series, which features a cross-dressing serial killer.

GLAAD also did a study that found reoccurring themes of transgender characters being negatively exploited as either victims or villains in stories, and that more work needs to be done to represent roles of trans characters with more fully-formed, complex, and real storylines that provide a better portrayal that truly honors trans people. The most recent example I would like to mention is Lingua Franca — a story on Netflix about an undocumented trans Filipina caregiver who pursues a marriage to obtain a green card.

“Media has a history of telling the world a story that transgender people are always victims or villains, instead of true depictions that show the transgender community as citizens worthy of equality and respect. On Transgender Day of Remembrance — a day on which we remember those who lost their lives due to anti-transgender violence — we hope television networks will think about what they can do to combat ignorance by improving their depictions of trans people.”- GLAAD President Herndon Graddick.

This concept of queer grief/villainy is a dangerous trope that has existed for a long time for trans people — especially in the US — and it needs to end. Ate Lanie is a character that fights this dangerous trope, as her purpose is to affirm and celebrate the power of transwomen as influential and powerful characters.

We can see this with Ate Lanie’s relationship with Mala, our 16-year-old protagonist, still young and struggling to understand their genderfluid identity while becoming a magical shaman that must fulfill an ancient prophecy. The queer theme of chosen family comes to mind between these two characters. At the beginning of the book, we experience with Mala their desire for a sisterhood:

“I want to talk about pearls with them and yearn to have that sisterly bond that they have between them, but then one girl suddenly whispers something to the group. The girls mockingly laugh at me and leave the shopkeeper’s selling stand. Once they see me, I can always feel the girls’ energy change. The sudden shift in the vibration of their spirits makes me cringe. I sense the waves change from gentle to malicious. I can tell the girls are confused and also fearful, as if I am haunted, in spite of my own feelings of hurt. Is it the way I look? I ask myself. And then I hear it, the whisper of “monster” under their sly breaths as they hide away from me. Am I a monster to them?”

This experience of being treated like an “other,” and even worse, a “monster,” in our homes and communities is why the concept of chosen families exists: people that identify as LGBTQ+ are not always accepted by the people that they are directly related to. Chosen families are thus important to the life of many trans folks, as humans need to feel accepted by their peers in order to thrive. This is a pain that many within our community suffer alone.

When Ate Lanie finally meets Mala, she shares with our protagonist memories from her vulnerable past, and that she often prayed to Lakapati for guidance. Lakapati answered Ate Lanie’s prayers, and provide her with a magical seed. Ate Lanie nurtured this seed until it grew into a tree that surrounds and protects her home outside of the City of Jati. This experience solidified her purpose not only as a Babaylan but her self-love as a woman: “I grew to love and learn about myself because of this tree. I had finally accepted my womanhood at an early age.”

I chose Lakapati as the deity to represent this Babaylan and ancestral spirit relationship because depending on the region or myth, she is known and described as an androgynous, intersex, or transgender Goddess. In all myths, she is known for her great kindness to humanity and her love for giving — which is reflected in Ate Lanie’s nature. It was important to me as a writer to have Ate Lanie’s source of power be from a Deity that understands her as a caregiver, and as a queer entity.

After hearing this story, Mala begins to feel empowered in their own identity and starts to have a better understanding of their responsibilities as a new shaman. They also find a new sister to add to their family — their chosen family — and is no longer alone in their journey of self-acceptance. As a non-binary writer, I thought that it was important to offer my protagonist another queer character to relate to in my story, as I have been reminded throughout my life that while LGBTQ+ allies are important, they can only offer so much support. There is nothing like a well-written queer character in literature or media, just as there is nothing like an LGBTQ+ friend to help you accept your own identity.