By Cate de Leon

Tagline: Send comments to catgdeleon@ yahoo.com or drop the author a line at http://writer-cat.livejournal.com.

I RECENTLY attended an anthropological lecture on Philippine tribes by Prof. Cherubim Quizon at the UP College of Arts and Letters. But what interested me more was not the lecture itself, but the very first question posed by a woman in the audience, a professor in speech communication. Her words:

“While I honestly enjoyed learning about our ancient origins, I have to admit that I’ve always had a very colonial mindset. Because it seems that if we were to go back to our roots, the result would be entirely regressive. I don’t even know how to answer my students’ queries on nationality; because when they graduate, the only jobs waiting for them are those in call centers. So kindly help me out. Right now I can’t see the point in cultivating who we really are as Filipinos.”

It was a question I have also been asking myself—and I wondered if anybody in the room was capable of answering it objectively. And not with irrelevant passion and poetry, which was all being Filipino had become to me.

A man in the audience stood up and started his speech by clarifying that he was not a nationalist, but a humanist. He said he specialized in analyzing the structure and maximizing the potential of the human being.

Referring to Quizon’s lecture, he re-stated that three very important words in the Filipino psyche are ‘kamag-anak’ (kinship), ‘kasama’ (companionship), and ‘kakilala’ (acquaintanceship).

To more effectively explain the given terms, he gave both new and old examples, like how he once brought home a can of corned beef, knowing it was his family’s favorite. He returned a week after to find the can untouched. Why didn’t they eat it, he asked, and they explained that the neighbors might catch a whiff of the food as they cooked it, and then they’d feel obliged to share.

He also cited how hospital rooms in our country have to have two beds—one for the patient, and another for the bantay (caregiver). And if you plan on bringing a get-well-soon gift, it must be food so that the bantay can have some as well.

The fact that we like to eat in groups was also taken into consideration. Whether it’s lunch, dinner, or merienda at a fishball stand, we like to invite other people to eat along. And when we see a friend eating by himself, we ask why he is alone and if he’s alright, even offering him our company.

If you’ve ever thrown a party, you probably know the frustration when no one calls the R.S.V.P. number. Now the thing about R.S.V.P. is that you’re asking the person individually if he/she is coming to your party. But Filipinos don’t like the thought of showing up alone at social gatherings. As a result, all the days leading up to the party are spent asking around and waiting for confirmation from friends on whether or not they are going as well—because as guests we want to make sure we’ll have enough people to talk to (kausap) when we get there.

The speaker also gave examples highlighting our other traits, like how we prefer to have all the sauces and seasonings laid out before us so we can concoct our own dips, as opposed to how in restaurants abroad, people simply eat the food as it is served.

He added that even the recurring tendency among Filipinos to be late for everything, such as dates, classes, meetings, and appointments, is due to how we’ve always had a timeless concept of time. The terms “sharp” and “on the dot” most certainly didn’t come from us. In band rehearsals, for example, the processes of tuning up and making music often overlap; there is no definite end to the former and beginning to the latter.

Recall too how at the end of social gatherings, we linger in each other’s company. Even the goodbyes take forever. One moment we’re saying goodnight, the next we’re laughing and sharing a short anecdote, which for some reason we forgot to tell earlier when it was still time for exchanging stories.

The speaker summarized, “As a people, we’ve always been highly relational and participatory. We are not innately individualistic and authority-centered as the Americans are—as we’ve been trying to be. That’s why most of us don’t follow traffic rules, and we throw our trash where the sign says we shouldn’t—because we’re not used to simply being told what to do by some “other.” Instead, we’re geared towards co-creation and cooperation when setting goals and accomplishing tasks. But sadly, these qualities have not graduated into a civic consciousness. (Not to mention that) we have absolutely no national consciousness.”

Hearing him say these things, I began to understand that perhaps the real problem lies not in how we’ve been falling short of certain standards, but in how we still knock ourselves out trying to be something that we’re not.

For the most part of my life, I’ve been guilty of having (and denying) a colonial mindset. But I don’t blame myself for it because as a young and eager-to-learn student, it was all I was made to understand. The concept of being proudly Filipino was taught to us in abstract and vague terms. We never really knew what to be proud of.

Colonial mentality, however, was more concretely demonstrated to us. A perfect example was how popular I was with my high school teachers and classmates, just because I spoke fluent English. I highly doubt they would have looked up to me as much had I been just as skilled at speaking Tagalog. It was only in my college years at the University of the Philippines that patriotism started to make practical sense, and was no longer just a sentimental, moral obligation.

As music majors, though we studied the works of western classical composers, we were also educated on and constantly reminded to practice and cultivate our own music—especially if we were to go on international tours.

“So what if you can give them a perfect rendition of, say, Bach’s choral works?” one of my professors used to say. “They’ve heard such pieces countless of times before. And don’t you think it would be absurd to travel all the way to these faraway countries just to give them yet another taste of their own music?”

If you apply the same reasoning to how we look up to English-speaking people, you’d realize how pathetic and inferior it is for us to prize something that is so common to the British and Americans—which is why I have since ceased to be ignorantly cocky about being ingglisera (English-speaking).

Not that speaking foreign languages, flying to other countries, and learning from other people is a bad thing. It’s one of our biggest assets: how easily we can communicate, relate, and adapt to other cultures, especially since the advent of globalization.

But we’re also urgently in need of finding our true identity. And until we do, we’ll be perpetually stuck trying to fit into governmental and societal structures handed down to us by our colonial captors. Until we figure out a system of living that will truly work for us, especially in this modern age, our society will remain just as dysfunctional as it has been for the longest time, with most of our fresh and highly educated graduates trying hard to ease into fake, second-rate American accents in order to get by.

By Gigo Alampay

It could all begin with the fact that we are an archipelago, a collection of islands—some big, some small, some gone when the tide is up—separated from one another, and bound together only by legal fiction.

Similarly, as a people, we are more like a collection of tribes or regions or provinces. It is easier to talk about the traits, quirkiness, and stereotypes (fair and unfair) of Batanguenos or Ilocanos or Ilonggos or Muslims or the people from Imperial Manila, than it is to define what exactly it is to be a Filipino.

So ask the ordinary man or woman on the street what binds all these disparate folks together beyond an arguably common shared history, and we will get various, even conflicting, responses.

There are our traits. Are we condemned by crab mentality? Or are we uplifted by our sense of bayanihan?

Are we famously resilient because we can laugh at ourselves and our problems? Or are we hopelessly hampered by an inability to take things seriously, laughing even when there is nothing to laugh about?

Is our faith—and the Church—our saving grace, or our ironic cross?

Who is Juan? Who is Juana? Or maybe it is the name itself? Juan is a Spanish name, one that did not exist in these Islands before we were conquered. Do we reject “Juan” as a non-Filipino name? Or do we embrace it as an undeniable part of who we are today given our history?

It is easy to stereotype the OFW as a prototypical Filipino today. Counting OFWs and their friends and loved ones left behind, they comprise a huge majority of our population who share common experiences—the displaced sense of family, the heroic notion of sacrifice, the pasalubongs when one returns, the jeepney loads of relatives that accompany them to the airport when they leave, and of course, the remittances that collectively keep this country afloat.

And yet, we all know the Filipino is more than just the OFW. There are millions of farmers and fisherfolk, thousands of youthful call center agents and ICT workers, and dwindling numbers of indigenous peoples. They, too, are Filipinos.

So, what does it mean to be Filipino? What does it matter? Why does it matter?

The answer to this question is important, not least because the lack of a common and shared sense of identity could be one major reason why we cannot seem to get our acts together, and live up to our full potential as a nation.

This is a basic theme that we should explore and discuss, and most importantly, pose to anyone (especially the young) who might listen—if only so that they will not take their identity for granted.

Unfortunately, the question also often sounds hackneyed (gasgas na gasgas na) and, indeed, corny. Worse, many times even, the people calling for unity (many of them in government, the church, and the media) are only self-interested, and are those we would really rather ignore.

We need to ask the question, and to propose some answers—but in a manner that is not off-putting or intimidating, and in a way that allows people to seek and find the answers just for themselves without feeling awkward or forced.

The Center for Art, New Ventures and Sustainable Development’s (Canvas) Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Project—opening at the University of the Philippines’ Academic Oval on Independence Day (June 12, 2009)—is an attempt to provide that venue, that opportunity.

We asked dozens of artists, writers, musicians, and poets to provide—through their art, words and music—their answers to the question, What does it mean to be Filipino? Their responses were then transformed into art banners and will be displayed so that people can enjoy them as they walk, bike, or drive around a 2.2 kilometer oval under the magnificent acacia trees of the University of the People.

It is an engaging, and completely relaxed environment, especially on Sundays when the whole place is closed to traffic, and joggers jog, children play, and families come out to relax and just be with one another. It will be fun, and we hope to see you there.

And best of all, the answers (and sometimes even more questions) are given almost subliminally by artists, writers, poets and musicians who, by definition, are engaged in work and lifestyles that force them to think and express thoughts and things bigger than they are.

We also like to think that this show is even more special in that, collectively, it gives a snapshot of what some of the best young creative talents think when asked about what it means to be Filipino, at this particular point in our nation’s history.

In the end, of course, there is no single correct answer to the question, What does it mean to be Filipino?

Which is as it should be, because for many of the important issues confronting us today—as individuals and as a nation—understanding the questions is often more important than providing the answers.

(Canvas is a nonprofit organization dedicated to promoting greater awareness and appreciation for Philippine art, culture and the environment. For more information, visit the Canvas website at www.canvas.ph or its blog: www.lookingforjuan.com. You may also email info@canvas.ph.

The Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Exhibit will be on view from June 12 to July 11, 2009 around the University of the Philippines’ Academic Oval in Diliman, Quezon City.

At the end of its run, the banners will be converted into tote bags by two women’s communities in Antipolo and Laguna, and sold as original works of functional art. Proceeds from the sale will benefit Padyak, a UP Mountaineers-led movement to promote cycling and environmentalism as healthy lifestyles, as well as other Canvas efforts to promote greater awareness and appreciation for Philippine art, culture, and the environment.)

By OSCAR F. SANTOS

Coconut Industry Reform Movement (COIR)

FLAG day seeks to promote love of country. These days, everywhere, we see big flags emblazoned with the words, “Pilipinas Kong Mahal.”

But do we really love our country? Maybe so, but we certainly have a funny way of showing it.

The Philippines is blessed with an abundance of natural resources—forests, seas, rivers, lakes, and marine and wildlife. But what do we do?

We pollute the air we breathe, ravage our forests, defile our lakes and rivers, ruin our corals and poison our fish and aquatic life. We litter our streets and dump garbage on our waterways. We treat our natural resources as if they do not belong to us.

Many behave as if they have no pride in being Filipinos. Four out of 10 Filipinos want to leave the country and reside elsewhere. Many are even ashamed of being identified as Filipinos when they go abroad. Our so-called educated avoid speaking their native tongue. To speak with a pronounced native accent is considered “un-cool.” Many struggle to speak English, no matter how broken, because not to be able to is looked down upon.

We are unmindful of our responsibilities as citizens. We close our eyes to the corruption around us. We blatantly break the law, traffic rules most especially, every chance we get. We love to stress our individual rights, but we ignore other people’s. We clean our own backyards, but dump the trash on our neighbor’s side of the street.

We sell our votes and elect plunderers and nincompoops to the highest offices. We give known cheaters seats of honor. Our public officials behave like masters, forgetting that they are public servants. They abuse authority, take bribes, get involved in scandalous contracts, take liberties with public funds, and treat our institutions with utter disrespect.

James Fallows once said that we remain underdeveloped because of our “damaged culture,” having been under Spanish, American and Japanese rule for the last 500 years or so. Randy David puts it this way: “This trait goes by other names. It is the barbarism of mindless profit-seeking, of getting something for almost nothing, of doing brisk business on the despair of others. It is the culture of shabbiness, of mediocrity, of neglect, and of perpetual improvisation. It is the absolute contempt for the public.”

Why do we have no pride in being Filipino? We are so unlike our South Korean neighbors who, when their country was in dire straits, donated their jewels and precious possessions to help fund their government. We are so unlike our Japanese neighbors who care and hold sacred their hills and mountains. To them, the faintest suspicion of wrongdoing can make top officials jump off a cliff. To them, one’s honor comes first, and failing to do right by their country is unforgivable.

The flags we are displaying these days should remind us that we are no longer under foreign control. It is time for all of us to wake up and behave like true Filipinos who could truly say with pride and dignity, “Pilipinas Kong Mahal.”