[On the way to the Philippines]
Two mornings before I would wake up to the sound of roosters crowing, and the sun that would peep through the blinds of my father’s house in Manila, I awoke with butterflies from my stomach and trailing up my arms. I turned to my sister beside me and exclaimed that we were going to the Philippines in two days. She wasn’t as excited. I guess it hadn’t hit her yet but I, on the other hand, have been counting down the days for a month.Next thing I knew, I was taking my shoes off at Sea-tac airport’s security checkpoint while my mom is crying behind the tape not too far behind me. It was the sight of her and my little sister standing on the other side that reminded me of the time when she dutifully left me in the Philippines in the hopes of giving us a better life. How strange, to be the one leaving her now after she fulfilled her part in opening up a world of endless opportunities for me. Studying in my home country about my own people is by far the greatest opportunity I have ever been presented with. This is why, no matter where I go in this trip and in this life, I will always strive to make her proud.
On the 24th of June, approximately 11:30 in the evening, my sister and I ran to our sister whom we have not seen in 8 years. I could easily spot her in her reddish-orange hair and pale skin—so different in appearance from the traditional Filipina women, and even to her very own sisters. I only have two memories of her since birth: when she bit my arm so hard it bled and the other when she visited Davao City for a weekend about five years later. Other than that, the most I have ever talked to her is through facebook and it’s always the usual “hello, how are you?” dialogue. A minute after our joyful reunion we also met our estranged father whom I personally have not seen since I was four years old. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed with mixed emotions, from joy to indifference.[The billboard in every corner of Manila]
Riding on the back of my father’s car, I looked outside my window to see the city of Manila for the first time. The main thing I noticed were the obnoxiously large billboards of Philippine stars “selling” a product. These billboards are about 100 feet tall and 100 feet wide, extremely hard to miss even if one tried. The thing that gets me the most is how none of these stars resemble a Filipino. The same five stars are repeatedly used for all products in the Philippines because they are considered “the elites.” What is sad is that these stars are more foreign than Filipino-blooded and everyone here strives to look just like them. It’s no surprise that all the skin products, including soap, have whitening in them. It’s a struggle just to find a body lotion that doesn’t say ‘whitening’ in bold letters. But the dream to look white wasn’t always a sick pandemic that consumed most of the Filipinos. Only shortly after the Philippine-American War in 1898-1902 did Filipinos began to view Americans like gods, their saviors. But to that I say ask why.
Why?
When the men and women alike were subject to deportation, imprisonment, torture and even death during the American occupation.
Why?
When many reported cases of rape and attempted rape were dismissed as having “no merit.”
Why?
When soldiers blatantly referred to the natives as “niggers” except to those who spoke Spanish.
Why?
When they were forced to relay information that they didn’t know through “water cure,” (the forcing of water down the mouth and nose).
Why?
When barrios were torched so that “insurgents cannot occupy it.”
“The Philippine-American War: Friendship and Forgetting,” written by Reynaldo Ileto expands on American soldier’s mistreatment against the Filipinos during the war. When asked, Ladislao Masangcay admitted that all the barrios were torched in Tiaong. Furthermore, General Bell announced the amigo warfare to be terminated after his frustration on the Filipino’s guerrilla warfare tactics. This order meant that innocent citizens in the barrios of Batangas and Laguna had to either be for or against the American army. Those who were against were destined to burn. In response to this policy, concentration camps, or “protected zones” (as the Americans referred to it), were forced on the people so that they can “stop aiding the resistance.” BS!
The “Benevolent Assimilation” cartoon created by Zinn shows the massacre of all 900 Moros by the American Army after being ordered to kill or capture. That's a genocide!
But these are obviously just simplified summary of some of the things that occurred during the war.
Three years of mistreatments and forced surrenders yet we, as a nation, are practically begging for their alliance while they call us “little brown brothers,” and see us as a stepping stone to other countries. The war was even deemed as a “‘misunderstanding’ of Filipino interpretation on what the U.S was trying to do: ‘a rejection of a gift of further enlightment,’” (Ileto). At least the Japanese didn’t try to mask their ruthless invasion in 1941 as means to enlighten and educate the Filipinos. Admittedly, the Japanese invasion was far worse compared to the American “assimilation,” but when you look at it like that, I guess Hitler is a saint when compared to Stalin since he only killed more about 6 million people during his reign. The point is, the struggle for Filipinos to become the very people who deceived, mistreated, burned, massacred, and took advantage of them is an act of either ignorance to their own history, or the acknowledgement of their own country’s inferiority compared to the U.S.
When the whole nation’s outlook is, “the whiter the better,” we forget about the thousands of our own people who suffered, fought and died to give us freedom. We allow other nations to look upon us with inferiority instead of people of pride and contentment in our own skin.
I had the rare opportunity of visiting the town of Batad, home of the oldest rice terrace ever made. It’s refreshing to see the absence of American influence in this little town. The people lived the simplest lifestyle. No one prisoned themselves in their huts to keep their skin from being exposed to the sun, no one texted, no one was on facebook. Of course there was no way of getting on facebook because there were no computers anywhere but still! Everyone either worked in the rice fields or tended their little stores. While I spoke to our tour guide, Anthony, I learned a few things that I found interesting. Here are a few.
1. The people learn their native language from their parents called Ifugao. I asked if any of them learned it from books and he said that it’s only through the parents that they learn and that it’s passed down through generations. Along with Ifugao, they know and speak the national language, Tagalog. Many of them are able to understand English but are not able to speak it very well.
2. The people there go to the mall once a year. They buy in bulk.
3. On their spare time, they go to the bar and drink. Nothing else.
4. “Popo Donda” is how you say “I love you” in Ifugao.
The thing I found most striking about this place is that even though tourism is one of their main source of income, none of them are influenced by all the tourist that visit their town on a daily basis. They still wear the traditional Filipino clothing, they speak their native language, and they eat whatever they can find or haul from the nearest market (which is about an hour away if one takes a jeepney). In the middle of where all the rice terraces meet, a small community can be found. It’s a wonder how they survive with nothing nearby but it’s absolutely humbling to realize that everything they have and everything they will have is the fruit of their hard work whether it is through the scorching heat or the mind-blowing rain showers.
[Example of American influence left in Baguio]
On the contrary, one can clearly see the effects of American colonization in Baguio City, the summer capital of the Philippines. It’s apparent in the street names which are mostly named after American colonial government officials during the war; the design of the houses, the infrastructure of the town, the clothes people wear, even the weather felt like Seattle. Obviously, weather is the very reason why the place is even Americanized. Due to Baguio’s high altitude location, the Americans made it their hill station. Even the name is a result of America’s occupation. Apparently, Baguio was originally called, “Kafagway,” which means wide open space (Go Baguio). When the Americans asked for the name, the natives pointed to the ground covered with mossy flower called, “bag-iw,” which the Americans, of course pronounced, “bag-i-yo.”
The city itself was a beautiful place but I couldn’t help but compare it to the untouched, un-Americanized Batad I just experienced the day before. It truly was overwhelming how these two places contrasted each other like black and white. Personally, I found it extremely refreshing to see no billboards in sight. It was a nice break from seeing Anne Curtis’ face every 20 feet.
But, I’m here now, back in Manila.
….
She is everywhere!!!!
I must admit, while I wrote the first part of this blog, I complained to my sister how my complexion was getting darker. She looked at me straight in the eyes and reminded me that I’m writing about how Filipinos shouldn’t try to be “white.” I argued that I wasn’t trying to be because I wasn’t putting on the whitening lotion or using carrot soap to make me “whiter.” It took me only a second to realize that what I was saying is the very thing I hated. The idea of white as being “beautiful” has been so strongly engraved in the youths that it’s almost impossible to get rid of. I’m ashamed for saying it but now my eyes are even more opened. From now on, I will welcome every ray of sunshine that hits my skin and appreciate the beautiful, brown complexion I am meant to be.
I spoke to the Filipino parents who were about to go to the states for the first time during a mandatory, pre-departure seminar through the Commission of Filipinos Overseas organization. We were told to give them a piece of advice. While the others said something about knowing and exercising their rights, I warned them about how their children will become Americanized whether they like it or not; but that no matter what, to not let them forget where they came from and how hard their life used to be. It might sound like a cliché, but the future really does rely on the children of today. If we want to change how we perceive things now, the parents must remind their children their roots. My generation must be educated of our own history; to not forget the sufferings and sacrifices that our people made a century ago, but to remember the Filipinos who died in the name of liberty. It is only then that we can make peace with ourselves.
*Images are taken by Mimi Sison.
*Billboard picture from LionhearTV.com
Why?
When the men and women alike were subject to deportation, imprisonment, torture and even death during the American occupation.
Why?
When many reported cases of rape and attempted rape were dismissed as having “no merit.”
Why?
When soldiers blatantly referred to the natives as “niggers” except to those who spoke Spanish.
Why?
When they were forced to relay information that they didn’t know through “water cure,” (the forcing of water down the mouth and nose).
Why?
When barrios were torched so that “insurgents cannot occupy it.”
“The Philippine-American War: Friendship and Forgetting,” written by Reynaldo Ileto expands on American soldier’s mistreatment against the Filipinos during the war. When asked, Ladislao Masangcay admitted that all the barrios were torched in Tiaong. Furthermore, General Bell announced the amigo warfare to be terminated after his frustration on the Filipino’s guerrilla warfare tactics. This order meant that innocent citizens in the barrios of Batangas and Laguna had to either be for or against the American army. Those who were against were destined to burn. In response to this policy, concentration camps, or “protected zones” (as the Americans referred to it), were forced on the people so that they can “stop aiding the resistance.” BS!
The “Benevolent Assimilation” cartoon created by Zinn shows the massacre of all 900 Moros by the American Army after being ordered to kill or capture. That's a genocide!
But these are obviously just simplified summary of some of the things that occurred during the war.
Three years of mistreatments and forced surrenders yet we, as a nation, are practically begging for their alliance while they call us “little brown brothers,” and see us as a stepping stone to other countries. The war was even deemed as a “‘misunderstanding’ of Filipino interpretation on what the U.S was trying to do: ‘a rejection of a gift of further enlightment,’” (Ileto). At least the Japanese didn’t try to mask their ruthless invasion in 1941 as means to enlighten and educate the Filipinos. Admittedly, the Japanese invasion was far worse compared to the American “assimilation,” but when you look at it like that, I guess Hitler is a saint when compared to Stalin since he only killed more about 6 million people during his reign. The point is, the struggle for Filipinos to become the very people who deceived, mistreated, burned, massacred, and took advantage of them is an act of either ignorance to their own history, or the acknowledgement of their own country’s inferiority compared to the U.S.
When the whole nation’s outlook is, “the whiter the better,” we forget about the thousands of our own people who suffered, fought and died to give us freedom. We allow other nations to look upon us with inferiority instead of people of pride and contentment in our own skin.
I had the rare opportunity of visiting the town of Batad, home of the oldest rice terrace ever made. It’s refreshing to see the absence of American influence in this little town. The people lived the simplest lifestyle. No one prisoned themselves in their huts to keep their skin from being exposed to the sun, no one texted, no one was on facebook. Of course there was no way of getting on facebook because there were no computers anywhere but still! Everyone either worked in the rice fields or tended their little stores. While I spoke to our tour guide, Anthony, I learned a few things that I found interesting. Here are a few.1. The people learn their native language from their parents called Ifugao. I asked if any of them learned it from books and he said that it’s only through the parents that they learn and that it’s passed down through generations. Along with Ifugao, they know and speak the national language, Tagalog. Many of them are able to understand English but are not able to speak it very well.
2. The people there go to the mall once a year. They buy in bulk.
3. On their spare time, they go to the bar and drink. Nothing else.
4. “Popo Donda” is how you say “I love you” in Ifugao.
The thing I found most striking about this place is that even though tourism is one of their main source of income, none of them are influenced by all the tourist that visit their town on a daily basis. They still wear the traditional Filipino clothing, they speak their native language, and they eat whatever they can find or haul from the nearest market (which is about an hour away if one takes a jeepney). In the middle of where all the rice terraces meet, a small community can be found. It’s a wonder how they survive with nothing nearby but it’s absolutely humbling to realize that everything they have and everything they will have is the fruit of their hard work whether it is through the scorching heat or the mind-blowing rain showers.
[Example of American influence left in Baguio]
On the contrary, one can clearly see the effects of American colonization in Baguio City, the summer capital of the Philippines. It’s apparent in the street names which are mostly named after American colonial government officials during the war; the design of the houses, the infrastructure of the town, the clothes people wear, even the weather felt like Seattle. Obviously, weather is the very reason why the place is even Americanized. Due to Baguio’s high altitude location, the Americans made it their hill station. Even the name is a result of America’s occupation. Apparently, Baguio was originally called, “Kafagway,” which means wide open space (Go Baguio). When the Americans asked for the name, the natives pointed to the ground covered with mossy flower called, “bag-iw,” which the Americans, of course pronounced, “bag-i-yo.”The city itself was a beautiful place but I couldn’t help but compare it to the untouched, un-Americanized Batad I just experienced the day before. It truly was overwhelming how these two places contrasted each other like black and white. Personally, I found it extremely refreshing to see no billboards in sight. It was a nice break from seeing Anne Curtis’ face every 20 feet.
But, I’m here now, back in Manila.
….
She is everywhere!!!!
I must admit, while I wrote the first part of this blog, I complained to my sister how my complexion was getting darker. She looked at me straight in the eyes and reminded me that I’m writing about how Filipinos shouldn’t try to be “white.” I argued that I wasn’t trying to be because I wasn’t putting on the whitening lotion or using carrot soap to make me “whiter.” It took me only a second to realize that what I was saying is the very thing I hated. The idea of white as being “beautiful” has been so strongly engraved in the youths that it’s almost impossible to get rid of. I’m ashamed for saying it but now my eyes are even more opened. From now on, I will welcome every ray of sunshine that hits my skin and appreciate the beautiful, brown complexion I am meant to be.
I spoke to the Filipino parents who were about to go to the states for the first time during a mandatory, pre-departure seminar through the Commission of Filipinos Overseas organization. We were told to give them a piece of advice. While the others said something about knowing and exercising their rights, I warned them about how their children will become Americanized whether they like it or not; but that no matter what, to not let them forget where they came from and how hard their life used to be. It might sound like a cliché, but the future really does rely on the children of today. If we want to change how we perceive things now, the parents must remind their children their roots. My generation must be educated of our own history; to not forget the sufferings and sacrifices that our people made a century ago, but to remember the Filipinos who died in the name of liberty. It is only then that we can make peace with ourselves.
*Images are taken by Mimi Sison.
*Billboard picture from LionhearTV.com
*Final image taken by Frank
Great Job! I like how you compared Batad and Bagiuo in terms of the influence of Americans and tourism. You wrote"...the struggle for Filipinos to become the very people who deceived, mistreated, burned massacred,and took advantage of them is an act of either ignorance to their own history, or the acknowledgement of their own country's inferiority to the US " Why do you think Filipinos believed that the Philippines their own country-is inferior to the US? Why do Americans try to get darker through tanning products while Filipinos try to get White?
ReplyDelete-Leah-
I appreciate your reflection. Somewhere along Leah's question, is there a difference between White folks going tanning and Filipinos using skin whitening products? If so, why would they be different? I would rather have justice first than peace, because I can't have peace if there is no justice.
-Third-