And this one is dedicated to the Black folks

Being back in the States but writing academic blogs for my study abroad trip as if I was still in the Philippines feels odd. Where the motherland’s inspiration was once all around me; the warmth of the climate on the back of my neck, slapping the mosquitoes from my legs, watching the chickens peck at the Earth or hearing the intonation of Tagalog being spoken in the background-- is now gone, filed into the recesses of my memory stored under “Monumental”. In it’s place is the familiar feeling of my hometown Lakewood, Washington. 

L-A-K-E-W-O-O-D. Aw the city that raised me. My first lessons about life I learned here. 

Loyalty- OG’s* use to school my compatriots and I to always be there for each other no matter what. 

Respect- You make sure you keep it for yourself and don’t forget to give it because you mess around with the wrong dude and your card might get pulled*. 

Friendship- Through thick and thin you ride* for your homies. No matter what. That’s what friends are for. If my friend is staying the night at the sketchy house then I guess I am too. If my friend is getting left behind with no ride out in the rain then I guess I am too. If my friend has beef* well, you already know. 

As a youth this was my thought pattern. I followed these lessons even when it seemed counterintuitive and on a few occasions to the point that there was the potential for bodily harm or being arrested. Looking back on it now, hindsight has made it painfully obvious that my decision making was a tad suspect but that’s fine. I’m alive now and that’s all that matters. 

My upbringing was unique. I grew up in the middle class suburbs of Lakewood. The majority of the homeowners were either White or Asian. I had a diverse group of friends. We were a ragtag bunch. A couple Brown kids. A couple Black kids. A couple White kids. During my childhood we didn’t notice color, all that mattered was having as much fun as possible. Diversity was prominent. A racial balance was struck amongst all of us. I didn’t notice much of a difference. 

When I was in third grade and the dream of playing in the NBA was still on the table for possible career paths, I can recall begging my mom to sign me up to play for a basketball team. Any team. Just let me play! She acquiesced, although taking me too and from basketball practice as well as games would be an added addition to the already full plate that a military wife has to carry (my dad was gone a lot, so she was practically a single parent), she knew playing basketball was good for me. 

So at this point, I’m thinking I’ll be hooping at the YMCA, it’ll be cool. I’ll have a lot of fun. But little did I know that was not in the cards for me. Instead of signing me up at the YMCA, where there was air-conditioned gyms, new white nylon nets and the extra shiny polished wood floors which made it almost impossible to slip on during a game, I was taken clear across the city to the Boys and Girls Club. The hood if you will. My mom’s rationale was that the Black kids here would make me tougher and help develop my hoop game.

Thus beginning my emergence within the Black culture.

All throughout basketball season, right after work tired from a long day, my mom would shuttle me to games and practices. Somewhere in Tacoma, deep in the hood. On many instances I was the only Filipino/White kid there. Hoopin’. Not even thinking about it. I mean, I noticed it but the focus was playing basketball and having fun not the fact that I was the ethnic outlier. 

I grew close with my teammates. We were like brothers. We stayed the night at each other’s house. We talked about girls. We joked around with each other. It didn’t hurt that we ran the city for our age division, hoopin’ on any team you could think of but that’s besides the point. 

As I got older and the middle school years were upon me, the friends I hung out with were predominantly black (with the exception of my childhood friends from my neighborhood and a handful of Brown kids I knew from around the way). I don’t know I can’t explain it, it’s not as if I consciously went out and sought out African Americans to befriend. That’s just how it happened.

I was out and about in Lakewood, riding my bike all through the city. I didn’t want to be home. My mom was at work. My sister was gone doing her thing. My dad was overseas. And when he was home, more times than not, my parents were beefing so the more time I could spend away from home the better. This is when I started kicking it. I’m talking about kicking it. 

We were young kids with raging hormones up to no good. Riding bikes. Hanging out on the corner. Going over to girls’ houses. And playing video games was our M.O. 

There was a kinship between us, despite the cultural differences. I would eat grits and eggs in the morning when I stayed at their house. They would eat rice and vienna sausages when we stayed at mine. I spoke the vernacular without it sounding forced or contrived. Slang flowed off my lips naturally and effortlessly. We were homies. Bottom line. Regardless of the color of our skin. What was more important to us at the time wasn’t race relations or white supremacy or colonial mentality-- it was striving to be as cool as humanly possible. And on a few rare occasions I believe we achieved it, if only for a moment. 

These friendships carried on to high school and even present day. I still kick it with my homies. Matter of fact, I seen some of them today! 

The reading this week Fagen and Other Ghosts: African Americans and the Philippine-American War resonated with me on a different level, on a more personal one. In the weeks prior, reading up on Filipino history, I connected emotionally. Here I was learning about my heritage, my roots, and with each turn of the page I was uncovering a piece of my Filipino identity that was buried away, deep beneath unawareness and colonial mentality. However, Ontal’s article didn’t teleport me to the same place as Illeto, as Viola, as Constantino did. It took me back to my childhood. Back to my special bond with African Americans. “... newspapers such as the Indianapolis Recorder voiced the general sentiment, proclaiming an “ideological” alliance with the Filipinos... The editors often referred to the Philippine natives as ‘colored cousins,’ a reflection of how the racial construct of the day sheltered all brown-skinned races as ‘Colored’ or ‘Negro’.” (122).

This article highlights the friendship Filipinos and African Americans have been sharing for well over a century, with the commonality of being oppressed by the White American. David Fagen defunct from the U.S. military and joined the Filipino insurrectos fighting for their freedom (125). What I found fascinating is that he was taken to the rebel headquarters at Mount Arayat. That’s in Pampanga! That’s where my family is from. My Uncles still live there to this day.  This little detail is minute and perhaps doesn’t even belong here being mentioned but I can’t help stating when I find interesting links between my story and the article, especially with this one hitting so close to home. 

In these last six weeks I have undergone a radical transformation of self. I’ve rediscovered my Filipino identity. I’ve come to terms with being White and exculpating myself from the guilt I’ve harbored from sharing a history with the colonizer. And lastly, I am openly acknowledging and voicing my appreciation for the culture that has had a major influence on my life, one that was with me before it all, during my time of unawareness, when I was unconscious of myself-- the African American culture was there schooling me to the game*, showing me the ropes. They took me in. Nurtured me. Provided me with company. Showered me with love. Help shaped my perspective. I feel like the adopted son. 

And for that I am forever grateful,

Je 

*OG- an older person that has wisdom to bestow upon the younger generations. 

*If someone is pulling your card then they are confronting you about something which may invariably lead to a physical or verbal altercation.

*To ride- accompanying your friend through anything. “Dawg I’m about run into this forest fire so I can find those shoelaces” “ok that’s cool I’m down to ride.”

*Beef- a point of contention between two parties

*Schooling someone to the game- to teach a person something. “Damn, I don’t know how to solve this calculus equation.” “Here let me school you to the game.”