A change in perspective…

I’m back in the United States now, in a town that may be the complete opposite of Manila. My hometown of Kalama is small, quiet and clean. Comparatively the Cowlitz County area is extremely nicer than Manila. The air is cleaner, the houses are bigger and the cars are nicer. This is funny that I see Cowlitz County this way because I remember after I moved to Seattle and then came back to my hometown and I thought the opposite about it. I remember coming back and looking around and thinking how much nicer Seattle is. Its nice to have my perspective changed again. What's also crazy is all the space I have around me, I’ve gotten so used to being in a concrete jungle next to the people of Manila who are crammed together and stacked in shacks with absolutely no space at all.

As we closed our last week in the Philippines we read an article, about the Southern Island group in Philippines known as Mindanao, by Patricio Abinales. We were unable to go to Mindanao, which is a shame because I have heard it’s a very beautiful part of the country, because of its current political situation. Apparently Mindanao consists of a predominantly Muslim population which is fighting to separate itself from the government of the Philippines. Due to the violence that is occurring as members of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (the front pages of national papers were covering the actions of MILF around the time that we left) fight for independence, as well as an Al-Queda presence in the region we had to stay away from the region from our own safety. Mindanao, like most everything in the Philippines, owes some of its current state to the affects of American colonialism as explained by Abinales. Rooted from the wide held belief by westerners that people of color were essentially inferior and unfit to govern themselves the Army was put in control of the Muslim population of Mindanao (91). As a result of this belief the Army decided that they needed to implement a policy of noninterference by Manila (which was predominately Christian) and especially by Filipino politicians (p. 101). This essentially further separated the already geographically cut off Mindanao from Manila politically and ideologically and it makes sense that such a separation has led to Mindanao’s current belief that they should be separated from the government of the Philippines.

The last article that we read by Rene G. Ontal was about Fagen, an African American soldier in the Philippine-American war who actually left the U.S. forces and then became a prominent fighter for the Filipino military, even moving up in rank as he fought against the forces of his homeland. Ontal highlights the racial ideology of the United States policies and actions at home and abroad that without a doubt led Fagen’s, as well as other black military men’s, desertion during the war. I can hardly blame these men for questioning what they were fighting for. They had to join the military in order to make money and in order to survive. This led them to fighting for white men who oppressed at home so that other colored peopled would be oppressed and exploited abroad. As I mentioned in other blogs soldiers like Fagen had to join the war, which occurred so that the United States could acquire an ideal economic location for trade with China, so that they could make money. Money was the reason for the war and also the reason that colored soldiers like Fagen were caught up fighting for something they didn’t believe in. While I could never see myself turning against my country, I of course was never put in a situation like Fagen was, and I am moved by the way that he stood up for what he believed was right when he knew that doing so would prevent him from ever seeing his homeland again if he was lucky enough to survive.

Both of these articles find common ground with the way that Western countries have historically disregarded foreign civilization’s ways of life as well as their potential to develop within their own means. Honestly, this idea is at the basis of everything that we have learned over this quarter from the current economic state of exploited countries to the way that such exploitation harms people not only externally but internally in the way they value their culture and sequentially themselves. In our last week we spent some time in Makiti, one of the wealthier areas of Manila and it honestly bewildered me how the down town of a city can look like Miami while the rest of the city is so poor. I guess it could be said, "that where money can be made it can also be found."

While my eyes have been opened to the disparity that this country faces, which is partly due to the United States of old, and some say the United States of today, I have also come to feel very fortunate to live in here in the States. I’m getting a college degree, and unless I go to law school or graduate school is virtually useless. However, a degree in the Philippines will put someone just above poverty level if they are lucky. I still have the option to do all kinds of work that will pay me enough to live comfortably. I even have the option to go back to school if I want to. I have been saddened but also humbled by seeing the challenges that third world countries have to face. Hopefully this new found perspective towards my own good fortune and the misfortune of others will help guide me through the years to come.

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.”

Anticipating My Moment of Truth & Learning About the Fearsome Beauty of My Mindanao

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Unchanged Philippines

In the comfort of our temporary stay in UP Balay, my sister and I began to openly discuss our take on world peace. She casually asked me: Do you personally believe that world peace is achievable and if so, why or why not? With such a potentially controversial topic, I should have been more hesitant in answering instead of my sure-fired response. It’s the same as asking if the chicken or the egg came first. But without a pause, I answered, “No.” My sister continued on applying her make-up while trying to see what I would say next.

“No. Because human beings are inherently bad and as long as we have that nature, world peace can never be achieved.” She looked at me with no expression on her face, suppressing any thoughts, comments or disagreement she may have had.

“Why do you say that humans are inherently bad? Where did you get that idea?” I reminded her of the very first sin committed on Earth, when Adam and Eve ate the fruit that God forbade them to consume. That’s the first illustration of how humans are inherently bad, always consciously or subconsciously defying rules and laws to satisfy their sinful nature. But every Christian that knows the story knows that it’s not about eating the fruit, it’s about the principal of obeying the rules. I further added that children don’t have to be trained to do an evil thing; that is their first nature. What a parent must strive on doing is train their children to be good person: be respectful, courteous, honest, obey rules, etc. But even with extensive teaching and guidance towards the more acceptable behavior, our innate desires will always surface—to do corrupt and selfish things.

In Rene Ontal’s “Fagen and Other Ghosts: African-Americans and the Philippine-American War,” the author details the experience of U.S. army, David Fagen, a “colored” soldier, switching allegiance to the Philippines during the Philippine-American War. Although faced with imprisonment, dishonor and even death, the African-American men set aside their first nature, their first order, and became above what every race expected from them—a true hero. Fagen was among the many Africa-American who chose to fight for their human rights rather than obey their national commands. Although not the first and certainly not the last, Fagen ultimately sacrificed his life in the name of justice. Surely the conflict of nationalism and humanism penetrated in the hearts of these men. But for those that chose to do right in their hearts suffered and those who chose to be safe, well…, kept on living.

The special case of African-American men living above the human nature is exceptional but in the American soldier’s case, the story is different. A physician named Tordorico Santos commented: “Before you arrived, the White troops began to tell us of the inferiority of the American Blacks of your brutal natures, your cannibal tendencies, how you would rape our senoritas, but the affinity of our complexion between you and me tells, and you exercise your duty much more kindly... in dealing with us. Between you and him, we look upon you as the angel and him as the devil.” In this comment alone, one can clearly see the first nature of human beings—dishonesty and selfishness. The white Americans lied to a nation about a group of people they expect to fight for their own country but don’t consider them an equal part of it. Instead, they make their own people seem like barbarians just because they have different color from them. In addition, Col. Frederick Funston stated: "I will rawhide these bullet-headed Asians until they yell for mercy— After the war, I want the job of Professor of History in Luzon University, when they build it, and I'll warrant that the new generation of natives will know better than to get in the way of the band-wagon of Anglo-Saxon progress and decency.” Is this how one speaks about a people they are attacking in their own homeland? In the Filipino language, one would say, “Ang kapal ng mukha!” (How shameless!). But that’s just it, people are evil in nature and no matter how many rules or how many churches are planted in the world, we will never achieve world peace.

Patricio Anibales’ article, “An American Colonial State: Authority and Structure of Southern Mindanao,” explores southern Mindanao’s transformation in the hands of non other than the imperialist-minded Americans using force. Apparently, the “new subjects” were generalized as “Islamic, barbaric, backward, and led by self-serving strong men whose powers were based on force.” This is why the official consensus was to “rely on force to ensure Muslim compliance” then use that to introduce the “American civilization” to the “savages.” How can peace be achieved if the mindset of most people is to use fire with fire? It’s impossible. Ghandi and Mother Teresa tried the non-violence approach and yes, they were able to achieve their ultimate purpose and become an example for many other causes but we still see violence and racism to this day. Peace may be achievable in a person or even in a community but never worldwide.

When the Americans finally pacified the south, they wanted to separate the area from the Philippine country and instead call it “Mindanao Plantations” so that they could “fully exploit the land and its resources” (Anibales). Fortunately, the idea was never manifested but that person that suggested it thought of no one but himself. He wasn’t thinking about the good of the country or what’s better for the people in it, as long he was on top, nothing else mattered.

Now, I say all this because of what I said many weeks ago during one of our class discussions. Everyone else disagreed with me but in my opinion, the Philippines will never rise above its current state. If it hasn’t gained its independence now, if it hasn’t ceased to be so corrupted in the year 2011, it will never see the change we desperately need. The Philippine dream is just as achievable as world peace. No matter if Anakbayan convinces thousands of people to get violent and fight for their rights, no matter if many organizations join their efforts to make this country a better place, the Philippines will never cease to be the way that it is now. There are always the few who overpower the rest, and the rest have no power to fight the few. The system is simply in favor to those who money. And as I stay longer here in the Philippines, it is apparent that money is the most that people lack in this country. It may seem that I am being pessimistic but to me, I am being a realist. I’ve lived long enough in this country to know that the issues we face today will only worsen in the future.

But why, even after I say all this, do I want to come back and live here for the rest of my life? Why, with all the hopelessness that I feel, do I still desire to be a citizen of this corrupted nation? Studying abroad here for six weeks has only magnified the imperfections and shortcomings of my homeland, but in the same lenses I also see the beauty and the wonders of this place that keep me proud to call it my home.

View of Baguio

Rice terrace in Batad

Only the Beginning

“So long, goodbye, to you my friend. Goodbye, for now until we meet again.” This is very fitting to me this week because our study abroad trip is no longer a study abroad trip. I’m on my own now in the Philippines for the next two weeks, left to digest, explore, and apply some knowledge as I embark on a quest to explore and re-explore places I’ve visited in the past six weeks. As I type this I am on a Cebu-Pacific plane headed for Caticlan (Boracay). I am spoiled…no…I am seizing the moment.

Miko Marasigan Angelo Buelva(Me)

My justification for another trip to Boracay is that it’s my cousins twenty-third birthday this Saturday August 13^th. My cousin Miko used to be my best friend. From the time I was born until I was five we were inseparable. But fate had different plans for us and I was taken to the U.S. for the past eighteen years and he stayed here in the Philippines.

From my perspective I have lost a part of my identity that I can never again fully grasp. I am disconnected with the language and the culture of the Philippines. And though I can re-learn Tagalog and re-learn the culture it will not be the same had I grown up in the Philippines.

What exactly is the definition of Filipino-American? To me it is being a Filipino individual growing up in America, but it could also mean being half Filipino and half Caucasian. The categorizing of race is ambiguous to me. World population is increasing and the amount of interracial people is on the rise. Race is associated with identity and when there are categories such as Filipino-American or Chinese-Filipino or Spanish-American where the former is the ethnicity and the latter is the place the person was raised it can be confusing defining identity.

(From left to right) Me born in the Philippines raised in the U.S. Steph Adrales half Filipino half Caucasian born and raised in the U.S. and Frank Bacungan born and raised in the U.S.

What is the definition of Filipino-American? All 3 of us are Filipino-American

In a previous reading titled, “The Colonial Mentality Scale for Filipino-Americans” it spoke about assimilation, which is the process of integrating into a dominant culture and having low identification with ones heritage culture. Authors David and Okazaki state that people who normalize oppression or fail to recognize oppression feel less stress compared to those that do. For me assimilation came easier and the main reason for this, I believe, is that I was five when I moved to the U.S. I was easy to mold and transform into seeing the world from the American perspective. As a product of this I lost my Filipino culture and my ability to speak the Filipino language.

Had I not moved to the U.S. my life would be completely different. I would probably be constantly on the hunt for jobs, and I may have not been able to go to college. The problems that overshadow the people in the Philippines are large and I cannot grasp the entirety of it. I am a product of my parents and my surroundings and thanks to being in the U.S. I was given opportunities many people in the Philippines would not get.

I possess feelings of gratitude towards the opportunities I have received, but I’m weary to label that colonial mentality. I’m grateful that by moving to the U.S. my life will have been better, but I believe it’s wrong that the system is set up in such a way that a country’s people cannot prosper in their own country. I use to not think twice about the injustices of poverty, but as I have come to the realization that the problems of the homeless are not individual, and are systemic I am moved to act. When I get back to Seattle on August 22 2011 my first job interview is through the Department of Social & Health Services with an organization called WithinReach. This organization’s mission is to ensure that families and individuals at or below the poverty line are connected with health and social services. This is one step I am taking to be part of the solution, and though it is not specifically for the benefit of Filipino people it is only the first step.