Category Archive for: pulitika

komentaryo

the rich ba kamo?

nakita ko silang lahat.

all under one NBC tent, last thursday, stormy weather notwithstanding. apparently, art can bring all of  our alta sociadad together, given too that this was a first-of-its-kind art event: the Manila Art 2009. with most of  manila’s galleries bringing the paintings, sculptures and mixed-media works under their roofs, this was a free-for-all, really. a one-stop shop for anyone who’s interested in art in the philippines.

this apparently, is what the rich of this country have in common other than their money: art.

but of course being my middle class self, recently becoming familiar with the kind of market that continues to exist for art in this country, i had come in the fanciest of my public-school-teacher attires, flowy skirt, wedge heels, the most make-up i can bear. i failed to take into consideration the rich coming in black coats and barongs, long gowns and cocktail dresses.

my happy flowy beige-and-orange dress could only float above the din of black.

naisip ko: para silang nagluluksa.

but this was no sorrowful night. in fact, for the artists and the galleries, it seemed like the one affair they were thankful to be in. for art critics — and the wannabes like me — it was a rare chance to be in the company of all these artworks. for the rich, well, this was a time to hobnob, have pictures taken, smoke cigarettes outside because you know, it’s not allowed inside.

and it was there that i realized how justice exists in this world.

woman 1: you know, i love this event because we get to buy all this art! i think this is what will keep art alive in this country.

woman 2: yeah, the art world shouldn’t depend on governement, they should depend on the rich for support. that’s the only way.

woman 1: oh, look at that car, he’s in the way, nagta-traffic tuloy. filipinos talaga.

man (pointing at the traffic): now THAT, is art.

if the pinoy artist can depend on this rich to be their clients, and this rich can barely get themselves off of their perch, enough to really and truly understand what ails the filipino — artist and otherwise — then the art worldwill survive as a matter of course. it may remain inaccessible to the majority of filipinos, and it may be used against them by the rich, ah, but it will just fluggin’ exist.

in a tent with the tessa prietos and tim yaps of this world, buying art like there’s no tomorrow, i am reminded not just of how the rich can survive these times of crisis. they can afford to be alive and well, and spend money that can feed a poor family for a full half-year, for one piece of artwork.

such is the social crisis of our time.

komentaryo

sex without love*

If there’s any soundbite that I absolutely hated hearing in relation to the Hayden Koh sex videos, it’s from Boy Abunda, saying that sex, whether on video or not, must be about LOVE.

Goodness. Is this the dark ages? How many women have been oppressed precisely by this notion of love? I love you girl, therefore sleep with me. This dialogue is what has brought women to bed, before they are of an age when they can handle it, before they are even aware of their bodies. This is what has allowed for women’s bodies to be made into objects, because they enter the bedroom and think, oh, I love this man and this must be the way to prove it.

Love is what has allowed women to imagine love triangles to be acceptable, precisely what has kept all these women in Hayden’s bed and on his camera, what has allowed for Vicky Belo to imagine that she must stay, to prove she loves him.

Talk of love in relation to these sex videos is an injustice to love.

But maybe this is really just us, as audience, in over our heads about these sex videos, enamored with the ongoing debate, the continued media coverage, the chismis. It really is so juicy, yes? But all of these seems like we are, as audience, unprepared to deal with sex as sex, period. Ill-equipped to deal with the kind of technology that propagates videos of two people getting it on. Unprepared to look at sex in the eye and view it for what it is: two bodies articulating desire.

For who’s to say there was sex but no love or any emotions, and vice versa? This is only obvious when the act is done with no consent, and that would make it rape, no ifs and buts about it. And yet this isn’t porn either, nor your usual sexy movie. Both of these are done for profit, and presume what it is that the audience wants to see, over and above anything else.

But these Hayden videos have more than consent, and just run-of-the-mill movie sex. It has enjoyment. It has desire. It has libog, in the Pinoy sense of lust-desire-passion-tulo-laway-bodies-against-each-other-bahala-na-si-Batman sense. Only real life – not necessarily true love – would allow for that kind of desire. And two bodies acknowledging that desire, acting on it, enjoying it, is difficult to ignore. And maybe shouldn’t be debased to the level of just a sex video.

Or easily, and simply, oppression of one woman, or two or three. In the aftermath of these videos, we are told to see only the woman’s body, and how she had no idea something like this was going to be released to the public. All we’ve seen, in fact, and considered, are the women’s bodies. What about Hayden? Is he not objectified as well in this whole enterprise of sex videos? Yes, he taped these sexcapades, but it is obvious that he was not the one who released them. That makes him a victim, too. And he is twice victimized by the fact that no one has seen him as victim. I’m not saying Katrina and the other girls aren’t victims, too, I’m saying that they are not the only ones.

But again, to us as audience, Hayden is not victim because we imagine that he is the one in power here. He’s the one in a position to enjoy the sex, the videotaping, the different positions. But what of the women? Did they not enjoy it as well?  Isn’t it possible that in this whole enterprise of sex-video-talk, that we are the ones bringing the discussion to the level of shame and embarrassment?

Isn’t it that it is us, as audience and chismosas, who have oppressed Katrina and Maricris and whoever else will come out in these videos, as women whose lives are now over? And aren’t we the ones to actually, and truly, give Hayden an even bigger ego, as we refuse to even acknowledge that he is oppressed too?

In our insistence that only the woman is oppressed here, aren’t we also allowing for Hayden to get away with it? To get away with imagining his power to be more than it actually is, to be something to be proud of? In the age of masculinity studies and hypermasculinity experimentation, this can be turned around in his favor, you know. And after all, despite the threat of losing his license to practice medicine, he will still find himself a career – if only in the eyes that have objectified him through these videos. And maybe if only as Vicky Belo’s constant man, the one she proves her true love through (an absolute craziness in itself, of course).

In the process, what we fail to do is bring this discussion to the level of sex as truth, as real, and as something that we must all – particularly the women – deal with and be responsible about. In the age of technology, yes, but also in the age of sex without love, or at least questionable/ unstable/dishonest love. Here, women are being taught to have the stomach, the mind, the heart, for every other consequence that happens after the sex. We are being told that we will be alone, with no laws to help us, no reproductive health consciousness to bank on. As such, we must all bring this to the level of responsibility, of talking about it beyond the chismis, of making women – and men – realize that in the end, we do pay. For what our body wants, and for heeding its otherwise normal desires, in the face of a society that has yet to be  mature about sex. And love.

Over and above whether it’s on video or not.

*Title taken from Sharon Olds’ poem :

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the     come to the     God     come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health–just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

From Strike Sparks, Selected Poems 1980-2002. U.S.: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004. Page 24.

kultura

Finding Juan

a version of this was published in The Philippine Daily Inquirer on May 24 2009.

Projects that deal with the creation of a Filipino identity are always bound to be met by debate and objections, violent reactions and a lot of hair-pulling. And rightfully so. At a time when we are being told that Manny Pacquiao is our sense of identity, we must be able to kick and scream our way towards a better sense of who we are.

The “Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Project” of the Center for Art, New Ventures and Sustainable Development (CANVAS), seems to be a step in the right direction. Asking artists to create works that respond to the question of Filipino identity, the first batch of paintings on exhibit at the Cultural Center of the Philippines is telling of the individual minds of our young contemporary artists. Collectively, it is everything and indicative of where we are as a nation.

On that hot evening of the exhibit’s opening night, the slew of paintings hanging on the second floor lobby walls of the CCP was surprisingly refreshing. The youthfulness was difficult to ignore, owing literally to the bright optimistic colors across the canvasses. Even when a given canvass dealt with dark hues, there seemed to be something light and agreeable about the general look of the string of paintings in front of me.

It could have been the familiarity of it all as well. From afar, the amalgamation of images of being Pinoy (the jeepney, the Filipino child, a person sweeping, people smiling into camera phones) couldn’t help but be heartwarming. But too, it was almost a warning: the concern for identity after all is an overdone concern of the arts, visual and otherwise, and as such it does quite often become cliché.

As some of the works on exhibit are, falling into the trap of using overdone stereotypes of the Filipino. The Pinoy as unique in our ability to smile in the midst of pain (Galos Lang by Jeff Carnay) and oppression due to unjust laws (Juan Line by Dansoy Coquilla), to walk to the beat of our own drum (Hataw sa Traffic Light by Marcial Pontillas), and to rise above adversity given our heroic history (Like Our Heroes, We Will Rise by Anthony Palo). The realism that the first three work with don’t leave much for interpretation – a function as well of its being cliché – while the latter is strangely enough a representation of people flying with and on a hot air balloon, an image that connotes social class mobility. Is this to say who can become hero?

Many others, while dealing with realistic images of poverty, corruption and oppression, end up talking about the universal notions of environmentalism (Juanderful World? by Anna de Leon), unity (Maybe we are the pieces… by Jay Pacena II), personal struggle (Sarisari Storm by Maan de Loyola), determination (The Rise of Juan Tamad by Lotsu Manes), and hope (The Traveller by Palma Tayona). Understandably, it is these pieces as well that have more to say on the canvas.

Pacena’s piece in particular screams against the oppression of information, with a blindfolded image up-close, mouth filled with three-dimensional puzzle pieces. With eyes unseen and face half-covered, this was a statement on every Juan and Juana: you are being defined by too much, even as you remain unknown. Meanwhile, the Filipinos’ need for travel and movement is in Tayona’s work, showing an oversized figure carrying wooden children and lifted off ground by two hands. It is a statement on the enterprise of selling laborers’ bodies across the globe.

The clichés notwithstanding, a lot of thinking obviously went into many of the artworks. This was particularly true for the more politically charged ones, those that spoke of the true conditions of nation, and dealt with it head-on. There was the truth of poverty and how it understandably sacrifices hope (Juan Luma by Migs Villanueva), the contemporary Filipinization of what is foreign and how this hybrid identity is problematic in its abstraction (Hybrid Nation by Jucar Raquepo), the static state of the nation as potential never fulfilled (Penoy by Manny Garibay). Expectedly, the latter two paintings used a pastiche of images (popular culture and our unfulfilled, respectively).

But it is the flair for the revolutionary that is striking about this exhibit. The works “Byaheng Maynila” by Omi Reyes, “Aklas… Baklas… Lakas… Bukas!” by Marika Constantino, “Panata” by Salvador Ching, and “Pinoy Big Brother” by Buen Abrigo are priceless not just in its imagery but also in its call to action. Reyes’ close-up image of a jeep seems cliché, but up close its movement challenges the audience to an engagement: where are you going and why? The value of this question is true as well for Ching’s use of a Filipino everyman doingthe Catholic devotees’ sacrifice of flagellation. This man though is facing a bright red moon, his bare back bloodied – the Juan is himself the sacrifice, as he is the one facing the possibility of revolt with the red red moon. And while the image of two arms clasping each other in Constantino’s work could seem cliché as well, its flowing red background connotes the rage and revolt that seem all possible.

But it is Abrigo who outdoes them all, creating the image of contemporary times as transnational neo-colonial: an unstable building and tower is filled with everything commercial that permeates our everyday lives; figures beneath these structures, are that of a masked GMA/Imelda, a two-faced man in shadows, and a zombie-like creature with laser eyes. All of these are contextualized in the dark neglected buildings in the background – a telling sign of how the capitalist enterprise silences the nation. The eeriness reeks of injustice and murder, and this is precisely what works for “Pinoy Big Brother”. Because too, it highlights the need for change, the need to end the oppression that capital brings. Hooray for the revolution!

If only for Abrigo’s as well as Reyes’ and Ching’s works, and in the context of the highly debatable concepts of nation and identity, the “Looking For Juan” exhibit is everything and a must-see.

komentaryo

sugod mga kafatid!

I can’t help but delight in the ManoloQuezonIII-ChipTsao debacle. First came ChipTsao and his satirical take on the Philippines versus China on the Spratlys. Second was the expected general public sentiment that this was racist, unacceptable, and off with ChipTsao’s head! Third, Manolo writes this status on his Twitter and Facebook via Ping.fm: “All the crap …” Fourth, hindi na kinaya ng powers ng bloggers na sina Dona Victorina at Reyna Elena, hindi lang si ChipTsao, kungdi pati na rin si Manolo. (more…)

kultura

today: grieving for FrancisM

a version of this essay appears in the Philippine Daily Inquirer: Mourning for FrancisM

I can imagine that this doesn’t apply to many Filipinos of a different social class and generation from mine. But for a particular sector who, in the 1990s, was enamored by American pop and rap, who were at an age in which they needed a sense of identity in the context of this country, there was Francis Magalona.

And this is not to say that he began in my consciousness as a rapper. If memory serves, he was singing and dancing on That’s Entertainment, acting in Bagets 2, and rapping the top 10 song countdown on Lovli-Ness, before he became the Master Rapper of this country. In fact, when he broke out as a rapper in the album Yo! and the song “Mga Kababayan”, it seemed to me like the most natural progression, for someone like FrancisM who seemed more intelligent than many of his generation, and who really did have something to say that was different and new. At least to my 14-year old ears, and my 17-year old brother’s, and I guess to many friends I’ve met since then, who now mourn with me and cry the tears we would normally only have for loved ones. (more…)