Speaking the Unspoken

The Brooklynite was no longer a silhouette, a figure that faded into the curtains and backdrops of music venue stages. The shadow that usually steered clear of the spotlight and blended into the menagerie of horn and string instruments was to be revealed. Brian Bonz, a native of the ensemble of backup bands, was to meet me in the flesh to discuss the formation of his very own band, the release of their debut record, and his sort of self-imposed promotion to leader and frontman.

In a previous post of mine I talked briefly about the history of the Philippines and how it was marked by long periods of colonialism and military occupation, and followed by decades of corrupt government administration (which still remain in power today).

To be honest, I couldn't blame Filipino Americans for feeling somewhat confused in regards to cultural loyalties: are we Western because we were colonized by Spain and by the United States? Do we reject those Western influences because of the degradation and mistreatment that we suffered? Or am I nationalist, standing behind the country of the Philippines despite their unfaithful government officials? 

As an immigrant, am I to separate the image of the U.S. as "world police" from their image of "the land of opportunity"? My parents, both of them coming from the Philippines during the 1970s, have all but dashed any memories of what it was like "back home." While they don't necessarily refuse to ever talk about what it was like growing up there, they don't voluntarily ever bring up much of their past homeland. It's old news to them.

But for me, I don't get the vibe that "they are too good" now that they are here in America. It's not an "I'm better than that now" attitude that keeps them from remembering. A part of me feels like they are over that time in their lives, where they walked miles on dirt paths in dilapidated sandals just to get to school, and ate nothing but rice and salt for weeks. After all, what's so great about mulling over those days? 

However, a part of me feels as though there's a little more to it. It's one thing to remember humid afternoons spent hungry and without fresh water. But it's another thing to admit to a history of oppression and struggle. I don't know how much Philippine history they were taught; maybe not much at all. Hell, even here in the U.S., you barely hear ANYTHING about the Philippines. And when you do, it's about how great America freed the country from the grasps of Spain, the big bad wolf. Lo and behold, the history stops there: you don't hear of how the U.S. dipped their greedy hands into the cookie jar.

I can't say that I'm surprised. For a very long time I've felt sort of like two different people in one body. I felt so disconnected from my Filipino heritage, almost to the point that I could up and leave it and never look back. It was a sort of sad and empty feeling. But ever since I opened my eyes to where I came from, where my family and my people came from, I have never wanted to lose sight of it.

Although it's a rather tragic history to acknowledge, it informs me in more ways than one. Of course, I am not a different person altogether, but I know things and I am aware of things that have not only changed my perspective on what it means to be Filipino, but also what it means to be American. 

In a way it's true that ignorance is bliss. But when it comes down to it, all that's part of the void is sorely missed.  

(And while this may be a tad random, I wanted to draw attention to the release of a brand new book and the first of its kind: a book entitled Filipino American Psychology: A Handbook of Theory, Research and Clinical Practice. It examines the psyche of Filipino Americans as well as the reasons for their virtual "invisibility" in social sciences.)

"...spend their weekends trying to live exactly as Indians of the North American plains did over two centuries ago. They recreate tepee encampments, dress in animal skins and furs, and forgo modern tools, using handmade bone knives to cut and prepare food....Many feel an intense spiritual link to Native myths and spirituality, and talk about 'feeling' Native on the inside."  

In its 20th year here on the East coast, the festivities also included a flag ceremony, Thanksgiving mass, street fairs with food and merchant booths, and a cultural festival where artists and performers gathered to entertain audiences. 

The Philippine Declaration of Independence happened in 1898 and essentially proclaimed the sovereignty of the Philippine Islands from the colonial fists of Spain amidst the Spanish-American War.

(However, this didn't seem to mean anything to both Spain and the United States, as both countries chose not to recognize the Philippines' independence. The country was later ceded to the U.S. in the 1898 Treaty of Paris by Spain because of debts and assets lost. Colonized by the U.S., it wasn't until 1946 that the country was granted freedom.  Even then, it was more of a smokescreen than anything else because America continued to poke, pry, and occupy the Philippines decades after this. It's a long, tragic, and for the most part, unknown history of struggle and resistance, but really worth looking into...)

At this year's commemoration, the DAMAYAN Migrant Workers Association, as part of their "healing health program" called Lunas, operated a health fair with free services like blood pressure, cholesterol, and dental screenings and doctor consultations. DAMAYAN is a non-profit grassroots organization based in New York that promotes and protects the rights of Filipino domestic workers.

The fair was funded by the New York Women's Foundation and primarily exists to serve those domestic workers, who are mostly undocumented and uninsured. Among these migrant workers, health and sickness are concerns which most of the time go unattended and uncared for due to their legal statuses here in the States.

According to a recent DAMAYAN survey of 208 Filipino domestic workers, about 88 percent do not receive health insurance and 67 percent do not receive paid sick days. (FYI: There are about 11 million overseas Filipinos in the world; the U.S. State Department says America has a population of about 4 million.) In addition, cases of domestic worker abuse within the Filipino community are commonly seen. 

DAMAYAN also supports the statewide call for a Domestic Workers Bill of Rights, which would grant protection from "lawless environments" of long hours, low pay, and both physical and mental abuse. For more information on this campaign, and how to support it, visit this website. 

I identify myself as Filipino-American, and while I view Independence Day as a historical marker, I think it's more important that the celebration enabled the unifying of a community. Strength is in numbers, and the more that we know about ourselves and one another, the more aware we will be of the triumphs still necessary to attain.

Forget for a second that it is a conservative magazine and the fact that most Republicans have outright spoken against Ms. Sotomayor for that supposed "racist comment" she made way back when. I think seeing this cover on any magazine would seem somewhat of an outrage. Why does she look Asian? Why is she dressed like Buddha? What's up with that title? If I didn't know better, I'd say the whole thing is straight-up racist.

According to my Mac dictionary, a caricature is defined as: "a picture, description, or imitation of a person or thing in which certain striking characteristics are exaggerated in order to create a comic or grotesque effect."

Now, I haven't been following every step of Ms. Sotomayor's career, but I don't think I've ever seen a picture of her and thought, "Wow, she sure looks Asian." On the contrary, I don't think I've ever thought that at all. Is the only way for her to seem validly "wise" to be artistically manipulated to look Asian?

The mere fact that they titled it the "The Wise Latina" seems to imply that Latinas are usually not wise. If you want a good title, you need to catch the attention of passersby. And by doing so, you need to employ a somewhat ironic phrase.

Personally, I wouldn't title an article about an adept basketball star "The Good Athlete," because that's boring. You want some jazz, some pizzazz. A little bit of an unexpected juxtaposition. For instance, about that basketball star...I might say "The Poetic Athlete" because that's a fairly uncommon mainstream stereotype. So here, National Review writer Ramesh Ponnuru came up with this juxtaposition-y title, as though "wise" and "Latina" have no business being in the same sentence, which doesn't sit very well with me.

Many critics, from Salon to AngryAsianMan have discussed their utter confusion and condemnation of the cover. According to Salon, Rich Lowry, editor of the National Review, said of the cover:

"Seems kind of self-explanatory...she has characterized herself as a wise Latina, so we ran a caricature of her in a pose associated with extraordinary equipoise, peace and — yes — wisdom..."

Thanks, Lowry. I think we get what you're trying to say here, but the idea behind actually doing this cover is definitely not as clear-cut or self-explanatory as you might think.

But are we reading too closely? I've been known to rack my brain too seriously over certain things. Could it be that Ponnuru simply penned a straightforward title? Is it possible that it is all just as innocent as Lowry makes it seem?