What's this? Men finally fighting back at women of power?
But before I even proceed further, and to provide context, please watch first this youtube link of another song which is hitting the airwaves right now entitled "Mga Tambay Lang Kami": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dkx2fNrmXNM
Hilarious? Well, I would have laughed all the way until the end of the song, but stopped short of succumbing to the temptation of being totally amused after I was reminded by the discomfort I felt while listening to it. Like the song I featured in my most recent post entitled "Mas Mahal Na Kita Ngayon," I always hear this being played on the radio while I am doing my daily ritual of lifting pounds and burning calories in my neighborhood gym. My initial take was that I found both songs to somewhat have politically-incorrect messages. I had to find a way to resist, if not subvert, the inherent politics of these songs. As I have done in my previous post, I have to likewise find a way to invert, if not appropriate the message of "Mga Tambay Lang Kami," if only to reverse its seemingly problematic message.
Comparing both songs led me to believe that there is an on-going backlash against women innocently masquerading as humor embedded in popular culture. This discourse, albeit hidden in the text but easily visible if one only listens carefully, of men talking about abusive women in "Mas Mahal na Kita Ngayon" and in this case, of men eventually rebelling against women who have broken their hearts and emptied their wallets by choosing to love gays instead.
I have to hurriedly scan the literature on post-feminism to find my bearings, as I search for a theoretical explanation to this everyday form of gender politics. Girl power, "do-me" and "beyond-bitch" (don't fault me for using this word--it is in fact how one type of post-feminism is labeled) feminism seem to have focused on new forms of being a woman, of how the "woman as victim" image has to be debunked, and how strong women have to be seen in the light of being bearers of power that are not to be condemned for their being masculine-like. Well, indeed we have images of women who ooze with raw masculine power tempered with feminine beauty, enabling them to rival and re-cast male forms of power. Lara Croft and the Charlie's Angels come to mind. Post-feminism is a reaction to the essentializing implications of demonizing too much images of masculinity and patriarchy as anathemic to being a woman, and in turn celebrates masculine features in women as a new embodiment of female power, and as a novel deconstruction of male monopoly over strength and masculinity.
Gloria Macapagal Arroyo may in fact be a child of this type of imagery of women. However, she is not a perfect fit for the simple reason that her power is not in her masculine features, and is in fact compromised by her lack of grace and motherly aura as she governs the nation. Any attempt to imagine her as our Lara Croft, or our Charlie's Angel is blatantly abusive of our sense of sanity. Her false projection of power falls flat simply because of her physical attributes, her smirk, and her character, things which were revealed for all to see, complete with the mechanical applauses from ther unthinking horde of supporters, during her SONA, which to my mind was the worst and most unstatespersonlike SONA in the history of our Republic.
It is perhaps the images of dominant women, of women who employ male strategies as a way of empowering themselves, that led to this silent but not so-hidden transcripts of resistance now found in songs like "Mga Tambay Lang Kami" and "Mas Mahal Na Kita Ngayon." While I would be guilty of stretching too much the political implications of men celebrating, at the sight of their dead female-partner-tormentors, to the point of finally declaring their love for them; or of men deciding to ditch their women partners who only caused them misery and penury, to eventually find love from their gay lovers, I am actually tempted to go beyond the more convenient argument of simply identifying the stereotpyical dominant and intellectual women as the object of this male forms of resistance.
In fact, I am willing to even argue that in the context of the present times, when there is much to be said about the deadly effects of Gloria's nine years of being our nation's "woman," that these two songs are in fact forms of popular resistance aimed at what her brand of masculine power has brought to bear.
I believe that, like hidden codes, these songs may be appropriated as templates from where to launch a resistive reading of the kind of feminism, albeit false, that Gloria has imagined herself to have. It may not have been the intention of their composers, for after all, they may in fact have simply composed and performed them to make fun of women, gays and even themselves. But everytime songs like this invade the public space, they also become public property, and hence, can be used and interpreted in any way people may choose.
And I choose not to read these songs for their obvious politics, but instead appropriate them in my engagement of this particular woman now occupying Malacanang who has caused much violence against the Filipino people, abused us, and emptied our pockets. By June 30, 2010, she will hopefully be lying in her political coffin, and by then, I may be able to say to her that "Mas mahal na kita ngayon," even as on the May elections in 2010 I would even be willing to give my political love and support to, and vote for a gay politician, for it will not matter what his sexual orientation would be, as long as he would be able to truly "love" and understand me back and the nation as well, for like what is said in the song, I am one of those citizens who are now "sawa [na] sa babae, mga babaeng manloloko, pineperahan lang kami."
So, is this a backlash against feminism? Not at all. It is more accurately my expression of resistance against one particular woman whose pretentious self-moralizing of not liking men, gay or otherwise, who say bad words in public is contradicted by her shameless audacity of doing bad acts publicly.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
"Mas Mahal Na Kita Ngayon"
Since I began hearing a particular song being played on the radio while doing my push ups and crunches, and lifting weights in the neighborhood gym where I regularly go, it has acquired that strange status of being embedded in my subconscious. It keeps playing in my mind.
Here is a link to a video of an earlier version of the song entitled "Mas Mahal Na Kita Ngayon", with its lyrics, as performed by Michael V, its composer and original artist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kn06XpqAIVY
Perhaps, what forcibly inserts this song in my subconscious is the curious contradictions that characterize my encounters with it. I usually hear it being played during times when I am trying to cushion up my external masculinity, vigorously lifting weights to pump up my muscles, even as its lyrics talk about a deeply victimized male who apparently suffered an enormous amount of physical and emotional torture from presumably his female partner.
The lyrics are funny, at first. After all, it is composed and was first performed by Michael V, one of the most popular and multi-awarded comedian in the country who is now also well known as Yaya, the other half of the comic duo, with the other half being the precocious Angelina played by the equally talented Ogie Alcasid. But as one absorbs the reality of the lyrics, one realizes that it is a macabre narrative of an inhuman treatment of a man being subjected to unspeakable forms of domestic violence. Think about this: being ridiculed for having a bad haircut, being fed with cat food or food laced with poison, being hit by an iron pipe, being suffocated with a pillow while asleep, being bodily assaulted with razor blades and subjected to mauling including hitting his boils, and being forced to take a bath with boiling water, among others. But what even adds to the blackness of its comedy is the apparent suggestion at the end of the song when the male singer has now felt a deeper love for his lover-tormentor only since the latter is very dead, as he sings: "Ang hapdi at kirot ng sinapit ko noon, di ko na ramdam pagkat mas mahal na kita ngayon. Kahit nasan ka man mas mahal na kita ngayon. Ang cute mo naman bagay ka sa iyong ataul," followed by a hearty "Hay, Salamat!"
Here is a link to a video of an earlier version of the song entitled "Mas Mahal Na Kita Ngayon", with its lyrics, as performed by Michael V, its composer and original artist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kn06XpqAIVY
Perhaps, what forcibly inserts this song in my subconscious is the curious contradictions that characterize my encounters with it. I usually hear it being played during times when I am trying to cushion up my external masculinity, vigorously lifting weights to pump up my muscles, even as its lyrics talk about a deeply victimized male who apparently suffered an enormous amount of physical and emotional torture from presumably his female partner.
The lyrics are funny, at first. After all, it is composed and was first performed by Michael V, one of the most popular and multi-awarded comedian in the country who is now also well known as Yaya, the other half of the comic duo, with the other half being the precocious Angelina played by the equally talented Ogie Alcasid. But as one absorbs the reality of the lyrics, one realizes that it is a macabre narrative of an inhuman treatment of a man being subjected to unspeakable forms of domestic violence. Think about this: being ridiculed for having a bad haircut, being fed with cat food or food laced with poison, being hit by an iron pipe, being suffocated with a pillow while asleep, being bodily assaulted with razor blades and subjected to mauling including hitting his boils, and being forced to take a bath with boiling water, among others. But what even adds to the blackness of its comedy is the apparent suggestion at the end of the song when the male singer has now felt a deeper love for his lover-tormentor only since the latter is very dead, as he sings: "Ang hapdi at kirot ng sinapit ko noon, di ko na ramdam pagkat mas mahal na kita ngayon. Kahit nasan ka man mas mahal na kita ngayon. Ang cute mo naman bagay ka sa iyong ataul," followed by a hearty "Hay, Salamat!"
A closer analysis of the textual politics of this song leads to a very disturbing message. And this leads to the other inherent contradiction in this song, even made more dangerous by the manner by which it is delivered for public consumption--as a funny, ordinary, popularized form of cultural artifact played on the radio, heard by ordinary citizens, which may seem innocent. It is this innocence that may render this vicarious, simulated experience of a battered male to be perceived as a usual, real happening by a desensitized, if not uncritical listening public. Lost in the comedy and the popularization is the reality that if one only checks actual statistics on domestic violence, that if there would be a credbile and logical gender who should be singing this song, it should be one with a female voice. While nobody is demeaning the isolated cases in which men are victimized by domestic abuse from women, this song violently inverts reality, one in which for every one male subjected to such abuse that thousands more women are suffering from it all over the world.
I can only surmise Michael V's intention in composing this song. Perhaps, he was just trying to be funny. Maybe, this is a satirical portrait of an emasculated male, a parody that in fact deconstructs the dominant image of male superiority and the patriarchy that sustains it.
But I also have another way of resisting the politics of this song, if only to complete my deconstruction of it. I have finally settled in my mind that indeed, the singer talks about his experience of being the object of domestic violence. But left unsaid in the lyrics, and which I now forcefully appropriate to provide logic to the missing piece, is my own imagination of the character perpetrator of that violence. Indeed, there is no doubt that the male voice in the song was physically and emotionally abused...
...by his male lover.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Lullabyes of Fear, Nursery Rhymes of Silence
It has always bothered me why despite the need for us to challenge the system, that it is easier for people to accept things the way they are. This is not apathy. This is simple resignation and acceptance due to fear--fear of reprisal, fear of the unknown, fear of disturbing the peace, fear of the consequences.
And this is true not only among the less in power and life, but even more true for those who are privileged. In fact, I suspect that courage is even in higher supply among those who have nothing to lose than those who have lots at stake. Even in the University, in which liberal minds are supposed to thrive, I am always warned by friends to be careful not to rock the boat. Indeed, what happened to me in my previous University, which hounded me even when I was already in DLSU, is a living testimony to the consequences of boldness, of being too courageous to speak out during University Council meetings, and of being branded a trouble maker, a young upstart who had the audacity to speak truth to power. Many of my friends told me that what happened to me had a chilling effect even when I was gone from UPLB.
Just recently, I was again advised by friends to just stay away from the limelight when I come back from my Sabbatical, and to just lie below the radar. I have to ask why. They tell me that there is much to be gained by silence. Well, knowing myself, I would probably not heed such call, and still speak out my mind in the most civil manner, respectful of authority, but nevertheless critical when there is a need for it. After all, DLSU prides itself of having a curriculum that instills critical thinking among its students; and the manner by which our DLSU leaders have engaged the current state of politics is inspiring me to practice what we preach not only when we are critical of the flaws of the Arroyo Administration, but hopefully, and more importantly, when we are required to be self-critical of our own flaws as an institution.
But still, I am most uncomfortable with the thought that even professors have to put value more on fear than on courage, and have to justify silence and acceptance with the rewards of having an easier and perhaps more lucrative life. I remember a conversation with a friend in my previous University. He was complaining a lot about policies, and was asking me to raise the issue in the University Council. I had to ask him why don't he raise it himself. He replied tersely that he could not jeopardize his career by being branded as a troublemaker. I had to ask him what about my own career. He simply laughed and told me that at least I already have the reputation of being a critic, and that I have nothing to lose.
This added to my discomfort. It is saddening that many people have deep problems with the system, but would remain silent or would not dare speak up, and would rely on those who have the courage (or stupidity, perhaps, or naivete) to speak on their behalf. No wonder we have very few heroes and martyrs, even as oppressive and corrupt governments and administration flourish with the tacit consent of the many.
Courage is supposed to be a virtue, but people choose to be afraid because fear is more convenient, and even personally rewarding.
But why is it that it is easier to be afraid.
One of the reasons, perhaps, why this is so is found in the narratives of how we are reared when we were still children. Our lullabyes that were supposed to lull us to sleep may seem innocent, but embedded in their texts are two dominant themes: baby, you better sleep or something bad will happen; or, baby, you have to sleep now since something bad has happened. Melancholy in some lullabyes is associated with fear of separation (Ili ili, tulog anay, wala dire, imong nanay, kadto tienda, bakal papay, ili ili, tulog anay). There is even one Bikolano lullabye that is plainly morbid in its message when it avows that the consequence for being a bad child is for the parents to cut off one's head and throw it in the lake, hoping that the parents will later take pity and mercifully take back the decapitated head when they see it floating in the water (Ay Nanay ay Tatay, kun ako maraot, pugutan nin payo, ibuntog sa lawod, kun mahiling nindo na aanod-anod, ay nanay ay tatay, sapuda man tulos).
Even nursery rhymes are also full of scary images of eggs falling from a wall and not being able to be made whole again, or of Jack and Jill falling down a hill. Many fables and fairy tales have a plethora of witches and ogres. And the seemingly innocent rhyme about rings of roses on a pocketful of poses is deeply rooted from the black plague when children really "fall down" after sneezing.
Call me too imaginative. But if we want to instill courage as the more natural choice, and not fear, we have to really change our lullabyes, nursery rhymes and fairy tales.
And this is true not only among the less in power and life, but even more true for those who are privileged. In fact, I suspect that courage is even in higher supply among those who have nothing to lose than those who have lots at stake. Even in the University, in which liberal minds are supposed to thrive, I am always warned by friends to be careful not to rock the boat. Indeed, what happened to me in my previous University, which hounded me even when I was already in DLSU, is a living testimony to the consequences of boldness, of being too courageous to speak out during University Council meetings, and of being branded a trouble maker, a young upstart who had the audacity to speak truth to power. Many of my friends told me that what happened to me had a chilling effect even when I was gone from UPLB.
Just recently, I was again advised by friends to just stay away from the limelight when I come back from my Sabbatical, and to just lie below the radar. I have to ask why. They tell me that there is much to be gained by silence. Well, knowing myself, I would probably not heed such call, and still speak out my mind in the most civil manner, respectful of authority, but nevertheless critical when there is a need for it. After all, DLSU prides itself of having a curriculum that instills critical thinking among its students; and the manner by which our DLSU leaders have engaged the current state of politics is inspiring me to practice what we preach not only when we are critical of the flaws of the Arroyo Administration, but hopefully, and more importantly, when we are required to be self-critical of our own flaws as an institution.
But still, I am most uncomfortable with the thought that even professors have to put value more on fear than on courage, and have to justify silence and acceptance with the rewards of having an easier and perhaps more lucrative life. I remember a conversation with a friend in my previous University. He was complaining a lot about policies, and was asking me to raise the issue in the University Council. I had to ask him why don't he raise it himself. He replied tersely that he could not jeopardize his career by being branded as a troublemaker. I had to ask him what about my own career. He simply laughed and told me that at least I already have the reputation of being a critic, and that I have nothing to lose.
This added to my discomfort. It is saddening that many people have deep problems with the system, but would remain silent or would not dare speak up, and would rely on those who have the courage (or stupidity, perhaps, or naivete) to speak on their behalf. No wonder we have very few heroes and martyrs, even as oppressive and corrupt governments and administration flourish with the tacit consent of the many.
Courage is supposed to be a virtue, but people choose to be afraid because fear is more convenient, and even personally rewarding.
But why is it that it is easier to be afraid.
One of the reasons, perhaps, why this is so is found in the narratives of how we are reared when we were still children. Our lullabyes that were supposed to lull us to sleep may seem innocent, but embedded in their texts are two dominant themes: baby, you better sleep or something bad will happen; or, baby, you have to sleep now since something bad has happened. Melancholy in some lullabyes is associated with fear of separation (Ili ili, tulog anay, wala dire, imong nanay, kadto tienda, bakal papay, ili ili, tulog anay). There is even one Bikolano lullabye that is plainly morbid in its message when it avows that the consequence for being a bad child is for the parents to cut off one's head and throw it in the lake, hoping that the parents will later take pity and mercifully take back the decapitated head when they see it floating in the water (Ay Nanay ay Tatay, kun ako maraot, pugutan nin payo, ibuntog sa lawod, kun mahiling nindo na aanod-anod, ay nanay ay tatay, sapuda man tulos).
Even nursery rhymes are also full of scary images of eggs falling from a wall and not being able to be made whole again, or of Jack and Jill falling down a hill. Many fables and fairy tales have a plethora of witches and ogres. And the seemingly innocent rhyme about rings of roses on a pocketful of poses is deeply rooted from the black plague when children really "fall down" after sneezing.
Call me too imaginative. But if we want to instill courage as the more natural choice, and not fear, we have to really change our lullabyes, nursery rhymes and fairy tales.
Friday, July 3, 2009
A Fellowship in Paradise: Reflections On My Fulbright Experience in Hawai'i
At the twilight of my career, when I will be reflecting on the events that happened in my personal and professional life, I will most definitely consider the five months I spent at the University of Hawai’i Manoa as a Fulbright Visiting Senior Scholar as one of the most significant. The rewards of such experience were not only on its contributions to the advancement of my professional career as scholar of political culture, but also, and equally important, in its personal impacts on me as someone who considers Hawai’i as a second home and as a place which contributed significantly not only to my academic identity but also to my individuality as a person.
When I applied to Fulbright, I was fully aware that there was a tacit discouragement for applicants to visit the same University where they acquired their advanced degrees. Nevertheless, I submitted an application for a Visiting Fellowship at the University of Hawai’i, specifically with its Political Science Department, knowing fully well that I had to provide additional justification for such move. This was not difficult in my case, considering the nature of my proposed research project, which is to study the imaginations of selected Filipino-American students enrolled at the college level regarding the Philippine homeland, and considering that the University of Hawai’i has the highest number of students of Filipino ancestry in the whole United States. Yet, not articulated but was perhaps equally compelling was my desire to reconnect with my Alma Mater, and to give back to the Political Science Department a form of return service that would be a way of paying homage to the very institution that was instrumental in shaping my professional career as a critical scholar in cultural politics. I received my Ph.D. in Political Science from UH Manoa in 1991. After almost 18 years, my return to the Political Science Department, now as a Visiting Scholar, was for me a significant way of giving back what I owe, as if to say that here I was, one of its products, coming back to contribute in my own small way to the Department that helped shape me as a scholar.
On hindsight, I really found the experience extremely rewarding. While I could have gained additional and different experience had I ventured to other Universities in the mainland, the emotional and psychic rewards of returning to my Alma Mater were for me more significant. On the logistical side, my familiarity with Honolulu and the University has enabled me to “hit the ground running.” I did not lose time adjusting to and getting familiar with the place. I already had a significant support network not only in the University community, but in the larger community in Hawai’i. These networks enabled me in my scholarly work, even as it also provided me the necessary social support mechanisms. Considering that the Fellowship was only for a short duration of five months, these logistical and social advantages became even more important.
To say the least, my research activity went smoothly, despite some slight delays brought about by a bureaucratic requirement for the University for me to get clearance from the committee on human subjects, a standard operating procedure for social science researchers to ensure that their researches would not violate ethical standards. I did not encounter difficulty in getting my sample of respondents, and neither did I encounter difficulty in the conduct of my interviews. By the end of March 2009, I already have finished my data gathering and was able to write the first draft of my research paper.
Aside from conducting research, and as part of my Fellowship, I also taught a Seminar Course on the Politics of Everyday Life in the Philippines. The experience was also extremely rewarding. I only had eleven students, thereby making the class more intimate. My students were mostly of Filipino ancestry. Beyond the experience of enjoying more advanced technologies in classroom teaching, which UH have provided, what was even more significant to me was the opportunity to share with my students, and to facilitate their re-connection to their homeland. In addition, I also learned a lot from them, particularly on their own perspectives about politics and culture in the Philippines.
What provided me an additional advantage was the relatively close linkage between the course I taught and my research project, thereby enabling me to use my class as a sounding board for the ideas and themes that were gradually forming out of the data I gathered from my research. I was also blessed with the opportunity to give two colloquia presentations, both of which provided me the opportunity not only to share my thoughts and perspectives, but also to draw from peers and the general public significant feedbacks regarding such thoughts and perspectives. The first colloquium which was held on 24 April and was sponsored by the Department of Political Science was on the use of popular culture, specifically on using the reality game show “Survivor Philippines” as template to analyze and theorize about the politics of identity and nation building in the Philippines. The second colloquium was held on 30 April and was co-sponsored by the Filipino and Ilokano Language and Culture Programs of the Department of Indo-Pacific Languages and Literature and the UH Center for Philippine Studies. It is in this second colloquium where I presented the results of my research. Earlier, on 3 - 4 April, I presented both papers in the Philippine Political Science Association Conference held in General Santos City in the Philippines.
There were also other activities that provided me more learning and sharing opportunities. One of these was the Fulbright Visiting Scholar Conference held in Washington DC on 19 - 21 April. I was also able to participate in many cultural events, of which I was able to interact with the community, thereby enabling me to establish new networks and re-kindle old ones. One of these was the Filipino Fiesta sponsored by the Filipino Community Center in Hawai’i on 9 May. I was also invited once to serve as a resource person in another course on Philippine politics, and to serve as judge in the song festival and drama competition sponsored by the Filipino Language and Culture programs for students enrolled in the Filipino language classes.
Needless to say, my stay in Hawai’i was a fruitful one. Beyond the academic aspects, and their significant contributions to my professional growth, I will also treasure the opportunity provided me to re-connect back to my friends and colleagues in Hawai’i, and the new networks that I have found in the process. I enjoyed my sunrise jogs around the campus at UH and my sunset walks along the beaches of Honolulu. It was also most memorable for me to have that single Sunday afternoon picnic at the beach with old friends from my East-West Center days, realizing that indeed only bodies age, but not the spirit and the soul. This somewhat made up for the five months I was away from my family. It is noteworthy that while I am having fun, that I was able to complete my academic pursuits on the side. Truly, my experience in Hawai’i was indeed one that befits a rewarding five months stay in paradise.
When I applied to Fulbright, I was fully aware that there was a tacit discouragement for applicants to visit the same University where they acquired their advanced degrees. Nevertheless, I submitted an application for a Visiting Fellowship at the University of Hawai’i, specifically with its Political Science Department, knowing fully well that I had to provide additional justification for such move. This was not difficult in my case, considering the nature of my proposed research project, which is to study the imaginations of selected Filipino-American students enrolled at the college level regarding the Philippine homeland, and considering that the University of Hawai’i has the highest number of students of Filipino ancestry in the whole United States. Yet, not articulated but was perhaps equally compelling was my desire to reconnect with my Alma Mater, and to give back to the Political Science Department a form of return service that would be a way of paying homage to the very institution that was instrumental in shaping my professional career as a critical scholar in cultural politics. I received my Ph.D. in Political Science from UH Manoa in 1991. After almost 18 years, my return to the Political Science Department, now as a Visiting Scholar, was for me a significant way of giving back what I owe, as if to say that here I was, one of its products, coming back to contribute in my own small way to the Department that helped shape me as a scholar.
On hindsight, I really found the experience extremely rewarding. While I could have gained additional and different experience had I ventured to other Universities in the mainland, the emotional and psychic rewards of returning to my Alma Mater were for me more significant. On the logistical side, my familiarity with Honolulu and the University has enabled me to “hit the ground running.” I did not lose time adjusting to and getting familiar with the place. I already had a significant support network not only in the University community, but in the larger community in Hawai’i. These networks enabled me in my scholarly work, even as it also provided me the necessary social support mechanisms. Considering that the Fellowship was only for a short duration of five months, these logistical and social advantages became even more important.
To say the least, my research activity went smoothly, despite some slight delays brought about by a bureaucratic requirement for the University for me to get clearance from the committee on human subjects, a standard operating procedure for social science researchers to ensure that their researches would not violate ethical standards. I did not encounter difficulty in getting my sample of respondents, and neither did I encounter difficulty in the conduct of my interviews. By the end of March 2009, I already have finished my data gathering and was able to write the first draft of my research paper.
Aside from conducting research, and as part of my Fellowship, I also taught a Seminar Course on the Politics of Everyday Life in the Philippines. The experience was also extremely rewarding. I only had eleven students, thereby making the class more intimate. My students were mostly of Filipino ancestry. Beyond the experience of enjoying more advanced technologies in classroom teaching, which UH have provided, what was even more significant to me was the opportunity to share with my students, and to facilitate their re-connection to their homeland. In addition, I also learned a lot from them, particularly on their own perspectives about politics and culture in the Philippines.
What provided me an additional advantage was the relatively close linkage between the course I taught and my research project, thereby enabling me to use my class as a sounding board for the ideas and themes that were gradually forming out of the data I gathered from my research. I was also blessed with the opportunity to give two colloquia presentations, both of which provided me the opportunity not only to share my thoughts and perspectives, but also to draw from peers and the general public significant feedbacks regarding such thoughts and perspectives. The first colloquium which was held on 24 April and was sponsored by the Department of Political Science was on the use of popular culture, specifically on using the reality game show “Survivor Philippines” as template to analyze and theorize about the politics of identity and nation building in the Philippines. The second colloquium was held on 30 April and was co-sponsored by the Filipino and Ilokano Language and Culture Programs of the Department of Indo-Pacific Languages and Literature and the UH Center for Philippine Studies. It is in this second colloquium where I presented the results of my research. Earlier, on 3 - 4 April, I presented both papers in the Philippine Political Science Association Conference held in General Santos City in the Philippines.
There were also other activities that provided me more learning and sharing opportunities. One of these was the Fulbright Visiting Scholar Conference held in Washington DC on 19 - 21 April. I was also able to participate in many cultural events, of which I was able to interact with the community, thereby enabling me to establish new networks and re-kindle old ones. One of these was the Filipino Fiesta sponsored by the Filipino Community Center in Hawai’i on 9 May. I was also invited once to serve as a resource person in another course on Philippine politics, and to serve as judge in the song festival and drama competition sponsored by the Filipino Language and Culture programs for students enrolled in the Filipino language classes.
Needless to say, my stay in Hawai’i was a fruitful one. Beyond the academic aspects, and their significant contributions to my professional growth, I will also treasure the opportunity provided me to re-connect back to my friends and colleagues in Hawai’i, and the new networks that I have found in the process. I enjoyed my sunrise jogs around the campus at UH and my sunset walks along the beaches of Honolulu. It was also most memorable for me to have that single Sunday afternoon picnic at the beach with old friends from my East-West Center days, realizing that indeed only bodies age, but not the spirit and the soul. This somewhat made up for the five months I was away from my family. It is noteworthy that while I am having fun, that I was able to complete my academic pursuits on the side. Truly, my experience in Hawai’i was indeed one that befits a rewarding five months stay in paradise.
The Roots of A Compromised Citizenry
There is a saying that the hands that rock the cradle rule the world. Added to this is the usual mantra about powerful women behind the success of powerful men. Well, this is almost true, for as we see the soaring popularity of one Manny Pacquiao as he demolished all his enemies on the ring, one by one, we just recenlty began to be confronted with the, well, not-s0-silent anymore, power of Aling Dionisia as she amuses us with her dance moves and innate comedian instincts. Now we know where the showbiz side of Manny comes from. Another mother figure comes to mind as well in the person of Annabelle Rama, the patron of stage-mothering herself, ready to spew bile at her children's detractors.
But while we idolize the caring presence of the mother, on the other side lies the marked absence of the father in most narratives, perhaps stemming from the stereotypical paternal image of somebody who has authority but is distant, who has control but is silent. Manny Pacquiao's father is just a sideshow compared to the main event provided by Aling Dionisia, even as Eddie Gutierrez has always been silent whenever Anabelle goes on a rampage defending her son Richard and daughter Ruffa.
The dominant image of a mother is one of protective love, as somebody who will risk limb and life to protect her brood. But deeply embedded in all of these images of nurturing and love is the dangerous implications of an act of disempowerment hiding in the comforting warmth of maternal care.
Someone once told me that the definition of a sweater to a child is something that you wear when your mother feels cold. Indeed, mothers who feel chilly almost always assume that their children must feel cold, and insist that they wear thick clothing, without even bothering to ask. In the name of protective caring, they in turn deny children the right to make a choice. And this is not just about sweaters. It's about the whole array of instances where they make decisions on behalf of their children, from what clothes to wear, to taking ballet, piano and taekwondo lessons. Of course, mothers don't mean harm. They just want what is best for their children. They want them to look the best and enjoy the best in life, but often they forget to ask their children and only base their decisions solely on what they think is best. As they say, mother knows best.
But while we idolize the caring presence of the mother, on the other side lies the marked absence of the father in most narratives, perhaps stemming from the stereotypical paternal image of somebody who has authority but is distant, who has control but is silent. Manny Pacquiao's father is just a sideshow compared to the main event provided by Aling Dionisia, even as Eddie Gutierrez has always been silent whenever Anabelle goes on a rampage defending her son Richard and daughter Ruffa.
The dominant image of a mother is one of protective love, as somebody who will risk limb and life to protect her brood. But deeply embedded in all of these images of nurturing and love is the dangerous implications of an act of disempowerment hiding in the comforting warmth of maternal care.
Someone once told me that the definition of a sweater to a child is something that you wear when your mother feels cold. Indeed, mothers who feel chilly almost always assume that their children must feel cold, and insist that they wear thick clothing, without even bothering to ask. In the name of protective caring, they in turn deny children the right to make a choice. And this is not just about sweaters. It's about the whole array of instances where they make decisions on behalf of their children, from what clothes to wear, to taking ballet, piano and taekwondo lessons. Of course, mothers don't mean harm. They just want what is best for their children. They want them to look the best and enjoy the best in life, but often they forget to ask their children and only base their decisions solely on what they think is best. As they say, mother knows best.
But the political implications of this could be costly. When we grow older, we are now confronted with major decisions to make, some of which go beyond personal interests and may impact on the interest of others and the larger public. Often, parents lament how their grown up children are seemingly unable to make the right decisions in their lives. As conscientious citizens, we often gnash our teeth and wonder how could we make wrong decisions as we keep on voting the wrong kind of politicians into office, even as we withold our support for the right political causes. We wonder why. We blame almost everyone and everything, from the system to our culture to our historical past. But we seem to forget that one of the foundations of a citizenry whose decision-making capacities are compromised lie in the inner sanctums of our homes, in the everyday manner we rear our children. We deny them the capacity to make choices, perhaps as a way to insulate them from suffering the consequences if they make the wrong ones. But it is in these practices of nurturing, of which we mean no harm, that we also jeopardize the emergence of a healthy civic culture of our future citizens.
I don't mean to heap the blame solely on mothers, or aunts, or yayas, all women, even as most of the child-rearing land on their laps. The relative absence of the father also corrodes the attitude of ordinary citizens about power. Paternal authority is one that is usually feared and obeyed, the one that has the last say, the one that is silent but is compelling. Mothers offer the comfort of being there. Fathers, on the other hand, offer the stability and security of silence. It is the image of the father that carries the metaphor of power and authority, and the dominant discourse that is embedded in the psyche of the young is one that exists along the ethic of fear and awe, and not of affection and love. Thus, authority and power are things that are distant, but have to feared. As Machiavelli said it, it is better to be feared than to be loved. While this may refer to how the State and its rulers should project towards the citizen, this is also the dominant construct that shapes paternal presence despite their relative absence. The father is the feared but rarely seen or felt parent.
Thus, we have children denied by their mothers the right to choose in the name of protective love; even as they are provided stability and security by their absent fathers who carry their power and authority as coercive means that demand obedience, and not affection.
In the end, we eventually have citizens who could not make the right decisions, even as they have a distant relationship with the State and its instrumentalities, devoid of affection, dominated by fear, and even resentment for its being a necessary imposition and for having the monopoly for the legitimate use of violence.
We take so much time inquiring into the roots of a compromised citizenry, when in fact it could probably be found whenever mothers who feel chilly insist that their children wear sweaters, and whenever fathers, who are absent or not visible and are not affectionate, insist on their power over the household.
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