(aka: Notes, snippets, mishmosh of thought and
emotion)
I'm still
digesting, processing, unpacking, untangling and peeling back layers. Since my
last post, there have been a good number of responses from within the
Filipino/Fil-Am community. I am glad. We need to make our voices heard. (It’s
important to note that not all the voices are in agreement.) This one by Melissa Sipin is the only one I've seen
from the perspective that *wasn't* positioned in the upper/middle classes. And
I am grateful for her essay-in-progress. I think we're all working on something
in-progress. I know I am.
So these past
couple of days, I've alternated between being angry and weeping. Sometimes both
at the same time. And yes, I've run the gamut of emotions in between. This
morning, I'm feeling particularly all-over-the-place. There is still so much. I
started writing something yesterday and came back to it this morning. And then
I found myself asking: who the fuck am I –and American-born Filipina from a
middle class family— to be writing anything about this?
And then, I
responded to myself: That’s the stupidest self-talk I ever heard. Of course you’re to write about this! You
must. Because you’re Filipina.
American-born or not, you need to offer your voice to the mix. Do not silence
yourself.
Yeah. Writers talk
to themselves like this all the time.
*
Questions. There
are at lot of questions in my head. So let’s start there (can’t promise any
answers):
Why did Alex Tizon write this story? I understand that he
started writing it in 2011 after Eudocia’s death, but why? What made him say to
himself: “I’m going to tell this story”? Was he trying to conduct some kind of
penance: to admit his guilt, his complicity in all of this and to try to set
things right by pulling back a curtain on the utusan? I can’t say for sure. If
his widow doesn’t know, then no one will truly know.
But I will say this: this is Alex’s story, not Eudocia’s. Do
not be fooled into thinking otherwise. Everything we see and hear and feel is
all orchestrated by Alex: his specific viewpoint as well as his writing – from the
words he chooses to how he builds sentences and narrative arc. This is how literature
works. It’s a conversation between writer and reader. Our responses are based on
our individual selves and our individual experiences and relationships to, not
just the moments happening in the story, but to the language itself.
This is why his essay triggered a lot of emotions for me.
For one, it’s a story about a Filipino family. It is rare
for me to see stories about myself and my cultural heritage – to see Filipinos
in mainstream media—so when I get to read one, I get really really excited. But
when I saw “My Family’s Slave” with Eudocia’s photo, my gut went: uh-oh. Then,
when I read that Alex's family addressed Eudocia as “Lola”, my body tensed.
That’s what my kids call my mother. “Lola” is “grandmother” in Tagalog.
How jarring to put the words “slave” and “lola” together.
*
As writers we aim
to seek out truths. And truths vary. But inevitably, they are our own. Readers
sometimes forget this. How we put words together, which words we choose, how we
build paragraphs – these things reveal more about us than we’d like to admit.
But in connection with that, readers are also applying their truths to what
they read. Consider the varied responses to Tizon’s piece. How many were
“selectively reading”? (e.g one sees the word “slavery” and immediately forms
an opinion before reading the rest of the story, if they finish reading
it) Consider each person’s sociopolitical position and how that informs their
response (e.g. West vs. East). Too often, we all forget these things. And that
has never been truer than this moment.
Filipino writers
and academics are offering nuanced, critical responses to this story by
including cultural and sociopolitical contexts (there we go, educating folks on
our culture yet again). Some are responding to these thoughts as defense for
Tizon’s family’s actions, as if we were trying to excuse Tizon and his family
for their actions. This is what I mean by “selective”. Nowhere does anyone
defend what’s happened to Eudocia, but yet, here they are, telling us we are
making excuses for Tizon.
[A random aside
regarding visibility: I find this an interesting moment for Filipinos in that
we are presently in the American spotlight – what will we do with this moment?]
Some are
wondering if we could ever know Eudocia Tomas Pulido’s story. I would be
interested in hearing it, but the likelihood of someone in a similar situation
speaking out? Close to none. Why? Because most of these folks are conditioned
to understand their place in the rankings. Sharing their personal story is not
an option for them, if it even crosses their minds.
*
I am exhausted.
Emotionally drained.
*
What is my
complicity in this? What about all of our collective complicity? Once we’ve
admitted that we are / I am complicit in creating and allowing for these
situations to happen, then what? What do we do with this?
In order to solve
this problem, in the most basic, reductive terms, we’d have to scrap the Philippines
– heck, probably every nation—and
start over. This is an issue that is intricately tied across the globe. The
historical and sociopolitical structures are so deeply embedded. But a do-over
is not an option. So what can we do instead?
*
I feel like I’m
spinning my wheels. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.
Time to stop here.
To take a break. Practice self-care.
[to be continued]
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