Any Port in A Storm - Philippine Safe Haven

The plight of an oppressed Muslim minority from Myanmar, the Rohingya people, has made headlines worldwide recently. After months of floating across South East Asia, they have found temporary safe haven in the Philippines. The decision to take in the Rohingya was met with international approval, as other Asian nations refused to allow them entry. The case of the Rohingya is not the first time South East Asia faced a refugee crisis.

April 30 2015 marked forty years since the fall of Saigon. After communist victory in the Vietnam War, hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese and other Indochinese people left their homes. Hoping to escape repressive regimes, they took to sea in small boats and braved a harrowing journey across the South China Sea and the Gulf of Thailand. Storms, thirst, hunger, and pirates were just a few of the dangers they had to face.  “Thuyền nhân”, or boat people in Vietnamese, would become a concern for a generation of South East Asian diplomats and policy makers. The flow of refugees began with just a trickle in 1975, with few choosing to leave Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia so soon after the end of the war. The number fleeing the region increased dramatically each year afterward as economic depression deepened and political persecution intensified. The peak was in 1979, with nearly a quarter of a million refugees fleeing Vietnam during that year alone. Many were ethnic Chinese who became targets for revenge due to China’s 1979 invasion of Vietnam. Refugees continued to flee Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia for neighboring countries throughout the 1980’s, with the flow only stopping completely in 1994. By then, economic growth and political reforms in Vietnam had made it far less likely for people to leave the country.

While the Philippines was not the destination for the majority of the refugees, around 200,000 Vietnamese, Lao, and Cambodians were processed by the two main centers in Morong, Bataan, and Puerto Princesa in Palawan. Boat people rescued by the Philippine Navy or Coast Guard would be taken to either of the two where they would stay until they were resettled permanently in other countries, with the United States the destination of choice. Many of the refugees suffered in diplomatic and political limbo, having no documentation or citizenship in the countries they wanted to resettle. As their immigration status and resettlement arrangements were handled, they lived and worked in the refugee centers. The term refugee camp brings to mind nightmarish images of tent cities teeming with disease and despair. Thankfully, the facilities in the Philippines were nothing of the sort. The main center in Morong and Vietville in Palawan were like pieces of Vietnam transplanted to the Philippines. Social services from a range of organizations, religious, governmental, and international, helped the boat people rebuild their lives and provide a semblance of normalcy. The Philippine government provided the land on which the centers were constructed and also guaranteed their security. International groups, primarily the UN High Commission on Refugees and the Red Cross, provided the funding.

Sadly, the treatment the boat people received in the Philippines was not the norm across the region. In Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Indonesia, they were often crammed into crowded and unsanitary camps. Singapore took the hardest line against refugees. The Singaporean Navy was ordered to intercept any boats and tow them out of Singapore’s territorial waters, regardless of the condition of the passengers or the seaworthiness of their vessels. The late Prime Minister of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew was unapologetic about this policy, stating in November 1978 – “You’ve got to grow calluses on your heart or you just bleed to death… Can I afford to have people festering away in refugee camps, being hawked around to countries which are supposed to have compassion for long suffering humanity?” Undoubtedly, these actions led to the death of many boat people whose vessels sank before they could reach safe haven elsewhere. To some degree, Singapore’s policy was understandable. Hong Kong and Singapore in particular had little space or resources to devote to potentially hundreds of thousands of refugees. The Philippines, an entire archipelago and several large islands, could afford to be more generous with space.

Yet the situation in the Philippines was far from ideal when it hosted the boat people. The late 70’s and early 80’s saw economic stagnation and increasing domestic turmoil. The EDSA revolution and the end of the Marcos regime in 1986 only brought a new set of challenges. The economy was in free fall and military coups against the new, democratic government of Corazon Aquino made an already unstable situation worse. The insult “the sick man of Asia” was never more truly applied to the Philippines than during the late 70’s and 80’s. Despite these challenges, the Philippine government addressed the refugee problem with surprising wisdom and humanity. By 1996, the centers in Morong and Palawan were closed, with the overwhelming majority of refugees resettled in the United States and other developed countries.

Philippine policy makers faced a difficult dilemma concerning the boat people. They had to balance national interests against the undeniable suffering of a people in need. To this day, the Philippines is not a rich country and much of its still growing population suffers from grinding poverty and inequality. These problems were even more acute in the 1980’s. Filipinos had to endure power shortages, military coups, and an economy that seemed to only get worse. The fact that the Philippine government managed to find a pragmatic and humane solution to the refugee crisis is all the more remarkable considering these difficulties. Vietnamese refugees in the United States expressed their gratitude in November 2013, collecting  nearly 2 million dollars in disaster relief after Typhoon Yolanda devastated the Visayas. It is a high compliment to a nation’s warmth and hospitality when even its refugee camps are remembered fondly. Today, the Philippines and Vietnam work together in resolving territorial disputes in the South China Sea against Chinese expansion. The saga of the boat people proved that despite great hardship of its own, the Philippines could be a safe haven for those most in need.

About the author

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Cristobal Zarco was born in the Philippines and grew up in New York, specifically Long Island. He graduated with a degree in political science from Adelphi University. He enjoys tracking down books about Philippine history and exploring lesser known parts of New York City.

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Paul and Daisy Soros Fellowship- Jassmin Poyaoan

Paul and Daisy Soros, Hungarian immigrants and American philanthropists, established their fellowship program for New Americans in December 1997 with a charitable trust of fifty million dollars. Their reasons for doing so were several. They wished to "give back" to the country that had afforded them and their children such great opportunities and felt a fellowship program was an appropriate vehicle. They also felt that assisting young New Americans at critical points in their educations was an unmet need. Finally, they wished to call attention of all Americans to the extensive and diverse contributions of New Americans to the quality of life in this country. In 2010, Mr. and Mrs. Soros contributed an additional $25 million to the charitable trust that funds their Fellowships for New Americans.   For details, see the Wall Street Journal article at the end of this section.

The program of fellowships they shaped has the following characteristics:

It honors and supports the graduate educations of 30 New Americans – permanent residents or naturalized citizens if born abroad; otherwise children of naturalized citizen parents -- each year.

At the time of their selection, fellows must be college seniors or early in the graduate programs for which they request support.

Each fellow receives tuition and living expenses that can total as much as $90,000 over two academic years.

Fellows can study in any degree-granting program in any field at any university in the United States.

Fellows are selected on the basis of merit – the specific criteria emphasize creativity, originality, initiative and sustained accomplishment -- in annual national competitions.  Candidates apply directly.  The program does not depend on recommendations from universities or regional screening.   Neither financial need nor distributive considerations are taken into account in the selection process.

Each fellows attends two weekend conferences of fellows. The great majority continue to be involved with the program through regional dinners, service in the selection process for later classes, etc.

The snippet above comes from the Paul and Daisy Soros Fellowship website. We reached out to Jassmin Antolin Payaon, a recipient of the fellowship award from the Philippines, to come to know of her drive, background and the challenges she faced leading up to her involvement with the fellowship.

Jassmin Antolin Poyaoan Paul and Daisy Soros Fellowship Award to support work toward a JD

Jassmin comes from a line of resilient women. Her grandmother left school to support her family, raising herself from a domestic worker to a small business owner. Her mother emigrated from the Philippines to become a nurse in California and worked tirelessly to support the family.

When Jassmin was almost twelve, her mother died, and her father could not cope. Jassmin and her sister were sent to the Philippines to live with their grandmother. In the Philippines, Jassmin observed that even the brightest girls were forced by economic necessity to downscale their dreams. Determined not to compromise, she returned to America at age seventeen, taking legal custody of her sister and responsibility for their sick grandmother.

Jassmin attended Chabot College and then the University of California-Berkeley, where she studied sociology. As part of Oxfam's ActionCorps, she lobbied the US government for climate change policy after typhoon Ketsana devastated Manila. At home, Jassmin built capacity for immigrant-owned small businesses and served with JusticeCorps assisting low-income, self-represented litigants.

Jassmin attends the UCLA School of Law, where she is part of the programs in Public Interest Law and Policy and Critical Race Studies. She will use her JD to help underserved communities rise above systemic poverty.

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1. Where and what do you see yourself doing in the next 5 years?

I see myself working for a nonprofit law center providing free legal services to individuals, groups and nonprofits to build and grow wealth in low-income communities of color through community-owned enterprises.

2. What has been your greatest struggle/challenge and how did you overcome it?

The greatest challenge in my life is navigating and dealing with the inter-generational trauma in my family. Poverty both in the U.S. and in the Philippines, untimely deaths and addiction have challenged my family's stability. I have faced these challenges by refusing to continue the unhealthy cycles and seeking services and solace from the community to heal. Part of healing is learning and understanding my family's history and taking advantage of the privileges that I have despite any hardship I may face.

3. What has been your greatest motivation throughout your life?

My grandmother, mother and younger sister have been my greatest motivation throughout my life. My grandmother and mother both instilled in me the desire and determination to realize my dreams, as they did not have the opportunity to realize their own. Through their example of selflessness and compassion for others, they have also motivated me to not only dream for myself, but to strive to help others realize their dreams, too. After our mother passed away, I vowed to raise and guide my younger sister, which helped me push through any and all hardships we faced. Today, as a sophomore in college who is dedicated to community organizing and advocacy, my sister now motivates me to be a better advocate myself.

4. Who were your mentors?

My speech and debate coach was the closest thing to a mentor for me because of his constant belief in me even when I didn't believe in myself. When my confidence was low and I wanted to quit, he convinced me to compete at a state competition before I made up my mind. I ended up winning a gold medal at the competition and needless to say, I decided not to quit. This was a turning point in my life because it helped me begin the process of overcoming self-doubt and fear of realizing my potential.

5. How did you hear about the fellowship?

In my first year of law school, there was an information session about the fellowship on campus.

6. What made you decide to apply for the fellowship?

I was too intimidated to apply for the fellowship during my first year of law school, which I think is a common reason why people choose not to apply. However, in my second year of law school, I thought I owed it to myself to at least try. It would've been my last opportunity to apply, so I didn't want to be in a position where I could look back and think, "what if?"

7. What was the biggest challenge when it came to deciding to pursue the field you're in?

My father put a lot of pressure on me to enter the workforce right out of undergrad to support the family. Knowing that my grandmother and mother had to forgo their dreams in order to provide for their parents and siblings, I wanted to honor their legacy by pursuing my dream to become a lawyer no matter what. It's been a challenge to balance my dreams and my family's expectations of me, but remembering the women who came before me helps me manage.

8. As you gained more experience, how did your priorities change in life?

My personal, academic and professional experiences have broadened my understanding of structural inequality and its causes. As a result, I have become even more dedicated to assisting marginalized people and communities of color.

9. What’s been your favorite part about your journey in your personal life and in your career?

My favorite part about my journey is the relationships I've made along the way. For me, the most important and lasting aspect of life is the relationships one cultivates and cherishes throughout.

10. Would you recommend the fellowship to anyone else? Why/why not?

Yes, I would recommend the fellowship to anyone who qualifies because the application process alone offers a valuable opportunity for deep self-reflection, as you're required to write very personal essays. Also, the fellowship itself is an amazing opportunity for funding and membership in a community of inspirational and caring individuals who really become family. 

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To find out more about the Paul and Daisy Soros Fellowship, visit their website at http://www.pdsoros.org/

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Five Amazing Things to Look Forward to at Summit 2015: Recognize

by Mark Libatique Conferences are what our older cousins went to, a thing of the past. This is Summit 2015: Recognize. Here are some of the most exciting things to expect at this year’s edition of UniPro’s premier event.

You’ll Find Your Career Launchpad.

Seriously. Whether you’re in the early stages of finding your footing in your industry of choice, knee-deep in its trenches or simply looking for guidance, you’ll meet who you’ll need to at Summit: Recognize. Experts and authorities in media, community organizing, policy, food, and tech will be in attendance. You’ll want to be there too.

Filipino Kitchen's Maja Blanca Pancakes and Longanisa Scotch Eggs

Food. Pagkain. Sarap-ness.

Never a bad place to inject the best of Pilipino culture. Summit: Recognize will feature the up-and-coming best of America’s new favorite cuisine. Famed Filipino Kitchen will be hosting a workshop, and you’ll get a chance to get a cup full of your favorite Baonanas flavors.

Free Ticket to the Philippines. Yeah.

Thanks to Philippine Airlines, one delegate will win a free round-trip ticket to the Philippines. Registrants to Summit: Recognize will automatically be entered to win, and you can up your chances by purchasing more raffle tickets at Summit.

Not Your Ordinary Minority Panel.

With Summit: Recognize, we’ll shift our focus as Filipinos to our role within the greater community of color that makes up minority America. There’s never been a more important time in our history to do so, and you’ll be at the forefront of it. Take a look at our amazing panel speakers.

Our delegates at Summit 2014

You’ll Probably Meet Someone Who Needs You.

We come from all fields and industries, and we’re quickly realizing that in order to be recognized, we must recognize each other. The technical term for it is “networking,” but we do it differently. These relationships last, and can produce life-changing personal results for you that will continue for years. Trust us. You might change someone’s life at Summit, too.

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*To register for Summit, go to uniprosummit2015.eventbrite.com. *TODAY ONLY, 5/27: Graduation Flash Sale - $15 Off Summit Tickets

A Survey of Philippine Literature

In general, the default condition for much of Philippine literature is obscurity.

To learn more about a country and people, a good place to start is their literature. The most loved books of a people are like a lens with which to understand them. With respect to the seven thousand islands, what books are these? Filipinos do not usually think of themselves as a particularly literary people. For those living abroad, literature is secondary to food, television, or music when it comes to reminding them of their homeland. In general, the default condition for much of Philippine literature is obscurity. At home or abroad, Filipinos are more likely to be interested in global pop culture, whether from the United States or more recently, South Korea.

This is unfortunate considering the range and depth of Philippine literature. The Philippines is unique for having important works in many languages. These might be grouped into four - Philippine literature in Spanish, Tagalog, English, and other Philippine languages. It might seem that these different bodies of work correspond only with a period of colonial domination, but this is misleading. Philippine authors made these languages their own, adding a distinct voice to them that was unique to our archipelago.

The most politically important body of Philippine literature is that which was written in Spanish. The Propaganda movement, which included Jose Rizal agitated for independence in the 1880’s and 1890’s, writing exclusively in Spanish. Rizal’s two most important novels, Noli Me Tangere and El Flibusterismo were written in Spanish as well. However, during the American colonial period, Spanish was gradually replaced over the next few decades by English. Even if Rizal was celebrated as a national hero, his writing was almost never read in the original Spanish. Noli and Fili have been taught to generations of schoolchildren, but always in translation. Rizal was not the only major writer in Spanish. Important contemporaries were Marcelo H. del Pilar and Graciano Lopez Jaena. A generation after Rizal came Claro M. Recto, a nationalist lawyer and author, who championed independence from the United States. Recto also wrote primarily in Spanish on a wide range of topics. While all of these figures are honored and celebrated in the Philippines, not much attention is paid to what they wrote, let alone what language they used. Sadly, the old quip about the classics is very applicable to Philippine writing in Spanish - praised by all, read by few.

Tagalog is the oldest literary language of the archipelago and now, the most widespread. The earliest major work in Tagalog was Francisco Balagtas’ Florante at Laura, an epic poem published in 1838. Florante at Laura is still taught in schools across the country as the epitome of literary Tagalog. For purposes of comparison, Balagtas wrote at roughly the same time as Edgar Allen Poe and a few decades before Charles Dickens. While important, Florante at Laura can be difficult for modern Tagalog speakers to understand, let alone those learning the language. Thankfully, there have been many authors since Balagtas who have continued to write in Tagalog. Andres Bonifacio, founder of the Katipunan, also wrote in Tagalog, notably the poem Pag-ibig sa Tinubuang Lupa, roughly translated as Love for Native Land. Since then, Tagalog literature has continued to grow. Some modern authors include Ceres S.C. Alabado, writer of Kangkong 1896, a look at the Revolution from a young boy’s perspective, and Lualhati Bautista, author of Dekada Setenta and Bata, Bata… Pa'no Ka Ginawa?. Dekada follows a middle class family through the martial law years, and Bata is about the struggles of a single mother. Both were turned into full length films starring Vilma Santos. Today, the largest venue for Tagalog literature is the internet, with many aspiring writers publishing their work online. A few of these become successful enough to get film adaptations, among them being Diary ng Panget and She’s Dating the Gangster, films released in 2014 that began as online novels. While Tagalog may have changed considerably since the days of Balagtas, it is now a truly national language that has a large and thriving literature.

English remains the language of the Philippine elite. Though there was considerable resistance to English in the first part of the 20th century, Philippine writers mastered it quickly. Paz Marquez-Benitez wrote the first short story in English in 1925, entitled Dead Stars. However, it was not until after WW2 that English became language of choice for authors. The largest names in 20th century Philippine literature wrote in English, namely, Nick Joaquin, F. Sionil Jose, Jose Garcia Villa, and others. Perhaps the most important writer in English was Nick Joaquin, whose career spanned from the start of WW2 to the post-Marcos era. Nick Joaquin wrote dozens of short stories, two novels, hundreds of journalistic features, political commentary, historical analysis, biographies, plays, and much more, all in English. He was honored as a National Artist for Literature in 1976. Nick Joaquin attempted to create genuinely Philippine voice in English, going as far as trying to translate Tagalog expressions into English. Among his more notable works are the play A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino and the short story May Day Eve. In our new century, there have been many authors who have continued to write in English. An internationally awarded contemporary writer in English is Miguel Syjuco, author of the 2010 book Illustrado.

 Literature in other Philippine languages may be the hardest genre to appreciate but is often the most sentimentally or personally important. For the roughly two thirds of Filipinos who do not speak Tagalog as their native language, not many books are written in their languages. The situation varies depending on the language, as some regional languages are larger and have more reach than others. Visayan languages with more speakers, like Cebuano and Hiligaynon, are large enough to have their own TV and radio stations. But in general, most Philippine languages are in the shadow of English and Tagalog. Still, there are some important works that can be found in these other languages. The Bible has been translated into every major Philippine language – whether Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilocano, Pangasinense, Kapampangan, Waray, Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, and others. YouTube is also a goldmine for finding songs, comedy skits, amateur films, and all manner of material in these languages. The value of this material is more educational than literary. Most Filipinos born abroad have a difficult enough time learning Tagalog, let alone the regional language that their parents might speak. But these materials have the potential to teach them how.

 In summary, the Philippines has a very rich but fragmented literary tradition. Indeed, because of the number of languages in the islands, it has been difficult for a single book or novel to have an effect nationwide. Class also plays a role, as the educated elite and the masses rarely speak the same language. Regardless, over the past two centuries, our authors have created a literature distinctly our own. What remains for us to do today is to appreciate it and contribute to it. In the 21^st century diaspora era, Filipinos have reached more parts of the globe than ever before.  Europe, North America, the Middle East, and the rest of Asia are familiar places in the mind of the OFW. With such global reach, the wealth of languages in our literary tradition should be strength, not a weakness. We have a rich literary tradition, one that should not be ignored, and one that we should contribute to.

About the author

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Cristobal Zarco was born in the Philippines and grew up in New York, specifically Long Island. He graduated with a degree in political science from Adelphi University. He enjoys tracking down books about Philippine history and exploring lesser known parts of New York City.

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FILIPINO ENOUGH? THE #FKEDUP TEAM QUESTIONS THE QUESTION IN BOSTON

by Paolo Espanola & Sarahlynn Pablo

In this two-part look back of the first #FKEDUP live collaboration in Boston this past February, Paolo Espanola and Sarahlynn Pablo reflect on the team’s brunch pop-up and participation in a regional conference for Asian-American college students.

PART 1.

It takes a certain kind of muted masochism to pull off a pop-up: embracing the uncertainty, unfamiliarity, and heightened stress that comes with these one-off engagements that lack the full commitment of owning your own space. In our case, masochism took the form of a crew that’s never met in person, a venue smack dab in the middle of Winterfellian Boston, and a cuisine that hasn’t quite broken into the local populace’s psyche quite yet. Now, I don’t want to make it sound like we were in the throes of despair as we peeled over 60 lobster tails during prep night... but we definitely preferred the raucous music playing on the kitchen speakers to what must have been bubbling anxiety underneath; courageous denial, so to speak.

The menu - a far cry from Filipino dishes of long ago - seemed more fitting for a sun-soaked Californian patio, not the gloomy slush that covered the streets: Longganisa Scotch Eggs? Chicken Inasal and Atsara na Mangga? No one asked whether the steady snowfall would mean we soft-boiled too many eggs. No one asked whether the unsuspecting populace would “accept” our version of Filipino food. And when a tita - the venerable judge of Filipino food - called and said she would rather eat in Chinatown where it’s cheaper since we weren’t offering some sort of “show” along with brunch service, we hardly had the time to panic.

And so we waited breathlessly during those first few hours; waiting for signs that they’ll like our food.  That’s the paradox of how we were cooking Filipino food: reckless abandon by a people so concerned about what “they” will think of our food. “Baka ‘di magustuhan ng mga Kano!” [“Maybe the Americans won’t like it!”] The feeling that perhaps our cuisine isn’t good enough... not refined enough... not pretty enough to warrant a proper brunch service; food that belongs in the dimly lit turo-turos and not the airy pub-cum-brunch hall we found ourselves in.

THEN AGAIN, WE WEREN’T REALLY COOKING FILIPINO FOOD, WERE WE?

It comes with cooking in a transplanted kitchen: having to justify the “Filipino-ness” of our dishes. The Maja Blanca pancakes that we served - fluffy silver dollars topped with a coco-condensada syrup, corn kernels, and berries - were a far cry from the original pudding that utilized latik (burned coconut cream), agar, and was served sans maiz.  The “Lobsilog,” a sexified sous vide lobster tail served with pickled strawberries, was only similar in construct - rice, egg, protein - to its kin, the Long-, Tap-, and Toc-ilogs (Sausage, Cured Beef, and Bacon respectively) of the Motherland. And seeing as those dishes were Spanish (and most probably, Arabic) in origin, were we cooking Filipino enough?

Even our crew, a mishmash of Filipino-Americans and neophytes - some of who’ve never even had Filipino food before - could hardly recite the Panatang Makabayan. Instead of Parokya ni Edgar and intense discussions of whose regional adobo was better, dancehall pumped through the speakers as a fellow cook tasted homemade Longganisa for the first time. And yet our menu had the requisite Filipino sun ray logo, the ever-present calamansi cocktail, the overt jeepney graphic. Could we get any more Filipino? And yet... was it really Filipino enough?

Weeks prior, as the culinary minds put forth the beginnings of the menu, it was evident that our offerings skewed gastropub-Soul rather than kalinderya. My own contribution, “The OFW,” was a Filipino twist on the British (née Indian) Kedgeree: a melange of mushrooms on aromatic rice and a plumcot chutney; hardly recognizable as a -silog in itself.  But just like its namesake, the transplanted Filipino toiling away in foreign lands, isn’t “Filipino food” a cuisine that defies easy definition? One that makes its home in the deserts of Saudi Arabia just as well as the beaches of the West Coast? With all this talk of Filipino Food: what it is, who gets to make it, what it should taste like... perhaps we’ve been asking the wrong question. Better yet, perhaps there was no question to begin with.  Perhaps we cook not to draw boundaries but instead to shout and be heard.

Critics, ourselves included, will pontificate on what constitutes a proper Filipino Sinigang, yet won’t dare question the European “Spanish-ness” of Paella despite the dish’s strong Moorish influences. Therein lies the problem: sometimes the person who’s critiquing our own food and journey the most isn’t the overly skeptical tita who wants to see a group of girls in tutus performing some Mariah Carey song while she chows on her idea of a Pinoy brunch… it’s us. When the person in the mirror is the one asking: “Are you enough?”, it gets tough; masochism born out of centuries of being told we’re only allowed certain paths in life, not others. Perhaps, like ourselves, Filipino food “just is.” One of my restaurateur idols went as far as to defiantly state: “I don’t give a rat’s ass what the mainstream wants to call it, I’m cooking it and calling it what I want to.”

WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT? WE WERE COOKING FILIPINO FOOD, GODDAMMIT, AND WE SHOULDN’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS WHAT ANYONE WANTED TO CALL IT!

Towards the end of the service, one of the line cooks turned dishwasher stepped out to take a smoke break.  In the space of five minutes, the pile of dishes in the back bred and multiplied and when he returned, he stared up at the unsightly stack of fat-drenched plates and sticky syrup. He swore loudly, threw his hands, and complained loudly to no one in particular. And then a curious thing happened. A smile crept over his face as Rupee’s “Tempted to Touch” began playing, he glanced over in my direction, shrugged and said, “Guess it’s gotta be done!” Masochism? Perhaps not. Perhaps like him, we too should accept our obligation -- not with this knot of constant fear...of relentless whisperings of inadequacy -- but with cheerful resignation. That at the end of the day, there is no such thing as getting Filipino Food “right”... it’s just gotta be done.

#behindthescenes w the #FKEDUP crew. Resident DJ, dishwasher, prepman Vinny goes: "Do yall like Dancehall?" Evening prep w @sarahlynneats @jglo77 and @yumcrispypata went downhill from there. #bodyrollingisthenewmiddlefinger #temptedtotouch

A video posted by Paolo Espanola (@errant_diner) on Feb 23, 2015 at 6:01pm PST

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PART 2.

It takes a certain kind of courage to teach. Those of us who have had the privilege of learning from a great teacher know it’s a noble profession because teaching shares ways to higher knowledge. Teaching is tough. Teachers are expected to do their homework before everyone else and master the subject. Teaching involves a good deal of public speaking and engaging with your audience. A great teacher can motivate students to explore material they have no particular interest in.

There we were: Harvard University at the East Coast Asian American Students Union (ECAASU) annual conference, facilitating a workshop with the #FKEDUP crew and old friends, Brandon Glova AKA DJ Bonics and his sister, photographer Judy Glova. Ok, so we weren't exactly teaching, but approximating it for an hour. By sharing something of our personal journeys, we wanted to give back to the young people we saw so much of ourselves in, just fifteen years ago. Filipino Kitchen is proud to be Filipino American and Asian American, and spaces like ECAASU helped this pride take root.

Our workshop tackled identity. Not exactly light stuff. Though the conference maintains a safe space to express opinion among Asian-American peers -- it’s hard to bare your twenty-year old soul to a room full of strangers. Kinda like group therapy, honestly. And I mean that fondly, and with a degree of sentimentality. ECAASU is fertile environment for young Asian Americans can think about and give names to our experiences ourselves.

WE NAMED OUR WORKSHOP, ‘NOT ENOUGH,’ FOR THE PHENOMENON THAT FIRST- AND LATER-GENERATION ASIAN AMERICANS EXPERIENCE: NOT MEASURING UP TO BE ASIAN ENOUGH FOR OUR FAMILIES OR ASIAN-BORN PEERS, NOR AMERICAN ENOUGH FOR OUR FRIENDS AND AMERICAN SOCIETY AT LARGE.

Our young people spoke up and told us how they were experiencing the 'not enough' phenomenon themselves. College was a new proving ground, where for some, unlike diverse spaces of childhood, their identities were challenged and provoked from the outside. Multiracial Asian Americans shared pains that ran deep. Feeling ‘not enough’ was the status quo. They felt tired of justifying self, explaining self, and more so, angry at that imposed responsibility.

Before the conference we asked our friends on social media to share the 'not Asian enough' moments they had:

“Oh, you don’t speak Tagalog? You’re not reeeeeally Filipino.”

“Yes, my family would go to debuts and pageants and spectacles like that, which made me wonder where I belonged, do I fit in, what criteria do I need to hit some sort of Filipino-legitimacy threshold.”

“I guess the Filipinos thought adapting to the American lifestyle caused me to lose my Filipino self.”

“My cousins used to tell me, ‘you couldn’t understand, you’re just half-Filipino.’”

In the workshop, we questioned the questions of being "Asian enough." We wanted to expose that there was no test for being Filipino or Chinese or Taiwanese or Laotian or Indian or Korean or any of the heritage origins with which we Asian Americans identify. There was no "Asian enough" test at all.

WHILE SOME ASIAN AMERICANS' LEGITIMACY IS QUESTIONED BY THEIR OWN FAMILIES OR BY OTHER ASIAN AND ASIAN AMERICAN PEERS, OUR AMERICAN-NESS IS QUESTIONED AS WELL.

None of the students spoke of overt racism or prejudice (or wanted to volunteer that information), though we acknowledged them as part of our reality. Instead we spoke of the subtleties of ‘othering.’

The young people said that some non-Asian Americans students didn't understand their need to create spaces for themselves on their college campuses, misinterpreting forming student groups like Filipino Students Associations as exclusionary tactics. A few spoke of the oft-muddled identities and nuances brought on by mixed nationalities and cultural birthrights.

Before the conference, our friends on social media shared their 'not American enough' moments, too:

“What country are you from?”

“Your English is amazing.”

“I remember going to school with a Tupperware of dinuguan and longanisa and the look on my teacher’s face when I asked her to heat it up for me. I wanted Lunchables!”

The conversation about defining American (as famously coined by undocumented Filipino American activist and Pulitzer prize winning journalist, Jose Antonio Vargas, and the 40 million immigrants in this country, lawmakers, pundits and the many others in the immigration debate) is hotly contested.

AT THE END OF THE DAY, WHO CAN SAY WHAT IDENTITIES WE CAN CLAIM OR CANNOT, EXCEPT FOR US OURSELVES?

While that was plenty of ground to cover, we didn't get to touch on how divisive 'not enough' is. How the personal offenses and attacks keep us from building community and prevent us from questioning systems like imperialism, capitalism and patriarchy. Sixty minutes is not a lot of time to dive deep into the subject, and we considered it a success that many of the workshop participants stayed afterwards to talk with us.

We ended the workshop with a shout. Paolo asked if maybe it's just time we start being comfortable with the uncomfortable? Maybe there's identities we can try on, even if we're not "supposed" to? What's a Filipina "supposed to" be? What's an American "supposed to" be? What about someone who grew up in three distinct cultures? Where is home? Can we shout our names at the top of our lungs in a Harvard classroom? Maybe that's when our work really started.

POSTSCRIPT.

Thank you to our friends at The Vault Restaurant in Boston -- Kate, Corey, Mallory, Liz, Val, Andrew and Vinny -- for a wonderful service together. Thank you to the patrons of the RICE & SHINE Boston brunch pop-up.

Thank you to the East Coast Asian American Students Union for inviting Filipino Kitchen and DJ Bonics to speak at this year’s conference. Thank you to the young people who attended our workshop, and the Filipino Kitchen Facebook community for sharing your 'not enough' moments.

And always, thank you to our entire #FKEDUP Boston crew for your hard work and incredible talents -- Noel Aglubat, AC Boral, Stephanie Chrispin, Brandon and Judy Glova (especially your dj'ing and photography, respectively), and Natalia Roxas.