Role Reversal

By Noel Aglubat, guest contributor Sexism is everywhere and happens all the time. In the school or office setting, sexism can get you fired or expelled or at least reprimanded (an action which shows a level of tolerance).

In a bar setting and beyond, men objectify women, as something to be had, something to be won, something to be conquered. Sexism in a party scene breeds an uglier crime: unsolicited physical contact, or in other words, sexual harassment. I was aware of how we men treat women in the party scene.  Awareness, however, doesn’t equate with empathy and the divide between the two wasn’t clear to me until recently.

Last weekend, I went out for drinks in the East Village with my good friend, my “bro,” who wanted to show me the neighborhood bars. Since I had moved to the area relatively recently, I hadn’t yet had a chance to explore the local bars on my own. We arrived at one of them, sat at the bar and ordered a round of drinks. My friend struck up an interesting conversation with the woman, who was with a group of friends, next to him. For all intents and purposes let's call her Rachel and my friend Ryan.

"Hi," said Rachel.

"Hi," replied Ryan.

"No, you can’t f*** me," she stated bluntly.

Yes, that is, word for word, how the conversation began. In an effort to alleviate the awkward tension in the air, Ryan continued the small talk, but it was downhill from the very beginning. Rachel remained aggressive and hostile. I knew this was not going to end well, so I decided to intervene before it got worse.

"Excuse me, ladies. If my friend offended you, that was not his intention. Let me buy you a round of drinks as an apology and we’ll be on our way," I offered with sincerity. Rachel then responded with the following.

"You’re cute. But you look a little gay. I bet you can’t f*** me either. Let me check."

At this point I’m at a loss for words, unaware of her hand swooping towards my genitals. She grabbed my crotch, and I backed up. She persisted. Rachel and her friend, in tandem, isolated me from Ryan. They asked me to go dancing, to party on her AMEX.

“I got money. We can go skiing in Wyoming,” she said. It was in that moment when I realized this is how many of us treat women when we “hit” on them. We isolate them, belittle their person and touch them when unsolicited. I declined her offer and escaped from the bar with Ryan as quickly as possible.

What is interesting is the range of reactions I got when I told this story to my friends. My male friends called me a b**** and a p*****. In my attempt to save face, I told them I was uninterested and just saving Private Ryan. Still, they insisted that I was a b**** and that I should have “manned up.”

The feminist blogger/writer Jessica Valenti once stated,

“The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate insult. Now tell me that’s not royally f***ed up.”

Ms. Valenti articulates my second realization: even our insults put down women by normalizing them as insults.

I told this story to my female friends and some suggested that I could sue Rachel. But taking legal action for an ill encounter at a bar? The realist in me said it’s highly unlikely anything would come out of going to the police, and besides, nothing terribly awful happened. Then, I had my third epiphany: this is what women go through all the time. They are often abused both verbally and physically and some take no action because it is the norm that society has led us to accept.

I’m not saying that I am a perfect person, because I'm not. I don't claim to have never made sexist comments, because I have. But due to that incident, I will be more aware of how I treat women, whether I am around them or not.

If you read through some of the stories in theeverydaysexism project, you will see how women experience sexism constantly.  The topics vary, from so-called jokes and catcalling stereotypes, to accounts of rape and the subsequent victim blaming. However, women are not objects nor are they categories (NSFW). Let us step down from the pedestal of privilege that we have built over centuries of sexism, stop promoting patriarchy and truly strive to attain our celebrated ideal of equality.

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Noel Aglubat, 25, was born and raised in Queens, NY. He is a civil engineer at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission. He graduated from NYU-Poly with an M.S. in Structural Engineering in 2013, and a B.S. in Civil Engineering in 2010. He joined the UniPro staff as a member of the Summit team in May 2013. Noel also volunteers with Advancement for Rural Kids (ARK) to help rebuild schools on Panay Island in the Western Visayas. He likes to play paintball, piano and bass guitar, and is gearing up to complete the NYC marathon this year. 

Infographics designed by: Highrank websites Inc. Sources: 1, 2, 3

All My Closest Friends Are Pilipino... Is This A Problem?

Queens, New York. Not only is this borough my home, but it is the most ethnically diverse urban area in the entire world. Tell me, then, why are 90% of my friends Pilipino? Fast forward to college: New York University. Despite 22,000+ undergraduates, I find myself deeply involved in a Pilipino-based community. As a testament to the ubiquitous Pilipino-ness of my friend groups, I just scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed and went through posts by 25 people before encountering someone not Pilipino. I have always loved rooting myself in the Pilipino community, but as someone who prides herself on a doctrine of diversity, I just realized my own hypocrisy. It seems like I only hang out with Pilipino people, I am only active with Pilipino organizations, and I focus all my energy on the Fil-Am community. Is this something to be concerned about? It is not as if I look at people with a need to fulfill a quota: White friend, check. Black friend, check. Hispanic friend, check. I do not subscribe to tokenism. I do, however, want to hold a mirror to myself and understand why I gravitate toward Pilipinos. Am I losing out on something else by surrounding myself in a homogenous community?

An epiphany occurred to me at the Journey of a Brown Girl launch, when I was introduced to the idea of "kapwa." I've heard this word echoed around the community but never understood it. It is an essential concept of collective identity in intrinsic Pilipino psychology, theorized by the likes of Virgilio Enriquez and Katrin de Guia. Sarita Echavez See defines it in "Gambling with Debt" from American Quarterly:

"Kapwa, often translated as a 'shared inner self,' can be understood as a worldview based on profoundly collective forms of mutual recognition. According to sikolohiyang Pilipino scholars like Virgilio Enriquez who forward the study of 'indigenous Pilipino psychology,' in the colonial context kapwa can be interpreted as a kind of friendliness, hospitality..."

My first thought: So there's a word for it? I never guessed the deep bond I have felt with Pilipinos – through exchanged glances with strangers on the subway, the way I root for Pilipinos in any competition, or how my ears perk up at the utterance of any Tagalog – could be summarized so succinctly. There is a smile when you know someone is Pilipino without saying so, and a smile that says I've known you my whole life. It takes a matter of minutes to connect over shared histories, and I have always felt this, but I had never known kapwa. It encapsulates the phenomenon so perfectly.

Perhaps this is the underlying reason why I have found my closest friends in fellow Pilipinos. I have deeper levels of understanding and relation to someone who identifies with my love for Pilipino culture, origins and conflicts with Pilipino traditions, or shares my taste for cultural references, food, and words.

The reason I take issue with recognizing my almost exclusively Pilipino cohort of friends is that a comfort zone bubble forms. Growth and learning come from exploring the unfamiliar and exchanging with diverse groups, but I rarely get pushed to step outside of my Pilipino-centric interests. I wonder if I am subscribing to preference or circumstance. I wonder if I should consciously make an effort to step outside of the Pilipino community. I wonder if this whole line of thinking is flawed.

I do not have answers – only a desire to spark dialogue. Thanks to kapwa you will find a familial bond with other Pilipinos no matter where you go, but who is to say you would not discover that within others?

Source: tumblr

Be Proud of Your Pilipino Skin

On September 4, 2013, seven-year-old Tiana Parker was sent home in tears from the Deborah Brown Community School. The reason? Her dreadlocked hair. Claiming that hairstyles such as “dreadlocks, afros, [and] mohawks” detract from “a respectful and serious atmosphere,” this Oklahoma institution scolded Tiana, barring her from classes. Needless to say, the community was outraged. And they were not alone as the media rushed to the aid of this young girl. Prestigious news sources, bloggers, and TV personalities each defended Tiana’s dreads as naturally styled African American locks, instead of a “faddish,” attention-seeking gimmick, as the Deborah Brown Community School claims. Tiana is now enrolled in a different school which embraces her natural hairstyle. Her former elementary school has since changed its policies.

Reading this story ignited a lot of different feelings; anger, discomfort, but more than anything an eerie familiarity. I, personally, don’t know what it’s like to be punished for exhibiting a naturally Pilipino physical feature, but I do know that such mentalities exist among Pilipino communities; and for me, they inspire the same amount of outrage.

Whiter Skin is “In”

Pilipinos generally possess a distinct type of hair: thick and pin-straight. However, it is not our typically dark locks that cause dispute among other Pilipinos; rather, it is our naturally tan skin. Eliciting the help of skin whitening creams, bleaches, and even cosmetic surgeries, Pilipinos hunger for lighter skin. In an older time, light skin in the Philippines was a sign of a life exempt from outdoor labor, and thus, a symbol of wealth and luxury. Even today, the celebrities, talk show hosts, and news anchors that populate TFC and GMA are those with a lighter skin tone. And, from my experience, even when telanovelas feature darker-skinned Pilipinos, it is to emphasize the difference between one and the other, castigating the darker of the two.

My Color is Pilipino

This type of culture breeds a warped idea of self-worth, one in which the most valuable gem is the one that can shine the whitest, showing no appreciation for the land-laboring emeralds, the sweat-drenched rubies, or the sea-faring sapphires. This is a destructive culture and it is not one that Pilipino youth should be brought up learning. Yes, white-skinned Pilipinos are beautiful, but they are no more beautiful than those with naturally darker skin. Whether representative of badges of laborious ancestors, or emblematic of different regions, these deep browns and dark tans carry vibrant histories. These sun-kissed shades should not be diminished, but celebrated as hues that add to the rich palette of the Pilipino people.

Photo Credit: Asiafinest.com Forum

Pasko na! 7 Essential Pilipino Christmas Songs

Credit: Courtesy of 365 Great Pinoy Stuff It was the middle of October, nearly Halloween, when I was sitting in a Pilipino restaurant and heard christmas carols playing. Patrons in anywhere else would be confused, but customers sat unfazed listening to Jingle Bells four months early. As far as Pilipinos know, Christmas season starts in September and continues through the Feast of the Epiphany in January. Evergreen trees, mini nativity sets, and colorful parols quickly go up after September 1 to mark the celebratory season.

Music, especially, marks the Philippines' devotion to the festive holiday. I have never had the pleasure of being in the country during Christmas, but I did grow up with my mother chiming "Ang pasko ay sumaaaapit" throughout the home as she decorated indoors and heard choirs at church singing Pasko na Naman at Simbang Gabi performances. Such inspired the below list of classic Pilipino Christmas songs to blast!

Ang Pasko ay Sumapit A gleeful tune exalting the joy of Christmas. http://youtu.be/lMcARSEcMQM

Pasko na Naman This upbeat song reminds us to give thanks for the holiday. http://youtu.be/oZhfHnIqxE4

Pasko Na, Sinta Ko Consider this poignant tune the Pilipino answer to "Blue Christmas." http://youtu.be/2XlFY141Q-E

Himig ng Pasko This waltz captures the visceral pleasure and sounds of the season. http://youtu.be/wA_L3CU0T3Y

Paskong Anong Saya The cheerful song not only celebrates Christmas, but the New Year. http://youtu.be/-6Q77D8Re3w

Noche Buena "Noche Buena" is a Pilipino tradition involving a feast on Christmas Eve. http://youtu.be/-K1CYXhyq80

Star Ng Pasko This catchy pop single features ABS-CBN stars and heralds the spirit of giving. http://youtu.be/T1nNUOMS14g

Filipino Arts Renaissance: Kilusan Bautista

Kilusan Bautista looks as comfortable on stage as others would be in their living rooms. His voice rises up and down in rhythmic acrobatics: flipping sounds into the air, letting stories free fall, catching each word in his natural cadence. He presses the microphone to his lips so that each “p” sound punches the air.

Deep down in my soul I pray to the universe with my flow I am a child of the wild metropolitan jungle.

This is the beginning of his one-man show Universal Self, an autobiographical theatrical performance combining his life experience with spoken word, dancing, martial arts, and hip-hop music. The production revolves around Kilusan’s struggles with identity as a Filipino-American at the intersection of two cultures, family issues, and in his words, “social justice.” The show is a coming-of-age story, set in the 1980s and 1990s of Kilusan’s native San Francisco. Using every inch of the stage, he break dances, lyrically moves, performs spoken word while doing Pilipino martial arts, and disappears into different characters.

“Theater to me is like my jacket. It allows me to bring everything together,” he said. He speaks fluidly and uninterrupted save for carefully chosen dramatic pauses. When presented the word “stability,” Kilusan takes time to chew on the word.

“What IS stability?" He then drifts off into the importance of education, talks about writing, and goes into anecdotes about his father, uncles, and friends for several minutes.

“Stability was not financial, not just having a roof over my head… For me, stability came from the arts.”

It’s possible Kilusan wouldn’t have become an artist without his dad's struggles. He grew up in a turbulent household with a drug-addicted father; 12-year-old Kilusan would sometimes tag along to attend Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. He kept himself out of the house as much as possible, finding solace in break dancing, theater, and martial arts.

“[Art] revolutionized my whole identity, my expression, my voice, and as an adult and professional artist, my expression is full body. My identity has a lot to do with movement.” His name – Kilusan–means “movement” in tagalog. Originally born Jeremy Tagle Bautista, he changed it in 1999 after hearing it used by teachers and artists in the Philippines on a study abroad visit, doing research for what would eventually become “Universal Self.”

“I took up on that name as a constant reminder for myself that I’m not just an individual but I represent a larger history," the artist, a third generation Filipino-American, said.

At 16 years old, Kilusan left home, as he was fed up with his father’s drug abuse. Two tickets out of town hooked him: poetry and education. Through the Education Opportunity Program benefiting first-generation college students and minorities entering college, Kilusan enrolled in the University of California, Santa Cruz. A scholarship and housing offer convinced him to pursue higher education. To make money, he toured around the globe as part of the Bay Area-based spoken word collective, 8^th Wonder.

After graduating from UC Santa Cruz, he took on a slew of community organizing roles, by reaching out to public schools through gang prevention group, United Playaz, in San Francisco and teaching Hip Hop courses around the Bay Area. He moved to New York in 2008. Currently, he’s a teaching artist with NYC’s Department of Education, working at Downtown Brooklyn Access GED and using parts of “Universal Self” as prompts for students to create their own works. Many of the students Kilusan works with share the same gang, drug, and violence-ridden surroundings he experienced while growing up. The mutual understanding allows him to connect with them easily.

“You have to ask the question: Why are the students sharing? Why do they want to be heard? Why do they want to connect and relate to others, you know?” Kilusan spit these questions with a steady rhythm.

“My answer to that is because we’re all still trying to understand who we are and reflect back on it This is a lifelong process.”

Universal Self is constantly shifting. Kilusan claims it will reach a final version the day he arrives on Broadway. He hopes to get a production on the scale of fellow one-man-show, minority background and personal story-driven performer John Leguizamo. When he started out, he scoured every borough for venues that would take an unknown, eventually racking up venues such as the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, Bowery Poetry Club, Smithsonian Folklife Festival, and even the Sahbhaga festival in India.

The typical artists’ woes–finding success, finding an audience, and making money–don't faze him.

“I think as an artist we have to make a choice. And when you make that choice and say yes to it –there’s no looking back. You know, it’s one hundred percent. It’s all or nothing."

Photo credits: Kilusan Bautista and Gerson Abesamis