Pilipino Heroes: José Rizal

José Rizal is one of the Philippines’s most celebrated heroes. His efforts to gain independence for his homeland from Spain have been praised time and time again. In addition to graduating summa cum laude at Ateneo de Manila and the Dominican University of Santo Tomas in Manila, Rizal studied medicine at Universidad Central de Madrid, University of Paris, and University of Heidelberg in order to learn ophthalmology as a result of his mother’s growing blindness. While in Europe, Rizal fine-tuned his skills in art, literature, and science, excelling in various areas such as poetry, sculpting, cartography, martial arts, and more. His studies in Europe would have a profound impact on his beliefs in the relationship between state and religion. As he was studying, he published two of his most famous works—Noil Me Tángere, published in Berlin in 1887, and its sequel, El Filibusterismo, published in Ghent in 1891. These novels angered Spanish and Pilipino elites as a result of its explication on the injustice of Spaniards and the government of the Philippines. In both novels, Rizal analyzes the relationship between Catholicism and Pilipino individuals as well as the influence of Spanish colonization on the government and its corruption. Noli Me Tángere and El Filibusterismo were crucial in sculpting a national Pilipino identity as well as rustling up discussion on the rights of Pilipinos under Spanish rule. His criticisms about the influence of Catholic priests on every day Pilipino life as well as their ungodly actions put him in the spotlight as someone to watch out for. At the end of Spanish rule, Catholic priests owned about 400,000 acres of land. They were known for killing off those who threatened their wealth and power, but were seen as father figures to the Pilipinos as the head authority figures in all decisions, and as Luis H. Francia puts it, a “god-king.”

In 1981, Rizal visited Hong Kong where he came into contact with fellow expatriates, who gave him a better assessment on the situation in the Philippines. Upon finding out that the people in his hometown of Calamba had been dispossessed of their land by Dominicans, Rizal proposed creating a settlers’ colony in Sandakan, which is now a part of Malaysia today. The Spanish rejected his request, worried that the colony could someday turn into a headquarters for rebellion.

Rizal returned to the Philippines the next year and formed La Liga Filipina, an organization dedicated to creating a community of Pilipinos devoted to the reform of the Pilipino government and industry. La Liga Filipina raised money for scholarships, legal aid, and loans, in order to create an independent community. Catholic friars feared the organization and conspired to have Rizal exiled to the northwestern coastal town of Dapitan in Mindanao.

During his exile, Andrés Bonifacio, a former member of La Liga Filipina, formed Kataasta-asan Kagalagalangan Katipunan, commonly known as Katipunan, a secret anti-Spanish society dedicated to the independence of the Philippines through force. When contacted by Bonifacio about his opinion on the organization, Rizal greatly disapproved of the society’s use of violence. Bonifacio was upset about Rizal’s disapproval but still used Rizal’s name as a password, which in later years would lead authorities to assume Rizal’s involvement.

During the Spanish American War, Rizal volunteered to work as a doctor for the Spanish forces in Cuba in order to show loyalty to Spain, but upon landing Barcelona, he was arrested for his part in the revolution. He was sent back to Manila where he was found guilty of treason, despite the incredibly strong defense.

On December 30, 1896, José Rizal was executed by a firing squad of fellow Pilipinos. Spanish troops stood behind the countrymen with rifles to their backs, just in case they did not pull the trigger. Before he was shot down, Rizal whispered, “Consummantum est” or “It is finished,” the same as Jesus Christ.

Seen as a martyr, Rizal’s death exalted his fame as well as strengthened the Pilipino fight for independence from Spain. His novels, Noil Me Tángere and El Filibusterismo, cultivated a Pilipino identity, similar to how Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin helped fuel the abolitionist movement in America during the 1850s. Rizal’s characters represented typical Pilipinos and the plight of the novels’ main characters allowed Pilipinos to sympathize and relate to each other.

A country can only be successful if it has a nation, and Rizal was a critical part in forming the Pilipino national identity. Without a nation, the Pilipinos would not have had the drive to start a revolution against the Spanish and retake their land. José Rizal rightly deserves the praise he has received as one of the Philippines’s greatest heroes.

Photo Credit: Michael Francis McCarthy and Lauren Lalicon

Becoming Victoria - Georgina Tolentino

By Georgina Tolentino, guest contributor I first learned of Victoria Manalo Draves when I read her obituary in the New York Times in 2010. The person who handed me the newspaper in a restaurant said, “Wow, you look just like this woman,” and walked away.

I did see the resemblance. She was half-Filipino and English. I was Filipino with a half-Portuguese mother and Italian-Spanish-Native American father.

Victoria was born and raised in San Francisco at a time when her parents couldn’t walk together in public. She grew up when pools were “whites only” facilities and had one dedicated day a month for people of “color” (this also meant immigrants, including Jewish and Italians). This allowed “internationals” to swim before the pool was sanitized for use the next day.

At the 1948 Olympics in London, Victoria Manalo Draves became the first Fil-Am woman to win two gold medals in diving. However, she faced a lot of racial prejudice along the way.

I grew up watching IFC, the Sundance Channel and loving film. I worked for three companies in LA — Maybach and Cunningham, LET Films and Divya Creative — while taking acting classes and auditioning during lunch breaks. Honestly, I got tired of the extremely limiting roles available for women: “cynical hottie #2” or “girl having affair.” I was also tired of being told, “Well, you’re not Asian enough.”

However, I believe that a beautiful shift is happening in independent filmmaking, television and media, which women like Vicki had fought for in their fields. As my passion for telling her story grew, I decided to both produce and play Victoria in an independent narrative film with the help of Brittany del Soldato, Reggie Elzey and what today is Icarus Film Studios.

I started the process of making Vicki’s film by interviewing her husband, Lyle Draves, who also was her coach. I also got in touch with Sammy Lee, coach of diving star Greg Louganis, who was himself a legendary Olympic diver and Korean American icon. Jack Lavery, a friend who introduced her to diving at Fleishhacker saltwater pool in the 1930s in San Francisco, was also helpful. Then Connie, Victoria’s twin sister, shared great stories, like when they sent the same Christmas card to each other by accident.

Sammy Lee recalled that when Vicki first joined the team at the Oakland Athletics, they all wanted to push her into the pool as a hazing prank. But she found out about it, so she covered herself in baby oil. This made everyone else fall into the pool, making everyone laugh and see what a funny person she was. I believe her sunny attitude enabled her to endure the obstacles thrown in her way.

Vicki’s spirit was alive through these people; they are already in their nineties, and yet still joke and tell stories about her, keeping her spirit alive. There is an energy and light in their eyes that can’t be explained. Jack Lavery started laughing, held my hand and said, “Well you have Vicki’s smile – so that’s good.” I was so moved.

When we drove Jack to Sammy Lee’s house, they hugged as old friends, and we became invisible, which made me laugh. Jack had planted a “Sammy Lee plant” in his garden, and after six years finally was able to give it to Sammy. They began talking as if they were back in their twenties. We just watched in amusement, happy to give them that moment.

I have gotten to know Victoria through these friends of hers. The first time I saw a video of her, I started crying because she was no longer a photo. I felt as though I was meeting her in that moment, watching her smiling and winning. I knew what that moment of victory felt like for her, when losing her dad drove her to win in his honor. I really want people to recognize that Vicki fought for both her name and her family’s honor. I only want to do the same.

Preparing for the role has been a commitment. I got a trainer who is amazing and helped me through my back injury, with inversions, building stamina to train the muscles for diving and understanding a diet that improves performance. I go to diving class twice a week in Santa Monica or in Pasadena, and recently started taking private sessions. I also attend ballet class once or twice a week. I’ve begun understanding diving as an “aerial” sport.

When I don’t want to get up at 8 a.m. to dive, I try to remember that when Vicki first dove at the Fairmont Club, they only let her in once she changed her name to Taylor, her mother’s English maiden name. She had a special club where she was the only member. In one competition her father wasn’t allowed into the facility to watch her; so she refused to dive until they let him in.

I didn’t understand why she dove until I started diving. She, like me, had a fear of heights and drowning, ironic for a woman who won gold in 10m and 3m springboard. She dove for her father, for her mother, for the community that accepted her as an equal in sports. She dove for her friends who faced Japanese internment and for women who were being held back. She dove for her English aunt who married a Filipino and faced threats at work because her marriage was deemed “disgusting and wrong;" her aunt was later found dead in an elevator shaft. She dove not for what America was, but for what it could and should become.

Like Vicki, I was also born and raised in San Francisco. I am proud because it is a city full of activists and grassroots movements working to change society for the better. In English, Vicki's maiden name, Manalo, means to win. It's an apt name for a fighter. So, I fight for the rights and opportunities I have -- and for Vicki’s story to be told.

Join me in telling the story of Victoria Manalo Draves. Contributions help us meet our goal of $12,000. Help us build the momentum for a story that needs to be told by being a supporter and by encouraging your friends to do so as well.

You can donate by visiting our campaign here. 

Facebook: Vicki Manalo Film Instagram: @vickimanalofilm Twitter: @vickimanalofilm #vickimanalofilm Website: www.victoriamanalofilm.com

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Georgina Tolentino is an actor and independent film producer from Los Angeles CA.

The original version of this post originally appeared on Positively Filipino and has been reprinted with permission. 

Photo credits: Brittany Del Soldato and Vanessa Cabrillas

Pilipino Festivals of Light

I’ve only been to the Philippines once. I was eight years old and there are only a few flashes of my trip that I can remember: playing with my cousin’s ten puppies in Pampanga, eating birthday cake with my grandfather in Bikol, and scratching my legs - which were so swollen with mosquito bites that I was starting to look like The Thing from Fantastic Four. Besides those memories, the only images I have of the Philippines are from news articles, TFC and stories I hear from my family. I’m dying to go back someday soon and have crated a hefty bucket list of things to see and do. At the top of the list are witnessing the different festivals of light in the Philippines that seem to me both breathtaking and hauntingly beautiful.

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Ligligan Parul- Giant Lantern Festival

I’ve seen a parol or two hanging in my aunt’s windows during Christmas time, but they don’t have anything on the blazing 20-footers showcased in the parades of the Giant Lantern Festival in San Fernando, Philippines. A parol is a Christmas lantern representing the star of Bethlehem and was originally made from “simple materials like bamboo sticks, Japanese rice paper, crepe paper, and a candle or coconut oil-lamp for illumination.” The parols of San Fernando, however, are gargantuan modern day feats of engineering and flair, bedazzling audiences with kaleidoscopic stained glass windows, illuminated by electrified lights dancing in synchronicity to cheery Christmas music. The parade, which has been held every December for the last 80 years, has become such a crowd-drawing phenomenon that San Fernando has been dubbed the “Christmas Capital of the Philippines.”

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All Saint’s Day/All Soul’s Day

When my family first told me that for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day they spent all day and all night in a cemetery, I thought the tradition sounded downright morbid and creepy. They assured me that it was, in fact, quite the opposite. These observances, practiced on November 1^st and 2^nd, are meant to honor and remember deceased loved ones in celebration. With smiling faces they reminisced and told me how they would stay up with all their friends and family in the crypts, eating, drinking, praying and dancing. It was a party, both somber and joyful all at once. Best of all, the millions of candles lit in remembrance of the deceased would fill the crypts with an ocean of twinkling lights.

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Sky lantern celebrations

While technically not a Pilipino tradition rooted in cultural history (major sky lantern festivals are traditional in Taiwan and Thailand), floating sky lanterns are popularly used in the Philippines to celebrate special occasions or released just for fun. In 2013, the Philippines broke the Guinness World Record for most sky lanterns flown simultaneously. 15,185 sky lanterns were released into the atmosphere at the University of the Philippines Visayas Miag-ao by Pilipino and Thai participants from the faiths of Christianity, Buddhism, and Islam. The demonstration was intended to encourages harmony and promote world peace through inner peace.

What is it about these grand displays of light that draw people together in celebration? Maybe they remind us of the tranquil charm of a star-studded nighttime sky. Maybe the candles or lanterns symbolize glimpses of joy and hope amidst darkness. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. And I would love to go back to the Philippines someday to see these festivals of light and experience the magic first hand.

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Photo credits: prafulla.net, phwow.com, blogs.ft.com

And As Long As I've Got My Suit and Tie

Bongga! Tell a Pilipino crowd to get dressed up for a party, and you’ll find us doing just that... and some. 

I had the pleasure of attending this year’s An Evening In Manila, a black tie affair hosted by Maharlika Filipino Moderno and Jeepney Filipino Gastropub that celebrated Philippine independence and benefitted one of my absolute favorite organizations, ARK (Advancement for Rural Kids). For one night in late May, a mansion on the Upper East Side in New York City was the setting for a showcase of amazing Pilipino-inspired hors d’oeuvres, networking with the who’s who among advocates and social do-gooders within the Pilipino community, and some “get outta my way, that DJ is playing my sooooongggg”-type of dancing.

The crowd was not only raising money to fund feeding programs in rural communities in the Philippines, but also raising the bar when it came to fashion and style. There was a competition for best dressed male and female of the night, and that might have influenced some outfits but I must say, that was one handsome room. See for yourself.

At the last minute, I ditched the bow tie I was planning to wear that night for a piece that was buried within all my other ties. I remembered I had this one neck piece that I bought to wear with the barong I wore to my high school senior prom (yup, that happened). I really don’t remember the last time I had worn it, mostly because it’s an odd-looking piece that doesn’t really go with anything. I always thought it was simple yet loud, classy yet eccentric, bold yet endearing. A single white pearl sat in the middle of it, almost acting as the period in the fashion statement that the neckpiece itself was.

I truly believe that fashion and style have the power to tell stories, and there is always thought, whether conscious or subconscious, that goes into the clothes one picks to wear on any given day. On that night, I suppose that neck piece was a cool thing to wear to a Pilipino-themed event. I mean, the Philippines is the “pearl of the orient” after all, right? Yet, thinking about it more after, I’d like to think that it was a bit more than that.

Just as the neckpiece was buried underneath all the other ties I have, sometimes our Pilipino-ness gets buried too. I know for me, it often times does. It’s always there, yet over time, our environments and situations cover it up. We adapt, we assimilate, we fit in. That’s not a bad thing at all - in fact, I think these are totally essential to growing as a person, but I think the part that gets lost most times is: we remember. In the words of Philippine National Hero, Jose Rizal:

Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi makararating sa paroroonan.

or:

"He who does not look back from where he came will never reach his destination."

We don’t need to be waving Philippine flags, but I think that getting in touch with our Pilipino-ness every now and then is always good. It’s not all of who we are, but certainly a part of who we are, and it’s something that we should remember and celebrate. Whether it’s making a quick stop to Maharlika or Jeepney for a reminder of what your lola’s cooking tastes like, watching a documentary or reading an essay on immigration legislation, or even trying to incorporate cool Pinoy fashion elements into your style, it’s a way to remember.

Maybe hold off on the Ifugao loincloths for Casual Friday at the office though. No one's trying to remember seeing you in that.

(Suit and Tie by author)

Reach

By Matt Pana, guest contributor In 2003, studies showed that the average height of a Filipino male was 5 feet 4 inches.

It’s safe to say that we’ve grown beyond the national average. Despite our stature, we as a people have become larger than life. We proved to America that we are the best dance crews. The best pound-for-pound fighters. The best singers, capable of sharing the stage with Motown legends and Rock royalty.

What all these examples have in common is their ability to reach. Capturing an audience. Mass exposure. But you will never reach what you truly desire by lying on your back, or living on your knees. You must take a stand. Stand for something. Your passion. Your dream. Standing upright. Not just a straight body, but a straight morale.

Every movement you make is an extension of who you are. Extending yourself. Every muscle. Every thought. Stretching yourself to your limits. And the more flexible you are, the more options will be made available. Dodging obstacles in your way. Fitting into scenes and situations you never thought you would fit into.

Sometimes, you may need a lift. Sometimes, you may need to climb. Every step, every rung off the ladder is a standard you set for yourself. While there are no shortcuts to quality, remember that there is a difference between setting standards and taking the initiative to reach them. Being proactive, rather than reactive.

A wise man once told me the key to success is growth.

“Grow. If you’re not growing, you’re either a rock, or you’re dead.”

Now think of that one place. A clinic, a classroom, a cubicle or a concert. Your environment should give you the freedom to grow. Your very own greenhouse. Here, your surroundings must be transparent and nurturing. Clear and encouraging. With those key elements. You will need light, giving you vision and direction. Your source of energy. You will need the right temperature. Not too cold and unforgiving, yet not too hot and bothered. You will need the right resources. Air. Water. Giving you a moment to breathe. Giving you a moment to replenish.

Today, size does matter. But I’m not talking about lengths or widths. I’m talking about the lengths you can withstand. Failure. Criticism. Patience. Timing. Because no matter how far you may be, if you can see it, it’s still there. That dream. That goal. In your grasp. At your fingertips. And once reach that high, you may have to hang on for dear life.

Don’t look down. Never let go.

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Matt Pana has performed in 2 countries and traveled 11,000 miles by ground as drummer for the band Mitchell Grey. Each week, he sits down in-person with performers and personalities. Episodes include exclusive music, road stories, and humble beginnings. His latest mission is to inspire and cultivate local artists, with the launch of his new YouTube channel. Episodes will focus on three key elements: eating food, telling stories and making music. Matt has since returned to his roots, drumming for indie-rock band Wyland, recent winners of The Break Contest. You can catch them performing at the Skate & Surf Festival Main Stage, as well as New York, Philadelphia and their native New Jersey.

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The original version of this post originally appeared on Matt Pana's blog.

Photo credit: TitleTrakk.com