Desperate Housewives: How not to insult the Filipino

By Marisse G. Abelgas


I’ve never watched a single episode of “Desperate Housewives.” At least not until yesterday, when a barrage of angry e-mail pointed me in the general direction of this network’s website where I could watch a re-run of the 9/30/07 episode in which Teri Hatcher, one of the show’s ensemble cast, had been given the most unfortunate task of mouthing a most unbelievably stupid line.

Eighteen minutes into the show, there it was: Teri Hatcher’s character is told by her gynecologist that the dreaded female condition called menopause is slowly but surely creeping up on her, and her character responds with the line : “Okay, before we go any further, can I check those diplomas? Coz I would just like to make sure they are not from some med school in the Philippines.”

Now, most of us who may or may not be typical desperate housewives of any shape, form or color would respond thusly: “Okay, before we go any further, can I check my birth certificate? Coz I would just like to make sure there’s no mistake regarding my date of birth.”

But to deride your own doctor?! To insult Filipino doctors?! I’m sorry, but the producers and the entire cast and crew of the show, male and female both, deserve to be cursed with hot flashes, hormonal imbalance and loss of libido for the rest of the season and their entire lives for that matter, if that’s the best line they can come up with to deal with a sensitive issue such as menopause.

I suspect one of their scriptwriters is of Filipino descent who may or may not have gone through the ordeals of menopause, but who, perhaps after hearing Filipino relatives punning their own, decided to inject into the script some rather morbid humor about his or her race. In any case, I sincerely suggest that the show’s producers immediately fire that scriptwriter, simply because he or she obviously doesn’t know that one of the basics of scriptwriting is research, research, research.

If the show’s scriptwriter had only done his or her job, he or she would have known several things:

One, Filipino doctors, nurses and other health workers are some of the best, if not the best in their fields. More than that, they are highly regarded all over the world, and much sought after.

Two, I’m willing to bet you will not find one hospital or medical facility in the U.S. where there isn’t at least one Filipino physician, nurse or some other type of medical professional. Woe upon Teri Hatcher if she should ever get sick and hospitalized, because let me tell you, Filipinos are not easily starstruck if they’ve been unduly insulted.

Three, countless Americans trust Filipino doctors and hospitals so much they would much rather go to the Philippines for major surgeries. In fact, if the scriptwriter had done his or her job really well, he or she could have instead advised Teri Hatcher to just go to the Philippines for less expensive but high-quality surgical facelifts.

Four, you can laugh about Filipinos, or insult Filipinos, only if you’re a Filipino yourself. You can crack jokes on TV or any public forum, about Filipino politicians, actors, doctors, lawyers, TNTs, OFWs or balikbayans, only if you’re a Bert Marcelo or a Willie Nepomuceno or an Ai-Ai de las Alas. But never, and I mean never, if you’re a Teri Hatcher. Remember what happened to Joan Rivers and her doggie comment? Remember the ensuing hate mail campaign, the boycott, the endless, vicious counter-jokes? That wasn’t pretty now, was it?

So here’s the thing: The Philippine Government is demanding an apology from the network. I suggest we go further than that. I suggest we demand that by way of an apology, the network create a character on the show who’s a handsome Filipino doctor who graduated from a Philippine med school, who has a smart, lovely wife who’s a doctor herself or a lawyer or nurse (and not some desperate housewife so she doesn’t have to be given a part in the show), with three intelligent and beautiful children who are always at the top of their class (and therefore do not need speaking parts on the show either), and with a relative who’s some powerful politician in the Philippines who constantly visits Teri Hatcher’s suburban neighborhood where Teri Hatcher and her neighbor-pals fight for his attention and money…when they’re not swooning over the dashing Filipino doctor of course. We’re going for complete realism here.

If the network can do something like that to appease my most offended soul, I’ll think twice about urging friends to join a boycott of the show/network. On the other hand, I can also settle for simply letting the network chop off the scriptwriter’s head. Spontaneous executions, after all, are always better for ratings than scripted apologies.

Oh, Manny!

February 2007

By Marisse G. Abelgas

To say that Manny Pacquiao is a Filipino hero is an understatement. In a country where the simple act of returning a lost purse to its rightful owner is deemed extraordinary, or leaving one’s family for menial jobs abroad is deemed heroic, Manny Pacquiao’s exploits in the boxing arena are beyond heroism...they are the stuff of which legends are made.

And the man is indeed legendary, larger than life if you will, whose achievements in the sport of boxing do not even need mentioning here unless you’re a Pinoy/Fil-Am who’s lived alone in a cave the last few years.

In the U.S. where he fought and won his most memorable bouts, he is constantly hounded by a coterie of admirers and hangers-on. In the Philippines where even hard-core criminals take a hiatus from their nefarious activities just to watch his matches on cable TV, Manny Pacquiao’s name is uttered thus: either with deafening screams reserved for rock stars or with deference given only to saints and angels. He is mobbed everywhere, and ladies unabashedly hold up signs asking him to father their future children. Social climbers grasp desperately at his coattails, and even the president of the republic has shamelessly basked in Pacman glory.

The man obviously revels in adulation. On hindsight, it was probably just a matter of time before the Pacman, who mercilessly gobbled up his adversaries in the boxing world, would himself be consumed by the verminous world of Philippine politics. You’d think that a champion of Manny’s stature would have the prudence to stay away from it, but no. Manny Pacquiao has announced his intention to run for a congressional seat in the coming May elections.

In the Philippines where politics, entertainment and sports all converge on one sleazy stage, anyone with name recall, wads of money, political lineage, or in this case, an international boxing title, can simply walk up and declare himself fit to be a legislator or national leader. Filipinos used to not mind the ineptitude, voting glassy-eyed actors and tongue-tied sportsmen into public office alongside glib traditional politicians...until the likes of Joseph Estrada, Tito Sotto, Lito Lapid, et al, made Filipinos realize the inanity of it all.

I would like to believe Filipinos have indeed realized the stupidity of voting for candidates with neither platform nor principle, proof of which perhaps is the manner by which Pacquiao is reportedly being booed by his own fans every time he shows up for a campaign rally.

Manny Pacquiao says he wants to be a congressman because he wants to help people. To do that, he should first realize that being a representative of the people takes more than just handing dole-outs or waving to fans. If Manny Pacquiao wants to help his countrymen, all he needs to do is be their untainted hero, a man beyond the grip of politics and therefore incorruptible. He could be integrity personified, demanding on behalf of the people that politicians adhere strictly to a high standard of ethics and possess experience, instead of being the very embodiment of cluelessness. He can use his own money to build businesses that can provide gainful employment for a good number of people, instead of lusting for power like the tradpols who suckered him into their disgraceful world.

Manny Pacquiao already has fame and fortune. If he wants power on top of that, all he has to do is call upon the teeming masses who hail him as their champion, and they will, without a doubt, follow him to the ends of the earth. That’s the kind of power you lose the moment you become a Filipino politician.

Mobilize for 2008

By Marisse G. Abelgas

The way things turned out last Nov.6, it was a particularly good day to be a Democrat. Sure, Arnold showed us all that if you’ve got the charisma and the machinery, you can unleash a tidal wave of votes against a competitor who’s about as stiff and pathetic as Jerry Springer on the dancefloor.

Of course I felt sorry for Phil Angelides, and I did vote for him, being a Democrat and all. Yet I still can’t help but feel Arnold deserved to win, if only for the fact that the Governator seems to have mastered the art of bipartisanship...better it seems, than the Democratic candidate did. In this day and age, perhaps bipartisanship is the one thing this country needs in order to address all the gnawing issues that have plagued the administration.

Angelides’ defeat notwithstanding, it was a good day to be an American, and the conduct and results of the elections showed the whole world what America is all about.

I cannot help but wonder though: who did Fil-Ams vote for? More importantly, how many actually exercised their right to vote?

On the days leading to the election, most Filipinos I talked to declared themselves unabashedly Democratic. Most of them mailed in their absentee ballots. But whether they were absentee voters, Democrats, Republicans or Independent, it seemed that Fil-Ams, or at least the ones I know, took this election quite seriously.

The problem however, is that even if we indeed flexed our political muscle during the Nov. 6 election, nobody’s talking about it. Politicians and mainstream media don’t seem to care whether we did or not, and with good reason, because we never really care to prove that our votes can carry as much punch as the Latino or Vietnamese blocs.

Consider this: According to the APALC, in 2004, Filipinos made up the biggest voting bloc (29 percent) among ethnic groups in Los Angeles County. In Orange County, Filipinos made up the second biggest bloc (19 percent), next only to the Vietnamese. I have no doubt these figures are easily replicated all over California, especially up north where a good number of our kababayans live.

These are significant numbers because it indicates how broad our political base is in California. It shows that if we really put our minds and hearts to it, we can easily attain political empowerment. I know that many of us often talk about how difficult it is to field Fil-Am candidates in both local and state elections. That’s because we’ve been putting the cart before the horse. Before we even think of fielding or supporting Fil-Am politicians, we need to organize ourselves into a powerful voting bloc, one that will wield the same kind of clout as the Latinos or the Vietnamese.

And we don’t really need to bicker among ourselves about being Democrat or Republican. Being Democrat or Republican simply means being different in so far as issues or principles are concerned. We don’t have to assassinate another person’s character just to win an argument, which is what usually happens when Filipinos get into heated debates about politics.

We need to start talking about our strength, mobilizing our numbers, and wielding our power as a political force. We need to start talking about how we voted, whether Democrat, Republican or Independent. We need to put ourselves and our votes out there, and we need to do it with a passion.

The 2008 presidential election is just around the corner. Are we still going to be as invisible as we are right now?

Retirement haven?

By MARISSE G. ABELGAS

Back in 1991, a distant relative who had migrated to the U.S. way before my family and I did, casually remarked that his one dream was to be able to retire in the Philippines. His reason? He wanted to live out the rest of his life being doted on by a maid, something he never experienced in the province where he grew up. By his calculations, he’d figured (to the utter consternation of his wife) that his pension would enable him to buy that kind of luxury, but only if he went back home to retire.

Back then, his seemingly unusual pining for home had elicited loud guffaws and good-natured ribbing. I wish I could speak to this distant relative again, perhaps more profoundly this time, if only to ask whether he continues to cherish his dream of living out the rest of his days in the bosom of homeland and well, a maid.

The irony of the Filipino diaspora is that while three out of 10 people in the Philippines would reportedly leave their country if given half the chance (and they do), a whole generation of Filipino-Americans would apparently risk all their savings or pension funds for a shot at re-establishing their lives and retiring comfortably in the old stomping grounds. Basically, the general impetus for this reverse diaspora among Fil-Ams seems to be economic: like the distant relative who dreams of maid-service, many hope to take advantage of affordable retirement in the Philippines, where a mere $1,500/month budget can buy some degree of luxury.

The Philippine government it seems, is on the same wavelength, anticipating hordes of baby boomer retirees to descend on its shores in the years to come. Buoyed by the more than 10,000 registered foreigners who have already retired in the Philippines, the Arroyo administration is pulling out all the stops in its retirement program for returning Filipino migrants with fat pensions and SS funds. The government is so optimistic about their impending arrival that it is, and typically at that, pinning its hopes for economic salvation on this reverse migration. In fact, the Philippine government now views potential retirees who intend to settle back in the Philippines as a virtual “gold mine” that could become a “significant economic force” in the future.

Riding on the government’s enthusiasm, Filipino real estate developers are tweaking their marketing strategies, enticing Fil-Ams and other OFWs in Europe or Asia to buy high-rise condos that now dominate the Greenhills/Makati skyline, or townhouses in “senior villages” that have sprouted in rural areas. Negotiations are reportedly underway to accredit Philippine hospitals with Medicare and HMOs, while legislators are feverishly crafting bills that will provide more and more investment incentives for the returnees.

It’s all well and good, except perhaps for one thing: we somehow tend to forget that such retirement plans are largely anchored on romanticized notions of a virtual paradise, complete with lakeshore condo, a maid, driver, personal masseuse, and Medicare. It’s all well and good if your retirement income from the U.S. can sustain you until the end of your days, with enough left over to keep instant dependents (relatives, friends, neighbors) happy while you’re still alive, even if senile.

If your retirement funds are limited, perhaps it’s best to first determine whether you can still survive the exigencies of third world living. It’s one thing to be a balikbayan vacationing in the islands for a few glorious weeks or months, charging all your needs to credit cards or hard-earned savings. It’s another to actually re-settle back home, where life is no picnic unless you can really, really afford it.

Not to rain on anybody’s parade, but it may be wise to remember the bottomline of retirement in the Philippines, or elsewhere: just make sure you never run out of money.

On Distant Shore

By Val Abelgas

The Kalesa

As a young kid spending my annual summer vacation in my home province of Oriental Mindoro, I always looked forward to riding the kalesa, the horse-drawn carriage that trodded ever so slowly on the capital town, Calapan’s sand and gravel road.

As soon as the rickety ferry that regularly crossed Batangas City and Calapan docked on the pantalan (pier), my brothers and I would race down the plank to get the best seat on the kalesa, and that would be the one beside the kutsero (rig driver). It was one of the highlights of my trip everytime the kutsero would hand me the rope that steered the horse. It was like when you first sat on the driver’s seat of your father’s car, and you imagined yourself driving. It was sheer delight!

You can imagine my disappointment when a few years later, instead of a kalesa taking us from the pier to my aunt’s home, a motorized pedicab awaited us as we disembarked from the ferry. There was no thrill nor fun nor comfort in squeezing yourselves in that tiny marvel of technology, as it trudged the now asphalted roads with all the noise and smoke belching from its exhaust.

Riding a kalesa was one of the joys of my youth. And it is with mixed feelings that I read a news report recently that the kalesa may soon be gone from Metro Manila’s streets. The report said that from around 2,000 kalesas in the 1980s, only some 300 of the horse-drawn rigs are currently plying Metro Manila’s streets.

To be honest, I am surprised that there are even 300 kalesas still plying Metro Manila’s busy streets. With all the jeepneys, buses, taxicabs and pedicabs serving Metro Manila’s millions of commuters, why would anyone ride a kalesa? I thought the kalesa would have long been extinct in the metropolis by now.

Doesn’t the noise of engines roaring and horns blaring distract the horse? Doesn’t the horse get restless when drivers suddenly cut in front of it? I thought only a hopeless romantic like me would enjoy riding a kalesa at this time of leather seats and airconditioned cars.

But 300 kalesas still ply Metro Manila’s streets, and that means hundreds of commuters must still be riding them on the way to work, the market or someplace every single day!

Don’t get me wrong. I love the kalesas, and would love to ride beside the kutsero again, and listen to his never-ending tales (remember the term kwentong kutsero?), but not in Metro Manila. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote barrio in the province, where I can smell the scent of newly milled rice or watch Mang Ambo as he gets tuba from atop the coconut tree. I would love to ride the kalesa in a remote village, where only a jeepney jampacked with people and farm produce would pass us by once in a while.

But not in Metro Manila’s asphalt jungle, where the lord is not the kutsero, but the reckless psychopath who doesn’t seem to relish even a little space between his vehicle and the one in his front or his side. Not in city streets where that same psychopath could smash onto the rickety rig and kill both the kutsero and the kabayo. Not when I am in a hurry to get out of that traffic jam and get to work or appointment on time.

There is a time and place for everything. The kalesa had its time. It must now give way to technology, the same way that horse-drawn carriages are now used only to carry the Queen during royal ceremonies, or to carry the casket of Da King and presidents during a funeral procession, or to bring enjoyment to tourists in New York. The same way that the rickshaw of Asia is used only for tourism purposes in Penang and Hongkong.

The kalesa must now move back to remote barrios, where the folk need not worry about being late for appointment or work, where the kutsero can still lord it over the dusty road. And to give hopeless romantics a taste of nostalgia every once in a while, kalesas should be allowed to roam the old Intramuros, where tourists will be thrilled to experience riding in that centuries-old mode of transportation while basking in the historic beauty of the Walled City.

(Send comments to valabelgas@aol.com)

The One Who Stayed Behind

By Marisse G.Abelgas


I have known Dr. Jennifer Mendoza-Wi since grade school. She was always first in academic honors, was always first to volunteer for charity work at PGH or Welfareville in Manila, was always first to put a sense of leadership to the test in trying situations. When we headed off for college, it hardly came as a surprise to know that she had decided on becoming a doctor, taking up internal medicine and specializing in pulmonary medicine at the University of the Philippines-PGH.

Knowing her potential for success, I half expected her to try her luck abroad, perhaps in Europe or the U.S. Instead, Jennifer proudly announced one day that she and husband Zen, an ENT specialist and fellow UP graduate had decided to go back to their roots, to establish their medical practice in the province of Pangasinan, where she would pioneer the practice of pulmonary medicine.

“Actually, I was offered a two-year research scholarship after my fellowship but I chose to take up the challenge,” Jennifer says.

She is still quite active at the Department of Internal Medicine at the UP-PGH, having been elected President of its Alumni Group and Board Member of the Sagip-Buhay Foundation which raises funds for the department’s medicine and blood bank.
In Dagupan meanwhile, Zen and Jennifer’s patients are mostly farmers, fishermen, vendors, tricycle drivers, teachers, students, office workers. Oh yes, they treat overseas workers too, including patients from Guam who come for check ups because “they trust the Filipino doctors more than the health care providers there.”

“Zen calls them the regular people,” Jennifer says, adding that these “regular people are normally the honorable ones when it comes to paying the doctors’ fees.” Those who can’t pay, come to the clinic bearing gifts of live chickens, succulent bananas, fresh or dried fish or other native delicacies that warm the doctors’ hearts.

Between the couple’s constant travels abroad and regular commutes to Manila where their three sons live, Jennifer has been mightily busy with charity work. For the past 18 years, she has been seeing the TB patients of the Sisters of Charity for free, every Friday. For this, she has been given the Governor’s Community Service Award by the CHEST Foundation of the American College of Chest Physicians in the U.S. and the College of the Holy Spirit Community Service Award by our high school alma mater. She established the Asthma Club in Dagupan, which conducts free education programs for asthmatics and helps out with their medication. She is also advocating for a lung function machine in every major district hospital.

She has put her household helpers through school and so far, has graduated three midwives, one nurse, two in hotel and restaurant management, one in computer studies, with yet another midwife nearing completion of her course. Most of them have nailed good-paying jobs because of their college education and have put their own siblings through school, which is the only thing Jennifer asks of her “scholars” in return.

Why am I writing about her?

Because maybe it’s time we acknowledged the new unsung heroes like Jennifer and Zen, who, despite their great chances for wealth and success in other countries, have chosen to stay in the homeland. To serve, to heal, to change things for the better.

The mass emigration of Filipinos, especially medical workers, is “a sad reality of life,” Jennifer concedes. “I don’t blame anyone, not even Philippine politics because I believe it’s a personal decision to stay in the Philippines and try to make life for Filipinos better, and conversely, to leave for greener pastures to make life better for one’s self and one’s family. In the end however, it’s how the community takes care of its own that makes a difference.” That, for the most part gives her hope, sustains her optimism, fuels her advocacy. She has seen it happen in many places all over the country, and she’s inspired.

As the Filipino diaspora transmutes tragically from an economic solution into a social problem, a new breed of heroes has emerged to hold the fort : the ones who could have left, but didn’t...the ones who, like Jennifer and Zen, are truly making a difference.

No Place Like Home

By Marisse G. Abelgas
May 2005

From the moment you step out of the airport terminal, the humidity alone jolts you into sweet remembrance: you were born here; you grew up here; this was home.
The unforgiving sun makes you sweat like you’ve never sweated in years. But you quickly realize it’s no big deal. The entire jolly barangay has come to greet the balikbayans at the airport and they could care less if you drowned in a deluge of your own perspiration. All they care about are the 10 or so pounds you’ve gained since you left, your skin is whiter, your hair is reddish and my gawd, you’re fat!
The short ride to the hotel, even in a brand new air-conditioned Revo, is no picnic. Every inch of road is literally every driver’s personal domain. There is no right of way here, and the only way to get through the traffic is to grit your teeth and challenge every vehicle that gets in your path. There are massive billboards that assault you from every corner, and at every stop, there are still disheveled kids who tap on your windshield, selling washcloths. And you think, “Oh, but there are so many of them now.”
The landscape changes in a matter of minutes. Pitifully cramped dwellings and dirty sidewalks abruptly give way to breathtakingly ultra-modern buildings and residential mansions. Were it not for the incongruity of such wealth in the midst of third world squalor in this metropolis of more than 10 million people, you’d think, “ why did I ever leave?”
Your relatives warn you: like a chameleon, you must blend with everything, or you risk having your cellphone taken at gunpoint or your purse getting sliced up like a piece of cake. Massive poverty has spawned the kind of criminality that knows no bounds.
Only a few minutes into your trip, you realize you made the right decision by uprooting your family to seek a new life in another country. The desperation is palpable enough and your heart bleeds for those who can’t get away.
But you know too, in your heart of hearts, that no matter what happens, your people will survive. Things will change for the better, sooner or later. They will make it. You know that for a fact simply because you were born here. You grew up here. This was home.

Legacy and Destiny

By Marisse G. Abelgas
October 1999

The stories they told were compelling. Emotional too, no matter how objectively the panel of storytellers tried to relate their own individual experiences.

The symposium was called “Legacy and Destiny,” organized by the Filipino American National Historical Society-Los Angeles Chapter (FANHS-LA), to celebrate Filipino American History Month in Los Angeles. Three Filipino Americans were describing what it was like to “grow up brown in Los Angeles.”

One story stands out in particular.

Darline Ventura was born in Los Angeles on October 30,1934. Her father was of Filipino descent and her mother, of Mexican descent. She remembers being picked up by the schoolbus every morning, which she would ride to school along with her cousins. Being among the first to be picked up by the bus, Darline and her cousins would sit at the front, until the white kids would come on board. Every morning, she said, a white kid would tap her on the shoulder and motion for her and her cousins to move to the back of the bus. And everyday, as she and her cousins did so, Darline said she wondered why they had to do that. Until one fateful morning, Darline stopped wondering and did something about it.

That morning, when the white kid tapped her shoulder as the customary signal for her to move to the back of the bus, Darline stood her ground and refused to budge. The white kid complained to the driver, who also told Darline and her cousins to move to the back so as to make room for the white kids at the front. With a conviction uncommon to little girls her age (but totally in keeping with her character, it seems), Darline said she went up to the driver and lunged into an impassioned explanation as to why she and her cousins had every right to sit at the front, or for that matter, anywhere they wished. Even as a little girl, she knew the color of her skin didn’t make her any less American, any less a human being, than the white kid who insisted she belonged at the back of the bus. The driver relented, in fact, finally agreed with her. From that day on, Darline and her cousins were never bothered again.

In no small measure, Darline Ventura did for her fellow Filipinos what Rosa Parks did for African Americans. The only difference is that the young Darline’s actuations that day never made it to primetime news.

First and second generation Filipino Americans have many, many similar stories to tell. Most of their stories are often tucked away in obscurity, but they are no less heroic, nor any less significant than the efforts of other trailblazers from other ethnic minorities. Most of us -- especially new immigrants and the younger generation -- live relatively easier lives now in America because they paved the way for us. We would probably have to read volumes and volumes of historical data and literature in order to really know and fully comprehend the extent of their trials and tribulations as immigrants in America. But we owe it to them, as well as to ourselves and the next generation, to learn the lessons of their struggle vis-a-vis our progress.

The efforts of FAHNS-LA to chronicle Filipino-American history, and more so, to make such information readily accessible to the community, is truly commendable. One can only hope that the leaders and members of the Fil-Am community will continue appreciating the value of FAHNS-LA’s efforts, and support the organization accordingly.

We in the Filipino-American media try to do our part. However, between scrounging for “news” here and downloading news from the “homeland,” there is much to be desired by way of covering stories that deal with our Filipino-American legacy. Which is sad, because in the general scheme of things, we are what we are as immigrants, precisely because of that legacy we inherited from first and second-wave Filipino immigrants. However one looks at it, our progress is founded on their struggle, and it behooves us to know every single lesson we can learn from it -- to make our lives better, and to enrich that legacy for future generations of Filipino immigrants.

On that note, and as the Philippine Post goes into its 7th year of existence, we would like to pay tribute to Filipino American trailblazers. One of our most prized possessions, displayed with deference at our work station, is a yellowed copy of a 1963 edition of the “Associated Filipino Press,” a newspaper published in Los Angeles, published and edited by a certain John Lopez Jr. It was a copy given by World War II veteran Joe Palicte to Philippine Post Managing Editor Pia Abelgas when she interviewed him for an article some issues ago. There are now more than a dozen Filipino newspapers in L.A. County alone. And if we thrive, we thrive because sometime back, one Filipino had the courage to start it all.

Another object of deference in our editorial office (given by FAHNS-LA secretary Allan Aquino who is also a contributing writer for Philippine Post) is a framed and autographed reproduction of Fred Cordova’s “Welcome to America” -- a soul-stirring photograph, circa 1930, of a doorway of an apartment building in Stockton with a sign that reads: “Positively No Filipinos Allowed.”

We’ve come a long way since then, and it’s best to constantly remind ourselves that it wasn’t as easy for those who came before us.

Editor's Note

Ties That Bind

By Marisse G. Abelgas

It’s been weeks since Americans had gone to the polls to vote for a new president. Hopefully, by the time this sees print, America will have had a new president. Don’t you find it interesting that both candidates never seemed to make an effort to reach out to the Filipino-American community while they were campaigning? At the rate both camps are fighting tooth and nail for every single vote, one would think that at least one of them would have recognized our much-vaunted “two million”- strong community in this country.

Even more interesting is that no matter how much our community leaders flog statistics to prove our strength in numbers, political empowerment remains as elusive to this present-day generation of Filipino-Americans as it did to the “manongs” who began the struggle decades ago.

We can’t exactly blame American politicians for ignoring us. What candidate or politician in his right mind would spend crucial campaign hours and precious campaign funds on an ethnic group that’s more interested in Atong Ang, or juetenggate or the peso-dollar exchange rate or Nora Aunor, than in issues like social security, public education, tax cuts for the middleclass, healthcare reform or environmental conservation? It’s a lot easier to mobilize Filipino-Americans for a dinner-dance where the guest speaker is a barangay captain from back home, than to invite them to a townhall meeting with presidential candidates.

If we go by statistics, sheer numbers alone would have, should have, made us a powerful political force to contend with a long time ago. The number of Filipino-American associations in Southern California alone is mind-boggling. Multiply the average number of Filipino associations and organizations in every state by the average number of members in an association and you can count hundreds of thousands... easily. If those numbers are true and accurate, our community is a virtual mine of votes for any politician worth his salt.

Aye, and there’s the rub: how many members of the Filipino-American community are American citizens? The underlying issue is not so much how many we are, but rather, how many of us can actually vote as American citizens.

American politicians know our numbers better than we do. They know a great number of Filipinos in the U.S. don't, or can’t vote. Many Filipinos who are legal permanent residents hold off applying for naturalization because they want to have the best of both worlds: a good life in America, and the probability of eventually going back home to the Philippines where they can live out the rest of their retirement years. Namamangka sa dalawang ilog, ‘ika nga.

The problem is, we can’t use our numbers to attain political empowerment if many of us will continue to think this way. Empowerment will come only if and when the men who hold the reins of government, and those who aspire to do so, can be convinced that as an ethnic group, we are more interested in having a hand in determining our future in this country, more interested in forging our destiny as American citizens than in constantly making “miron” to Mr. Estrada and his house of cards.

I’m not suggesting that we cut our ties to the homeland. Neither am I suggesting that we shun Philippine politics and close our eyes to whatever goes on back home. Far from it. In our pursuit of political empowerment in America, we don’t have to forget where we came from. We should, in fact, pass on our culture and heritage to succeeding generations, and make sure they appreciate their roots as much as we do. And we should do everything we can to ensure that the likes of Mr. Estrada never get away with corruption and oppression.

But even as we continue to nurture the ties that bind us to our home country, we should at least take the necessary steps to empower ourselves in America with our votes. We can begin by helping other Filipinos legalize their status in this country, by referring them to employers who can petition them, or by supporting groups and individuals who actively help community members in immigration matters. Eventually, those we have helped can be counted too, once they become citizens. We can take a cue from the Hispanics who empowered themselves by launching a citizenship drive, something our community leaders can spearhead by mobilizing our numerous associations and organizations. If Filipino-Americans can do this with the same passion and conviction that they throw their feet all over the dance floor, politicians will sit up and take notice. It also wouldn’t hurt to take an interest in political issues and the political process in our adopted country, where we have already staked our lives and our future.

Unless we can translate our numbers into votes, those numbers will amount to nothing. We can scream “two million-strong” all we want, until our faces turn blue, and nobody will listen. That’s because we have no right to seek political empowerment in America unless we commit ourselves to her as her citizens.

As one of the presidential candidates succinctly puts it: our vote is our voice. Without it, we will simply languish as a silent, powerless minority.