Eileen R. Tabios
Excerpt from a novel & author interview
From The Balikbayan Artist: An Excerpt
“Haaay! Someone should castrate him!”—that was the first opinion I heard about the Mayor of Surat. Dolly picked up a bedsheet from her laundry basin and wrung it as if she thought it was the Mayor’s neck.
I grinned from my seat on a big rock next to where Dolly was washing laundry in an area between our houses. The day’s heat had mostly dissipated, the air was scented by the nearby ylang-ylang tree whose extracted oils created what some have called the “Queen of Perfumes,” and my fingers were enjoying the fur of a feral cat who was twining herself around my right ankle.
I asked the logical question. “And why should someone turn the Mayor into a eunuch?”
“Haaay!” Dolly turned her head and spat at a chicken, startling it into flight. “There was a family, the Bautistas who used to be our neighbors. Lorena, the matriarch, was a housewife so that the family relied on the earnings of the oldest and only son, Gabriel. But three years ago, Gabriel went on a trip, supposedly for a brief vacation. But he was gone for a long time. Finally, one of his friends contacted Lorena. He told her that Gabriel had disappeared—it was thought that authorities nabbed him for his participation in protests against Pres. Caasi, Jr.”
“He became a desaparecido?” I asked. “There seems to be more and more of these unfortunates. I don’t recall the Philippines being this way when I was a kid.”
“Haaay, you’ve been gone a long time, Tata Vance,” Dolly said, pausing from her washing to stretch from her seat. Nearby, a plastic laundry basket contained more dirty clothes waiting to be washed.
“No doubt,” I nodded. “But what does this have to do with the Mayor losing his penis?”
Dolly sprinkled me with water as she waved her wet hand in exasperation. “The Mayor approached the older of the two daughters, Blessica, and offered her a job to become one of his assistants. She was only 17 but the Mayor said no one would quibble since she’d soon turn 18 and everyone knew her family needed a new source of income.”
“Doesn’t sound like a crime so far,” I said. I looked at the cat and addressed it. “Would you like to be named Blessica or Blessing?”
“Not yet it wasn’t a crime,” Dolly said with a snort. “But the Mayor began harassing her. At first, he started out with just inappropriate touches but when he pulled her into a hug one day, Blessica knew she had to stop fooling herself that he was just the affectionate type. She decided, wisely, to leave. But, when she handed in her resignation letter, he got so mad he tried to rape her right there in the office! She got away only because she was able to grab a desk lamp and hit him on the head!”
Dolly wrung one of my t-shirts so tightly that I wondered if it would become permanently wrinkled. “When you meet the Mayor, look at the right corner of his forehead. You’ll see a slight scar, his souvenir from Blessica’s lamp defense!”
“Wow,” I said. “If I was Blessica’s father, I’d have hightailed it over there with my bolo and cut his penis off myself!”
“Too bad all that Boyet could do was roll over in his grave, may he rest in peace.” Dolly crossed herself before spitting at another chicken. It was clear that the chickens, too, were going to suffer due to Mayor Titty’s existence.
“But Blessica kept the events to herself at first,” Dolly continued. “The poor girl didn’t want to become fodder for gossip since that might distract other potential employers. She only began talking about it when the Mayor stopped by one day to offer the same job to her younger sister, Analyn. Then she made sure all of Surat knew of what happened to her so that other girls would be warned. Huh! It wouldn’t surprise me, either, if Blessica wasn’t the first girl victimized by Mayor Asshole.”
“Okay,” I said. “What happened next?”
“The problem was that Blessica had no proof. The Mayor didn’t succeed in raping her and Analyn never went to work for him. So he threatened to sue her. Now, the family has to move to get away from his threats.”
“Salit!” I said, shaking my head. “There’s no way to make the Mayor accountable?”
“No,” Dolly said with a grimace. “The problem is that he has an uncle who’s serving in Pres. Caasi, Jr.’s administration so that their clan is tied in with the president.”
I grimaced, too. “And the president is interested in having as much support as possible throughout the archipelago for certain actions he hopes to take, so he won’t want to lose a mayor because of an unproven claim of sexual harassment.”
“What do you mean?” Dolly said.
I shook my head. “Never mind,” I said as I realized Dolly didn’t pay much attention to national politics.
The Balikbayan Artist: A Conversation between Mark Louie Tabunan (Ilocos Sur) and Eileen R. Tabios
MLT: The experiences of Filipinos in the diaspora, as shown by your new novel The Balikbayan Artist (Penguin Random House SEA, 2024), your other works, and those by other Filipino-American writers, have been shaped by the Marcos dictatorship and, more generally, the contours of U.S.-Philippine relations. What for you are our futures beyond our imbrication in these problematic relations?
ERT: Let me start with the novel. Its title mentions the term “balikbayan,” which means someone in the diaspora who returns to the Philippines. The Balikbayan Artist is about an elderly artist, Vance Igorta, who returns to the Philippines when the country is in turmoil and where a dictatorship soon will begin. The artist was part of the “Manong” generation of Filipinos who’d immigrated during the 1920s and 1930s to become workers in the agricultural fields of California and Hawaii as well as the fishing industry of Alaska. They immigrated during what’s known as “the American colonial period”—the U.S. had colonized the Philippines from 1898-1946.
Your question partly reminds me of how I once switched from the term “postcolonial” to “transcolonial” in describing my position. Postcolonial, by using “post,” inherently means being linked to a colonial experience. For me, the “trans” in transcolonial means transcending the colonial experience so that it wasn’t a limiting constraint on how life might unfold. As you know, the effects of U.S. colonization reverberate to this day.
So perhaps the answer is to not consider history as a guaranteed limit to what the future can become. More recently, my aesthetics has become Kapwa-based rather than postcolonial or transcolonial. “Kapwa” is a Filipino indigenous trait of psychologically “seeing one’s self in the other,” so that one recognizes the connection of everyone and all things. Choice matters, and I choose Kapwa. But certain choices cannot be possible without education. I came to understanding—and then theorizing—Kapwa for my writings relatively late in life and because of educating myself on as many matters as possible. Education itself unlocks the future by widening one’s life choices.
That said, I don’t know what our futures will be as your question asks. History (world history and not just Philippine history) shows the consistency in how, as the saying goes, “Power corrupts.” Power, including power relationships, continues to drive the course of history while the momentary breaks in power-induced patterns can seem to be temporary breaks with often weak intervention capacities.
But please note that The Balikbayan Artist—whose protagonist joins the rebellion against the dictatorship—also manifests how one of the most powerful forces that exist is love.
I was talking recently with someone about what it takes to break the hold of power over various parts of humanity. He said—without intending to proselytize—it required total adherence to Jesus Christ’s teaching of turning the other cheek. HERE [ https://bibleproject.com/articles/what-jesus-meant-turn-other-cheek-matthew-539/ ] is a good article that explains the concept that’s often misunderstood as not resisting abuse. Instead: “turn the tables on those who seek to harm us and to overcome evil through creative acts of nonviolent resistance. Jesus is not claiming we should never resist those who seek to harm us.”
Turning the other cheek is a difficult course, but power loses its hold over people who don’t privilege power. In the Philippines, I consider it tragic how people are willing to exchange their support, e.g. votes, for bribes. How can the people expect a better future if they are complicit in this way? Perhaps a more benign but so-stupid-I feel-like-calling-it-out example around the world is how people generously “Like” the social media of the rich boasting about their material possessions. In my last poetry collection, Because I Love You, I Become War (Marsh Hawk Press, 2023), I wrote a poem (“Let Us Anticipate”) [https://150kansaspoems.wordpress.com/2022/05/02/let-us-anticipate/]that quoted Brooke Harrington’s article in The Atlantic, “The Russian Elite Can’t Stand the Sanctions.” Harrington discusses how a “fundamental driver” for Russian oligarchs is that they need not just to be rich but be seen as rich. This is true not just for Russian oligarchs but much of the wealthy—they often need public confirmation of their riches in order to enjoy their riches. So let’s stop enabling these people, if only with social media Likes. Relatedly, in The Balikbayan Artist, I noted the practice of “pagpag” where people dig in trash dumps for their food—in my novel, I note how the rich shouldn’t be boasting about their wealth if they tolerate such a practice in their home country.
Turning the other cheek means being creative in how we resist dire forces. Creativity is urgent since power is maintaining its upper hand—look at our planet today. And look at the Philippines today. Once the first independent republic in Asia, we’re becoming or have become yet another nation ruled by oligarchic families. We see this happening as well in the U.S. in combination with corporatism. Power really does corrupt and it’s difficult to change what’s systemically been put into place (especially if educational quality worsens—yet another element to manage). All I know is that we shouldn’t give up.
Of course, it’s not easy for individual interventions to overcome systemic structures. This is why, for both the Philippines and the U.S. (and other countries), I advocate implementing a rule where no child or grandchild or perhaps even great-grandchild of a (former) President can run for the Presidency. Let’s break up, systemically through a legislated rule, the ability of oligarchic families to strengthen their power through legacies instead of purely or mostly merit. My example suggestion is not a sufficient move by itself but it’s something. We need to look for more systemically oriented solutions.
Throughout it all, though, I suggest we keep in mind the difference between what I call macro and micro realities. What I call “macro” are the larger and/or systemic contexts in which reality unfolds, and which could make us feel helpless because they seem outside of any influence we can bring to bear. What I call “micro” are the immediate, day-to-day, individual or personal actions. Regardless of the macro and how corrupt and abusive it may be, such direness should not be an excuse for us to not behave well towards good effect in our personal lives. No macro element need to disrupt your micro decisions to be a good citizen of the planet. Individual or grass roots activities still have the potential to create exponentially larger effects. We should behave hopefully.
MLT: You and Venancio C. Igarta (the inspiration for novel’s primary protagonist, Vance Igorta) came from Northern Philippines, which has come to be identified as the “Solid North,” the source of strong support to the Marcos family. Both The Balikbayan Artist and your first novel DoveLion: A Fairy Tale for Our Times [ https://eileenrtabios.com/fiction/dovelion-a-fairy-tale-for-our-times/ ] foreground dictatorships. Has the Solid North ever figured in your writing process? How does it inform, even shape, the politics of your novels?
ERT: The ”Solid North,” to date, has not been an element in my novels, in part because my immigration made me ignorant of how the area developed since 1970 when I left the Philippines. Sure, the Marcoses and Martial Law inform my novels but not from their ties to the Solid North but as national factors that influenced the overall country’s history.
The Ilocos did inform some of my early short stories after I made some balikbayan trips many years ago. Much of the short stories critiqued Marcos rule and some were set in the Ilocos. My favorite was “Force Majeure,” French for “superior force” or “acts of God.” This story presents a balikbayan woman who fell in love with a jeepney driver and, together, they infiltrated the Ilocos Norte house that once housed Ferdinand Marcos, Sr.’s corpse in a refrigerated room. These two charactes sabotaged the house’s electrical system to attack the cooling mechanism; as a result, the corpse rotted in the heat and the room came to smell of rotting bananas by the time someone (a German tourist) visited the Marcos corpse again. I still laugh whenever I think about that story that was first published in Hawaii’s Bamboo Ridge journal.
MLT: Many literatures in the Ilokano language uphold and support the Marcoses, true to the spirit of the Solid North. In fact, I find Igorta’s painted dictatorship series in The Balikbayan Artist to be a fitting answer to the paintings in the novel Saksi ti Kaunggan (Innermost Witness) written at the cusp of the 1986 Revolution (See Roderick Galam’s “Narrating the Dictator(ship): Social Memory, Marcos, and Ilokano Literature after the 1986 Revolution”). Is writing in English an advantage for one like you in the diaspora to critique authoritarian rule? What are the advantages and disadvantages, if at all, that writing in English brings?
ERT: I may not have the full answer to all of these good questions (good questions). But I’ll share what I can, starting with the effects of writing in English. Because I am in the diaspora, you would know more than I do about the effectiveness of an English-based critique versus the same in the Filipino language of the relevant region. I don’t write in English as a strategy; I write in English because that’s the only language in which I am fluent. Perhaps a test would be whether what I am saying would be (more) relevant if it was translated into Ilokano but I don’t have a way to gauge that possibility right now.
That said, what may be equally or more significant is that I am writing from the diaspora versus being within the Philippines. Certainly, that positionality has both advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantages could encompass relevance (e.g. does being a diasporic Filipino dilute the significance of what I have to say about the Philippines?) and audience (who is listening to someone far-away in the diaspora?). But are there advantages, like does being at a distance make me more objective to what’s being critiqued by not being beholden to certain factors that would affect a resident in the Philippines or Solid North? And to the extent there is danger in critiquing the powerful, does being outside the country protect me? I don’t know the answers, so I’ll continue to the other parts of your question.
You wisely reference Roderick Galam’s essay which I find both intelligent and balanced. In his essay, he notes not just the novel Saksi but BIN-I which was a later novel. Galam calls BIN-I a counterbalance to Saksi and exemplifies how the Solid North is not so solid. This implies there are ruptures to Marcos’ “Solid North” support as Marcos’ Martial Law bears more critiques.
One of my key take-aways from Galam’s essay is how Marcos is not explicitly referenced by Ilokano or Solid North authors in written material that could be considered critical. As an Ilokano, I’ve been overtly critical of the Marcos Martial Law period, but perhaps I’ve been freer to be overt because I live in the diaspora. For example, it’s interesting to consider, in light of Galam’s essay, whether my first novel DoveLion would have limited impact within the Philippines because it was published outside of the Philippines by AC Books which was based in New York and now California; however, a 2024 Filipino translation (by Danton Remoto) was released by a Philippine press, the University of Santo Tomas Publishing. The translation is entitled KalapatingLeon. Would not KalapatingLeon symbolize the continued fragmentation of the Solid North’s support of Marcos’ Martial Law?
That said, Ferdinand Marcos, Jr.—the martial law dictator’s son—is currently the president of the Philippines. What does this mean in terms of the solidity of the North in the future? I don’t know and might know even less because I’m not there but am located in the diaspora. Nonetheless, writers should not stop writing. More important, people should not stop thinking—considering and reconsidering—historical actions so as to understand their implications for today and the future.
MLT: Latin American and African literatures and, of course, Philippine literatures have engaged with dictatorships and dictators. (I’m reminded of Elaine Castillo’s America Is Not the Heart.) Have you purposively situated The Balikbayan Artist within this tradition of writing? Perhaps can you mention a little bit what readers and scholars should remember as they engage with your works?
ERT: Two traditions or categories which can include The Balikbayan Artist are (1) literature that deals with the Manong experience including, of course, the classic Carlos Bulosan’s America Is In The Heart, and (2) post Marcos Martial Law literature. I do consider my novel to be, on one level, an extension of Bulosan’s novel. In terms of other categories and trends, I leave that to readers and/or scholars. But I think the literature dealing with Marcos Martial Law is important given the amnesia encouraged if not enforced upon the Philippines’ younger generation by the Marcos clan and its supporters. I don’t know but have even heard of an erasure of Martial Law’s adverse effects within Philippine history textbooks.
Recently, I was asked to help put together a presentation on post Marcos Martial Law literature. The idea is to present literature where the Marcos Martial Law regime is reality, and not just as a book’s primary subject but as backdrop to a story. The latter factor is important because it doesn’t deny that Martial Law once existed. For example, the protagonist of The Balikbayan Artist returns to the Philippines in a time just before a dictatorship takes hold of the country. Marcos is not mentioned in the novel, but it’s undeniable that any reference to a Philippine dictatorship will hearken his Martial Law rule. I also recently read Forgiving Imelda Marcos, the debut novel by Fil-Am novelist Nathan Go who released it in 2023. [ https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374606954/forgivingimeldamarcos/ ] The title is a bit deceptive as Imelda Marcos doesn’t have a starring role in the novel. But it’s significant that the title mentions her name as the naming by itself implicates her (and her husband’s) actions. Mentions, namings, the articulations—these are all necessary reminders of history.
I wish to note, too, that oligarchic tendencies are ancient. For the Philippines, I once wrote a paper as an undergraduate major in political science at Barnard College; in it, I wrote about the Philippines’ development challenges because of the conflict of interest between the economic/political elite and their political responsibility of spreading wealth among the citizenry versus hoarding it for themselves and their supporters. I recently read how the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism reports that at least 71 of the Philippines’ 82 provincial governments, or 87%, are led by members of political dynasties. What a tellingly huge percentage! And that percentage befits the consolidation, too, of economic benefits.
Meanwhile, in the United States. I can add that through several of the past presidential administrations, I’ve been consistently irritated when people suggest that a wife or a son or another relative of a President should also become a future President. I loathed the elitist privileging when the country contains a population of about 350 million people. What is the matter with us that we can’t conceive of more candidates than yet another Bush, Obama, Trump, or Clinton? I don’t even care if those relatives are qualified, per se—we should be spreading political power and economic benefits as widely as we can!
The Balikbayan Artist is my second published novel. Along with my first novel, DoveLion, they insist on happy endings. The happy ending is defined as the people’s overthrow of dictators and repulsion of dictatorial tendencies. As author, I insist on these good endings. I feel disseminating stories of this possibility helps normalize their possibilities. We may be inefficient or ineffective in battling negative forces, but we should never simply accept them. Writing stories that provide alternatives to evil offers a psychological influence that may yet transform reality.