In celebration of the sesquicentennial (150th) birth anniversary of Dr. Jose Rizal, the Philippine's national hero, I asked my graduate students to visit museums that exhibit memorabilia for our dear renaissance Filipino man Jose Rizal, attend local and international academic symposium on The First World-Class Filipino Jose Rizal, travel to his ancestral house in Laguna, or pay respect to one of Asia's great intellectuals enshrined at Luneta Park, and so on...
I am posting in my blog with the writer's consent selected ethnography penned creatively by my students to contribute to the emerging sub-discipline of anthropology called 'Virtual Ethnography'.
Basically, virtually ethnography is also referred to as Webnography. We cannot deny the fact that with increasing use of technology and the Internet, there is now a demand for online spaces on various ethnographic accounts.
Ethnography by Zy-za Nadine Suzara
My last exposure to Rizal Park was back when I was an undergraduate student in junior year sometime in 2003. It was likewise intended as a fieldwork to conduct interviews with foreign tourists for a class paper. I have the vaguest recollections about those weekend visits in the park, let alone what the park looked like back in the day. However, I do remember that my group mates and I would avoid the benches, prefer sitting on the grass picnic-style, ‘strategically’ choosing a spot where we saw people walking to and fro, where we thought those foreign tourists would pass. Whether we successfully met our research objective, I do not recall anymore. Had I kept my old notes and scribbles it would have been interesting to draw comparisons between then and now.
On Thursday afternoon, the first thing I noticed upon getting off the van that took me to Luneta was the hubbub of the commuters along Taft Avenue. It was around 5:30PM. A few meters from the pavement was an arc, freshly constructed it seems. It bannered the 150th year of the national hero’s birth in huge letters that read: “Rizal at 150” on the left side, “One Stop Heritage Trail” on the right, and “SALAMAT PO” right in the middle. I wondered where exactly the heritage trail was.
A few more steps and I noticed more banners of green enfaced with the iconic image of Rizal, announcing his 150th every 6 or so meters apart. Yes, I’m Rizal Park, I thought. There were too many things to take note of given that in my haste to get to the park, I forgot to bring a camera!
I had always had the impression that Luneta was quite benign. I was wrong. There were too many activities going on all at the same time! I realised that there was no way I could observe everything, what with my limited time and the dark rainclouds threatening to spill more rain that afternoon.
I was a mere two meters away from the arc down the ‘trail’, I suppose, when I general, I observed a very diverse crowd of people. To my right was a group of students in their PE uniforms practicing their dance routine. To my left was that huge Philippine map in the man-made lake where even more people converged – friends, lovers, cliques taking pictures, posing and smiling by the railing-enclosed man-made lake.
I also noticed that there were photographers roaming around. When I walked closer to the area, one photographer even approached me, offering to take my picture in broken English. I had to politely decline adding, “Manong hindi po ako Koreana. Pwede po kayo mag-Tagalog.” At that I walked along the pathway around the man-made lake. The dreaded rain started to fall. I fished out my umbrella and continued to observe. Interestingly, the people seemed unfazed by the raindrops! Some opened their umbrellas but they pretty much stayed where they were, chatting and relaxing lazily amongst themselves, perhaps because it was a gentle rain anyway.
As I walked around, I had the urge to talk-up individuals who where in the park. But seeing how they were spending time with their friends, and the couples were getting cozy with each other, I decided against it. I won’t disturb, I thought. I carried on with being a mere observer.
I noticed that in the periphery of the man-made lake were pictures of places that had anything and everything to do with Jose Rizal. Each of these pictures had anecdotes and was enclosed in glass frame, mounted on two poles. Like those green banners, they lined up the walk, commemorating, indeed valorizing the national hero evermore. These included:
1. Calamba Church – where Rizal was baptized
2. Kamestizuhan District – where Rizal was said to have paid a visit while recruiting members of La Liga Filipina
3. Rizal’s Grave at Paco Par
4. Rizal Fountain at Roxas Boulevard
5. Rizal Execution Site at Roxas Boulevard
Save for one black tourist who quipped to his Filipina companion, “Hey take a picture of that (referring to the image of Rizal’s house in Calamba Laguna), no one actually paid attention to the frames - not the people who were hanging out, the Middle Eastern couple strolling hand in hand, or the couple sitting right under one of the mounted frames. (Yes, they were smooching. When they realised that I was taking too long reading the caption, they exercised discretion and left the spot. I chuckled to myself as soon as they were gone.)
I found out later on from the roaming guard that the frames I took time to observe one by one were very recent additions to the park fixture. In fact, I had an informative conversation with this guard about the frames, area security and a little bit of the park’s demography.
Apparently, the commemorative frames were specifically mounted for the occasion of Rizal’s 150th. According to him there were about 30 of them (I forget the exact number) around the man-made lake. They were constructed in March to late April and unveiled in the month of May. I asked him if people who visit the park pay attention to them. He replied, “Mangilan-ngilan lang po”, validating my initial observation.
Ironically, despite my idea of Rizal Park as a benign place in the city – with the exception of El-Shaddai and such gatherings held there on some occasions as I hear in news radio - I had previously thought of Rizal Park as a very unsecure place where pick-pocketers and snatchers threaten personal security. In essence, I have in my mind a very disjunctured impression of Luneta: static, unevolving seemingly locked in history, on one hand, yet an uninviting and unsafe petty crime scene, on the other.
Of course, this was debunked by the information I gathered from the security guard that the premises is held secure 24 hours a day 7 days a week by 23 roaming guards excluding 4 security heads. This means that there is a total of 27 guards patrolling the whole park day in and day out. Not too bad, I thought.
As I chatted more with the guard, I learned that many students from nearby schools and universities like to hang out in the park. It has become a temporary “shelter” for the homeless, though the word is quite inaccurate since the open area doesn’t give much protection in times of cold and rain.
I was a bit impressed at how attentive and sharp the guard was when he posed his constructive observation in question-form about my lack of knowledge about and immersion in Luneta. “Ngayon lang po ba kayo nakapunta dito?”, he inquired. I guess my questions about the demography of the park, what else there was to see further down the Roxas Boulevard side, struck him as common-sensical.
With a little shame on my part, I replied, “Hindi naman. Matagal lang akong hindi nagpunta dito.” Before I departed, the guard also kindly informed that there was a light and sound exhibit on the execution of Rizal. “Kaya lang po, baka sarado na kasi umuulan”, he added. It is ironic to me that the commemoration of Rizal’s birth is very much inseparable from his execution and death. At the Taft entrance, there is announcement about his 150th birth, yet somewhere near the Roxas end, there is an exhibit showcasing the culmination of that birth in death through no less than that heroic gunshot.
I walked further into the heart of Luneta and noticed even more people sitting on benches holding their umbrellas to shield them against the drizzle. I spotted several calesas, noting how their presence did not seem odd in those surroundings. To me, it was the lamp posts in the park, the Hispanic architecture of the old government buildings nearby like the Department of Toursim to my left and the National Museum to my right, that made that old form of transportation appear more ‘romantic’ than bizarre. Had those calesas been somewhere along the Makati Central Business District, it would have been stupefying to some.
I was also going to meet up with my cousin who was at nearby Intramuros shooting scenes for a TV show. She and the cameraman initially intended to shoot at Luneta upon my suggestion to meet up there. However, they had to move to a discreet street in Intramuros because park authority noticed the professional camera gear and halted the shoot. Park regulations forbid shooting with such intimidating gear.
When we finally met up, she relayed the details of this small anecdote. I noted that indeed, park security was foremost afterall in Luneta. The guards aren’t negligent, I thought. They do their job. According to my cousin, the administrator (if I remember right) explained that this was because courtesy must be observed. There are people at the park like the joggers or the passersby who do not wish to be visible on national TV. My cousin said, the administrator especially made mention of the homeless who have sought “shelter” in the park.
Upon learning this, I immediately tried to locate who these people were. Which among the diverse hundreds converged in Luneta were they? I guess, I was not observant enough, for I failed to locate anyone who would qualify as “homeless”. That, or it was simply getting too dark. I thought I would see beggars or disheveled people and kids however, I saw none. Could it be that they are banned from the premises? I had forgotten to ask the guards about them. If so, does that then make Luneta a wee bit exclusive to the “civilized” city people to a certain extent?
I shrugged off those lingering thoughts in favor of exploring more, taking advantage of the fact that the sky cooperated at last with me and my cousin. We were by now left alone by her colleague, the cameraman. Strolling just like others in the park, we stopped to chat with an adorable 8-year boy, slouched on a monobloc chair, happily munching one of the Indian mangoes they were selling. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello. Magkano ang mangga?
Boy: 20 po isang supot(beaming while munching on the mangga)
Cousin: Ikaw ata umuubos ng tinda nyo eh.
Boy: (chuckling)
Me: Sinong kasama mo dito?
Boy: Yung ate ko po.
Me: Araw-araw?
Boy: Opo
Me: Eh saan ka umuuwi?
Boy: Sa Tondo po. (still munching on his mangga)
Me: Umiikot rin kayo pag nagbebenta ng mangga?
Boy: Hindi po, dito lang kami (referring to one of the intersection within the Luneta)
Me: Marami rin bumibili ng mangga sa inyo?
Boy: Opo, paminsan nauubos.
Me: Eh anong oras kayo uumuwi?
Boy: Hindi ko po alam. Basta pag madilim na madilim na.
Me: O sige, salamat ha. Alis na kami. Wag mo uubusin tinda nyo.
As we left the little boy, we came across one of the calesa drivers who approached us offering to take us around the park. After my cousin and I politely declined, we likewise talked to him about his transport business. “May dalawampung-taon na ako dito sa Luneta”, he related. I probed, trying to find out if his sense of time would be like the boy’s. I wondered if the boy’s inability to say what time they leave the park was simply a function of not knowing to tell the time or something else, i.e., that clock time is not all too relevant in Luneta. Maybe another indication of this is that no one was in a rush to leave the place.
“Mga anong taon po kayo nagsimula magcalesa dito?”, I asked. “Hindi ko alam, basta matagal na.” My initial thought was that specificities in terms of time do not seem important to them but those that involve monetary transactions are.
Still trying to persuade us to take a calesa ride, the old man qualified his fare scheme, “Pag local, 50 lang ang sinisingil ko. Pag mga foreigner, 5 dollars, 10 dollars. Depende.”. It struck me that he was pricing his rides in dollars! Forex, hey! He clearly distinguishes between locals and foreigners, with his fare scheme pegged at two currencies!
***
There are speakers in some spots in the park creating varied atmospheres and moods depending on the crowd converged in a specific area. At one intersection, “Kapag tumibok ang puso” was blaring in the speakers, reminiscent of Filipino flicks where the characters indeed converge in none other than Luneta and suddenly, break into dance and song. At least, that night no one was dancing but I observed the cheerful happy expressions in the faces of families, of moms or siblings running after the toddlers.
At another juncture some old Filipino love song was playing. My cousin and I christened it, “the Lovers Lane” precisely because down the path of benches and lamp posts were lovers seated close to each other. Some even had their mats sprawled on the ground, complete with picnic food. Of course, most of them were camera-ready, documenting time spent in the grounds of Luneta.
Near the huge fountain, another speaker was playing a sentimental song that went, “Parang kalian lang, ang mga pangarap ko’y kay hirap abutin.” And as if on cue, the rain started to fall again. Heavily this time! I was distracted and by then oblivious to the rest of the crowd as my cousin and I ran to find shelter. Our stroll was cut short before reaching Rizal’s bantayog! It should have been the highlight of the evening!
In any case, we took temporary shelter at the nearest restroom pay booth we saw. As we waited for the rain to cease, we noticed the Sinic architecture to our right, trying to determine whether it was Japanese or Chinese. As much as we wanted to go around some more, the rain wouldn’t stop.
We then decided to call it a night and come back another time, sharing the same observation that contrary to our common speculation, there is what we roughly termed, “a park culture” in the Philippines; that like the Europeans and Americans we saw on TV, hanging out in a park was not something alien to the average Filipino. Luneta, afterall, provided the space for that.
As we finally walked again in the downpour, we saw my cousin’s cameraman colleague (he left earlier) approaching with his huge umbrella. He failed to get a ride along Taft Avenue, he said. I was wondering where all the people went. In the darkness, I could not see the people we earlier passed by from where we were.
Unfortunately, it continued to rain harder. The three of us could not find a roofed structured in the vicinity. The winds were blowing stronger and so the cameraman walking ahead of us stopped at a monument. My cousin and I followed suit. When I checked out which monument it was, I absent-mindedly read aloud: “Ang Lugar na Pinagbarilan kay Rizal”. When it dawned on us where we actually were, we all ended up laughing with an ensuing conversation about Rizal’s execution initiated by the cameraman that went:
Cameraman: Saan nga ba ang West?
Me and Cousin: Ummm…
Cameraman: Ay dito ang East (faces the direction of Taft avenue and re-enacts under his huge umbrella the famous scene of Rizal’s execution - complete with the foot and body twist.)
My cousin and I laughed harder at this stunt pulled under the heavy rains.
Cameraman: Di ba nakatalikod sya sa West? Kaya nga sya humarap nung binaril sya kasi parang gusto nyang iparating hinarap nya ang mga kalaban? Di ba nga Westerners sila?
Me and cousin: Seryoso ba yan?
Cameraman: Oo, seryoso yan. Tapos di ba sa Paco sya inilibing. Nasa east naman iyon. Hindi naman daw sya totoong namatay. Fabricated lang daw iyon. Bumangon nga daw sya eh. (poker face)
Me and cousin: Ha? Saan mo naman napulot yan?
Cameraman: Ah yun, hindi na totoo yun.
Predictably, we laughed harder, more for the delivery than the unheard of Rizal joke itself.
That night, the rain cleared the park of the diverse groups of people hanging around in it. My cousin and I left with the conclusion that though we observed a “park culture” among the locals in Luneta, they, however, seemed oblivious or at least appeared detached from the historical and commemorative artifacts and fixtures around the area. During the hour I observed, not one took the time to read the captions and anecdotes of history etched in varied monuments in the park.
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