#my great lola was babaylan

[suesylvesterf]

Don't worry, i assume collecting sources to solidify a masterpost takes a while even if it's a topic you're familiar with so take your time

So! I wrote a somewhat lengthy reply to your ask from before and then saved it as a draft so that I could get back to it. Unfortunately, Tumblr ate it so I'll have to respond here, luckily I did screenshot the ask since my replies usually get eaten and I wanted to remember the ask. Sorry again for how long it's taken me to answer! I've been really exhausted from work lol.

Anyway, I wasn't exactly sure how to make this into a masterpost as there's not much to say about bakla that isn't just correcting the lies rando white people are saying. Bakla is just the term for feminine gay men in Tagalog, it's Cebuan counterpart is bayot.

Google translates bakla as 'queer', which is flagrantly wrong and homophobic. Wikipedia says, 'bakla is not tied to sexuality and is not a sexual orientation, thus it is not a direct equivalent of the English term "gay". Bakla are usually homosexual men, but on rare occasions, they can also be heterosexual or bisexual men.' this is incorrect as well. Bakla *is* the equivalent term for gay, and bakla are always homosexual men. It is not a 'third gender' at all, no one considers it to be so. Bakla know and understand that they are men, and though many of them dress in women's clothes and wear makeup, they still call themselves men. Some bakla, such as Vice Ganda (idk much about him now but when I was younger he was an extremely popular comedian, show host, and actor) are pretty much always in full drag e.g:

unlike weirdos in the West, these men still admit they are male and are fine with it! The Philippines, at least in Tagalog and Cebuan borrow words and codeswitch English words frequently, the word for transgender there is still 'transgender', as is 'transman' and 'transwoman'.

I know I sound repetitive but I'm trying to really make a point that these men are under no delusions that they are women, it being described as a third gender is non-Filipino nonsense. They are considered men by the entire population, male sinners by some of the religious population, and male freaks by both of some of the religious and secular population. Homophobia is obviously still the biggest problem bakla face, whilst homosexuality is not illegal in the Philippines, bakla are discriminated against in every sphere of life. In the Muslim regions of the Philippines, bakla are forbidden to basically be 'visibly' bakla, meaning they're not allowed to go out wearing dresses, makeup, etc. I will say however, that there is greater gay acceptance (or at the very least, tolerance) in the Philippines than in other SE asian countries such as Indonesia and Malaysia.

Now, to precolonial Philippines which is the area I don't know as much about and I'd probably need to consult a few ppl if I were to say much about it. I do know that in the Moro regions bakla were persecuted for their homosexuality and often beaten and murdered. In the non Moro regions, they were basically seen as being incapable of fulfilling their role as male (not incapable of being male, just incapable of what was considered a proper male), and so they could serve alongside the babaylan (aka a shaman, which was a woman's role), as asog, which is a feminine male shaman. Also worth noting that precolonial Philippine traditions were not homogenous by any means so rules amongst groups pertaining to who could be shaman and who could not changed between tribes, regions, and time periods.

[torendheavenandearth]

2.4

“In the end of all things, there will be light, like a pinprick thou canst not see. But the darkness will be too familiar, and you will wish you never left the Shadow of God’s Wing. Then you will learn the truth of martyrdom, the hell of guilt, the inferno of penitence. Then you shall learn the Eight Cardinal Sin, both a Virtue and a Vice: Regret.” 

- Mga Kanta sa Pangatlong Libro (Songs from the Third Book)

▼

Back in Barangay Laurel, a statuesque angel-being looks over the buried body of the crimson anghel. Dante, he knew him as. With a single whiff, he can smell the burning flame of Gahum.

He is in white military rayadillo uniform, black gloves, and high boots. His sabre hangs on one side, lazy. On the other side hangs a firecaster: a firearm that has a mini-spirit house sculpted onto its back, where a diwata of fire is enslaved.

A group of men and women in similar suits, albeit without a firecaster and only bolos for weapons, are bustling around the area. Some of them are acting as a human barricade to stop the townsfolk from interfering with the investigation. Others are going around collecting evidence, picking them up with gloved hands, and putting them in sanitizied pouches, mostly flesh tissue left over as well as spiritual residue from the dead anghel. Some of them are going up to the man with the firecaster.

“Kapitan Briogo, we’ve scoured the area. No other people nor corpses were found.”

Kapitan Briogo’s face is a mask of sculpted stone. It is shaped in the visage of the perfect white man: an aquiline nose, full lips, high cheekbones, eyes made of azure lapis lazuli. His hair is not hair but a twining of wires and clockwork. When he moves his head to look at the reporter, the machinery within him whirrs.

His wings are connected together by interlocking plates and clockwork. Clinging to his elbows are pistons. Rivets moving through imperfect seams along his perfect white-gold carapace betray complex machinations underneath.

“Go around for another round. Make sure no stone is unturned.” The Kapitan’s voice is a hollow monotone filtered through a mesh.

The one that spoke with him--a young tao--salutes once and moves away to relay the order. He turns again to the corpse. Slowly, the little light encapsulated within their little clockwork heart seeps back to heaven, to Pugad Langit.

“Kapitan,” another voice, this time also as mechanical as his. This one has the body of a young mortal boy, although he is blindfolded, and from his wrists and ankles hang broken chains. Despite having the countenance of a young handsome boy with golden hair, the seams running through his arms betray his true form.. “Do you have any conclusions? I can think of one.”

The Kapitan speaks. “There are times when a razor must cut through smoke and find the fire. What does this Gahum smell like, Antonio?”

“Brimstone.”

“This Gahum belongs to someone who is powerful. Someone we have felt before.”

“The winner of the Hagdanan,” says the young man.

“Correct, Antonio. The Winner of the Hagdanan. The Swordbreaker. Ang Nilapastangan.” He stares at the body of Dante, the killed anghel. “We ride, soon. We must.”

“To where?” asks Antonio.

“We follow the road.”

▼

Ang Nilapastangan clambers over the barrier, and so does Angela. Wooden chairs almost hit her due to the barrier basically falling apart. “I told you to go home. It’s not safe here.”

“I feel safer when I’m with you!” exclaims Angela as she pulls herself up and onto the top of the barricade.

Past the barricade is a strange sight.

There is the plaza, usually a site for lively recreation and jubilant mingling, now reduced into a greyed out silence pit. A fine sheet of ash has covered the area, draining the color out of the place.

In the middle of the plaza is that small park area with a statue in the middle. The statue in the middle is supposedly a statue of Yezu, raising his gun and proclaiming victory to the heavens, wearing nothing but a padded coat, pants, high boots and a trench coat.

Corpses pile up by the base of the area. Unmoving. Untwitching. Deader than dead.

“What the fuck?”

Angela’s gaze looks further and past the plaza she sees the town hall and the church. The church’s double doors are destroyed: one is lost and the other hangs by a single hinge. It's too dark for Angela to see what’s inside. Other than that, it's a simple stone church with a few carvings onto the doorway made of stone and with that inverted triangle at the top, where crosses from churches back at Angela’s universe would be.

Although now looking at carvings, they have been defaced, one way or another. Their faces shattered, hands and feet missing.

The town hall doesn’t look any better. Its walls have been dilapitated, covered in the sheet of ash. A dark cloud passes over it. Not literally, but Angela can’t help but feel dread claw from the bottom of her stomach as she looks. As if the town hall is about to open its eyes and stare back at her.

“D-Do you see anything?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “No. Her Gahum is in there, somewhere. Deep in there. But I can’t pinpoint where.”

“Shit.”

“Let’s go back to the commune first and have a plan before we do anything rash.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

▼

They get on their horses and trot out. It's not twilight yet. Jaime and the others are nowhere to be found.

“Looks like we’re going back before they do,” says Angela. They’ve done a few stops to pick up some extra supplies--clothes, salt, sacks of rice--so that they have something good to bring back at least.

They gallop across the field going back to the commune and then they slow to a trot as they reach the flanked path. As they trot along, Ang Nilapastangan says, “We should get out of here, soon.”

Angela raises an eyebrow. “Why? What’s the problem?”

“It’s not going to be long until they find us here. And this is the closest barangay to Laurel. We should get going by tomorrow at least.”

“All right,” says Angela. “If you say so.” Now at the bottom of her gut, she wants to go back and find the albularyo so that they can get out as early as possible. Yet, at the same time, she can’t help but feel bad about the people still here, surviving in the commune. Will they ever get out?

“You can help them get rid of the amalanhig, right?” asks Angela.

Ang Nilapastangan shrugs. “If my guess is correct, the anghel or whoever the Trinity makes follow us can take care of whatever problem they have. What we need to do is find the albularyo. Got that?”

Angela nods. They reach and cross the stream.

Babaylan Salinas greets them as they enter into the commune. “Ah, o great and mighty Ang Nilapastangan!”

Angela sees Ang Nilapastangan manage a small smile. She shakes her head and says, “Please, lola, simply Nila is fine. I don’t seek to be treated as a great hero.”

Babaylan Salinas stares at her for a few moments, before smiling herself and nodding. “The others are surely still on their way back. Please, take a moment to rest and recuperate.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Wait, uh, lola, can I ask you a few questions before that? Regarding the barangay.”

The Babaylan dips her head in a slight, reverent nod. “Yes, please. Would you like to have it over coffee and bananacue?”

Angela usually eats bananacue every afternoon, made by her mom. But now, her mother is gone. Well, no, technically it’s she who’s gone, not her mother. But what does that mean for her?

Sitting there, on a nice textile fabric on the floor, eating out of a porcelain plate a few nice bananacues and some really strong coffee, she’s suddenly transported home. Back to where she’s supposed to belong. Sitting on her plastic chair in front of their wooden table, where bananas and apples would be lying. Leftovers from last night’s dinner would be kept in an ice cream tub.

Tears well up in her eyes, bleeding sadness.

“Anak,” says Babaylan Salinas. “What’s wrong? You are…” Angela glimpses up and looks at Babaylan Salinas, and the Babaylan peers into her eyes. Through the veil of her tears, the Babaylan sees something that makes her frown.

“You are lost.”

Angela wipes away her tears. Ang Nilapastangan watches her for a bit, before she coughs and says, “Let her deal with it. Babaylan, I seek answers to a few questions.”

The Babaylan gives Angela one last sad glance, before nodding and turning to Ang Nilapastangan. “Yes, I will try to answer to the best of my ability.”

“The barangay, it has been like that for how long now?”

“Since… Unangaraw.”

“Today is Pangatlongaraw, so that means it’s been that way for 2 days?”

The babaylan nods.

“Very well. Was there anything strange going on before the day it happened?”

The Babaylan shakes her head. “I was a busy one, doing many healings during that time. It was an Unangaraw, so I thought nothing of it. I guess that should’ve been the first evidence that something wasn’t right.”

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Amalanhig are usually brought about by either the residue of yawa souls… or aswang witchery. You, being the babaylan, would know if there was a yawa in the vicinity, would you not?”

The babaylan nods. “There weren’t any during that time,” she replise. “Nothing out of the ordinary. However, when I consulted with the Diwata, they answered nothing. It was strange, for sure.

“And then, when it happened, it did so quickly. Like a wink lost in the crowd. That night, most of the barangay had been turned into amalanhig. Mostly those that lived in solitary homes were able to get out in time.”

“So you are implying that it was indeed the work of an asuwang?”

The babaylan nods, without hesitation. “We barricaded the plaza because we think that’s where the asuwang might be, but we’re not so sure.”

“A simple barricade will not stop an asuwang,” says Ang Nilapastangan.

“I know. The barricade had the secondary purpose of keeping in the corpses.”

“Then we should do something. Tonight, I will try to get in and see if there is asuwang within the vicinity. The earlier the better,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “If we manage to end the asuwang, the amalanhig menace will be gone as well.”

“But… that would mean--”

“The means to bring a soul back to life is gone with the Karanduun of old,” says Ang Nilapastangan, solemn.

There’s a choking silence that follows. Darkness glows. Candlelight flickers. Angela wipes away the last of her unfounded tears, eyes wide, still unknowing why she’s crying.

“It might be the albularyo,” mutters Ang Nilapastangan.

Babaylan Salinas nods. “She was certainly acting strange before the happening, but I cannot in good conscience think she has done… that.”

“You’re right. There’s nothing in it for Gumamela. Either she’s had something to do with it, or she’s in there, somewhere, doing something.”

“What do you plan to do?” asks Babaylan Salinas.

Ang Nilapastangan sighs. “I’m going to face whatever is in there. Tonight. If I don’t find the albularyo, taking care of what has caused the amalanhig menace will definitely be a help. I need to know if Gumamela has been taken by whatever is in there or if she’s still alive.”

Angela’s eyes widen. She rubs away her tears. “Then I’m--”

Adlay’s voice cut through Angela’s protests: “Jaime! Jaime is missing!”

Ang Nilapastangan is already on her feet, rushing forward and out of the door. The babaylan is raising her hand to stop her, but Ang Nilapastangan is unimpeded. Angela blinks, wondering why she is so quick to respond to that news. Is Jaime somewhat important to her? Or is it something else?

She leaps from the door and over to Adlay in a single bound. “What? What happened to Jaime?��

“O, O great Ang Nilapastangan!” says Adlay, shuddering. “Jaime has been taken captive by the great devourer!”

“What? Take it slow. What happened?” Against the bonfire light, Ang Nilapastangan’s face is a shadowy mask.

“It-It was like a dark shadow!” shouts out the tikbalang, Damian, getting off of his horse. Angela sees this, and stifles a chuckle at the absurdity.

“It plucked Jaime out from the darkness when he got too close to the barricade!”

“Shit. I know what it’s trying to do,” says Ang Nilapastangan. She runs over to Stella, her horse, and is off, galloping back presumably into the barangay. She doesn’t stop. It’s as if her spirit is guiding her.

Angela watches her ride off, and then she’s running toward her own horse as well.

“Hoy, where do you think you’re going?” asks Adlay.

“Going after her.”

Damian grabs her by her bicep. “I’m sorry, girl, but you will not be rushing headfirst into danger. We have to protect our own.”

Our own? Angela stops. She turns and looks up at Damian. “I can’t leave Ang Nilapastangan alone.”

“I know,” says Damian, patting her head. “But she can handle that better alone than with you. Think of it: she’d rather not have you there to protect. She wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you. I’m sure of it.” There’s a pained wistfulness in Damian’s voice. It breaks Angela.

Realization creeps up to Angela, and she releases her tension. “What if she dies?”

Adlay, from behind them, shouts out: “Hah! Her? Die? Ang Nilapastangan faced GOD and lived! We don’t have to worry about her!”

Angela releases her fists. She balled them up while trying to get to Ang Nilapastangan. “You’re right.” Her shoulders drop.

“Ang Nilapastangan will be fine. She is sung. She will be known. She will save Jaime.”

“Babaylan Salinas, why did you not simply call upon help from other barangay? Or from the Kingdom? Ang Nilapastangan told me there was a kingdom that ruled over you.”

Damian turns around and shakes his head. Adlay sighs and scratches his head.

The Babaylan gingerly picks her way down to the ground. She walks over to the bonfire and lets out a sigh. The wind rustles her bramble hair. “Iha, we have tried,” says Babaylan Salinas. “We have tried. But do you think… do you think the Kingdom listens?”

Angela swallows.

“Us being off dead is better for them. They can build more estates upon the graves of our people. We went to Biringan, the capital of the Kingdom, a long time ago. We tried fighting for higher wages, for better treatment, for we were being killed because we are trying to protect the farmlands that are ours.

“But no. They did not listen. They will never listen. The Kingdom does not care for us. None will care for us but each other.”

Angela breathes. She lowers her hands. She realizes she’s raised them. “I’m sorry. Has it always been this way?”

The bark-skinned spirit medium simply nods.

Damian stares at the path that Ang Nilapastangan has left behind. He chuckles. “You can’t really stop someone that is resigned to death, huh?”

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[aliencrybby]

I made a video for SBS Filipino! This video features the work of Eme Talastas-Dela Rosa and their efforts to create space for Filipinos to discuss processes of decolonisation through community dinners called Usapan Sa La Mesa.

Check the SBS article here. The video is also available to watch on my youtube channel.

Feel free to read my original un-edited write up below!

Usapan Sa La Mesa

Filipinx visual artist & Honours student, Eme Talastas-Dela Rosa, is creating space for the diasporic Flipino community by hosting community dinner events called Usapan Sa La Mesa. These dinners are a call to Filipinx to share our stories and engage in a collective process of decolonisation, exploring this process as immigrants and settlers on colonised Indigenous land.

Working with ceramics and participatory art practice, Eme’s project draws on precolonial modes of philosophy, such as kapwa and the tradition of Babaylan. Kapwa is a Pilipino understanding of self and community through relational will, seeing the self through the other; while the Babaylan is an eminent precolonial figure who offers spiritual, political, and community healing — a role often tasked to women or people who identify outside a colonialist gender binary.

Usapan Sa La Mesa has kapamilya at its core; not just in Eme’s direct relatives who came through, although this support was evident — but also in the sense of community bonds. The phrase “chosen family” was mentioned many times, in ways not only applicable to Eme and their inner circle, but was felt as an extension of welcome to all others who came along. Many of us were strangers meeting, but the energy in the space allowed for a nourishing sense of acceptance, hospitality, and closeness often reserved for longer-standing friends or communities.

This sense of feeling “at home” was no doubt cultivated by the beautiful environment Eme and their family (both chosen and blood) worked to create. Home cooked traditional dishes served in Eme’s hand-made ceramic vessels, traditional boodle fight meal, and delicious Filipino desserts nestled amongst numerous potted plants. There was even a very typically Filipino dispute amongst the Sisterhood of Titas about whether we should eat first or dance first (we danced first).

Eme opened the evening officially with a short speech to affirm intentions for our gathering, starting with Acknowledgement of Country which addressed our place as settlers in colonised Aboriginal land. Being an intersectional, multi-lingual, multi-generational event, Eme placed firm emphasis on respecting each others’ various lived experiences and different stages along this long, complex journey of decolonisation.

This was followed by an impassioned and accessible talk by Harry Bonifacio Baughan, founding member of the group ‘Anticolonial Asian Alliance (rice is life)’, who gave a nuanced overview of the complexities and goals of anticolonial resistance in Australia. In it, he explored our place in the movement as allies and non-Indigenous PoC; as well as raising questions about how we, as a community, can leverage what privileges we are afforded to help benefit disenfranchised communities in the Philippines, in Australia, and the anticolonial struggle on a whole.

After sharing a meal and some table talk, Eme opened the floor for an open discussion, inviting us all to exchange and listen to each others’ stories of migration to Australia. Experiences of forced assimilation and internalised discrimination were shared, shining light on the wounds inflicted upon self and family in a way that was challenging and conflicting, yet ultimately healing.

The evening ended with some stirring words from Tita Cez Rico Dagondon, who provided key insights and knowledges on precolonial Pilipino life, stories passed onto her by her ancestors and great, great, great Lola. She joked that she could have talked until morning. I don’t think many of us would have minded.

Usapan Sa La Mesa is an effort and invitation to discuss responsibility to community; explore accountability; and consider our contribution to the legacies we might leave behind for those in generations to come, healing and restoring what has been taken or lost.

Usapan Sa La Mesa will meet again on August 3rd.