In the land of the Fil-Ams

One of the pleasures of visiting the United States is finding out how the locals live–the local Filipinos, that is. There are supposed to be over 300,000 Filipinos in the Greater Chicago area and many more around the Midwest, and short of making the rounds of all these states, the best way to check up on what’s cooking (adobo, what else?) is to grab a copy of a Fil-Am newspaper like the Pinoy Monthly and the Midwest Express.

Typical news items include such staples as announcements of the all-important dinner-dance, without which Filipino-American civilization as we know it would collapse:

"At the April 14 Induction Ball of the Filipino American Voters League of the Midwest were..." went one caption.

"The Abra Association of the Midwest will hold its inaugural ball on May 19...." declared another notice.

"Nililinis at inaalisan namin ng kaliskis ang isda at sa gusto ninyong hiwa pa!" promised the Philippine Grocery and Gift Shop of 5750 N. California Avenue in Chicago.

If you’ve ever wondered where your favorite panciteria went, it’s probably in America: Panciteria Wa Nam (now the China Chef), Hong Ning, Little Quiapo, Ma Mon Luk, and Barrio Fiesta all have branches or namesakes in the Chicago area. (This reminds me of my first Stateside dinner, during my second American sojourn in 1986–at Tito Rey’s in Daly City, California. First we go abroad, then we scramble to feel right at home.)

Also advertised were the ubiquitous phone cards, which no streetsmart Fil-Am or Pinoy tourist would be without, for how else could you call Bicutan for 10 cents per minute, a fraction of the regular cost? You can have your choice of Swerteng Dagat, Pinoy Saver, Tipid Pinoy, Pag-Ibig, Touchlink, Kaibigan, Maligaya, Luneta, Telebabad, and Original phone cards, obtainable wherever you can find Reno Liver Spread and Skyflakes crackers. (The Mexicans in San Diego, on the other hand, swear by their own Mucho Caliente phone cards.) My favorite phone card, the Luneta, may not be the cheapest but promises very clear lines; the only hitch seems to be that, if you read the fine print, it’s owned and produced by the Thai American Telecommunications, Inc. Eh bakit?

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My visit to Wisconsin was actually sponsored by St. Norbert College in De Pere, Wisconsin, just outside of Green Bay about five hours’ drive north of Chicago. It’s a small, private college with just over a couple of thousand students–but, unknown to many, it’s been one of the most active promoters of Philippine studies and Philippine concerns in the United States, thanks to people like English professor Bob Boyer and philosophy professor John Holder. Bob and John, frequent visitors to the Philippines (John’s married to a Filipina, Gertie Castillo), have spearheaded a faculty exchange program with the University of the Philippines that’s brought over some of our best teachers to St. Norbert, including poet Jimmy Abad, artist Brenda Fajardo, and economist Noel de Dios. St. Norbert also hosted former President Fidel V. Ramos and gave him an honorary degree two years ago. (Another connection St. Norbert has with the Philippines is the year 1898, when the college was founded by the Norbertine priests, who predate the Jesuits.)

In turn, the school has been sending some of its finest faculty members (aside from Bob and John, these have included communications specialist Kokkeong Wong and economist Sanjay Paul) and students to UP, and has actively recruited Filipino-American students into its Philippine Studies major program. (The interest is high, even among non-Fil-Am students: one recent course had over two dozen students signing up.) I’ve always thought, as my hosts do, that education is the best means to promote Philippine-American relations in this post-bases era. By bringing the world to America’s heartland, St. Norbert shows how a small school can nourish big hearts and broad minds.

I gave a talk on pop culture and Edsa 2, the ramifications of which we discussed further over frothy tumblers of the local microbrewed ales that Wisconsin is famous for. Thanks a million for the invitation and the hospitality, folks. I’ll have five ice-cold cases of San Miguel waiting for you the next time you visit Barangay Central in Diliman. A little beverage exchange can only do the world more good than harm.

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Meanwhile, my host in Milwaukee (where I’d lived and studied for three years in the late ’80s) was Emraida Kiram, inimitable livewire and indefatigable busybody. Emraida treated me and several other kababayans to one of the best meals I’ve ever had in the United States–at the Chinese Buffet on Milwaukee’s South Side, where I gorged on crab legs, halabos na hipon, egg-drop soup, pancit canton, and steaming white rice.

A real Muslim princess (as opposed to those ceremonially adopted by one tribe or other), Emraida nevertheless maintains close friendships and conducts spirited debates with Catholic priests and Lutheran theologians–and has even arranged for the Pasyon to be read in Milwaukee. She doesn’t have a medical degree (she trained in journalism and the law), but Emraida is an active officer of a medical foundation that sponsors annual missions to the Philippines, for which she singlehandedly solicited 100 hospital beds for shipment to the Philippines.

But beneath the easy bonhomie is a steadfast commitment to the cause of Filipino Muslims, whose desperation she feels acutely. "This is not a religious war, it’s economic," she emphasized. "I liken our plight to that of the American Indians. The Ilonggos in Mindanao can go back to Iloilo, and the Kapampangans to Pampanga–but where can we Muslims return?" Emraida was one of the original members of the Kabataang Makabayan, and left for the US many years ago to escape Marcos’s dragnet. Even within and among her fellow Muslims, she was already a rebel, a freethinking woman in a deeply traditional culture who successfully defeated her sultan-father’s efforts to marry her off to a proper Muslim gentleman (she married a Christian instead–but that’s another story).

Most recently, this grandmother of two helped promote an awareness of tropical food and fruits among Midwestern Americans by cracking countless coconuts open and grating the meat in front of fascinated kids and their parents. "They wanted to taste the meat–especially those Americans who had been to the Philippines a long time ago and were dying to have a taste of coconut again," Emraida said, "but I had to say no. They didn’t have insurance, and we couldn’t be responsible for any adverse reaction they could’ve had to the coconut." That’s life in America for you.

Emraida works in the registrar’s office of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, where her extensive familiarity with student records and admissions procedures have made her indispensable to the UWM administration. She’s offered to help UP modernize its registration procedures and record-keeping; speaking as a harassed department chairman, will somebody please take her up?

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My encounters and discussions with Fil-Ams brought up a sad but sobering fact: how some of them, especially the younger ones, live in blithe denial of their origins. In one case, the yuppie son of Filipino immigrants married a white American co-worker; this boy had grown up thoroughly Americanized, spoke no Filipino, and thought himself perfectly assimilated. He came in for a rude shock when the local skinheads sent a hate message to a newspaper condemning the marriage of the white girl to the brown boy. "How could they do this to me?" the young man wondered. "I’m just as American as they are." In our minds, perhaps, but our faces always tell another story.

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I’m going to be in the States for just another 10 days, but may I please ask my cellphone-happy friends to minimize their messages to the absolute essentials–no text jokes, no invitations to rallies or parties, and most of all, no real work (my turn to joke). I’m on international roaming, and each message is costing you ten times more than usual. E-mail’s fine–although, as I’ve said above, I’ve gone through three- or two-day stretches without e-mail access (you know the symptoms: shaky hands, trembling lips, droopy tongue, dilated pupils).

I’ve also been receiving more messages asking for advice on how to get a US visa. Please–and not to be rude or unhelpful–I don’t know anything about it! If I did, my tomcat Chippy would be travelling with me–how I miss the little bugger despite his temper, which is exactly like mine. (That’s why Beng and Demi got their own feline, a female Persian named Charlie–on whom more, some other time.)

Otherwise, do continue sending me e-mail at penmanila@yahoo.com.