So far, public crucifixions were something I — a 23-year-old journalism student from Germany and a first-timer in this part of the world — had only read about. Others had warned me not to witness the traditional crucifixions, but I could not let this opportunity pass. I arrived at the site with certain expectations about people who volunteer to be nailed to a cross or flagellate themselves – if their reason really is to accept their fate or if they do it for publicity and fame, since I was told that some people do this to themselves every year.
Preparations were like those of a public festival: vendors arranged their selling stands and loud music roused the first early arriving spectators. After a period of waiting, it became clear that the same two or three songs were being played over and over again. Busloads of security personnel eventually arrived and then the first flagellants could be seen in the growing crowd. Curious tourists, like me, rushed toward them to take pictures. I quickly realized it was better to stay away from the blood-spraying whips when I spotted the first spectators in blood-spattered clothes. From then on I just retreated when I heard the rattling sound of the metal-tipped whips.
Despite the presence of a medical team on the crucifixion scene, there was not much compliance or attention paid to hygiene. A guy walked from one flagellant to the next, pricking all of them with the same pointed object to tear their skin and make their backs bleed. The men who whipped themselves had their heads covered with cloaks and just threw themselves into the crowd and on the dusty ground to be beaten — as ironic as it may sound — with a bamboo stick held by a man in police uniform.
Since I had arrived early I occupied a small spot pretty much in front of the stage. Around noon it became so packed that I couldn’t move anymore. I had avoided eating too much since I wasn’t sure how I would react to the bloody spectacle; now I had to pay for that with dizziness before there was even one crucifixion. The smell of sweat and blood made it even worse. My only advantage was that here in the Philippines my size is above average. I pitied all the small children who couldn’t even see anything. A man with his eight-year-old son told me he attends this event every single year since this is his hometown. From time to time I heard the rattling sounds of the whips approaching through the crowd. The surrounding viewers tried to escape getting blood-stained and tended to push in one direction; once I was so pressed into a group of people that I feared I would not get enough air and might be seriously squashed. When a single drop of blood sprayed on my arm, I was glad to have brought my Kleenex. I couldn’t avoid contorting my face in disgust.
The sound system so far only had been used to remind the security personnel of their duty to guide flagellants and to page parents who had lost their children. But the mood of the crowd was rather more like a fair than a somber event. Some privileged people were seated on chairs watching the whole scene from a theater perspective from above while enjoying food and drinks.
Finally, around 2 p.m., the spectacle on the stage began. The first three people to be crucified were led onstage surrounded by others in silk gowns representing the biblical figures who had been witnesses to Jesus’ crucifixion.
The crucifixion of all 14 volunteers was not as bad as I had imagined after all that time spent waiting. They were bound and nailed to the cross for no more than 10 minutes and then taken away by the medical team — a privilege Jesus didn’t have. I couldn’t even spot a single drop of blood, although the nails were clearly visible going in; they seemed to be pushed easily into the hands and feet of the crucified.
After the first three crucifixions, the crowd already began to disperse. After that I was relieved to sit down with enough space around me to have my lunch.
I didn’t regret having watched the event, but I would not subject myself to it again.
At night, when I went to bed, I had to think of all the people who probably are in hospital now and won’t be able to lie on their wounded backs, wondering if they now regret what they have done to themselves.