Counting the cost

A long time ago, during a few days when I was laid up and could not do my regular work, I amused myself by reading those parts of newspapers that I ordinarily do not read. This included the column entitled "Dear Abby." For me, it was an eye-opener. It gave a window into the problems and concerns of the American housewife. It was a very interesting lesson on one aspect of American culture.

Among those addressed to "Dear Abby" were many letters complaining about one thing: the extra cost incurred by the housewives because of the visit of relatives and friends during the summer months.

One typical letter went something like this: "Dear Abby. What do you think I could do to prevent visiting relatives from using my laundry machine? My cousin came last week with her children, and she used the laundry machine to wash their clothes and then ironed them. But it was MY water, MY SOAP, MY electricity that she was using!!!"

To a Filipino, used to open-handed hospitality, it sounded petty. But the fact that that letter was only one of many other similar complaints meant that the American housewife resented visitors and their use of the facilities of her house.

In the context of American culture, those complaints are understandable. To them every family must fend for itself and pay for anything it gets. No depending on others. No "free-loading." An admirable trait.

Filipinos have a totally different culture. There is an example in Rizal’s Filibusterismo. The wounded Ibarra flees for refuge to the priest’s house, and the priest gives up his own room to accommodate the unexpected guest. So much is this a part of general Philippine culture, that, when an exception occurs, it stands out with great prominence.

I remember a humiliating incident. I had gone to visit a relative walking the four kilometers to her house. After lunch she said, "My husband will drive you back." This was a welcome substitute to walking four kilometers in the hot sun, so I gratefully accepted. During the short trip (four kilometers is not a long trip) my relative’s husband kept watching the speedometer and calculating the amount of gasoline we were using. When we came to where I lived, he said, "Bringing you here and driving back is costing me this amount." (In those days, gasoline was priced in centavos, not in pesos.) He resented the few centavos that trip was costing him. After that, I never again accepted a ride from him.

That was exceptional. Ordinarily, even poor people are willing to share the little they have with others. Niggardliness is not part of the Filipino character.

Father Arthur Shea, an American who died a few years ago in his 90s, told me of an incident that had happened many years ago when he had just arrived in the Philippines. He and a few other priests visited the capital of my home province and decided to call on the Governor. They had heard that the Governor had a son (myself) who was a Jesuit scholastic. The Governor gave them a cordial welcome in the Capitol and asked them what their plans were. They said that they were on their way to Dapitan and Dipolog. "How are you going to get there?" asked the Governor. They said they were thinking of taking the bus. The Governor said, "My car will bring you there." According to Father Shea, they accepted the offer and thought no more about it. It was only later that he realized what a big thing the Governor was doing for them.

In those pre-war years in the 1930s, the road through the mountains across the island had just been opened. It was still unpaved. It was a three-hour journey each way, and the Governor, without being asked, had quietly offered his car for the trip. What that trip cost in gasoline and the wear and tear of tires and other parts of the car was not even taken into consideration.

In American culture the cost is all-important. In Filipino hospitality, the cost is not counted.