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FILIPINOS -- THE HIDDEN MAJORITY
Brian Ascalon Roley Monday, August 20, 2001
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Recent census data has shown Filipinos to be the nation's second- largest Asian
group -- a little noticed fact, right behind people of Chinese descent (918,678
in the Bay Area alone, compared to 980,642 Chinese).
What has seemed bizarre to myself and many Filipinos I know is how invisible we
are, especially given that for nearly 50 years, the Philippines was America's
major colonial experiment.
In France, the French know why there are so many Algerians in Paris, and in England,
the British know why there are so many Indians in London. But most Americans don't
even realize that there are so many Filipinos in this country, let alone why.
In fact, when I tell people the statistics, they often express disbelief -- including
my own mother. Recently, I saw a film at the Kabuki called "Debut,"
about a young Filipino-American character; the viewers were largely young first-generation
Filipinos.
Oddly, each time a character said a Filipino word such as "lumpia,"
a type of egg roll, people burst into laughter, even when no joke had been made.
This puzzled me. Why was it so funny? I realized that our laughter came from the
simple act of recognition, because we were so unaccustomed to seeing anything
of ourselves in public. Given that nobody would have laughed at the word, "chop
suey" or "Mongolian barbecue," you realize how invisible Filipinos
have become in this country.
This has not always been the case. When President McKinley decided to buy the
Philippines from Spain in 1898, it was a decision contested by citizens and congressmen
who thought a democracy should not try to replicate a European- style empire.
When the U.S. military began suppressing the Philippine independence movement
in 1899 (killing more than 200,000 people in the process), reporting about U.S.
military atrocities reached the American public. The war became increasingly unpopular
in a Vietnam-era fashion. Politicians, citizens, religious groups and writers
questioned America's notion of itself as a democratic country, morally superior
to European empires (Mark Twain, for one, wrote enough satirical essays on the
matter to fill a book).
The war officially ended on July 4, 1902. As a way of atonement, many American
teachers went to the Philippines to become "benevolent colonizers" and
to mold the Filipinos "in our image." They taught the Filipinos about
American history and values, and made English the official language; democratic
institutions were set up when the country was finally granted independence.
What seems comic -- and a bit sad -- is that in the Philippines itself, people
are very aware of the "special" historical relationship between the
two countries, and of America's lingering influence on their culture, but most
don't realize how ignored they are here. It's like a relationship with only one
participant left.
I wrote a novel, "American Son," about two California brothers who feel
so culturally isolated from their Filipino roots that they fashion themselves
as Mexican gangsters; the material came from watching my own relatives. And it
does seem that in the Bay Area many young Filipinos are acting like everything
else -- African American, Latino, Chinese and Korean -- except Filipino.
This may bewilder their parents, but I suggest that the explanation lies in the
invisibility of our multitudes.
So the question arises: Given our numbers and status as formerly colonialized
subjects, why are we so invisible to other Americans? Why do many Americans seem
so much more interested in people from just about any other Asian country -- Japan,
Korea, Tibet, and now India?
Could it be that after being forcibly Westernized, we no longer appear Asian enough
to be viewed as exotic? Could it have something to do with America's colonial
past not fitting in with its idea of itself as a democracy?
Is there a revisionism going on in our schools similar to what is going on in
Japan? Are we somehow boring, repugnant or unattractive?
It is a debate that constantly goes on among us first-generation Filipinos, and
I'd love to hear what other Americans have to say, or perhaps even just to hear
them talk about it.
Brian Ascalon Roley is the author of "American Son," (W.W. Norton, 2001).