On the Dark Side of Charity

Driving along the familiar roads of Makati, I find that it is almost impossible for one to never see a homeless person begging, literally, on the street; their gray, unwashed hands knocking on windows of cars, their faces pleading for some of your change, and for food that they may eat. It can be heartbreaking sometimes, especially when the beggar is a child.

But in the Philippines, these people are a familiar sight. Poverty is the rule, not the exception. And when I say poverty, I mean knee-deep in the muck kind of poverty, and I can almost mean that literally. Forget about quality of life or even dignity; in a lot of cases, these people just want to survive. And you can see it in some of these homeless people’s faces, their eyes conveying nothing but desperation.

There are con artists to be sure, who simply go out on the streets to beg, acting like they were handicapped or insane, just so they wouldn’t have to do an honest day’s work. But in a country where the poor outnumber the wealthy and the not-so-wealthy in mind-boggling numbers, it is difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish between the two.

Willie Revillame, an extremely popular celebrity in the Philippines especially among the poor, was once under fire for allowing a child named Jan-jan to simulate the dance of a male stripper on his game show. There are several clips all over the internet, and the first thing you would notice is that the child was crying while it was all happening, and that the audience, in a cruel display of heartlessness, was laughing. Revillame, obviously possessing very little empathy, even went so far as to say that he admired the child for doing what he did just so he could help his family. He then gave Jan-jan Php10,000 as a prize for his performance.

When you watch the whole thing, it literally makes you want to throw up. Have our countrymen been ground so low that they would allow their children to do something so obviously horrible just so they can get by? Are TV shows so blinded by the bottom-line that they are willing to subject a child to pointless psychological abuse just so its audiences are entertained? When will we realize that these people who act like champions for the poor are nothing but greedy hypocritical sharks who really do nothing but profit from our less fortunate brethren? When will we realize that instead of helping, these shows cultivate a culture of mendicancy, where instead of being taught to stand on our own two feet, we are made to depend, our arms outstretched, on the alms given by false kings?

In an obvious display of self-righteousness, one that shows his ignorance and malice and worthlessness, Revillame claims that he shouldn’t be criticized for what he did, and that he was only trying to help the poor and that he only wanted to make people happy.

What hypocrisy. As Conrado de Quiros so aptly put it, it is so “odious that he should treat his guests exactly the opposite of the way Degeneres does. It’s utterly distasteful. The beneficiaries in particular are bled dry for every tearful detail of their miserable lives and made to look as though they are the luckiest people in the world to have been the object of the show’s beneficence. The gratefulness is way too sticky, the beneficiaries virtually kissing the hand of Revillame, which isn’t always metaphorical. The cameras do not flinch at this lavish display of emotion but catalogue every moment of it, with no small encouragement from the host. Revillame himself does not bother to distinguish between the show’s beneficence and his own. In fact he makes it a point to encourage the belief—which has been the secret of his success—that he is doing all this out of the goodness of his heart, and out of the depths of his pockets.”

Revillame lives off the myth that he is one of the poor, that he wants nothing but to help them. The irony is that he is a multi-billionaire who generated his wealth at the expense of countless Filipinos’ dignity.

Living for that Moment

photo

My hair is fashionably tousled, my jeans a perfect fit. I've put on some cologne which I know would evaporate as soon as I walk into the club.  I wait for my friends, and once together, talk about how wasted we want to become, how utterly out of our minds we should be before the end of the evening.

A couple of shots before going in.  For courage. And because the alcohol they sell is too damn expensive.

I enter through double doors into a dark, cramped room throbbing with loud, unrecognizable music, and a barrage of people jumping to the beat. The room is warm, and I feel a bead of sweat slowly trace itself down the side of my neck.  I smile briefly before the crowd, until the many-headed creature swallows me whole and transforms me into another one of its many heads bopping to the rhythm of one song.

Sometimes it comes naturally, the ability to dance.  Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I stand in the middle of the room, a drink in my hand, while I am pushed around by strangers. I hesitantly mimic the tap-tap-tapping of the group beside me. Or the stiff, but captivating swaying of the confident young man on stage.  Sometimes I completely let go, and dance like a wild animal, eyes closed, my mind imagining the room as empty except for me and the beat.

Then there is that magical moment, when, drunk and exhausted, I stare at the ceiling and feel (not think!) that all is right with the world. And the feeling expands and rises and mingles like smoke with the music and the people through the wild, unplanned dance the crowd is participating in.

And I wish that the moment would last forever, and that everything will always be right in the world.  Except morning would inevitably come, and always, always we would need to go home. 

Thoughts on Fashion Photography and Real Life (A Reaction to Yolanda Dominguez's "Poses")

Images found here.

Yolanda Dominguez is a visual artist and performer from Madrid.  I ran across her work, Poses, from an interview of Yolanda Dominguez by a blogger here, and I thought it was one of the most interesting performance art pieces I have seen in a while.

Now, like I have already detailed in a blog post before, I am not a big fan of performance art, or at least the type which feels hokey or fake, or which intellectualize a concept too much, but upon execution showcases too little talent (*cough stupid abortion project cough*). However, I feel that Dominguez's work in Poses is an inspired exception to the rule, since it effectively managed to both shock and entertain people, while forcing them to think.

Basically, Poses is a series of performance art pieces set in several places in Madrid, where "ordinary" folk strike haute couture poses in the middle of an otherwise perfectly ordinary scene.  Some people consider it a depiction of the "indestructible superciliousness that is haute pose".  Initially, I just thought it was intelligent and hilarious.

I suggest you watch this video so you have a better idea of what I'm talking about.

My two cents:  Fashion photography has its place in the art world, notwithstanding the fact that a lot of "serious" artists tend to place it on a lower level of importance compared to other art forms.  This, however, is fashion photography's point: people shouldn't take it seriously.  It's made-up and imaginary.

Except people do take it seriously. Empirical evidence shows us that a lot of people (especially teenage girls) actually use these depictions, among others, to create a standard of beauty for women that, as has been shown time and time again, is neither realistic nor healthy. What Poses does, and does so effectively and brilliantly by pushing the idea to its extreme, is to show us how absurd this notion or perspective is. Fashion photography is essentially rooted in fantasy, and rarely has any point in real life situations. This art project shows us that it would be best to remember that.    

From Yolanda Domiguez's website:

“Poses” is a direct criticism of the absurd and artificial world of glamour and of fashion that magazines present. Specifically, the highly-distorted image of women that they transmit through models that do not represent real women and that avoid all those who are not within their restricted parameters.

These images are virtually the only feminine reference in the mass media and they have a great influence in both men and women when building our roles in terms of behavior and ways of thinking. 

Read more here.

My Writing Philosophy

One of the first lessons I learned when I studied Creative Writing (and something which my professors never taught me, at least not in the traditional sense) was honesty. Or the ability to write unflinchingly about what I observed. One of the biggest disappointments of my life was almost failing a writing class because I refused to be honest, and wrote what I thought the professor wanted to hear.

It took a while, but I learned, and the lesson stayed with me longer than my knowledge of grammar and technical writing.

Anyone can become a good writer, I believe. Just take a course in English and study hard, study patterns of speech and styles of writing and you'll do more than fine. But a clear, sincere and honest rendering of your beliefs and feelings is stronger than the most powerful metaphor in the world. It is better than faith at moving mountains.

Honesty gets to people, and they empathize with it. It strikes directly to the heart, and you'll get a reaction, whether good or bad, creating a connection between you and your reader. I've always believed that good, imaginative writing establishes style, but honesty creates substance.

Maybe that is why I like reading blogs so much. There's a lot of bad writing out there, sure, but there is always a wealth of honesty. I enjoy reading honest posts. It never fails to teach me something.

So I guess my point is this. Fundamentally, writing, for me, is about making a connection. It's about finding a common ground between my reality and yours; that, notwithstanding our superficial differences, we are the same, at least in the important things. Everything else is a footnote.

Photo taken here.