My mother wanted me to grow up to be a morally upright, self-respecting man. But UP turned me into something quite the opposite: a loathsome, despicable villain, who would draw jeers, boos and catcalls whenever he made an appearance.
Blame it all on the fraternity I joined and one of the school organizations I associated with. But that’s getting ahead of the story. Let’s flashback to the grade school years, spent at the Ateneo de Manila, just a stone’s throw from the college that made me evil.
I joined the Dramatics Club in Grade 4. Feigning illnesses to escape school helped me pretend to be someone else and have a great time at it. After working my way from extra to supporting roles to landing the lead, I realized that being a mestizo helped. It was the late ‘60s and oftentimes, fair-skinned tisoys were cast in good-guy roles. Dark-skinned, rugged-looking thespians played the bad guys in an innocent time of fairy tales and legends where white was the color of good and dark was associated with bad. Think “angel food cake” and “devil’s food cake” as Muhammad Ali once pointed out and you get the picture.
Fast-forward to college. I decided to pursue higher education at the country’s premier university.
“They don’t teach theology there. You’ll become a communist!” lamented my grandmother.
“It’s a microcosm of real life. If you survive UP, you’ll be ready for the real world” was my uncle’s advice.
“The tuition at UP is just a fraction of the Ateneo’s yet you still get top-notch education,” said a family friend.
“I still get to eat three times a day with merienda to spare” was my conclusion.
That clinched it and off to UP I went.
Along with other high school batch mates from the Ateneo, I joined the Upsilon Sigma Phi, where we did what kids from private schools are wont to do during UAAP and NCAA season: heckle brods from La Salle, San Beda, UST, etc. without having to end up in a free for all — unlike those uncivilized schools whose frat members went at each other after a basketball game (we fratmen would never even dream of such barbarism!). I became an officer in the frat, holding various positions throughout my stay in UP, and I realized that as we planned our yearly activities, heckling each other was not among them.
So from organizing and participating in medical missions to political symposia to academic contests to sports competitions, to cultural presentations and other socio-civic work, the frat produced Bernardo Carpio, a rock opera about the mythological Filipino warrior, strongman and earthquake tamer, set at a time when Spanish explorers were just starting to colonize the islands.
Would I audition? Of course! That’s like asking, “Is Eric Clapton a guitar god?” Who wouldn’t want to star in a rock opera and make those teenage rock star dreams come true?
After all, these mestizo looks just might help me land the coveted lead role again. Or so I thought.
Reality bit. This was UP. How can a mestizo play a native Filipino? Friars and conquistadores hadn’t cavorted with the locals yet so a mestizo couldn’t possibly be among the natives! Hello! Besides, director and brod Behn Cervantes had already cast Robert Arevalo as guest star for the lead role. Though he wasn’t a brod, his name and picture on the posters did help sell tickets. Lucky for him, he had kayumanggi good looks. So what was in store for the resident tisoy — as it turned out, the only one — who had some acting experience?
“Try out for the vile conquistador, Capitan Salcedo,” Behn suggested.
As ordered by direk, I tried to walk as if performing a minuet. My movements were rather awkward, swishy to be exact. When Behn saw this, he laughed heartily and bellowed, “That’s it! You’ll be the conquistador, but a flamboyant and gay one, just like Herod in Jesus Christ Superstar!”
That sealed my villainous fate: the conniving capitan who conspired to marry the princess for easier exploitation of the natives (his ambition in life), flirted with the local boys (hobbies and interests), maintained Spanish bodyguards whom he fondly called, uhm, “soldados” (favorite sport), tortured slaves and prisoners (other special skills), and framed Bernardo Carpio for murder in an evil plot to discredit and imprison the local hero for all eternity.
This being UP in the martial law years, the rock opera became more than traditional folklore set to a contemporary beat. It was a social commentary about imperialists, their puppets, their victims and fighting for what was right. Boos and jeers at curtain call never sounded so good.
From Bernardo Carpio came another acting opportunity. A few months later, the UP Repertory was going to stage Sigaw ng Bayan, a play about Andres Bonifacio. As I ran into Behn Cervantes in the corridor, he asked if I’d be interested in auditioning, and I did. Then, reality bit again. How could a mestizo play one of the good guys? Rizal, del Pilar, Luna and the other propagandists were more of Indo-Malay-Chinese stock. The katipuneros were from the working class, sun-drenched and hardened by years of toiling under an oppressive colonial regime. There were no historical accounts about a bold, fair-skinned mestizo among them, not even a sidekick to Bonifacio. Don’t great heroes have sidekicks?!
“Try out for the ‘comandante de la guardia civil,’” Behn suggested. Now why was this sounding so familiar? “But this time, I want a mean, merciless storm trooper, just like the Metrocom.”
I had found my role models. The only difference was, I delivered my Tagalog lines with a heavy Spanish accent, while the dreaded Metrocom had a knack for speaking in English with assorted regional accents. We knew exactly how they could make life miserable for any “subersib” (that’s Metrocom-speak for “subversive”) who so much as spoke his mind during the 1970s.
As the villainous comandante, torture, rape and brutality were the order of the day. Again, the production found a way to deliver a message about the so-called “New Society” that the country was “enjoying.” Again, the boos and jeers at curtain call told me that my contribution to that message was loud and clear.
UP lured me to the dark side. It made me play roles that meant being unpopular, being booed and subjected to catcalls at every appearance, every curtain call. But from a larger perspective, UP teaches that beyond the stereotypes of black and white, beyond the traditional expectations from students to comply and gain approbation — not to defy lest risk being blacklisted — being unpopular is sometimes necessary to deliver a message — loudly and clearly.
It’s what happens when you ask questions and become a dissenter: from questioning the brief and disagreeing with the client to taking to the streets and questioning the establishment. There are times when you have to be on the dark side to become the morally upright, self-respecting man that your mother wanted you to be.
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