There’s a photo recently posted by Ortigas Foundation Library executive director John Silva: a pageant as Manila reeled from the devastation of war. Many of the men were dead, but in some ways, they were luckier than the women and queerfolk with scars to carry and lives to rebuild, the comfort women and comfort gays, the forgotten casualties.
And yet, despite it all, a group of gay men and transgender women wore what makeup they could, borrowed what jewelry was needed. They made makeshift banners, convened in what function hall could host them, donned dresses, permed their hair, and threw a ball. A nation rebuilding within a nation rebuilding.
What follows is largely fiction but all of it true.
Twenty years after that pageant, Federico was scrubbing his uniform for the second time, the smell of urine—the urine of at least three boys—still clinging, a faint yellow haze on what’s supposed to be a white polo. And yet, when he got home, he found himself masturbating to snatched memories of his bullies playing basketball, their sweat-stained polos clinging to their sinewy torsos.
I think the sad truth of embracing humanity comes with embracing our darker tendencies, recognizing these in ourselves, no matter how progressive we are, in order to do the long-game work of consensus-building, of building a functioning society with people unlike us
And 20 years after that, Federico, that once-bullied gay boy, is now a married man with a wife and children. At times, when his wife is on work trips while their children are on sleepovers, he drives to Quezon Avenue not just for the drag shows but also for the macho dancers.
Federico’s bully is now a man with his own children, too. And here in a seedy gay bar near Fisher Mall, there’s a young drag queen with a nose bridge and forehead with an uncanny resemblance to said bully. The badette is young enough to be Federico’s own son. The child sashays by, and for a brief second, his eyes meet Federico’s, whose look seems to ask: Does daddy know?
Meanwhile, Ivan works in Federico’s: engineering and construction. Site work. The glistening, tanned, supple bodies of young men swirl around him in a heady mix but before Ivan can fall into dreamland, he gets rude awakenings through their homophobic jokes.
“Tangina nga, bro,” he joins in, tanned and muscled too, with close-cropped hair and a thick baritone. “Five more hours of this charade,” Ivan mutters at his reflection in the restroom mirror, and sees the sweat on his forehead, and it’s not just from the manual labor. He wants to burst into song and belt Christina Aguilera’s “Reflection” but as they say in the construction site: Safety first.
I wonder how it’ll be another 20 years from now. Twenty times twenty years from now. If humanity is still around. I know queerfolk will still be around. I’m often disappointed in how humanity keeps reviving ancient horrors: believing in lies despite overwhelming evidence (“being gay is a mental illness,” debunked decades ago but still the catchphrase of many homophobes), perpetuating the comfort provided by those lies, even if these kill (“AIDS and HIV come from gay people,” because of course it’s easier to blame the gays).
And it seems no matter how much progress we achieve, no matter what era we find ourselves in, since people are always on their respective journeys, there will always be people who have yet to understand, who have yet to learn
“It’s 2017, 2025, 2035, and people still believe x, y, and z.”
I think the sad truth of embracing humanity comes with embracing our darker tendencies, recognizing these in ourselves, no matter how progressive we are, in order to do the long-game work of consensus-building, of building a functioning society with people unlike us.
And it seems no matter how much progress we achieve, no matter what era we find ourselves in, since people are always on their respective journeys, there will always be people who have yet to understand, who have yet to learn. The proportion just changes. The danger is when such people hold power. Nonetheless, there will also always be people who stand up and resist.
Then there’s the added weight of being queer, of always having to be the bigger person, in a world where David Wojnarowickz writes “some of us are born with the cross-hairs of a rifle scope printed on our backs.” Yes, I know it gets tiring, but look at you, past the hurt, past the trauma, look at the soul you’ve cultivated, the courage, wisdom, and compassion no one can take away from you.
There’s also the added blessing of understanding suffering, of empathizing with other struggles: Many LGBTQIA+ folk also advocate for Indigenous, labor, environmental and women’s rights, and against imperialism, economic abuse, and genocide.
Some people may dismiss us as “woke,” but if “woke” means understanding oppression in all its forms and choosing to speak up and act out against it, I’d choose the snatches of peace found in solidarity (like a gentle evening rain inviting friends to gather over stories indoors after a hard day’s work) over the false sense of comfort that “it doesn’t and will not affect me” all as the ever-present fear of losing in-group status erodes the soul.
Some people may dismiss us as “woke,” but if “woke” means understanding oppression in all its forms and choosing to speak up and act out against it, I’d choose the snatches of peace found in solidarity over the false sense of comfort that “it doesn’t and will not affect me” all as the ever-present fear of losing in-group status erodes the soul
When fearing for our safety in the streets as we commute to drag shows in full regalia and scrolling past hateful comments at home while an aunt or uncle tries to “pray the gay away,” it’s easy to feel like the struggle never ends, but just so, perhaps we forget the progress that’s been made. There’s a long way to go, but we’ve also gone a long way.
What follows is fiction but is truth.
It’s been a while since Gelo posted online about the church meddling with progress. Born Evangelical, he used to be very vocal online about religious trauma. These days, he posts about a church he joined that blesses LGBTQIA+ marriages.
When fearing for our safety in the streets as we commute to drag shows in full regalia and scrolling past hateful comments at home while an aunt or uncle tries to “pray the gay away,” it’s easy to feel like the struggle never ends, but just so, perhaps we forget the progress that’s been made
Gelo knows he’s privileged to have found a progressive community, and still empathizes with queers in more difficult circumstances, but his example shows how bridges can be built from the rubble of walls.
In Gelo’s church, there’s an older gay, one of the priests, who migrated to the Philippines. He was in Stonewall and marched the first Pride. Gelo caught him tearing up once, as the old Mother watched two young gay boys playing on the street, having a vogue battle. Their straight peers didn’t tease them—at least not that time—but cheered them on, like fans rooting for their basketball team.
After a world of police raids, beatings, killings, riots, and tear gas, this was a world where Gay-nebra could finally, out and about, in broad daylight play against Santa Miguelita.
