When the flood control scandal exploded into public view last year, visual artist Julie Ann Baltar couldn’t help but feel both sorrow and anger. Here she was, the daughter of a canteen cook who earns below minimum wage, learning of politicians and private contractors who lived the high life on wealth allegedly stolen from the public.
Before long, Baltar—a summa cum laude fine arts graduate of the Philippine Women’s University—was itching to pick up a paintbrush. As luck would have it, television host Boy Abunda, who had supported her as a scholar, reached out to her to explore a similar concept he had in mind.
The images of bundles and bundles of cash stacked on tables or lying around houses left such a searing imprint on Baltar and Abunda, inspiring them to create “Buwaya Serye.” Mixing social realism and kitsch, the trio of oil paintings depicts anthropomorphic crocodiles—the classic metaphor for greed, corruption, and abuse of power—draining Filipinos’ coffers and eating away at their futures.
Meet the crocodiles
Baltar doesn’t claim to be an expert on politics. But it doesn’t take one, she says, to recognize the gravity of the situation. Just step outside. Actually, you need not look any farther than your own family. “My mother works 12 hours a day and earns P350. Kita ko ‘kung gaano ka-bare minimum ang binibigay sa ordinary citizens,” she says.
She’s not one to curse, she says, but with every stroke, every swatch of paint, she finds herself doing so in her mind. “The more details came to light, the more emotional I got. Silang nasa taas hayahay, tapos tayong mga Pilipino talaga ang mga kawawa,” says Baltar, who found an extra boost of inspiration in Gloc-9’s sociopolitical track “Upuan” while working on the pieces.
“The more details came to light, the more emotional I got. Silang nasa taas hayahay, tapos tayong mga Pilipino talaga ang mga kawawa”
In “Komite ng mga Buwaya,” Baltar paints a painful reversal in which ordinary Filipinos, who are supposed to be carried and supported by those in power, are in reality left carrying them through floodwater as they sit lazily atop a table piled with cash.
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In “Their Luxury, Our Misery,” Baltar turns to the children of corrupt officials and contractors—the nepo babies—depicting them as baby crocodiles nestled in a golden crib while Filipinos outside call for their parents to be held accountable.
Why does accountability remain elusive? “Busog, Luhod, Lunod” offers a grim answer, with Lady Justice bound by crocodiles and surrounded by chained lapdogs.
Don’t let the story end here
But what’s even more disheartening, Abunda observes, is that barely a year after the scandal gripped the nation, people already seem to be starting to forget. He sees “Buwaya Serye” as his “little contribution to future generations,” so that they may always remember the flood control scandal and the corruption it exposed.
“Huwag nating kalimutan. After months, after years, huwag nating sabihin, ‘Huwag na nating pag-usapan ’yan.’ We should continue to ask: Ano ba ang tama? Ano ba ang mali? Ano ang karapatan natin? Ano ang ninakaw sa atin, at ano ang puwede nating gawin?” says Abunda.
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“Huwag nating kalimutan. After months, after years, huwag nating sabihin, ‘Huwag na nating pag-usapan ’yan.’ We should continue to ask: Ano ba ang tama? Ano ba ang mali?”
That is, in part, the responsibility of artists like Baltar, he adds—to listen to what people are talking about and provoke discussion. “Dapat hindi ito nauulit. Dapat matuto tayo at mas maging malinaw ang direksyon natin bilang mga Pilipino—kung sino tayo, nasaan tayo.”
Baltar and Abunda are set to add six more pieces to “Buwaya Serye” before mounting an exhibit later this year that melds visual art, performance art, and poetry. By showcasing her work—especially to everyday Filipinos and the youth—Baltar hopes to spark hope and set aside fear in demanding change from the system. “Ang tagal na nating stuck sa ganito,” she says. “Dapat mamulat na.”
And amid differing views and political loyalties, Baltar says Filipinos shouldn’t turn on one another—but on the crocodiles sowing division among them. “Imbes na kumampi sa pulitiko, kumampi tayo sa kapwa Pilipino,” she says.