Defining the Filipino in 'Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon?'

Eddie Romero's charming approach in ruminating the Filipino identity

Philippine “independence” was first declared by Emilio Aguinaldo in May 1898 following America’s victory from the first in a series of battles against Spain in Manila. On December 10 of the same year, the Treaty of Paris was ratified concluding the Spanish rule in the Philippines… or more accurately, the transfer of colonial rule from Spain to the United States at an amount of 20 million dollars. What was thought to be the liberation of the archipelago from the European empire was actually the start of yet another Western colonial rule. That is ironic.

Irony is the subversion of expectations. The history of the Philippines dating back from the 16th century to this day is filled with ironies: the advent of Catholicism during the Spanish period happened to be the start of three centuries of damnation, and presently, the Philippines’ socio-political landscape is a direct betrayal to the vision of the 1986 People Power Revolution. Irony, too, is the unique trait of the 1976 historical film, Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon? How director-writer Eddie Romero envisioned and treated the film is in itself a betrayal of expectations. The film was made during the Marcos regime when most films produced were aggressive and explicitly critical. But as a period film that is typically serious and tedious, Ganito deviated from these assumptions by being charming and comedic.

An example of this trait is the juxtaposition of Kidlat (Johnny Vicar) and the Katipuneros celebrating their victory against the Spaniards while Kulas (Christopher De Leon) is holding Lim (Tsing Tsong Tsai) who was mortally shot from the shootout. On the other hand, a dramatic irony was depicted when the Katipuneros in the village suspected Kulas to be an enemy but we know from the previous scene that he was there to retrieve Bindoy (Dranreb Belleza). Notice also the verbal irony in Kulas’ innocent response, “Galit ka ba?” to Diding (Gloria Romero) who is obviously furious for following her when he’s told not to, and while we anticipate that she’ll get even angrier after that response, she rather reacted positively.

Moreover, even the characters themselves contradict certain assumptions. Gil, a father of one, deliberately denies his priest title upon seeing Kulas who he thought was a tulisan. Diding is an interesting character. On the surface, one would regard her as Maria Clara but she’s actually the antithesis of the conservative character; she’s ambitious, empowered, and quite flirtatious. The character development of the protagonist is also worth noting. Since the time Kulas was rewarded with abundance, he progressively became less happy,  although this is only part of the reason. His journey to find the answer to the film’s central question ultimately ends his innocence.

The film forwards the question, “Who is the Filipino”? The first definition was implied by Gil when he asked Kulas to get Bindoy and instructed that he’ll easily identify him because, like Gil, his son is the only Filipino in the village. This is elaborated later when Lim told Kulas that Filipinos are specifically those Spaniards born in the Philippines. However, Don Tibor (Eddie Garcia) argued that the name is no longer exclusive to Spaniards but to whoever prepared to accept responsibility. I assume that he’s referring to the ilustrados or those educated like himself who can employ their status to serve others as what he’s doing to Kulas. Historically speaking, their answers are all valid. During the colonial period, the Spaniards who were born and residing in the Philippines called themselves Filipinos. However, the term was later adopted by the natives (indios) when the colonizers finally departed the land. Therefore, since the late 1880s, the colonial name was then localized to refer to the peoples of the Philippines. Again, irony.

But the film ponders beyond the semantics of the word. It explores the deeper signification of the term which in turn posits its abstractness. And now that we already own the definition that it stands for, the next point is to reflect on what makes us worthy of the name.

Lim is the Chinese merchant who helped and even died saving the Filipinos. Diding breaks the conservative stereotype of a Filipino woman and is empowered to achieve her ambition of being a successful sarswelista. Tibor regards himself as worthy of his education and uses it to help Kulas. And Bindoy, the son who preferred Kulas more than his biological father, represents the new generation of youth who are not afraid to speak their minds. They are all Filipinos regardless of their ethnicity, gender, education, or age. But for me, Kulas not only embodies the Filipino by mere demographics, but we see from his picaresque story the loss of innocence that gave birth to his profound consciousness we call kamalayan. This made him abandon his possessions and even his love interest to serve his countrymen. The mise en scene of the last scene shows a symbolic picture of this: Kulas is in all-white (being illuminated), walking to a village of burned houses (postwar Philippines) and telling the young children (new generation) of their identity (as Filipinos).

This can be attributed to the uprising of our ancestors against the foreign empires during the colonial period, the early generation of Filipinos who some may have kept the prestige of their class but nonetheless used their privilege peacefully exposing the inequities of the colonial power, or those who left their families to join the revolution against the Spanish rule as well as those in the guerilla movement during the Japanese occupation in the country, those who marched along EDSA in 1986 to overthrow a dictator, and now our Filipino frontliners locally and abroad risking their lives in service amidst the pandemic. So, instead of asking what or who the Filipino is, we should be wondering how to be one because how demands an action, a process, or an experience. It encourages a diversity of answers that is anchored, not dictated by, in one’s capability, demographics, and kamalayan.

The growth of innocence to consciousness and indifference to empathy is not ironic because it’s something that’s expected of us. What’s ironic is when we betray that, when we refuse to be Filipino by awareness and service.