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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc.

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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc.

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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc.

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The Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc. is dedicated to empower and engage communities in programs and projects for the Philippines to secure quality health, education, and basic human rights for every Filipino.

Filipinos live across the United States and world, and the diaspora pulls us to connect with our Filipino culture and each other--the Philippines is in the heart. We invite and welcome you to dream with us to empower and engage our communities to provide support for the Philippines.

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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc.

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The Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc. is dedicated to empower and engage communities in programs and projects for the Philippines to secure quality health, education, and basic human rights for every Filipino. Filipinos live across the United States and world, and the diaspora pulls us to connect with our Filipino culture and each other--the Philippines is in the heart.

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Facebook

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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc.

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Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc., Portland, Oregon. 783 likes · 9 talking about this. The Foundation for Philippine Progress, Inc. is a nonprofit organization that secures quality health,...

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Foundation for Philippine Progress: Introductions

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Randy Ribay was born in the Philippines and raised in the Midwest. He's the author of An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes, After the Shot Drops, and Patron Saints of Nothing, a powerful coming-of-age story about grief, guilt, and the risks a Filipino-American teenager takes to uncover the truth about his cousin's murder. It was selected as a 2019 Freeman Book Award winner and as a finalist for the National Book Award, LA Times Book Prize, Edgar Award for YA, International Thriller Writers YA Award, Amelia Walden Award, and CILIP Carnegie Medal. Randy earned his BA in English Literature from the University of Colorado at Boulder and his Master's Degree in Language and Literacy from Harvard Graduate School of Education. He teaches high school English in the San Francisco Bay Area where he lives with his wife and two dogs. Follow him on Instagram to see pictures of those obscenely cute dogs and on Twitter to check out what he's currently ranting about.

(You can pronounce his last name correctly by saying it like REE-bye.)

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Randy Ribay was born in the Philippines and raised in the Midwest. He's the author of An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes, After the Shot Drops, and Patron Saints of Nothing, a powerful coming-of-age story about grief, guilt, and the risks a Filipino-American teenager takes to uncover the truth about his cousin's murder.

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https://www.instagram.com/randyribay/

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https://www.facebook.com/randyribaywrites

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Recorded Panels, Interviews, Authored/Guest Posts, Featured

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http://www.randyribay.com/reading-recs.html

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http://www.randyribay.com/reading-recs.html

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Carlos H. Conde Senior Researcher, Asia Division

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Philippines’ ‘War on Drugs’ | Human Rights Watch

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Since taking office on June 30, 2016, Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte has carried out a “war on drugs” that has led to the deaths of over 12,000 Filipinos to date, mostly urban poor. At least 2,555 of the killings have been attributed to the Philippine National Police. Duterte and other senior…

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Rodrigo Duterte was elected president of the Philippines in 2016 by a landslide win on the back of hardline promises to tackle crime and corruption.

He has since attracted intense controversy for a bloody drug war and a string of controversial remarks deemed offensive or sexist by many observers.

He has also been criticised by the international community and rights groups that say his policies amount to human rights abuses.

Despite international condemnation, he remains hugely popular in the Philippines.

The hallmark of Mr Duterte's early years as president has been a relentless crackdown on drug dealers and users.

He has urged citizens and the police to conduct extra-judicial killings of suspects and thousands have died in the anti-drugs campaign.

Noting that there are three million addicts in Philippines, Mr Duterte has said he would be "happy to slaughter them".

Mr Duterte has said his hardline stance was necessary to wipe out the illegal drugs trade and remains undeterred, vowing to kill "every last one" of the traffickers.

The United Nation, the Roman Catholic church, the European Union and the United States have repeatedly condemned his policy as a violation of human rights. Domestic activist groups have also protested the killings.

Rape jokes and sexual abuse

Faced with mounting criticism, Mr Duterte, known for making brash off-the-cuff remarks, has been bellicose.

He has threatened to "separate" from the UN - which he later said was a joke - and called then UN secretary-general Ban Ki-moon "a fool".

He also called the EU "hypocrites" during a speech and showed the middle finger.

He famously referred to former US President Barack Obama as a "son of a whore", but later expressed regret when Mr Obama cancelled a meeting.

He also called the Pope "the son of a whore" and said God was "stupid" in a largely devout Catholic country, and joked that when he was still the mayor of the southern city of Davao he should have been the first to rape an Australian missionary murdered in a prison riot.

There's been a wave of criticism after he said he sexually assaulted a maid when he was a teenager or when he kissed a female worker on stage, described as "disgusting theatrics of a misogynist president" by rights group Gabriela.

Rodrigo "Digong" Duterte was born in 1945 into a family closely tied to local politics. His father was once a provincial governor and the family had links with the powerful families in Cebu province, where his father was once mayor.

Mr Duterte trained as a lawyer and rose to become state prosecutor, eventually becoming mayor of Davao in 1988, ruling the city for much of the past 30 years.

He built his reputation fighting some of the biggest problems facing the Philippines - crime, militancy and corruption. All three dropped significantly during his time leading Davao, making the city one of the safest in the Philippines.

His track record from Davao helped him win nationwide support on the hope he could replicate his efforts at a national level.

Constitutional reforms

Self-styled as both a socialist and a reformist, he has promised to change the country from a centralised system to a federal parliamentary form of government, to better share wealth.

This means he can now push forward with his plans to change the constitution to make the country more federal.

Critics warn though that without reforms at the regional and local level, a more federal Philippines would hand unchecked power to local clans and dynasties.

The senate majority also allows him to pursue other controversial policies like reinstating the death penalty or lower the age of criminal liability.

His foreign policy direction, vague during campaigning, has continued to flip-flop.

Mr Duterte had previously hinted at taking a stronger stance against China, which the Philippines is engaged with in maritime disputes in the South China Sea. He famously said he would ride a jet ski to a disputed island claimed by both countries and stick a flag on it.

But since becoming president he has emphasised a desire to move away from the US - the Philippines' former colonial ruler turned military and economic partner - and pivot closer to China and Russia, sparking concerns from investors.

His tough approach has earned him the nicknames "The Punisher" and "Duterte Harry". He said in a televised debate that he would kill his own children if they took drugs.

He also said he killed someone when he was a teenager - a statement his spokesman later said was only a joke.

His strongman image makes him popular among many in the Philippines as someone who will do what is necessary to get things done. Halfway through his term, polls put his public support at around 80% and the mid-term election was also seen as a successful referendum on his policies.

But horrified opponents have continued to castigate him, comparing him to US President Donald Trump. Mr Duterte has rejected the comparisons, saying that "he is a bigot and I am not".

Married twice, he has four children, one of whom - his eldest daughter Sara - is now mayor of Davao City. He is now officially single, but has claimed to have several girlfriends.

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Profile: Duterte the controversial 'strongman' of the Philippines

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Rodrigo Duterte was elected president of the Philippines in 2016 by a landslide win on the back of hardline promises to tackle crime and corruption. He has since attracted intense controversy for a bloody drug war and a string of controversial remarks deemed offensive or sexist by many observers.

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" 30 years ko nang hinhintay ito (I have been waiting for this for 30 years)."

Alex Escandor, 57, stood along EDSA outside the Marcos-Duterte campaign headquarters on Tuesday, May 10. He carried a glass frame the width of his torso. Taped on the center was one unmistakable figure - the presidential portrait of the ousted dictator Ferdinand Marcos.

Escandor has been keeping the print for around 36 years. It was an heirloom of sorts from his mother, which she instructed that he guarded.

" Sabi sa akin: 'Anak, itabi mo iyan hanggang sa bumalik ang mga Marcos. Hindi man si Apo, pero isa sa mga anak niya'," he recalled. (She told me "Son, keep that portrait up until the Marcoses return. It may not be Apo who will do it, but one of his children.)

LOYALIST. Alex Escandor, 57, outside the BBM-Sara Uniteam headquarters along EDSA.

While his mother was gone, her hope came true.

Some 36 years later, Marcos' son and namesake, Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr, was set to reclaim the presidency for his family. The victory is a result of decades of whitewashing their name and a campaign that called for "unity" amid an adversarial political climate. Marcos is set to win with over 30 million votes, according to the partial and unofficial tally of the Commission on Elections.

Escandor rode a bus from Imus to Metro Manila, joining fellow supporters as they rejoiced the Marcos' return to Malacañang. As he stood facing the historic avenue, behind him, dozens of fellow Marcos loyalists sang "Bagong Lipunan," the dictator's anthem, which, to many Martial Law survivors, evoked traumatic memories.

A woman at the back, Lita (not her real name), raised her left hand in a peace sign - the pro-Marcos hand gesture - and bounced to the beat. She came all the way from France to witness Marcos' election.

HOMECOMING. Lita (not her real name) outside the Marcos-Duterte campaign headquarters along EDSA.

" Sikat na sikat siya sa amin (He is very popular among us)," Lita said. She was a domestic worker, among millions projected to add to Marcos' commanding lead against other candidates.

The reason for Marcos Jr's popularity, she said, was that he would "continue what the father did."

She was referring to the myth of the "golden era" under the Marcos years and the infrastructures he had built for the country. It was also during the Marcos years that the Philippines implemented the so-called "Development Diplomacy" in 1975 which saw the rise of Filipinos going to the Middle East and abroad.

The myth of the Marcos family establishing a golden era in the Philippines has long been debunked and contested by experts, with economic growth seen most only in Marcos' home region of Ilocos, while the economies of other regions had suffered. Marcos' economic policy also saw the country's debt ballooning by billions.

These myths were seeded for generations and have budded on social media, a terrain that a handful of vloggers outside the headquarters had long mapped and conquered.

One of them was Marlon Lawis, 23, the one-man team behind 'TROPANG BISAYA', a Youtube channel with over 100 thousand followers.

INFLUENCER. Marlon Lawis outside the Marcos-Duterte campaign headquarters along EDSA.

"BBM PANALO NA BBM SUPPORTERS PARTY (BBM already the victor, BBM's supporter's party)," reads his previous broadcast, which enjoyed over a thousand live viewers.

"I used to believe that the Marcoses were bad, but because of the expansion of social media, I found out that all the accusations of the Marcoses were untrue. It was thanks to social media," Lawis told Rappler.

This despiser-to-believer transformation of Marcos supporters was a widely told experience, with social media as their shared vehicle into the Marcos web of lies and myths.

It was through posts on Facebook and Youtube where Hercules Sison, 42, learned to love the Marcoses enough that he staked out of their campaign headquarters from 4 am, coming all the way from Rosario in Cavite.

"They said Marcos was a thief but I went to the internet and learned that what I heard from the news was wrong," Sison said.

Distrust in the media was also a common mark of a Marcos supporter. In our interviews, aside from an aversion to Rappler, some declared disdain for major news networks GMA and ABS-CBN. In Marcos' path to Malacañang, he has not attended a single Comelec-organized debate with the media.

" Inaapi 'nyo naman kasi siya (You are oppressing him)," one supporter said.

This belief system was also deeply seeded in the minds of the youth, which was among Marcos' biggest supporters compared to other age groups in the 2022 campaign.

Lexter Baladhay, 21, stood as the representative of a young crowd along EDSA. His friends touted him to speak English well.

THE COUNTRY'S FUTURE. Lexter Baladhay, 21, speaks for his fellow youth supporters.

Lexter was the secretary of the BBM Youth organization in Metro Manila, and a student of the University of Santo Tomas, among the country's most prestigious learning institutions.

He said his mission was to "enhance the critical thinking" of youth voters and to have them believe in the Marcos family. His belief was only cemented by "cancel culture", which, in Marcos supporters' perspective, meant being called out and hated on for supporting the once disgraced family.

"The hatest thing that I have with the liberals is really their attitude and I don't want to mention a different camp, but you already know who I am referring to. They have been clouded by their hatred to the point that their judgment has already been done," he said.

The supporters on Tuesday had a resounding message to the country: that Marcos' millions were not pulled from thin air, were not a result of an election failure and, most of all, they were not "bought."

They were Filipinos from different generations and backgrounds, all drawn in by a candidate who was able to win their hearts by speaking to them and only them. They were united. - Rappler.com

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Here is unity: The different faces of the Marcos 30 million

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" 30 years ko nang hinhintay ito (I have been waiting for this for 30 years)." Alex Escandor, 57, stood along EDSA outside the Marcos-Duterte campaign headquarters on Tuesday, May 10. He carried a glass frame the width of his torso. Taped on the center was one unmistakable figure - the presidential portrait of the ousted dictator Ferdinand Marcos.

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1861-1896

José Rizal, son of a Filipino father and a Chinese mother, came from a wealthy family. Despite his family's wealth, they suffered discrimination because neither parent was born in the peninsula. Rizal studied at the Ateneo, a private high school, and then to the University of St. Thomas in Manila. He did his post graduate work at the University of Madrid in 1882. For the next five years, he wandered through Europe discussing politics wherever he went. In 1886, he studied medicine at the University of Heidelberg and wrote his classic novel Noli me Tangere, which condemned the Catholic Church in the Philippines for its promotion of Spanish colonialism. Immediately upon its publication, he became a target for the police who even shadowed him when he returned to the Philippines in 1887. He left his country shortly thereafter to return to Spain where he wrote a second novel, El Filibusterismo (1891), and many articles in his support of Filipino nationalism and his crusade to include representatives from his homeland in the Spanish Cortes.

He returned to Manila in 1892 and created the Liga Filipina, a political group that called for peace change for the islands. Nevertheless, Spanish officials were displeased and exiled Rizal to the island of Mindanao. During his four years there, he practiced medicine, taught students, and collected local examples of flora and fauna while recording his discoveries. Even though he lost touched with others who were working for Filipino independence, he quickly denounced the movement when it became violent and revolutionary. After Andrés Bonifacio issued the Grito de Balintawak in 1896, Rizal was arrested, convicted of sedition, and executed by firing squad on December 30, 1896.

Following the revolution, Rizal was made a saint by many religious cults while the United States authorities seized on his non-violent stance and emphasized his views on Filipino nationalism rather than those of the more action-oriented Emilio Aguinaldo and Andrés Bonifacio.
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subpage_keywords spanish american war united states cuba philippines puerto rico spain 1898

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José Rizal, son of a Filipino father and a Chinese mother, came from a wealthy family. Despite his family's wealth, they suffered discrimination because neither parent was born in the peninsula. Rizal studied at the Ateneo, a private high school, and then to the University of St. Thomas in Manila.

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The Katipunan is born

Andres Bonifacio was also a member of La Liga Filipina, although he soon lost hope in gaining reforms though peaceful means. This feeling was especially heightened when Jose Rizal was exiled to Dapitan. Bonifacio became convinced that the only way the Philippines could gain independence was through a revolution.

Bonifacio then founded the " Katastaasang Kagalanggalangang Katipuanan ng mga Anak ng Bayan" (KKK) on July 7, 1892 in a house on Azcarraga street (now Claro M. Recto), in Tondo Manila.

The Katipunan had colorful beginnings. As a symbol of the member's loyalty, they performed the solemn rite of sanduguan (blood compact), wherein each one signed his name with his own blood..

The members agreed to recruit more people using the "triangle system" of enlistment. Each original member would recruit tow new members who were not related to each other. Each new member would do the same thing, and so on down the line. Members were also asked to contribute one Real (about 25 centavos) each month in order to raise funds for the association.

The KKK members agreed on the following objectives:

▪ The political goal was to completely separate the Philippines from Spain after declaring the country's independence.
▪ The moral goal was to teach the Filipinos good manners, cleanliness, hygiene, fine morals, and how to guard themselves against religious fanaticism..
▪ The civic goal was to encourage Filipinos to help themselves and to defend the poor oppressed.

The " Kataastaasang Sanggunian" (supreme council) was the highest governing body of the Katipunan. It was headed by a supremo, or president. Each province had a " Sangguaniang Bayan" (Provincial Council) and each town had a " Sangguniang Balangay" (Popular Council).

The Leaders of the Katipunan:

▪ Deodato Arellano -Supremo
▪ Ladislao Diwa -Fiscal
▪ Teodora Plata -Secretary
▪ Valentine Diaz -treasurer
▪ Andres Bonifacio -controller

Jose Rizal and the Katipunan

Jose Rizal never became involved in the organization and activities of the Katipunan; but the Katipuneros still looked up to him as a leader. In fact, Rizal's name was used as a password among the society's highest-ranking members, who were called bayani.

Andres Bonifacio had already known Rizal during his La Liga Filipina days, although Rizal did not know Bonifacio personally Nevertheless, Bonifacio so respected Rizal's intelligence and talent that in June 1896, he sent Dr. Pio Valenzuela to Dapitan to seek Rizal's advice on the planned revolution.

Rizal told Valenzuela that the timing was not right for a revolution. The people were not yet ready and they did not have enough weapons. He suggested that the Katipunan obtain the support of wealthy and influential Filipinos first, in order to gain financial assistance. He also recommended Antonio Luna as commander of its armed forces, since Luna had much knowledge and expertise in military tactics.

Valenzuela returned to Manila on June 26 and relayed Rizal's advice to Bonifacio, who admitted that it would indeed be fatal for the Filipinos to fight without enough weapons. However, there was no stopping the Revolution. Bonifacio ordered his men to prepare for battle. He directed them to store enough food and other supplies. Battle plans were made with the help of Emilio Jacinto. It was suggested that the revolutionary headquarters be located near the seas or mountains to provide for an easy retreat, if necessary.

The Katipunan is Discovered

Rumors about a secret revolutionary society had long been in circulation, although no solid evidence could be found to support them. The big break as far as the Spanish authorities was concerned, came on August 19, 1896 when a KKK member, Teodoro Patiño told his sister Honoria about the existence of the Katipunan. Patiño was a worker in the printing press of Diario de Manila. Honoria was then living with nuns in a Mandaluyong orphanage.

The information upset Honoria so much that she told the orphanage's Mother Superior, Sor Teresa de Jesus, what her brother had revealed. Sor Teresa suggested they seek the advice of Father Mariano Gil, the parish priest of Tondo.

After hearing Patiño's revelations, Father Mariano Gil-accompanied by several Guardias Civiles immediately searched the premises of Diario de Manila and found evidence of the Katipunan's existence. The governor general was quickly informed. The printing press was padlocked and hundreds of suspected KKK members were arrested.-Continue to Cry of Pugad Lawin & Andres Bonifacio's Execution.

Back to Philippine History - Home Page

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katastaasang kagalanggalangang katipuanan ng mga anak ng bayan.

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The Katipunan is born Andres Bonifacio was also a member of La Liga Filipina, although he soon lost hope in gaining reforms though peaceful means. This feeling was especially heightened when Jose Rizal was exiled to Dapitan. Bonifacio became convinced that the only way the Philippines could gain independence was through a revolution.

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Library of Congress Research Guides: Philippine-American War: Topics in Chronicling America: Introduction

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Sketch of Emilio Aguinaldo (Left). Sketch of General Frederick Funston (Right). Sketch of the "Vicksburg" (Bottom). March 29, 1901. New York Tribune (New York, NY), Image 1. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers.

"The United States and the Filipinos are openly at war. The pretense of alliance has been cast aside..." read the February 6, 1899 St. Paul Globe. Off the back of the Spanish-American War that wrestled control from the Spanish, the Philippines engaged in a two and a half year war with the United States in an attempt to take control of their own destiny. After years of bloody battles and unrest, the war finally ended in 1902 with the creation of a Filipino civilian government. Read more about it!

The information in this guide focuses on primary source materials found in the digitized historic newspapers from the digital collection Chronicling America.

The timeline below highlights important dates related to this topic and a section of this guide provides some suggested search strategies for further research in the collection.

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Research Guides: Philippine-American War: Topics in Chronicling America: Introduction

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"The United States and the Filipinos are openly at war. The pretense of alliance has been cast aside..." read the February 6, 1899 St. Paul Globe. Off the back of the Spanish-American War that wrestled control from the Spanish, the Philippines engaged in a two and a half year war with the United States in an attempt to take control of their own destiny.

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Japanese Occupation of the Philippines

During Word War II

On December 8, 1941, Japan invaded the Philippines. Clark Air Base in Pampanga was first attacked and also Nichols Field outside Manila was attacked, then on December 22, The Japanese forces landed at the Lingayen Gulf and continued on to Manila. General Douglas MacArthur declared Manila an open city on the advice of commonwealth President Manuel L. Quezon to avoid its destruction. Manila was occupied by the Japanese on January 2, 1942. MacArthur retreated with his troops to Bataan while the commonwealth government withdrew to Corregidor island before proceeding to the United States. The joint American and Filipino soldiers in Bataan finally surrendered on April 9, 1942. MacArthur escaped to Corregidor then proceeded to Australia. The 76,000 captured soldiers were forced to embark on the infamous " Death March" to a prison camp more than 100 kilometers north. An estimated 10,000 prisoners died due to thirst, hunger and exhaustion.
The Huks
In the midst of fear and chaos, some farmers of Pampanga banded together and created local brigades for their protection. Luis Taruc, Juan Feleo, Castro Alejandrino, and other leaders of organized farmers held a meeting in February 1942 in Cabiao, Nueva Ecija. In that meeting, they agreed to fight the Japanese as a unified guerrilla army. Another meeting was held the following month, where in representatives from Tarlac, Pampanga and Nueva Ecija threshed out various details regarding their organization, which they agreed to call " Hukbo ng Bayan Laban sa mga Hapon" or HUKBALAHAP. Taruc was chosen to be the Leader of the group, with Alejandrino as his right hand man. The members were simply known as Huks!
The Philippine Executive Commission

In accordance the instructions of President Manuel Quezon to Jorge Vargas, the Filipino officials in Manila were told to enter into agreements and compromises with the Japanese to mitigate the sufferings of the people under the iron-clad rule of the Japanese. On January 23, 1942 the Philippine Executive Commission was established, with Vargas as chairman. the following was appointed as department heads: Benigno Aquino, Sr., interior; Antonio de las Alas, finance; Jose P. Laurel, justice; Claro M. Recto, education, health, and public welfare; and Quintin Paredes, public works and communication; Jose Yulo was named Chief Justice of the Supreme court.

The following month, an election was held for members of The Preparatory Commission for Philippine Independence (PCPI). The purpose of PCPI is to draw up a constitution for a free Philippines. Jose Laurel became its head. Against the will of the PCPI delegates the new Constitution was finalized on July 10, 1943. Two months later it was ratified by the KALIBAPI, which was the only political party allowed to exist at that time. KALIBAPI is the acronym for " Kapisanan sa Paglilingkod sa Bagong Pilipinas".

The new constitution, which noticeably lacked a bill of rights contained 12 articles lifted from the 1935 constitution that fitted the wishes of the Japanese. It was meant to be in effect only temporarily, while the Philippines still in chaos. After the war, a new constitution would again be drafted for the new Philippine Republic.
The Second Republic
On September 20 1943, the KALIBAPI- under the leadership of its director general, Benigno Aquino Sr. held a party convention to elect 54 members of the National Assembly. The Assembly was actually made up of 108 members; but half of this number was composed of incumbent governors and city mayors. Jose P. Laurel was elected as president of the second republic (the first republic was Aguinldo's Malolos Republic) and both Benigno Aquino Sr. & Ramon Avancena as a vice-presidents. The new republic was inaugurated on October 14 1943 on the front steps of the legislative building in Manila. The Philippine flag was hoisted as the national anthem was played. Meanwhile, the Japanese started using propaganda to gain the trust and confidence of Filipinos who refused to cooperate with them. They hung giant posters and distribute their materials that contains such slogans as "the Philippines belong to the Filipinos." they also used newspapers, movies, and others to publicize the same idea. Promoting Japanese propaganda was one of the main objectives of the KALIBAPI, but still Japanese failed to gain the trust of the Filipinos.
Gen. Douglas MacArthur Returns
From Australia, Allied forces slowly advanced toward the Philippines, bombing several Japanese strongholds until they regained control of areas previously occupied by the enemy. The bombings began on September 21 1944, and barely a month later, on October 20, 1944, the Americans landed triumphantly in Leyte. Once a shore, General Douglas MacArthur said; "I have Returned."

Sergio Osmeña was Part of MacArthur's group. He had taken over Manuel L. Quezon as president after the latter past way at Saranac Lake, New York on August 1944. From October 23 to October 26, 1944 the Americans engaged Japanese forces in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Consider as the biggest naval battle in World History, this historic encounter almost destroyed the entire Japanese fleet and rendered in incapable of further attack. The US victory in the battle of Leyte Gulf is said to have signaled the beginning of Philippine liberation from the Japanese.

By mid-December, the American soldiers had reached Mindoro. The Japanese, meanwhile, secured other area where their thought other American units would land. Nevertheless, US liberation forces successfully docked at Lingayen Gulf on January 9, 1945. The news alarmed the Japanese. Lt. Gen. Tomoyuki Yamashita, supreme commander of the Japanese troops in Manila, mobilize his kamikazes (Japanese suicide pilots); but they failed to stop Americans. The Japanese also deployed MAKAPILI units to defend Manila but neither succeeds.

On December 8, 1944, President Laurel and his cabinet moved to Baguio upon orders of Yamashita, who is also known as the tiger of Malaya. The Japanese forces retreated to Yamashita line a jungle battlefront stretching along the Sierra Madre Mountains from Antipolo, Rizal to Appari Cagayan.

The Japanese in Manila would not give up easily. In fact, it took 3 weeks of intense fighting before they finally surrendered on February 23. Gen. MacArthur continued to liberate other parts of the country. And finally proclaim general freedom from the Japanese on July 4, 1945. Continue to Philippine Independence from the Americans.

Back to Philippine History - Home Page

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Japanese Occupation of the Philippines During Word War II On December 8, 1941, Japan invaded the Philippines. Clark Air Base in Pampanga was first attacked and also Nichols Field outside Manila was attacked, then on December 22, The Japanese forces landed at the Lingayen Gulf and continued on to Manila.

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July 4, 1946: The Philippines Gained Independence from the United States

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July 4, 1946: The Philippines Gained Independence from the United States

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The 4th of July used to be considered an important national holiday in the Philippines. Not because it was the United States' birthday, but because it was Philippine Independence Day in 1946. Seventy five years ago, the Philippines was recognized as an independent, sovereign country by the United States, which withdrew its authority over the archipelago as colonizer.

Pre-Independence History of the Philippines

The road to July 4, 1946 was long and tenuous. The Philippines had been a Spanish colony since 1565, and since that time numerous revolts broke out challenging Spanish rule. These revolts were disunited, however, until the nineteenth century when nationalism brought forth a more united anti-colonial movement. This culminated in a revolution that broke out in 1896. After much fighting, a stalemate ensued, leading to a ceasefire agreement between Filipino and Spanish leaders.

The outbreak of the Spanish-American War in 1898 brought Commodore George Dewey and the US Asiatic Squadron to Manila Bay, where they defeated the Spanish Asiatic fleet. The Philippine Revolution resumed in earnest, led by General Emilio Aguinaldo who established a revolutionary government. At the height of its military successes against Spain, the revolutionary government proclaimed independence on June 12, 1898. Aguinaldo became president and the Philippine Republic was formally inaugurated in Malolos, Bulacan, in January 1899.

The Spanish-American war was concluded by the Treaty of Paris which decreed that Spain would give up the Philippines, but in turn the archipelago would become a colony of the United States. Filipinos had not been consulted, and as a result the war for independence turned against the United States.

After over two years of fighting, Aguinaldo was captured and President Theodore Roosevelt declared the end of the Philippine-American War. The campaign for independence continued on the political front, even as sporadic violent resistance against American rule continued to break out.

In August 1916, the Jones Law, more formally known as the Philippine Autonomy Act of 1916, was passed, promising independence to the Philippines once Filipinos were able to prove that they could govern themselves. No timetable was set, but once the United States declared war on Germany in World War I, Philippine political leaders offered a division of Filipinos to fight on the side of the United States. Filipinos were given great leeway in running the government at that time, but once the Great War ended, the US government reexamined Philippine conditions and strengthened American control of the insular government. Filipinos sent regular independence missions to Washington to call for concrete steps towards independence, which were rebuffed by the prevailing Republican administrations.

The advent of the Great Depression made Congress rethink US-Philippine relations, and passed the Hare-Hawes-Cutting Act in 1933, over President Herbert Hoover's veto. The Hare-Hawes-Cutting Act (HHC) envisaged a 10 year transitory period during which time the Philippines would establish a semi-autonomous government under an elected Filipino president. The act was rejected by the Philippine Legislature later that year, after much debate and political wrangling. Manuel L. Quezon, President of the Philippine Senate, proceeded to Washington immediately after to negotiate a more advantageous law, citing among others issues relating to the continuance of US bases in the Philippines after independence, the limits of authority of the Philippine president in the transitory government, and the abrupt end of Philippine preferential trade relations with the United States.

1934 Philippine Independence Act

Quezon, the dominant political leader in the Philippines at that time, believed he could influence the new American president, Franklin D. Roosevelt, and the Democratic congress to rectify his main objections in a new Philippine independence bill. Roosevelt and the congress were busy with New Deal policies and were only willing to resuscitate the HHC with very minor changes. Quezon accepted these and returned to Manila. The ensuing act, the Tydings-McDuffie Law, was accepted by the Philippine legislature in May 1934, thus setting the stage for Philippine independence in 1946.

Under the Tydings-McDuffie Law, the Philippines would establish a government to be known as the Philippine Commonwealth, which would steer the Philippines through a 10-year transition period. After completing 10 years of nearly autonomous governance, the United States would withdraw its sovereignty over the islands on July 4 of the succeeding year, and would recognize the Philippines as an independent republic.

Prior to the establishment of the Philippine Commonwealth, a constitution had to be drafted. A constitutional convention was thus elected, and finished its draft in February 1935. Roosevelt approved this document, which was to become the legal framework not only of the Philippine Commonwealth, but also of the future Philippine Republic. It was approved in a nationwide plebiscite, and national elections for the new government were held in September 1935. The Philippine Commonwealth was formally inaugurated on November 15, 1935, an unprecedented world event in which the United States, a colonial power, was preparing to let go of its colony. The ramifications were keenly felt among other colonial governments and colonized people. Quezon was predictably elected as president.

The Philippine Commonwealth government had to resolve major problems during the 10-year transition period, among them national defense, social justice, economic development, national integration, and cultural identity. During the over three decades of American colonial rule, the Philippines had become dependent on the US economically, and had no armed forces of its own. These and major agrarian and labor problems had to be resolved. A Philippine Army was formed, and government enterprises in business were launched.

The Philippine Commonwealth was an untried experiment, and the Tydings-McDuffie Law appointed a representative of the US president in the form of a High Commissioner. Gone was the Governor General of earlier years. The High Commissioner would report on the progress of the Philippine experiment, and the US government had oversight functions over legislative, executive, and judicial actions of the Commonwealth. Furthermore, the US government held on to foreign affairs and currency matters. In case the experiment failed, the transition could be scrapped and it would be back to square one. Neither Quezon nor Roosevelt wanted this, so despite much power granted him, Quezon held back where he could.

World War II and the Filipino Guerrilla Movement

Halfway through the experiment, World War II broke out in Europe. Trade was disrupted, and the reality of war reaching the Philippines loomed. The gravity of some problems delayed enforcement of various plans, and some began to ask whether 10 years were enough. Quezon, however, attempted to advance independence at least privately, although this did not bear fruit.

The outbreak of war between Japan and China in 1937 also brought forth the specter of war, through refugees and news of defenseless cities being bombed. But it was the war in Europe that seemed closer: The European capitals were better known to most Filipinos, and the Blitzkrieg and the Battle of Britain became household words.

War did reach the Philippines in December 1941, although strenuous last-minute preparations were made. The US Army Forces in the Far East was created, placing under one command the US Army forces in the Philippines and the mobilized Philippine Army forces. Gen. Douglas MacArthur was placed in command, and modern aircraft and weapons were rushed to the Philippines. It was too late.

The Japanese struck before the defense preparations were completed, decimating the US air forces and naval facilities in the first days of the war. Beach defenses were unable to hold against the Japanese juggernaut, but a fighting withdrawal to Bataan and Corregidor was successful and held against all odds. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, Roosevelt ordered MacArthur to Australia; the Philippine Commonwealth government, which had moved to Corregidor to save Manila from bombing, was itself also removed. Quezon would establish the Commonwealth government in exile in Washington as Bataan and Corregidor were forced to surrender. Roosevelt had, in the meantime, promised to redeem Philippine freedom and to pay for war damages,

For three years the Philippines was in the hands of the Japanese, who set up a military administration. Wanting to win Filipino loyalty, the Japanese declared the Philippines independent in 1943, ahead of the US promise. A government was set up, but most Filipinos saw through the Japanese aims and instead supported the guerrilla resistance movement. The guerrillas remained loyal to the Philippine Commonwealth and the United States, and were a major threat to the Japanese occupation forces.

Liberation of the Philippines from the Japanese

Gen. MacArthur, who had promised to return, landed in Leyte in October 1944, thus commencing the military campaign to liberate the Philippines from the Japanese. In the ensuing struggle, Manila and most of the major Philippine cities suffered grievous damage. MacArthur declared the military campaign on Luzon closed on July 4, 1945, but the bulk of the Japanese ground forces were still intact in the mountains. Fighting continued in Mindanao. And Japan had not yet surrendered.

The Philippine Commonwealth government returned with Gen. MacArthur. Quezon had died while in the United States, and Sergio Osmeña, the vice president, automatically took over. Osmeña landed with MacArthur on Leyte, and as the Battle of Manila neared its end, restored the government to Malacañang Palace in Manila. While in Washington, the Commonwealth government did all it could to hasten the return of American forces to the Philippines. It also sought to ensure that war damage would be rehabilitated by the US government. The Philippines actively participated in the early meetings that would result in the United Nations.

Upon his return to Manila, Osmeña pledged a Philippine Army division to participate in the assault landings on Japan. Guerrillas, now part of the army, trained accordingly. The atomic bombs negated the need for such action, and Japan accepted the Allied terms on August 15, 1945.

Post-war Rehabilitation

As the war ended, the Philippines counted the cost. Over a million Filipinos had died or were killed, out of a population of 18 million. Manila and most of the major cities were in ruins. Severe inflation had set in as a result of the Japanese occupation, and farms were fallow; farm animals too had died because of the war. Industries, transportation, and communication facilities were destroyed.

Should the original timetable for independence be kept? The tasks facing Osmeña and the Commonwealth government were daunting; none of this had been foreseen when the Tydings-McDuffie Act had become law.

Apart from the physical destruction and the loss of lives, the Philippines was divided: there had been those who had collaborated with the Japanese, while most had resisted either directly or indirectly. The country was split on whether the collaborators were to be dealt with harshly or not. Many key government officials from before the war had-willingly or not-served in the Japanese-controlled administration.

There was an immediate need for relief. People had to be fed, clothed, and given shelter. All the basic necessities were initially provided by the US Army-water, clothing, food, power, communications, and jobs. Other assistance came in from the United States and the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration as the piers were restored, and ships arrived.

Peace and order problems were serious-some stemming from the pre-war social and agrarian issues, others because of loose firearms. Guerrilla units were plenty, but not all were legitimate, and there was an upsurge of crimes. Morality was in tatters, as people had to survive in whatever ways they could. Inflation was rampant, even as the government strove to bring prices down with newly printed currency and price controls. Besides, after having been away for three years, it was a difficult task to win back the people's confidence in the government.

The Philippine Congress was convened in June 1945-the first time it sat since the elections of November 1941. Some of its members had died during the war; others were tainted by charges of collaboration. It began its work of legislating, but was hampered by the unstable postwar conditions.

Osmeña travelled to the United States three times in 1945-a last meeting with FDR in April and two meetings with President Harry S. Truman, to negotiate aid and assistance for the Philippines-as well as assurances that independence would come as scheduled.

For a while an earlier independence date was broached, but this would have required legislation which was not a priority. There were mutterings that Philippine independence be delayed, owing to the unsettled conditions after the war, but this would mean political suicide to those seeking office. And so independence would take place as planned, on July 4, 1946.

The post-war Philippine Commonwealth faced severe problems not anticipated before the war. Land reform, reopening of schools, reconstruction, trials of suspected collaborators with the Japanese, recognizing and compensating veterans, restarting the economy, restoring trade, attracting investment-these and more had to be dealt with in the last months of the Philippine Commonwealth government.

The government was now more strongly reliant on the United States, more so than before the war. The Philippine Army was totally dependent on the US Army for equipment and weapons, and relief only coming from the United States. External defense would now be too costly for the cash-strapped government. Thus the presence of US bases could be seen as mutually beneficial.

The last American High Commissioner was Paul V. McNutt, who had served in that position in the late 1930s. He advised Osmeña on various matters. Secretary of State Harold Ickes insisted that the Philippines take a hard line on alleged collaborators-something that would be difficult to do due to the many issues involved. Ickes threatened to withhold assistance if the government did not punish those who had reneged on their oaths of loyalty to the United States.

An ally of the Philippines in Washington was Senator Millard Tydings, co-author of the pre-war Philippine Independence Act. He sponsored a bill granting what he felt were sufficient funds for rehabilitation. On a personal visit to the Philippines, however, he found out that earlier estimates had been underestimated, and that more funds were needed. His bill did allot a generous $620 million-later raised to $800 million-to the Philippines.

The Rehabilitation Bill was, however, tied to a trade bill, authored by Representative Jasper Bell. The Bell Trade bill sought to extend the free trade relations between the United States and the Philippines for another eight years, after which tariffs would be gradually imposed for 20 years. Bell insisted that to convince Americans to invest in the Philippines they had to be given the same rights as Filipinos. This necessitated amending the 1935 Philippine constitution, which limited land ownership, access to natural resources, among others, to Filipino citizens and majority Filipino-owned corporations. The parity amendment would thus become a requisite for receiving the bulk of the rehabilitation aid in the Tydings bill. The Bell Trade Bill also tied the Philippine peso to the US dollar and could not be independently revalued.

Other issues that emerged on the eve of independence. In February 1946, President Truman signed the Rescission Law, which denied most Filipino veterans of benefits due them, voiding their service in the US armed forces.

A strong US military presence remained in early 1946, with the 86th Infantry Division in full strength, prepared to protect American interests. With World War II over, many of its members felt their duty was done and rallied to be sent home. But there was discontent brewing in the provinces, with long agrarian issues remaining unsolved. Many military bases were still in US hands, and negotiations as to which would be kept after Philippine independence were begun. As set in the Tydings-McDuffie Act, the United States would maintain bases even after Philippine independence to protect American interests in the region.

Philippine Commonwealth Election of 1946

As the date of independence approached, a multitude of problems had to be solved. Amidst the disunity, tension, and uncertainty of the immediate post-war Philippines, there had to be a final election for the Commonwealth. Osmeña chose to run for reelection; Manuel Roxas, ambitious contender and also Quezon's own choice as successor, ran against him. While Roxas had participated in the defense of the Philippines, he had also served in the Japanese-sponsored government under Jose P. Laurel. To some he was tainted with collaboration and might bring other collaborators back to power. Osmeña was the guerrillas' choice, and also the peasants; Osmeña leaned left of center. But Roxas was backed by McNutt and General MacArthur.

Roxas won the election of April 1946, but by only a slim margin, garnering some 54 percent of the votes cast. He took his oath of office on May 28, 1946, in a temporary stage built in front of the ruins of the Legislative Building, as the third and last president of the Philippine Commonwealth.

Prior to his assumption of office, Roxas went to the United States via Tokyo, where he paid a visit to MacArthur. Roxas' Washington visit was a frenzied week-long one, meeting with President Truman and ranking American officials to discuss Philippine affairs and concretize plans for US assistance to the Philippines.

As Roxas took office, conservative congressmen ousted more liberal legislators on unfounded charges. It marked a split between peasant leaders who were open to pursuing change in the government and conservatives who felt threatened by them. On the eve of Philippine independence, left-leaning peasant and labor groups threatened to secede and launch a rebellion, reacting to the blatant politicization of the congress.

Philippine Independence Day 1946

This was a big international event, but the Philippines did not yet have a Department of Foreign Affairs. It had to rely on the US government for much of the preparations.

May 1946 saw the start of a flurry of events to plan out the final days of the Commonwealth and prepare for Independence Day. A joint Filipino-American committee was formed to iron out details. The Manila Hotel, which had been gutted during the Battle of Manila, was cleaned up and prepared for gala events. Invitations were issued to distinguished guests from the United States and various countries. President Truman was invited, but he declined, owing to pressure of work. Independence related contests were launched-for an appropriate poster, essay, poem, and hymn. A US flag was to be hand-sewn by past and present Philippine first ladies, to be presented to President Truman. Commemorative postage stamps, medals, and other souvenirs were issued.

The venue for the independence rites was chosen and a stage shaped in the form of a ship's prow (symbolizing the ship of state) was built with towering pillars behind it. The stage and grandstand were built in front of the iconic memorial of the Philippine national hero, Jose Rizal, in Luneta Park. A large arch was erected near it, in front of the Manila Hotel, to welcome visitors.

As the month of July 1946 began, so did the numerous events and preparations to climax in Philippine Independence on July 4. Private homes and government buildings were decorated. Bands paraded and gave concerts. The University of the Philippines' Conservatory of Music held a gala concert at the Rizal Coliseum, where numerous international sports matches were held. Distinguished visitors from the US and other countries arrived. The US Navy's Task Force 77 anchored in Manila Bay to salute the birth of the republic. It consisted of the flagship USS Bremerton, two aircraft carriers, two cruisers, and seven destroyers.

Among the Very-Important-Persons who arrived in the first days of July was General MacArthur, who flew from Tokyo. Representing the US government was High Commissioner McNutt, now destined to be the first US Ambassador to the Republic of the Philippines. From the United States were Senator Tydings, Representative Bell, US Postmaster General Robert E. Hannegan, former Governor General Francis B. Harrison, and others. Representatives from 27 nations arrived, among them the French WWI hero Lt. Gen. Zinovi Peckoff (at that time serving with the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers in Tokyo) and Lt. Gen. Sook Chatinakrob, Thailand's Chief of Staff. In Manila Bay were Australian, Portuguese and Thai warships.

All these activities were taking place as the Cold War began: the United States tested an atomic bomb in Bikini Atoll on July 1. Communist-linked movements were beginning to threaten the post-war order.

On July 3, the Philippine Congress accepted the Bell Trade Act and authorized President Roxas to sign an executive agreement with the US laying the groundwork for formal negotiations and mutual recognition. That same day, Roxas and McNutt visited the commander of Task Force 77 on his flagship; later they recorded messages to be broadcast nationwide and to the United States. McNutt hosted a reception at his official residence and capped the day with a formal dinner in honor of Roxas at the Manila Hotel.

Thursday, July 4 1946, was a cloudy, sunless day. It was the rainy season in the Philippines, but this did not dampen the excitement building up towards the Philippine independence ceremony. Religious services were held in the various churches of Manila and provincial capitals, cities, and towns. Guests began arriving at the venue shortly before 7:00 in the morning. Dignitaries arrived from 7:20; the crowd craned their necks to get a glimpse of Gen. MacArthur. A bugle sounded, and the audience rose to welcome President Roxas and his wife at 7:55. He was followed by Vice President Elpidio Quirino and finally High Commissioner McNutt, accompanied by their respective wives.

With McNutt serving as emcee, the program began at precisely 8:00 am. The Rt. Rev. Robert F. Wilmer, ranking Protestant in the Philippines, gave the invocation. McNutt then introduced the speakers; there were wild cheers for Senator Tydings and Gen. MacArthur. Tydings reviewed the events which led to this day, and then wished the new republic "Godspeed." MacArthur reviewed the "special relationship" between the Philippines and the United States.

The highlight of the program was McNutt's reading of President Truman's Proclamation of Independence. As he began speaking, a heavy downpour drenched the audience, but they braved the rain. The downpour lifted in time for McNutt to read the proclamation, which first laid out the legal basis for the United States' acquisition of the Philippines, the United States' desire to grant the Philippines independence, and the provisions of the Tydings McDuffie Act. Truman, as president of the United States, then withdrew all "rights of possession, supervision, jurisdiction, control or sovereignty" exercised by the United States over the territory and people of the Philippines, and recognized the independence of the Philippines.

McNutt ended with his own words:

At 9:15 am, the US Army band played the US National Anthem as McNutt began lowering the American flag. President Roxas, pulling on the same cord, began raising the Philippine flag, to the accompaniment of the Philippine National Anthem, played by the Philippine Army Band.

As the United States and Philippine flags passed each other, they touched-"as if in a last caress, a last kiss," wrote one witness. As the Philippine flag fluttered from the top of the flagpole, United States, Australian, Portuguese, and Thai warships in the bay fired a 21-gun salute. Church bells throughout the Philippines rang and a whistle announced that the Philippines was now independent.

Vice President Quirino then took his oath, followed by President Roxas. These were administered by Chief Justice Manuel V. Moran of the Philippine Supreme Court. Roxas proceeded with his inaugural address: "As we are masters of our own destiny, so too must we bear all the consequences of our actions," he announced. The Philippines was no longer protected by the mantle of American sovereignty and thus "we must find our own way... [but in the atomic age] we cannot retreat within ourselves... On all fronts the doctrine of absolute sovereignty is yielding ground... But we have yet a greater bulwark today... the friendship and devotion of America... Our safest course is in the glistening wake of America whose sure advance with mighty prow breaks for smaller craft the waves of fear."

The future direction of the Philippines under President Roxas was thus charted, and to highlight this orientation he and McNutt signed an agreement for the establishment of diplomatic relations and an interim trade agreement. Roxas now signed as president of the Republic of the Philippines, and McNutt as first US ambassador.

A chorus of one thousand voices-college students all-then sang the Philippine Independence Hymn. This had been the winner of the independence hymn contest composed by acclaimed composer Restie Umali. The official program ended with a closing Invocation by Most Reverend Gabriel Reyes, Filipino archbishop of Cebu.

As the program ended, a bugle call sounded at 11:00 am to signal the start of the civic-military parade. Units from the Philippine and US armed forces marched in splendor, followed by Filipino veterans of the 1890s revolution and WWII guerrilla members. As the aged revolutionary war veterans marched past the grandstand, US bombers and fighters flew overhead, spelling first a V for Victory, and then the letters P and R, representing the Philippine Republic.

The military contingents were followed by several floats from different government offices and schools. Of note was that of the General Auditing Office, represented by a bulldog watching over a safe. The last float contained figures of Filipinas (representing the Philippines) and Miss Columbia, representing liberty.

By noon the ceremony was over, and the dignitaries and audience retired. The day was not yet over, however. At 4:30 pm a tree symbolizing Philippine independence was planted in front of the Manila City Hall. At 7:00 pm President Roxas hosted a formal dinner, reception, and ball at the presidential palace. The historic day was capped by a grand fireworks display at the Sunken Gardens just outside the old Walled City of Intramuros, as US Navy ships put up a searchlight display and pyrotechnics show in Manila Bay.

Celebrations continued for two more days: in the afternoon of July 5, a Philippine sports exhibition was held at the University of Santo Tomas Gymnasium. That evening, a Gala Symphony Concert by the Manila Symphony Orchestra, was held at the Rizal Coliseum. The final celebration of the momentous week was a Barrio Fiesta-a dinner feast-in the evening of July 6 at the Manila Hotel.

1946 to Present Day

It was a time of great rejoicing. But as the new era dawned, there were numerous sticking points-the US bases, the Bell Trade Act, Philippine war damage claims, and discriminatory treatment of Filipino WWII veterans. The Military Bases Agreement was to last for 99 years, during which period there was no clear cut guarantee that these bases would protect the Philippines. The bases agreement was shortened in 1966, and finally lapsed in 1991. The Bell Trade Act extended free trade and required the granting of parity rights to American nationals, which in turn required amending the 1935 Constitution, which had reserved numerous rights to only Filipino citizens. Free trade, with quota limitations, would continue on until 1954, after which gradual tariffs would be applied for a period of 20 years, ending in 1974. Parity rights were granted American citizens after stormy debates which almost cost President Roxas his life. The Bell Trade Act also tied the peso to the US dollar until 1955.

July 4, 1946 thus saw the birth of the Philippine Republic, but with lots of unfinished business. And this amidst the backdrop of the developing Cold War, a civil war, and deep rooted problems.

The independence that was gained (restored, according to some pundits, referring to the 1898 declaration) was questioned-was it a real, total independence? In addition, Philippine Independence Day celebrations coincided with US Independence Day, resulting in some confusion in the Philippines and abroad. In 1962, President Diosdado Macapagal moved Philippine Independence Day to June 12, commemorating the 1898 Filipino proclamation. Aguinaldo was then still alive and was happy to see the change. July 4 had been an afterthought, opined some, with June 12 the real Filipino act.

July 4 became Republic Day, still a national holiday, in 1964. During the period of Martial Law under President Ferdinand Marcos, July 4 was changed to Philippine-American Friendship Day, and relegated to a working holiday. President Corazon Aquino did away with Philippine-American Friendship Day altogether, but President Fidel V. Ramos restored it on the occasion of the 50th anniversary.

The event 75 years ago was much welcomed at the time and did see the end of formal aspects of colonial rule. There was no longer direct US oversight, no more American High Commissioner, the Philippine flag flew alone (except in the US bases) and the Philippine National Anthem was played alone. But critics argued that it ushered in a neo-colonial relationship. Some trumpeted the Philippine-American relationship as a "special relationship," but it did not seem so to others.

July 4, 1946 was overshadowed by the events of World War II. Commemorations of the 75th anniversary of key WWII events were many and well publicized, but were suddenly stymied by the Covid-19 pandemic. The 1946 independence ceremonies have also been overtaken by rites commemorating the 500th anniversary of Magellan's arrival-and the bringing in of Christianity to the Philippines, which was given full support by the Philippine Government and the Spanish government. Given the importance of July 4, 1946, however, it is sad to see the day not recognized for what it was.

Meet the Author

Ricardo Trota Jose is professor of history at the University of the Philippines, Diliman. He obtained his bachelor's and master's degrees in history at U.P., and his PhD from the Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. He specializes in military and diplomatic history, with focus on the Japanese occupation of the Philippines. Jose has published widely in various journals and books. Among his major publications are The Philippine Army, 1935-1942 (Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1992) and Volume 7 (on the Japanese occupation of the Philippines) of the multi-volume Kasaysayan set (Reader's Digest, 1998). He was awarded the Metrobank Foundation Outstanding Filipino in teaching in 2019.
This article is part of a series commemorating the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II made possible by the Department of Defense.

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asian americans and pacific islanders in world war ii

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July 4, 1946: The Philippines Gained Independence from the United States | The National WWII Museum | New Orleans

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In WWII's aftermath, July 4 also became Independence Day for the Philippines in 1946.

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"Maybe he wouldn't have been killed in the street by the police, his death tallied as an improvement to society. "

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"I may not have learned to speak my native language from him, but I learned to keep the most important things inside."

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Come to think of it, I've never even read a book with a Filipino character... "Every student in the Philippines is required to read El Fili in grade nine," Angel explains. In grade eight they read Noli Me Tangere".. Another book I haven't read. Another way I'm not Filipino enough.

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"I  want to tell my aunt that she's wrong. But I remember what my mom said about how I can't truly understand what it's like to live here."

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"The boy does not need to be confused.. he needs only good English... And what is the result? None of his children knows their mother tongue. And if you do not know your mother tongue, you cannot know your mother. And if you do not know your mother, you don't understand who you are."

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"We are bound to family by blood, but there's no guarantee any connection exists beyond that."

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"He complained about the boredom that made his eyelids heavy as soon as Mass began, about the hypocrisy of everyone praising Jesus's holy works but then completely ignoring the poor, about the corrupt and abusive clergy that hid their sins behind their frocks and crosses."

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"They never taught us specifics in school. I think there was, like, a paragraph on the Philippine American War in my US History textbook."

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"But isn't this deeper than that, doesn't this transcend nationality? Isn't there some sense of right and wrong about how human beings should be treated that applies no matter where you live, no matter what language you speak?"

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Malacañang website suspended for updates: Museum admin

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Malacañang website suspended for updates: Museum admin

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Malacañang website suspended for updates: Museum admin

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MANILA – The official website of Malacañang, which also stores repositories of the Presidential Museum and Library (PML), is temporarily inaccessible due to updates in its content, the museum administration said on Monday night.The PML released this statement following concerns...

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Malacañang - Presidential Museum and Library

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Malacañang - Presidential Museum and Library

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Temporarily inaccessible due to updates in its content malacanang.gov.ph

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https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147275/a-litany-for-survival

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For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

seeking a now that can breed

like bread in our children's mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother's milk

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

this instant and this triumph

We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

when we are loved we are afraid

when we are alone we are afraid

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

we were never meant to survive.

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A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde | Poetry Foundation

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For those of us who live at the shoreline

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i've been following this instagram account for a while and i thought this list would be of interest-michelle

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NCPASA - Workshop & Teach-In Series about the Marcos Regime, the Duterte Regime, Martial Law, and Dictatorship of the Philippines

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Northern California Pilipinx American Student Alliance

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Northern California Pilipinx American Student Alliance

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It will take place every Tuesday beginning next Tuesday, May 24th. Register: tinyurl.com/ingatseries Link is also in their bio

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NCPASA 🇵🇭 on Instagram: "CAD NCPASA is happy to present “Ingat!: A Series” 🫂🕯

 “Ingat (careful out there) became the word of goodbye, replacing the old "sige," during the martial law years. It was the last word uttered between and among those meeting to discuss what had to be done, in ways big and small, to end the Marcos Dictatorship. It was said with all the love and respect one was capable of. Because chances were one would meet again only in a prison cell, or a torture house (called a safe house by the military) or at a wake.” – Ninotchka Rosa 

 In response to the 2022 Philippine elections, the CAD (Community, Action, and Dialogue) Committee of NCPASA has recognized a need for there to be a space in the community where folks can navigate their emotions, learn about the Marcos and/or Duterte dynasties of the Philippines, share their stories, and listen to other peoples’ as well. This results in the NCPASA programming called “Ingat!: A Series."

It will take place every Tuesday beginning next Tuesday, May 24th. Register at tinyurl.com/ingatseries — the link is also in our bio. 🤍

Share and boost this crucial space during this crucial time! We hope to see you, friends! Ingat! 🫂🕯"

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284 likes, 0 comments - ncpasa on May 18, 2022: "CAD NCPASA is happy to present “Ingat!: A Series” 🫂🕯

 “Ingat (careful out there) bec..."

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Misinformed electorate contributed to Marcos Jr. win, say Filipino fact-checkers

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Misinformed electorate contributed to Marcos Jr. win, say Filipino fact-checkers

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Son of disgraced Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos and heir to the family dynasty, Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr. won the Philippine general election in a landslide victory on Tuesday. Based on polling and prevailing sentiment in the Philippines, the results didn't surprise many, including the nation's journalists. However, as Philippine fact-checkers noted, the victory relied on a misinformed electorate and a potent propaganda campaign.

"Even in the months before the filing of candidacies had taken place, we were already flagging bits of election-related misinformation and disinformation," said Meeko Angela Camba, head of a fact-checking initiative focused on public figures at VERA Files, a Philippine journalism and fact-checking outlet. "Among the patterns that we've spotted, particularly for online disinformation, was that disinformation and misinformation tends to favor one particular candidate and targets others."

The candidate that benefited most, Camba explained, was Marcos.

"We have seen disinformation falsely claiming that the Philippine economy during the Marcos Senior regime was the golden age," Camba said.

Smaller claims have also popped up around that narrative - that the exchange rate of the Philippine peso to the dollar was very low or that the Philippines was the richest country in Asia, or second after Japan, during that period.

Other false posts protected the reputation of the Marcos dynasty, deflecting or denying that the family's wealth was "ill-gotten," or claiming that Bongbong Marcos holds a bachelor's degree from Oxford when in fact he only has a "special diploma." (There is an entire topic section devoted to the Marcos family's ill-gotten wealth on the Rappler website, which details some of the ways the family took billions during the Marcos Senior dictatorship and its current legal battles with government agencies in the Philippines.)

In addition to there being beneficiaries of the election-related mis- and disinformation, there have also been targets. According to Cambda, there have been stark differences in how the disinformation portrays the characters of the two rival candidates - Vice President Leni Robredo and Marcos - to online voters.

"Robredo has been a favorite target of misinformation," Camba said. "These claims tend to question her capability as a public official, portraying her as someone who is kind of intellectually inferior against the other candidates."

"I'm not questioning the credibility of the election itself. I think we can say that the election was conducted properly," said Ellen Tordesillas, a veteran Filipino journalist and a co-founder of VERA Files. "Really what the problem was when the people went to the polls yesterday was that that they were not making informed decisions; they were making 'disinformed' decisions."

Fact-checkers noted the younger Marcos' presidency will likely represent a continuation of Duterte's when it comes to press freedoms and access.

"Under the Duterte administration, it's been quite challenging already," Cambda said. "With indications of how Bongbong Marcos has acted toward the media, throughout the campaign, you know, avoiding interviews or not holding many press briefings or conversations with journalists on the campaign trail, access to information is something we should watch out for."

(Shutterstock)

Rappler: FALSE: The vote can be changed in the vote-counting machine using USB and 'codes' (Filipino)
This fact check debunks a claim circulating on Facebook and in private group chats that Philippine election machines can be hacked, and their votes changed, using a USB device. A Filipino elections commissioner noted to Rappler that vote-counting machines do not, in fact, have USB ports.

VERA Files: 'Comelec' advisory on friendships, debates: NOT TRUE (Filipino)
Contrary to online images, the Philippine commission of elections - or COMELEC - did not advise Filipinos about friendship during the presidential debates. "There is no such thing," COMELEC told VERA Files.

PolitiFact: Ron DeSantis exaggerates outstanding graduate student loan debt (English)
Florida governor Ron DeSantis misspoke when he said almost 60 percent of student debt is from graduate school. While grad degrees do cost more in general than undergraduate degrees, DeSantis's quote relies on a faulty understanding of the study that he cited. Fifty-six percent of student debt is owed by households in which at least one member has a graduate degree, but as PolitiFact points out, that is not the same as 56% of student debt being associated with a graduate degree.

USA Today: Fact Check: Testosterone levels have dropped in recent decades, but not by 50% (English)
A viral Twitter post claims testosterone has dropped in men by 50% in the last two decades. While testosterone levels have indeed fallen, the actual drop is less than that. The most recent data studies a time period from 1999 to 2016, showing a drop of only 25%. PolitiFact rated the claim "PARTLY FALSE."

Lead Stories: Fact Check: Tennessee, Missouri Are NOT Banning Plan B, Other Emergency Contraceptive Pills (English)
Claims are spreading on Facebook and Twitter that Tennessee and Missouri are banning, or have already banned IUDs, Plan B and other emergency contraceptives. While Tennessee has passed legislation restricting the use of abortion pills in certain cases, those are different than contraceptives.

(Shutterstock)

From the news:

Italy launches inquiry into Kremlin disinformation: Italy suspects multiple Russian TV personalities of being paid by the Kremlin to advance pro-Russian narratives. An investigation is currently underway. (The Guardian, Angela Giuffrida)

Do Republicans Want to Throw Doctors who Break Abortion Laws in Jail? The 'Pain-Capable Unborn Child Act,' co-sponsored by 45 Republican senators, proposes third-degree felony sentencing of up to five years for doctors who perform abortions. This contradicts GOP messaging distributed by the National Republican Senatorial Committee on May 3, which suggests senators use the talking point that "Republicans DO NOT want to throw doctors and women in jail." (PolitiFact, Jon Greenberg)

Culture wars, misinformation & Ukraine further complicate firms' social media policies and presence: The Russia-Ukraine war has made some firms reevaluate their policies on monitoring employee social media presence. "Firms should consider issuing additional guidance about posting on emotionally divisive issues and sharing posts that could be misinformation." (Reuters, Rachel Wolcott)

From/for the community:

The countdown is on. In six weeks, more than 450 fact-checkers from 85 different countries will come together in Oslo, Norway, for the ninth annual GlobalFact. Join us at the world's largest fact-checking summit June 22-25 to discuss the best practices of our craft and spark meaningful discourse. Can't make it to Oslo? Virtual tickets are also available. Learn more at globalfact9.com. The registration deadline for in-person participants is May 20.

IFCN published an explainer article on the Department of Homeland Security's Disinformation Governance Board.

Applications to be considered for the African Fact-Checking Awards are due July 15 at midnight. "To qualify, entries must have been first published or broadcast in the period from August 1, 2021 to July 15, 2022. The fact check should conclude that a claim about an important topic, originating in or relevant to Africa, is either misleading or wrong."

Thanks for reading. If you are a fact-checker and you'd like your work/projects/achievements highlighted in the next edition, send us an email at factually@poynter.org by next Tuesday.

Corrections? Tips? We'd love to hear from you. Email us at factually@poynter.org.

Support high-integrity, independent journalism that serves democracy. Make a gift to Poynter today. The Poynter Institute is a nonpartisan, nonprofit organization, and your gift helps us make good journalism better.
Donate

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Misinformed electorate contributed to Marcos Jr. win, say Filipino fact-checkers - Poynter

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Son of disgraced Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos and heir to the family dynasty, Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr. won the Philippine general election in a landslide victory on Tuesday. Based on polling and prevailing sentiment in the Philippines, the results didn't surprise many, including the nation's journalists.

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In reference to book quote p. 185 "I wish it was legal for them to marry here." 

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Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage 

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Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage 

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January 6, 2020: The Philippines’ Supreme Court announced it had dismissed a motion to reconsider its Sept 2019 ruling denying a petition to approve same-sex marriage.

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Back to Search Results

(Jan. 24, 2020) On January 6, 2020, the Philippines' Supreme Court announced it had dismissed a motion to reconsider its September 2019 ruling denying a petition to approve same-sex marriage in the country, effectively concluding this case "with finality."

The petition had essentially requested that the Court declare unconstitutional on equality grounds certain provisions of the Philippine Family Code that define marriage as a union between a man and a woman.

The Court indicated in its ruling that the petitioner's request was too limited in scope, as there are a wide variety of other statutes besides the Family Code that similarly treat marriage as a heterosexual institution. Thus, it stated that the petitioner should have made a direct argument against those other statutes as well, which he failed to do.

In the absence of such arguments, the Court stated that granting the petitioner's request would cause the Court to arrogate to itself quasi-legislative powers, as this would be necessary in order to amend all the statutes that inevitably would have to be changed to accommodate his petition. The Court thus explained that such a task should be done by the Philippine Congress through the pertinent legislative process.

In addition, the Court stated that petitioner had failed to demonstrate that he was directly affected by the provisions he deemed unconstitutional, as he did not request (and thus was not denied) a license to enter into a same-sex marriage, and consequently could not establish the proper standing to file his lawsuit.

Furthermore, the Court indicated that petitioner had failed to abide by the principle known as the "hierarchy of courts," according to which he should have filed his case in a trial court (which he did not do), where factual and evidentiary matters are properly processed. Instead, the petitioner filed his lawsuit directly in the Supreme Court, which, being the Philippines' highest court, may not appropriately process and discharge those procedural matters.

In its decision announced in January 2020, the Court stated that "no substantial arguments were presented to warrant the reversal of the questioned decision," and thus, "no further pleadings or motions will be entertained" on this matter.

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Cite This Item

Citations are generated automatically from bibliographic data as a convenience, and may not be complete or accurate.

Chicago citation style:

Guerra, Gustavo. Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage. 2020. Web Page. https://www.loc.gov/item/global-legal-monitor/2020-01-24/philippines-supreme-court-rules-on-same-sex-marriage/.

APA citation style:

Guerra, G. (2020) Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage. [Web Page] Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/global-legal-monitor/2020-01-24/philippines-supreme-court-rules-on-same-sex-marriage/.

MLA citation style:

Guerra, Gustavo. Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage. 2020. Web Page. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/global-legal-monitor/2020-01-24/philippines-supreme-court-rules-on-same-sex-marriage/>.

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Philippines: Supreme Court Rules on Same-Sex Marriage

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(Jan. 24, 2020) On January 6, 2020, the Philippines' Supreme Court announced it had dismissed a motion to reconsider its September 2019 ruling denying a petition to approve same-sex marriage in the country, effectively concluding this case "with finality."

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When 'I Do's' Turn to 'I Don't': Here's The Philippines' Stand on Marriage and Divorce

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When 'I Do's' Turn to 'I Don't': Here's The Philippines' Stand on Marriage and Divorce

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In reference to book quote p. 186 "We're the only country in the world where it is still illegal to divorce."

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Married life is just like a walk in the park especially if you found a partner who is ready to brave all the bad weather with you and for you-that's what most wedding vows say anyway: ' for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part'. However, in a world where love seems to be a gamble of trust and luck, there are people troubled by spouses who revealed their true colours a little too late.

In most countries, unhappy couples can immediately resort to the good old divorce, but in the Philippines, this is nothing but wishful thinking-it is, after all, the only state besides the Vatican where this process remains out of reach.
In case you missed it: Billionaire Couple Bill and Melinda Gates End 27 Years Of Marriage
Divorce is not technically impossible for everyone in the Philippines, for Muslims who make up at least 6 per cent of the country's population, this procedure is allowed. That is because Muslim-Filipinos adhere to a separate legal system called Code of Muslim Personal Law. This presidential decree allows divorce as "the formal dissolution of the marriage bond ... to be granted only after the exhaustion of all possible means of reconciliation between the spouses."

So how about the Catholics who make up majority of the country? If they're patient and financially secure, they can go through the long and hauling process of annulment.

In this procedure, the couple should prove that they have at least one of the following:

Impotence (the lack of ability to reproduce)

Undisclosed sexually-transmitted diseases (STDs)

Lack of parental consent

Fraud or force

Mental incapacity

Related: When Tatler Friends Tie The Knot: The Most Breathtaking Weddings

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Did You Know? The Philippines is The Only Country Besides Vatican Where Divorce is Not Available

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Married life is just like a walk in the park especially if you found a partner who is ready to brave all the bad weather with you and for you-that's what most wedding vows say anyway: ' for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part'.

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Mapping Displacement and Gentrification in Metro Manila

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Urban Displacement Project - Metro Manila

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Urban Displacement Project - Metro Manila

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https://www.urbandisplacement.org/maps/manila-gentrification-and-displacement/
The following study is exploratory research of the phenomena of gentrification and displacement in Metro Manila, Philippines. It seeks to better understand the historical, social, and cultural context of the Philippines in order to expand upon the Urban Displacement Project’s (UDP) definitions and typologies of displacement and neighborhood change; and also to highlight the knowledge, activism and experiences of the communities who are resisting.

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Urban Displacement Project - Metro Manila

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Urban Displacement Project - Metro Manila

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UPLiFT - Non-Government Organization (NGO) based in the Philippines specializing in microfinance and social services for the urban poor

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Urban Program for Livelihood Finance and Training

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Urban Program for Livelihood Finance and Training

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UPLiFT stands for Urban Program for Livelihood Finance and Training. We are a Non-Government Organization (NGO) based in the Philippines specializing in microfinance and social services for the urban poor. Created in 1993 by Inter Aide of France, we are registered with the Philippine Securities and Exchange Commission as a non-profit, non-political, and non-sectarian organization. UPLIFT is a member of the Filipino Association of Foundations.

Based in Manila, Philippines, we reach out to several areas in Metro Manila and the provinces of Bulacan, Cavite, Bataan, Zambales, Pampanga, Pangasinan, Tarlac and Rizal. Every year, we help more than 50,000 urban poor Filipino families through financial and social assistance, giving them the chance to overcome poverty and become self-reliant.

Thank you for visiting our website. Feel free to browse our resources and learn more about us, our work, and our people.

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UPLiFT stands for Urban Program for Livelihood Finance and Training. We are a Non-Government Organization (NGO) based in the Philippines specializing in microfinance and social services for the urban poor. Created in 1993 by Inter Aide of France, we are registered with the Philippine Securities and Exchange Commission as a non-profit, non-political, and non-sectarian organization.

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"If you have something to say, you should say it. If you are to figure things out, you can't hide from them. Silence will not save you."

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"Those who are in power do not like the truth to be known if it does not make them look good. During the Marcos regime, hundreds of journalists and other critics of the administration disappeared into thin air. Right now, any investigation involving the drug war that seeks to tell a story other than how effective it is--is dangerous."

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"They can't do much about the foreign pieces except dismiss them as sensationalism. As for the domestic reporting, they can't do anything directly because we have freedom of the press," he says. "But don't think for a moment that they don't keep track of every single person who criticizes them, that they don't find ways to apply pressure on these individuals when it suits them."

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"I am always aware that it will take only one such fool"--he holds up a finger--"one, to end my life. So with each story I consider pursuing, I ask myself if I am willing to die to bring that truth to the world...Tell me, Jason Reguero, are you willing to die to find out what happened to your cousin?"

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"I'm ashamed to admit that I expected more misery. Expected it to feel like one of those commercials where they play mournful music and some white actor's compassionate voice-over urges you to sponsor a child because it's the only way they will be saved from their hellish third-world country."

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"But, basically, those here are living their lives. Doing the best they can with what they have, I suppose. Doing the same things any of us do--only in smaller spaces with much less privacy. They're finding ways to survive... Still, even amidst the surprising normalcy, I can't stop thinking about the health issues and safety hazards, the poverty and hunger. "

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"I know what will cheer you up... She dips back into the house, and I'm confused as to what's happening until she comes back out with the karaoke machine."

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Karaoke machine inventor not looking back

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Karaoke machine inventor not looking back

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Daisuke Inoue, known as inventor of karaoke, stands in front of his 2004 Ig Nobel peace prize, awarded from Harvard-affiliated science humor magazine the ``Annals of Improbable Research,'' at his office in Nishinomiya city near Osaka, Japan, Tuesday. Inoue first got the idea for a karaoke machine in 1971 when he was 31 years old.

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Karaoke machine inventor not looking back - Taipei Times

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Daisuke Inoue could be a billionaire if he had only filed a patent for his invention three decades ago -- the karaoke machine, which has opened up the prospect of stardom, however fleeting, to millions of musical wannabes. Instead, the man whose creation has become a US$7.5 billion-a-year industr…

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Roberto del Rosario - But it is Filipino inventor Roberto del Rosario who holds the machine's patent. He developed the Karaoke Sing-Along System in 1975

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In 2007, the rock band Journey got a new lease on life when they discovered Arnel Pineda, a talented Filipino singer with pipes made for power ballads. Pineda's countrymen were thrilled that Journey chose a cover band performer from the Philippines as their new lead singer.

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Surely, the air your lungs first breathe matters. The language your ears first hear. The foods your nose first smells and your tongue first tastes. The soil you first crawl upon.
My conscious brain might not remember, but something in me does.

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It strikes me that I cannot claim this country's serene coves and sun-soaked beaches without also claiming its poverty, its problems, its history. To say that any aspect of it is part of me is to say that all of it is part of me.

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... Kuya Jun always said it was important that we remember everyone's humanity. The world needs to know that all the people dying here are not nothing.

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...
A man holds a photo of himself kissing another man on the beach. A large family posing together beneath a cross together holds a photo standing in for the father.
All of these people, dead- yet alive again in these images thanks to my cousin. In all of this, there is both beauty and sadness, light and darkness, pain and something that might be healing.
Maybe Grace is right. Maybe it is worth it.

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The right to due process is so ingrained in me as an American that I've taken it for granted. Up until now, I've never fully understood that such a right is nothing but ink on paper, paper that can be shredded and tossed in the garbage, paper that can be ignored if people don't demand its application. And it doesn't even take some great evil to do that. The promise of safety is enough.

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"You stopped answering his letters before he left home. He figured that you were like your tatay... That you had your life there. You did not really care about what happened to any of us here... You don't know what it is like to live with this... You do not. I have to deal with the pain all the time. This is your vacation."

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"I think about what Mom said about how the truth can cause unnecessary pain, but I also consider what Mia said about the need to be open with one another in order to grow. They both seem right somehow."

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A Litany for Survival

BY AUDRE LORDE

For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children’s mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours;

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.

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Selections from the Prison Notebooks by Antonio Gramsci

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Selections from the Prison Notebooks by Antonio Gramsci

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Read the French edition (folio essais) with the Frétigné intro. Useful read, not only to those who'll want to look under the hood of a major political thinker but also understand Italy's modern historical development, socially, culturally and politically. This book isn't a political treatise, more a congeries of high-level thoughts.

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Read the French edition (folio essais) with the Frétigné intro. Useful read, not only to those who'll want to look under the hood of a major political thinker but also understand Italy's modern historical development, socially, culturally and politically. This book isn't a political treatise, more a congeries of high-level thoughts.

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excited to read more of this this semester: apparently we're reading "the black unicorn" in brent edwards' poetry of the african diaspora. there's some chance i will drop/end up not taking it, but i believe there will be some lorde in marcellus blount's "american sexualities: poetic encounters" as well. also fuck the academy and i'll read more of it anyway, but that's just what's on my mind at the moment. i still can't get over "between ourselves," all these years later:

I do not believe
our wants...more

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excited to read more of this this semester: apparently we're reading "the black unicorn" in brent edwards' poetry of the african diaspora. there's some chance i will drop/end up not taking it, but i believe there will be some lorde in marcellus blount's "american sexualities: poetic encounters" as well.

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America Is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan

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America Is in the Heart by Carlos Bulosan

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"It is but fair to say that America is not a land of one race or one class of men. We are all Americans that have toiled and suffered and known oppression and defeat, from the first Indian that offered peace to the last Filipino pea pickers. America is not bound by geograpahical latitudes. America is not merely a land or an institution. America is in the hearts of men..."

Carlos Bulosan's semi-autobiographical novel starts out with his early life born from a lowly peasant family in the Philippine...more

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"It is but fair to say that America is not a land of one race or one class of men. We are all Americans that have toiled and suffered and known oppression and defeat, from the first Indian that offered peace to the last Filipino pea pickers.

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We all have this same intense ability to love running through us. It wasn't only Jun. But for some reason, so many of us don't use it like he did. We keep it hidden. We bury it until it becomes an underground river. Until we barely remember it's there. Until it's too far down to tap.
But maybe it's time to dig it up. To let the sun hit the water. To let it flood.

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"Just because we didn't know everything about him doesn't change what we did know about him, Kuya. What Tito Danilo told us- it made me question what I could have done to help, but it did not change how I feel about my brother."
"Even though he was guilty?"
"He was human," she says without hesitation. "He was struggling. Just because He was a user, a pusher, it doesn't mean that his life was worthless. It doesn't mean that there wasn't good in him."

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".. those suffering from addiction needed to be helped, not to be arrested, because their addiction was as much genetics as it was a choice. And that those pushing need to be employed, not to be killed, because most of them were only trying to survive. He also said that none of these drugs could even make their way into our country to begin with if not for corrupt people in power- so they needed to be replaced, not reelected."

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... we say good-bye to Lolo, Lola, and Tito Danilo. I tell them how much I love them and how much my time with them has meant to me. When they say that they will see me next time, it fills me with sadness knowing that might be years from now, if at all. Yet I smile and hug them each in turn and try to will my brain to remember every detail of this finite moment because, in this world, there are no guarantees.

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If we are to be more than what we have been, there's so much more that we need to say.

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My family, myself, this world- all of us are flawed. But flawed doesn't mean hopeless. It doesn't mean forsaken. It doesn't mean lost. We are not doomed to suffer things as they are, silent and alone. We do not have to leave questions and letters and lives unanswered. We have more power and potential than we know if we would only speak, if we would only listen.

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"I was so close to feeling like I had Jun's story nailed down. But no. That's not how stories work, is it? They are shifting things that re-form with each new telling, transform with each new teller. Less a solid, and more a liquid taking the shape of its container."

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"Shabu is a hunger suppressant. You see it is cheaper than food, so many of the poor start for this reason, and then they become addicted. As for why he started selling? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe to make money to keep feeding his addiction."

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"Why doesn't the Church do anything? Whatever happened to 'Thou shalt not kill'?" I let out a sarcastic laugh. "It's been a while since my Catechism classes, but I don't remember an 'unless' tacked onto the end of that commandment."

He considers this for a moment. "The Church tends to souls. Not the affairs of the state."

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"I think about how there's a new grief in remembering Jun now, knowing what eventually happened, knowing that he was more than my idea of him in ways I do not like, knowing that there's probably more I'll never know.

I was determined to find the truth. And I did--at least a piece of it...

I expected the truth to illuminate, to resurrect.
Not to ruin."

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"Jun and I sometimes talked about what our government was doing with the drug war. He always said that the administration was not trying to solve the problem, but only trying to make it seem like they were solving the problem. They used the poor to do this because the poor could not or did not know how to fight back. He told me that if the administration truly wanted to fix the drug problem, they knew what needed to be done."

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"..it is only now that I understand what he meant. Because if enough people understand this, the victims will no longer be faceless criminals."

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"No offense, cousin, but even though you are from here, you are also not. I know you want to help, but you have only recently learned about any of this. You are not going to be the one to save us."

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"..it hurts so much to think of Jun--to think about all that we could have done for him but didn't, to think about all that he could have done for the world but now never will. Somehow, I know that this is an emptiness I will carry forever. Like a stone rounded by the waves, the ache might soften over time, but it will never go away. Not completely.

And in Grace I finally realize that there's something important to sharing this sorrow, in not carrying it alone. I crossed an ocean to learn about what happened to Jun, but it's what I'm learning in this moment that gives me faith that we'll be all right, that we'll figure out how to live without him in ways where we will never be fully without him."

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Filipino Funerals: Traditions, Songs & Etiquette

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Filipino Funerals: Traditions, Songs & Etiquette

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Cake values integrity and transparency. We follow a strict editorial process to provide you with the best content possible. We also may earn commission from purchases made through affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. Learn more in our affiliate disclosure.

Are you curious about your own Filipino background or you have a funeral to attend? There are some regional rituals you may want to know before you attend a Filipino funeral.

Jump ahead to these sections:

The first thing you need to know is that many Catholics live in the Philippines - you may want to become familiar with Catholic traditions before you attend a Filipino funeral.

No matter what a family's culture and traditions are, planning or attending a funeral is hard. So, too, are the many other tasks you might face after the death of a loved one. If you'd like some help and guidance through the process, check out our post-loss checklist.

COVID-19 tip: If you're planning or attending a Zoom funeral using a service like GatheringUs, the order of service, etiquette, and timing will vary. Consult with the funeral director, event planner, or religious leader to see what changes will be made to the ceremony, wake, and reception.

Filipino Beliefs or Superstitions on Life and Death

The Philippines have a long history of colonization that influences its Catholic culture. Before Catholicism, both Hindu and Buddhist beliefs were practiced on the islands. These religions still shape Filipino beliefs about life and death.

Filipinos have a special view on the afterlife, too. They think that heaven and hell are divided into different levels. The way a person died (by accident or illness) and the kind of life they lived decides the level they belong in.

Here's a list of common wake superstitions:

If you sneeze at the wake, you risk dying.

The coffin should be built to fit the exact measurements of the deceased or another family member could die.

Don't let your tears fall on the coffin or the deceased will have a difficult time journeying to the afterlife.

Don't sweep or clean or you could encounter more death in the family.

You may see certain traditions followed at the funeral:

Pallbearers carry the coffin out of the house, church, or parlor head first to prevent the soul from coming back.

Family members spit on soil and throw it at the coffin to bury any evil left behind and to lessen their grief.

Local friends and family don't go home after the funeral to prevent the deceased's spirit from following them.

Filipino Funeral Traditions and Protocol

You will find that most Filipinos avoid hospitals. The family cares for the sick until they die in the comfort of their own home. The family also comes together to take care of and grieve for their loved ones.

It's important to familiarize yourself with common practices to avoid cultural blunders. Keep reading to see how Filipinos mix Catholic traditions with island culture.

Tip: If you're planning a virtual Filipino funeral using a service like GatheringUs, you can still practice the traditions described below. You just have to get creative! Speak with your funeral director or event planner to see what rituals they can adapt for you.

Typical order of service

Filipinos fall back on Catholicism when someone dies. The family stops all normal activities to prepare the home and body for visitation.

Here's an example of a modern Catholic funeral service you may encounter:

A priest blesses the deceased to ensure safe passage to heaven.

The lamay, or wake, lasts three to seven days.

The funeral procession takes place on foot in smaller towns and a hearse takes the deceased to the church.

The mass takes place at the church and the body is buried at a gravesite.

The funeral you attend will most likely follow regional customs, too. The Ilocano people are the third-largest ethnic group in the Philippines and live on the largest island, Luzon. Here are some Ilocano traditions:

A family member beheads a rooster or hen as the pallbearers leave the house. This ensures the deceased's safe passage to the afterlife.

Baths are forbidden in the house to prevent illness.

Broken plates provide an offering for the deceased.

Relatives wash their bodies in a basin filled with coins after the funeral to ward off evil spirits.

Popular funeral songs

You can expect friends and family to sing sad ballads during the wake. The family chooses traditional Catholic funeral songs for the procession and funeral.

Role of funeral flowers

You will see elaborate flowers and decorations around the casket. Expensive flower arrangements show respect for the deceased. It's a good idea to bring flowers for the grieving family to communicate your condolences.

Food served

Food is a central part of Filipino funerals. The family prepares dishes for every day of the wake. Filipinos believe that spending money on meals is also a way to show respect for the deceased.

Eating certain foods is taboo among the Ilocano regional culture. For example, eating horseradish, sour foods, or snails could cause another death in the family. If you attend a regional wedding, make sure to ask ahead of time what types of food customs you may encounter.

40 days' tradition

From the day of the death of a loved one, you will find friends and family gathering at the home of the deceased in prayer. Forty days of prayer will help the dead reach the afterlife.

Like Mexican and Puerto Rican funeral customs, novena prayers are said. Prayer warriors choose a different prayer for each day, share a meal after prayer and make a food offering for the deceased.

Traditions in the Philippines vs. Filipino-American funerals

Filipino-American weddings are more traditional than regional funerals in the Philippines. Filipinos remain close to their Catholic faith after they immigrate to the U.S.

You may want to familiarize yourself with the superstitions and the 40-day traditions mentioned above - these are common at any Filipino funeral.

Filipino Funeral Etiquette

The Filipino people don't view death as the end of life, and their funeral etiquette is a reflection of the happy people they are. You will find immediate family flooded with support to keep them distracted from grief.

Typical attire

What to wear to a Filipino funeral? It's appropriate to wear black and for women to wear a black veil. You may also wear white, grey, or other dark colors at both the wake and funeral. As long as your attire isn't casual, it shows respect for the family.

Mood

Friends and family don't sleep during the length of the wake. The family serves meals to mourners.

The mourners play card games to keep themselves awake. It may be surprising to see mourners placing bets on card games and bingo. At first glance, it might seem disrespectful to drink and make spider fighting bets. But the family of the deceased receives the donations for funeral expenses. It's also not uncommon to find mourners who play mahjong next to the coffin.

You'll see open displays of grief when the family isn't distracted by festivities. Mourners may faint, sob, and cling to their loved one's body. The Ilocano people hire mandung-aw , or mourners, who wail throughout the wake and funeral. In Filipino culture, the more lavish the funeral, the greater the family's standing.

Role of presents or condolences

The expected way to show your condolences is through monetary donations, or abuloy . There is no set amount you have to give. Consider your budget and relationship to the deceased before you choose a donation amount.

If you cannot attend the funeral, a sympathy card or flowers can be thoughtful gestures, too.

Filipino Burials and Mourning the Deceased

The deceased are traditionally buried in graves, but burial plots are expensive. More people turn to alternatives like cremation instead. Burial practices differ depending on where your loved one died.

Immediate family members and even friends mourn the deceased for a long time. It's not uncommon for a widow or a woman who has lost her children to wear black for the rest of her life. The family holds a mass for the deceased several times during the year that they pass. Filipinos also celebrate All Saints' Day, where they return to the gravesite to pay respects.

Filipino Funeral FAQs

Customs at Filipino funerals are different than traditional Catholic ceremonies. Here are some answers to common questions that you may find helpful.

How long is a Filipino funeral?

Visitation is longer than other funeral traditions but the burial ceremony is usually short. After the mass, the procession moves to the graveside for a quick burial.

Regional customs are longer. The Benguet Islanders sit the dead on a chair next to their house for eight days. The Itneg bury the dead under their home, which takes longer than the usual burial.

How much does a funeral cost in the Philippines?

The cost of an average funeral is 1,000 to 2,000 Philippine pesos. The cost fluctuates depending on the length of the wake, casket choice, and burial option. Costs place a heavy burden on families that may already be at the poverty line.

How much money should you donate at the funeral?

Donations are expected, but there is no required amount. As long as you remember to make a donation, you can feel comfortable with your decision.

If you're hosting the funeral, what do you do with all of the donations?

The family uses abuloy , or donations for funeral or burial expenses. They can also pay the "prayer warriors" that pray for the deceased until the 40th day.

Filipino Funerals: What to Remember

Filipino funerals are life events that are as important as births or weddings. Remember to respect any wishes the family has and don't forget to have a donation ready.

You'll know what to expect when you're already familiar with Catholic customs. But now that you know about regional customs, you can plan or attend a Filipino funeral, too. Keep these guidelines in mind and don't forget to smile - for Filipinos, a funeral is as much about life as it is about death.
Sources

1. "Folk Beliefs." http://www.seasite.niu.edu/Tagalog/Folk_Beliefs/filipino_folk_beliefs.htm

2. "Ilocano Folk Beliefs." http://www.seasite.niu.edu/Tagalog/Folk_Beliefs/ilocano_folk_beliefs.htm

3. Decastro, E., & Francisco, R. "Wagers at funerals help defray death expenses in the Philippines," June 23, 2015, https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-philippines-gambling-widerimage/wagers-at-funerals-help-defray-death-expenses-in-the-philippines-idUKKBN0P310720150623

4. Clark, Sandi. "Death and Loss in the Philippines," University of Indiana, http://www.indiana.edu/~famlygrf/culture/clark.html

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Filipino Funerals: Traditions, Songs & Etiquette | Cake Blog

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Cake values integrity and transparency. We follow a strict editorial process to provide you with the best content possible. We also may earn commission from purchases made through affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases. Learn more in our affiliate disclosure.

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"I don't want to believe there was another side to you. But I don't have any choice, do I? I will try not to judge because I have no idea what you were struggling with in your heart, what complicated your soul. None of us are just one thing, I guess. None of us. We all have the terrible and amazing power to hurt and help, to harm and heal. We all do both throughout our lives. That's the way it is. I suppose we just go on and do the best we can and try to do more good than bad using our time on Earth. I'd like to think your scales tip toward good."

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Star-crossed lovers: The story of Magayon and Pangaronon

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Star-crossed lovers: The story of Magayon and Pangaronon

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Mayon Volcano spews ash clouds as seen on Wednesday afternoon. Thousands of residents were forced to evacuate with alert level 3 still in effect and Mount Mayon in eruptive activity. Ciriaco Santiago III, ABS-CBN News

The myth of the creation of Mayon Volcano is as heated as the heart of the peak itself, with a plot involving star-crossed lovers, and a tragic ending leading to the rise of the jewel of Albay.

Legend has it that a beautiful maiden, Magayon, lived in a place called Ibalon. She is the daughter of Makusog, the chief of the tribe.

Magayon was so beautiful that men from different places went to her hometown just to get a glimpse of her beauty.

One of those suitors was Pagtuga (or Patuga in other versions), a warrior and the chief of Iraga.

In a bid to woo Magayon, Pagtuga brought her all kinds of gifts, like gold, jewels and other precious items.

Magayon, however, was not moved by Pagtuga's kind gestures.

As a young maiden, Magayon liked bathing in the Yawa river. One day, while bathing, Magayon slipped on the rocks. As she did not know how to swim, she shouted for help.

Fortunately, a man named Pangaronon (or Ulap in other versions) was passing by the river and heard Magayon's plea for help. He saved her from drowning.

The incident started a good relationship between Magayon and Pangaronon, who eventually went to Makusog to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Makusog, who wanted nothing but happiness for his daughter, approved of Pangaronon for Magayon.

News of the wedding reached Pagtuga, who then kidnapped Makusog. He threatened Magayon that he would kill her father if she refused to marry him.

In order to save her father, Magayon agreed to marry Pagtuga.

On the day of their wedding, Pangaronon went to the place of the wedding to try and take Magayon away from Pagtuga.

A battle between Pagtuga and Pangaronon ensued. Pangaronon fatally struck Pagtuga.

But as Pangaronon and Magayon were about to embrace each other, a poisoned arrow struck Magayon.

Then, as Pangaronon was kneeling over the dying Magayon, Pagtuga's soldier stabbed him.

After the skirmish, Makusog decided to bury Magayon and Pangaronon together.

Years passed and people noticed that the land where the lovers were buried started to rise higher and higher.

The mountain which grew from the land where Magayon and Pangaronon were buried is now known as Mayon Volcano.

Some people believe that when the volcano is restive and about to erupt, Magayon is being bothered by Pagtuga, while they believe Pangaronon is embracing Magayon when the volcano is calm.

They also believe that Pangaronon is kissing Magayon when clouds meet at the top of the volcano.

A recent photo of the ash cloud formations around Mayon Volcano in Albay has piqued the interest of netizens for its supposed similarity to the volcano's tragic myth.

The scene, captured by photojournalist Ciriaco Santiago III, showed clouds bunched on the left side of the volcano, which some social media users said seems to outline the shape of two people embracing.

This led some netizens to comment how the clouds looked like Daragang Magayon and her warrior-lover, Pangaronon.

Those who have seen the photo were reminded of the tragic story of Magayon and Pangaronon, who chose to fight for their love to the end.

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star-crossed lovers: the story of magayon and pangaronon | abs-cbn news

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Star-crossed lovers: The story of Magayon and Pangaronon

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The myth of the creation of Mayon Volcano is as heated as the heart of the peak itself, with a plot involving star-crossed lovers, and a tragic ending leading to the rise of the jewel of Albay. Legend has it that a beautiful maiden, Magayon, lived in a place called Ibalon.

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"..There are a lot of saints in our religion, more saints than there are days in a year. A saint for almost anything you can imagine. People pray to them to try to receive their oddly specific blessings. But, to be honest, I don't think the world works that way.

I often wonder why we have so many... But it seems to me that maybe it is because there are so many problems in the world, many of which are out of our control. People want to feel like they can do something, so they pray to these saints. I can understand that. And even if there are not actual magical spirits listening and waiting to fulfill our wishes, maybe just the act of thinking about these things changes us in some way."

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p. 311 - "There are a lot of saints in our religion, more saints than there are days in a year. A saint for almost anything you can imagine."

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Guide to Filipino Saints, Blesseds, Servants of God

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Guide to Filipino Saints, Blesseds, Servants of God

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Saint Lorenzo Ruiz is the first native-born Saint and Protomartyr of the Philippines. He was born around 1600 in an in Binondo, Manila. His father is Chinese, his mother is a Filipina, and both were Catholics. He served happily in his parish church as an altar boy and a calligrapher. As a young man, Lorenzo joined the Dominican Confraternity of the Most Holy Rosary. Later, he married Rosario and they had two sons and a daughter.

In 1636, Ruiz's relatively peaceful life was interrupted abruptly when he was falsely accused of killing a Spaniard. His ecclesiastical superiors were convinced of his innocence; however, they feared an unjust prosecution and so they convinced him to join a missionary expedition. But by the time he arrived in Japan The Tokugawa Shogunate was persecuting Christians. Lorenzo Ruiz and his companions were taken into custody in Nishizaka Hill, on September 27, 1637. They endured many and various cruel methods of torture.

Lorenzo Ruiz told the court that he was a Christian, and must die for God, and wοuld give his life for him a thousand times.

Kahit maging sanglibo man
Ang buhay n'yaring katawan
Pawa kong ipapapatay,
Kung inyong pagpipilitang
Si Kristo'y aking talikdan.

(Had I many thousands of lives I would offer them all for him. Never shall I apostatize. You may kill me if that is what you want. To die for God-such is my will.)
Despite his suffering, Ruiz refused to renounce Christianity and so they slit his temples and hanged him upside-down into a well where he had died. His body was cremated, and the ashes were thrown into the sea.

Three hundred fifty years after his death, Lorenzo Ruiz is beatified by Pope John Paul II during his 1981 papal visit in the Philippines. It was the first beatification ceremony to be held outside the Vatican.

On October 18, 1987 in Vatican City, Lorenzo Ruiz was canonized by the same pope, making him the first Filipino saint.

Ruiz is regarded as a patron saint of the Philippines, Filipino youth, overseas workers, and altar servants.

The Liturgical Feast of Saint Lorenzo Ruiz and Companions is September 28.

The major shrine to St. Lorenzo Ruiz is the Binondo Church in Manila. The Minor Basilica of Saint Lorenzo Ruiz also known as Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary Parish is in front of Plaza San Lorenzo Ruiz. This church was founded by Dominican priests in 1596 to serve their Chinese converts to Christianity.

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Guide to Filipino Saints, Blesseds, Servants of God - Good News Pilipinas

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Religion is the cornerstone of faith for most Filipinos as the Philippines remains the third-largest Catholic population in the world with 80 percent of the population identifying themselves as Catholic. Filipinos gather together in churches where priests preach the Word of God, choirs sing with devotion, and the church itself is adorned with images and [...]

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"I drift off to sleep thinking of my cousin and me, of humanity and its problems, of oceans and islands. I imagined both of us, patron saints of nothing."

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"I look out the window at the passing world. All my life, I assumed I'd graduate high school, go to college, and then get a job. But I realized I don't have to follow that path. I mean, what's the point if I don't understand why I'm doing it beyond the fact it's what I'm supposed to do? We have one life so we should live it in a way that makes sense to us."

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"But I keep talking because I'm determined to resist falling into the same patter as always. This is my life, and I want my family to understand it in a way none of us truly understood Jun's. If we are to be more than what we have been, there's so much that we need to say. Salvation through honesty, I guess."

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"I will always carry the grief of that loss and the regret that I let him slip out of my life too easily. Nothing will ever change that.

But there are good things I can hold on to and there are other things I have the power to change...

... We have more power and potential than we know if we would only speak, if we would only listen.

Even though we're not in church, this moment feels holy.

And the conversation continues, blessed by the morning."

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"I know that Jun's memorial probably isn't going to make him turn his back on enforcing his president's policies overnight, but maybe it planted a seed.

Maybe."

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Various arms of government have been mobilized for the antidrug effort. Public funds have financed it. The police say they have killed more than 4,000 ​drug suspects. In addition, more than 22,000 deaths were under investigation as of May 2018, unsolved killings that may be related to the antidrug campaign. ​The government says Filipinos now feel more safe and secure, even as it has been hounded by accusations of human rights abuses and extrajudicial killings. The complete impact of the antidrug campaign remains unclear.

In 2018, the Ateneo School of Government at Ateneo de Manila University, De La Salle Philippines, the University of the Philippines-Diliman, and the Stabile Center for Investigative Journalism at Columbia University's Graduate School of Journalism formed The Drug Archive Philippines.

Our goal: to gather and analyze data and documents related to the antidrug campaign, and, eventually, to launch more in-depth research and gain deeper insights into the campaign's scope and effectiveness.

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Various arms of government have been mobilized for the antidrug effort. Public funds have financed it. The police say they have killed more than 4,000 ​drug suspects. In addition, more than 22,000 deaths were under investigation as of May 2018, unsolved killings that may be related to the antidrug campaign.

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Rappler’s series of investigations documents the drug war as it continues to be fought across Duterte’s presidency

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Residents from 26 barangays file protection vs police 

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Residents from 26 barangays file protection vs police 

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When Jerry Estreller, 30, along with a friend who was just sleeping over, was killed in his home December last year, his family fled to Dagonoy market a block away for safety. Every night for two months, they would sleep atop market tables. When it rained, they would seek shelter in empty jeepneys parked on the streets.

It was, "out of sheer terror," an act of survival. The police had also warned them not to enter the house since the Scene of the Crime Operatives would come. They never did.

Estreller, not on any drug watchlist, was allegedly killed by police, who thought he was smoking pot. In reality, he had been blowing smoke from a lit paper he only used "to drive away ants crawling near his sleeping sons."

This tale is one of 39 harrowing narratives told by residents of San Andres Bukid, Manila in a petition filed before the Supreme Court Oct. 18 by the Center for International Law (Centerlaw).

The residents seek the writ of amparo, a remedy available to persons to ensure their safety, should their security and right to life be violated or threatened, such as in extrajudicial killings.

Aside from individual suits for protection of victims' families in the drug war, the petition has a novel aspect - a collective suit for protection against the police in all of San Andres Bukid's 26 barangays.

They claim officers of the Manila Police District Station 6 are liable for a "systematic violence" wrought on their neighborhood, telling stories with a recurring theme: unidentified men breaking doors of homes, shooting victims, and leaving just before police officially appear in the cordoned crime scene and clean the mess of blood and bodies.

"It's a microcosm of what's happening in the whole country," said lawyer Joel Butuyan, chair of Centerlaw.

The group has recorded 35 cases of extralegal killings in San Andres Bukid that date back to July 2016, the start of the Philippine National Police's Oplan Tokhang, up to August this year.

Some 20 nuns immersed in San Andres Bukid and visited the victims' wakes to learn of how they died. "Because of (their) heroic deeds...this petition was formed," lawyer Cristina Antonio said.

The petition seeks among others a temporary protection order to prohibit police to be near the families of victims. More, it asks the high court to direct the PNP to relieve MPD Station 6 police of their duty and have them transferred to stations outside Metro Manila.

It asks for a review of all police protocols, an urgent investigation on the 35 deaths and those detained without arrest warrants, as well as protection for residents who now live in fear even as they just walk along the streets they once called home.

Sought for comment, the MPD said it has yet to read the petition.

Duterte through an Oct. 10 memorandum directed Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA) to be the lead agency in conducting the anti-illegal drug campaign. Yet, the order states the police should maintain police visibility as a "deterrent to illegal drug activities."

It would be "not accurate" to say the police will have no role to play anymore, Antonio said, since aside from the killings, the chilling threat, which is what they aim to remove, stays in the community as long as the officers are there.

"The drug situation has not changed," Antonio said. "In fact, it has worsened, which just goes to show that the intervention through tokhang is not really effective."

This is the second time Centerlaw files a petition for this writ.The first petition, granted by the Supreme Court on Jan. 31, includes Efren Morillo, who had to play dead to save his life, and the family of his four companions who were shot dead "execution-style" in Payatas, Quezon City. (See Drug war survivor claims police shot at them, 'execution-style').

It was the very first legal action filed by a civilian against the government's anti-illegal drug campaign. (See Forensics, withheld evidence seen to bolster tokhang survivors)

Butuyan is hopeful the Supreme Court will grant this second petition, as it had done so before.

"We were actually emboldened to file this case because the way the court promptly acted on that petition," Butuyan said.

The Supreme Court issued a temporary protection order five days after the Morillo case was filed. The Court of Appeals later on issued a decision giving permanent protection to the complainants.

While the latest petition filed are for residents in San Andres Bukid, Butuyan said this move, if granted by the Supreme Court, may resonate for all communities to follow suit.

"This can be a template for everyone to do in their respective communities," Butuyan added.

Antonio believes the same. "The Supreme Court has in its hands this opportunity to call back everyone the police institution back to the rule of law," she said.

By doing so, they may, as the petition reads, give face to the "anonymity of the victims who have been sacrificed in the current administration's war on the poor and the powerless."

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Residents from 26 barangays file protection vs police - VERA Files

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When Jerry Estreller, 30, along with a friend who was just sleeping over, was killed in his home December last year, his family fled to Dagonoy market a block away for safety. Every night for two months, they would sleep atop market tables. When it rained, they would seek shelter in empty jeepneys parked on the streets.

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The human rights consequences of the war on drugs in the Philippines

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The human rights consequences of the war on drugs in the Philippines

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‘They Are Slaughtering Us Like Animals’ 

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‘They Are Slaughtering Us Like Animals’ 

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‘They Are Slaughtering Us Like Animals’ (Published 2016)

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Inside President Rodrigo Duterte’s brutal antidrug campaign in the Philippines, our photojournalist documented 57 homicide victims over 35 days.

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Philippines secret death squads: officer claims police teams behind wave of killings

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Philippines secret death squads: officer claims police teams behind wave of killings

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"We are not that bad policemen or bad individuals. We are just a tool, we are just angels that God gave talent to, you know, to get these bad souls back to heaven and cleanse them."

The words flow unnervingly from the mouth of the policeman, a senior officer in the Philippines national police (PNP), as he explains his role in 87 killings in the past three months.

It's not about killing for pleasure, or being a "homicidal maniac", he says. There is a higher purpose at play.

"We are here as angels. Like St Michael and St Gabriel, right," he says.

Well in excess of 3,600 people have been killed in the Philippines since 1 July this year, when Rodrigo Duterte was inaugurated as president and initiated his war on drugs and crime. More than half of those murders have been perpetrated by unknown vigilantes.

The mass killings have sparked international concern; from the United Nations to Barack Obama and his US administration, as well as from Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International. Amnesty has issued warnings about the "climate of lawlessness and fear that has gripped the country".

They have unleashed the beast from the cage ... to neutralise those criminals

Senior police officer

The fear is that the Philippines has slipped into an era of the death squad. The situation is unlikely to have been helped by the president's own words and allegations made against him. Last week Duterte, after citing Hitler and the Holocaust, said he would happily "slaughter" three million drug addicts.

That was preceded by a revealing testimony at an ongoing senate inquiry last month, where a self-confessed assassin testified that Duterte, in his previous incarnation as the longtimemayor of the city of Davao, had ordered the killing of criminals and his opponents - and in one case even personally "finished off" an employee from the justice department with a sub-machine gun.

Reports of such macabre acts have only added weight to stories about assassins currently employed by police to get rid of suspected drug pushers.

Now, for the first time, a serving officer is revealing the inner workings of what he claims is an officially sanctioned, albeit secret, campaign to rid the streets of unwanted citizens.

In the past three months he claims dozens of individuals have been killed - or in Philippine police talk, "neutralised" - by this officer and his "special ops" team alone.

It is the unknown side of Duterte's dirty drug war - but it hasn't come out of nowhere.

Death comes after a phone call

The police officer sits beyond a beaded curtain in the back room of a Manila brothel as he begins to tell the story of his job.

The officer, who the Guardian has independently verified as an active member of the national force, appears at ease here. He feels secure and chose this place to talk.

"Sometimes I just come here for a good night's sleep," he jokes, eyeing the single mattress in the nondescript private room, the old air conditioner the only thing on the walls, humming noisily in the tropical heat.

Later he says brothels are discreet places for discussions that he doesn't want anyone to hear.

But first he reveals what for many will be shocking details of his employment in a death squad.

"They have created us. The term is 'they have unleashed the beast from the cage' right, to neutralise those criminals," he says.

The officer claims he is part of one of 10 newly formed and highly secretive police special operations teams, each with 16 members.

He claims the teams are coordinated to execute a list of targets: suspected drug users, dealers and criminals.

The killings mostly take place at night, he says, with the officers hooded and dressed in all black. They set their watches, giving themselves one minute or two to extract target individuals from their houses and kill on the spot - swift, precise, no witnesses.

He claims they then dump the bodies - in the next town or under a bridge - or they plaster masking tape around the head of the corpse and place a cardboard sign on the body that reads "drug lord" or "pusher".

"We put placards in order for the media, in order for those investigating [the] bodies to redirect their investigation," he explains, leading them to think: "'Why should I investigate this guy, he is a drug pusher, he is a rapist, never mind with that one, I will just investigate the others. It's a good thing for him that happened to him.'"

In the Philippines they have a term for it: "salvage" victim. Someone killed and dumped in the street or thrown in the river. A corpse that is later salvaged.

There have been many killings lately, the officer jokes, that these days you can easily get away with any kind of murder: "You can kill him, put masking tape on him and everybody is going to think that guy is a drug pusher."

The officer says he was first deployed just after Duterte was elected to his special operations team, which was being formed for national security.

He recalls his first meeting in which superiors allegedly described what was to happen next.

"And then they are briefing us that, 'From now on it will be a different story. All those pending cases that identified hardened criminals on drugs and hardened murderers, we are going to have to neutralise them, so that's the order. We need your special skills.'"

He says the team leader is contacted via radio and a specific code - each special ops officer is known by a numeric code - and told to report to base. There they are given a dossier of targets, files of drug dealers, users and criminals to "neutralise".

"Like, for example, they will send us a picture, a profile of this individual," explains the officer. "Automatically, one or two of my team will go to the place where this individual dwells and then of course first we are going to conduct background checks."

Just because you're a journalist you are not exempted from assassination if you're a son of a bitch

Rodrigo Duterte

The team investigates the individuals to determine whether they are involved in drug dealing or other illegal activities, whether they are "God-fearing" or a "parasite", and then acts accordingly.

"So that's how we weigh him, so maybe we conduct our own justice," he says. "And of course the government is ordering us to do so."

The officer, dressed in a red sports shirt and jeans, argues the special ops teams are doing a service for society, perhaps giving a hint at his motivation for speaking about such a sensitive subject.

"We are the kind of policemen that we don't just kill for pleasure," he explains. "But if we think this is a hardened individual or hardened criminal who makes his living as a parasite to others, well we will have no conscience. We are going to give him the worst death [so] that even Satan cannot look straightforward to him because he has a very bad death."

The allegations from the officer are shocking. And although the Guardian can verify the policeman's rank and his service history, there is no independent, official confirmation for the allegations of state complicity and police coordination in mass murder.

Operation Double Barrel

The environment in which the wave of killings is happeningin the Philippines is murky and complicated, with several groups involved.

First, under operation "Double Barrel", the police have been given a licence from the president to crack down on drugs and crime.

Duterte has instructed the police to double, "triple their efforts if need be", and promised to grant amnesty to any officers involved if they somehow find themselves on the wrong side of the law as a result.

Next come the vigilantes, and the more than 2,200 murders perpetrated by these unknown assassins. The deaths have been put down to gangs, thugs and drug lords capitalising on the killing spree to get rid of rivals and enemies.

The police have also admitted that corrupt officers, with the aim of protecting their narcotics rackets, could also be behind some of the vigilante killings.

Then, most frightening and ominous, according to the officer who spoke to the Guardian, is the third category - highly orchestrated and trained state-sanctioned police death squads, such as the one this officer claims to be part of.

For months now the news has been filled with a steady stream of grisly images, daily photographs of blood-splattered dead bodies shot and slumped in the street. One local newspaper, the Inquirer, has even started a "kill list" in an attempt to document the killings across the country.

Of the 3,600-plus deaths so far, 1,375 have been killed in above-board police operations, while about 2,233 more have been put down to vigilantes, according to the latest statistics from the PNP from early September.

The PNP says it is investigating the vigilantes, but so far there are no reports that any have been arrested.

Duterte's ultimatum

Inaugurated on 30 June, Duterte had been elected on a promise to rid the south-east Asian nation of drugs and crime within six months of taking office.

The president has joked about fattening up the fish of Manila Bay with the corpses of drug dealers, and vowed the drug war won't stop "until the last drug lord, last financier and last pusher have surrendered - or put behind bars, or below the ground if they so wish".

But it is not just the surge in killings on his watchthat has invited international condemnation. Duterte's penchant for outlandish statements and insults, even of global leaders, has stunned the global community.

Ahead of a planned meeting with the US president, Barack Obama, on the sidelines of an Asean meeting in Laos this August, Duterte branded his US counterpart a "son of a whore" for signalling his intention to talk about human rights amid the spate of killings.

Before that it was UN officials and the US ambassador to the Philippines.

In June it was the press. "Just because you're a journalist you are not exempted from assassination if you're a son of a bitch," he said. He later retracted that, saying he did not condone the killing of journalists, and he also rowed back on his Obama comments, saying the insult was not directed at the president. It was the same with the Jewish community too and his Holocaust comment. Duterte, after the fact, apparently didn't mean what he said.

But the more criticism that flies in from abroad, the more impervious the president has become - warning global leaders not to mess with Philippine sovereignty, while setting out to undermine and publicly ridicule anyone who questions him.

So far he appears to have the public on his side - a July poll by Pulse Asia Research showed his approval rating at 91%.

Indeed, in Manila talk of state-sanctioned death squads doesn't raise many eyebrows. "Only in the Philippines" was an oft-heard refrain.

The Davao model

As mayor of Davao, a city in Mindanao in the southern Philippines, Duterte developed a reputation both for curbing crime and for links to the alleged Davao death squads (DDS) that executed drug dealers, petty criminals and street children, some of whom were part of gangs.

Impunity for such crimes was almost absolute according to a 2009 report by Human Rights Watch. Entitled You Can Die At Any Time, it detailed evidence of complicity and at times direct involvement between government officials and the police in the squads. That same year Duterte said that criminals were a "legitimate target of assassination".

According to the report, police officers would give death squad members lists of targets. After being notified of the murders by members of the public, authorities were slow to respond, even when they occurred just minutes away from police stations.

The report describes how the Davao police often failed to collect obvious pieces of evidence such as used bullet casings or question witnesses or suspects, instead pressuring the families of victims to identify the killers. Investigations went nowhere.

In 2012 the Commission on Human Rights recommended the ombudsman investigate Duterte for criminal liability in relation to the killings, but no charges were ever brought and no evidence found.

Instead 21 police officers were reportedly fined the equivalent of one month's salary after they were found guilty of neglecting their duty.

The chief of the PNP, Ronald dela Rosa - the former city police chief of Davao who was handpicked for the national job by Duterte - has, like the government, denied the existence of the DDS.

Even after the stunning allegations at the senate hearing when Duterte's name was directly linked to mass killings, Dela Rosa dismissed the DDS as a "creation of the media".

Davao is not the only place where it is claimed that death squads have operated and the concern now is that the tactics allegedly used in that city have been scaled up nationwide.

"I think it's extremely credible," says Brad Adams, the executive director of the Asia division at Human Rights Watch, speaking both about that notion and the claims of the police officer in his Guardian interview.

"That police officers are given a list of targets to kill is not shocking or surprising. It is however important, essential, that the police admit this so that Duterte can't hide behind the idea that this is all the work of vigilantes and non-state actors.

"There is no doubt there is state sponsorship and police involvement," Adams claims. "We were concerned about Davao being replicated or metastasising around the country.".

Human rights: 'only for good guys'

At the Philippines national police headquarters, even the police themselves admit active officers could be behind a number of the vigilante killings. A police briefing document on project Double Barrel shows that from 1 July to 16 August, 250 officers were relieved from their duties in metro Manila because of suspected links to the drug trade.

But any official relationship between police and vigilantes - such as the one described by the officer to the Guardian - are denied.

The Philippine National Police was contacted on numerous occasions by the Guardian to comment on the allegations detailed in this story. Although they did acknowledge requests from the Guardian regarding the matter, no official comment was forthcoming.

But the previous responses from Duterte himself to allegations of involvement in death squads have been strong.

He has called them lies and "accusations of a madman" and previously stated that there were "no Davao death squads".

Martin Andanar, Duterte's communications secretary, said of the Davao allegations: "The Commission on Human Rights already conducted an investigation years ago, when the president was still a mayor, and charges were not filed, they did not see any direct evidence."

When contacted by the Guardian to respond to the specific allegations of the police officer, presidential spokesperson Ernesto Abella said he was unable to comment.

"I cannot make any comments regarding that," he said. "There are so-called sources and we cannot verify what they are saying, they have not made an affidavit. I cannot make any statement because it is not verified."

For Arsenio "Boy" Evangelista Jr, spokesman for the group Victims against Crime and Corruption, the denials and no comments mean little.

"Who would have the skills and the guts to do this?" he says when he talks about the mass killings.

"I am talking of police skills, all the skills, like intelligence, proficiency in handling firearms," says Evangelista, who six years after his son was killed in a brutal crime is still waiting for someone to be charged. "Because that's what is happening lately. It's practically perfect. No witnesses - it is being done very accurate, swift."

At the Philippines Commission on Human Rights, Chito Gascon, its chairman, is asked about the allegations of police acting as judge, jury and executioner. He too is unfazed.

"I am not surprised, I have heard of this. But the problem is we need to prove it.

"And it probably follows a playbook that has been used before, like in Davao."

Gascon says he is grappling with the new president's apparent take on human rights: if you're a good guy, you get them; if you're a bad guy, you don't.

It's a slippery slope but this appears to be the logic at the heart of the surge in killings: the justification necessary to rid the country of the scourge of drugs and crime, the end that justifies the means.

In his Manila brothel the police officer admits that he too contemplates that very point.

"Maybe, I am just having, what do you call it, just pretending that we are right. But we are not homicidal maniacs right now.

"I told you a while ago, we pray, we always go to the church, and ask forgiveness to God for what we are doing right now. We are sorry for doing it. But whoever gonna do it for the Filipino people?"

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Philippines secret death squads: officer claims police teams behind wave of killings

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"We are not that bad policemen or bad individuals. We are just a tool, we are just angels that God gave talent to, you know, to get these bad souls back to heaven and cleanse them."

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0:00 / 3:26•Watch full video

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Editorial illustration for HYPEBEAST 's weekly roundup on the Covid-19 Pandemic.

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https://www.dana-li.com/

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At our final discussion about the novel, the cohort who were able to attend shared some of the questions that they'd like to pose to our author guest next week---
- What can Randy share about his involvement in some of the movement here in the US, like Malaya, for example?
- With the current generation of Fil-Ams here in the US being more aware of events in the Philippines through the advent of social media, what is his vision for the future of the people of the Philippines?

What other questions do you have in mind? Here's looking forward to seeing you all there along with others you can invite!

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Book recommendation/one of Randy Ribay's favorites

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This book has some subtle sexual content. Several prostitutes and escorts are alluded to throughout the stories. There is also a decent amount of violThis book has some subtle sexual content. Several prostitutes and escorts are alluded to throughout the stories. There is also a decent amount of violence in the form of lynchings in the third section of the book, always told as retrospective stories by the characters. ...more

I think, in essence, the theme of the book has to do with boundaries. Black vs. White, Sexuality vs. Chastity, North vs. South, Urban vs. Rural, Religion vs. Secularism, Male vs. Female.

Jean Toomer was bi-racial and raised by the black side of his family in Washington, DC. He was educated before going to Georgia to be a principal. Shortly after this book was published, he began 'passing' as white. Knowing these things about the author, I think, make for reading his interpretations of boundaries more interesting. (less)

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This book has some subtle sexual content. Several prostitutes and escorts are alluded to throughout the stories. There is also a decent amount of violThis book has some subtle sexual content. Several prostitutes and escorts are alluded to throughout the stories.

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You wake up floating. Not in the air, but horizontally in a coffin-sized chamber filled with blue gelatinous fluid. You do not remember what this is. You do not remember why you are here. You do not remember who you are.

This is how it begins: Select-Your-Destiny™, a storytelling experience that places the listener directly in the action by giving them the power to choose what happens. The narrator describes the circumstances, and once a Destiny Node is reached, the listener chooses what happens next. The narrator narrates, the listener chooses. That is how it has always worked-until now.

In this story, the listener chooses to team up with the narrator, collaborating on what shape the story will take. A story of an unnamed teen who must piece together what's going on after waking from suspended animation in a vacant bunker deep underground without memory. With each twist and turn, each Destiny Node, the listener and narrator begin to recover what was lost. What comes to light will transform them both.

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Check out this great listen on Audible.com. You wake up floating. Not in the air, but horizontally in a coffin-sized chamber filled with blue gelatinous fluid. You do not remember what this is. You do not remember why you are here. You do not remember who you are.

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Delacorte Press will publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates, a new YA fantasy novel told in interconnected points of view by 18 acclaimed young adult authors

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Delacorte Press to Publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates in Partnership With We Need Diverse Books

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Delacorte Press to Publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates in Partnership With We Need Diverse Books

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Delacorte Press will publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates, a new YA fantasy novel told in interconnected points of view by 18 acclaimed young adult authors, it was announced today by Beverly Horowitz, Senior Vice President & Publisher, Delacorte Press. Krista Marino, Senior Executive Editor, acquired world rights from Victoria Marini at the Irene Goodman Literary Agency and will edit the project.

The Grimoire of Grave Fates follows the untimely murder of a professor at an esteemed wizarding school and the efforts of various students to track down his killer, with each chapter portraying a different character's perspective. The novel was created by Hanna Alkaf ( The Weight of Our Sky) and Margaret Owen ( The Merciful Crow), with the following authors contributing individual chapters: Cam Montgomery, Darcie Little Badger, Hafsah Faizal, Jessica Lewis, Julian Winters, Karuna Riazi, Kat Cho, Kayla Whaley, Kwame Mbalia, L. L. McKinney, Marieke Nijkamp, Mason Deaver, Natasha Díaz, Preeti Chhibber, Randy Ribay, Tehlor Kay Mejia, Victoria Lee, and Yamile Saied Méndez.

Alkaf and Owen will be using proceeds from the sale to establish two initiatives for marginalized authors, in partnership with We Need Diverse Books. Alkaf's fund will go toward supporting and mentoring Muslim writers seeking to publish children's literature, and Owen's fund will do the same for transgender writers. "It is a privilege to be working on such a unique and important project," says Marino. "This collaboration brings together so many talented authors, amplifying underrepresented voices and bringing them to the forefront of YA fantasy. The world that Hanna and Margaret have built features a truly inclusive and diverse cast of characters. Every reader should find representation within the pages of this story. I've never come across a book quite like this, and I'm so proud Delacorte will be publishing it."

***

Delacorte Press publishes literary and commercial novels for middle-grade and young adult readers, as well as nonfiction that crosses educational and general interest categories. Among the many award-winning and bestselling authors published by Delacorte Press are Judy Blume, Ann Brashares, Julie Buxbaum, Rob Buyea, Matt de la Peña, Kathleen Glasgow, Holly Jackson, Lauren Kate, E. Lockhart, Karen M. McManus, Sonia Nazario, Trevor Noah, Louis Sachar, Brandon Sanderson, Michael Scott, Justice Sonia Sotomayor, Bryan Stevenson, Clare Vanderpool, Kiersten White, and Nicola Yoon.

Random House Children's Books ( rhcbooks.com) is the world's largest English-language children's trade book publisher. Creating books for toddlers through young adult readers, in all formats from board books to activity books to picture books, novels, and nonfiction, the imprints of Random House Children's Books bring together award-winning authors and illustrators, world-famous franchise characters, and multimillion-copy series. Random House Children's Books is a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

We Need Diverse Books is a grassroots organization of children's book lovers that advocates for essential changes in the publishing industry to produce and promote literature that reflects and honors the lives of all young people. It is our mission to put more books featuring diverse characters in the hands of all children. You can learn more about WNDB programs at diversebooks.org.

***

Author photos: Preeti Chhiber, credit: Randy Fontanilla; Kat Cho, credit: Jennie Magiera; Mason Deaver, credit: Trịnh Hồng Hương; Natasha Diaz, credit:Christine Chambers; Hafsah Faizal, credit:A. Faizal; Victoria Lee, credit: Ryan La Sala; Darcie Little Badger, courtesy of the author; Kwame Mbalia, credit: Bryan Jones Photography; L.L. McKinney, credit: Anthony Nickens; Tehlor Kay Mejia, credit: Photo + Styling: Tia Reagan Creative, Editing: Adrian King; Yamile S Mendez, courtesy of the author; Candice Montgomery, credit: Kay Barth; Marieke Nijkamp, credit: Karin Nijkamp; Karuna Riazi, credit: S. Uddin; Randy Ribay, credit: Stefania Curto; Kayla Whaley, credit: Isadora Pennington; Julian Winters, credit: Vanessa North

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Delacorte Press to Publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates in Partnership With We Need Diverse Books

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Delacorte Press will publish The Grimoire of Grave Fates, a new YA fantasy novel told in interconnected points of view by 18 acclaimed young adult authors, it was announced today by Beverly Horowitz, Senior Vice President & Publisher, Delacorte Press.

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"Laban" - Randy Ribay - The New York Times (2019)

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"Laban" - Randy Ribay - The New York Times (2019)

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As we digitize The New York Times's photography archives, we often come across images that resonate in unusual and unexpected ways, even after a century. We wondered what novelists might make of some of them - so we asked. To be specific, we asked 10 acclaimed authors to write pieces of short fiction inspired by vintage photos from The Times. What follows are the results, along with the images in question and the authors' explanations of how the particular photos spoke to them.

We were especially interested in themes of identity, belonging and empowerment, which now dominate the national conversation, so we reached out to authors working in the young-adult genre, which has been grappling with those issues for years. We focused on Asian-American novelists as part of our continuing commitment to underrepresented voices, as well as to see what commonalities and differences rose to the surface.

Each author was sent about a half-dozen images and asked to select just one. Some of the photos reflected their ancestry. Others spoke to important aspects of their life or work. After each writer picked the image that captivated her or him most, we asked that they disregard whoever the real people in the photographs were and even the true-life locations if they preferred. We wanted their imagination to be the only engine here. As you will see, the writers took the photos and ran. We are grateful to them for giving these images new lives.
Editor's Note: The individuals appearing in these photographs are unrelated to the characters and events described in the stories.

Inside the pig's head, it was starting to stink. The half-dozen mints Jenny Watanabe had eaten at the beginning of her shift to pre-emptively perfume the interior had long since worn off. She was already sweating like crazy, and the new Big Bad Wolf had just begun chasing them. She knew it was only going to get worse. Tokyo Disneyland on a hot day was a long slog through mobs of squealing children clutching melting ice cream cones while executing repetitive choreography in bulky costumes.

She didn't know it would be like this when she started the job. She had thought it would be a welcome break from the demoralizing struggle of learning Japanese, because at Tokyo Disneyland, everything was in English. She was Yonsei, which meant she looked Japanese but didn't know how to say much beyond sumimasen. When she first arrived at the park, one week into her exchange program, seeing all those English signs felt like coming home.

The honeymoon didn't last long.

"The first rule is that you do not talk," the character trainer informed her on her first day. Jenny was secretly relieved. She had been cast as Practical Pig, the one who builds his house out of stone. He was distinguished from his impractical brothers Fifer and Fiddler by his angry eyebrows.

She had not anticipated how quickly "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" would lodge in her head as the most irritating ear worm in the history of ear worms, or how Practical's eyebrows could terrify little kids. A few days into the job, after a kid literally ran away from her while shrieking, Fifer (a Japanese guy who spoke perfect English, making her feel extra ashamed of her rudimentary knowledge of her ancestral tongue) said, "Why do you think Practical is constantly being recast? You're the third Practical in two months. No one can cut it!"

And then there was the mind trip of spending so much time in Practical's head. It was kind of like being transported into an alternate dimension. All sound was muffled by the extensively padded pig cheeks, and her vision was restricted to only what she could see through Practical's tiny, immovable eye holes. Usually it was Fifer's outflung white-gloved hand as he did his Irish-dance-inspired jig.

If she concentrated enough on Fifer's hand and on her own choreography (it really was challenging to dance around in a rotund pig's belly), she could almost convince herself that she wasn't real at all. She was simply a cog in the machine that was Tokyo Disneyland. Inside the pig, she was anonymous; she was no one. Staying silent had never seemed so natural. She experienced her pigness as a void - a black hole that had been stripped of its sucking power and was now simply nothing.

*

That morning, when she arrived in the backstage changing area, a blond girl was sitting on the bench putting on the Big Bad Wolf's feet. "Hey, I'm Veronica," the blonde said. "I'm the new Wolf."

Veronica! Jenny had seen Veronica before. She'd been wearing a Swiss Miss-type outfit over by Cinderella's Castle. The good thing about being inside a pig's head was that people didn't know when she was checking them out. Outside the head, she was tongue-tied.

Veronica gave her an eyebrow tilt. "You O.K.?"

"Um, yeah." Jenny pulled out her mints and popped several into her mouth, then thought she should probably offer some to Veronica. She held out the tin. "The head gets stuffy," she explained.

Veronica nodded gravely and took a couple. "Thanks. You're American too, right?"

"Um, yeah." She started to get dressed in her costume.

"Did you ever think that being forced to stay quiet all the time is like an infringement on our First Amendment rights? Like, we already have to be nice all day and let little kids hit us. This is practically abuse. We should start a union."

Jenny didn't know what to say. She began to turn red from embarrassment at her own dorkiness, so she put on Practical's head.

Veronica gasped. "Check out your eyebrows! You look pissed!"

*

It was clear that Veronica was a different kind of Wolf. She was way more into it than the old Wolf, and there was a campy, exaggerated quality to the way she chased them. Jenny found it distracting. She couldn't access her void space the way she normally could, because she kept wanting to watch Veronica.

As the climax of their performance approached, Veronica accidentally-on-purpose tripped and fell, dramatically pounding her gloved hands on the ground in a silent tantrum. Jenny and the other Pigs arranged themselves in a rough triangle, doing their step-touch, step-touch thing. At the end of the song they were supposed to skip in a circle, jump-turn twice and wave jazz hands at the gathered audience. But then Jenny saw Veronica give up on her silent tantrum and - in complete defiance of the official choreography - prop her head up on one hand to watch the Pigs finish.

Jenny felt as if she could hear Veronica challenging her: Union! First Amendment! Pissed!

Fifer was beginning his jazz hands, but instead of joining him, Jenny had the irresistible urge to raise her fist in the air. The white glove squished as she clenched her fingers. The audience gaped at her silently. She was exhilarated; she could practically feel the sun on her face.
Why this photo: This photograph from Tokyo Disneyland stood out to me immediately because it was quirky and startling. It invites the viewer to ask questions: Why does that pig look angry? Who is inside the pig's costume? How do they feel? I had to know the answers. - M.L.
Malinda Lois the author of "Ash," which is now available in a special 10th-anniversary edition; "A Line in the Dark"; and other novels. She grew up in Colorado.

Nani can't work the remote control.

"Sham tells me, 'It's easy, it's easy,' instead of paying the TV man to show us properly," she puffs, jamming her long red nails into buttons, producing nothing but static on the new 55-inch.

"Let me try it," I murmur, lost in Nani's iPhone.

"You don't know anything. Every time you come, you break my phone."

I'm too deep in Instagram to defend myself. Sundays at Nani's are a sacred ritual. The day she used to take me out. But I'm in seventh grade now. I don't need her to take me out. What I need is her phone.

"I tell your mother to get you your own phone but she says your grades will go down. I'd rather a grandson who can do useful things than get A's and sit here like a lump. Sham! Sham! "

I glance up at her, jostling the remote, the sequins on her jumpsuit a radiant flurry. She bought the jumpsuit at the Dadeland mall a few months ago, the last Sunday I let her take me out. She'd attempted to make me over with Ralph Lauren Polo vests, an Aveda facial and a D&G speedo, before I escaped to the arcade. ("I just want you to be happy with how you look. So you can make friends," she lamented later. "I have friends," I shot back. She glared through me and started walking, weighed down by bags. "If Grandpa asks, tell him all these clothes are for you.")

"Oh, look," she crows now.

Nani's managed to get something on the TV.

Ariana Grande is lip-syncing, half-naked and covered in paint.

"That's YouTube. We need Netflix," I say, unhelpfully, scrolling through Archer Bresden's photos, careful not to like any of them by accident. He just turned 13, literally six months younger than me, and has muscles bigger than my head. He dressed like Thor for Halloween. I hate him.

" Sham! " Nani calls again.

Grandpa ducks his shiny, round head in. He gets so little sun these days he looks like a goblin poking out of his gold mine. "What is this nonsense?" he hectors, pointing a knobby finger at Ariana. "Prakash says it's the Hulu station. Proper Hindi movies in HD. But he says do the free trial otherwise you have to pay."

"I don't want Hulu. I don't want a Hindi movie. I want Netflix. That's why I came," I growl, trying to figure out if Archer's eyes are actually that color or whether there's a filter. "I don't even know Hindi."

"We'll put subtitles," Grandpa dismisses. "Boy your age should know the classics. 'Dilwale' ... 'Lagaan' ... 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hai' ..."

"We're watching something else," says Nani calmly, unable to stop YouTube from rolling into a montage of boys tormenting cats. "Santosh wants to show me this movie. 'The Boys I Love.'"

Grandpa gapes at me.

"'To All the Boys I've Loved Before,'" I snap, but he still looks perturbed. "It's for school," I add.

Nani darts me a look.

"What kind of school is this?" Grandpa harrumphs. "We watch 'Sholay.' Then you bring in Nani's pakoras and do a proper report and teach your classmates about Amitabh Bachchan. Your teacher will give extra credit."

"That's not how it works," I say, frustrated. "This is America."

"Hulu!" Grandpa barks at Nani, pointing at YouTube gone wild: teddy bears being stuffed into blenders. "Go to Hulu!"

"Hulu Vulu! If you're so smart, you do it!" Nani retorts, holding out the remote. But Grandpa's already halfway down the hall, his limp stuttering on the marble. ("Prakash says it's easy!")

A DM pops up on Insta. From Jeannie, my lab partner: Why u hearting Archer Bresden's pics

I drop the phone. It hits the floor hard.

"No wonder your mother won't get you a phone," Nani says, dumping the remote on the couch. "Let's go to Cocowalk. See a movie properly. Like we used to do before you became a homebody."

"My friends hang out there." I scoop up the phone, too afraid to assess the damage.

"Must be good friends if you want to avoid them."

"Plus you can't concentrate on the movie," I say hotly, snatching the remote and searching for Netflix myself. "There's people and they eat popcorn and make noise and kiss in front of you. What's the point."

"That is the point, Santosh," Nani says, sharply. "That's the whole point."

I look up. Her new jumpsuit shimmers blue and green. She's wearing makeup. Her hair is blown and styled. She's wearing diamonds. It's Sunday, after all. But we don't go out anymore. I won't let her take me. And yet, she's still ready, like a bird that might be let out of its cage.

Why this photo: Longing. That was the emotion when I saw this photo for the first time: a reminder of what the movies meant to me as an anxious, alienated teenager, the only Indian in my neighborhood and school. I needed the experience of a crowded theater, of an audience, to feel connected. To feel human. What happens when that is lost? - S.C.
Soman Chainani is the author of the New York Times best-selling series "The School for Good and Evil," soon to be a major motion picture. He grew up in Key Biscayne, Fla.

the word for four, sounded very similar to sǐ, the word for death. It was a deeply unlucky number.

So when she was born, her father, who had prayed every day to Guanyin for a son after three daughters, took one look at her and walked out of the birthing room. She was not only the fourth, but a girl at that.

She spent her entire life hiding in corners, staying out of everyone's way, trying to make up for the ill fortune she had brought down upon her father, by finding little ways to organize their lives around luckier numbers.

She whispered to the rice plants to sprout in unison on the eighth - eight, bā, which sounded similar to fā, the word for wealth and prosperity - day of spring. Her father beamed at the bright green shoots blanketing the flooded fields and credited his luck to the auspicious timing.

When the hail came and rattled the tin roof of their house, she whispered for the storm to turn away in three - sān, which was similar to shēng, the word for birth - hours, to divert calamities away from her family. Her father looked up in astonishment at the clearing skies and proclaimed that their stroke of luck had protected their crops.

And when the rains dried up and the rice fields cracked, she whispered to the skies to send water within nine days - nine, jiǔ, which sounded like jiǔ, the word for eternity and longevity. The skies opened and her father declared the family protected by the heavens.

She, of course, never told anyone that she was responsible for these events in their lives. Being the fourth and a girl was misfortune enough. Adding the label of witch, zhu, would surely ostracize their family from the rest of the village. She had seen other girls accused of witchcraft, witnessed them excluded and left unmarried. One girl had been driven out of the village altogether.

At night, she studied in secret by lantern light for the exams that could qualify her for a coveted government scholarship, one that sent students to study at American universities. It would give her a reason to leave home at last, to remove herself from this place altogether and thus from the misfortune that came with her.

But after she took the exams, the invitation that arrived in the mail came not from the government's scholar fund - but from a society in Chicago that specialized in training students gifted with the kind of magic she possessed.

How did they know? She spent that day studying her hands in wonder. The test had been as normal as she could have imagined. She did not realize that her fingers had left trails of magic on the paper, like an imprint of dust that glittered long after she had finished.

So the next morning, she woke up at six - liù, which sounded similar to liú, the word indicating clarity and smoothness - and quietly left home, turning her shoes away from the smattering of homes in her family's rural village to Shanghai, the city of the future, from which she would embark to America.

The entire trip on the boat, she practiced her talents, making broken light bulbs glow in the boat's dining area and scattering blankets of clouds to form patterns against the blue sky. It was a surprisingly smooth journey. Other students in her bunker - twins and a round-faced young woman and a flighty girl with braided knots in her hair - chatted curiously with her, teasing her country accent and asking where she came from. They were the children of wealthier families in the cities. She marveled at their fur coats and cloche hats, the soft leather of their purses. Her own coat was old, the buttons twisted in the traditional Chinese sense, something that seemed old-fashioned beside these rich young women's Western fashions.

When they finally dragged their trunks off the train in Chicago, a photographer was waiting to take their photos. For the paper, he said. So they clustered together, wearing their best coats, their faces both eager and intimidated. She would never see the developed photo, but if she had, she would have noticed that her magic hung about her in a halo that the camera picked up, obscuring her face behind a haze.

It took her a moment longer to notice the lady waiting for her by the train platform. She was small, her back slightly rounded in a hunch, and when she stretched a hand out in greeting, her fingers were long and graceful.

"Welcome to Chicago," the lady told her in Mandarin, "and to your training in the art of magic. I see you have been blessed with great fortune."

She blinked. It was the first time anyone had ever looked pleased to see her, and she was so surprised that she replied, "I am the fourth sister in my family, so I am the bringer of misfortune."

The woman shook her head. "That is impossible, you see, for I can tell that you have been gifted with the magic of luck. That is how your application somehow ended up at our office, and how I noticed the shimmer of magic on the paper. I will teach you how to wield it."

The rice harvest and the diverted storm. The early rains and the smooth voyage. Good fortune. It was the first time anyone had given that identity to her, but she'd had it all along.

She smiled. Then she fell into step beside the woman and never looked back.
Why this photo: I was drawn to these young women's beautiful fashion sense, and struck by the fact that they were female Chinese students arriving in Chicago. Considering that Chinese women were banned from the United States in 1875 with the Page Act, the first U.S. federal law restricting immigration and one that laid the groundwork for the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, I was moved to see these young women arriving in the same country that wanted them out. - M.L.
Marie Lu is the New York Times best-selling author of the "Young Elites," "Legend," and "Warcross" series. She worked as a video-game artist before turning to writing full-time. She lives in Los Angeles.

Oct. 10, 1958
KARACHI, Pakistan - A sea Jinn appeared Thursday at Bohri Bazaar market in Karachi, terrifying patrons of a small drugstore and causing widespread panic just days after President Iskander Mirza declared martial law in Pakistan.

The creature's diminutive stature initially fooled patrons of Aftab Drugstore into thinking it was a mere Ghul, the smaller, less violent cousin of the Jinn.

"Then it grabbed me," said Farkhanda Aftab, 7, the daughter of the store's owner, Yousef Aftab. "And it screamed. It felt like knives in my ears. I thought I would die."

At the sight of the Jinn, patrons fled into the streets of the bazaar, overturning bicycle rickshaws and ox carts, and nearly causing a stampede.

Fortunately for Farkhanda, local fisherman Sahib Muhammad, who regularly visits the drugstore, also finds himself tangling with Jinn on stormy days in Karachi's harbor.

"A prayer and a warning is usually all that is required to dispatch them," Mr. Muhammad said. "However this one was stubborn."

After the Jinn latched onto the girl, neither prayer nor words worked, and Mr. Muhammad was forced to pry Miss Aftab from the Jinn. Her screams alerted nearby army troops, but by the time they arrived, the sea Jinn had vanished.

In a city already on edge, the presence of a Jinn in an area heavily populated by humans seemed to many to be a sign that more instability was on the horizon.

"Mirza's days are numbered," a local chaiwallah, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said of Pakistan's embattled president. "You cannot dissolve political parties without consequence. He'll be gone by the end of the month and the Jinn know it."

Fozia Mohsin, a local resident, agreed. "The Jinn are not fools," Mr. Mohsin said. "They like havoc. There will be more sightings. Maybe even attacks on humans. They want to take over."

But Inayat Aag of Tribe Sumandar, who spoke on behalf of the Council for the Unified Defense of Jinn Liberties, or "Cudjl," disagreed.

"We have no interest in inserting ourselves into the affairs of humans, particularly with political unrest so high," Mr. Aag said from the mangrove swamps of Korangi Creek, where the Jinn have been isolated since the partition of India and Pakistan. "If a Jinn made an incursion into human territory and laid hands on a human child, he will be found and dealt with according to Jinn law. President Mirza may have abrogated the human constitution, but the 1947 Jinn Independence Act still holds. We are Jinn. We are apart."

An army spokesman, Capt. Cyrus Tata, urged calm. "The presence of Jinn in an otherwise safe neighborhood is proof that martial law is not only necessary, but essential. The law will protect both Jinn and humans, until the political situation can be resolved."

Captain Tata declined to comment further on which political "situation" he was referring to, but recently obtained diplomatic cables indicate that Gen. Ayub Khan, who was appointed the chief martial law administrator by Mr. Mirza less than a week ago, may soon be making a move to cement his own power.

"Preposterous," Captain Tata said. "General Mirza is committed to the peace and prosperity of this country, Jinn and human alike."

Back in Bohri Bazaar, Mr. Aftab assured neighborhood residents that his drugstore was safe.

"We've hired a guard who will work until curfew," he said, "and are offering one free Gleem toothpaste to anyone who makes a purchase over 5 rupees."

"The Jinn is gone, anyway," his young daughter added. "But maybe he wasn't trying to scare me. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he just wanted to talk."
Why this photo: This photograph spoke to me first because of the little girl and man looking at the camera, who seemed familiar to me in a visceral way, as if they are family members I've never met. And second because as a child visiting Pakistan (Lahore, to be specific), I always made up stories in my head about the incredible places I visited, from drugstores and rail stations to big markets like Liberty or Anarkali. You won't see such places on Western "bucket lists," but they should be, because they are wonderful - and filled with fascinating stories. - S.T.
Sabaa Tahir is the author of the New York Times best-selling "An Ember in the Ashes" series, which has been translated into more than 35 languages. She grew up in California's Mojave Desert at her family's 18-room motel.

Rabbit watched the men tilt the heavy console into place and plug it in. The screen blinked pixel mosaics as it woke from its long sleep.

Egg and Fox came crashing in to the arcade. They flung down their backpacks as if they lived there.

"No way," shouted Egg, who was the youngest one.

"My God," said Fox, lowering his Walkman headphones. Fox was the slim one.

Rabbit was the tall one, and had what Fox called tired old man eyes.

The boys stepped toward the console like young knights.
Street Fighter.
"I'm ready," said Fox, who held a handful of coins. Fox always had coins. His dad did plenty of business in Japan and brought back treasures, like Fox's Sony Boodo Khan Special Edition Walkman. Boodo Khan was a stadium in Tokyo that was a hundred times bigger than Ulsan, Fox once claimed.

Egg had plenty of coins, too.

Rabbit never had coins. But Egg and Fox never noticed or cared, which Rabbit was thankful for.

Rabbit avoided going to either Egg's or Fox's homes, because of the questions lurking there. Where does your dad work? What does your mom cook for dinner?

He preferred the arcade. There, neither Egg nor Fox could see what went on in Rabbit's head, which Rabbit was also thankful for. Because Rabbit spent most of his time wishing.

Rabbit had wished for so long for things to be different that he didn't know what it was like not to wish.

But different how?

Fox slotted in a coin and hit the 1 PLAYER button.

COUNTRY SELECT

Rabbit frowned. "Why's it only Japan or USA?"

"Cause Japan's got all the cool stuff," said Fox.

"Also USA," said Egg.

"Maybe there's a Korea later," said Rabbit.

Round 1, yelled the game, and Ryu appeared: a muscled man in a white dobok with the sleeves ripped off. The boys guessed at the controls, which were all in Japanese, and found that Ryu could back flip, leg sweep, uppercut, roundhouse and who knew what else. He faced a bald monk named Retsu.

"I don't know what I'm doing," yelled Fox, and proved it by losing two rounds in quick succession. A ticking time bomb appeared: CONTINUE? Above the bomb was a countdown. If they didn't deposit coins in time, they would have to start the game over from the beginning.

"All foreigner welcome," cried Old Mama in English. She pressed play. The music was in English, too.

This house was Old Mama's house.

A door opened, and Mom - Rabbit's real mom - appeared in a glittery tube dress she called New Wave.

Mom touched Rabbit's chin. "Do your homework, O.K.? Old Mama will bring your dinner."

"O.K."

Mom headed to the front. Rabbit heard her call out the awful words: "Let's play."

Rabbit slid his door shut. Footsteps fell heavy on the floor above him. Mom was a fortune teller. A fortune teller, a fortune teller, telling fortunes for fun.

Rabbit drew in his notebook: Ryu kicking 50 men off a cliff, clapping men's heads flat with his hands.

Old Mama appeared with soup and rice and kimchi and fish. She cast an eye about. "You're gonna need a bigger room pretty soon, kid."

She left. Alone, Rabbit ate. He did his homework. He pawed through a crushed magazine and read - again - how Mike Tyson's Punch-Out was coming soon for Famicom. It looked primitive compared to Street Fighter, he told himself. Nowhere near as cool.

"Promise," said Old Mama.

From the front, a small male voice: "Hello?"

Old Mama rose, shuffled toward the front, and flipped the cassette. Mom rose too. She knelt. She touched Rabbit's chin with the back of her hand.

"Everything's going to change," she whispered, with her smile done in red. "Everything's going to get better." And she slid the door shut.

In the dark, Rabbit could see Ryu take a hit. He could see him fall to the ground. He looked almost like he was asleep on his side. But he wasn't. Because here came the ticking time bomb now, counting down, asking the question: CONTINUE?
Why this photo: I was not that much older than these boys when this photo was taken. It intrigues me to think that this could've been me if my parents hadn't immigrated to the United States. Our fate depends so much on forces we can't see and on choices made before we can even speak. - D.Y.
David Yoon is a writer and designer who created the illustrations for the New York Times best-selling novel "Everything, Everything." His first novel is "Frankly in Love." He grew up in Orange County, Calif.

Xavier stood apart from the crowd, leaning against the concrete pillar, black knit cap pulled low over his ears and hands buried deep in the pockets of a threadbare coat, which still smelled of the St. Anthony's donation bin. His sister's ghost was with him, as always, silent as a shadow.

It was an overcast and cold New York City morning, but their kababayan didn't mind. They were all grins and chants and protest posters, hands raised in Ls for "Laban": Fight. It was a decent-size group but only a diasporic echo of the joy and excitement on the other side of the world that packed every lane of Epifanio de los Santos Avenue for miles back in Manila.

Xavier glanced at PJ. If she were still alive, she wouldn't be standing in the back with him. She wouldn't even be content to lose herself in the crowd. No, his sister would be hopping on the hoods of cars, dancing with strangers, shouting through a megaphone for everyone to tear down the barbed-wire barriers, raid Imelda's closet and sell all the shoes to feed the poor.

It's not that Xavier wasn't glad. It's not that he wasn't relieved. It's just that he wasn't very hopeful. As a student of history, he always felt the heaviness of time weighing on his shoulders. He knew that revolutions were fragile things, quick to flight but hollow-boned underfoot. Yes, excitement filled today, but what about those they lost? And what about tomorrow?

PJ always called him a coward when he refused to go to the protests with her, and maybe she'd been right. Even now he couldn't shake the low-level fear that had followed him across an ocean.

A white man walking past stopped in front of Xavier, pulling Xavier back to the present. The man wore an expensive suit and a heavy overcoat, like the people whose trash cans Xavier emptied. In one leather-gloved hand, the man carried a briefcase, in the other, a folded newspaper. "What's going on here?" he asked, gazing at the crowd. When Xavier didn't immediately answer, the man turned to face him. "You speak English?"

"It's Marcos," Xavier said, ignoring the second question. "He's done."

"Who?"

But what could he possibly say to someone who could even ask that question? The answer was decades long, thousands of bodies deep.

With his lips, Xavier pointed at the man's paper, which bore the story - albeit an abbreviated version - on the front page. "That just for looks?"

"They'll forget. Or they won't care. That might be worse."

PJ sighed. "So you're still a coward, then? You were afraid to join me in the streets, now you're afraid to put pen to paper?"

Xavier took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "You were always the brave one, Ate. Not me. That's why I'm in this foreign country, so far from home, and you're..."

"Dead."

"Right."

The clouds shifted. The crowd started up a new chant. A few passing cars honked in either solidarity or annoyance.

"At least you're out here," PJ said after some time.

"Where did you expect me to be at a moment like this?"

Instead of answering, PJ gestured toward the crowd. "But are you ever going to join them?"

"I missed the boat, Ate. The revolution's over already."

She shook her head. "It's never over, brother. You should know that. Or is this just another excuse?"

Xavier considered this for a long time. Then he sighed, pulled his cap back on and pushed off the wall. He crossed the sidewalk and stood at the edge of the group. A short, old woman who looked like his lola welcomed him with a smile and wrapped an arm around his waist. Xavier returned the smile and then raised his hand in the Laban signal for the first time in his life. He felt like an impostor, but maybe that's how everyone felt at first.

"Happy now?" he said to PJ.

But his sister was already gone. The only shadow that remained was his own.
Why this photo: I'm always thinking about those who aren't centered in an image or a story or a society, so this photo immediately captured my attention as I considered those who weren't in the picture and why. Given the Philippines' current administration, I was also interested in writing a story that could explore the connection between the People Power Revolution that ousted Marcos and our current moment in history. -R.R.
Randy Ribay is the author of "Patron Saints of Nothing," "After the Shot Drops" and "An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes." He was born in the Philippines and now lives in California.

Babr woke at dawn to the muezzin's call and the swoosh swoosh of street sweepers. He was tired. But even with the pain in his right arm from sleeping shoulder to cement, and despite the weight of memory, he felt the grace of small joys.

He rose from under the shadow of the Rajabai Clock Tower, which sits atop the storied spiral-stair vestibule of the University of Mumbai. On hot nights, the air in the tiny windowless room he shared with the other darban was stifling - the smell of their cleaning supplies and sweat-stained clothes overwhelming. So on clear evenings, he would climb the winding stairs to offer Isha prayers before drifting to sleep under the open skies, seeing the face of his beloved in the fading stars.

Stretching, he felt the creak of old age in his knees. He wrapped his worn green shawl, which also served as a sleeping mat, around his shoulders and adjusted the topi on his head. Patting his chest to check for the hidden pocket sewn into his shirt, Babr smiled. He was not the ingenious tailor his wife had been, but he believed she would have been proud of his efforts, even if the money in his pocket had been obtained through deception. For what did this place, established by the British and built in the image of their great universities, stand for but dishonesty? Perhaps he was not a finely educated man, but he understood well enough that the foundation of the Raj had been a clever deceit - the idea that the Angrez knew what was better for India than Indians did.

He yawned and rubbed his face vigorously to wake up. He touched his hidden pocket once more and felt last evening's bounty. The nightly carnival at the Gateway of India had proven especially lucrative during yesterday's pre-election festivities.

*

In the days before the election, Babr had observed the tourists and their habits. Then he concocted a dry bhang masala - a more organic alternative to the bhang lassi, he assured his buyers, than what is available at any of the Government Authorized Bhang Shops. Unlike the dozens of other drug-wallahs asking, "Smoke? Smoke?" to every staggering traveler, Babr had a marketing plan. You didn't smoke his bhang or sip it in a sweet yogurt drink, but rather could discreetly mix it into your soda without risk of detection by the police.

Of course, there was no such thing as dry bhang masala.

But Angrez tourists did not know this. Bhang was a pistachio green paste of crushed marijuana leaves blended with milk, almonds and spices, but Babr's bhang was a heady concoction of crushed curry leaves and cumin, with few actual buds of cannabis. Babr carefully divided his bhang into little cheesecloth potlis that he sold for the galling price of 50 rupees. The Angrez all too willing to pay for a taste of the authentic India.

Babr had celebrated his fortune by treating himself to a full thali - rice, aloo palak, daal, chappati, pappadum, raita, chana. But he ate with a lump in his throat remembering his wife, who had always taken special delight in Election Day, preparing a feast fit for the end of Ramadan and stringing a jasmine garland through her braid.

When the last of the carnival's fireworks had fizzled out, Babr hitched a ride back to the university.

*

This year as ever, elections brought threats of anti-Muslim violence enflamed by the fearmongering rhetoric of the ruling party. But Babr's wife had taught him hope, holding precious her pride in being Indian, reminding him that the Des had been ripped apart for him to have this opportunity. The blood of his own family and so many families filling cracked earth. He remembered his mother weeping for the sister who had gone to Pakistan and whom she would never see again. This had confused him as a young boy, but five years ago, when his wife died, he understood how the human body could be cleaved in two, never to be whole again.

As Babr approached his polling place on foot, he heard a brass band and the joyous beats of the dhol, a barrel-shaped, double-sided drum. To Babr, it was the sound of India. He took his place in line, all smiles, shaking his head as party supporters descended on the voters, cajoling, making promises, cutting deals.

When at last it was Babr's turn, a sweaty man with a district badge ushered him to a table where Babr presented his government identification and where they marked his left finger with special ink. Babr watched the purple streak widen across his nail, into the crevices of his skin.

"It will wash off in two weeks," the election official assured him.

The next officer sat outside the voting booth and pressed a button that released a new ballot. He asked, "Do you know how to vote?" Babr nodded. He had also voted in the last election with an electronic voting machine. He knew what to do.

Babr walked outside of the school, blinking against the bright sunlight. He looked down at the crowd of waiting voters and raised his left index finger above his head. A couple lingering dhol players slapped out beats, and his fellow Bombayites let out a cheer, a few dancing in place.

Babr had the sudden youthful urge to run down the street into the afternoon sun. He ran at full speed. He stopped at the next street, bending over, panting, hands on his knees. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, Babr crossed the road to the sweet shop where he selected a burfi and a ladoo, his wife's favorites.

Babr marched back toward the university and his life of cleaning up after rich students, pain in his knees, and days that held no promises. He walked to his spiral tower and prayers whispered to the heavens. He walked with his beloved's heart in his heart. He walked on the streets of a free India, ancient and ever new.
Why this photo: I was immediately drawn to the tower photo because it feels like a fairy tale but it's also part of my actual origin story. My parents met each other under the shadow of this tower when they were studying architecture at the University of Bombay (now the University of Mumbai). Years later and a few miles away, I was born at Bombay Hospital. - S.A.
Samira Ahmed is the New York Times best-selling author of "Love, Hate & Other Filters" and "Internment." She was born in Bombay, India, and grew up in a small town in Illinois.

Did you know the horizon is a seam that opens every 12 years, when the zodiac resets and the pig is eaten by the rat? At dusk the crack becomes a mouth and the mouth gapes wide and winged creatures of every shape ascend into our sky, then descend upon our streets.

This is what I've been told by Yima, the aunt who raised me because my parents could not. I don't even remember what my parents looked like, but Yima - who sings to me as she braids my hair into loops, and cooks me sweet broth with red sugar and ginger when my monthly pains set in - she's all that I need.

I was 3 the last time the seam opened. I don't really remember that either, except that Yima likes to recount the story of how I tried to bargain with a honeybee. She tells it so often the words have sculpted themselves into a memory of my own.

It's the Lunar New Year and so last night they came, undeterred by the firecrackers that sounded like war. In the morning light I see them outside in the form of sparrows and herons, locusts and cicadas. I point to the window and Yima smiles faintly.

"Such beautiful spring blossoms," she says, because she is old and her mind has changed, like a piece of glass scratched until it's opaque. There are no flowers to be seen. Only wisps of incense drifting over from the neighbors', and shreds of red paper from last night's fireworks littering the ground. Only those winged creatures perched on the clotheslines, on the seat and handlebars of a parked moped.

I open the door and scatter peanuts over the cobblestones in case they're hungry. They show no interest, only blink at me, eerily silent.

I'd thought perhaps they were here to tell me something. Now the idea seems foolish.

Embarrassed, I turn to go back in and nearly crash into Yima, who has forgotten her cane and instead grips the wall.

"What are you doing?" she hisses. "Don't encourage them."

Her tone and lucidness surprise me, as does the terrible expression tightening her face. I let her pull me inside, let the door slam shut. What does she mean, encourage them?

All day, Yima goes back and forth: One moment she runs her knuckles along my cheek, saying, "You were such a small thing when you came to me. A little jewel." And in a blink she's rapping on the window, huffing and glaring at the winged things outside.

In those times when the clouds in her head part, she seems angry and scared. I wish I knew of an herbal broth I could brew to soothe her mind. Instead, I rub ointment into her palms, into the soles of her feet. I sing the songs she taught me, tell silly stories to make her laugh. Yima's smile shines warmer than sunlight.

By dinnertime, as she cleans the water spinach and I chop garlic, it occurs to me she's never explained why those creatures come. What do they want?

When I voice the question she drops the water spinach and turns to me with fearful eyes. "You are so precious to me. You know I would do anything for you?"

"Yes, of course." She's so upset I don't ask anything else. But what is it that I don't know? How do I help?

Early in the predawn morning, when she's still sleeping, I peek around the door to see if the peanuts are still there. I could try offering vegetable scraps, or at least water. Perhaps if I show that I mean no harm, they'll tell me why they're here. If I can get them what they want, they'll go away, and Yima will be untroubled again.

The creatures begin to shriek the moment I step outside. I clap my palms over my ears, and then Yima's hand is on my shoulder. She's out of breath from hurrying, and she stumbles past me, falls onto the cobblestones with a weak mewing sound. Before I can do anything, the beasts are upon her. Crows tear at her hair and sparrows peck at her eyes. Bees hum over every patch of skin and cicadas crawl between her fingers. They screech even as they feast upon her. The sound is an unbearable storm that brings me to my knees.

Light seeps into the sky. Dawn. The neighbors come out to see the source of the cacophony, then disappear and return with bamboo sticks, with brooms and blankets. They swat with their sticks and drum upon their bowls. The creatures scatter, rising up with the first rays of the sun. Everyone cheers. They've forgotten about me, still crouched on the cobblestones with tears dripping from my chin.

After the neighbors have all gone, a man and woman help me to my feet. They look middle-aged and tired. I invite them in for tea, and they tend to my skinned knees, and then they show me a photo of a baby. They claim that it's me.

"She stole you from us," they tell me. "She cursed us so that we couldn't come for you. But now she's gone. Now we can have our precious daughter back."

The hunger in their eyes makes my heart pound. I run back outside, and see that the winged things have returned. They're just as eerily silent as yesterday. I dive toward them, throwing myself to the ground. Sure enough, they come. They eat my skin and my hair, my eyes and my fingers. They make such quick work of it, it doesn't even hurt. I feel my bones falling away, puzzle pieces being loosened from their fit. I hear the man and woman screaming, but it sounds very distant.

The creatures rise up into the air with all the bits of me distributed between their bellies.

I inhale the scent of the sky and think, Yima, I'm coming for you.

Why this photo: I loved this photograph immediately because I saw in it some kind of otherworldly exchange. Even after I read the caption ("Youths chase sparrows from the Summer Palace.") I couldn't shake the thought that these people were looking up at something preternatural. Then came the question: What if they didn't realize what they were smiling at? - E.X.R.P.
Emily X.R. Pan is the New York Times best-selling author of "The Astonishing Color of After," which won an Asian/Pacific American Award Honor for Young Adult Literature and a Walter Award Honor. She lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.

Walking all the way across the gym toward Mari after weeks of silence is torture. But I make myself do it because I need her back in my life, and I need to tell her now, in person, before I lose my nerve. I've tried texting her, obviously, but she's blocked me on everything.

Mari's dancing with Rosie, Seema, Jayce and Jayce's idiot friends. The girls are all decent dancers, but the boys - I mean, what is it with boys and dancing, anyway? Some of them are O.K., but a lot of them just sort of jab their hips from side to side like giant windshield wipers. Jayce is bouncing around in his stupid sagged pants and his stupid sideways snapback like he's some kind of hip-hop hypebeast icon and not a suburban white wannabe.

Mari, of course, is doing her own thing - that spacey, arm-wavey, head-noddy hippie dance she always does whether the D.J. plays ASAP Rocky, Taylor Swift or BTS. It's completely derpy, and also completely adorable.

She has to listen to me. She has to come back to me.

I push through the dancers and the human windshield wipers, and Rosie shoots a look my way that practically freezes my soul. But I keep going because I am a woman on a mission.

Then I'm standing in front of Mari, and she's looking at me like what do you want?

"I have to tell you something," I say.

She takes a beat longer to think about this than I would have thought was absolutely necessary, but then she says, "Um. O.K."

Which is when Jayce blows in on a gust of cologne and drapes his arm over her shoulders. Ugghhh. Why.

"Hey, Yoon!" he says. I hate it when people who hardly know me shorten my name like we're friends or something, but Jayce is probably too clueless to realize that we aren't friends and I hate him. Or possibly he's just being a jerk.

"Hey, Jayce," I say. Be nice, Yuna. Be. Nice.

"Hey, babe," he says to Mari next. Old Mari would have rolled her eyes because who says hey babe, but New Mari sweetly hey babes him back, and it's a major, major, major battle for me not to roll my eyes hard enough for the two of us, grab her hand and walk away.

"Hey, Yoon," says Jayce again. "We're going to slide to Seema's later for a party. Wanna come? It's gonna be liiiit," and he mimes smoking a joint, which is the biggest bunch of BS ever because everyone knows that Seema's parents would never allow her to have a party, let alone a party with weed.

So I say, "No you're not."

"Naw, f'real," says Hip-Hop McSlangypants. "No caps."

I say, "I think it's 'no cap,' actually." Even I know that.

"Thanks, Yuna. I really appreciate how much you care," Mari deadpans, and I panic.

"Mari, I'm sorry. That's not what I - "

Rosie appears at Mari's side and says in a voice that's barely this side of a snarl, "Just leave, Yuna. She's moved on."

That knocks the breath out of me. Reeling, I do what I always do when I'm hurt: pretend I don't care. I shape my mouth into a smile and say, "Oh, right. Sorry to intrude. Have fun getting liiiiit."

I turn and make the long, lonely trek back across the gym.

I walk fast, but not too fast, like I don't even care, like I have better things to do than hang with these losers. I don't turn around, not even once. At the door, I sneak a peek over my shoulder to see what kind of impression my dignified exit has made. But they're already dancing again, as if they've forgotten all about me.
Why this photo: Something about this photograph made me feel as if I was in the crowd but not of it, which is a feeling that I love to write about. The scowl (and the lipstick) on the woman in the center of the frame grabbed my attention immediately, but the lone woman on the right intrigued me, too; after trying to write from each of their perspectives, I finally settled on writing as the ultimate outsider - the viewer. My story is a contemporary American riff on the photograph, but I love knowing that Tokyo had a Western-style club scene in the '50s and that drew me in as well. - M.S.
Misa Sugiura is the author of "This Time Will Be Different" and "It's Not Like It's a Secret," which won an Asian/Pacific American Award for Young Adult Literature. She grew up outside Chicago.

"Always start with the eye."

Hongyue watched as Shen laoshi dipped his calligraphy brush with one swift, elegant motion into the ink stone, then swiped the brush head against its side, intuitively and without thought. He then painted the bird's eye with small, precise strokes on the near-translucent rice paper.

She had observed her art teacher demonstrate countless times before, but could never get over the awe she felt when he painted for them. Within minutes sometimes, with a fluidity and assuredness that made her envious, a creature would suddenly appear on the paper: a hummingbird or a rabbit or a horse.

Like magic.

"Because if you don't capture the spirit of your subject in its gaze" - Shen laoshi continued to paint as he lectured - "there is no point in going forward. No matter how technically correct your painting might be, how perfect your strokes, none of that matters." His hand danced over the rice paper, and his entire body shifted with him as he painted. A sharp beak appeared, then the bird's head, followed by a tufted chest in gray.

"As brush artists, we aren't replicating precisely what our eyes see. We are not photographers." He lifted his chin then and grinned at them, the handful of students clustered at the large walnut table around him. "As artists, we infuse life with our brush strokes." A wing emerged, the round body then the tail, its feathers appeared with quick and bold strokes before he swirled his brush in a bowl of clear water. Her teacher then dashed a streak of orange on top of the bird's head and a dab on its beak. Pausing, he considered the small painting before adding a fat gray worm, dangling from the bird's pointed beak.

"Our aim is to elicit emotion through our art. To touch this" - he tapped two fingertips against his chest - "that is the way we connect and speak to the viewer." He finally whisked long, thin strokes of verdant green around the plump bird, suggesting wild grass, before setting the calligraphy brush down. "This is your next assignment, to paint a bird of your choice and capture its spirit on paper." He nodded once and took a step back, so Hongyue and her fellow classmates could examine his painting closely. No one spoke as they studied the bird. She noted the delicate variations of ink from black to the most subtle gray, a whisper on the page.

Her teacher made it look so easy, effortless. But Hongyue knew better. She often felt her heart lifting as she painted, her focus only on her creation. But what she intended to express on paper almost never came to fruition as she wanted. Lacking.

She thanked her teacher respectfully before saying farewell, just like all her other Chinese classmates did. The humidity hit her like a wall the moment she stepped outside Shen laoshi's ground-floor studio. New York City's Chinatown was filled with throngs of people out on a Saturday afternoon, grocery shopping and meeting with friends to eat at the various small cafes and restaurants lining the cramped streets. She navigated the crowds instinctively, with her head down, watching her red Converse move across the filthy sidewalks as she mulled over everything her teacher had said.

Instead of going straight home to the cramped one-bedroom tenement she shared with her mom and younger brother, she veered from the familiar path and ducked into Columbus Park. The mostly concrete plaza was as busy as the main streets. Seniors huddled at various stone tables, many playing Chinese chess. Some sat on wooden benches, reading the Chinese paper, while others chatted animatedly in Cantonese and Mandarin, exchanging gossip and sharing pieces of cut fruit.

Hongyue managed to find an empty bench in the far corner of the park, underneath a large tree. Leaning back against the hard wooden slats, she absorbed the energetic hum around her, the mingling of voices and movement, how the barely-there summer breeze rustled the leaves overhead, stirring the straight, black bangs of a little girl intently eating an ice cream cone. A sharp trill from above caught Hongyue's attention, and she lifted her head up. A small bird perched in the hollow of the tree spiraling above her bench. It had a bright yellow head, throat and chest, with gray wings highlighted in white lines - perfect for painting.

The bird continued to sing its song, alternately sticking its tail out so Hongyue got a clear view of it before turning and offering her an opportunity to study its head and chest. It had a thick beak and looked briefly down at her with black eyes. She enjoyed its singing for a few minutes before an old Chinese woman stopped nearby, following Hongyue's gaze. "Ah, a warbler," she said in a raspy voice. "I love listening to them." She squinted at the bird, the corners of her eyes creasing with deep lines. "This one is female," she went on. "Their color is not as bright." The woman closed her eyes, obviously enjoying the warbler's trilling song. "I love birds," she said, opening her eyes and meeting Hongyue's gaze. "Don't you?"

Hongyue nodded. "They're a classic brush painting subject."

The old woman's eyebrows lifted. "Indeed." She smiled and dipped her chin as if she were a queen, then walked on.

Hongyue glanced at the bright warbler again, tucked in the small hollow, before heading home.

The apartment was empty when she let herself in.

She quickly gathered her brush painting supplies, wanting to capture the bird she still saw so clearly in her mind's eye. Spreading sheets of the Chinese newspaper on the small, square kitchen table set against the window, Hongyue filled a ceramic bowl with water, then spooned a little into her ink stone. She ground fresh ink. When she was satisfied the ink was dark enough, she placed a new sheet of rice paper onto the table.

Usually, Hongyue painted slowly and with care, stopping often to gauge her progress. But today, she put brush to paper without hesitation, remembering the bird's keen gaze as she started with its eye as Shen laoshi had instructed, the quick movements of its head, and the swish of its tail. She heard the clear notes of the warbler's birdsong as she tinged its crown and nape in green, then painted delicate white lines on its wings. Astounded, she took a step back when she realized she had finished without pausing, as if compelled. The spirited yellow bird she had glimpsed less than an hour ago stared back at her from the page.

Only one thing was missing.

Hongyue gathered white paint into a sharp point on her brush and dotted the bird's eye, adding light to its gaze. She let out a breath, then grinned widely, her chest filling with pride.

When she set her brush down, one sharp trill filled the kitchen.

Her hand jerked, and the brush rolled off the ceramic rest. Hongyue slanted her head and glanced out the window. The dark panes of other tenements stared back at her. Had she imagined it? Another sharp note reverberated through the small kitchen, and she thrust the window open and leaned over the table, sticking her nose out. No birds were near the narrow ledge; a taxi's insistent honking the only noise from outside.

She drew back inside, but yelped when a flurry of movement darted past her vision, lifting a strand of her hair. Then it was gone; Hongyue blinked her eyes hard.

The sound of the deadbolt unlocking broke her reverie, and she heard her mom's and brother's voices behind the closed door. Excited, she reached for the bird painting to show them, then snatched her arm back.

Her mom found Hongyue frozen at the kitchen table, hand fisted over her chest, staring down at a pristine sheet of rice paper.

Mrs. Li smiled and asked, "What will you paint today, daughter?"
Why this photo: I was delighted to see this image of Chinese brush artists in New York City's Chinatown. I've been a student of Chinese brush painting for almost two decades, and this creative expression has really become intrinsic to my own identity. It's very rarely I get an opportunity to write about something so important to me in fiction. I'm so grateful I was able to in this piece. -C.P.
Cindy Pon is a writer and a longtime student of Chinese brush painting. She is the author of "Want," "Serpentine" and "Silver Phoenix." She grew up in Los Angeles.

Top image: A Tokyo motorcycle ride. Circa 1966. Photograph by John Launois/Copyright the Estate of John Launois.

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Viewfinders: 10 Y.A. Novelists Spin Fiction From Vintage Photos (Published 2019)

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As we digitize The New York Times's photography archives, we often come across images that resonate in unusual and unexpected ways, even after a century. We wondered what novelists might make of some of them - so we asked. To be specific, we asked 10 acclaimed authors to write pieces of short fiction inspired by vintage photos from The Times.

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"Ours" - Randy Ribay - FORESHADOW (2019) 

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"Ours" - Randy Ribay - FORESHADOW (2019) 

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We had hoped the old ghosts would not follow us across the ocean.

Of course, they did. But it wasn’t only the multo that came to America.

I once saw a tikbalang, with its human body and horse head, cut across our backyard. Lolo Nando was barbequing isaw one night when he noticed a kapre perched in the big oak tree in his apartment complex courtyard, smoking a cigar. Tita Baby, who lives a few streets away, said she was with her kids at the playground when she saw a duwende dive down a tube slide and then return to its hill. And Ate Jazz saw an aswang shapeshift from a brindled pit bull into an old woman. She said that the old woman flashed her fangs and winked before turning the corner, but my sister tends to exaggerate.

Talk to any of our kababayan. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve called this country home. Everyone has seen some terror, some darkness that we thought we left behind on the islands. Maybe the creatures followed the steam of our rice cookers, or the lights of our parol, or the echoing singing of our videoke. Maybe it was deeper than that. Maybe we carried them in our accents or our brown skin. Whatever the reason, it was obvious: we had made it out, but we had failed to escape.

That’s why when my girlfriend, Lala, told me she was pregnant, an icy dread gripped my insides.

I was hanging with my friends JoBoy and Miguel out in front of my family’s house in Daly City. We were sitting on overturned milk crates, silently watching the sun set and the summer end.

Then Lala appeared in front of us, arms crossed protectively over her stomach. Her blonde hair looked a mess. Her eyes were red, and her mascara was streaking down her cheeks.

After she dropped the bomb, the three of them watched for my reaction. JoBoy’s and Miguel’s eyes were as wide as the brims of salakots, understanding what this meant at a level Lala didn’t.

But I just took off my Warriors cap, ran a hand through my hair, and leaned back against the front of my house. Holding the fear back felt like trying not to vomit, but I didn’t let it show.

“You sure?” I asked.

Lala nodded.

I reached for her. She moved closer, arms still crossed, and I hugged her legs and rested my head against her soft hip. Lala was trembling. Or I was. Or we both were.

“Y’all straight fucked,” Miguel said, laughing as he shook his head—which is how he always dealt with bad news.

“Chill,” JoBoy told him. “They’ll figure it out.”

“How they going to figure it out?” Miguel said as if Lala and I weren’t standing right there. “Our mans can’t even pass algebra.”

“Can you all give us a minute?” I asked.

JoBoy stood. “Yeah, of course.”

Miguel remained seated. “Nah, I’m cool. But while you up, JoBoy, grab me some popcorn.”

Lala glared at him. “Leave.”

He sighed and made a big show of getting up. “Fine. We out for now. Holler at us later.”

After JoBoy and Miguel drifted away, I turned Lala so she faced me. Gently, I opened her arms, rested them on my shoulders, and leaned my cheek against her belly.

We stayed like that for a few moments, then I looked up into her icy blue eyes. “But we never fully—you know …”

She shrugged.

“They should teach us in school that it can happen like that. Seems more important to know than, like, the definition of ‘onomatopoeia,’ or whatever.”

“Goddamn right they should.”

I shifted my gaze to the darkening sky and stood, accepting what was to come. “We should go inside.”

She nodded and followed me. We sat down at the kitchen table underneath the free calendar from the Asian supermarket. A bowl of leftover sinigang sat in the center of the table, next to a plate of rice covered with Saran Wrap. A fly buzzed and bounced against the light fixture that hung off-center over the table.

Lala and I just stared at each other for a while, trying to comprehend how the world could change so enormously, so suddenly.

I was also trying to figure out how to explain everything.

Lala had moved here a few years ago, and hers was one of the few white families in a city that turned brown a generation ago. Even though we’d been together for a little over a year, and she had absorbed some Tagalog and knowledge of Filipino history, I wasn’t sure how much she’d believe about the danger she was now in.

“I’m fucking having it,” she said.

“Okay. I’m happy about that.”

“You don’t seem like it.”

I shook my head. “It’s something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” I said, even though I did.

She took a deep breath. “You about to break up with me now, like some asshole?” Her eyes teared up. “I know it’s not going to be easy since we’re still in school and all, Felix, but I didn’t think you’d—”

“I’m not breaking up with you, La. Just … it’s heavy news, you know?”

She went quiet.

“We’ll make it work.” I rested my hand on hers. “I’ll pick up more hours at the store. Quit basketball. Do whatever else I need to do.”

“I’ll have to quit basketball, too,” she finally said.

“I know.”

“But I’m actually a starter.”

“Ouch,” I said. “I’d be first string too if—”

“If you were any good?” She cracked a smile that collapsed a moment later. “So if you’re not breaking up with me, then what is it? I can tell something’s bothering you.”

I placed a hand on her forearm and looked at the ceiling and then her stomach. “I think you should move in with us.”

Lala put her hand under my chin and tilted my head up so she could look into my eyes. “Are you serious? Don’t play with me, Felix.”

I kissed her.

Maybe I didn’t need to tell her about the manananggal. If she stayed here, I could protect her and the baby. She’d never have to know about the danger.

“Your parents?”

“They’ll understand. They’ll want to help.”

Lala looked at me skeptically. Wanting to believe, but not letting herself. Her family sucked, and she’d always talked about how she couldn’t wait to leave them behind.

“They will,” I said, because it was true. My parents were diehard Catholics, so they wouldn’t be completely happy about this whole situation. But they didn’t have much room to complain, since they had my sister before they were married. When the typhoon of their anger passed, they’d help rebuild.

When it came down to it, they knew that, like the multo and the duwende and the kapre, the manananggal had followed us.

Analyn Felicidades, this woman we knew from St. Iggy’s, had been pregnant at the beginning of the summer. Her white husband—Ed or Bill or something like that—thought it was primitive superstition when she warned him, so he refused to take any of the precautions our people usually took during pregnancy. He even refused to let her do any of it, I guess in some attempt to “civilize” her or whatever.

The rest of us hoped the baby’s mixed blood might protect it, but news had spread a few days ago that Analyn wasn’t pregnant anymore.

“This better not be a fucking joke,” Lala said.

And that’s how my pregnant girlfriend came to live with my family.

* * *

Lala’s parents didn’t object. Not that either of us were surprised. I think they were happy not to have to deal with any of the mess that was to come, much less having to figure out how to feed another mouth.

Like I said, they sucked pretty bad.

Anyways, as cool as my parents were—at least, after they had gotten all the yelling and headshaking out of their systems—they wouldn’t let the two of us share my room. They gave it to Lala, and I moved in with Ate Jazz, like back in the day when we rocked bunk beds. The bunk beds were long gone, though, so I ended up sleeping on the floor on one of the half-dozen twin-sized leaky air mattresses we kept around for whenever relatives visited or needed a place to crash after moving stateside.

Ate Jazz gave me a lot of shit at first about knocking up my girlfriend before junior year and for taking up half her room. But when she noticed how I was careful to put away the air mattress each morning before she woke, wear a sufficient amount of deodorant, and always pick up after myself, she started to soften.

“Remember when you used to pull my ponytail just to get me to cry?” she asked into the darkness, one night after lights out.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“You’re not the annoying little brother you used to be.”

“It’s a little harder ever since you cut your hair short.”

She laughed, then fell quiet for a while. She’d be away at college this time next year, and it made me sad whenever I thought too much about it. I wondered if she felt the same.

“If you don’t take care of Lala, though—I swear to God …”

“I will,” I told her, and myself.

A few minutes later, I could tell by my sister’s breathing that she’d fallen asleep. But I was awake long after that, staring at the ceiling, feeling powerless, and hoping that in the morning I’d find Lala and my child safe.

* * *

“I don’t want to be racist,” Lala said one morning as we were walking to school, “but your room smells like the Asian grocery store.”

It was January, the first day back to school after winter break. The air was chilly and the sky a ceiling of gray that mirrored the concrete city. Lala was five months along now. Her belly had become undeniable, and all of her angles had softened.

“Well,” I said, feigning confusion, “I do work there.”

“Yeah, but your room never used to smell like this.”

“But I work twice as many hours now,” I said. And it was true. I hadn’t even hung out with JoBoy or Miguel in months, and I missed their stupid faces. “We can pick up some Febreze after school.”

Lala started to speak, then hesitated. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing one of the ugly earrings I’d made her in art class as a Christmas gift, since I couldn’t spare the cash to buy anything. Then she touched her stomach idly, which was something she’d started to do after she began showing.

“I don’t think that shit will help, Felix.”

“Why not?”

She stopped walking and waited for a nearby group of kids to pass. “Filipinos don’t practice voodoo, right?”

I shook my head, trying to decide if I should call her out on how racist that was. “Why?”

“’Cause I’ve been finding these little containers all over the room—I think that’s what smells funky.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, as if I wasn’t the one who’d put them there.

“You know, like, those tiny cups to-go places give you sauces in?”

“Yeah.” I started walking again. Lala followed.

“I keep finding them all over. Sometimes they’re out on the dresser or nightstand, and sometimes they’re hidden, like, under the bed or in the back of the closet or in a drawer.” She tried to gauge my reaction. I tried to look puzzled. “Some are filled with uncooked rice or salt. Those aren’t bad. But the ones with vinegar or garlic stink like crazy. And some, I think, have spices … or ash. Those smell weird, too. They’re also creepy as hell.”

“Hmm,” I said, like this was some real intriguing Scooby-Doo level mystery, and not my own efforts to ward away the manananggal.

“I’ve been throwing them out,” she went on, “but the next day there are always a bunch of new little cups all over the place.”

We came to a street corner and stopped at the red light. Lala punched the crosswalk button.

“That’s so strange,” I said, tousling my own hair. I needed to get a cut, but that was another way I’d been trying to save as much money as possible.

“Your parents have been really nice about everything, Felix … but do you think they’re trying to—I don’t know—curse me or something? Like, maybe they’re actually not cool with all of this, and are hoping these spells get rid of our baby?”

The light changed, but we stayed on the corner.

Lala took a deep breath. “Maybe they’re mad I’m white and not Filipina.”

“La,” I said as gently as I could, looking deep into her eyes, the blue of which seemed to have become even paler over these last few months. “I don’t think that’s it.” I kissed her on the mouth, then I bent over and kissed her stomach. As I did so, she ran her fingers through my hair, sending a chill through my body. I considered straight-up telling her about the manananggal, but I wasn’t sure she’d believe me. And, even if she did, I didn’t want her to be afraid all the time—I’d read online about how too much stress during pregnancy was unhealthy for the baby.

Nah. I could shoulder enough worry for the both of us.

“I’ll ask them,” I said. “I’m sure it’s just my folks following some old superstitions to bless the baby with happiness and health and all that. But, in the meantime, maybe leave those spices and stuff alone. It’ll probably make them feel better.”

Lala hooked her thumbs through her backpack straps. “I really don’t like it.”

The light changed again, and this time we crossed.

I took her hand. “Like I said, we’ll pick up Febreze.”

She shook her head, unconvinced. “I really don’t like all of those little cups. They’re weird as hell, Felix.”

“Well, maybe not Febreze. That stuff’s expensive. I’ll pick up some incense sticks from work.”

“Whatever,” she said.

I squeezed her hand and made a mental note to swipe more of the little containers from the store … and to Google if using incense was safe during pregnancy.

* * *

Two months later, I woke to the sounds of screaming.

I threw back the covers and raced to Lala’s room, opening the light as I burst in.

Lala was cowering against the headboard, sheets clutched over her swollen belly, eyes wide with panic.

I glanced up just in time to see something that looked like fishing line quickly withdraw into the ceiling.

The manananggal’s tongue.

Shit, shit, shit.

I gathered Lala in my arms. “What was that?!” she cried. “What the fuck was that thing?”

There was the sound of scrabbling above, like rats in the ceiling. Then it was gone.

“Did it get the baby?” I asked, voice cracking.

The rest of my family had appeared in the doorway. All eyes were on Lala’s stomach.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘it’?!” she shrieked.

“Did that thing touch you?”

Nanay made the sign of the cross, and asked, more directly, “Did it pierce your belly?”

Lala stared at my mother, eyes wild. “I don’t know! I was asleep. Then I felt a tickle—I thought it was a bug or something, so I brushed it away. I felt it again, and I then woke up to find this fucking thing hanging from the ceiling and touching—no—trying to go into my stomach. That’s when I screamed.”

Lala started crying again. I held her closer.

Nanay looked around the room. “Where’s the salt and vinegar, Felix?”

“I—”

“We told you that you couldn’t be lazy with this,” Tatay broke in. “Not like everything else in your life. Especially when she’s this far along.”

My parents waited for me to answer, but their familiar disappointment deflated me. I couldn’t say or do anything besides hold my girlfriend.

Ate Jazz finally spoke up in my defense. “She kept throwing them away.”

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Lala pleaded. Her heart beat against me like crazy, and she was sobbing now.

That, more than having actually seen the manananggal’s tongue retracting, shook me. All the family stuff Lala dealt with had forced her to develop a thicker skin than anyone I’d ever known.

This was the first time I’d seen her break down.

“It probably did not have time,” my father said, quickly shifting his tone.

“Yes, you must have scared it away,” my mom added.

“I’m sure the baby’s fine,” Ate Jazz said.

I stroked Lala’s hair as she started to tremble uncontrollably. I looked up at the spot in the ceiling where I had seen the tongue disappear, and found my voice. “We need to take her to Dr. Ramos.”

My parents nodded, and went to make the call. Besides being Lala’s OB-GYN, she was pinay, and a friend of Nanay’s, so we knew she’d understand why we were waking her in the middle of the night.

“Is there anything I can do for you, bunso?” Ate Jazz asked as she lingered in the doorway.

She hadn’t called me “baby brother” since we were little. “Not unless you can kill this goddamn manananggal,” I said.

She nodded and then disappeared.

It was a long time before Lala calmed down. After she did, she wiped her eyes, sat up, and said, “Felix. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

* * *

My parents drove Lala and me to see Dr. Ramos first thing in the morning. Thankfully, after a short examination and an ultrasound, she told us the baby was still there, still alive and well. Everyone exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Lala and I held hands, gazing at the grainy image on the screen.

“It’s a good thing you woke up when you did,” Dr. Ramos said. “They work quickly.”

Lala and I exchanged a glance. Although I’d finally told her everything last night, she was still skeptical.

“You mean the mananana … ?” asked Lala, trailing off as her tongue stumbled over the syllables in an attempt to pronounce the name of the foreign creature that wanted to steal the life within her.

“Yes. The ma-na-nang-GAHL,” Dr. Ramos said, breaking the word down as she might any other medical term.

“So they’re real?”

Dr. Ramos nodded.

Lala alone laughed, in a way that worried me.

“There’s a creature that can separate its upper body from its lower body and then fly around?” she asked, still incredulous.

We all nodded.

“And then it somehow knows how to find a pregnant woman, lands on the roof of her house, then lowers its tongue through the ceiling and …”

“And it takes the fetus,” finished Dr. Ramos, holding Lala’s gaze.

That icy feeling gripped me again, even though I already knew all of this.

“Like a miscarriage?” Lala asked.

The doctor shook her head. “No. Afterward, the womb is simply empty.”

Lala grimaced in shock and disgust. “It eats the child?”

“Most likely. But some believe it turns the child itself into a manananggal. Nobody knows for certain.”

Lala turned to me. I could tell that hearing a woman of science confirm everything we had told her—with an absolutely straight face—was chipping away at her skepticism.

“How come I’ve never heard of them before?” she asked. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

Dr. Ramos shrugged. “White people have a way of not seeing things, even when confronted with them.” Then she held up her hands. “No offense.”

* * *

As we pulled up to the house, Ate Jazz was in the driveway, slashing the air with something that looked like a long, bone-white stick. She wore an expression of serious concentration, as if she were the pinay version of Bruce Lee.

But she moved aside when Nanay honked so that we could pull into the garage. My parents led Lala back inside to take a rest, and I made my way to the driveway.

My sister brandished the whip. “Badass, di ba?”

“Is that what I think it is, Ate?”

She nodded. “A buntot pagi.” The air whistled as she sliced at an invisible foe over and over again.

“Where did you get a stingray tail whip?” I asked, impressed. Of course I’d heard about them in stories—essential weapons for defense against the lower creatures—but I’d never seen one in real life.

“Lolo Nando,” she said. “Direct from Capiz.”

“Oh.” Was that a typical Ate Jazz exaggeration? Maybe it was Lolo Nando’s. But if it was true, if the weapon really was from the home city of the aswang, then it had to contain additional power.

As the sun crept higher over the crowded houses that lined our hill, I watched Ate Jazz continue practicing. Her movements were smooth and fluid, probably because she’d trained in arnis for years. Now I wished I hadn’t quit.

She finally stopped, out of breath and forehead glistening. She wiped the sweat with the back of her forearm and then handed the whip to me.

I hefted it in my hand, testing it, then awkwardly imitated some of her slashing movements. Though it was called a whip, in action the long, thin bone felt more like an extremely flexible fencing sword.

“He gave me this, too.” Ate Jazz picked up a leather pouch from the grass next to the driveway. She untied it and let me peer inside.

“Salt,” I said. “Also from Capiz?”

She shook her head. “It’s Morton’s. You know, the one with the white girl in a raincoat?”

This was less impressive.

“Lolo Nando said it would be just as effective.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Did he tell you anything else that might help us?”

“Yeah. The manananggal’s upper body can’t travel too far from its lower body. Maybe one mile. Two, at most.”

I nodded. Then I stepped back and resumed practicing with the stingray’s tail. “Tonight.”

Ate Jazz nodded. We were ready to hunt immediately, but the manananggal was a shapeshifter—it could literally be anyone. However, it could only commit its dark deeds at night when it was able to return to its true, vile form. That was when we’d be able to find it and kill it, so that my child could slip safely into this world.

Ate Jazz watched me flailing, a pained look on her face. “I’ll use the whip. You carry the salt.”

* * *

That night, my parents insisted Lala sleep in their room. Even though they could now put out the salt, ash, and vinegar without fear Lala would throw them away, Dr. Ramos had warned us that the further along she was, the less effective those precautions would be. So they would take turns staying awake, watching the ceiling to keep my girlfriend safe—as safe as they could, considering the looming threat. I had asked if there were something we might be able to hang over Lala to shield her, but they told me the manananggal’s tongue could pierce anything.

I called JoBoy and Miguel to catch them up on all that’d happened, and to see if they could help. JoBoy was freaked out and wanted to, but his nanay was real strict about his curfew. Miguel, on the other hand, said he was busy playing Madden. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d powered up my console.

So Ate Jazz and I set out by ourselves as soon as the sky began to darken.

Our house was located in a section of the city sandwiched between 280 and Mission Street. If what Lolo Nando told Ate Jazz about the manananggal’s range was accurate, then those would neatly form our east-west boundaries, while Jefferson High and Market Street would roughly mark the north-south. The streets were laid out in wide rectangular blocks, so we decided to start at the school and snake our way south until we hit Market.

Though we might have looked suspicious to outsiders, our kababayan did not call the police when they noticed us prowling through the shadows. As soon as they saw the buntot pagi in Ate Jazz’s hand and the bag of salt in mine, they merely nodded, made the sign of the cross, and then drew their curtains closed.

We walked around houses. Peered over fences. Checked behind bushes and cars and grills.

At first, my heart was racing, my palms sweating. But after an hour passed, then two, my nervousness gave way to a numbing combination of hopelessness and boredom.

“We’ll never find it,” I said, lifting the lid on what felt like the millionth garbage can of the evening. “It might be inside one of these houses … it might be one of our neighbors.”

“We have to keep looking.” But the whip dragged at her side.

We kept searching and kept finding nothing.

We walked the entire neighborhood, then did it again. Once Ate Jazz thought she heard a tiktik overhead batting its wings, but it turned out to be someone vacuuming.

We crossed 280 to search the golf course just in case Lolo Nando was wrong, and Ate Jazz’s face wrinkled in disdain. “Can you think of a bigger waste of resources than a golf course?”

“No,” I said.

“Analyn’s husband golfs,” she said with some disgust.

“Of course he does.”

“Fucking rich people.”

Evening gave way to dawn. Street lamps switched off. We went home.

Lala was well-rested and safe. Ate Jazz and I were exhausted. We collapsed into our beds and slept through our alarm clocks. Our parents called the school and told them we were sick. In a way, maybe we were.

From then on, we patrolled every night.

If I wasn’t at school or at work or on patrol, I was sleeping. Ate Jazz somehow seemed to deal with it all right, but my grades fell. JoBoy and Miguel dropped me from the group chat. The basketball team played on just fine without their second-string point guard. It all made me kind of sad, but Lala was safe. That was what mattered.

“I’m so tired,” I would tell my parents, falling asleep into my bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

They would laugh. “Just wait until the baby is actually born.”

* * *

Two and a half weeks before Lala’s due date, Ate Jazz and I finally found a detached lower body.

After all the time we’d spent searching, I was expecting some kind of epic showdown. What a disappointment. It was just a pelvis and a set of legs, like the abandoned lower half of a mannequin, hanging out in the shadows behind the dumpster at In-N-Out. Except instead of tan plastic, the naked legs were grayish and sickly-looking. They quivered non-stop, and the overgrown toenails were the color of a yellow onion. I’d expected organs or bones or the spine sticking up and wriggling like a sea anemone or something, reaching to be reunited with the rest of its body. Instead, it was perfectly severed, as if someone had just taken a sword and cleaved through in one clean, cauterizing swipe.

“This it?” I asked Ate Jazz.

She walked up next to me and checked it out.

“Gross,” she said. “I think so.” Then she turned her attention to the sky, whip at the ready, as if the upper body were about to swoop down at any moment to protect its other half.

I untied the pouch of salt. “So I just pour it out on top?”

“That’s what Lolo Nando said.”

“It stinks,” I said. “Like hot garbage.”

“Maybe that’s just the dumpster.”

I shrugged. Then I tilted the bag and began to pour.

The salt sizzled on contact, like garlic dropped into a frying pan of hot oil. The legs began to tremble more intensely, and as they did so, they shriveled. It was startling. But they basically stayed in place, so I continued sprinkling out the salt, doing my best to distribute it evenly across the exposed cross-section of pelvis.

We waited for the top half to return, to dive down on us, talons and fangs first.

But it never did.

In the middle of this, a random dude in a fedora came by. He tossed an old vacuum cleaner in the dumpster, watched us for a minute without saying anything, and then snapped a picture with his phone before leaving. Ate Jazz rolled her eyes, knowing it would only show up as an indistinct blur.

I emptied out the last grains of salt. The legs continued to shrivel and blacken and shrink. After maybe three or four minutes, they looked like part of a chicken that had been roasted in the oven way too long. When they were too small to support the weight of the pelvis, the whole thing collapsed.

“Guess that’s it,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Ate Jazz poked at the charred remains with her foot, clearly disappointed. Now she would never get to use the buntot pagi. The upper body wouldn’t be able to connect to the lower body and would simply dissolve at daybreak.

I checked my phone. Dawn was less than an hour away. “We should get home.”

My sister nodded, eyes back on the sky. “You know that some In-N-Outs are open twenty-four hours?”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. Wish this one were. I could really go for a chocolate milkshake.”

“Denny’s is open.”

“Ew.”

Milkshake-less, we walked home, the relief of our victory tempered by the exhaustion of so many sleepless nights. Still, we practiced telling the story and joked about hiring out our demon-killing services instead of going to college.

“But then,” Ate Jazz said, “we’d have to hire someone to protect us from Nanay and Tatay’s disappointment.”

* * *

Lala went into labor at night exactly on her due date. The city was still damp from recent rain and the moon was missing. My family drove us to the hospital, and our girl burst into the world a crying, reddish purple ball of blood and placenta goop—and I loved her immediately, I loved her more than I ever knew it was possible to love something. It had all been worth it, and I knew I would spend the rest of my life doing whatever it took to keep her safe, to make her happy.

One of the nurses took our daughter to clean her up and run tests, while others remained with the doctor to tend to Lala. After they finally finished and left us alone, Lala fell asleep almost instantly. But I was wide awake in the quiet midnight hum of the hospital, gazing at my girlfriend’s tangled hair, flushed skin, and chapped pink lips as I held her hand.

My mind buzzed with the future, with the reality of being a teenage parent finally hitting me, with wondering about what kind of father I’d be, with realizing that intense joy I felt was rivaled only by the sense that I had no idea what I was doing.

Sometime later, the nurse returned with our child in a bassinet, clean and swaddled. She looked at Lala, then to me, and then held out my daughter. “We’ll let your girlfriend sleep for a few more minutes.”

I took her into my arms, marveling at her smallness, and looked into her face—my breath hitched and I felt as if I were falling.

Because although she was almost unrecognizable in her purity, she was recognizable in another way.

“She’s ours,” Lala said, eyes now open and arms reaching out hungrily.

I looked from the child to Lala, from Lala to the child. Then I handed it over.

I didn’t have time to dwell, because right then my family burst into the hospital room, all noise and Filipino food in Tupperware. But I could tell by the way they took in the child’s face, then stopped short, that all of them noticed what I had. Nothing was said. Instead, they fixed their expressions, cooed over the child, and began debating whether she had Lala’s or my nose, mouth, eyes.

It was only after everyone left and it was just Lala and me that I had to say it.

“She looks like Analyn Felicidades,” I said. “Who used to go to our church.”

I said “used to,” because Analyn had disappeared two-and-a-half weeks before. Her white husband—Bill or Ed or whatever—had made one of those desperate missing person Facebook posts. It had gone minorly viral, but she’d never returned. I had my suspicions as to why, but I could never bring myself to say them aloud. Not even to Ate Jazz.

Lala cradled the bundled child closer and grinned. “She tried to take her back.”

“Take her … back?”

And then it hit me: We had killed one manananggal—Analyn—but there was another.

Lala looked at me, love-drunk.

“Thank you for protecting us, Felix,” she said, then shifted her gaze back to the baby. “She’s ours now.”

* * *

We had hoped the old ghosts would not follow us across the ocean.

Of course, they did.

Talk to any of our kababayan. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve called this country home. Everyone has seen some terror, some darkness that we thought we left behind on the islands.

Losing language. Replacing names. Ceasing remittances. Forgetting history.

Consciously or subconsciously, we tried in a million ways to cut ties and forge our lives anew. But none of it worked.

We thought we made it out, but we failed to escape.

{ Edited by Sharyn November. }

Randy Ribay is the author of the YA contemporary novels An Infinite Number of Parallel Universes (Merit/Simon Pulse 2015), After the Shot Drops (HMH 2018), and Patron Saints of Nothing (forthcoming from Kokila/PRH 2019). He was born in the Philippines and raised in the Midwest, and he’s a graduate of the University of Colorado and the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Randy lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife and two dog-children, where he teaches high school English and consumes an unhealthy amount of In-N-Out. Visit his website at randyribay.com and follow him on Twitter and Instagram: @randyribay.