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What did
we speak before 1521? I imagine each tribe its own
dialect, as we were convivial neighbors. I am told that
language travels better across oceans, so dialects
preferred to cross seas instead of mountains. Nobody
really cared then. They all just spoke what they knew
how to speak.
Then in
1521 strangers arrived. We guess they were Spanish, but
some say they were more accurately Mexican. They all
spoke Spanish, did not want to teach it to us. They
called us indios. Again, who cared? We did not
understand them yet.
To their
credit they wrote about us, what we wore, what we did.
They wrote about our sexual habits in shocked tones.
They were Catholics and we were nothing more than happy
pagans in their eyes. They did not bother to ask if we
were religious. We had our own system of beliefs, our
own Gods. They taught us to capitalize God when writing
about the one true God. Reserve the small g for the
inconsequential gods. They declared us one country. I
don’t think we consented to that, but they did it
anyway. They stayed 300 years firmly determined not to
teach us their language, but we learned it anyway. Our
Pilipino is full of Spanish words. Then, finally, after
more than 300 years, the Americans decided to take us
over. They were not in love with us, but they were in
competition for world power with Spain, so they took
over Spain’s colonies—Puerto Rico, Cuba and way out
there on the other side of their world, 7,100 islands at
high tide, which the Spanish had originally called Las
Islas Felipinas. Translated to American, it became
Philippine Islands and, over time, it became simply
Philippines.
The
Americans killed many of us, too, but they did not call
us indios. When they were grateful, they called
us their little brown brothers. When we annoyed them,
they called us monkeys, that old popular song I used to
sing as an innocent child, “Oh, the monkeys have no
tails in far Zamboanga.”
But they
differed from the Spanish in that, immediately, they set
up three government bodies—the departments of public
works, health and sanitation and education. These became
their colonial tripod. Public works built roads and
bridges to connect provinces. Health and sanitation kept
people healthy, no epidemics, that they would stay
clean. Education was to teach the monkeys to speak
English, become real people, to talk to them and serve
them well.
This
teaching of English also served us well. I remember,
when I was a little girl, my grandmother, my priest
uncle and two other cousins flew to Laoag, Ilocos Norte,
to visit my aunt who was in the Carmelite convent there.
One day the three adults wanted to talk alone. They had
to get rid of us. They put us on a calesa, a
horse-drawn carriage, and asked the kutsero,
Tagalog (then) for the Spanish cochero, to please
show us around town. He did not speak Tagalog. We did
not speak Ilocano. We communicated in English. It was
fun.
We went
to school then at Maryknoll College, taught by American
nuns. My male cousin went to the Ateneo and learned from
American Jesuits. We learned our English well. We were
taught from a book and a workbook: Voyages in English
was the title of the book. I don’t remember the title of
the workbook, but every day there was seatwork in every
grade from Grade 3 (I went to St. Theresa’s College
before Grade 3) to senior year in high school.
Aside
from being the medium of instruction, we had two English
subjects: English Composition, where you learned all the
grammar rules, and even learned how to diagram the most
complicated sentences so that your diagram filled the
two large classroom blackboards by the time you hit your
senior year; and English Literature, where you read all
those magnificent pieces that were produced by a
profound knowledge of correct English Composition.
Outside
of the subject Filipino, we were not allowed to speak
any dialects, including Tagalog, in school. We were
fined. We had to learn English very well. Guess what? We
did, and I am proud of it.
Today we
need to teach English well to speak it well. Look, the
world once more is searching for English and Spanish,
both languages given to us by our history. We, in the
end, did not like what the colonial powers did to us.
They killed our ancestors. But does refusing to speak
their language bring our ancestors back to life? No,
definitely, decidedly not. We need to throw away our
narrow definition of nationalism and go for a broader
one. We really need to learn to speak English well
again. |
