It is humid where I am now. But, where other writers are, they are rhapsodizing about the nip in the air. Christmas has, indeed, the capacity to allow people some pretensions, or fantasies.
We do not have snow and frost. The closest to being frozen is the doll my grandchild, Leona, plays with. She calls the doll “Frozen”, and, indeed, the persona in that box looks like she has been botoxed beyond redemption. Leona is growing up into a political commentator and I like that.
Christmas is contentious, like any events related to religion. I must confess, though, that Christmas is already embedded in my genes. Christmas is malignant in me. The crèche on top of a TV console is composed of characters with foreign features. The lead actors in the first Christmas faced situations that were historically unique to the land. Romans and Jews were all enmeshed in a colonization process where the promise of a Messiah was a national threat, even if there was no nation in the site.
In our country, Christmas comes early and we pride ourselves in the longest Christmas. What that means only Wise Men can divine. We talk about “Ber” months and the TV newscasters, ever insipid, start the countdown. As early as September, the Yuletide tunes drown out the memories of martial rule, which took place in that month many years ago. These are songs about sleigh bells and reindeer and chestnuts. We dream of white Christmas just like the ones we used to know, even without being aware of the deranged nostalgia in that recall.
If the memory of Christmas carols in English are misplaced enough, think of the local Christmas songs we have. Each year, the networks come out with station IDs that are passed off as messenger of love and hope when, in fact, these songs are really advertisements in disguise. Many Filipino children get to learn to sing the carols due in no small measure to the greatest exposure the networks can give to this commercial creation.
Our local carols are no crystal example either of warm thoughts and honeyed moral lessons. Our Christmas carols are sordid torch songs, doormat anthems to abusive relationships. One song, a favorite, in fact, because of its bittersweet melody, says it all: “kahit hindi Pasko ay magbigayan.” Does this mean we are not that generous outside Christmas?
Christmas in this country can never be celebrated in the manner of the suspension of disbelief that other cultures may embrace. There is a reality out there to contend with —bitter and sad realizations of poverty and corruption.
My friends will tell me I am ranting. I am not. I am retelling the Christmas story as it happened. It was a cold evening and a dictator supported by a foreign force was waiting for the chance to discover where this Savior would come from. The census that he was at first wary of became an opportunity, a kind of proto-national identification, to zero in on the threat to peace. The dictator knew the Messiah would come from the House of David. What an easy target in the chill of December.
Let me not greet you “Merry Christmas”, for as in the first Christmas, there was only a bit of hope. Remember only the shepherds were sure of the baby in the Manger. The Wise Men were certain but they were much too exotic to be harbingers of good news.
The first Christmas began with a massive rule that forced people to travel back to their hometown. There was a hidden threat from Herod the strongman, and later, after the glorious birth, the killing of the innocents took place.
Perhaps, there is something to look forward to in the shifting of the year, when the Monster eats the Old and spews out the New. Under the present dispensation, violence has become more credible. Happy New Year, then, good friends, old friends.
E-mail: titovaliente@yahoo.com.
Image credits: Jimbo Albano