INSURRECTO: Histories, realities, & other confusions

Season 1, Episode 2 Transcript

V: Happy first Wednesday to all our listeners. On this Episode 2 of The Lift Up, Tamara and I are discussing Insurrecto, a novel by Pilipina writer Gina Apostol, which takes its title from revolutionaries who sparked the Philippine-American War.

We picked this book since Philippine Independence Day falls on June 12, commemorating the country’s independence from Spain in 1898. Of course, the Philippines didn’t really gain its independence, and instead became an American colony for the next 50 years … a century, if you consider that US military bases were in operation until the ‘90s.

Without further ado, let’s dive right into our discussion about histories, realities, and other confusions in Episode 2.

T: Hey, Vina!

V: Hey, Tamara! How are you? How’s London?

T: It’s good, thanks. We are actually having really good weather this weekend — even though we can’t go out. But, it’s beautiful; and it’s sunny; and it’s warm. How is it in New York?

V: Yeah, for the first time the weather has been nice. But you’re right, it brings the crowds out, so it doesn’t feel too safe to be out there, especially without your mask. So if you are out there, wear your mask!

T: I know, exactly. I mean, the last time I went outside, I went for a little walk through one of the parks nearby my house. And it was just so crowded. I had a mask, and I had my gloves. But, it’s just the amount of people. I said, You know what, I’m just gonna go back in, pour myself a glass of wine, sit by a sunny window, and read my book!

V: Yeah, I mean, that’s what I have been doing. I think you and I have had offline conversations about how this book is a little bit challenging. So, you have to really concentrate and find that space to get the reading done. But, I think we’ve both gotten through it and gotten a lot out of it!

T: Yeah, exactly. So Vina, alright, let’s talk about it! Let’s talk about this book, Insurrecto.

V: Ah, Insurrecto … So, Tamara, Insurrecto revolves around an incident that happened in Balangiga, Samar during the Philippine-American War. The “American” part of that war implies the shared history there … But do you remember ever learning about the Philippine-American War in school?

T: You know what, very vaguely. And when I was thinking about it, I was just like you know, we don’t hear as much about it on a regular basis to remind us of what had happened and why it was important to remember. I know that in 2018, they sent the bells [of Balangiga] back to the Philippines, but I don’t remember reading anything about that. I mean, obviously, I’m in London, but I barely heard about it.

V: No, it was the same case here. Maybe I saw one newspaper article about it, but it was probably, honestly, a US version of a Philippine newspaper. It really didn’t get much press at all … But in terms of this war and encountering it in history books, I actually remember being surprised that the Philippines was mentioned in our 10th grade textbook … I’m a visual person, so what I specifically remember is a photo of the revolutionary Emilio Aguinaldo, who became the first President of the Philippines.

But, from what I can remember, in this textbook, there was no mention of the US paying Spain $20M to hand over the Philippines, or the specific terms “American Empire” or “Philippine-American War,” where more than 250,000 Pilipinos were killed.

But to be fair, I actually never learned about this war growing up in the Philippines either. You know, our education system over there is still very much, I feel, tied to the imperialist worldview. And if anything, we called it an insurrection (like insurrecto) by just a whole bunch of ingrates … So, instead of being proud of our revolutionary history, we were taught to be ashamed of fighting the Americans who brought us English, a public education system, and, of course, democracy …

Like most groups excluded from mainstream history, I had to seek out my own history in relation to this country. And it’s really Pilipino-Americans — so the ones who started ethnic, Asian Pacific American, and Pilipino studies programs in the ’70s — who we have to thank for centering our history back onto ourselves. I think that’s partly why we started this podcast — we recognize that there are so many stories that we haven’t heard.

T: It’s so true, and I think it’s an interesting point, especially when considering how stories are told and who tells those stories, right? You know, what’s interesting is that I looked up a few reviews on the book (not like your usual newspaper editorial reviews, but reviews by other readers who are kind of like us, reading and wanting to find something new). I had found an interesting one (… I was trying to find it and, you know, usually when you find stuff and you don’t bookmark it, you can’t find it again!). But what was really interesting was this person’s perception that the book was really heavy on US pop culture (talking about Elvis and Muhammad Ali, etc.) and they were looking to learn more about Philippine history. And it just made me think that the person didn’t really give the book a chance, but more so, that they didn’t understand how and why there would be this cultural intersection brought on by the occupation.

So it led me to think and ask, does one need to know and understand the history of the US occupation to understand and appreciate the book? When I read it, I purposefully did not look anything up while reading because I wanted to be able to answer that question for myself, and I found that I could appreciate the book and the various themes that run through the book without a deeper knowledge going into it. However, once I finished the book, I really wanted to learn more about the history, and I wanted to have a deeper understanding of those themes and connections. So Vina, what do you think? I know you read it twice, but what do you think about that?

V: That’s an interesting observation the reader made about Elvis. I do think he’s a stand-in for America … the way, say, John Wayne or Dwight Eisenhower was for some of my older relatives (I actually did have an uncle named Ike). In the book, Chiara’s mom Virginie sees Elvis at this concert in Vegas and wonders why he does all these stunts, these splits, to seduce the audience … even though all they want is a glance from the “white-robed singer.”

So, there’s a joke that pretty much sums up how many Filipinos feel about America. It goes like this … for 300 years, we lived in a convent, then we lived in Hollywood for the next 50 years! I’m so glad you got why Elvis was in the book and that you were also able to appreciate it even without knowing the history.

I mean, even for me, as someone who’s admittedly obsessed about Philippine history and who’s read this book twice, I still find it challenging … but in a good way. And I think Apostol anticipates this in the reader. There’s this quote I just find so reassuring. Technically, it’s the character Magsalin talking to herself, but it could also be Apostol talking directly to us, the reader. So she says:

A reader does not need to know everything … Why should we be spooked about not knowing all the details in a book about the Philippines, yet surge forward with resolve in stories about France?

And, I wonder whether we as readers do approach non-Western literature with more hesitations than Western literature. What do you think, Tamara?

T: It’s a really good question about approaching non-Western literature with more hesitation than Western. I would say for me, it’s hard to say personally because we’ve been lucky that our repertoire exposure has been varied from a very early age, so we’re open to a lot. But that word exposure … Exposure is key to that answer, I think. If you don’t have the means, or the ability, or, quite frankly, the encouragement to be exposed to various stories, then I can hypothesize that one might be hesitant to approach stories they aren’t used to, or do not think would resonate. And — going off on a little, tiny tangent — that’s why I think libraries are key, but I won’t go into that … I digress!

But also, I think you can link this back to the earlier points on history — you could appreciate the work of art for what it is and its craft, making it accessible to all, but to really get to that creme on top, that’s achieved through the historical and cultural significance, and that adds another layer, that additional depth that is so important to completing or rounding out the experience.

And I think it’s also interesting about how the book is challenging. Like we talked about, it took me a while to get through it. I found it really challenging, and, to your point, not in a bad way, but in the way that requires you to pay attention. It’s not an “easy read” like some novels are — and those novels definitely have their place (you know, I’ve got a ton of those lined up for when I just want to escape into another world and another story, from all that’s going on around me, and I want to just plow through it). But, this one is complex — it requires you to think, and to be introspective, and to pay attention; and if you do, you get to the gold at the end.

V: Yeah, I felt the same way. And it’s even hard to summarize the book. I suppose Insurrecto is about two main characters — there’s the Pilipina American translator Magsalin who’s a balikbayan, or an emigrant who returns to her homeland, and American filmmaker Chiara Brasi, who is haunted by this brief childhood in the Philippines when her father was filming a movie about Vietnam … in the Philippines.

I love that Magsalin sees the film in a class about “Vietnam War movies shot in blighted areas that are not Vietnam.” And I actually highlighted this sentence in the book:

There was something both engrossing and pathetic about … reconstructing the trauma of whole countries through a movie’s palimpsest, and what was most disturbing, of course was that … our identities are irremediably mediated.

Personally, I love encountering new words in books, and I have to admit that I had to look up “palimpsest.” I found 2 definitions: 1) manuscript or writing material on which original writing has been effaced to make room for newer writing, out of which traces remain, or 2) something re-used or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.

And I really love how this one word gets at the crux of what I think the book is partially about. What Magsalin does in re-writing Chiara’s script, and what Chiara does in setting her script in Balangiga, Samar are palimpsests.

I think there’s also a larger point being made. That history has to make room for newer writing, as new knowledge and counter-narratives emerge. But, as you know, a history of violence like colonialism, leaves permanent scars.

So, Tamara, were there things that resonated with you or that surprised you in the book?

T: There were so many things. But, can I just go back to your point on words? I found so many words as well. I read this on my Kindle and highlighted so many words — so, I am looking forward to using some of these regularly! I do not wanna forget them. I’m trying to find ways to add confabulation and ephemera to my every day speech …

V: I might have to hold you to that!

T: Keep me honest, keep me honest! Let’s see if we can put this in the next podcast … But, to touch on one point I wanted to highlight. I wanted to talk about style, going back to the many things that kind of sat with me as I read through the book. You and I chatted about this a bit offline over email. For some of the characters I found — especially Magsalin — their style of speech and thought very explanatory (lots of parentheses explaining certain things). And, in a way, it almost seemed condescending, and I wondered is there a point to that style of writing for that character? How does it fit with the book? How does it fit with the character? What do you want me to feel about this person in doing that? And additionally, the way that the book wends in and out of various stories, including the one that’s being written. I know lots of authors do this, but the way that it was done with this particular book felt a little bit different. I just wanted to know, what do you think in terms of how that adds to the narrative?

V: Well perhaps because of my ADHD, I am a self-selecting segment of the population who actually likes whatever this style of writing is … postmodern writing. Although when I first read the book, I did feel that the style and convolutions distracted a bit from the story. So, this book isn’t written in chapter order, and the second time around that’s how I decided to read it (instead of by page order). And for me that’s really when I saw the genius of the book — there are all these parallels between characters, where the same description or dialogue is used for more than one character … Or the inverse, where one character completely contradicts herself in another chapter. And I almost wished that the book were written in chapter order. But, I think the jumbling is there to make a point about historical perspective, or even about history repeating itself.

T: That’s interesting. I didn’t think about that. But, hearing you say that, it totally makes sense to me. To round out your earlier question on other points that resonated, I think the title of the book as well — Insurrecto. What it starts out with in the beginning with the meaning, how we get introduced to it, and how that changes throughout the book (and why) — especially depending on who’s talking about that word. I think it was first referenced in section “22. Why Samar” and I thought it was interesting how interchangeable it was with many derogatory names, which I won’t say here (it’s in the book, guys). But, this line did catch me — “interchangeable names in a confusing war.” And then, further on in the book, Magsalin has to explain to Chiara that the people of Balangiga were not insurrectos but revolutionaries, and I love how that ties with both Casiana’s speech in section “27. Noon” and Cassandra’s speeches later on in the book.

V: Yeah, from the beginning of the book, Apostol makes us pay attention to words. She says at one point, words “have at least two meanings, all of them correct,” and names … She says, “Choosing names is the first act of creating.” And there’s a section in the book where Magsalin inspects the captions on the stereo cards. She notices, for instance, that they’re filed under “Philippine Insurrection” (not Philippine-American War in the Library of Congress records), that “insurgents” are in quotes, but not insurrection; and that “soldiers” are only used for white males.

Part of the forgotten history is that there were 6,000 African-American soldiers who fought in this war. And Apostol mentions in passing Private David Fagen. He was a Black soldier who defected on the side of the Pilipinos and was so notorious that there was a $600 bounty on his head, and his capture actually made headlines in The New York Times (in 1900, I think it was).

It makes sense to me that Fagen and twenty other soldiers defected and fought with the Pilipinos. Plessy vs. Ferguson, which upheld Jim Crow segregationist laws in the South, happened just two years before they were sent to the Philippines. So, they totally understood the hypocrisy of the war. Actually, more than a thousand Black soldiers chose to remain permanently in the Philippines because they felt that they would have better economic opportunities and would face less racial prejudice there.

T: You know what, I had no idea about that, which is really interesting and goes back to your point that so many pieces of this are forgotten and are not taught. We don’t know about that. When you mentioned that part about Fagen and why the Black soldiers decided to stay in the Philippines permanently, it reminded me of Muhammad Ali’s refusal to go to Vietnam and the reasons he gave. I’m not gonna read out his quote (I think a lot of people know that quote). But if you don’t, please Google it, and we’ll also put it as a resource link on our website. I thought that was very interesting — making the connection of Ali to the novel. And I even thought, perhaps there might be a further interesting connection if you start thinking about why Ludo decided to go to the Philippines to make this movie about Vietnam … There are so many other interesting themes in addition to that. Like the theme about expatriation and repatriation, that experience that Magsalin seems to struggle with and to a certain extent, Chiara — growing up for the most part within the Philippines and then being moved around by Virginie. It spoke to me quite a bit as an expat myself.

V: Yeah, that part about how Magsalin feels guilty for leaving, but then also how she knows her family won’t ever blame her for it really resonated with me. I read somewhere that 10,000 Pilipinos leave the country each day. It’s so common that we actually have an acronym for them — OFWs or Overseas Foreign Workers. I’ve been wanting to, but really haven’t been back to the Philippines in over twenty years, and like Magsalin, I know I can’t return to the place I remember … And I know I’ll probably feel more like a tourist, for as much as I do try to retain my culture and re-learn my ancestral language Ilokano and the “national” language Tagalog.

T: Exactly … Sometimes I feel it is harder when you return than when you leave. You’ve moved on and changed; and everyone else has moved on and changed. I remember how out of place I felt the 10 months I came back to the US from Japan before I moved to the UK. I wasn’t expecting that to be so hard. I wasn’t expecting to feel so out of place, that reverse culture shock — like I hadn’t been born in New York City and lived my whole life there … But I imagine, to your point, so many people who move countries and build their lives elsewhere must feel that way at some point — feeling that connection to where they’re from but also feeling a little bit displaced when they go back. So, when reading and feeling what Magsalin was feeling, it connected me with her character.

But going through, there were so many other themes I noticed as well. I won’t spend too much time on them, but just to run through for everybody else — the juxtaposition of Manila and America, where they are described as “one is in the other and the other is in one”; the relationship between Chiara and Magsalin and what they symbolize; the running theme of grief and how one manages grief. I mean, it sends both protagonists all the way back to Samar just for them both to have this revelation around how they grieve for their losses, but then it’s also funny the way they approach that in the scripts to the film …

V: And actually, this book is kinda funny (wierdly) for a book about war.

T: Yeah, it’s a book about war, but then they use that theme of grief in the script to perceive how Virginie and Caz’s character would grieve for Ludo. And I also thought that might even tie in to Cassandra and Casiana — how they honor Balangiga and how they grieve for the people of Balangiga. And last but not least, that theme of occupation and appropriation. There was this part in Section 34 that I really enjoyed reading, where Cassandra corrects the man arresting her after the insurrection and says, “If she is part of their plot, she is no insurrecto, she is a revolutionary,” and then they go further to talk about her prepared testimony to the US Senate, and this really hit me. She goes:

We told them we would free them from Spain. We lied. We took the islands for ourselves. We commit the crimes we abhor. We outdid the savagery for which we claim a just war …

And if you skip ahead a bit:

O what a tangled web we weave — this damned plait of abaca rope we have braided ourselves — this war, this benevolent assimilation, this Manila hempen hell. When first we practice to deceive — we deceive ourselves first — can’t you see? Have you not read Mark Twain?

And then Section 35, when she gives her oral testimony to the US Senate and tells them to remember Casiana Nacionales’s name, and how it was stricken and thought insane because she was a woman who dared to say and show the damage and hypocrisy of what the US inflicted on the Philippines … But also that view of how the people of Samar were retaliated against for standing up for themselves, and then Cassandra was able to go home to her normal life because she had these wealthy connections in New York … And it made me wonder if earlier on in the book if Casiana, who’s the mother of this revolution, what she said to her in section 29 had prompted her to make this stand so much later on … There’s just so much depth in these sections and the connections that you can make as you think about it and you connect the stories through the book and just so many more themes to explore, but I don’t want to give too much more away to everyone else who hasn’t read it yet, so I’m going to stop there.

V: Yeah, we can also totally go on for hours! And actually, your mentioning that Congressional hearing reminded me that if you or our listeners haven’t read Mark Twain’s essay, “To the Person Sitting in Darkness,” it’s really worth doing at some point. Twain was a vocal anti-imperialist, and it is really a shame that most of us aren’t exposed to that side of his writing. And so in the blog post, we can put a reference to that essay as well in there.

And another thing that struck me about the book is that Apostol chooses not to italicize the Tagalog or Waray words, and she’s talked about how grateful she is to have editors who understand why that’s important … I don’t know if you remember this, but it reminds me about how Junot Diaz chose not to translate the Spanish in his novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, because he thought the point was for readers to reach out if they didn’t understand something.

And actually, I’m all for having readers work a little harder in this age of instant gratification. And I think going back to something else you said earlier, one of the things I loved about Insurrecto are the many rabbit holes you could fall into. For instance, I kept noticing the website “praxino.org” popping up, and I had to see if it was real. So, for those of you who’ve listened this far into the podcast, this is your reward for hard work … If you haven’t done this yet, go to praxino.org, and I swear you will love this book and Gina Apostol even more.

T: Fantastic … I really loved how Tagalog and Waray words were interspersed within the text and the feel that gave me as a reader and just brought me into the story more. And I agree with you — this is a novel for which you have to work and earn that prize, that ah ha! moment where it all comes together for you.

V: Ah, I’m so glad you feel this way about this book, and I really do think we picked the right book to read this month. And not just because of Philippine Independence Day, of course, but because Apostol doesn’t shy away from depicting what it’s like living in the Philippines right now under what’s basically a lawless, de facto dictatorship.

There is this violent scene in Insurrecto where policemen on motorcycles chase and shoot down a father and a child on a motorbike. And this scene was probably inspired by the real-life story of 4-year old Althea Barbon, who at the time this book was written, was the youngest fatality of an extrajudicial killing. Basically, Althea’s father was shot by the police just for being suspected of drug dealing. She was sitting in front of him on this motorbike, and the bullet that shot her father in the back and killed him got lodged in her spine. She ended up dying a couple of days later in the hospital. I just can’t even imagine the physical pain and psychological trauma this poor kid went through before she died.

The death count under Duterte, according to reports, is now over 30,000 — and at least 100 of them are young people like Althea, and Duterte has actually called these kids “collateral damage” in his War on Drugs. And it’s only gotten worse with COVID-19. Amnesty International and other human rights groups have condemned the thousands of arrests that have taken place for so-called lockdown and curfew violations, and Duterte has this “shoot to kill” policy, so if anyone questions or criticizes the government’s response to this pandemic, they can just shoot you, whatever.

I just really admire Gina Apostol for so many reasons, of course including trying to make Americans care about our shared but forgotten history between our two countries, as well as the human rights crisis that’s happening today …

T: I agree with you. And to a certain extent, our podcast has an audience that’s global in nature. So, for many people who are sitting out there who aren’t aware of this connection, this shared history, but also what’s happening, it’s also a way in which to hopefully enlighten that population. A lot of this sitting here in London, I don’t hear about unless I talk to my friends in different locations. So for me who feels slightly a little bit more international to a certain extent, I can only imagine for someone who does not have that exposure, how little they will be exposed to what’s going on. It’s interesting mentioning this part as we come to the end of the podcast talking about this book. But I think, coming in this direction, it’s quite important.

I want to add a little anecdote around that in terms of how politics and art are intertwined, to a certain extent. So, for anyone here who’s listening who’s kind of gotten a little bit of a view about what’s going on in the UK around Covid, there’s obviously been a lot issues with our lawmakers making laws but then also breaking the laws and then being excused for breaking those laws. A little bit of, “Do what I say, but not what I do.” One of the authors that I follow but also someone in the UK whose done a great deal for writing in the UK is Damian Barr, and I follow his literary salon. Jojo Moyes had written a post saying in relation to what’s happening, why it hurts the nation so much is because every single one of us has to miss out on so much due to the lockdown — that you can tell us to stay home but that you don’t. And what I love is his response. He says, “As ever, we turn to our favorite writers to help us understand the world and give voice to our feelings” and one of the hashtags he posts is the #personalispolitical. Sometimes, we want to try as hard as we can to separate a little bit between the political and the art, but that’s where the voice of artists, and authors, and poets, and painters, and musicians — whatever your art form is — help give voice to those voices that may not necessarily make it to the mainstream. So, I think just to move us forward through that point …

V: Yeah, that is an interesting point because I’ve always thought about this — the artists who say art should only be made for art’s sake, or you should depoliticize art, or whatever it is. And I actually think that’s a very privileged stance to have. And I think the artists and the writers who actually can’t help but inject politics — because politics is personal/the personal is politics — oftentimes are coming from a completely different space where you can’t divorce yourself from those two realities, because part of whatever creative work you make is yourself. I did find that debate really interesting, and obviously if you can’t tell, I side with that you can’t separate the politics from art …

And I think that might be a good place for us to wrap up this Episode 2 of The Lift Up. Really, everyone who stuck with us through the end of this, thanks so much for listening! And we hope you join us on the first Wednesday in July for another episode of The Lift Up.

T: Indeed, and as always, Vina, always so much fun talking to you. And for our listeners, if you want to get a head start on July, the next book we’re gonna be reading is There There by Tommy Orange. So, stay safe, pick up a book, and we’ll see you next month!

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