Revolutions Happen Like Refrains in a Song (dir. Nick Deocampo) (1987)

We saw a revolution happen. Not often does one get to witness a revolution unfold in one's lifetime. Everyone knew it was coming, but at what time and in what place, nobody knew. Then on the night of the tiger moon it came.

Millions came to see the downfall of an aging ruler as the tiger moon rose to its peak, devouring along its way the crumbling past. People ran out into the streets, invoking God and cursing evil. Change was long in coming.

to this event. In the midst of it all, I found myself a speck in the millions who crowded in the streets wanting change to happen in their lives. I

was insignificant to the whole march of time, except that I saw it happen and arrested its moments in my film, preserving it as memory. Then I

realized my triumph over time. It took only four days for the revolution to happen.

It took years for its reasons to take shape, the ascendancy of Marcus to power, those grim years under the martial law, a totalitarian regime, the killing of Ninoy Aquino that killed democracy. I grew up in those years, those years that will forever remain as scarce in my mind. I grew up first in hunger, then in

fear. Even if many of our people wanted to fight back, silence was all they

fear. Even if many of our people wanted to fight back, silence was all they could give. I saw many of them grow up in those 20 years, keeping to

could give. I saw many of them grow up in those 20 years, keeping to what little decency there was left to remain human. Others, however,

couldn't do more. Some became prostitutes, criminals and rebels. When the

revolution happened and we, the people, were out in the streets, I knew we had all the reasons to fight for change. And we saw war. A war between brothers, a war between two opposing forces of common ancestry, one committed to change, the other for servility. But only one had to win. The tiger moon had to be laid to rest.

Oo, mga bako.

not.

thousand feet above the earth and thousands of miles away from home, I thought of the revolution and how it has affected me.

Crossing through the barriers of space and time, I needed to reason out my existence.

Who was I? How did I come to be? It was hard to imagine that I was one in a million sperms that fertilized an ovum that became myself.

millions in ETSA. What did they come to fertilize except that one dream of change?

I was there, among the millions, to bear witness to that struggle for change to happen. I was out there with my camera. For six years now I have

happen. I was out there with my camera. For six years now I have been keeping memories of our people with my camera. I have recorded lives that were unnoticed, lives spent in the dark, those who suffered in silence.

My family, my friend Oliver, the children and the militant men and women who came out into the streets demanding for change. For six

years I have been working out this theme of change in my films. In this film I want to know how life was 20 years ago before the revolution and one year after it happened. Did lives really change? I want to see change manifest itself, experience change as it happens.

I can go as far back as my birth. Dimmed as my memory be, I must remember everything. My life has always been a holding on, like I was scraping my mother's uterus and decided to leave the womb, afraid to face life.

I grew up in a world surrounded mostly by women, my mother, my sister, my auntie. I don't know, but I really was more comfortable with girls than with boys.

auntie. I don't know, but I really was more comfortable with girls than with boys.

Boys always made me cry.

I have my humble past. My mother was a provincial girl, and from her I inherited my dark skin and practicality. My mother loved a man who through their married years, may not have loved her after all. If he did not really love her, as he once said he did not, what did that make out of us,

their children? Early in life, I always felt I was unwanted.

their children? Early in life, I always felt I was unwanted.

The emotional thirst I had for my father has later driven me to the arms of countless men, searching but not finding what I was looking for. All this

time that I have been having relationships with man, I knew I was only looking for my father. But deep inside me, I also kept an ugly secret, that primal guilt of having someday to kill my own father.

The feeling of being unwanted made me look for attention outside of my family.

There was my childhood, many times spent alone, My imagination took roots in those solitary moments. Then there was school. How I loved school because I wasn't alone anymore.

During those childhood years, Ferdinand Marcos was gathering his political power. I was

only six years old when he first became president. I have faint memories of his campaign photographs. With his campaign promise, this nation will be great again. How

campaign photographs. With his campaign promise, this nation will be great again. How

wrong he proved himself, twenty years after. I was thirteen when he declared martial law. My memories were those of confusion. At a tender age, I didn't know what exactly was happening, but my mind was already open. I began to ask my questions. My camera became an

ally in my questionings. I remember the day I shot my first film. It was

on March 4, 1981, an Ash Wednesday. I wrote in my diary, I have finished shooting my first film. Through the camera, I have found a new extension for self-expression. It has become my eyes. I have found a new way of looking at things around me. I have even gained a new name for myself. Rosa,

Nang Mai Nila. My films will be made by this person, Rosa. As the camera becomes an extension of myself, it shall also help me reveal that part of me which has long wanted to find expression, my homosexuality.

Homosexuality is my awareness. It is my manner of perception. It is my sensibility. Homosexuality has become a form of consciousness.

sensibility. Homosexuality has become a form of consciousness.

These thoughts took shape as I bade goodbye to school.

But I had my fears. Would my family accept me for what I was? I

told them my secret. My mother cried. I think my father may not really have understood. We were a divided family. My father abandoned us a few years ago.

understood. We were a divided family. My father abandoned us a few years ago.

He never came back. How I love watching this old home movie when all of us were still together.

In the course of making films, I met my alter ego, Oliver. His real

name was Reinaldo Villarama. Oliver was a game personator who supported his family in Tundo by working in gay bars. He was a husband, a father, and unloved lover.

His life answered a lot of questions I raised about life. When I first met Oliver, I saw in him a parallel of the mass of men who daily performed the act he has ritually done in his shows, that of spinning a web only to be entangled by it. Be it corruption, materialism, vice, the web could signify

almost anything which tied men to their daily routine hoping to better themselves without knowing they are merely going in circles.

Together in the film, Oliver and I found common things in our lives. We were

both 24 years old when we made the film, and even if we were both biologically male, we accepted a common reality that we were gays. But our self-conscious concern of being gay vanished into thin air when our common concern as human beings became the all-encompassing concern of our film. Together, we saw how it was to grow

up in those dark years. 20 years of repression, 20 years of conditioning of our psyche and our behavior by a society devoid of moral integrity. In

the film, Oliver and I realized how events shaped our lives, how it meant to go on despite the dictates of realities much bigger than our own. In the end, betrayal became inevitable. Betrayal not in the sense of Judas' kiss, but a betrayal that turned night into day. Something lay hidden in the dark, and it was

brought to light. We have stayed too long in the dark. We still do.

But there was comfort in knowing where we were, why we were there, and maybe where we will be going. Redemption would not be far. After the betrayal, one is either filled with anger and revolt, or one resigns and accepts things as they are. We were filled with anger, but could we revolt? In 1983,

they are. We were filled with anger, but could we revolt? In 1983,

the seeds of political awakening was planted, although at that time the inclination to be resigned was easier. Oliver then was in a deep slumberous lull, leaving the big realities to dictate his own breathing. But when the time of his awakening would come, pray his whole race will be awake with him.

myself once. Why was I making a film on Oliver? Was I merely describing a particular lifestyle, meaning the gay alternative? But it

was not just telling. I had some points to make about poverty, homosexuality, aberrant lifestyles, acts of survival, matters that were close to my heart because I had seen them, I experienced them, they were a part of me. If there is truth in the saying that kind begets kind, then working with Oliver meant an act of solidarity.

In 1970, my mother was born. In 1971, we were born with my father. Until we could not eat my grandmother.

Pinala kami sa Orphan Aids. Then, after Orphan Aids, marami kong natutunan, like magalaga ng bago, rondalia. Pagtapos, nakayak siya ng kaibigan niya dyan sa mga club. Nagumpisa na yun sa pagpasok niya dyan.

Nagsasayaw siya, nagweweater siya. Lahat na ng bagay, basta siya kumita.

Ito si Rappi, anak ni Oliver. Magdadalawang taon na sa October 28. Tana, tana,

October 28. Tana, tana, tana. Sige na, ayan na.

tana. Sige na, ayan na.

led me to follow the entrails of poverty and into the dissection of illusion as an escape from harsh reality. The film gravitated on two major themes, poverty and prostitution. It raised questions on how prostitution was related to

and prostitution. It raised questions on how prostitution was related to poverty. Oliver grew up in those Marcus years and became a victim of a systematic

poverty. Oliver grew up in those Marcus years and became a victim of a systematic social processing of human beings which forced them to adapt perverse ways, if only to survive. Together in the film, we saw how events shaped our lives.

survive. Together in the film, we saw how events shaped our lives.

Together, we reconciled the contradictory experience of having and not having.

Finished in 1983, soon after Ninoy Aquino was killed, we thought it best to have the public judge our film. To our big surprise, our intention to scandalize them turned into applause.

also awakened to the realities of the times. In the year Ninoy was killed, he was encouraged to join rallies. Oliver was no isolated particular. He did not exist in a space, in a life, all of his own. It mattered that he existed among us, in our society. His presence created a spell, even if only

it made us nauseated in knowing how far a member of our society had degraded himself in order to survive. It was for the likes of him that the revolution became inevitable.

How do people like Oliver live by the dreadful reality of poverty and prostitution and yet affirm life with its problems? It is important to understand how freedom relates to the issues of poverty and prostitution. Freedom True freedom cannot be won by the likes of Oliver without resorting to anarchy and a provocation of the socio-economic and

political structures that tie him down until he has been freed from these same structures.

However, freedom is not impossible for him. If he cannot have what the possessed few have, then he creates his own brand of freedom by will. Oliver has

accepted his lot, decided his life is so, and works for his survival. That still

is freedom, freedom by choice. Whether his choice is acceptable to us or not is another matter. The question is, can our society accept Oliver?

another matter. The question is, can our society accept Oliver?

The next film I made was a documentary on child prostitution. I do not know now what it was that initially triggered my interest. Maybe it was something in my past, in my childhood, I felt my childhood was a haste. Maybe with a film I could resolve some conflicts in my past. Children of the regime, they were

born under the martial law which lasted for almost 10 years. They grew up under the false ideals espoused by the new society. They were the children born in 72, barely 12 years old and they're suffering from venereal diseases. They've become hardened criminals, addicts or simply apathetic to change.

Nagbawang mo dito rin, pero tanong ba lang kami, nakasol. Nagbawang siguro, bago. Kasi mga

kaupisina namin nagpakain sa inyo eh. Ang portshira, halimbaya.

Metro Manila. So, po natin nila sabi pinaglabanan ni Sige. Nag-asido mo.

Ito kay Sir Roel Fernandez na ang umuidad ko ay 12, 12 anyo. Ako ay nauloy sa Avenida.

anyo. Ako ay nauloy sa Avenida.

Kapalang ito kayo, di lang masing bili. Asama ko nauloy sa Avenida.

A few weeks after I visited the youth jail, I saw Arsenio back in the streets again. In a modest estimate five years ago, a report said that there were

streets again. In a modest estimate five years ago, a report said that there were 100,000 prostitutes in Metro Manila alone, 20,000 of which were children. 30,000

could be found near the American bases in Clark Air Base and in Olongapo. There

were 436 registered nightclubs, 92 massage clinics, 7,003 registered hostesses and hospitality girls, and 2,700 registered massage attendants. The rise of prostitution in the country coincided with the rise of poverty

attendants. The rise of prostitution in the country coincided with the rise of poverty among the people. In a third-rate movie house in Tundo, small children as young as seven or eight up to the age of 16 or 17 were offered five to 15 pesos for the sexual services given to homosexuals, including those coming from France, Australia, and America.

The small town of Paxanhan became a notorious spot for child prostitution. Children

of boatmen who earn only through occasional influx of tourists help raise some money in the family by offering themselves to foreign pedophiles. It was not rare to find mothers who even offered their own children to these foreigners for material favors. The foreigners

in return built houses, gave TV sets, money, or even brought the children abroad.

In Puerto Galera, the same problem could be found. Tourists flocked the beaches to enjoy the sun and the women. Girls from Ermita tagged along their foreigners.

At a wharf in Batangas, children would dive for the money foreigners threw in the water.

People around Puerto Galera thrived mostly through fishing. It was a familiar sight to see children help their fathers in fishing and in earning a marginal income. So marginal it is that very often the lure of tourist money in exchange for sexual services is too hard to resist.

In the past years, concerned citizens have put up ways to stop child prostitution. One

of them was Justice Corazona Grava. But how can one fully trust someone who sometime in her career acquitted the murderers of Ninoy? Outside

in the big world of the city still thrives the oldest profession. Women sold as commodities, children as the newest sexual playthings, men who lost all their sense of human decency.

I ventured to make a documentary on the growing militancy of the people, focusing on a student leader, Lian Alejandro, chairman of a left-leaning organization of peasants and the urban poor. I felt something that would be like a revolution was bound to happen. I wanted to record the numbered days of a tyrant. And I saw in

happen. I wanted to record the numbered days of a tyrant. And I saw in Lian a youthful idealism that awakened our people into the real issues plaguing our society.

Then the revolution happened. The collective effort of our people in protesting against an election, filled with fraud and terrorism, finally put an end to the 20 years of Ferdinand E. Marcos. The people had enough, and democracy had to be won back into the

E. Marcos. The people had enough, and democracy had to be won back into the lives of our people. The aspirations for democracy came in the form of a woman, a mother of her people, Corazon Cojuancuacchi.

Even the gays were out to prove that enough was enough and that drastic changes have to be made in the society. With my camera I spent those four days recording the unfolding of an event we have all been waiting for.

In 1924, the dictator and his family fled the country. At midnight, I was one among the many thousands who marched to Malacan Young, a symbolic march of conquest in a place once forbidden, but now is the seat of our freedom.

To record my feelings during those final moments of the revolution, I asked in my diary, how can I describe this new freedom I feel in my way of thinking?

in my attitude towards life. All the twenty years I have been under the regime, my mind, my emotions, my whole being was warped by fear and corruption. Now

I can feel the promise of a new beginning. I am gradually taking control of my emotions and my thoughts, and my thoughts are becoming clear as if a dark cloud was lifted from my mind. I have a lot to look forward to and a lot to rebuild from where my past has been left in shambles. February 26,

1986.

Notes of the revolution were sweet. With what records I had of the once forbidden images of the realities in our country and a modest coverage of the revolution in my super-8 films, I saw myself traveling to other countries. The spirit of freedom followed me in Berlin, Paris, Frankfurt and other European cities.

With only half the rage, I stood tall among legendary people. Fernando Birri, father of the new Latin American cinema, Laura Mulvey of Great Britain, B. Ruby Rich of America.

I proved I could be their equal, with the same dignity as they had as human beings. I lifted my head among the crowd, and I felt tears

human beings. I lifted my head among the crowd, and I felt tears streaming on my face. I was proud to be free. My

films have brought me to several other gatherings of film and freedom lovers. to Mannheim

and Oberhausen in West Germany, to Bilbao in Spain. I've sought my place among Spaniards, Latin Americans, and friends from the Soviet Union.

But being away from home soon made me alienated. Sitting in Berlin to feel the sun was different from sitting in Manila, enjoying the same sun. In Paris, I could not look at every rue and ali without remembering Manila, its narrow streets and tight passageways. It was hard to forget that which

one had learned to understand and love so much. It was not just the place that was hard to forget. It was also the people. I look at faces here. They were cordial, friendly, but they didn't have meaning. A

here. They were cordial, friendly, but they didn't have meaning. A

smile could be any smile, the look, any look. I longed for the warmth of Manila.

I visited the Eiffel Tower and there I sought some resolutions to my inner conflicts.

Fear was a dominant emotion inside me. Even as a child I was always, always filled with trembling. Here now atop the Eiffel Tower, I realized I had gone far from the poverty of my past. But my fear and trembling were still there. No, I could not go back to Manila with the

same old fears. I could not forever run away from my life. I must go back to the life I know. Somewhere there, at the edge of this glorious city, where also a revolution happened in the lives of their people, was my city of Manila.