The scums of Philippine society
By Dr. Lucio F. Teoxon Jr.
Most of Alberto S. Florentino’s plays, starting with “The
World Is an Apple” (1954) are concerned with the perennial social problem of
unmitigated poverty and the nadir of dehumanization to which its victims sink
down. His plays are by no means a departure from the early tradition of dramas
of “social consciousness” written by Filipino playwrights with strong
nationalist and socialistic leanings. Florentino’s plays pursue the same
concerns, presenting scenarios of the “scums” of the Philippine society who are
driven to the lowest forms of human degradation by sheer economic necessity.
The main characters are drawn inexorably deeper and deeper into the maelstrom
of certain destruction; and more often than not, society, that vast impersonal
collectivity, is the culprit.
In rare instances, an institution in the establishment with
social commitments like the Church plays through its representatives or
functionaries the role of the “fairy godmother” thereby bringing about a
live-happily-ever-after denouement. But the dominant strain of Florentino’s
dramas is the inevitability of tragic suffering. He seems to be saying in
effect, “Well, that’s how it is, or at least, how I see it all.” He seldom, if
at all, proffers a solution. He just shows the social malady the way it is but
does not give prescription. And indeed, he should not be faulted for this, for
he must have seen rightly that the role of the literary artist is not so much
to prophesy as to present a vision, not so much to propound the answer as to
raise the question. Or else the playwright might as well become a thorough-going
propagandist or a sociologist or even a social worker.
“Lungsod” (1971) dramatizes the tragic frustration of hopes
of golden opportunities that most folks in the provinces dream of finding in
the city. But these hopes are in fact based on a quicksand. When the brutal
reality catches up with hollow illusions, frustration and tragedy ensue. Or one
may prefer to hug the false sense of respectability of being an urban dweller,
far removed from the shameful reality of a former home in the countryside with
all its drab poverty. The case of Clara is truly regrettable. It is clear that
Clara is beyond redemption, caught as she is in the net of prostitution. She no
longer belongs to the home from which she has cut herself off, from the people
whom she lives for, not because she is no longer welcome but because to go back
to live with them means, first of all, shedding off her blinders, the sham
existence she leads in the city (symbolized by her wig—artificial hair—and the
dark glasses she wears even at nighttime). That is why in spite of her brother
Ben’s pleading with her that she should stay, she rushes out of the house to go
back to the city, the dark and lonely refuge of those creatures of the night
who would rather live in the cold comfort of sin than suffer the dazzling light
of truth that saves and sets free.
“Marianna” (1971) also takes place in the city, but mainly
in the squatter area where people like Rene subsist on loot, stolen money, etc.
But these folks, as exemplified by Rene and his gang, do not really mean doing
harm to people or killing them in cold blood like hardened criminals. They are
well-intentioned in the sense that if ever they rob, they do it all for
survival. Rene, for instance, did not intend to kill the old guard in the
factory which they ransacked. He aimed to shoot him only in the feet, but
accidentally hit him in the head instead. At heart, therefore, he is not a
criminal. Perhaps he is a “technical” criminal but not an abominable criminal
morally culpable for his acts. This is a fact that only his friend, Marianna,
understands so well, and which those cops do not. For these lost souls it is an
amoral question of either robbing or surviving. Society denies them any middle
course, when it is a matter of giving these people a chance. That is why the
play ends up with Marianna furiously shouting at the policemen (who killed Rene
in the showdown and who represent the establishment) as criminals and murderers
while she cradles the inert body of Rene on her lap.
“Kaharian sa Lupa” (1973) portrays the squalid poverty of
Silverio and his daughter Alma. He peddles old newspapers and used bottles for
a living. But from their destitution they were delivered by a young priest
named Valerio. Thus, unlike in the two foregoing plays, the social problem
finds here a solution. It is Padre Valerio who as it were brings heaven (langit) on earth (lupa). In fact, he steals the show in the drama with his unusual
concern for the poor, unusual compared to the callous indifference of the old
priest, Padre Medina, who has just died, and who, shamelessly known for his
love of ease and luxury, did not have the former’s dynamism. Padre Valerio
exemplifies in his person the main tenets of the so-called liberation theology,
the new socially-oriented thrust of the Church in the wake of Vatican II. This
new theology of social commitment calls out to the clergy to step down from the
pulpit and work and live with the people they profess to serve. Not that the
power of prayer is minimized but that the hour demands the deliverance of the
poor weighed down for ages by the chains of unmitigated poverty and oppression.
Alma’s faith in the saving grace of God is here answered. Faith here triumphs.
But not those of Marianna or of Gloria (in the “World Is an Apple”) whose
clinging to moral and spiritual values is to no avail as the dark forces of
evil prevail.
In conclusion, it may be said that Florentino’s dramas
powerfully delineate the most urgent social problem of the time—poverty and the
offshoots of crime, immorality, etc. He is almost Rousseauean in his faith in
the natural goodness of man as well as in his distrust of the debasing
influence of society. His dialogues are short and they ring true. Even when
they speak of large truths, they do not indulge in ranting rhetoric. And the
fact that Florentino shifted his medium from English to Pilipino in the writing
of his plays no doubt proves that he realized that the effectiveness of
artistic communication especially of the drama as a genre and a social force
hinges on the language of the very people to whom his plays are seriously
addressed.
No comments:
Post a Comment