Images of a continuing past
The NPAA, which stands for Nagkakaisang Progresibong Artista-Arkitekto (United Progressive Artists and Architects) turns 41 this year. It held its First National Congress and Workshop on Aug. 7 and 8, 1971, at the Asian Labor Education Center in Diliman, a little more than two years after the establishment of the NPA or New People’s Army which celebrated its 43rd anniversary on March 29.
The latter is the revolutionary army of the Left in the Philippines and is widely known by its initials NPA. Not to be confused with it is the NPAA, which is not as well-known but just as steadfast in its commitment to the struggle for national liberation and genuine people’s democracy. Over the years, this group has counted among its members the veterans of the social-realist movement in the visual arts, as well as a younger generation of artists who have introduced more recent multi-media elements in their representation of social reality in the Philippines, but overall the intent remains the same: to remind the public of the continuing contradictions and the unresolved problems of inequity and injustice, through images that deconstruct or denounce the existing order, extol the heroes of the people (particularly the toiling masses) and, inversely, vivify the near-demonic image of tyrants and torturers.
Soon after its founding in 1971, the militant artists of the NPAA went beyond easel painting and in countless street demonstrations, showed their ingenuity and creative graphic skills on posters, murals, and even stenciled graffiti. The declaration of martial law in 1972 momentarily derailed the momentum of the social-realist art movement, since the NPAA’s close affinity with the regime’s nemesis, the NPA, not only in its initials but also in its vision of national liberation through the employment of Art as a “weapon of criticism,” made it a natural target for the fascists. Two years ago, two generations of social realists came together in an impressive show of paintings, murals, sculptures and installations at the UP Vargas Museum provocatively titled “Kapital: A Tribute to Labor.” Leading art critic and historian Alice Guillermo, in her article “Elegy and Eulogy to Workers,” in turn paid tribute to this hardy band of brothers-in-arms, the first and second generations of social-realists. The first group included Pablo Baens Santos, Antipas Delotavo, Neil Doloricon, Jose Tence Ruiz, Edgar Talusan Fernandez, Nena Gajudo and Renato Habulan, while the younger generation had Chitoy Zapata, Mideo Cruz (of Kulo and Politeismo fame or notoriety), Boy Dominguez, Iggy Rodriguez, and Manny Garibay, among others, Al Manrique and Papu de Asis, two outstanding pioneers of modern social realism in the country, have passed on, but their works continue to be exhibited from time to time.
From Feb. 9 to March 18 this year, a number of older and younger social realists came together again, along with other visual artists wielding their paintbrushes as instruments of protest, to mount a show at the resurrected Sining Kamalig at Gateway Mall, Araneta Center. The show was entitled “Imprint: Images of Impunity,” and was organized by the End Impunity Alliance, “a network of human rights defenders, victims of rights violations and their kin, lawyers, artists, professionals and civil libertarians.”
While some of the artworks exhibited belonged to private collections and were not for sale, those that were sold had part of the proceeds earmarked for the campaign and legal fund of the Sherlyn Cadapan-Karen Empeño desaparecido case. Everyone is familiar with this case by now. Two UP students, Sherlyn and Karen, were reportedly arrested, tortured, violated, and “made to disappear” by a military unit under the command of General Jovencio Palparan, nicknamed “The Butcher” by the militants and the sympathetic press, and who is now on the run, the target of a manhunt by the justice department. Not surprisingly, his face occupies a place of infamy among the images shown at the “Imprint” exhibit.
If the Corona Supreme Court ruled the Truth Commission “unconstitutional” because it was planning to investigate and indict only the GMA regime, well, “Imprint” was more encompassing in its scope. According to the exhibit flyer, “the state of impunity in the country remains as prevalent as ever,” and describes the Gloria Macapagal Arroyo administration as nearly equal to the Marcos regime in corruption and abuse of power, as well as the “gross, systematic and brazen violation of human rights.” It zeroes in on GMA’s counter-insurgency campaign, Oplan Bantay-Laya, “which targeted leaders and activists of the democratic movement, human rights advocates and members of the media, the law profession and church people.” The statistics it presents are already familiar yet still mind-numbing: “1,206 victims of extrajudicial execution, 206 desaparecidos and thousands more victims of other forms of human rights abuse…”
But what unsettles and disturbs all the more is the plaint that “under the new administration of President Benigno Aquino III, the human rights situation, especially the situation of human rights defenders, has not changed,” and that “extra-judicial killings during the one and a half years of the administration have numbered up to 64…there have been 9 victims of enforced disappearances…342 victims of illegal arrests…347 political prisoners remain in jail.” The flyer cites the human rights group Karapatan as the source for these numbers.
The dictionary has various definitions for “imprint”: to produce (a mark or pattern) on a surface by pressure (as in torture marks, perhaps?); to impart a strong or vivid impression of; to fix firmly, as in the mind; a distinguishing influence or effect. There are other definitions (a gene modification, a publisher’s name, etc.) but obviously those who designed this exhibit had these definitions in mind when they thought of “imprint” — a precise title which conflates both cause and effect: authoritarianism, dictatorship, repression, enforced by the state on the people are now imprinted on our collective memory, and this awareness is reinforced by presenting images that remind us of a continuing past, and of a continuing struggle for justice in our society.
The artists who participated in this exhibit represent a wide range of expressionist temper and (re)presentational technique, but are definitely agreed on the main message that has brought them together: the advocacy of human rights. True to their avowed role in society as participants in the social project of radical reform through visual advocacy, some venerable old members of the social-realist NPAA school of art were represented in this show: Pablo Baens Santos, Antipas Delotavo, Neil Doloricon, Boy Dominguez, Egai Talusan Fernandez, Angel Soriano, and Al Manrique.
In alphabetical order, the other participating artists were Nina Ricci Alagao, Meann Alejo, Nunelucio Alvarado, Jes Aznar, Rose Bucud, Jun Bucud, Jl Burgos, Sonny Burgos, Con Cabrera, Carlo Gabuco, Ted Camahalan, Donato Continente, Jun Cruz Reyes, Kiri Dalena, Gene de Loyola, Eric Guazon, Larry Gile, Alan Jazmines, Maria Isabel Lopez, Nikki Luna, Marika Constantino, Lorena Pacampara, Ab Pagarigan, Marvin Pimentel, Iggy Rodriguez, Romeo Rosete, Max Santiago, Manolo Sicat, June Boy Sta. Maria, Nelson Udaundo, and a group of students from Miriam College.
In retrospect, the re-established Sining Kamalig, under the stewardship of proprietor Simoun Balboa, was a most appropriate venue for the “Imprint: Images of Impunity” exhibit. Although it opened at the new Gateway venue in 2008 with a major show by four leading abstract painters Fred Liongoren, Nestor Vinluan, Gus Albor, and Norberto Carating Jr., it was a popular venue for the social-realist painters in the 1970s and 1980s, even during the height of martial law. At that time, it was run by Simoun’s parents, Ben Hur and Vida Balboa. I remember the late Ben Hur as a white-bearded, gentle person who was a friend to political activists, and who offered their gallery for an exhibit of paintings by political prisoners which included Fr. Edicio de la Torre and Alan Jasminez (who is at present under military detention again). Under Simoun, Sining Kamalig held last year the show “Images of EDSA 1986,” proof that the gallery, while trying to survive as a commercial enterprise just like any other gallery, still remains true to its old reputation for “progressiveness, commitment, professionalism and integrity in advancing the cause of Philippine art and artists.”
