I reread in earnest “America is in the Heart,” one of the first books I saw while unpacking. I felt the urge to read it again after several heartfelt encounters with fellow Filipinos here in Fiji. I was in high school when I first read it so my appreciation of Carlos Bulosan’s literary masterpiece was largely diverse from my grasp the last time I read it as a transient resident in America and now as a newcomer in the South Pacific.
Through over two decades of meaningful encounters with kababayans, I am finding out that the book’s message remains enduring in the sense that Mr. Bulosan’s travails as an immigrant in the 1930’s still echoes today. Except that they’re set in different places, times and circumstances, but the lived experiences stay parallel.
Carlos left his hometown Binalonan, Pangasinan for America at age 17 aboard the lowest class of a steerage. He only finished Grade 3, hardly spoke English and crisscrossed the West Coast aboard risky freight trains chasing the American dream. He ended up as a farm hand in fruit and vegetable plantations, as a dishwasher, rug cleaner and other odd jobs that, to his mind, stripped him of his humanity and dignity but never of his spirit to persevere and his pursuit for freedom. He embodied the uniquely Filipino trait of inventiveness, although at times, to a fault.
Against a climate of despair and oppression Mr. Bulosan met union organizers, labor leaders and, most compellingly for him, writers and academics who ushered him into the astonishing world of books, the liberating realm of reading and eventually writing. He devoured more books while convalescing from a life-threatening lung sickness and metamorphosed from being an unschooled laborer to become one of the prolific poet-writers of his time.
The Center for Migrant Advocacy suggests the first Philippine migration took place in the early 13th century through trade, while the second wave followed at the onset of the 20th century until the 1940’s, mostly bound for the fruit plantations in Hawaii and fish canneries in Alaska. That set the path for the Filipino diaspora. We hail them as heroes in recognition of their personal sacrifices, fortitude and hard work, which translate to billions of dollars in remittances that keep our economy afloat. Our OFWs, “bagong bayani” as the term was first coined in the late 80’s, are everywhere: from sub-zero temperature Greenland to the sizzling Middle East and, surprisingly, have been here in Fiji since the 1970’s and in other Pacific Island states like Tonga, Vanuatu, Nauru, etc.
Coming to the South Pacific after the hubby’s two previous postings focused on multi-lateral work in ASEAN and the UN, I am learning how Filipinos are warmly regarded here. They are highly respected doctors, well-trained nurses and health practitioners, accountants, engineers, skilled construction and maintenance workers, seamstresses, tech professionals, experts in international organizations, academics, bakers, small business owners, entrepreneurs, home-based cooks and supermarket supervisors. We are again more engaged with the Filcom, short for Filipino community as we collectively address them.
It’s worthy to understand the stories of our OFWs from the lens of Mr. Bulosan’s experience. He left his native Binalonan with the hope to liberate his family out of the depths of poverty, with the promise to send his younger siblings to school and with the resolve to salvage whatever small piece of land their family owned. These are the same motivations I hear from our kababayans who would candidly share their stories with me. In some cases, for women especially, another factor is to escape from an abusive marriage or a traumatic relationship.
I heard the story of Rose (not her real name) and the trauma of her life. She is now contentedly settled in Suva with her new young family. Her teenage daughter would be joining them soon for university studies. Rose shared how she recently obtained her business license as a therapist and to operate her own salon. She could now send 500 FJD or roughly P14,000 a week to her family back home. On days when customers are lean, she cooks and accepts orders for Filipino and curry dishes. She grows malunggay, camote, ampalaya and patola creepers around her yard. “Sipag, diskarte at dasal po,” she beams. I told her how I admire her hard work, resourcefulness and faith. Rose said she tries to maintain a steady stream of customers. She confided how jealousy could become a source of misunderstanding among kababayans and she doesn’t wish that to happen, considering the intimate community of Pinoys in Fiji. I have heard of these thoughts before in previous postings where regional organizations that are meant to unite members eventually disbanded due to petty disagreements.
Almost a century ago, Carlos Bulosan wrote how “…regional friendship, which developed into tribalism, obstructed all efforts toward Filipino unity in America.” In “America is in the Heart” Bulosan’s semi-autobiographical work, he poignantly braided the fulfillment and contradictions of a migrant’s life in non-fiction and partly fiction terms.
Regardless of the contradictions, I look up to our Filipino migrant workers as my personal heroes. Many of them have left our country for professional advancement, for economic reasons or by force of circumstances. Their life abroad is not as easy as one could imagine. They are the epitome of resilience and conscientiousness; they radiate gentleness and kindness, oftentimes wearing a plastered smile on their face (but if you’re sensitive, you’d feel a deep sense of longing in their eyes).
A high-ranking government official of Fiji once asked: “How can we emulate Filipinos?” But “sipag, diskarte at dasal” is tricky to explain; it’s something innate that pulsates in the heart of every Filipino – “the citizen of the world” – one meets at the airport, on a cruise ship, in schools, construction sites, in hospitals or among families they take care of, yet are not their own.