Friday, January 09, 2004
Surrender to the PinkThis is a remembrance of a good, old friend.
I remember seeing him sasshaying towards me for an interview for a Sunday Inquirer Magazine story on young, “different” student leaders.
I remember telling myself: Here the regal one comes. The walk. The smile. The way the silken scarf completed the carefully choreographed sartorial ensemble. The way the soft gestures ambiguously redefined what was masculine or what was feminine. Regal Oliva came.
And how he talked. “Hoy, day, I am sorry for yesterday, gyud. I completely forgot we had a lunch date at Scooby’s.” I shook my head in understanding, and smiled a mild ‘That’s okay’—then, as if on cue, my mind slowly wandered to the subject at hand, unmindful of the air-conditioning whirring at Chantilly’s, the clatter of plates heaped with spaghetti carbonara; the suddenness of an Enya chant softly blasting from an overhead speaker.
What was it about Regal Oliva that turned heads? Curiosity? Magnetism? For the last characteristic, Regal, now the personal assistant of the mayor of Tacloban, would probably nod and affirm to the most bongga degree. “If nobody had competed as Miss A/S for Miss Silliman last year, maypay ako na lang,” he had once declared, giving his signature Miss Universe turns and sways. “Do you remember? Do you remember? Miss Australia two years ago was a guy. There was nothing in the rules that said only females could join the pageant.” And had he wanted the same thing to happen to Miss Silliman in 1999? He smiled coyly, and sat down with that studied slowness that would certainly make Maria Clara envious.
For a person with such a “creative” flair, to say that Regal was “controversial” would be to say what was most obvious. He had survived storms and critical backlash trying to stage a musical Miss Silliman in 1997. He ran for the presidency in the Student Government later in the schoolyear, vocal enough to make equal recognition for gay students in Silliman an administrative priority if he got elected. He, of course, lost the race—by the narrowest margin conceivable (three votes, one of which was dubious), but that was okay. The spotlight never set on Regal, and barely had the year begun in 1998 when he was at it again, thrust into centerstage with the long-delayed creation of Bakla ng Silliman Lumalaban, otherwise more popularly known as BASILBAN Society (now defunct without its queen).
The controversy rolled and rocked.
“This is what happened,” Regal recounted. “It all began when I attended a seminar in Cebu. It was with the Student Council Alliance of the Philippines and I had a talk with the over-all president Percival Sedeña, who was the student council president of the University of the Philippines. He suggested to me that we form BASILBAN because when he came here in Silliman in 1996 for the NTSS, he found quite a number of gays.”
Slowly, the idea formed, and the gay following mushroomed. Nameless but growing in number, they would constantly meet in the Luce Auditorium lobby and take part in every possible facet of Silliman campus life. “We weren’t official, we weren’t recognized by the SOAD. But, as I say, birds of the same, flock feathers together. We wanted to excel. We wanted to do so many things for Silliman, so we thought, why not properly register and be known? For example, I have so many projects. So does my friend Phines Patalinghug, and others. In our projects, we always tap our fellow gay friends, so why not form an organization?”
The plan was initially to form a sister-chapter of UP’s BABAYLAN (Bakla ng Bayan Lumalaban). But due to the fact that the organization’s constitution was still in the process of being amended, Sedeña advised that Silliman gays first formed some sort of a “foundation” in the University, and later, when time is right, be adopted into BABAYLAN. Very soon, we can easily change our name when they are ready to accept us as a sister-chapter.”
Reactions was swift regarding BASILBAN’s creation. For many, it was merely a tactic to gain attention to a bunch of flamboyant KSP’s. For others, the name sounded so reactive, so activist (“lumalaban?” they usually ask with arched brows). And for others still steeped in deeply-ingrained ideas of social taboos, it was an organization devoted to devilish decadence. Recall how people hooted and made retching sounds as actor Paul Rudd kisses his onscreen lover (a man!) in The Object of My Affection. Recall how gasps flew when Ricky Davao did the same in Ang Lalaki sa Buhay ni Selya. In this retro-macho society, tolerance for homosexuals is said to be at an unbelievable maximum, yet double standards remain: for most people, it is okay, for one thing, for gays to exist as long as they stay in beauty parlors, or as long as The Disease doesn’t happen to close friends and family. Thus, to form a gay group in the midst of the Sillimanian community, bastion of Christian faith and values, was considered by many as nothing short of a shock. Then Pastor-For-the-Students Al Fuertes, the former congenial University chaplain, had explained: “On a personal level, I am for BASILBAN. I read their constitution, and I believe in their goals and objectives. But one must think of the larger community also. Officially, Silliman is not yet ready for such a group. We debated this in the Religious Life Council, and we think this is not the proper time. Maybe soon, maybe next year, maybe never.”
The Right Time, then, was the enemy. Still BASILBAN existed, if all but out of sheer will. Regal declared, “We’re growing in number, we’re sprouting like mushrooms. Grabe, as in. Every year we’re growing. And as we grow, there are some gay friends who tend to go against the ‘expectations’ of society. This is why we really felt the need to organize.”
BASILBAN’s immediate goals were two-fold: The group, first of all, seeks to right the internal. Accordingly, there is a need for guidance and empowerment for most gays in Silliman. “We want to guide them as to where they should be going, to what direction to take,” Regal said, “because there are so many temptations in this world especially if you’re gay. You’re very vulnerable. We want to coordinate with the school’s guidance counselors so that gay members in our group would be counseled at least once a month or once a week, depending upon their need for counseling.”
And who needs counseling? “Okay,” Regal continues, “when we go disco-dancing, we have a friend who wears skirts and excessive make-up. That is tantamount to gaining disrespect. The truth is, we [gays] can never gain respect if we do that. For us, there must be a limit. We are here to limit ourselves---no, not to confine ourselves in a box, but to gain respect by being respectable, and by excelling. We are also coordinating with the adolescent reproductive health program of the Nursing department, because sex is a reality when you’re an active gay person. In the final analysis, our members will know where to go in their life, and how to take care of themselves.”
The goals of BASILBAN do not stop there. The second goal is to go beyond the internal, and tackle the challenges of the greater community. “The most difficult problem that we will be addressing are, I guess, gaining acceptance and fighting prejudice,” Regal admits, “especially from the administrative level. We have a dark future already. We are still pending in the SOAD. The reason we hear is that they are questioning our morality. I don’t understand such questions. We are here to promote our welfare.”
Already, BASILBAN is on the move, sponsoring such events as the Extemporaneous-Speaking Contest, the Talumpati ng Taon, a gay film festival with Société des Cinéphiles, and planning other events such as symposia with acclaimed gay speakers Danton Remoto and Neil Garcia, some community outreach programs, as well as activities geared to environmental concerns.
Regal Oliva---sitting there like a queen in court, talking animatedly about the group and his plans for the year---is essentially the embodiment of BASILBAN: active, flamboyant, and, well, gay. “I am proud to be gay. I don’t know when I became one, but I accepted that fact when I was still 14 years old. I simply cannot remember being straight.”
He laughs. “I always imagined being Linda Carter in Wonder Woman, and I used to use Superman’s red briefs, can you imagine, in my fantasy as Wonder Woman. That, plus my wrist bands with stars and my magic lasso, completes everything.” He pauses. “I came to Silliman in order to ‘reform.’ But I found I just couldn’t do that. Basically, my family knows, and they support me all the way.”
And what of the trademark scarf? “My mom always wears scarves. I guess I got that from her. And, day, I have to wear a scarf because I feel so kiat when I don’t.” Outside, the day passes. The tape recorder whirrs to a grating close. With an Evita wave, Regal disappears in a flash of pink, perhaps off to where duty calls.
How Silliman rocked.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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