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BY RHICK LARS VLADIMER ALBAY
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Remember Aswang Festival?
I ALWAYS like to bring up in conversations that I was born in Roxas City and that my family traces its roots from Capiz – that inevitably swerves the chat to “aswang” territory.
A while back, an article entitled “ASWANG FESTIVAL in Roxas City, Capiz | What Happened?” went viral on social media, drawing ire and fascination from netizens, and digging up some stray memories from me.
I was 10 years old when the first Aswang Festival was held in Roxas City in 2004. It was celebrated at the end of October, just when our family usually heads back to Capiz to visit the tombs of our departed loved ones.
I think my aunt was one of the models for a show on the night of the Aswang Festival, so both curious and reluctant, our family headed to the fair’s grounds to support her.
I remember being greeted at the door by the disemboweled lower-half of a human body – intestines, blood and all – the sight our grandparents told us meant that a manananggal has taken flight to hunt and feed.Beside it was a sign saying something like: “Come back next year to see my other half.”
There was a mardi gras of the living dead – giant papier-mâché tikbalang, kapre, mangkukulam paraded the streets of Roxas City.
That night after a short fashion show, guests were treated to a mock pageant of horror – candidates decked out in the most over-the-top costumes paying tribute to iconic characters from Philippine folklore: a syokoy with a large flaming trident, a tayho with a cigar as big as its torso, an aswang with sharp talons and a red three-foot long tongue extending from its mouth.
The next year, our family did not come back for the second iteration of the festival, so I didn’t get to see that manananggal’s upper-half – and that has haunted me to this day, ahahahaha.
Aswang Festival was almost doomed from the start. Widely condemned by the conservative Catholic Church, the fair was met with both ire and irritation by the people of Capiz, who’ve spent decades being stereotyped as “aswang.”
The next year, it was renamed as the comically laughable “Lupad Capiznon Festival” – not as overt as Aswang Festival, but still building on the lore that has come to settle on Capiz. By 2006, just three years after it was initially organized by Dugo Capiznon Inc., it was shut down.
“It brings shame and embarrassment to our people instead of lifting the dignity of our people,” Pastor Rey Calusay of the First Assembly Missions is quoted in the above-mentioned article.
Ironically though, history shows it was the Spaniards and the Catholic Church that spread stories about “aswang.”
To easily govern and convert Filipinos to Christianity, the Spaniards established clustered communities that centered around the Church. These parokyas and barangays were laid out in a way that made it convenient for Spanish priests to watch over their dominion: the plaza just across the church, the market place beside it and the homes of citizens built close together within the vicinity. This is apparent to this day, especially here in Iloilo with our age-old churches.
Anyone that refused to relocate closer to these communities was labeled as outcasts and rebels. To sow fear among people and to discourage them from moving away from these parokyas, the Church spread rumors about malformed creatures that hid in the forests and fed on human flesh – and the thus the legend of the aswang was born.
Another local horror tale is that of Tiniente Gimo from Dueñas. Popularized by many a radio tale and the stories our grandparents told to scare us, Tiniente Gimo was really named Guillermo Labang, the Tiniente del Baryo of Dueñas, Iloilo – a revolutionary.
Subverting the scare tactic employed by the Spaniards, Tiniente Gimo cultivated the stories of cannibalism and gore that surrounded his family and his town to scare off American invaders.
With the tales of aswang already causing fears among the locals, Tiniente Gimo sought to use it against the Americans too and the colonizers never did conquer the town of Dueñas.
Most Capiznons and the people of Dueñas are embarrassed and mortified when they’re tagged with the “aswang” stereotype. I, for one, want to embrace it – like Tiniente Gimo I’d like to sow intrigue and keep people guessing.
Clue: I’m a frequent tambay at the barbeque stands of Don Benito in La Paz, and I like to order numerous skewers of isaw and betamax (insert winking emoji here)./PN
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