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RHICK LARS VLADIMER ALBAY
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A culture of fear

I ALWAYS like to bring up in conversations that I was born in Roxas City and my family traces its roots from Capiz. That inevitably swerves the chat to “aswang” territory.
Recently an article titled “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 our dear departed.
I think my aunt was one of the models for a show on the night of the Aswang Festival, so —curious and reluctant at the same time — 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 and 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 tayhò 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. Hahaha!
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 in 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 was quoted as saying in the abovementioned 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 around the church. These parokyas and baranggays 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.
Everyone who refused to relocate closer to these communities was labeled outcasts and rebels. To sow fear among people and 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 Teniente Gimô from Dueñas, Iloilo. Popularized by many a radio tale and the stories our grandparents told to scare us, Teniente Gimô was really named Guillermo Labang, the teniente del barrio of Dueñas, a revolutionary.
Subverting the scare tactic employed by the Spaniards, Teniente 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 fear among the locals, Teniente Gimo sought to use it against the Americans, too, and the colonizers never did conquer his town.
Most Capisnons and the people of Dueñas are embarrassed and mortified when they are tagged with the “aswang” stereotype. I, for one, want to embrace it — like Teniente Gimo, I’d like to sow intrigue and keep people guessing.
Clue: I’m a frequent tambay at the barbeque stands at Don Benito hospital (West Visayas State University Medical Center) in Jaro, Iloilo City, and I like to order numerous skewers of isaw and betamax (winking emoji)./PN
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