Friday, January 2, 2015

The Education of the Street smart and the Image of the Student as a Business Capital






The Education of the Street smart and
the Image of the Student as a Business Capital
by Marcial I. Enginco, MA Educational Psychology, UP Diliman



“The world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” is an oft quoted line from William Shakespeare’s play As You Like It.  It may also very well be the foundation of the dramaturgical perspective developed by sociologist Erving Goffman, in which he metaphorically used the stage, its actors and audience to observe and analyze intricacies of social interaction (Crossman).  The dramaturgical perspective argues that the self is made up of various parts, which he or she presents particularly for specific audiences.
Victor Turner, a British cultural anthropologist, introduced his own viewpoint into the dramaturgical perspective by declaring that not only are humans actors and players, but they are also active makers and interpreters of symbols that are found in society (Scott Hudson, 2009).  Turner further explains that social actions are initiated and influenced by culturally accepted symbols. 
This research will attempt to shed light on the culture of making money on the streets, the common strategies employed and their implications and outcomes, using Goffman’s dramaturgical perspective.   Likewise, this study will delve into the social and moral conceptions surrounding youth bus vendors who claim to be self-supporting students or working students, under the framework of Turner’s symbolic interaction.


INTRODUCTION
The streets of Metro Manila do not only serve as conduits for moving people and goods from one place to another, some of these, especially those plied by public utility vehicles, have become convenient, albeit unexpected stages for human dramas as they evolve and transpire in myriad ways. 
With commuters serving as unsuspecting audience, such dramas – diskarte in street parlance -- are often enacted by citizens belonging to the lower rungs in the social economic scale, who heavily rely on the streets to eke out a living, with the captive audience paying for the performance.  Poor people with disabilities or are in advanced age normally occupy a strategic area in foot-traffic heavy places like overpasses, street crossings and outside of busy commercial buildings to panhandle or scrounge for food.  While the younger and more mobile ones brave the dangers of vehicular traffic to board public utility jeeps to ask, cajole, and sometimes extort money from cooperative commuters.

   
A Sampling of Street Performances

On one short jeepney ride from LRT-Buendia going to Pedro Gil, I have encountered three separate instances of this performance.  Not long had the jeep left Buendia that a young girl of about ten years of age, together with a child, I reckon not more than three, clambered aboard.  The older child acted as guide to the small one as they inched their way towards the center aisle, both with an extended open palm to passengers, some of whom chose to look away, others openly murmured at how callous and irresponsible the parents of this children are to allow them to roam the streets, and a few reached into their pockets to spare the small ones some loose change.  The duo got off at a street stop, with the older child pocketing their collection, which in my estimation by the number of passengers who reached into their pockets, was no lower than 20 pesos.
After less than 5 minutes, another pair hopped in.  Both however were older and bigger, around 12 and 5, respectively.   A stocky man to my right, drabbed in working man’s clothes, was laughing as he chided the two: Naku, mas maliliit yung mga nauna sa inyo.  Mas mukhang kawawa tignan.  Mahina ang kita niyo dito!
Taking this as a cue, the bigger boy sat at a vacant seat and pulled his companion to his lap, waiting for the next stop where they eventually jumped back to the pavement, scanning for the next jeepney to board.  The passengers, who a while ago were lost in their own thoughts, were chiming in on an impromptu conversation, with no one particularly talking to anyone in specific.  Words like kawawa, sana and delikado mixed with raket, sindikato and pang-gagamit.
As the talk eventually died down and the seats vacated by alighting passengers were taken on by new ones, a scrawny teenager with dyed hair and pierced ears spryly hopped on board, surprising many.  After securing his balance in the middle of the jeep, the boy delivered this spiel in a sing-song manner:  Ako po si _________, lumalapit po ako sa inyo upang humingi ng konting abuloy sa aking ama na namatay sa pagta-trabaho.  Ang aking pong ama ay isa pong vendor sa may Luneta, ngunit dahil po ng sobrang pagod ay biglaan na lang pong inatake sa puso at namatay.   Ang aking pong ina ay isang labandera lamang.  Sa katunayan po ay wala po kaming pampalibing sa aking ama (as he shows a piece of photocopied paper inside a clear plastic sheet, purportedly a death certificate).
His eyes are quick as he surveyed the activity of passengers inside the jeep as he spoke.  Though his voice trailed off at times to indicate forlorn, his face did not look sad or dazed as would be expected from one with a recently deceased father.
Huwag po kayong matakot sa akin, mas mabuti na pong dumulog ako sa inyo kesa gumawa po ako ng masama gaya po ng magnakaw  (This loosened the grip of a female student on her bag).  Napakalaki pong tulong sa amin kung ano man pong inyong maiaabot.
And with that, the lad extended an open palm to accept “abuloy” from strangers, including that coming from the female student.  He must have collected at least thirty pesos.  He jumped off the jeep, but not before politely thanking everyone for the help and apologizing for the “istorbo.”
A passenger commented, “Eh, dalawang  linggo nang patay ang tatay nu’n eh.  Nakasakay ko na yun dati pa.”
Then other passengers chimed in, “Manloloko,” “Tamad,” “Magpapasko na kasi.”

…..

Other diskarte includes the medical mission volunteer of so and so NGO chapter, and the religious missionary of some unknown church (not to be mistaken for the evangelizers of the Pentecostal Missionary church who are legitimate church workers) who would distribute letters or envelopes printed with their supposed group’s cause.  Because of the ubiquity and unimaginative nature of this performance, which offers nothing more than a piece of paper and feigned sincerity, this strategy earns more scolding and scorn from passengers than coins and bills.
The advent of Youtube -- where street talents such as Lyca, the sensational singing street urchin and winner of the local version of The Voice, are routinely discovered and allowed their 30 seconds of fame -- has spawned a small army of singers of different ages and talent levels attempting to serenade or, at the very least, entertain people in the streets in exchange for some loose change.
In Lipa, where the researcher is from, even some of the Badjaos from Mindoro and a remote barangay in Batangas City (30 kilometers away), who descend into the city in droves from November to December, have adapted to this new way of making money.  Where they were once content to persistently jab their open hand on anyone they encounter on the street, many now carry a self-devised percussion instrument made from tethered PVC pipes and tin cans which they rhythmically tap as they wail away to tunes only they know and understand.  While they have added some form of entertainment value to their peddling, the Badjaos are still largely viewed as nuisance as they continue to litter and defecate anywhere they please, and are even known to spit at people who ignore or get piqued by their incessant jabbing, and scratch the paint of cars whose passengers refuse to spare some loose change.


The Self-supporting Student: A class all its own
For all the money-making tactics employed by individuals or groups on the street, one modus operandi is so disarming it practically lulls its audience into either giving in to the demand of the performer, or allowing its practitioner to proceed with his/her agenda without protestation or outwardly visible antagonism commonly reserved to the previously mentioned performers.
Anyone who has regularly commuted on a passenger bus would have encountered this scenario at least once:  A young person, between the ages 18 to 25, will board the bus carrying a large plastic bag full of local kakanin and sweets such as dried mangoes, pastillas, oraro, ube and macapuno balls.  He/she will politely distribute a small piece of paper about the size of a regular business card, which would state his/her name, his/her occupation as a self-supporting student, and a plea to the passenger to find goodness in his/her heart to buy the food stuff that he/she carries in his/her bag.  After which, this person will go by each passenger, beginning from the rear of the bus going to the front, to mild-manneredly and smilingly offer his/her merchandise.
While I have my suspicions that this group of individuals are not who they claim to be, and what they are doing, while not necessarily illegal or egregious, is patently wrong because it is founded on deception, I am occasionally moved enough by the performance to suspend judgment and to even part with 20 to 50 pesos in exchange for a product that I had no interest in buying in the first place.
These young men and women and how they exploit the image of a student and what it means to commuters, and the Filipino in general, to obtain a purchase, are the main subjects of this study.   
To gather information, the researcher used the following: observation, interview and field notes.  The research took place over a period of 6 weeks, across various streets of the cities of Lipa, Manila, Pasay, Taguig, Makati, Mandaluyong, Pasig and Quezon.


Casing the self-supporting student

The subjects often congregate in groups of 3 to 5, either in bus terminals or in spots where buses unload or take in passengers.  When they are in designated bus stops, only one will board an approaching bus, while the rest will wait for the next until everyone has taken a ride.  The intersections of Dela Rosa Street and the South Superhighway in Makati, and Ortigas and EDSA adjacent to Robinsons Galleria, as well as the terminals of provincial buses in Taft Avenue, Kamias, EDSA and Cubao, are some of the locations where they are usually found.
Unless one is intently looking for them, these youths are difficult to tell from other youngsters waiting for their bus inside the terminal boarding area.  They banter with each other, tinker with their cell phones, and generally behave like any other youngster on a bus terminal.  That is until they stand up, grab their bags, and enter a bus loaded with passengers anxious to get to their destination.
During one bus ride along EDSA, a male vendor distributed a piece of paper introducing himself as Kenneth.  I called the name out just as he passed me.  He did not look, so I repeated the name.  Again, there was no response.  When he came across me anew, I asked if he had dried mangoes.  “Meron po, 50 pesos.”
As we transacted, I introduced myself and asked him if I can conduct an interview with him some time.  He nodded.  But when I told him the nature of my questions, he said: Medyo busy po ako ngayon.  I told him we can set a schedule at his convenience if he gives me his mobile number.  “Wala po akong cell phone eh.”
“Kenneth” was able to sell to a handful of passengers before alighting.  Unlike the passengers’ reaction to other street “performers,” there were no snide remarks while he was on board, or after he got off.

…..

I met Potpot at the JAM bus terminal along Taft Avenue, near Buendia.  I was observing him for some time before I decided to approach him.  He was seated near where some bus conductors are in a huddle.  His eyes were continually checking one bus as it slowly got filled with passengers.  I smiled at him and asked if he had dried mango with him.  He nodded to acknowledge me but replied that he was not selling dried mangos.  I apologized, thinking that I had wrongly mistaken him for a vendor.
I then turned to one bus conductor to inquire if he knows self-supporting students who board buses to sell sweets and local delicacies.  The conductor asks why I was interested.  “Mag-i-interview lang sana ako.”  He pointed me to the man I was talking to just a while ago.
With that, I initiated a conversation.  I introduced myself and asked if we could have a little chat about his job as a self-supporting student.  He gave me a wry smile and a piece of paper which stated his name as Potpot, a brother working to support the studies of his sibling.  His face and built indeed looked closer to 30 than 20.  Nasaan ang kapatid mo?, I asked.  “Aakyat na ako, kuya,” he replied in a low voice which hinted of a southern Philippine accent.
Mamaya na ng konti, hindi pa naman puno ang bus,” I implored.  He shook his head as he thrusted his right hand towards me, gesturing for something.  Then I remembered I was still holding on to his business card, which I returned as I thanked him.  After he disappeared into the bus, the conductor volunteered, “Madami ang mga yan, karamihan galing sa Mindanao.”
I hopped on to another waiting bus, it was 7PM and I had to go home to Lipa.  It was not more than ten minutes when I decided that I’d try to find another subject.  “Sayang naman ang oras,” I thought to myself. 
I returned to the passengers waiting area and alternated watching news being flashed on a mounted flat screen TV, and looking for prospective subjects among the people inside the area.  After about half an hour of waiting, a familiar face blocked my view.  It was the conductor of the bus which brought me to Manila from Lipa, some five hours ago.  “Hindi ka pa uuwi, sir?” he inquired.  “Hindi pa eh, naghahanap pa ako ng makakausap para sa research ko.”  After I explained to him the nature of my inquiry, he bid me to follow him as he just spotted a person that might have some answers for me.
“Oh, kaibigan ko ito ha.  May mga tatanungin lang siya sa iyo.  Sasagutin mo ha.  Kaibigan ko ito.”  He was talking to Potpot, who had left earlier in a departing bus, and returned to the station on one that had just finished its route.  His bag, which had some bulk a while ago, was now limp on the floor, empty except perhaps for a few unsold bags of goodies.  He nodded without looking at me. His eyes were glued on another TV, showing a basketball game between Ginebra and Talk n’ Text.  I saw an opportunity to put him at ease, “Mahilig ka sa basketball?”  He nodded.
“Anong team mo diyan?”
He mumbled something unintelligible, which I did not dare him to clarify lest I lose the small fluidity that I was getting that moment.  He slumped on the chair’s back rest, which I read as a sign that he was loosening up.  “Anong oras ka lumabas?” I probed.  “Tanghali na, mga 11.”
Naubos mo paninda mo?”
Again, he mumbled.  But I gathered from his gesture that he almost sold out, and that he was ready to call it a day.
“Saan ka ba umuuwi?”
 “Sa Nuvalichis.”
“Pero saan talaga ang probinsya mo?”
“Davao.”
So doon ka rin nag-aral?”
“Oo kuya,” he paused for a while before adding, “pumasok din ako isang simister, HRM.”  And he explained how it was tough to study when there is no money.
“Ahh, so nandoon din yung kapatid mo na pinapaaral?”
Potpot quickly removed his back from the backrest and placed his elbows on his knees.  His lips were not moving; his eyes steely focused on the TV screen.  There was an awkward silence in the air that contrasted with the cacophony of sounds of bus engines on idle, and the harsh clash of noise of people milling about the station and the voices of the news anchor on one TV, and the screaming fans watching basketball live inside Araneta Coliseum in another.  I knew I lost him.
During a timeout, Potpot stood up, looked down at me and muttered, “Kuya, uuwi na ako.  Pasinsiya ka na ha.”

….

I got a tip from the bus drivers that the young vendors wait for their chance to board at the corner of De La Rosa Street, just before the provincial buses turn left to Buendia.  And there, one late morning, I chanced upon a group of three girls, seated at a log under a young mahogany tree not large enough to create a decent shade.  One member of the group was familiar, her name, according to the business card she handed out to me some weeks back, was Tintin.  She was a familiar fixture at the JAM terminal in Kamias, along EDSA where I take my ride home after my class at UP.  In one of my observation sessions, I spotted Tintin repeatedly counting the money she collected from selling, which amounted to at least P1,700.
The party met my greetings with warm, if not shy smiles.  They initially thought I was an eager customer.  But when I hinted at an interview, their enthusiasm waned as they eyed me with suspicion.  A fourth person, a male, joined the group to investigate the fuss.  I explained my presence and showed them my school ID to assure them that my purpose was legitimate and completely innocuous, which only succeeded in convincing them that it was time to move out.  The group individually gathered their things and behaved as if they are ready to flee at any moment’s notice.  Tintin said, “Kuya, aalis na rin kasi kami eh, darating na ang mga bus.”
“Kahit saglit lang… lunch tayo, magta-tanghali na rin eh” I argued my case, albeit futilely, as the members piled away one after the other until only one was left.
“Huwag ka muna aalis ha,” I implored.
“Sige kuya, pagbibigyan kita ng sandali.”
We introduced ourselves to the other, she said she was Ruby.  I don’t know if that was her real name or simply the most convenient one to use at that time, as it was the name of the latest typhoon to hit the country.
Ruby was brimming with nervous energy.  If she was with her peers, I would think that she would be the most bubbly and talkative.
“Sorry kung nagulat ko kayo ha,” I tried to break the nervous tension between us, “Kahit naman ako kapag may lalapit sa aking malaking mama, matatakot din ako.”
“Actually!” she acknowledged merrily, “Don’t talk to strangers, sabi nga nila.”
After an exchange of banter, I decided to go for it: “Gaano katagal ka na sa ganitong trabaho?”
“Mag wa-wan year na din.”
“Paano ka naman napasok sa ganitong work?”
“Actually, sapalaran lang talaga kuya.  Sugal lang.”
Her answer gave me hope, so I probed:  “Saang probinsya ka ba galing?
“Ako?  Sa Mindanao ako.  Yuck, ang layo ng pinaggalingan ko.  Nakakahiya,” her eyes breaking contact with mine.
“Wala namang nakakahiya doon,” I sensed I needed to say something relatable to her so that I don’t lose her completely.  “Yung mga kamag-anak ko nga at mga ninuno ko sa father side ko mga taga-doon eh.”  And I tried to explain my tenuous link to her place of origin.
“Saan ka ba umuuwi dito?”
Sa Fairview.”
So doon ka rin pumapasok?,” I had to ask.
“Uhhhm… actually sa TESDA lang ako, kuya.  Basic haircut at nail care lang.”
Okay naman yun ah, madali ka nga makakapasok ng trabaho dun eh,” I assured her.
“Mag-iipon lang ako kuya ng pera tapos mag-aaral ulit ako.”
“Ayos yan!  Ano bang course ang gusto mo?”
“Siyempre, mass com di ba?”
“Magkano ba kinikita mo sa isang araw?”
“Depende kuya, five pesos lang sa amin kada supot na maibenta.”
“So nauubos mo yang dala mo?”
“Minsan oo, minsan din hindi.  Kapag may bumili kasi isang pasahero, nagsu-sunod sunod na ang bumibili.”
“Saan niyo naman kinukuha yung mga ibinebenta ninyo?”
“Uhhmmm… may supplier kaming pinagkukunan.”
I  knew I was on to something here: “Taga-saan yung kinukunan niyo?”

Sa Fairview.”
“So paano ka naman napasok sa ganitong trabaho, eh sabi mo taga-Mindanao ka, may nag-imbita ba sa iyo?”
“Ehhh… kuya naman eh.  Di ba sapalaran nga?”
“May nakapagsabi sa akin na karamihan daw ng mga nagbebentang gaya niyo ay taga-Mindanao daw, totoo ba ‘yon?”
I may have pushed it too far, “Si kuya naman eh, ang daming tanong,” Ruby said as she began to gather her things.
“Huwag ka muna sumakay, mag-lunch muna tayo,” pointing at the Jollibee store just across the flyover.
“Hindi na kuya,” as she rummaged through her bag to pull one small plastic pouch containing macapuno balls, which she quickly dumped into my hands, “Sa iyo na ito, kuya.  Papasko ko sa ‘yo.”
Before I can even manage to return the gift, or at least pull out a bill to pay for it, Ruby was fast walking away.  No bus had arrived yet.

…..

Going directly to the subjects was not working.  I decided to employ a strategy that has paid great dividends to the Filipino on so many occasions – the padrino.  I have befriended Dhaica, a ticket teller and all around manager at the JAM bus terminal at Kamias, along EDSA.  She is in her mid-twenties, bespectacled, and had an easy smile that makes her look warm and approachable.  She has had extended, and sometimes intimate conversations with the young vendors, something that I hoped I would also have with them.
                Her first attempt to persuade them into granting me an interview was met with, “Nahihiya kami ate, eh.”  When she asked if she could get their cell phone numbers instead, she was told that no one had a cell phone.
The next time she approached them, they simply stopped talking to her and proceeded to leave one after the other.


DISCUSSION AND ANALYSIS

Dramaturgical Perspective

Erving Goffman’s dramaturgical perspective suggests that society is but a multitude of people playing different roles, depending on who they are with and the circumstances that they are under at a particular moment.  Under this lens, I will try to break down this research into the key elements of drama: Setting and Staging, Characters and Actors, Plot, Props and Costume, and Audience.

A.      Setting and Staging
Drama, art imitating life, can blur the line between reality and make believe.  This ambiguous gap precisely allows individuals to use every corner of the street, including the vehicles that travel over them and ferry unsuspecting players to their intended destination, as a stage to draw out, influence and manipulate the desired emotion and, ultimately, the desired product – the donation, alms or purchase that the primary actor and director of the drama will use to tide himself and his loved ones in his real world setting.   In such cases, it is the principal actor that decides the perfect time and most opportune location to stage his drama.

B.      Characters and Actors
When a young child makes a sad face, lowers his shoulders, and extends an open palm, he is consciously playing a downtrodden character, trying to catch the attention of a random character, and drawing from this person’s consciousness  benevolence and a found willingness to help, which, then, effectively transforms him/her into the unwitting hero in the unfolding secret drama.  Before this scene materialized and enveloped the latter into the story, this unsuspecting actor was a real person lost in his genuine thoughts and concerns, travelling into a real destination, with a real purpose for doing so. 

C.      Plot
In almost all street dramas, the storyline is rather simple and predictable: a person plays the classic damsel in distress character in search of a gallant hero and rescuer among the throng of complete strangers.  The conflict occurs when the emerging hero struggles internally whether to risk getting involved or to simply ignore the plea for help.   The final act or resolution happens when the heroic nature of the unintended actor surfaces and bestows the damsel in distress what he/she wants in the form of coins or small bills.  When the rescued person voices his/her appreciation, the curtain closes, and the instigator of it all searches for a new stage, to enact the same story and exact the same result.
The damsel in distress storyline can permutate into other more complex versions, such as a grandfather braving the pollution and dangers of the streets to ask help for his grandchildren either abandoned by their parents or were separated from them by Yolanda, or the siege in Zamboanga, or bus workers illegally retrenched by a certain transport company for unionism or some unfair and socially unacceptable reason, or volunteers of NGOs who need public support for their medical missions in some impoverished area.
It is also crucial to the success of the drama that the storyline should have a strong sense of occasion to take advantage of prevailing social conditions, events or occurrences.

D.      Props and Costume
The currency of a good drama is believability.  While good acting is key, it is only one part of a required many.  The main actor should set the tone visually as drama is first and foremost an eye-spectacle.  If the actor is playing the beggar, he must dress the part and look dirty, with unkempt hair, soot and dirt-covered skin, dirty finger nails and tattered clothes.  If the actor can endure further discomfort, he may help his case by performing barefoot.
The actor must take precaution at things that may serve to ruin the look or dilute the drama that he is trying to create.  For instance, he must not be seen holding a cigarette, or gambling away his collection as this will discourage the would-be heroes from giving money.  Also, he must not be seen wearing or carrying anything that is expensive such as a branded cell phone, bag or pouch, which will create an impression on his audience that he is not actually in need of help or, worse, that he is a thief or robber waiting for the chance to flee with their valuables.

E.       Dialogue or Spiel
Whatever dialogue the main actor delivers need not be fresh, memorable or profound.  In fact, it should be quite the opposite, cobbled precisely so that it will sound familiar, relatable and most of all, easy to grasp as the performance takes no longer than a few minutes.  Any complexity to the story will invite the listener’s critical analysis, which is counter-intuitive as the main actor’s strategy is to appeal to the emotion, and not to the intellect -- the lesser the detail, the better for striking the right emotional chord.  “Pahingi po pambili ng pagkain,” “Pambaon sa eskwelahan,” “Pambili ng gamot,” “Abuloy sa patay,” are direct, concise and clear lines that talk expressively to the heart, which increases the probability of being rewarded with money.

F.       Audience
The nature of street performance in the context of this study is that, often, the audience does not realize it is witness to a show, let alone a party to it.  Because the drama that is unfolding focuses on raw emotion, it is best staged in an intimate setting, as opposed to a bigger venue with a larger crowd where the main actor will find it more difficult to connect, much less capture the attention of the audience.  This fleeting affinity between and among strangers makes it possible for the main actor to elicit the desired reaction and result in such a short time.
Also, as in a true stage play where actors derive inspiration, and sometimes even the variety of nuances to their performance from the reaction and interaction of the audience, the street performer would be able to tone down, amplify or exaggerate his act depending on the visual cues that he observes from his audience.  An expert actor with a trained eye, such as the teenager asking for “abuloy” for his dead father, probably observed that one jeepney passenger was clutching her belongings rather too tightly, adlibbed “Huwag po kayo matatakot sa akin,” which not only assuaged the anxious passenger but also encouraged the same to part ways with a few pesos from her wallet.
However, not unlike the crowd in a stage play, it is possible that the audience, or members of it, may not be amused, satisfied or pleased with the performance and they may voice their displeasure through hoots, verbal tirade, or the occasional shove.


SYMBOLIC INTERACTION

Victor Turner’s symbolic anthropology looks into the way people understand their surroundings, as well as the actions and utterances of the other members of the society (Scott Hudson, 2009).  Turner adds that symbols initiate action and are influences in inclining an individual or group to act in a certain way.   This study will look into the symbols, both material and lingual, to understand why certain images evoke certain reactions and actions, as explained by Turner.

The Student as a symbol of the Filipino dream
The Filipino society places great importance on the youth, as the oft quoted Jose Rizal saying goes, “Ang kabataan ang siyang pag-asa ng bayan.”  Which, in a nutshell, captures the heavy burden placed on the still fledgling shoulders of the young, and, consequently, the much larger responsibility placed on the parents and elders to ensure that their children will be capable, ready and equipped to continue the mantle of stewardship and leadership of the family, and the society at large when the right time comes.  And when we define a young person in such terms, we normally associate it with one in the process of acquiring an education – the student.
The premium on completing a college education is probably highest in our culture (David, 2002).  Professor Randy David intimates what his father would tell him when he was still young and studying, “We have no property to leave you, but a solid education will be your greatest inheritance.”  In simpler, more folksy term: Edukasyon lang ang maari naming ipamana sa iyo, which is basically the mantra in so many households barely eking out the means to send their children to school.
However, try as they might, many families still fail to send their children to school. While the government through the Department of Education offers free tuition in public schools, even the day to day cost of schooling is already too prohibitive for many.  This forces intrepid students to work their way to school as a self-supporting student.  As of 2010, there are some 216,000 working students in the country according to the Commission on Higher Education (Sembrano).
The student, thus, stands as the Filipino family’s symbol of hope, better future, and should the student finish schooling -- the highest achievement that a parent can ever imagine to reach.  A common rejoinder of many parents who have done this is, “Sa wakas, natapos na ang responsibilidad ko.”
It is this Filipino’s collective dream encapsulated in the young student that makes the self-supporting scholar such an attractive cover for the unscrupulous and disingenuous to lure unsuspecting donors/victims to money-making schemes.  While the research has neither confirmed nor debunked the youth bus vendors’ claim of being working students, the inconsistencies in their statements and the seeming secrecy in which they conduct their business, coupled with information provided by people whom they come in close contact with, as well as my observations and deductions have led me to believe that the “working student” image is merely a ploy to gain sympathy, even pity, and consequently the purchase that earns them their keep for the day.  In my view, there is an organized group that selects, trains, funds and mobilizes these youths.
It is imperative that anyone who wants to earn money using such cover should, first and foremost, look like a typical student to draw on the positive cultural regard and emotional affinity of Filipinos to the group.
                I asked friends how they see a typical college student and they responded with physical descriptions such as: malinis tignan, naka-jeans, shirt at sneakers or rubber shoes, nasa trend ang buhok, naka-wax ng konti ang buhok ng boys, habang naka-pusod naman ang mga girls, may backpack or maliit na sukbit na bag,  disenteng tignan, nerdy ang hitsura, di masyado palaayos.
When asked how they imagine a typical student’s demeanor in public, these answers were drawn: disenteng magsalita, firm and assertive (although some had opposing views: mayabang, maingay, boisterous especially when they are in a group), magalang, madaling lapitan, maayos.

I intentionally did not indicate the nature of my research to allow my respondents the freedom to picture out a person.  When I revealed the context of my research to one respondent and asked her if it would make any difference in her purchasing decision if the person claiming to be a student looked tough and talked rough, she said no, but qualified that she would be more open if this person was in uniform and had a proper ID to account for his personhood.
One respondent however refused to answer my query as she equated the activity to being judgmental, which, taken from a moral perspective, is not right.  But we make snap judgments of people all the time, and whether we are wrong or right is not really important because it is not a moral judgment we are making, but merely a reactive means as we navigate and make sense of our world in our day to day activities (Although research h shows that the snap judgment or the hunch or instinct is often more right than wrong).  We make snap decisions on which vacant seat to take in a public utility vehicle depending on the external appearance of the person we will be seated with, or which person we would ask directions from when we are lost in an unfamiliar place, or which random stranger we would buy goodies from inside a bus.  Malcolm Gladwell calls this ability, in his book Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, as thin slicing, which is not actually based on random and senseless cues but on layers of previous experiences and acquired information which we access from our brain in literally, a blink of an eye, or the time it takes to see someone for the first time.
 The visual and auditory cues that alert an individual to a quick assessment of another person are critical to the success or failure of the vendor.  If the prospect can equate the vendor’s physical presence to an image of a student, he becomes more vulnerable and more open to the possibility of making a purchase, more so if he becomes convinced that the vendor is actually in it to sustain his schooling.  Too, that the vendors do look like the typical college student makes it easier for prospects to see a relative, friend and loved one in them, and even perhaps themselves when they were younger and still struggling to get by.


Symbolic language

The small paper that the “working student” distributes states in multi-colored ink (Retyped according to form):

Hi! I’m TIN-TIN, a self-supporting student knocking on your generous heart to please BUY my “SPECIAL DELICACIES” your single help would mean a lot for me to pursue my studies.

Thank you and God Bless.!

Price:
MACAPUNO/PASTILAS/OTAP: 20 EACH / 3 for 50
DRIED MANGOES: 50 EACH / 3 for 140

And another one goes:

Excuse me for a while,
Kindly open your heart with a sweet smile upon reading my letter.  I’m Anne a self supporting student knocking on your generous heart to please BUY my “SPECIAL DELICACIES” to support my studies and daily needs.

Thank you and God Bless!!

Pastillas / Macapuno / Otap: 20 each / 3 for 50
More blessings to come!!

Everything in the piece of paper is designed to soften the reader; from the choice of colors, neat layout and typography, and most specially the choice of words, which are designed to appeal to the emotion more than anything.
While most marketing strategies would normally involve describing the attributes and enumerating the benefits of the product being sold, or even the advantage of the product over its competition in terms of price, size or quality, these working youths employ none of this selling technique and instead go for sound bites that tug at the heart, which is brilliant by the way, because if logic is engaged then the prospect may just very well conclude that the products being offered, while relatively affordable, fill no pressing demand, or are not particularly of high quality – two solid and logical reasons not to make the purchase.
                Sound bites such as your help, generous heart, support studies and daily needs serve to crystallize the deep-seated personal and cultural desire of the Filipino to alleviate the plight of the country, and they find this in the symbolic nature of the student, which they are now obligated to shore up by buying the products being offered.

The Bus as a hostage den
The main strategy of the youth vendors is to capture the sentiments of prospective buyers, hijacking logic in favor of raw emotions.  The confines of the bus literally and figuratively turns this transaction into an emotional blackmail – a hostage taking in its own right, with ransom paid for in coins and loose bills that assure the payee that he/she is doing right by the social standard that looks so highly and is overly protective of the young student’s plight.


CONCLUSION
The streets of the big city are teeming with activity.  In a society where social inequality and injustice are common and, sadly, acknowledged as a normal part of day to day living, city streets are literally transformed into a concrete jungle where rules are drawn by the powerful, and those with less human capital and agency try to tilt the odds in their favor by employing strategies that require guile, cunning and some sleight of hand, so to speak.
The “street performers” mentioned in this study comprise a rich treasure trove of untapped and misguided talents, which may be put to better use under more favorable conditions – say, a shift in government policy that actually addresses poverty by providing an honest-to-goodness educational policy that takes into account that education cannot be sized or designed to fit all, or bold moves by educational institutions, particularly those with the deepest resources and widest influence, to offer scholarships not only to those who have shown academic competence but also to those who have proven to be determined and resilient even in the face of extreme adversity or poverty.  That is where the country can develop real leaders, with a deep and genuine understanding of what it takes to literally rise from the ashes.
That otherwise intelligent and diligent youths will allow themselves to be involved in gimmickry and disingenuity should not be taken as a degradation of the moral fabric of society but a clear sign that there are simply not enough opportunities to give these young impressionable minds to grow and prosper in more socially-accepted terms.  Ruby may not actually be a self-supporting student as she claims to be, but I believe that when she said, in no uncertain terms, “Siempre, masscom di ba?” that she has a sure dream and a real goal.  The only question is, can she be given the opportunity to pursue it?
This study, which partly focuses on youths pretending to be students, should also be taken as a commentary on many of today’s youths seeming disregard for the opportunities afforded them, privileged them.  It’s a supreme irony that those who are not real students pretend to be one, and those that are real students behave like they are not.

Still, I believe in Rizal’s saying that the youth is the hope of the future.  This research succeeds in pointing out that society will protect and uphold the student as the symbol of ultimate deliverance from material, intellectual and psychic poverty, even going as far as suspending judgment and logic, and bending some restrictions to ensure such ideal.  It is only when the bus emerges from the terminal that vendors of peanuts, softdrinks and assorted snacks are allowed to board and sell.  But only the “working students” are privileged to lounge inside the terminal waiting area, and board parked buses  at any time they please.  And while “street performers” have to contend with ridicule, scorn and spite to earn their keep, the “working students” are met with compassion, respect and, for those who doubt the genuineness of their character – tolerance.
This is the reality in the street.





REFERENCES:

Crossman, A. (n.d.). About Education: Dramaturgical Perspective. Retrieved from Sociology.about.com: http://sociology.about.com/od/D_Index/g/Dramaturgical-Perspective.htm
David, R. S. (2002). Nation, Self and Citizenship. Quezon City: UP Press.
Gladwell, M. (2005). Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking. New York: Back Bay Books.
Scott Hudson, C. S. (2009). Anthropological Theories. Retrieved from The University of Alabama Department of Anthropology: http://anthropology.ua.edu/cultures/cultures.php?culture=Symbolic%20and%20Interpretive%20Anthropologies
Sembrano, B. (n.d.). Only half of working students finish college: CHED. Retrieved from abs-cbnnews.lifestyle: www.abs-cbnnews.com
Turner, V. (1975). Symbolic Studies. Annual Reiew of Anthropology , 145-161.


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