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.
