Rugby Rules

In the Philippines, the word “rugby” is usually associated with glue and the tragic social issues linked to its hallucinogenic fumes. Being an art teacher, I also think of how this corrosive binder had damaged countless paintings!

So, when Bea Zobel asked Karen Santos and I to watch her son, Jaime, play with the Philippine Rugby Team in Delhi, I had some misgivings. I had never attended a match of this vigorous contact sport in my life. Eventually, I agreed to come along mostly because Delhi is a fascinating city where I had many friends.

My attitude would soon change. Much of the credit for my reorientation belongs to the team parents who graciously explained the game to me. I was told that what we were watching was rugby union as opposed to another popular version, rugby league. Patiently my teachers guided me through the assortment of moves and terms.

I would learn that one of the ways to gain points was thru a “try”. The latter involved putting down the ball on the try line at the very end of the field. Of course, the real trick here is accomplishing this while being chased by about a ton’s worth of adversaries!

Once a try had been made, the team was entitled to a “conversion” which brought additional points. This means kicking the ball above the crossbars and between the goal posts which, unlike in other field sports, were unguarded. What complicates matters is that the kick has to be done directly in front of the spot on the line where the try had taken place. If the try had been made at the far end of the line then the kicker will have to shoot the ball in at an acute angle. Imagine doing this in a stadium of noisy fans! One would need nerves of steel since spectators rooting for the other side are not above hurling a spicy invective or five. Points were also awarded for successful penalty kicks and field goals.

The most fascinating move is the “scrum” where players from the two teams link shoulders and grapple each other in a configuration resembling a turtle. The point is to push one’s opponents back while a team member tries to gain possession of the ball.

Watching all of this, one cannot help but think of Imperial Rome. I remember a film about how a famous king became successful at war when he copied Roman battle formations. One such formation involved soldiers holding up their shields at the sides and over their heads to create an impenetrable armadillo-like structure which could ram through enemy defenses. Could this have inspired the scrum? Truly it was with battle maneuvers like these that Rome hammered together its Empire. Understandably, some scholars opine that sports are really less devastating substitutes for warfare!

Among the most enlightening aspects of my athletic encounter was getting to know our rugby delegation. The Philippine Volcanoes is made up of young men from different parts of the world who all share a common Filipino heritage. They represent different walks of life: Team Captain Michael Letts is in insurance, there is a lawyer and a physician, and there is an officer of an elite squad of the British Armed Forces. Some are students.

Most of the players come from Australia but others are from the United States, Wales, England, and Italy. Only a few are presently dwelling in the Philippines. Clearly, it wasn’t one’s address which mattered. What brought the team together was the Philippine blood coursing through everyone’s veins. Looking at the roster, one sees names like de Guzman, Dacanay, and Guerra. But one also spots Morris and Holgate. This is the globalization of Filipinos in action. It is one thing to speak of our nation’s Diaspora in conferences. It is another thing to see it incarnated in players battling for the motherland’s honor on a broad green field.

The team parents who had come along impressed me with their devotion and enthusiasm. There were the Saunders who had first met in the Middle East where Marilou (who hails from Pangasinan) was a nurse and Nigel her patient. They now make their home in Australia where they have raised one daughter as well as three sons, Oliver, Matt, and Ben who are all on the team.

There were, as well, the Ugartes, Juan and Claire. Juan had actually graduated from La Salle Green Hills before moving Down Under. Their son, James, has just recently joined the team. Then there was Bea. While the game was just a jumble of athletes to me, I realized that, as a mother, the most important thing to her was that her only son was constantly in danger of serious injury. This was especially so since Jaime was nursing a wrenched shoulder. It was taking all her effort to keep calm while her offspring was being repeatedly pummeled.

Then too, as Bea’s brother, Jaime Augusto, declared: this was the first time that a family member had the privilege of representing the country in an international sports event. To top things off, Bea still had the duty of keeping her clan informed on the game’s progress. I decided to pitch in with my own amateur cell phone broadcasts when I heard that Bea’s parents back home were “on our knees, praying, and holding hands”!

I realized later that Bea wasn’t alone in her trepidation. Claire and Marilou gamely pointed out that their husbands were just as nervous. The two men were constantly hopping about, unable to stay in the same seat for very long. As Claire noted with a wink, their generous gesture to explain the various plays to me also helped pull themselves together.

Finally, there were the coaches: Matt Cullen, Expo Mejia, Jarred Hodges, Damien Raper. Of these four, only Expo is of Filipino extraction. He was born in the Philippines, migrating to Australia as a child of four. It is to him that the team members mostly attribute the development of their strong sense of discipline. It was Expo who reminded his wards to cheer their supporters in the stands.

I observed that before and after all the action there was always a huddle for group prayer. During the game, the reserve players still took time for short jogs to keep limber in case they would be called in. Though it was clear that not everyone would get to play, there were no complaints. Some of the boys even served as water bearers. This was truly a united team with very high spirits.

In the opening match, the Philippines went up against the top ranking Thais. Luckily, our athletes conquered with a score of 53 to 33. A few days later came the final round, this time against our host, India. The Indians seemed a formidable lot. They had just defeated the Chinese, 94 to zero. Yet, when I asked if we had a chance against India I got a confident answer: “Of course we’ll beat them. A Champion Team always beats a team of champions.”

There was some consolation in the fact that the Thais subsequently walloped China in the contest for third place. This signaled that the previous overwhelming triumph could really be a function of the weaknesses of the Chinese team rather than the Indians’ abilities.

To shake off my jitters I decided to make flags and posters. While working with my hastily purchased set of crayons I wondered whether I could run afoul of our National Historical Institute for my crude imitations of our national banner. I had to trust that surely the Institute would understand how we all had to pitch in for victory!

As our players ran out into the field to face India, a huge cloud of brown dust suddenly blew into the stadium. It seemed like an ominous sign. Happily, the Fates favored us that evening. We began to amass points through penalty kicks courtesy of the indefatigable Oli Saunders. For a while though, it even seemed that India was going to prevail. During one scrum they managed to push our players back onto the try line itself – an amazing display of brute strength.

Tempers invariably flared. One of our players challenged his opponents because he was getting tired of hearing his colleagues being insulted. Fortunately, it would only take a single reminder from the Philippine coach about what was at stake for the hot-headed combatant to immediately stand down.

In the end, winning required more than being strong. Strategy and solid teamwork were just as important. Wonderfully, our defenses held. Though the Indians managed to set up many critical maneuvers right in front of our try line they were usually unable to penetrate our barriers to complete their plays. In contrast, the Philippines got through on several occasions though admittedly a number of tries were unsuccessful.

In the last few minutes, the Philippines already had a comfortable lead, 34 to 12. It was just a matter of time and containing the enemy. At long last, the final bell went off.

The Filipinos had won!

Our boys were now the champions of Division 2 and were being promoted to Division 1. They were going up against the likes of Malaysia and Singapore. Who knows, they may even make it to the very top. Coming from a country with so many set-backs, every taste of victory was especially sweet! We all tumbled down to the field to join the celebration.

Much later, one of the players came up to thank me for my support. I thought this simply a courteous gesture accorded to any spectator. He went on to elaborate, however, that when the team was singing the national anthem, the official Philippine flag that had been set up in the stadium was not clearly visible. It was therefore a great source of comfort and inspiration to see our home-made versions waving in the stands!

This last bit of information made it stunningly clear. For a team that’s battling it out in the field, every little thing counts: grandparents’ prayers, a mother’s presence, a cold drink of water humbly offered. Hey, looks like even an art teacher can make a modest contribution!

Medusa: More than Just a Head of Hair

Watching Clash of the Titans, reminded me of another movie I had seen decades ago in which Medusa also figured prominently. We were then living on a farm in Negros and when we ventured into the city for the day, I begged my father to bring me to the cinema. He pointed out that the only thing playing was a horror flick which, he was sure, would be too frightening. Vehemently, I insisted that I would be very brave. Needless to say, I spent most of the movie facing the back of my seat.

I have since been able to look up on the internet that horror film of my childhood. It was entitled “Gorgon”, the generic name for the sisters that formed the trio of which Medusa was part. Now I wonder what I had found so frightening. It was just a woman with too much make up and a bad hair day of mythic proportions!

Admittedly, the Classical monster in the Clash of the Titans was creepier. I cannot imagine finding the courage to take on an adversary who could slither around and turn you into a large paperweight for all eternity. Yet when given a glimpse of Medusa’s face, I wasn’t actually repulsed. With the high cheekbones, blazing almond eyes, full lips, what’s there not to like? In some ways, I can relate to the little boy in a Woody Allen film that confesses to a perverse interest in the evil queen.

Archetypes abound in the juxtaposition of the beserpented one’s sultry looks with the fair, selfless image of Princess Andromeda. The present Hollywood remake, despite its many liberties with the tales of the Ancients, reminds us of a timeless duality: the whore and the virgin. Medusa is the exotic temptress who lives in a palace on the other side of the world. The symbolism of her ability to turn a man rock-hard in moments is quite clear, though perhaps too racy to elaborate before a classroom of children. Meanwhile, dutiful Andromeda remains at home, serving her people, ready to throw herself before leviathans to save the kingdom. This intertwined duality is well appreciated in the Philippines’ local incarnation of the lady with the diadem of vipers. In the various versions that have come out through the years, Valentina and Darna are portrayed as childhood friends and even as long-lost twins.

Medusa’s reptilian strands are writhing with subtler meanings. For centuries, images ranging from Mary Magdalen wiping feet with her long tresses to Farah Fawcett showing off her blow-dried blondness, demonstrate just how hair has always been a universal fetish. This is why it must be controlled – braided, powdered, veiled, shaved. Hair can even play a role in politics. Think of the galvanizing message of sacrifice, courage, and acceptance which former President Aquino delivered to the nation by refusing to hide her shocking white streak in the last months of her illness. Think too of all the candidates who are trying to project illusions of eternal youth by using decades-old pictures taken when they still sported thick pompadours. Interestingly, some years back, when a militant group printed posters which depicted another Philippine president as Valentina, the press they were using was raided by government agents.

The combination of snakes and a woman’s locks is quite explosive. It conjures all manner of contradictory emotions from fear to lust. It is both potent and perilous. What was so arousing when flowing in soft lengths, had suddenly turned murderous. Since snakes are phallic symbols as well, this is tantamount to a double whammy! An uncomfortable brush with homosexuality is hinted at by the revelation that what had once been the object of men’s desires has now taken on a masculine form. Simultaneously, what was desired is also feared as a terrible weapon that could bite, poison, and petrify. The swords have turned on the gladiators. With such a disquieting configuration, there can be only one appropriate reaction: decapitation!

Yet, even death does not grant the poor creature peace. Upon separation from the rest of the body, her head is thrown into a sack and bandied about to fell monsters, win kingdoms, revenge affronts. Even if the kraken never gets to devour Andromeda, another woman must still be sacrificed to restore the established order.

We realize just how unfair things are when we delve deeper into Medusa’s story. We learn that Perseus’s hapless enemy was once quite beautiful. Unfortunately, her beauty could tempt even the gods. Poseidon was soon in hot pursuit. In the temple of Athena, his archrival, he finally managed to have his way with his quarry. Strangely, Athena’s wrath over this desecration of her shrine fell not on her hoary adversary but on the winsome maiden. Apparently, it is the fate of mortals to endure the anger of the heavens, no matter how arbitrary. Athena promptly turned Medusa into the infamous monster of lore.

Arbitrariness was a central theme of a Classical art exhibit I had seen in the Liebieghaus museum in Frankfurt. It stressed that the gods of Greece and Rome were far from perfect beings whose every move was just, and wise. They were impulsive, lecherous, jealous, and worse. In other words, they were very human but on a grander scale.

The rest of the tale of our luckless lass was just as instructive about the impunity with which the gods reigned. It turns out that Perseus’ slaughtered foe was bitterly mourned by her sisters, the other two Gorgons. The intensity of the sisters’ grief was such that they let loose powerful, haunting wails heard all the way in Mount Olympus. Somehow this detail made the narrative suddenly more moving. It drove home the point that even a monster can be missed.

Lulled by the Gorgons’ heart-breaking song, Athena herself became entranced. It was in trying to replicate the plaintive sound that the wise goddess invented the reed pipe. Eagerly, the Patroness of Athens then went before her fellow divinities to demonstrate her new creation. To her surprise, she was ridiculed for the facial contortions blowing the pipe required. In a rage, Athena destroyed and cursed her instrument. Innocent of its fey fate, the satyr Marsyas later restored the reed. The music he produced was so beautiful that he earned the ire of the gods. This time, Apollo challenged him to a contest. When Marsyas lost, the sun god commanded that the satyr be flayed alive.

Walking through that Frankfurt exhibition hall filled with Classical statuary, I was surprised to find a room dominated by a flat screen on which pop star Robbie Williams was performing his hit, “Rock Dj”. I only understood the connection when Robbie, trying to impress a bunch of roller-skating fashionistas who were ignoring him, resorted to taking off all his clothes. He eventually tore off his own skin and flesh, leaving just a bloodied skeleton. The message was clear: the artist was exposing the truth that even those who were supposed to be leaders in the pursuit of beauty could really be parasites and vampires feeding on the bodies of the exploited.

In a most imaginative way, the Frankfurt show illuminated why Marsyas has, for many centuries, been a symbol for augury, for speaking truth to authority. The ordeal of this innocent musician was the subject of works by many great artists. The satyr seemed to have served as a reminder, even in different ages, that those who ruled could be whimsical and unjust. Of course, some may, as well, have smugly read into the story a warning that those who dared challenge authority could lose their skin. As a closing piece, the exhibit featured an exquisite Botticelli portrait of a Renaissance woman wearing a medallion of Marsyas.

In a similar vein, the tale of Medusa and her terrible head has meant different things in various contexts. Even though, like Marsyas, the erstwhile beauty had also been unfairly punished by the powerful, goodness still arose from her tragedy. In the movie Clash of the Titans, it is the agency of the Gorgon’s awesome gaze which saves Argos from the catastrophe unleashed by the gods.

Of course, there will always be those who only see one side of the story. tired tourists will note. By placing Cellini’s sculpture of Perseus and Medusa in Florence’s main piazza along with Michelangelo’s David, the town fathers may have wanted to show how their beloved city was capable of felling formidable opponents. Happily, this message is no longer unchallenged. A feminist writer has dryly pointed out that the statues’ arrangement show the biases of the ruling cabal of men: all the works depicting females are consigned to the back. Except for the monument to Judith, the prominent spots are reserved for sculptures glorifying males. The only ladies present in the front row have been beheaded (as in the case of Medusa) or been the victim of violation (as in the Rape of a Sabine).

So amazing is the efficacy of the head of serpents that it has long been used as an icon to scare away evil spirits. The Gorgon in all her glory is the center of the Corfu temple fragment, one of the oldest surviving pediments from Greece. With her proud stance, Medusa has been reincarnated as a fearless guardian, ready to save her people with her icy stare. Such protective devices are known as apotropaic symbols, or in Irish speaking areas, sheela na gig.

Three interesting examples dating to the 18^th century can actually be found in Bohol. The bell towers of Baclayon and Dauis churches both feature heads with bulging eyes as does the inner wall of Loboc’s convento or priests’ quarters. These are thought to ward off demons. A friend of mine thinks it significant that the Boholano symbols appear to be male. Pointing to their fierce scowls, a feature that links them with their Classical antecedents, she thinks that these prove that sometimes, men can just be as scary as any Greek harpy, regardless of hairstyle.

Celebrated painters like Caravaggio and Rubens have essayed renditions of Medusa’s awesome visage. Shelley even wrote a poem on this subject as inspired by a work in the Uffizi attributed to Leonardo. In our times, we have the famous logo of Gianni Versace. This was selected by the Italian designer as his personal symbol recognizing perhaps that the Gorgon’s head was an image of terror but also of beauty. Like the volcanoes of Versace’s native southern region, the crown of snakes stood for both destruction and creation.

Despite a long history of vilification, artistic visionaries now see in the Medusa’s head the affirmations that, out of tragedy and injustice, retribution and renewal could still be obtained.

Allegory of the Four Continents in Loboc, Bohol

Loboc Allegory

VISITORS TO Loboc in Bohol come mostly to take a ride on the restaurant barges that ply the river. Few will bother to explore the town’s ancient church with its huge convento (or priests’ quarters) that houses many treasures.

The Jesuits worked in Loboc from the 16th-18th century. During their stay they established a school for boys. Among the subjects that were probably taught was music. One can imagine that this may have laid the foundation for the rich tradition of choirs and bands the town is famous for.

What was this place like in the past? How would it have felt to wake in the morning and hear angelic voices rising through the cold air, floating past blue mountains in the distance?

In the 1986 movie “The Mission,” a trial is held where the Jesuit fathers defend their parishioners, the Guarani people of the Amazon jungle. A little boy is called to sing the “Ave Maria” as proof that he and his ilk were not animals, subject to slavery. Could similar arguments have raged in Bohol?

Like their counterparts in the movie, the Jesuits were expelled from their Boholano parishes and from the rest of the Philippines in 1768. Despite their sudden departure, the good fathers made their mark on the land. In the case of Loboc, they had created an intricately carved Baroque church front in keeping with the tastes of their epoch.

When the Agustinians took over, they, in turn, would cover up the Jesuit façade, while applying the aesthetics of a later period: the Neo-Classical.

Encounter of styles

This encounter of styles is most evident at the left side of Loboc Church. Here one will glimpse an exuberant Baroque scroll struggling to escape from the heavy Greco-Roman inspired wall that is pinning it down. Truly, this is a splendid illustration of how the passing of history can be etched on the face of a building!

Inside the church, the encounter continues in the stylistic dialogue between the florid side retablo (or altar backdrop) and the monumental main retablo in the center. Over a door of the sacristy is another memento of the Society of Jesus: a faint relief sculpture of saints surrounding the Blessed Virgin enthroned. This configuration follows a standard format known as a Sacra Conversazione.

Located on the exterior side of this Conversazione, crowning the doorway, is one of Loboc church’s most glorious works of art: a carved medallion depicting St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order, flanked by two magnificent women.

Such an elaborate relief sculpture was clearly meant to be seen by all, indicating that this was an important entrance. The present doorway now leads to a small tiled vestibule squeezed between the church and the convento.

In the past, the convento was obviously not as large, so that the entire wall where the carvings are located was exposed.

An Internet search reveals that “the four continents, personified as female figures, are found in the art of the Counter-Reformation, where their most common function, especially in Jesuit churches, is to serve as a reminder of the world-wide spread of Catholic Christendom.”

It is quite possible then that the tableau of the two women and the Jesuit saint that adorns the Loboc church doorway is what has been referred to in Western Art as an Allegory of the Four Continents.

Four great lands

To the European mind, when Australia and Antarctica were not yet on the map, the entire world was divided into four great land masses: Europe, Africa, Asia and America. As can be seen in examples by artists from the 16th century onwards, these continents were often depicted as women with specific attributes.

Europe was an old monarch, stately and dignified. The other three were much more outlandish. Asia appears inscrutable beneath her veil and silks, while Africa and America are naked. Their mounts are freakish specimens from a legendary bestiary: camel, crocodile and armadillo.

Occasionally, America carried severed limbs, ghoulish reminders of cannibalism. The message is clear. It is Europe that sets the standard. All else were the realms of the unknown, the bizarre. Consequently, the divinely ordained task of Europeans was to bring civilization to the rest of the planet.

In the Four Continents illustrations, America characteristically sports a crown of feathers. Given that the two Loboc figures both wear feathered headgear, it is fairly certain that at least one of them stands for the American continent.

The same symbolic use of a feathered diadem may be observed in the spectacular Apotheosis of St. Ignatius as painted by Andrea Pozzo on the ceiling of an important church of the Society in Rome.

What then of the other woman? Perhaps she is meant to evoke Asia. Or perhaps the two female images are references to the Old World (of Europe, Africa and Asia) on one side and the New World (of the Americas) on the other. This is, after all, the interpretation of the famous “Dos Mundos” coins which were the currency of the period.

Here one sees twin pillars flanking two hemispheres topped by a crown. Spain was proclaiming that it was truly a global power. Then again, since the two figures in Loboc are practically identical, they may well stand for all heathen realms in general or Asia and the Americas in particular.

Shell meaning

Pozzo’s painting in Rome, also known as the Allegory of the Jesuits’ Missionary Work, helps clarify the meaning of the shell at the bottom part of the tableau in Bohol.

Professor Marianito Luspo of Holy Name University has suggested this aquatic metaphor may refer to the cockles that are carried by pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. In the Pozzo ceiling, however, it may be seen that all the different Continental Muses, except for Europa, are seated on a similar shell form.

What is being portrayed then, seems to be the conviction that the Missionary Work of the Jesuits consists of bringing the Word across oceans to overseas communities in Asia, Africa and the Americas.

An image which may help to support the idea that traversing vast bodies of water was central to the whole concept of evangelization may be found in one of the earliest maps of the Philippines produced by Fr. Murillo Velarde in 1744.

Here another Jesuit saint, Francis Xavier, is depicted riding a chariot pulled by horses with fish tails. Above this curious conveyance is a banner which proclaims him “Principe del Mar.”

An alternative reading may be discerned in no less than Botticelli’s resplendent The Birth of Venus, where a large clam is the vessel for the goddess’ arrival. Since the Blessed Virgin Mary is also seen as the New Venus, the shell could well be a reference to her. It can be noted that in Piero della Francesca’s Brera Madonna, the Virgin is shown beneath an awning shaped like a clam as well as an egg suspended by a string.

Weaving the different symbolic threads together, a possible message of the carvings in Loboc seems to be: St. Ignatius had been entrusted with a special mission to defend the Catholic Church. He, in turn, has challenged the members of his Society of Jesus to go forth, fearlessly negotiating perilous oceans, while protected by the Blessed Virgin, to bring the Church’s message to the befeathered natives of distant lands.


Different reading

Aside from what the Jesuits may have wanted to project, however, others may read the tableau differently. The women and, consequently, the peoples they represent may be seen as hapless subjects, to be converted, dominated and colonized for their own good.

Their quaint feathered headpieces are, in fact, emblems of their primitive status. This is the implication of the fact that, with the rise of the US, when the personification of America the Exotic becomes Columbia the Regal, she will exchange her avian accessory for a more classical circlet festooned with laurel leaves or even rays of light as in the Statue of Liberty.

This rich harvest of competing meanings is all the more reason the Loboc tableau must be preserved for future generations. Unfortunately, it was recently subjected to an overly vigorous cleaning, courtesy of a powerful water jet blaster which caused some abrasion.

Hopefully, more gentle techniques will be employed next time to ensure the survival of such a remarkable work of art. With care from the good people of Bohol and the Diocese of Tagbilaran, the Allegory of the Continents should continue to share its meanings long after other voices have been stilled.