More than meets the eye

THERE is something about the past that can be very reassuring in these unstable times. Looking at old photographs of the Philippines and the Filipinos evokes nostalgia for a world long gone. This may explain the popularity of Nick Joaquin's writings on Spanish Manila, the Larawan series of Bencab, and the mania for collecting antiques and Filipiniana. In the past few months, I noticed the growing number of visitors to Manila Mayor Lito Atienza's Baywalk as well as the part of Intramuros spruced up by the Department of Tourism, and I cringe just wondering what they imagine the past to be like.

Two decades ago, I watched a pre-war film taken by an American tourist in Intramuros [Manila's Spanish-era 'walled city" area]. It was sepia-toned and grainy, but one could see a procession from San Agustin, students in military uniform marching round the old Ateneo, "calesas" [horse-drawn carriages] on the cobblestone streets leading to the Manila Cathedral and other scenes. Naturally, there was no sound to accompany the film, no other sensory input like touch or smell to provide additional context.

Someone from the Intramuros Administration provided some commentary that would have left me teary-eyed with nostalgia, if not for an alternative running commentary from the late historian Teodoro Agoncillo, whose reminiscences countered the enthusiasm of the man on the podium. I don't recall much of what Agoncillo told me that afternoon, but two things struck me and changed my view of Intramuros forever. Agoncillo remembered Intramuros from its smell -- the odor of decay -- and the mosquitoes that feasted on him there. If not for Agoncillo's intervention that fateful afternoon, all I would have to guide me were historical accounts, photographs and my romantic imagination.

Not much was left intact of Intramuros after the war aside from the small Fortin de San Pedro, outside the walls by the Muni (short for "Municipal") golf course, and of course San Agustin Church. What is now the Jose Rizal Shrine in Fort Santiago were ruins that have since been reconstructed. Then there are those intriguing ruins in what is now known as Bastion de San Diego.

Walking around Intramuros today, one is always tempted to romanticize the past, and it was Agoncillo's memories of insect bites and a bad smell that made me realize that at the turn of the last century, Intramuros was a medieval city in a time of modernization. Anachronism is the best word to describe it. Intramuros for me is always a lesson in putting the past in context.

After going through the exhibits in San Agustin Church, my students often ask why the priest's vestments are so small. A generation that has better nutrition and access to a gym look at Rizal's clothes and wonder whether the exhibits are real because, in their eyes, Rizal was the size of a Hobbit. After walking through Casa Manila, most students are struck by the toilet. Not all people have flush toilets these days, so it is not the lack of modern plumbing that floors them but the fact that two toilet seats are placed together in one room without a partition. Not only was there a chance for socialization in the smallest part of the room, but a chess or "dama" [Chinese checkers] board is carved between the seats to prove that there was recreation even in the most basic and private of human concerns.

Intramuros was built of stone and when one looks at old photographs, one wonders how people in those days coped with fire. Looking at photographs of the Manila Fire Department in the early 1900s provides a lot of amusement today. The firemen were in white uniform and they walked around with what looked like a manual water pump and a rolled-up canvas hose. One wonders if there was enough pressure or sufficient water to douse flames in a two-story structure.

One also looks at house construction in the past and sees that the so-called "nipa huts" are frames of wood and dried leaves. Very combustible indeed. Little wonder that in many crowded places outside Intramuros when one hut caught fire, the rest of the houses on the whole street usually caught fire.

This may explain why people were encouraged to build their huts a good distance from one another and asked to plant banana trees between them. It was thought that banana plants were a fire retardant, that in some cases when not much water in pails was available, one could throw a whole banana tree trunk into a burning hut and it would help bring the flames down.

The idea of challenge and response can be seen in matters of roofing. Thatch roofs caught fire and needed periodic replacement, so in the "bahay na bato" [stone house] stone gave more security but the thatch roof was still a problem. The solution came in the form of those red tile roofs still popular today, but then the problem with these was that during an earthquake they fell like an avalanche and usually injured people rushing out of their homes. So the next development were galvanized iron sheets that were fireproof and earthquake-proof. But then during a storm these flew off and thus proved potentially hazardous as well. So do we return to thatch? Not quite. One cannot please everyone.

Of course, the above comments are simplistic, but they come from the reactions of my students who were required to walk around museums and historic sites. It is good to know that many remain critical and know that there is more to things than meets the eye.

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu