World expos

AICHI -- Twenty-five years ago, on my first trip to Japan, I visited the World Exposition in Osaka. It was then known as Expo '70 and its distinguishing landmark was a tower with a mythological sun, a golden orb with a human face on a white stand that resembled the lower part of an albino dolphin.

Childhood memories play tricks on me today, and I'm glad I kept a diary (now lovingly conserved in the University of the Philippines Archives) to remind me of what I saw and felt at the time. If I remember correctly my first complicated English word was "panoramic." My mother dictated some parts she wanted in my diary and I realize now that it was also a difficult word for her. In retrospect she probably read a tourist brochure aloud for our edification.

I do remember getting lost in the crowd, but being able to find my way to the Swiss pavilion where we were scheduled to have lunch. By the time my worried parents arrived in the restaurant I was halfway through my duck confit. One
can only imagine the gratifying feeling of having found something that was lost.

Children were then supplied with a "passport" that you stamped with the different "visas" of the countries whose pavilions you visited. One of the prettiest ones came from the Soviet pavilion whose contents I vaguely remember, unlike the US pavilion, which had a moon rock as well as one of the bucket seats used on Apollo 11, the mission when man first walked on the moon.

The Philippine pavilion in Expo '70 was a graceful architectural wonder by Leandro V. Locsin who, contrary to Filipino sensitivity, kept the interiors stark and simple. One could say that it had Japanese sensibility in its marked restraint. Left to someone without imagination, every available space would be filled just as we have a riot of colors on jeepneys. The predictable pictures of beaches and smiling Filipinas were there to lure Japanese tourists to our shores, but there were some choice pieces of Philippine painting and sculpture that may not have been much appreciated at the time, but will fetch six- to eight- figure prices (in dollars) if placed on international auction today.

Expositions have been the subject of some academic study because these places are not just amusement parks, but are a reflection of how one people sees another, or how one people tries to project one image but be read differently by another. This clash of cultures and interpretations can be quite engaging especially if people are studying expositions of a century ago.

The Eiffel Tower, which has come to symbolize Paris, was an engineering marvel in the late 19th century and yet when you look at the letters and diaries of Filipino patriots who visited the Paris Exposition -- Jose Rizal, Juan Luna, Marcelo H. del Pilar, Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo, or Trinidad H. Pardo de Tavera -- nobody makes any reference to it at all. The Eiffel Tower may be a landmark tourist attraction today, but some French were very vocal against it. It is said that the writer Flaubert had lunch in the tower restaurant every day, not because he liked the food but because it was the only place in Paris where he could not see it. In this way he kept his aesthetic sensibilities and his sanity.

History tells us that our patriots visited the US pavilion in Paris and watched a rodeo where cowboys and Indians did amazing stunts. Rizal was so impressed by the Indians he called them "Indios bravos" [brave Indians] and realized that the derogatory Spanish term for native inhabitants of the Philippines, "indio," could be turned around and used as a badge of courage, something to be proud of. From then on Rizal and his "barkada" [group of buddies] referred to themselves as los indios bravos.

In our own times, we have seen a similar reversal of meaning. The once derogatory "Moro" was also used as a badge of courage by the Moro National Liberation Front. And if the Filipino-Chinese can get their act together, maybe they can drop that corny contemporary invented term "Tsinoy" and adopt the historical "Inchic" in the same manner that we have seen the development of "indio and "Moro."

Before he founded the Indios bravos, Rizal also noted that expatriate Filipinos were often mistaken for Chinese, and in one letter referred to himself and his friends jokingly as the "inchics."

After three days of meetings in the Canadian pavilion at Aichi, I did my patriotic duty and headed for the prize-winning Philippine pavilion. There were many Japanese patiently lining up in the heat to get in and see the innovative interactive exhibits of Philippine artifacts as well as to sit inside a giant coconut. We have a small restaurant inside the pavilion that's quite popular with the Japanese. I wanted to sample the cooking but the "kuripot" [tightwad] in me made it hard to hand over roughly P400 for a halo-halo, P500 for a "lumpiang ubod" roll, P600 for a "bibingka" cake, P700 for "lechon kawali" and P750 for a sampling of pork "adobo." It was one time I wished the hospitable Consul General Tony Villamayor were around to extend port courtesies.

Like the optimistic Tourism Secretary Ace Durano, I hope the pavilion succeeds in drawing in the tourists but more than that, I'm sure expatriate Filipinos, like me, will feel a sense of pride to see our flag and our pavilion alongside other countries in this microcosm of the world.

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu.