Iloilo and 'urbanidad'

A LECTURE on tuberculosis combined with a classical music concert?

That's exactly what happened last week. The Citizens Iloilo Coalition Against TB (CICAT) had asked me to speak on TB, and I didn't think twice about saying yes because the invitation letter said that Gilopez Kabayao was going to give a concert in the same event.

I would have been happy with one or two pieces by Kabayao, but what we got that night was the maestro and his wife Corazon Pineda, who is a concert pianist, plus their three violinist children Farida, Sicilienne and Gilberto, performing a full repertoire of classical, Broadway, Filipino and Christian music.

The lecture and concert took place in the evening, after I had taken in a full day of Iloilo City. "This is the life," I thought to myself, and as the concert unfolded, I kept groping for a word to describe my feelings about the city. Then as the Kabayao Family Quintet performed one of their last pieces, I almost jumped out of my seat to shout: "Urbanidad!"

More than urbanity

What kept me in my seat was urbanidad.

Only a few days earlier, a professor at the University of the Philippines had used the term to describe a colleague who, on the surface, seemed quite sophisticated: a Ph.D. from an American university, fairly well traveled. Yet, the man was insufferable, notorious for trying too hard with his claims to urbanity.

"Walang urbanidad," scoffed the professor.

Urbanidad is not urbanity. You can live all your life in New York, which makes you an urbanite, but that does not give you urbanidad.

In fact, many Europeans will say New Yorkers can never develop urbanidad. Urbanidad starts with urbanity, but goes beyond. The Spanish-English dictionaries define urbanidad as refinement, but I think there's more to it.

Urbanity is identified with convenience, with the good life. Urbanidad is an appreciation of life itself in its finer aspects. In many ways, Iloilo's piña, jusi, sinamay and hablon epitomize this urbanidad. Just think of how pineapple, abaca and banana fibers are transformed into embroidered fabrics, so exquisite some people frame them as you do paintings. Foreigners are intimidated: "You can't wear such fine artwork. They crumple, they wrinkle too easily." But they don't understand, art isn't just to look at, it's to be used, to be worn. And the wrinkling? That's "gusot mayaman" [wrinkling of the rich], the crumpling taking on connotations of status. Now that's urbanidad.

Early globalization

Urbanidad is like good wine, getting better with time. It is not surprising Iloilo has this urbanidad. Even before the Spaniards arrived, Panay Island was a trading hub, and one can say urbanidad was already growing, with a local demand for Chinese ceramics. In exchange, the natives offered, among other items, handwoven cotton.

Iloilo benefited from several waves of early globalization; ideas and skills exchanged with the pottery and sandalwood and cloth. First there were the Chinese traders; later there were the Spaniards, who tapped skilled carpenters and artisans to build garrisons and ships, as well as homes, churches and colonial offices.

The indigenous weaving industry developed on its own, attracting migrants from rural areas, contributing to Iloilo's growth as an urban center. In the 19th century, the French writer Mallat identified 52 varieties of textiles in the area, including mixtures of cotton, silk, pineapple and hemp. Mallat gushed over the sophistication of their products: "the combination of their designs and colours is so bright and varied that they have the admiration of the whole world."

Like globalization today, Iloilo's opening up to the world had its human costs. Iloilo catered to a growing global demand for sugar, and built industry out of the blood and sweat of the plantations of Negros. And as Iloilo opened itself to world trade, it meant cheap imports flooding in, including mass-produced cotton from Manchester, England, which eventually throttled the local textile industry.

His city, her 'urbanidad'

The sugar industry collapsed in the 1970s but even before that, Iloilo's sugar barons had siphoned off the city's wealth to Manila. But there were others who stayed, keeping the city and its cultural heritage alive. I always look forward to visiting this wonderful old house in the Arevalo district, where Cecilia Villanueva and her family have kept the weaving tradition going, even in the way they sell their products. No glitzy displays here; she'll bring out the finest textiles out from an antique "aparador" [cabinet] for you to choose from, urging you to touch, to feel the cloth.

There's pride in things local, as well as global. You have, for example, the Kabayao family touring public schools and performing for free, exposing Iloilo's young to the wonders of the violin and of the world's classical music.

It's not accidental urbanity rhymes with vanity. Urbanity is often faddish and ephemeral, catering to individual conceits. Urbanidad, on the other hand, builds on a sense of community and of civic duty, as we see with the Kabayao benefit concerts in schools or at the CICAT function.

Urbanidad is a healthy combination of both appreciation as well as suspicion of modernity. The malls have invaded Iloilo City but they're not built as massively as those of Manila. Someone told me they have a cap on how high buildings can go in the city. Religious conservatism remains, at least on the fa‡ade, but is tempered by urbanidad. I walked past the Catholic church in Molo and grimaced as I noticed a banner, "No to Ligtas Buntis." But my guide pulled me into the church to meet her more powerful friends -- except for Jesus and two presumably male archangels, all the statues are of women. There was Mary Magdalene on one side and, in the central altar, there was the Virgin Mary and her mother, Anne.

Cities, with their erections, edifices and rules, are male; urbanidad, on the other hand, is cultivated, nurtured, and so female in its subversion.

I've been visiting Iloilo City regularly for the past 10 years or so, and fret about green spaces giving way to fast-food restaurants and not being able to get a good breakfast. I worry seeing Manila's crass urbanism creeping in, but I still think Iloilo, together with other cities like Cebu, can help set the pace for an alternative Filipino urbanidad. I think of lunch by the sea as my friend Henny Espanola talks about her Zen group. Or of strolling down the city's streets early in the morning, pausing occasionally to look at one of the old houses -- they're everywhere and not limited to mansions -- to appreciate the intricate architecture, even as my mind plays back music from the previous night's concert.