Culture Feature| Alab Ayroso
She lost count after a hundred.
A hundred Japanese soldiers upon hundreds more, each one determined to erase whatever light fourteen-year-old Rosa held as they defiled her.
Maria Rosa Luna Henson, affectionately called Nana Rosa, was the first Filipina to come forward with her story as a comfort woman in 1992, sexually abused by the Japanese Imperial Army in the Philippines during the Second World War. In Dulaang UP’s play depicting her life, the character of Nana Rosa relives the memories she tried so hard to forget for 50 years — from her youth and resistance against the Imperial Army, to her imprisonment as a comfort woman for nine months by the Japanese soldiers, to the struggles and hardships she experienced in sharing her story decades later.
Nana Rosa, played alternately by Peewee O’Hara and Upeng Galang Fernandez, exhibited a pain that couldn’t be expressed in words. Every scene in which she writhes in pain is gut-wrenchingly difficult to observe; every moment in which she shudders in fear makes you want to close your eyes and hope that what happens next doesn’t happen. The violent depiction of the rape scenes doesn’t shy away from reality and attempts to communicate the agony of having to experience such a grisly act. Onstage, in the confines of the theater, the horrors that befell the Filipina during the Japanese occupation came hauntingly alive with each scream torn from the throats of these young girls.
For Nana Rosa, it was one thing to experience and have it buried in the deepest recesses of her memories, and a whole other ordeal to have it all remembered. Recounting every single detail and baring it all for everyone to consume took courage and strength against all judgment that the world saw fit to throw at her and her family. Nana Rosa carried these memories with her for 50 years, frustratingly unable to express what she felt and how she was doing in the aftermath of it all, and once she finally had the chance to speak up — she was doubted. Disdained. Looked down upon by her fellow countrymen.
Her cries for justice fell on deaf ears. Up to this day, the Japanese government still refuses to acknowledge the existence of Filipina comfort women and avoids actual reparation by using donations from its citizens instead of actual government funds as compensation for those who served as comfort women during the Japanese occupation. Aside from this is the adamant lack of support from the Philippine government, with the memorial statue for comfort women in Roxas Boulevard unceremoniously removed from its post just last year. With no apology from the Japanese government and no backing from our own, it’s as if the country and its people was never raped, and that it isn’t removed of its honor.
You’ll leave the play angry and disgusted, and rightfully so, as you begin to understand the plight of Filipino comfort women and their calls for justice. Lila Pilipina, the organization comprising of comfort women that came out with their stories shortly after Nana Rosa did, persists in their fight until today. Although their living members are elderly and some have already passed away, they still continue to picket and go out on the streets to demand a formal apology and official recognition by the Japanese government but up to this day, their cries are left unheard.
Carrying the plight of Nana Rosa, the fight to end violence against women continues with the people supporting women’s groups, lobbying laws that will ensure justice and protection for women, and standing in solidarity for their rights.
Nana Rosa was constructed directly from Henson’s autobiography, “Comfort Woman: Slave of Destiny,” brought to life by director José Estrella and the U.P. Playwrights’ Theatre with the screenplay by playwright and screenwriter Rody Vera. The play runs until March 17 at the Wilfrido Ma. Guerrero Theater, Palma Hall, UP Diliman.
