Editorial | Culture | Justin Hapa
“May nakilala ako sa bar kagabi, ang ganda nya pero parang may mali, nung dumikit meron akong napansin, napakalupet awit may lawit” When Erich Gabriel Bongon, aka Young Vito, released his song with these lyrics, netizens were quick to pounce on it.
After the uproar, Young Vito apologized on Twitter and the video was taken down on YouTube. Despite this, he still signed a record deal with Viva Records and his song was distributed on Spotify and Apple Music. The backlash this time became more intense. Celebrities jumped into the fray and it was reported in mainstream media outlets. “Anong problema mo sa mga magagandang may lawit? Ikaw ata may mali,” tweets Jasmine Curtis-Smith. A day later, “Awit” was removed from the said music channels.
In the short time it was up, it garnered hundreds of thousands of combined views.
There are two main reasons. First, there are music fans that listen to rap music in general regardless of the meaning of the song. In fairness to Vito, his song has a catchy beat, melody, and flow that is characteristic of most popular Filipino rap songs nowadays.
But of course, there are those whose perspective may resonate with the song. These are people who may have sexist and transphobic instincts. These views are borne out of a Filipino culture that is still largely patriarchal and gender binary in nature, one that is laden with structural barriers against the LGBT community. Today, tolerance of LGBT people happens only if they fit stereotypes: gays are typically boxed into comedic roles and are expected to be entertaining all the time.
We still do not have many transgender academics, politicians, and business leaders–areas that are still dominated by males–not because they are incapable but because they are not expected to assume such “serious” roles. In such a culture, transgender people can never thrive–they will always be treated as outsiders and misfits, or in Vito’s words, people “na may mali.”
Vito’s music is not only borne out of the prevalent culture, but it also entrenches and perpetuates it. Boston College professor William K. Kilpatrick wrote in his book “Why Johnny Can’t Tell Right From Wrong” that “we tend to learn something more easily and indelibly if it’s set to a rhyme or song”. He even goes on to explain that advertising agencies are aware of this, and this is why they tend to use catchy jingles to promote their business or product. The transphobic lyrics of Vito’s song, paired with catchy music, quietly slides into the unguarded subconscious mind and affects one’s behavior, language, and views towards transgender people.
But what better way to defeat transphobic music but through music as well? Siakol’s Ituloy Mo Lang and Gloc 9’s Sirena show that music can also be a form of resistance. Through their message, transgender people can find refuge in the fact that music, with all its intricacies, can be their ally in transforming social attitudes.
We ought to see that in the greater scheme of things, we create the societal norms and values that dominate us. We have a choice to upend the old cultural order of patriarchal and binary gender norms and move towards a more inclusive one.
This systemic change, as with most progressive movements, always starts from the grassroots: by mobilizing and by calling out what is deemed transphobic.
