Dark Blue Suit

(Note: this review of Peter Basho's Dark Blue Suit was written mid-1990's. Some of its contents may not be relevant anymore. AM)

Thanks for sticking with me. As you might notice, I write the way I talk—kind of endlessly. I don’t polish every word, mostly because I doubt many Filipinos in this generation are reading it anyway. To get there, Filipinos need to fall in love with reading first, and that’s where writers need to entertain. I struggle with that, but I try. One thing I won’t give up is reading Filipino and Filipino-American authors. It’s not about nationalism or drama—it’s about being reminded that I’m not alone. Their stories often dig up memories I didn’t know I had, pushing me to keep writing.

I update this site weekly, inspired by Liwayway, a magazine that kept people entertained with serial stories. Filipinos love a good telenovela type of narrative. I remember when I’d skip lunch just to catch up on Liwayway. Recreating that style takes time, and between that, work, and honing my programming skills, there’s not much room left for a social life. But I feel like it’s important.

We’re in a fight—a fight against declining literacy and shrinking interest in English literature in the Philippines. Our Filipino writers, especially those writing in English, aren’t getting the recognition or support they deserve. Sure, there are works I don’t enjoy, but that’s just a small part of the whole picture. Some people say Filipinos don’t read Filipino English literature because they don’t understand English well enough. I disagree. Filipinos understand English; they just don’t always have the time or money to buy books. Many are focused on finding work or putting food on the table. That’s the real challenge our writers face—fighting against poverty, unemployment, and all the politics that go with it.

There’s a rich world in Philippine history, but much of our literature hasn’t captured it in full. I’ve often felt that what I read was one-sided, like it was written for a specific, narrow audience. That’s a major flaw. We need stories that appeal to everyone—stories that thrill, entertain, and surprise. Writers need to push the boundaries of their creativity, not just write to win awards or please critics. True creativity comes from originality and passion, not from trying to fit into someone else’s mold.

This is why I admire writers like Jamaica Kincaid—she writes exactly how she speaks, without trying to sound perfect. Why should Filipino writers change their voices to fit some standard of "proper English"? Writing should reflect who we are. The most compelling stories are the ones that feel authentic, like good gossip that grabs everyone’s attention.

Which brings me to Peter Bacho’s Dark Blue Suit. Bacho creates a world that’s entirely his own, telling the story of second-generation Filipino-Americans (Fil-Ams). Growing up in the Philippines, I used to think Fil-Ams had it made—they spoke fluent English, went to American schools, and seemed to never go hungry. But after reading Carlos Bulosan, I learned about the real struggles they faced. Bacho, like Bulosan, opened my eyes to the harsh realities of the Filipino-American experience, but in a fresh, compelling way.

I’m particularly drawn to the generation Bacho writes about because I’m following in their footsteps. The saddest part of the Manong experience in America wasn’t just discrimination—it was being forgotten. Bulosan, a great Filipino writer, is almost unknown today, and there are so many others like him. Meanwhile, we celebrate shallow celebrities in the Philippines and forget the people who made real sacrifices for Filipinos around the world. We can remember random Western names but not the Manongs who endured so much hardship.

Bacho is different from Bulosan and Bienvenido Santos. He’s the son of that lost generation, and his perspective is American first. His language and experiences are American, but his stories feature Filipino characters. Dark Blue Suit tells a unique, sometimes tragic, but very real story. Bacho’s writing captures the transition of the Filipino-American experience, and it hits hard.

Santos, Bulosan, and Bacho show us one thing: if you love old Hollywood films from the 1930s and 1940s, don’t expect to see Filipinos in them. While Katherine Hepburn was starring in Bringing Up Baby and Bob Hope was making America laugh, Filipinos were working in California’s fields, unseen. And even now, Filipinos are still largely absent from mainstream American stories.

But many don’t want to hear about that—they want to start the Filipino-American story with stars like Lea Salonga or Tia Carrere. That’s a shame, because it overlooks the heart of the Filipino experience. The true story began with the Manongs, who struggled to survive in brothels, boxing rings, and fields.

One of Bacho’s most powerful lines is:

"Faced with the heat of the fields and the filth of overcrowded hotel rooms, many young Filipinos in the 1930s turned to boxing as a way out. It wasn’t just about the money. In the ring, a Filipino could beat a white man with his fists and not be arrested."

That drive for equality still exists today, though the paths may have shifted from boxing to careers like nursing, tech, and medicine. The craving for respect and recognition remains the same. Bacho’s writing speaks to that struggle.

Dark Blue Suit answers the question: What happened to the children of the Manongs? They weren’t monks, after all—they had families. Bacho tells the story of the second-generation Fil-Ams, the kids who inherited their parents’ struggles but also forged their own paths.

I’ll dive deeper into Bacho’s stories in the next issue.
2024-09-09 23:23:44
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