it was literature that taught me about the objectification of women. no, it was philippine literature that taught me about the oppression of the Filipina, the kind that objectifies her, makes her into nothing but image, nothing but stereotype. half-naked if not totally so. skin and leg and boobs and butt. image not voice. body not thought.
and just in case everyone thought this witty and funny, and thought nothing of the layers of this image we’ve used to sell a a government-sponsored international literature festival.
the red light district, is about prostitution, and carries with it the contingent oppressions of woman in this country. the play on words to promote philippine literature, that one that takes from, pokes fun at, what is about the undereducated and impoverished, the hardworking and unlucky, the struggling and earning-from-body Pinay, is just sad.
yeah, it might be funny to some, and maybe it seemed like a fun way to get people interested in literature. i’d like to think there were more ways to do that, without further distancing literary production from the real conditions of nation, from this particular prostituted and objectified Pinay.
or maybe that was precisely the point? then that’s actually kind of fantastic.