I am bisaya (A Filipino from the island of Visayas). And Bisayas often struggle with tagalog. Not because we are unfamiliar, but mostly, there’s some form of resistance in us. At some point, Bisaya, our local dialect, and Tagalog, our national language prominent in the north, are world’s apart—often too distinct, too different, and hence irreconcilable.
looking rather pensive while trying to write in tagalog with my bro kit enjoying Instagram
Overall even, almost all Filipinos, not only bisayas, struggle with tagalog, especially when writing. Here’s my two scents worth why…
In 2012, I came across an article by James Soriano titled “Language, Learning, Identity, Privilege”— a rather poignant reflection on how tagalog, even to Filipinos, is the “language of the streets.”
I recall agreeing with him when I first read it. His reflections reminded me of my own encounters with tagalog—spoken only in casual talk with rowdy friends and the “help” and often enjoyed in mindless teleseryes (prime time television series on national tv). The thing is, most of us have been raised to speak, write, think, and even worship in English. The use of Filipino in schools remains dismal. Hence, we learn the basics with a foreign tongue. Initially, this is how we come to terms with all sorts of things—with how things are named and how equations are solved, with how big or far the sun is and with how a God created the Universe.
Yet as the world expands beyond the walls of our schools, we learn tagalag almost by instinct. As we go by our daily affairs, as in riding a jeepney or buying fish, in asking “yaya” to iron the clothes or “manong” for a ride somewhere, we are compelled to converse in tagalog—to express interest, request, and gratitude in a Filipino tongue. Here, the author says, we learn the “language of the street”— the language of jeepney drivers, fishmongers, and the house help.
To an honest man, this distinction is reasonable. Our education prepares us for this kind of discrimination, for choosing words that fit the level of our discourse. Sadly, tagalog is incapable of intelligent discourse. Hence, English stands as the language of the learned. Why else would our Constitution be phrased in English, if not for the incapacity of Filipino to intelligibly articulate its ideals? Why else would a pinoy world icon and now senator, Manny Pacquiao, prefer to grope for bad English than to have his Filipino translated, if not to make him seem literate?
Indeed, a stereotype of this sort is unavoidable. While admitting it may somehow put some of us to shame, facing its candid lessons, however, poses the challenge to salvage our language’s dignity.
Slowly, I see people working for it. Recent reforms in our education system integrated our native languages in the early years of basic education. The previous president, Pnoy’s dignified use of Filipino in his major appearances elevated the language’s capacity to command and stir opinion.
Yet, the challenge remains foreboding. It urges our institutions to make Filipino a medium of transaction and instruction. It dares writers to make good publication in Filipino and insists on students to study and use Filipino equivalents of various terms and ideas. Indeed, the problem is not whether Filipino is a mere “language of the unlettered.” Rather, it is on whether the learned has the skill to use Filipino.
A German author once said, “The meaning of a word is its use.” True enough, the worth of a language is measured only by how proudly its people use it.
So start writing in tagalog! I will, Promise!
_Kristian
