Culture of mendicancy

Every Saturday, I give drawing tutorials to an American businessman who  married  a Filipina. During lunch right after our workshop, our conversations would easily shift from art to culture and politics. Although he’s  been living here for more than a decade, he admits that there are still a lot of our ways that he could not grasp.

Recently, he wondered how quickly  Filipinos can call people friends and yet just as hastily lose them over money matters. As a foreigner, he is always approached by locals who  want him to be a friend just so they could ask for help.

“They start borrowing money and most of them don’t pay it back,” he said. “It’s not much but they would then avoid seeing you. I don’t understand how they can just afford to exchange your friendship for that.”

“It’s the corruption of values due to poverty,” I said. “Where opportunities are scarce and government could not be relied on to provide basic services, people cling desperately to those who are more privileged among their family and friends to bail them out.”

In Europe and the United States, people are confident that their government can guarantee security, a justice system that works, and opportunities for business and work, I explained. That is why they believe that it’s all about taking these opportunities and working hard to succeed. This explains the traditional American values of  industry and self-reliance.

In the Philippines, people can’t  rely so much on government. The system hardly works and opportunity is not always accessible. The people are left to fend for themselves or rely on those around them.

“We grew up in a culture where if you finished your studies and found work ahead of your siblings, you are expected to spend for their education, relieving your parents of the burden to the point of compromising your own life for it. A lot of Filipinas  end up not marrying because they had to look after their younger siblings.”

“But that destroys the value of that relationship,” he said. “They don’t learn the importance of hard work and being responsible for yourself at the very least.”

“That kind of thinking extends beyond the family,” I said. “The rich are expected to have the same responsibility for the poor. This is good to a certain extent. But it also creates a sense of entitlement for some people. Worst, it breeds a culture of dependency and a politics of patronage that feeds on it.”

This explains the local notion of “utang na loob” or debt of gratitude. Local politicians who give dole outs take advantage of this sense of indebtedness of their constituents. The  poor would vote for the politician who has already helped them in a personal way or they believe would be approachable when they need them in the future. They don’t really mind if that politician has no clear platform or would turn out to be corrupt.

“I’ve been to many places in the world but I’ve never seen a culture of corruption worse than here,” he said. “In America, if you have a government as corrupt as this, people would take up arms in revolt. That is why people keep firearms at home in case the State betrays democracy. They can always organize and fight that government.”

“Well, that was how it was during Martial Law,” I said. “People gave their lives fighting the dictatorship. It was a period of idealism. I could recall how, even in our place in Surigao, people would go to rallies and street demonstrations shortly before the EDSA Revolution.”

I explained how this sense of idealism continued after the revolt in 1986. Optimism was high among the people. But this euphoria would  easily die down after a series of coup d´etats and elections that only restored   traditional politicians to power. We were soon back to the old system of corruption.

“Idealism gave way to disillusionment,” I said. “As government could not be trusted once again, people revert to their old habits of mendicancy. Politicians are just as pleased to give them a little cash in exchange for votes. It’s an endless cycle.”