Fists de Résistance: Creative and Collective Defiance against Tyranny
Art is both mirror and hammer: a mirror to recognize what we are now, what we have become, and what we could be, a hammer which can be used to shape and build better versions of ourselves and of our world.
Amidst shrinking and repressed civic spaces compounded by a militaristic government response to the COVID-19 pandemic, concerned citizens, human rights defenders, and activists have consistently turned to artistic and creative forms and avenues to exercise their democratic rights for dissent, free speech, and protest.
Thousands of art attacks have risen up on a national level against the regime of deaths and debts of President Rodrigo Duterte following the creative piece of resistance made by Kevin Eric Raymundo aka Tarantadong Kalbo (TK), a Filipino artist/cartoonist known for his witty takes on the fun and pains of being a Filipino.
Since lockdown Philippines began in March 2020, TK has consistently released hilariously sharp political illustrations calling for government accountability for its bungled pandemic response and sustained attacks against human rights advocates, activists, and members of the free press.
TK’s latest artwork — a standing fist figure brimming with light, clad in resolute indignation and defiance amidst a multitude of grey fisted figures (Duterte’s signature pose), worshipfully flat-faced on the ground — has sparked flames of collective defiance and solidarity among the embattled defenders of human rights and democracy in the country.
But such art is not enough in itself if it only strives for itself.
I believe that this recent piece of protest art is not entirely for those who are already critical, vocal, and moving against the state-normalized attacks against journalists, progressive individuals and organizations, and staunch critics of the Duterte administration for its bloody war on drugs, human rights violations, and pandering to China.
More than a caricature of his personal defiance against tyranny and oppression, TK’s figure speaks about the possibility for those who have long been poisoned by blind faith upon a populist leader to rise again and reclaim their dignity, humanity, and assert our collective liberties once again. Hence, I believe, the vibrant figure of resistance stands in the midst of the mass of fully flattened figures while one figure to the right appears to have been awaked, unlike other nearby figures. Seemingly white-hot, the figure exudes a soft brightness enough to give light yet also tender enough not to hurt the eyes that have long been accustomed to darkness. Aside from being a call to speak and rise up against injustice, it is also an invitation for a change of hearts and minds among those who remain loyal to an iron-handed regime that has consistently undermined the humanistic values and democratic institutions of the nation.
The act carries with it both political and moral imperatives, echoing the words of the youthful Nazi Resistor and Christian Theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”
Now trending under the hashtag-rallying cry #Tumindig (Rise Up), TK’s artwork has attracted an organic participation of people who, using their own identity markers, have installed their risen fist figures alongside the prior lone figure.
From diverse individuals, professionals, artists, concerned citizens, organizations spanning NGOs and businesses to grassroots organizations of farmers, workers, and the urban poor across the county, each gave one, added their voice, a face, a figure to the point that contributions came en masse and had to be managed and collated systematically. As of writing, the centralized ledger for all #Tumindig entries lists over 1,150 individual and group contributions across Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. And still growing following TK’s release of an easily editable version.
From one single-author artwork, it has turned to multiple co-created works of artistic production and reproduction all over the country — a full-spectrum display of resistance indeed.
It is from these collective works that we take to heart the critical lesson of melding the personal and political, the individual and the collective in artistic production for social change. It is as African author Chinua Achebe writes, “Art has a social purpose … art belongs to the people… Art is unashamedly, unembarrassingly, if there is such a word, social. It is political; it is economic.”
When we harness our thoughts, feelings, and intentions and give them physical forms as in art, doing so directly or indirectly affects the attention and consciousness of people. And that interaction, no matter how quick or small, has an impact we may or may not immediately see. For surely even the most unpalatable and distasteful works intended to be art can elicit responses from each one us. This is one of the many ways through which we know what is bad or good art or the forms of art that are more attuned to our capacities for understanding and appreciation. Take for instance one violent artwork made in response to TK’s work.
Steven Pabalinas, a pro-Duterte artist, posted, not one, but three versions of the same artwork showing presidential daughter, Davao City Mayor, and much-touted presidential successor Sara Duterte.
The initial version shows Sara-ala-Thanos murderer-mode, blood-soaked, one hand holding her recent kill. Pabalinas quickly and successively replaced his post, but were screencaptured by netizens who called him out and heckled him for his consistent depiction of Duterte’s penchant for death-dealing and violence against critics.
In 2020, Human Rights watchdog Civicus Monitor reported that the Philippines now suffers from ‘repressed’ civic spaces. This is corroborated by the closure of one of the country’s largest media network ABS-CBN, the spike in activist killings and extrajudicial killings involving suspected drug-users despite the pandemic, and the persecution of the free press and journalists like Rappler’s Maria Ressa. These harrowing realities are the twisted fulfillments of Duterte’s pronouncements and murderous promise “to scare people, to intimidate people, and to kill people.”
To show other people where and what to look at is one of the most political acts that writers, artists or even simple ordinary people can do. It is as filmmaker and photographer Wim Wender says, “The most political decision you make is where you direct people’s eyes. In other words, what you show people, day in and day out, is political… And the most politically indoctrinating thing you can do to a human being is to show him, every day, that there can be no change.”
But change is always present, especially liberating change that can turn the tides of violence, repression, and impunity normalized by authoritarian figures and their oppressive regimes. Like the oppressed peoples of Myanmar, Hong Kong, and Palestine, the embattled Filipino people continues to work on change towards genuine democracy, against the culture of violence being normalized by the state, by giving it a collective voice and life force, and amplifying it with creativity and innovation inside and beyond our borders.
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