AS PACMAN POUNDS OSCAR, AETA TRIBALS GO WILD!

Aeta tribes people go bonkers over Pacman's sensational victory.

by Ted Lerner
(Angeles City, Philippines)–For those few Filipinos with the money to afford cable, or to buy the pay-per- view, or to be lucky enough to have a local mayor or congressman put up a big screen in the town square, the beautifully shocking result of “The Dream Fight” resulted in a pure ecstasy rarely seen or felt in these parts. Not only had their idol Manny Pacquiao beaten Oscar de la Hoya. He brutalized the Golden Boy. He eviscerated him. He made him quit. This was the Filipino at his gallant best. And it happened live in front of the entire world.

For everyone else, those tens of millions of mostly poor urban and rural Filipinos, they had heard about it when it happened, but they hadn’t yet seen it. Warp speed modern technology has reached even the remotest spots of this sprawling archipelago, where even itinerant farmers in far away provinces, and the poorest of the poor in the urban slums get news in an instant. The Philippines has the widest cell phone coverage of any country per capita and is the texting capital of the world. Naturally, news like this travels fast. It was as if they themselves, the common Filipino, beaten down by circumstance, poverty and daily chaos, now, for a few moments, stood atop the planet.
But, of course, seeing is believing.

At a tricycle stand in the provincial town of Angeles City, 65 miles north of Manila, the rickety driver’s shed serves as today’s neighborhood town hall. Several tricycles–motorcycles with sidecars that serve as local taxis—stand parked outside, their operators not bothering to look for any passing fares. Instead the trike drivers and various passersby have gathered under the derelict tin roof to watch the fight. The fight has been over now for an hour and everyone knows the result, thanks to incoming text messages on their mobiles. Still, they all stand glued to the grainy picture showing Pacman on the offensive in round two.

“Oscar surrender after round eight,” says one older man. “I bet on Oscar. He’s no good!” The rest of the people gathered laugh at him and continue to watch the fight. As the round ends a group of four guys sitting on a rickety wooden bench pick up a card game called ‘tong-its.’ They have plenty of time to complete a full game before the next round starts. When it comes to big fights on commercial television in the Philippines, the locals are forced to endure a form of torture which seems cruel by any standard. And when Pacman fights, it can feel like outright punishment.

The tricycle stand was turned into a gathering spot to watch Pacquiao-De la Hoya

At the end of each three minute round, the TV station commences with 15 minutes of inane ads, often repeated only minutes apart. For this fight, the station cut to commercials even after each of the three national anthems and Michael Buffer’s introduction. The products being pitched are a mix of everything the common Filipino could want; beer, brandy, fast food, multivitamins, feed for your fighting cock, weight loss pills, car batteries, courier services and even some substance that will fix leaks in your tin roof. The latter because most of the viewers who have tuned in happen to have tin sheet roofs, just like the tricycle stand. And in the Philippines, nearly every tin sheet roof leaks.
Nobody complains, however, as the time given to ads seems another reason to keep the festivities going. And Filipinos would clearly endure anything to watch their all-time hero, a man who has reached a level of popularity and adulation that no other Filipino in history has achieved.

“Manny Pacquiao fights for his country,” says smiling trike driver Gerry Soriano. “He gives money to charity. He stays with the people. He’s a family man. He fears God.” Soriano then puts particular emphasis on the next virtue. “And he’s the pound for pound best in the world!”

Several miles away, on the outer edge of the Clark Special Economic Zone—formerly the American Clark Airbase— the grimy provincial city becomes rural countryside. In the shadow of Mt. Pinatubo, which 18 years ago buried this area in mountains of grey ash still visible to this day, a small road crew spends their Sunday afternoon pouring pavement. Holding shovels, covered in dirt and dust, the handful of guys look like they should be miserable. This, however, is no ordinary work day.

“Pacman number 1,” several of the young men say, flashing big smiles when asked about the fight. “Oscar surrender.” One guy says they knew the outcome as the fight happened because they listened to the fight live a few hours ago on the AM radio on his cell phone, which he pulls out of his pocket to show as evidence. Apparently a radio station in Manila had two announcers watching the fight live and doing an old time second hand play by play account.
Most of their fellow workers, though, had the day off, and over 50 of them were gathered nearby, packed inside the open air, clapboard compound where they normally sleep. It was round four, and they sat or stood, fixated on the small television set sitting atop a rusted metal barrel.

The construction compound stands at the entrance to a small, dusty village of Aeta tribes people. The Aetas, or Negritos as they are sometimes referred to, are considered the original Filipinos, their dark skin, kinky hair and small stature closely resembling Australia’s aboriginal people. Aetas live on the fringes of Philippine society, and are often discriminated against by more light skinned and more populace, mestiza Filipino. Aetas mostly preferring to live off the land in the highland provinces, hunting, fishing, doing subsistence farming and relying on donations from outsiders.
At the home of Aeta Lerte Sumilan, about a dozen people have gathered to watch the fight. Several kids play pool on the table outside but mostly everyone is piled into the house and riveted to the action on the small TV. Like all the houses in this village, the houses are simple, half finished grey hollow block, with tin GI sheet roofing. There’s no cable here. The old antenna sits atop a bamboo pole jutting out of the roof and into the sky.

Guys young and old sit on simple wooden benches, or on the floor on a dusty old carpet watching Pacquiao pound the Golden Boy into submission. They smoke cigarettes and munch on watermelon seeds as a pitcher of brandy and powdered iced tea makes its round. Several other people lean in through the open front door.

Let the party begin

Even though they already know the outcome, they shout with giddy delight at every head snapping punch from their hero. “Yess!” they cry and clap in unison as Pacman pummels the Golden Boy in round six. Lerte sits inches from the TV and touches the screen, pointing at de la Hoya’s brutally swollen eye, laughing out loud and clapping at the damage their hero has inflicted. In round eight, when Oscar tries to fight back and Pacquiao raises his hands in a ‘bring it on’ gesture, the Aetas jump up and go wild at the show of defiance.

The bell rings for the end of round 8, but the big celebration has to wait for 15 minutes of kitschy commercials. When the broadcast mercifully resumes and de la Hoya quits, the gathered throng shouts and jumps about the room as if it’s all happening at that moment.

“All Aeta people love Manny Pacquiao!” Lerte shouts as the others, including two little old ladies, celebrate and hold up their fists in triumph. “If he wants to visit us here, I will show him how to survive in the mountain. Manny Pacquiao is a friend to the Aeta. The Aeta is the original Filipino. Pacquiao is the best Filipino boxer in the whole world. Oscar surrender because the Filipino is the best in the world in everything! The Filipino is the best in boxing, basketball, volleyball, even golf.”

Clearly more than a little hyperbole but who could blame him. These were the first Filipinos cheering on the God of modern Philippine society. Together they now stood atop the world.