Sanus/Sanitas,

Specter/Spectacle:
Locating Sovereign Power in the
Madness/Filthiness of the
Taong-Grasa
Lucian Alec L. Dioneda
II-AB POS
POS61A
I. Introduction: The Taong Grasa- A Different Kind of Feral
The year was 1724 when a strange creature was found near the
outskirts of the fields of the current town of Hameln, Germany. The
thing, which was described as “a naked, brownish, black-haired
creature, who was running up and down…and was about the size of a
boy of twelve” (Candland 1993, 9), was enticed with a prize of apples
and lured into the town, whereupon he was “first received by a mob of
street boys, but was very soon afterwards placed for safe custody in
the Hospital of the Holy Ghost, by the order of the Burgonmaster
[Mayor] Severin” (Candland 1993,9). It, or rather, he, was nicknamed
Peter, and he was the first fully documented case of a feral child
wherein “Feral” is defined as “untouched by human contact, human
demands, and human forms of socialization” (Candland 1993, 9).
According to Candland, the discovery of Peter at the time
reignited the timeless debate of nature/nurture, or the debate over
“What, and how much, of ourselves is innate, unlearned, cleaned of the
effects of experience and socialization, and what can and do human
beings learn from their experiences, their teachers, the environment”
(Candland 1993,13). In Candland’s own words: “Peter provided a
seemingly unusual opportunity for his fellow human beings to examine
the effects of socialization as separate from what human humankind
knows and does by nature” (Candland 1993,10).
Now, historically speaking, Candland was correct when he said
that the discovery of Peter reignited the nature/nurture debate, the
debate on what is learned and what is instinctively known, and the
demarcation between the two. But this is not the debate with which
this paper is concerned about. Rather, this paper centers on a
demystification of the dominant paradigm that the fullest realization of
man only happens when he is civilized.
The dominant paradigm at the time, and of all periods before,
and perhaps until this very day, was that man could only realize his
humanity to its fullest only when he was civilized, and that conversely,
he would be reduced to his most feral when he was uncivilized, or
isolated outside of society. Such was the distinction, Arendt notes, that
Aristotle made (using speech) between barbarians and civilized Greeks
(Arendt 1977). This is even more the case in Rousseau’s Discourse on
Inequality: “Savage man, when left by nature to bare instinct alone…
will then begin with purely animal function” (Yousef 2001, 245).
But the questions which will destroy the traditional standpoint
regarding social isolation and ferality, and civilization and humanity are
these: Will man become feral if and only if he is isolated outside of
society? Or is it perhaps possible that man becomes feral if he is
isolated within society? How and why is it possible for man to be
isolated within society? Or, taking the question to its most extreme and
logical conclusion: Does society itself, by isolating its people within it,
reduce human beings to “bare instinct alone” (Yousef 2001, 245)?
 The answer to the final question, regarding the relationship
between ferality and civilization is a clear and definitive yes. In fact, we
see them every day on the streets, usually rambling and exceptionally
filthy. A majority of the time we avoid them: we ignore them, and we
fear them.
It is the specter which haunts the darkest recesses of highways,
roads, and the collective Filipino consciousness. It mindlessly roams the
jungles of concrete and steel, forever lost in a liminal of neither here
nor there, neither completely hidden nor completely displayed, neither
feral nor human, and finally, neither mania nor melancholia.
I refer to, of course, none other than the Philippine phenomenon
of the taong grasa.
Foucault writes, in Madness and Civilization: “Madness borrowed
its face from the face of the beast” (Foucault 1961, 72). It is through
madness that man becomes feral. Or more specifically, it is through
madness that the animal in man is released.
This paper is interested in formulating a theory of madness not
just as a psychological phenomenon, wherein madness can be
designated as a psychological breaking point resulting from socio-
environmental factors, but also as a political phenomenon, more
specifically and more importantly, as an application of sovereign
power. In other words, what this paper wishes to achieve is an
explanation of why the taong grasa becomes insane. In this
paper, I will return to the belief that “power makes mad” (Foucault
1979, 27), which Foucault abandoned in Discipline and Punish (In
Foucault's own words, “Perhaps we must abandon the belief that power
makes mad” [Foucault 1975, 27] ), if only to illustrate the raw brutality
of power- that power at its most brutal turns men mad; that power
does not only destroy the body, as was the case with Damiens the
regicide (Foucault 1979, 3), or of the numerous others before him, but,
as is the case with the taong grasa, withers self-consciousness,
perverts desires, unleashes the beast, in short, targets and destroys
the mind and makes men mad.
How then, will this aim be achieved? How, then, will the
phenomenon of madness be approached? First, this paper will locate
madness within Philippine culture, in both its realities and its
representations, by simultaneously traversing into Philippine literature
and case-studies of taong grasa. Second, this paper will then analyze
these realities/representations from a Hegelian/Foucaultian
perspective. That is, this paper will critique and analyze madness and
its representations using Kojeve's An Introduction to the Reading of
Hegel, Daniel Berthold Bond's Hegel of Madness and Tragedy and from
Foucault's Madness and Civilization. Finally, this paper will discuss the
ways in which these causes of madness are used as tactics in modern
day capitalist Philippine society, notably from the Marxist concept of
alienation and the Arendtian concept of atomization, embodied in the
discourses surrounding the filthiness of the taong grasa, and in doing
so, attempt to connect madness to the discourse othe taong grasa.
What are the implications of this methodology and this paper? In
doing these steps, this paper will pinpoint not only the sovereign cause
of madness, but also the madness of modern day Philippine capitalist
society. For if according to Foucault, power is everywhere, then
madness is everywhere. Madness is the norm, not the exception:
“Madness is the rule, sanity the exception. To be normal, to be sane is
the most difficult thing in the world to be” (Arcellana 1973, 90)
Thus, the primary and ultimate tasks of this paper are clear: On
the one hand, the primary goal of this paper will be to prove that
madness, or more specifically, its causes, are an application of
sovereign power, by a sovereign distortion of the subject On the other
hand, the ultimate goal of this paper will be to point out the madness
in modern day Philippine capitalist society- to paint a picture of the
taong grasa not as the irrational man in the rational world, but as the
most visible extremity of madness in modern day Philippine capitalist
society, to illustrate the madness inherent in modern society- in short,
to reformulate the taong grasa not as a madman, but a madman of the
madness of our civilization. Now is the time to illustrate what Marx
meant when he said that “The nation feels like that mad Englishman in
bedlam” (Marx 1935, 17)
Jose Rizal, in the preface to Noli me Tangere, once wrote about
the social cancer in Philippine society:
“In the catalog of human ills there is to be found a cancer
so malignant that the least touch inflames it and causes
agonizing pains…To this end, I shall endeavor to show your
condition, faithfully and ruthlessly. I shall lift a corner of
your veil which shrouds the disease…for as your son your
defects and weaknesses are also mine”
(Rizal, trans. by Guerrero 1961, ix)
Now it is no longer a social cancer, but a social madness in the
capitalist system of modern day Philippine society which has gripped
the country and has manifested itself in the form of the taong grasa,
the madmen of the madness of our civilization. Therefore: In lieu of
what Rizal endeavored to expose and to achieve during his time, so
shall I “endeavor to show [my country’s] condition. For as in the
admirable words of the great Dr. Rizal, “as your son, your defects and
weaknesses are also mine” my country’s suffering is my suffering; my
country’s defects are my defects; my country’s madness is my
madness; and my country’s cross is my cross to bear.
Those words were written not only to set the tone of this paper,
but also to hopefully, hopefully illustrate to the reader in a few words
the conundrum of the madman; For the problem of the madman is that
he can neither speak nor be spoken for; he can only be spoken of- The
madman's speech is speech which mocks our speech; And praise be
the fool who claims to “represent” the madman. No, the madman, and
the taong grasa can perhaps only be spoken of- illustrated in art, re-
presented in literature.
But to admit self-defeat is intolerable. For us to speak for the
madman, we must assume, and even embrace the role of the madman,
the life of madness, of the empty smile which haunts- and pray that we
escape, unscathed! And we must illustrate the madness of society, if
only to show that in our being human, we all have the potential for
madness, and we are in fact are all, already, and perhaps unknowingly,
insane.
In conclusion: Dear reader, realize your madness! Realize the
madness of the abscess of your soul, in the emptiness your desires,
and from which capitalism seeks to profit from; As Michel Foucault
cited Pascal in his preface, so shall I: “Men are so necessarily mad, that
not to be mad would amount to another form of madness” (Foucault
1965, ix).
II. Sanus/Sanitas: On the Condition of the Taong Grasa
For now we will abandon the relationship between madness,
civilization, and ferality. But we will return to them later, when we
relocate ferality, and thus madness, in the realm of being- or rather, in
the realm of non-being and of negativity.

We begin with a specific year- 1982, in fact. This year is

important because it marks the year in which Anton Juan’s one-act play
garnered the1982 Doc Carlos Palanca Award For Literature. This text is
crucial for what is written within is central to this paper: “Pagliko natin
sa kantong ‘yan makikita nating muli and isa sa kanila, batong gawa sa
laman at buto, maitim, maitim, binalutan ng araw at gabi, dura’t ihi.
Anong tawag sa kanila? Taong Grasa, sabi mo...” (Juan 1982, 246)
There are two distinctions which characterize the “being” of, and
the experience of being, a taong grasa (if there is such a thing, which
will be put into doubt in this paper): he is insane and unsanitary. The
latter has been pointed out quite clearly in the passage I quoted above.
The former, on the other hand, is not seen in the same passage, but is
also seen throughout the text. For example: “Biglang may kakausapin
bagamat walang tao maliban sa kanya” (Juan 1982, 247)”.
Here is further proof of the unity of these two elements in the
taong grasa:
“Taong Grasa… it is a derisive term in Filipino slang used to
refer to individuals occasionally seen wandering aimlessly
on the streets, clothed in the dirtiest of rags, and covered
in enough grime to have recently taken a dip in a pit of
blackened grease and soot. The usual presumption is that
the Taong Grasa is insane- which is not far off, considering
that the sort is given to sudden outbursts and ravings…”
(Ramos 2003, 11)
 Interestingly enough, these characteristics are both negations:
the prefix “-in” negates the word “sane”, whereas the prefix “-un”
negates “sanitary”. The characteristics which define the taong grasa
are purely negative. This “negativity” is also intrinsic in
the label of the taong grasa as a “taong grasa”. When it is not
conjugated, the label “taong grasa” takes the form of “tao-na-grasa”
(UP Diksyunaryong Filipino 2010, 3582), which literally means “man-of-
grease”, or in my preferred translation, “man-of-filth”. It is as if the
being of the taong grasa is worth nothing, and even less than nothing.
He is pure negativity. He is not even “human”- he has been defined by,
and also, as filth. He is not a “tao” but a “tao-na-grasa”, not a man but
a man-of-filth, a man whose being is non-being. This is important
because it is connected with madness: madness, according to Foucault,
“became the paradoxical manifestation of non-being…confinement
merely manifested what madness, in its essence, was: a manifestation
of non-being. In the words of Foucault: “by confinement, madness is
acknowledged to be nothing” (Foucault 1961, 115).
Which brings us to my proposition: If madness is related to non-
being, then perhaps non-being is the cause of madness, more
specifically the madness of the taong grasa. Sovereignty, then, is
related to madness by way of non-being, the negation (and thus
reduction) of a man’s being to non-being.
Let us now return to the taong grasa. Earlier on, we have said
that the taong grasa is characterized by two negations: his in-sanity
and his un-cleanliness (or un-sanitary characteristic). But now I
suggest that the two are related, more specifically that the negation of
the Sanitas (unsanitary) is what caused the taong grasa’s madness,
the negation of his Sanus. I suggest that perhaps there is something in
being a taong grasa that made him mad.

However, I do not claim that it is merely filthiness which causes

madness. Rather I believe it is in the stigma of filthiness- that it is just
that the filthiness of the tang grasa is that which fully illustrates this
condition. Thus, we must look for how filthiness alienates, or
atomizes, or separates. But considering this, we must study how the
taong grasa became nothing, the conditions in which he lost himself.
Perhaps there is a stigma in filthiness, that by being filthy, or under
similar conditions, man is reduced to nothing, simultaneously in the
eyes of others and within the self, thereby leading to madness- that by
being filthy the being became filth, the being became non-being, that
the being became earth once more- and by this process, madness
sprung forth.
III. Sanus: Étre, Pauvre et L’aile de Folié – Locating the Root of
Madness
Let us first begin from the standpoint of Sanus with an
examination and analysis of a few words from Francisco Arcellana,
taken from his short story entitled The Wing of Madness (I). Arellana
writes: “As long as I know that I am mad, then I am safe” (Arcellana
1973, 89).
These words, when taken at face-value, appear to be an absurd
contradiction. For in that sentence, there seems to be an epic clash of
the diametrically opposed domains of reason and un-reason.
How is it possible for one to know that one is mad? Or rather, if
madness is, in the words of Foucault, “consorted indiscriminately with
all the forms of unreason” (Foucault 1965, 70), then how can an
unreasonable man reasonably know that one is unreasonable How is it
possible for the madman to know that he is mad despite the fact that
he is mad and unreasonable?
The “contradiction” in Arcellana’s baffling statement is resolved
in a few words: “Man is self-consciousness” (Kojeve 1969, 3). Let us
examine Kojeve's words in their entirety:
“Man is Self-Consciousness”. He is conscious of himself,
conscious of his human reality and dignity; and it is in this
that he is essentially different from animals, which do not
go beyond the level of simple Sentiment of the self...
Man becomes conscious of himself when…he says ‘I’ ” (Kojeve
1969, 3)
Now Arcellana’s statement makes sense. It is clear that we must
no longer interpret his statement as a contradiction, that it is a
statement which falls between rationality and irrationality and thus
fails to satisfy either of them and is thus irrational and absurd, nor
should we interpret madness as primarily categorized with unreason.
Instead, we must now instead locate madness in self-consciousness.
And this is not a contradiction! It is entirely possible for one to be
simultaneously self-conscious and completely irrational. No better
example can be found than the madman who thinks he is something
else, or who attaches special qualities to himself. A madman may walk
stark naked and filthy into the middle of the street with incoming traffic
coming his way and declare that he is the “King of the World” (or
something to that aspect), and in that scenario, he is equally irrational
and self-conscious. In the words of Foucault, “at a deeper level, we find
[in madness] a rigorous organization dependent on the faultless
armature of a discourse” (Foucault 1965, 96).

Madness does not deny logic- what actually confounds is that it is

so logical, yet illogical. But regardless, what is not lost is self-
consciousness. “The man who imagines he is made of glass is not
mad...but he must be mad if he, believing he is made of glass, he
thereby concludes he is fragile, that he is in danger of breaking”
(Foucault 1965, 94)- here we see the madman's logic as correct, for if
one is made of glass, then he is liable to be be fragile. Yet it is in its
rationality that it appears irrational. “The marvelous logic of the mad
which seems to mock that of the logicians because it because it
resembles it so exactly” (Foucault 1965, 95). But still, regardless of the
rational irrationality or the irrational rationality of madness, the
madman still knows himself- “I am made of glass, I am king of the
world!”
This view of madness as intertwined with self-consciousness is
supported and complemented by Arcellana when he says that
“Madness begins consciously as a loss of control [of the self]1”
(Arcellana 1973, 89). For this statement alone not only verifies our
theory that madness is connected with consciousness; it also makes
the distinction of madness as a conscious loss of control over the self, a
self-conscious struggle.
Arcellana also made a further specification of this distinction later in
the same text:
“...First it was like a shadow: I was unmoved; Second, it was
like a breath: I hardly felt it; Third, it was like a wind: I was
warm with love, but the wind chilled me; Fourth, it was like
a wing...it struck me again and again; Fifth, it is a huge bird-
ugly, hateful, obscene...”
(Arcellana 1973, 91)
Pay attention to how the madness progresses: In the earlier
stages, madness is not felt. When madness is still a shadow, it is
“unmoving”. Later on, the madness progresses morbidly: Madness
shifts from an “unmoving madness” to a madness of perpetual
movement. Notice how the degree of violence increases from wind
(“First to go were my eyes. They were always raging everywhere...I
lived only in my eyes and only my eyes were alive in me” [Arcellana
1973, 89]) to wing (“Then my hands went. My berserk hands! Now that
they have stirred, when finally they have lifted, they are monsters”
[Arcellana 1973, 89]) to bird (“Finally, the body, and loss of control2,
partial or total; and a state of anarchy...” [Arcellana 1973, 89]).
Furthermore, it can perhaps be concluded that the degree of
violence increases as the degree of madness increases. We can
perhaps deduce that the strength of the hold of madness is inversely
proportional to the amount over control of the self- that is, as the
degree of control over the self decreases, the degree of violence
increases. Each successive increase of the degree of violence is the
outward reaction to the inward loss of control of the self.
Madness then, for Arcellana (and this paper) is clearly associated
with the loss of the self, or a loss of control over the self. The violence
of madness progresses slowly, but surely, moving from an “unmoving”
madness to a madness of permanent movement, to a madness of
violence (or perhaps even a violence of madness). This analogous to
what Foucault points out in Discipline and Punish, what he called as “a
1 All words located in a “ [ ] “ from this point forward are mine.
2 All italicizations from this point forward are all mine.
slackening of the hold on the body” (Foucault 1979, 10). The roots of
madness and the violence associated with it are rooted deep within the
core of the self.
But this explanation of madness as a self-conscious struggle
against a loss of control is not enough. Because if this was to suffice, it
would lack a crucial element: the element of desire. Self-consciousness
pre-supposes desire. In Kojeve's own words:
“The (conscious) Desire of a being is what constitutes that
being as I and reveals it as such by saying “I...”... The
human I is the I of a Desire or of Desire...The very being of
man therefore implies and presupposes desire” (Kojeve
1969, 3).
This statement makes more sense when mentioned with another
one: “Man becomes conscious of himself at the moment when-for the
'first time'- he says 'I'”
But although desire is crucial, it is not enough: “animal Desire is
the necessary condition of Self-Consciousness; it is not the sufficient
condition. By itself, this Desire constitutes only the sentiment of the
Self” (Kojeve 1969, 3).Kojeve notes that there is another kind of Desire
which will transforms simple “sentiment of the Self” into true self-
consciousness.
How is human self-consciousness achieved? It is achieved via a
dialectical process: Desire is a negativity which must be negated in
order to realize self-consciousness and escape ‘simple sentiment of the
Self’. In his own words, “…the’ I of Desire’ is an emptiness that
receives a real positive content only by negating action that satisfies
Desire in destroying, transforming and 'assimilating the desired non-I”
(Kojeve 1969, 4). Furthermore: “The I created by the active satisfaction
of such a Desire will have the same nature as the things toward which
that Desire is directed: it will be a 'thingish' I...an animal I” (Kojeve
1969, 4)
Thus if the “I of Desire” is characteristically negative, then
dialectically speaking, the only way to “realize” the “I” is to “negate the
negativity” of Desire, “not like the animal 'I', be 'identity', or equality to
itself, but 'negating-negativity'” (Kojeve 1969, 5).
These are the crucial passages in understanding the dialectic of
desire: First, “For there to be Self-Consciousness, Desire must therefore
be directed to a non-natural object... [but] the only thing that goes
beyond the given reality is Desire itself” (Kojeve 1969 5). It is made
clear here that the only thing which can negate desire, and will thus
realize self-consciousness is another desire: “Desire directed toward
another Desire, taken as Desire, will create, by the negating and
assimilating action which satisfies it, an I essentially different from the
animal 'I'” (Kojeve 1969, 5)”. Finally, and in conclusion, “Desire is
human only if the one desire not the body, but the Desire of the other;
if he wants 'to possess' or to 'assimilate'...if he wants to be 'desired', or
'loved', or better, 'recognized', in his human value, in his reality as a
human individual” (Kojeve 1969, 6).
There are two kinds of desire- first, an animal desire, and second,
a human desire. The former is a desire of objects, the latter a desire of
desire or better, a desire to be desired. And in order to move away
from the negativity of the animal self, in order to be human, the
negativity of animal desire is to be negated, and the only thing which
can negate desire is desire. Therefore, this desire to be desired, this
desire to be recognize, this desire to be the object of another person’s
desire, is what makes us human.
But what does this relationship of desire and self-consciousness
mean for this paper? How shall this desire be connected with madness?
The answer to those questions lies in Arcellana and Foucault.
We now know that, for Arcellana, “madness begins consciously as
a loss of control” (Arcellana 1973, 89). But that citation was a mere
fragment of the whole. The entire statement is rendered thus:
“Madness begins consciously as a loss of control. First to go
were my eyes. I do not know when first they pounced on
breasts and thighs, but since they sought nothing else. My
runaway eyes!...They were always ranging everywhere
seeking only breasts and thighs and secret places...how I
would wrench and twist so that they could feed long and
deep on dark parts and secret places, how in my world only
breasts and thighs existed” (Arcellama 1973, 89)
Here is desire, equated with madness: breasts and thighs
equated with thloss of control of the self.
And in the words of Foucault: “The savage danger of madness is
related to the danger of the passions and to their fatal
concantenation...The distraction of our mind is the result of our blind
surrender our desires” (Foucault 1965, 85).
This connection between the power of desire and madness is
verified by a short story entitled “The Banana Jewel” which was
included by Maximo D. Reyes in his anthology of Philippine folklore
entitled Legends of Lower Gods (1990). “The Banana Jewel” tells the
story of a man who is driven mad by desire. In this story, it is said that
whoever takes a fallen banana jewel, which is also known as Mutya,
which apparently hangs from a banana flower facing east at midnight,
will grant great strength, on the condition that the person who claims it
will be able to place it in his mouth and keep it there- while fighting a
hideous monster. Now, the main character of the story, a young man
decides to take the test. Upon putting the banana jewel in his mouth,
the monster appears, and the two fight. The battle at first appears to
be close, as the banana jewel had granted the young man strength;
but carelessly, the young man started to taunt the monster. The jewel
fell to the ground, the monster vanished- And lo and behold! :
“...from then on, the man was never the same...he was often
 seen walking at the town square singing and laughing. He would
leap into the air and hurl insults at no one in sight. He was
fighting the demon who owned the jewel that he had captured
and lost” (Ramos 1990, 3).
Now, this story at first appears to be a story of immaturity, that
the moral here is that the young man deserved his fate because he
was too immature. Or perhaps it may be interpreted as a warning
against pride. But the truth is that in the end, madness is there
because of a desire which cannot be satisfied- that his entire body is
fighting the demon who owned the jewel. What causes the madman to
fight the demon in his mind is the desire for the jewel, to possess it
once more.
This connection between desire and madness is also seen in
Anton Juan's Taong Grasa. The monologue throughout the play is filled
with references to the madness of the taong grasa, more specifically
the habit of the taong grasa of speaking to someone who is not there.
Thus it is written that “Biglang may kakausapin, bagama walang
tao maliban sa kanya”. But it is made clear later on that the taong
grasa is referring to his stomach, or to the acid which churns in his gut.
Observe:

“Narrator: Masusuka siya

Taong Grasa: 'Huwag! Huwag mong iluwa ang binigay ko

sa'yo! Pag niluwa mo 'yan, 'yang pinagaksayahan ko ng
pagod...sige, iluwa mo. Iluwa mo't kakainin ko ulit 'yan.
Hihigupin ko, baka sa akala mo...'

N: Kukunin ang bayong. Ibabalasa ang balutan may

lamang mga ulo ng isda kakainin.

T: Sige, kumain ka na ” (Juan 1982, 257)

It is clear in this monologue that the taong grasa could not have
been talking to anyone other than his gut.
It is Foucault who gives the most definitive words on the link
between desire and madness, or rather, passion and delirium.
Madness, Foucault points out, begins with the unity of the body
and soul through passion. Primarily, he notes: “the mind's movements
obey a mechanical structure which is that if the movement of spirits”
(Foucault 1973, 86). (The spirits which Foucault refers to here are
“animal” spirits). “Before the sight of the object of passion, the animal
spirits were spread throughout the entire body...but at the presence of
the new object, the majority of spirits are impelled into the muscles of
the arms, legs...” (Foucault 1965, 86). “...under the effects of
passion...the spirits circulate...one more step, and the entire system
becomes unity in ehih body and soul communicate immediately”
(Foucault 1965, 86). Desire overcomes the body, and it is what causes
it to move. Passion has taken hold of the body and controls its
movements: “...Desire dis-quiets him and moves him to action...action
tends to satisfy it, and can do so only by the 'negation'...of the desired
object” (Kojeve 1969, 4).
This is what we have been looking for- a condition in which self-
consciousness is overcome or consumed by desire, yes, man is self-
conscious. He is still conscious or aware of himself in the act of saying
“I desire...” Yet at the same time, when man is moved by desire, his
self is no longer his. It is not he that moves, but his desire, which
moves him, which controls his body.
Again we return to the scene in the one-act play Taong Grasa, in
which the taong grasa is revealed to be talking to his gut His actions
are dictated by the acid shooting from his gut, to eat. In doing so, he
surrenders his self- “Sige kumain ka na” (Juan 1982, 257). Here, “Sige”
is a sign of the acceptance of defeat and of surrender to necessity- he
loses his self, he is alienated from his self. He struggles self-consciously
against himself in a fight to retain control over himself. But this
struggle is in vain, for his desire has already taken over his body.
It is also in the reversion of the Self into the animal self in which
the ferality of madness appears. For when the self is reduced to its
animal desires, then the body will essentially revert to its animal form;
“madness threatens modern man only with that return to the bleak
world of beasts and things” (Foucault 1965, 83). Furthermore, “...it was
this animality of madness which confinement glorified...” (Foucault
1965, 78).
Finally, Foucault writes, “Madness borrowed its face from the
mask of the beast....this model of animality prevailed in the asylums
and gave them their cage-like aspect, their look of the menagerie”
(Foucault 1965, 72)
It is from the subjection to the desire of objects in which the two
faces of madness appear: mania and melancholia. For both forms of
madness are occupied by desire. Melancholia is characterized by a
sense of longing: “Melancholia is ‘a madness without fever or frenzy,
accompanied fear and sadness” (Foucault 1965, 121). Furthermore:
“melancholia is a long, persistent delirium during which the sufferer is
obsessed by one thought” (Foucault 1965, 118). Mania on the other
hand is the opposite: “While the melancholic’s mind is fixed upon a
single object, imposing unreasonable proportions upon it, but upon it
alone, mania deforms all concepts and ideas” (Foucault 1965, 125).
The opposition between mania and melancholia is stated as thus:
“Melancholia…is always accompanied by sadness and fear....in the
maniac, we find audacity and fury” (Foucault 1965, 125).
It is clear that madness in the Philippines is primarily associated
with mania. This is the case with Arcellana, who associates madness
with a loss of control .As is the case with the taong grasa (“The usual
presumption is that the Taong Grasa is insane- which is not far off,
considering that the sort is given to sudden outbursts and ravings…”
[Ramos 2003, 11]). And most curiously, madness is associated with the
phenomenon of the Amok.
Yet madness is associated with melancholy in the Philippines too.
The taong grasa’s cry in “Taong Grasa” is more than sufficient to
illustrate this:

“N: May biglang tunog ng nagprenong kotse. Magmumura ang

nagmamaneho

T: Anak ng buwaya ka! Tinuloy mo na sana! “ (Juan 1982, 251)

Or perhaps the anguished cries of Sisa in Guillermo Tolentino’s opera
version of Noli Me Tangere (1944) will suffice:

“N: …Awit ng Gabi ang kanyang inawit, awit na kalunuslunos

Sisa: Gabi, Oh! Gabing gabi/ Gabi ng kalungkutan: Bituin ma’y

wala, wala ring ang buwan
Ganyan, Oh! Ganyang-gaanyan; Ang bulaklak ng buhay; Ang
halimuyak ay sagana, Ang talutot ngayo’y lagas/Lanta’t kupas”
(Tolentino 1944, 36-37)

Or perhaps we might return to “Taong Grasa”:

“N: Tatawang papaiyak

T: Tumatawa ako, pero hindi ko alam, nalulungkot din ako,

matagal nang hindi ko nadama ng hapdi sa aking mga mata ”
(Juan 1982, 254)

And it should perhaps be noted here that it is in melancholia that

the madman laughs;
“Sisa: Crispiiiiin! Basiliooooo! Hindi po, huwag po, hindi po, tunay
maawa kayo.Hoo- hoo-hoo (Hagulhol ng iyak at tuloy hahalakhak)
Ha, Ha, Ha …anak ko, halikayo. Ha, Ha, Ha…Dios ko!” (Tolentino
1944, 19)

It is also from the unity of body of soul achieved in passion in

which the fragmented images of madness arise. According to Foucault:
“beginning with passion, madness is still only an intense movement in
the unity of soul and body...but this intense movement quickly escapes
the reason of the mechanism, and becomes, and irrational
movement....the Unreal appear...”(Foucault 1965, 93). “...the totality of
madness is parceled out...according to figures, images...fragments
which isolate man from himself... [and] from reality” (Foucault 1965,
93).
In order to fully appreciate the connection between desire,
madness and the production of madness, perhaps we should consult
not a Filipino poem, but a poem by the French poet Jacques Prevert's,
entitled “Late Rising”:
“Terrible is the soft sound/ of a hardboiled egg/cracking on a zinc
counter... terrible is that sound/ when it moves in the memory/ of
a man who is hungry/Terrible also is the head of a man...when he
looks at six o'clock in the morning/in a smart shop window and
sees/a head the color of dust/ But it is not his head he sees in the
window.../he dreams imagining another head, calf's-head for
instance/ with vinegar sauce/ head of anything edible...”3
(Prevert, 1988)
On the other, the fragmentary experience of madness is also
verified by Arcellana. He writes: “But the moment that you see the
bird...you know that the shadow, the breath, the wind, and the wing,
are parts of the bird, and have no reality apart from the bird”
(Arcellana 1973, 86). It is made clear in Arcellana's text that
everything other than the bird itself is just a fragment, that they 'have
no reality apart from the bird'. The bird is the totality, and everything
prior to the bird is a mere fragment.
And Arcellana is ambiguous regarding the question of the way in
which the images add up. It is not presented as if the images of prior
to the bird add up such that it is first a, then a+b, and then a+b+c,
leading to a summation of a+b+c+...+x = bird. The images are
experienced individually- It is first a, wherein a is experienced alone,
and then it is b independent of a, and then c independent of both a
and b, with a conclusion in a+b+c+...+x = bird. “It is first shadow,
then it is breath...then it is a wind...then it is a wing... then it is a
bird....but the moment you see the bird...you know that [everything
prior] are parts of the bird and have no reality apart from the bird”
(Arcellana 1973, 86 [my italics]).
This bleak situation- when desire cannot be satisfied, but in
which desire remains, and in which desire consumes the self – is
neither mere literary fantasy nor hypothetical situation. Hannah
Arendt, in On Revolution, puts it best: “Poverty is more than
deprivation, it is a state of constant want and acute misery whose
ignominy consists in its dehumanizing force; poverty is abject because
it puts man under the absolute dictate of their bodies, that is, under
the absolute dictate of necessity...” (Arendt 1963, 54).
Arendt's statement on poverty is the key to the search for a
situation in which animal Desire overpowers the Self, and it is in
3 I apologize if my poem selection suddenly shifted to French poetry. It's just that Prevert's poem perfeclt
illustrates how images of madness can come from hunger. It recalls the image of starving cartoon
characters who see other people as food when they are hungry.
poverty wherein desire overpowers man, where man is put under the
absolute dictate his body.
Yet is there not another kind of desire which must be satisfied,
the desire of desire, and the desire to be loved or to be recognized?
Fear not, for poverty also provides a situation in which the desire
to be loved is recognized. Citing John Adams, Arendt writes:
“‘The poor man's conscience is clear; yet he is
ashamed...He feels himself out of the sight of others,
groping in the dark. Mankind takes no notice of him. He
rambles and wanders unheeded... he is only not seen...to
be wholly underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable' ”
(Arendt 1963, 63-64).
Poverty subjects man to desire, regardless of whether it is animal
desire or human desire. This is because the former, animal desire, can
drive man mad by subjecting man to desire- that is, by putting man
under the absolute dictate of his body – whereas the latter, human
desire, can drive man mad by turning man into nothing, or more
specifically, by making man undesirable: “He feels himself out of the
sight of others... Mankind takes no notice of him... to be wholly
underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable” (Arendt 1963, 63-64).
But poverty is not also a subjection to the dictate of desire. It
also includes an awareness of the great disunity between desire and
the satisfaction of desire arises. It is in the condition of poverty in
which man is becomes aware of the great disunity of the world, when
man realizes the separation between himself and his objects of desire
The taong grasa in “Taong Grasa seems to be aware of this great
disparity between him and those around him: “Mga demonyo, kung
kalian dapat tumawa, hindi tatawa. Ngayong wala nang nakakatawa,
doon naman tatwa. Pag ako naman tatawa, bawal!” (Juan 1982, 252)
But this knowledge of the disunity in the world is, in itself,
enough reason for madness to exist.
Daniel Berthold Bond, in the essay Hegel on Madness and
Tragedy, states that Madness for Hegel begins with an awareness of
the chaos in the world, and a desire for unity in the face of such
disunity. Berthold-Bond quotes Hegel and states that: “Human
consciousness is a 'craving for...unity” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74). “Yet
this yearning is perpetually frustrated ...the world is never a simple
mirror of our inner desires, but throws them into question” (Bertold-
Bond 1994, 74).
And it is in this attempt of the mind to impose order that man
becomes mad: “...the broken character of of the world effects a similar
inner division of consciousness” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74).
Furthermore, Berthold-Bond states that it is this desire for unity in the
world that the images of madness arise: “...[madness] achieves the
desired state of self-reunification through a projective dream life which
directly expresses it's desire” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75). Furthermore,
Berthold-Bond notes that “Hegel sees the mad self as replacing reality
with a substitute formation...madness in fact, is described as a sort-of
'dreaming while wake'” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75). Ultimately, in the
attempt of the mind to impose unity upon the chaotic world, the mind
itself is divided
And oh, how the mind withers, how the mind is alienated from
itself! Madness is when the mind withers into itself, is alienated from
itself, and reverts into a primitive condition. The first condition, the
withering of the mind into itself is noted as such: “His [Hegel's] general
view of madness is a state of withdrawal of the mind into itself:
(Berthold-Bond 1994, 74); “[madness is] a state in which the mind has
sunk into itself, has sunk into itself” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75).
Following the withering of the mind into itself, the second condition is
that the mind is alienated from itself, “…consists in its being positively
separated from itself” (Berthold Bond 1994, 75). And the third
condition, that of a return to the feral state, is explained as such:
insanity is described by Hegel as “...a final capitulation in the face of
the alienating character of existence, where the mind 'reverts back
to'...a primitive way of being” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74).
This primitive way of being is noted as a condition “...where the
role of nature, the body, and the unconscious dominates” (Berthold-
Bond 1994, 74). “[madness is]...the sinking inward into what Hegel
calls nature...basically apre-rational level of mental life, the 'life of
feeling'...” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 81) Here, once again, we can locate
ferality in madness, a return which is thus analogous to Kojeve's
“sentiment of the Self”, or Arendt's “necessity”.
To be poor is a hundredfold worse than to be a slave, for the
master still relies on the slave- “He [the master] merely destroys the
products of the slave's work” (Kojeve 1969, 24)- and the slave can still
realize the fullness of self-consciousness by working and by
overcoming himself and his master- for “it is only through work that
man is a supernatural being that is conscious of his reality” (Kojeve
1969, 25). But in poverty, the chance to change is taken away: the
poor man cannot change or “dialectically overcome” himself for he has
already been transformed- into nothing. He cannot strive for
recognition- in fact it is almost impossible to be recognized, for he is
forever an “Other”.
This is the key to Kojeve's ending, for it first appears that the
master has won, yet in the end, the slave wins and becomes the
“truth”. But poverty has “mastered” the poor and is thus even less
than a slave. He can neither transform himself nor the world. How can
one still become 'supernatural', a being of his own reality, when one is
not even recognized, or when it is through poverty in which man takes
a step towards a return to the Hegelian “natural”, the pre-rational
state?
Thus, in conclusion, we can perhaps say that Madness is a
paradox; madness, as we have seen, is still a form of self-
consciousness, for we have shown that madness is a self-conscious
struggle to keep control of the body. But simultaneously, madness is a
loss of control, a form of surrender to our desires, to the point in which
we no longer self-consciously control our bodies, but in which our
bodies are controlled by our desires, such that our very body becomes
analogous to a puppet wherein the puppeteer is our desires.
Furthermore, madness can also result from an attempt of the
mind to impose a unity upon the disorders of the world. Yet it is in this
attempt of the mind to impose order in which the mind itself
fragments, and withers into its pre-rational form.
In addition, madness can either be the end of a reduction to
nothing, or can be the means to which man is reduced to nothing.
Madness itself reduces the self to nothing, but the reduction of the self
to non-being can also lead to madness. Madness is either the result of
insignificance or is insignificance in its purity.
Finally, we can conclude that it is from the barren condition of
poverty from which the fountain of madness gushes forth. Whether it is
through an attempt of the mind to unify the world, or through the
subjection to desire, it is in poverty where we can find the possibility of
madness. Man is reduced to nothing and becomes mad in poverty
through the domination of his desires and the disorders of society. Yet
simultaneously, it is in madness in which man becomes purely nothing,
in which his being becomes non-being, in which self-consciousness
yields consciously to the abscess of desire.
From this perspective, John Adams was perhaps, prophetic. For in
his words: “He rambles and wanders unheeded... he is only not
seen...to be wholly underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable”
(Arendt 1963, 93). It should be clear that Adams was not merely
referring to poverty; he had foreshadowed its madness- and perhaps
predicted the taong grasa, he who “rambles and wanders unheeded".
Wherein can we locate sovereignty? If madness is the result of a
reduction to nothing, then sovereign is he who reduces man to
nothing; the ways by which this reduction is achieved is discussed in
the next chapters.
IV. Sanitas: Sovereignty, Madness, Taong Grasa's body.
We have henceforth established a few things about the taong
grasa: First, that he is by name and association someone that is
negated, by virtue of his reduction from tao to tao-na-grasa and his
negative aspects as in-sane and un-sanitary. Second, we have
established how madness is nothingness, and how the reduction of
man to nothing, be it his animal desire or his human desire, is the
possible cause of madness, how the dictate of necessity, or the
emptiness of the “I of Desire” leads to the nothingness of madness.
Finally, we have also shown how poverty is the possible root of
madness, and how poverty in itself can bring about madness, when
one attempts to impose an order upon a disordered world.
Yet we have only discussed one aspect of the taong grasa so far-
his madness. To end our discussion on the component of Sanus only
would do injustice to the taong grasa, because we have yet to locate
sovereignty. Therefore, in order to locate sovereignty, we must now
turn our eyes to the other, but no less important part of the taong
grasa: Sanitas, or the un-cleanliness of the taong grasa. At this point,
we must begin to ask: in general, “what is the body saying?”, and in
the case of the taong grasa, “what is the taong grasa's body saying?
What does the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa say? What are
the discourses of the Filipino body?” And how does the discourses of
the body of the taong grasa relate to sovereignty, and this sovereignty
to madness?
Foucault begins Discipline and Punish with the gruesome,
graphic narrative of the execution of Damiens the regicide. What has
been cited there by Foucault does not need to repeat anymore. But
what is important is that there is something analogous between
Damiens' excessive execution and the taong grasa's excessive
filthiness. Just as Foucault saw a spectacle of blood and gore, flesh and
bone in Damien's execution, we see a similar element of spectacle in
the taong grasa. This is emphasized in the following lines from “Taong
Grasa”:
“N: Nakangaga, bulok ang mga ngipin, sugatan ang labi,
sunog ang balat ng ng pissngi...kumapit na ang libag sa
kanyang balat, mahaba't maiitim ang kuko, namumuo ang
naghalong grasa't alabok sa buong katawan. May galis sa
pwet, na bahagyang nasisilip dahil sa kaluwagan ng
pantalon. Pisi ang kanyang sinturon...” (Juan 1982, 247)
Does this not compare to the excessiveness of Damien's
execution? Is it only by mere coincidence that the taong grasa in
“Taong Grasa”'s cheeks and and skin has some similarity to the sulfur,
oil, wax and lead poured unto Damien's gaping wounds?
In addition to the spectacle of filth, we must forget that madness
itself is a spectacle. As Foucault wrote: “Here is madness elevated to
spectacle above the silence of the asylums, becoming a public scandal
for the general delight....madness continued to be present on the
stage of the world” (Foucault 1965, 69)
And Foucault goes on: “Madness became pure spectacle...until
the nineteenth century...madmen remained monsters- that is,
etymologically, beings or things to be shown” (Foucault 1965, 70). And
Foucault goes on and on, until we come full circle to the image of the
madman as beast (see Foucault 1965, 70-71).
We can find, therefore, the thread of sovereignty in the
expressiveness of the taong grasa, both in the spectacular excess of
his madness and his filthiness. But is the same model of excess seen in
Damiens the same modality of sovereign power in the taong grasa?
 No- this explanation is lacking. Why? Because there is glaring
distinction which we must not and cannot overlook between the
execution of Damiens and the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa:
what we see in Damiens is punishment applied directly to the body
itself. Power and sovereignty is found in the application of supplice. But
unlike the public execution of Damiens, the filth of the taong grasa is
not an applied filth, and the sovereign power which can be found in the
taong grasa is not an application of supplice. Unlike Damiens, in the
case of the taong grasa, power is not applied- at least not directly.
In short, unlike Damiens, in the case of the taong grasa,
overeignty is not the application of supplice. However, it can be
asserted that sovereignty can be found in the discourses of the
filthiness of the taong grasa himself, in the values, meanings and
symbolism attached which render that filthiness analogous to sin and
the taong grasa analogous to a leper. Sovereignty is in the economy of
filth itself.
What is the evidence of this claim? It is in the fact that we ignore
the taong grasa. It is in the fact that we think that the taong grasa is
“so-yucky, napaka-eew naman, so kadiri!” As we have said, the taong
grasa is both a spectacle and a specter. His filth is spectacular. His
madness is spectacular. Yet we refuse to watch the spectacle. The
spectacle of the taong grasa elicits shame and disgust. The taong
grasa becomes a specter, a ghost which lingers ever so closely,
something which is so very real, but something which we prefer to
categorize with the phlegm and dirt of the streets.
In short, my claim is that we have allocated a space for the
taong grasa within society, but isolated from everyone, through the
discourses of his filthiness. This isolation through filthiness is
sovereignty. This is power-knowledge.
Under what criteria do we categorize the taong grasa as
untouchable? And who made these criteria? Why does the taong grasa
offend us so much? Why does he disgust us? Sovereign power is found
in the discipline which tells us to avert our eyes from the taong grasa,
that which instantly repels us away. For isn’t disgust also something
which can be affected by power-knowledge? The gag reflex is often
thought of as a mere biological apparatus. But to think of the gag
reflex as a mere biological object is wrong. Indeed, disgust can induce
the gag reflex, can induce vomiting, but disgust is not always merely
psychoanalytically or biologically triggered. As Wilson notes:
“Disgust is not simply a ‘moral sentiment’…but also a
proto-legal activity, a necessary condition for the legal
system as well as civilization. Disgust teaches you to keep
certain things at a distance, to avoid contact… ‘disgust
rules’, the socially inscribed prohibitions of specific
contacts and acts, evolve everywhere, and everywhere
possess socio-cultural purposes” (Wilson 2002, 50)
 Our task, therefore, will be to connect this analysis of disgust to
the madness of the taong grasa.
The key to the historicization of the taong grasa lies in Foucault’s
analysis of Kantorowitz’s “the King’s Body”. On one side of the
spectrum, we see “The King's Body”. “At the opposite pole one might
imagine placing the body of the condemned man...in the darkest
region of the political field represents the symmetrical, inverted figure
of the king” (Foucault 1979, 29).
This is the spectrum, along with its historicity, which we must
locate. For the discourses of the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa
do not merely create discourses for disgust and isolation- they
construct and inaugurate another kind of body: the docile, productive
body. We already know the unideal, the inverse, the in-sane and the
un-sanitary. Now we must locate the ideal, the sane and sanitary. On
one hand of the spectrum, there lies the taong grasa, hidden but
spectacular, volatile, filthy and unproductive. On the other end lies not
the productive, docile docile, healthy in both mind and body. Sovereign
is he who created the criteria from which we isolate the taong grasa.
Thus, we must look through history and witness the fall of the taong
grasa, and the creation of boundaries which lead to his madness, and
which simultaneously allow the taong grasa to be both spectacle and
specter.
Before we begin our re-construction of the historical fragments of
the taong grasa, we must point out a few junctures which must be
highlighted:
First, we must identify the junctures in which the trinity of
productivity, cleanliness , and mental health are related to
productivity, with the goal of establishing a possible link or common
theme throughout the history of the taong grasa.
Second, we must identify a situation or an event which enabled
the taong grasa to be simultaneously a spectacle and a specter and
attempt to locate this event with the historical trinity of hygiene,
mental health and productivity. Only then, can we begin to trace the
thread of the taong grasa's fragmented history.
What are the two junctures which illustrate the holy trinity of
cleanliness, mental health, productivity and their relation to docility?
Here are the two critical junctures: the first can be found in a term
called tropical neurasthenia, or in the case of the Philippines,
Philippinitis (Anderson 2007, 131). The second can be found in a
survey created by the Philippine Mental Health Institute entitled
Happiness is a State of Mind, dated June 29, 1952.
At this point, it must be specified that tropical neurasthenia is not
directly connected to filthiness- it is more closely related to the
incapability of the body of the American man to acclimatize itself to
tropical conditions, thus leading to a loss in productivity, termed by the
Americans as a loss of “nerve force” (Anderson 2997, 131). But what
will be made clear later on is that tropical neurasthenia is deeply
embedded in a colonial formulation of civilization plus hygiene, which
Anne McClintock notes in her essay entitled Soft-Soaping Empire:
Commodity Racism and Imperial Advertising. But regardless of this
distinction, what the concept of tropical neurasthenia offers is the fact
that climate and hygiene factor into productivity, in turn reducing the
productivity of the body.
Mental health is also related to productivity. As pointed out by
Happiness is a State of Mind:
“Mentally healthy people are able to meet the demands
of life. They do something about their problems as they
arise. They accept their responsibilities…they make use of
their natural capacities. They are able to think for
themselves and make their own decisions. They put their
best effort into what they do and get satisfaction out of
doing it” (Philippine Mental Health Institute 1952, 33)
Mental health, hygiene and productivity, the holy trinity which
the taong grasa so violently opposes. All three are the marks of the
efficient, docile body. All three are violently opposed by the violent,
insane, unsanitary taong grasa. This docile body is the one which we
must locate in Philippine history. Under what circumstances did the
docile body rise and the taong grasa fall?
Yet there are other things at work, and other questions which
must be answered, such as: what event caused the taong grasa to be
simultaneously a specter and a spectacle?
In the case of Madness and Civilization, there was an event
which enabled madness to be both a specter and a spectacle, which
Foucault called “The Great Confinement”.
He, in fact, begins with these words: “By a strange act of force, the
classical age was to reduce to silence the madness...” (Foucault 1969,
38). But this act of silencing achieved two things: it hid unreason from
the realm of the visible, yet thrusted madness into the public eye.
Thus, two things were achieved: unreason became a specter, yet
madness became a spectacle. Thus, Foucault writes: “By a strange act
of force, the classical age was to reduce to silence the madness...”, yet
later he cites: “Confinement hid away unreason, and betrayed the
shame it aroused; but it explicitly drew attention to madness...a
strange contradiction” (Foucault 1969, 70)
But this silencing of madness was not an exclusive event; The
Great Confinement itself has its pretexts; madness had its “sacred”
circles. Foucault writes that the great confinement did not begin
spontaneously: “The asylum was substituted for the lazar house”
(Foucault 1969, 57). What is this “lazar house” that Foucault refers
to? It pertains to leprosariums, houses in which those infected with
leprosy were put in. For according to Foucault, the meanings of
confinement have a similarity to the rites of exclusion applied to the
leper.

“From the High Middle Ages to the end of the Crusades,

leprosariums had multiplied their cities of the damned over the entire
face of Europe” (Foucault 1965, 3). Soon the lepers disappeared
throughout Europe: “...from the fifteenth century on, all were
emptied...by the time Edward III ordered an inquiry into the hospital of
Ripon...there were no more lepers” (Foucault 1969 4-5).
Indeed, the lepers disappeared slowly, but not without “first
being inscribed within a sacred circle” (Foucault 1969, 6). Foucault
notes that “...his [the leper's] existence was yet a constant
manifestation of God, since it was a sign both of His anger and His
grace” (Foucault 1969, 6). Foucault cites this rather amusing prayer for
evidence:
“ 'My friend', says the ritual of the Church of Vienne, 'it pleaseth our
lord that thou shouldst be infected with this malady'...and at the very
moment when the priests and his assistants drag him out of the church
with backward step, the leper is assured that he still bears witness for
God” (Foucault 1969, 6)
Wherein can we find this sacred circle in the Philippine context?
Where can we find a similar attempt to banish unreason to oblivion?
The former question, on the one hand, forms the beginning of our
history of the taong grasa, towards how cleanliness became a fetish
and a discipline, and how these are related to productivity. The latter
question,on the other hand, points towards the culminating point of
our history: Imelda Marcos' construction of whitewashed walls around
depressed areas in the 1970's in the name of the good and the
beautiful, a symbolic ritual of the sovereign construction of boundaries
around the taong grasa.
V. Can the Filipino Body Speak?
I'd like to draw the reader's attention towards three inter-
connected images which will display an intertextuality vis-a-vis the
discourses of the Filipino body. The first, of course, is Anton Juan's
portrayal of the taong grasa. The second is the “Taong Putik Festival”
in Aliyaga, Nueva Ecija. The third is from an essay by Mayel P. Martin
entitled History as Rumor: The Political Fantasy of the Negrese Elite in
Vicente Groyon's 'The Sky over Dimas', wherein she highlights the
connection between labor and filth.
I have cited, re-cited and re-iterated lines from Juan's “Taong
Grasa” repetituvely in the paper. But now I'd like to draw attention
towards a single line: “Lupang hinugis sa anyo ng tao...parang anino,
parang bato” (Juan 1982, 246). It is obvious that Juan's imagery in that
line invokes a connection between religion and cleanliness similar to
the rite and procedure of the Church of Vienne, the difference being
that, on one hand, the rite of the Church of Vienne attempts to justify
the suffering of the leper by saying that the plight of the leper pleaseth
the lord, while on the other hand, Juan's imagery suggests that
filthiness is opposed to, and thus cleanliness is connected with,
divinity. This distinction is supported by the fact that the line in
question, “lupang hinugis sa anyo ng tao”, is preceded and succeeded
by images which emphasize the deplorable filthiness and general
conditions of existence of the taong grasa, such as “...binalutan ng
araw at gabi, dura't ihi” (Juan 1982, 246).
Juan's imagery recalls that of the Book of Genesis, in which it
said that man was formed from the earth by God: “...t'il thou return to
the earth, out of which thou return” (Genesis 3:19)4. Yet Juan's imagery
serves a different purpose: the creation of man was supposed to
highlight a certain sacredness in man; Juan's imagery serves
otherwise, as it is made clear that the taong grasa was created from
the filthiness around him. Pay attention to the syntax, for it is stated
that the taong grasa is filth shaped into the form of man, not man
shaped by some divine force from the earth. Juan's imagery was not
meant to highlight divine intervention, but designed to highlight man
in the most despicable, pathetic state possible. It marks a shift from
tao-na-grasa to grasa-na-tao.
The book of Genesis itself points towards this distinction: in
Genesis, man is said to have been created uniquely in the image of
God himself. This distinction is also found when one finds that the
creation of man is the only part of the creation story which does not
begin with “....[and] God said, let there be [x]”. Man's creation is the
only one with the distinction “God created man in his image; in his
divine image he created him” (Genesis 1:27). But in the case of the
taong grasa, there is no such distinction. The taong grasa was neither
made nor given an image, he was mere filth in the form of man.
This distinction between image and form is crucial. “Image”
suggests a kind of distinction, a kind of visual identity. But form does
not necessarily denote that kind of distinctiveness. A shadow, for
instance, possesses a form, not a distinguishable image. It is
completely possible for the shadow of Object A to have the same form
as Object B, yet still remain complely distinct in image from Object B.
But the taong grasa in “Taong Grasa” has no such distinction. He has
only form, no image. He is non-distinct in image from the filth around
him.
Yet filth has other dimensions in the Philippine context: let us
examine the case of the “Taong Putik” festival in Aliyaga, Nueva Ecija.
What is the “Taong Putik” festival? It is essentially a ritual which
is observed annually on the 24th of June. In this festival, the faithful
wear a garment of banana leaves and slather themselves with mud
(Quismoro, 2010):
“On Thursday morning, nearly 1,000 Taong Putik (literally
“mud people”), individuals who daubed different parts of
4 All bible citations are from The New American Bible, 1991 edition.
 their bodies with mud engaged in a procession around
[barrio] Bibiclat with the image of Saint John the
Baptist...Aside from their mucky skin, the other thing that
made the mud people such a striking sight were their
thick and highly abrasive “coat” fashioned out of banana
leaves...By tradition, the mud people go from house to
house, collecting either candles or money, which they
would use to buy even more candles”(Quismoro, 2010)
It is clear that there is a religious connotation attached to the
spectacle of filth. In the case of the “Taong Putik” festival, the
connection is emphasized by the fact that the “Taong Putik” festival is
a commemoration the feast of St. John the Baptist. This implies a
connection to cleansing power of baptism. This is proven by a
statement from one of the faithful: “I present myself to him all dirty,
but in the end I am cleansed” (Quismoro, 2010)
Filth stains; it clings to the body. It is a visual reminder that one is
not to be touched, that one is to be separated from everyone.
Filthiness implies a stigma which separates one from everyone else. In
the case of the “Taong Putik Festival”, the usage of mud recalls the
stain of sin. This dimension of filth is also seen in the ritual of Ash
Wednesday, in which men are marked with a cross of ash on their
forehead to remind them and all those around them of their sinfulness
But the image of the stain of filth contains yet another
dimension, in the form of the stain of labor. Martin offers us an analysis
of the usage of the image of ground or earth in Vicente Groyon's novel
entitled The Sky Over Dimas: “The three contiguous expressions of
ground in the novel, referring to the worker's feet...resonate with the
melodramatic Filipino derogatory expressions hinugot ka lang sa putik,
and hampas-lupa” (Martin 2010, 24). Filth is used as a derogatory term
in the Philippine context.
Thus we have located the connotations of filth in the Philippine
context. But where did these meanings come from? From what
historical moment did they arise? And in what historical moment did
these meanings attach themselves to the Filipino body? When and
where can we find their sacred circles, and when were they inscribed in
them?
There have been two major historical movements which mark
paradigm shifts in the representations of the Filipino body: the Spanish
and the American colonizations of the Philippines. We can find in the
former the roots of the fetishism of cleanliness and the beginnings of
disciplinary systems. These disciplinary mechanisms were further
developed in the American regime. Furthermore, these shifts also
indicate a shift in the mode of production, in which the perception of
the body must have changed. Therefore, we must now study how
those two regimes and paradigm shifts and changes in the mode of
production inaugurated a new body, and how the taong grasa forms its
inverse.
The body, of course, has not been completely subdued.
Yet, the body is no longer easy to read, caught up as it is
not just in the art of 'speaking for the self' but in the crafts
of deception and disguise. Stranded between images of
Hollywood and memories of ancient sorcery: 'What is the
Filipino body saying'”
(Mojares in Arriola 1993, 192)
Julius Bautista and Ma. Mercedes Planta (2009) have identified
for us three variations in the perceptions and representations of the
Filipino body: the “native” [or rather, pre-colonial] body, characterized
by its usage as a canvas, the sacred body, inaugurated by the Spanish
colonization and marked by a turning away from the body, and the
sanitary body, marked by the American colonization and characterized
by its medicalization.
The pre-colonial body is know for its eloquence, notably in its
ornamentation, such that Bautista and Planta call it a “canvas”
(Bautista and Planta 2009, 149). Such was the case with the Visayans,
who were called pintados due to the amount of tatooing they did to
their bodies (Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 197).
Bautista and Planta also note another interesting observation
about the precolonial Filipino body:
“...it is significant to not that early Spanish accounts are replete
with descriptions of the people's good health and meticulous hygienic
practices....What we consistently find in such descriptions is a
pleasured, cleansed, decorated and indulged native body” (Bautista
and Planta 1993)
Notice that this cleanliness close to Foucault's “arts of existence”
(Foucault 1990, 10). By this virtue, cleanliness is not necessarily a
negative object when viewed from this paper. It is an art, not a
category by which men such as the taong grasa is reduced to nothing.
Rather, it is an example of “those intentional and voluntary actions by
which men do not only set themselves rules of conduct, but also seek
to transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular
being....”(Foucault 1990, 10). This “art of existence” is located
throughout out the history of pre-colonial Filipino bodies. As Mojares
notes:
“Take the filing and blackening of teeth, for
example...blackening the teeth was not simply cosmetic,
it was a way of defining the human. The rationale goes
this way: Savage beasts...have white teeth; so do the
demons of the spirit world....hence, ceremonies at the
time of puberty often involved the filing and blackening of
teeth to ensure that one would not be mistaken at death
for an evil spirit”
(Mojares cited in Arriola, 1993, 197)
What we have then, in the precolonial Filipino body is the embodiment
of art. “In all these examples, one sees that the care and
embellishment of the body were charged with a great deal of meaning.
The body was a medium of art, magic, status, power” (Mojares cited in
Arriola 1993, 198). Yet sadly:
“Seeing how the body was space on which culture was on
which culture was inscribed, the European
colonizers...proceeded to 'colonize' the body....the
colonizers proceeded to eradicate [practices of
individuality]: long hair, tatooing, elongated earlobes,
teeth filing and 'nakedness'...We lost our tattoos. They
have been either criminalized or sublimated....we lost our
body as a source of magical potency and began to look at
it either as the earthly receptacle of a transcendent soul
or secular instrument for pleausure, vanity, or gain”
(Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 198).
Thus began the rise of the production of docile bodies in the
Spanish era. Disciplines were produced upon the Filipino body, turned it
into something which can be subjected, used, transformed and
improved” (Foucault 1969, 136).
“....religous books of the Spanish period carried
admonitions as to how the natives, suppressing his
natural friskiness, should carry his head, arms or feet or
use his eyes or mouth. Indeed, colonialism did not only
impact on economies or politics, it imprinted itself on
bodies” (Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 198)
Herein is our foremost example of disciplinary systems in the
Spanish era: Pag susulatan ng Dalawang Binibini na si Urbana at Felisa
na Nagtutro ng mabutinng ugali by Modesto de Ocampo, hencforth
called in this paper as Urbana at Felisa. What is Urbana at Felisa? It is
a proto-novel written by Modesto de Castro in 1864, which takes the
form of a fictional correspondence from Urbana, who went to study in
Manila, addressed to her younger sibling, Felisa, which details a list of
“virtues”, “morals” and guides for proper etiquette and socialization
for her brother Honesto, who wishes to study in Manila. Yet if read from
a Foucaltian perspective, Urbana at Felisa is a handbook on discipline.
As Bautista and Planta note, “In the Spanish colonial regime,
administrative control depended largely on the role of the clergy who
prescribed that the body's physical upkeep must correspond with
certain codes of religious piety and spiritual purification. These
presciptions were deployed through manuals...” (Bautista and Planta
1993, 150).
But this unification of bodily care with spiritual cleanliness was
located in a shift on the perspective about the body. As Bautista and
Planta say, “In describing manuals...we discover as much about the
vissictudes of missionary and colonial agency as we do about the
bodies they sought to regulate” (Bautista and Planta 1993, 152). Read
from this standpoint, Urbana at Felisa serves as a manual for discipline
and the production of docile bodies. Let us interrogate its contents.
There are two letters which we must pay attention to: the first, is
a section which details the discipline which takes place at mealtime.
The second, is a section which deals with cleanliness. In the first case,
it is written:
“Sa isang piging ay maraming lubha ang masasamang
gawang nakikita, na laban sa kalinisan sa kabaitan at sa
kamahalan nang asal....iilagang marumihan ang mantel,
lamesa...nang 'di mapahamak...ang magpakita nang
lambing at magpairi-iri ay nakamumuhi sa bata. Ang
humimod sa daliri, hipan ang mainit na sabaw, lamasin
ang ulam...ay pawang kasalauaang nakapandidiri sa
nakakakitang tao”
(de Castro, 1864)
It is made clear that certain acts can lead to shame- shame,
which Foucault has noted, must be hidden away. Yet Urbana at Felisa
also follows the “control of activity” (Foucault 1979, 149), specifically
“The body-object articulation”(Foucault 1979, 152). “Discipline defines
each of the relations that the body must have with the object”
(Foucault 1979, 152). Such is seen in Urbana at Felisa: “kung ang
hinahawakan ay baso, kutchara, kopa, ay huwag punuin, at nang di
mabubo...kung darampot nang baso nang tubig, ay tingnan muna kung
malinis ang daliri...sa pag-inom, kung mangyayari ay gamitin ang
dalawang kamay, ang mga daliri ay sa dakong puno...” (de Castro
1864).
Urbana at Felisa also obeys “...the correlation of the body and
the gesture” (Foucaault 1979, 152) But in this case, it serves to
remove certain gestures.
Sa pagkain, ay iilagan ang paguubo, at kung hindi
mangyari ay tumindig, gayon din naman ang pagluwa,
pagdahac, pagsinga...kung 'di maiilagan at kung minsan
ay mabiglaanan, lumingon sa kabila, takpan ang bibig
nang panyo.... Ilagan ang pagkamot kamot.... Huwag
magpapauna sa matatandá sa pagsubo... kung matanong
naman ay sumagot nang maikli at banayad; ngunit,
lilinisin muna ang bibig nang servilleta kung mayroon, at
kung wala ay panyó at huwag sasagot nang lumilinab ang
bibig at namumualan...” (de Castro 1864)
Bautista and Planta explain the rise of this discipline as “a
repression of the body's most natural impulses” (Bautista and
Planta 2009, 152). Yet ironically, “native bodies are defined by
the unreflective impluse to act upon and appease them”
(Bautista and Planta 2009, 152).
These disciplinary characteristics were also carried over into the
discourses on cleanliness and linked with productivity and divinity:
“Pagkatapos nang pagpupuri sa Diyos, ang pagpilitan nang tao ay ang
paglilinis nang katauan...kalinisan at kahusayan: malinis man at
marikit ang damit, kung walang kahusayan, ay di nagbibigay dilag sa
dinaramtan” (de Castro 1864)
Thus we have located an important shift in the Filipino body:
from an “art of existence”, or from a “canvas”, the Filipino body moved
into a zone of discipline. Individuality was replaced with “virtues”,
“values” and “morals”. The focus has now shifted from the body to the
soul and its salvation. “The body now serves as an instrument or
intermediary” (Foucault 1979, 11)”. Furthermore, “...since it is no
longer the body, it must be the soul” (Foucault 1979, 16).
We can perhaps analyze the Spanish colonial treatment of the
body with these words: If the corporeal body were to do wrong, the
blame would be appropriated or would stain the body and the soul.
Therefore, a literal stain on the body would bleed through and thus
also stain the soul. Such is the case with the “Taong Putik” festival: the
corporeal stains reflect the stains of sin. There is an economy of
shame attached to that stain. Nakakahiya, nakakapahamak,
nakakadiri- these are but some of the words which were located, and
which were created in the economy of the discourses of the Filipino
body in the Spanish colonial regime. What was once care was
enshrouded in discourses of sin and salvation.
We have thus located the origin of the specter- shame. It is
through shame in which the Filipino body is appropriated an isolated
spot. What was once a care in the form of excess (“There is, on the
contrary, a sense of luxurious excess in the natives technologies of
care” [Bautista and Planta 2009, 150]) shifted and became a discourse
of shame and oblivion.
When the focus shifted from the visible body to the hidden heart,
and with the inversion of the order of heart and body, the body would
perhaps have had to inevitably yield and move into the hidden realm.
Thus what was once spectacular would become specter-like, and
purposely made specter-like: present, but hidden away. Visible, yet
ignored. The shamed Filipino body occupies a space of shame isolated
within society.
McClintock notes a similar absurdity: she notes how Victorian era
advertising reveals a paradox: “...as the cultural form that was
entrusted with upholding and marketing abroad those founding middle
class distinctions- between private and public...- advertising also began
to confound those distinctions. Advertising took the intimate signs of
domesticity...into the public realm” (McClintock 1998, 305).
It is in McClintock's words in which the full absurdity of
specter/spectacle is shown: we have noted how the Spanish colonial
regime hid the spectacle in a boundary of shame. Yet McClintock
illustrates a contrary example: a distinction between the private and
the public was made, but the distinction was blurred. What was once in
the realm of the domestic, non-spectacular private was suddenly
thrust into the public and made a spectacle.
Thus we have an irony: the Filipino body was hidden away, but
the cleansing commodities which were once private were made into a
spectacle. What is the link between the two?
Not to say of course that such a fetishism of cleanliness did not
exist before. Again, the Spanish regime had set it up with the junction
of shame and cleanliness. But perhaps there is an epitome, or a
culmination of these movements. What could it be?
“What alchemy could change the oriental quality of their blood?”
(Anderson 2007, 52)- this quote is perhaps what best describes the
epitome of not only the fetishism but also the discipline of cleanliness.
Foucault begins his essay entitled Panopticism with an
illustration of the plague stricken town (Foucault 1979, 195). We can
locate a similar even in Philippine history.
“When American forces entered Manila...what struck them were
the conditions in the Philippine capital after they entered it in August
1898...The Manila Times announced the arrival of dentists, doctors,
lawyers...Overnight, Manila was turned into a circus” (Bautista and
Planta 2009, 157). “...the sanitation of the towns was extremely
bad...The habitation sof the villagers were surrounded by filth of all
kinds- slops, garbage, fecal accumulations, rubbish, and other debris.
Weeds and rank vegetation were allowed to grow along the fences in
the yards and the streets” (Anderson 2007, 48)
Sometime around or before the Americans entered Manila, the
Americans were fighting with a combination of disciplinary tactics.
“They began to retain Filipinos in the discipline of hygiene and to
render sanitary their barrios” (Anderson 2007, 45). “Civilians had to be
rendered obedient, not with armed force but through administration.
'We have to govern them...and government by force alone cannot be
satisfactory to the Americans” (Anderson 2007, 48).
“At the height of Western colonialism in the twentieth century,
medicine [and hygiene for that matter] became an essential part of the
self-image of 'civilizing imperialism'” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 158).
But where did this image of 'civilizing imperialism' stem from, and how
was cleanliness connected ?
“Soap is civilization” (McClintock 1998, 304). This, McClintock
notes, was the Unilever company slogan. The same theme of course
can be found in a famous advertisement by Pears, which says that
“The first step towards lightening the white man's burden is through
teaching the virtues of cleanliness” (Anderson 2007, 55). The American
occupation of the Philippines is the epitome that we have been looking
for. It is the point in which the historical moment in which the
specter/spectacle process was made fully possible: the Spanish regime
plunged the Filipino body into the abyss of shame, effectively realizing
the possibility of the specter. Yet the spectacle aspect was brought by
the Americans. Drawing upon the Victorian fetishism of cleanliness, the
spectrum which we have been looking for was perhaps completed: we
have now located the civilized, docile body in Philippine history. The
existence of such a body is verified by Anderson.: “It seemed possible
that hygiene, education, and industry would in time uplift...groups of
savages, turning natives into proletarians. From the 1880's the
government had been making an effort” (Anderson 2007, 57). That
plan of hygiene/education/industry was originally for American Indians,
but Anderson notes that “after Aguinaldo's resort to guerilla warfare
late in the 1899, the U.S army...recognized the similarity of Indians and
Filipinos” (Anderson 2007, 57). “The army and the emergent colonial
state thus attempted an intensive reform and disciplining of Filipino in
situ, to render them more docile and amenable to distant American
control...”(Anderson 2007, 56). Thus, as Anderson concluded, so will
wee: “Just as raw recruits to the army were trained and transformed
into disciplined soldiers, so might the medical officer and sanitary
inspector attempt to reeducate Filipinos to make them proper,
retentive colonial subjects” (Anderson 2007, 71)
But simultaneously, the attempt at civilization via hygiene would
have its failures. Overcivilization became a concern: “the Klima is a
sort of Shylock that exacts a pound of flesh a day, while the humidity
and monotony are so depressing are so I am 1/16 of what I used to be
mentally” (Anderson 2007, 155). “The white man might live among the
banana palms- he might trade, or for a time, fight boldly- but it was
likely that....the white race would degenerate, and civilization would
not thrive in the tropics”- a crucial link between madness and
civilzation.
The culminating point of our history of cleanliness is the visit
of Lyndon B. Johnson in the Philippines in 1970:
“The Marcoses were unrestrained in their efforts to present their
Philippines as they wanted it to be seen. Potholes were filled, streets
cleaned, buildings scrubbed and whitewashed walls erected so that
the visiting dignitaries wouldn't have to look at the slum poverty”
(Bonner 1988, 59)5. Of all of these, the construction of whitewashed
walls is the most symbolic. We have said that sovereign is he who
reduces man to nothing. Sovereign power would take the form of the
isolation of man, of the construction of boundaries which would turn
man into a specter- there but not there, present, but ignored. It is said
that some of these whitewashed walls still remain, both in the real
world, and in our gag reflexes.
VI. Conclusion: Madness and the Modern Age, Madness of
Civilization (Reflections)6
5 I apologize if this was all the data I could dig up. Reliable data from the 1970's is hard to find,
considering that the Marcoses had a stranglehold on all media at the time.
6 As of this point, the paper is partially composed of refections, and will not be as theory heavy as the
 The fragmented mind reflects a fragmented world. The mind
turned mad embodies
a world gone mad, and a man turned mad reflects the madness of the
world around him. And while it may be true that a volatile and filthy
body in the form of the taong grasa is opposed to a docile and
productive in our modern age, the latter said to be preferred over the
former. Yet we must now ask, which are we to believe is the true
madman? What does it mean to be truly mad, for is not docility already
a form of madness? We have pointed out how madness stems from the
reduction of man to nothing. But isn't docility already a reduction to
nothing, to a mere machine of production? Is it only “the eagle and the
sun”(Foucault 1979, 217) which are rendered usesless?
Poverty is the point in which man is reduced to nothing. Yet
poverty is not merely being poor, for the bonds of necessity “need not
be of iron, they can be made of silk”. In our modern age of
consumption, and in age where we have a system in place which
encourages one to be excessive, to be bound and gagged with the
chains of luxury, then are we not all already mad? The I of Desire may
be an emptiness, but we have system in place which balatantly tell you
in your face: lose yourself, indulge, give into temptation and cosume,
consume, consume.
I will leave these questions suspended for now- perhaps the
reader will be moved to answer them. But for now, I leave thee with a
few verses from from Almario, if only to make the reader feel the wind
of the wing of madness:

Pagka't hindi ito paraiso, huwag mong hahanapin

Ang katahimikan sa ingit ng muwelye
At ngisngis ng eheng naglalway sa grasa...

...Dinaglat na ngiti't kinoryenteng titig,

Ang paghahanap mo'y putol na hiningang
Nilason sa eter at hinurnong buwan;
Nilunod sa koro ng pangilang lagari
At adagiong teklado ng orasan.
(Almario 1998, 41-42)

“I felt strange passing. I felt passing over me a wind from the wing of
madness” (Baudelaire 1992, 258).

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