Commonwealth, in this zine, is not just an avenue – it is love, protest, and pride all at once.   

By Jian Zharese Joeis Sanz
Bulatlat.com

MANILA – It was another mobilization. Holding a placard, you stepped towards the cop barricade in the middle of Commonwealth. Together with progressive souls inside your collective and names you’d never know, you yelled chants, drawing the attention of the very same masses you fight for. 

Every footstep dusted Commonwealth Avenue with agitation, as fiery hearts came face-to-face with heavily shielded others, armed police. 

Suddenly, you let go of the banner and sprinted towards the cops. Others followed. Someone you know by the name ‘Lila’ pulled the barbed barricade. It shocked you for a second, knowing that person fears pointy edges. Then, you understood that in scenarios like this, fear becomes nothing. Agitation rose inside you and you found yourself pulling the barricade, pushing the cop’s shield, yelling together with the people, “here comes, here comes the masses!”

When it rained, you were pushed back by an angry cop. Your vision slowed down. You looked at everything the Commonwealth has been–its asphalt and capitalized form.

You see placards. Combat boots. Cross-dressers. Women. Youth. Someone you loved but never knew the real name of. Fat cops. Curious civilians. Buildings. Stoplights. Jeepneys. 

You heard chants. The sound of the body hitting against the thick plastic shield. Honks. Someone, commanding the protesters to settle down. 

Most importantly, something inside you shifted. While lying on the asphalt, watered by the crying blue sky, you felt anger, pride, romance, and the city’s cruel allure all at once.

Reading ‘Komonwelt’ feels like this. It evokes a familiar revolution within the reader. Published by Pacesetter, Bulacan State University’s official publication, the zine advocates for rights and space for the LGBTQIA+ community this Pride month. 

Commonwealth, beyond its asphalt form 

Making the Metro, particularly its streets, a muse has become a movement in Filipino literature. Numerous works, including progressive pieces like “Komonwelt,” have emerged from this movement. One notable example is Tony Perez’s Cubao series, which includes “Cubao-Kalaw Kalaw-Cubao.” This series delves into the complexities of urban life and queer identity. Additionally, in music, Zild’s “Kyusi” captures the sensory details of love—an abstract emotion—by grounding it in local meet-up spots in Kamuning and elsewhere.

Writing about the Metro is like hitting the lottery, as it gives the writer an abundance of sensory details through its stoplights, crossings, and streets. Moreover, its complexities and normalcy easily bring together crowds, whether it be through urban issues or everyday human experiences. 

Commonwealth, in this zine, is not just an avenue – it is love, protest, and pride all at once.   It easily captured not just the rawness of the avenue, but also the human experiences and emotions that it embodies. It is a hybrid of protest, queer, and urban literature. At its very core, the zine protested the avenue’s dualistic identity as a ground for mobilizations and center of the busy city, all while demanding inclusive normalcy. 

In wealthy spear’s ‘Mga Lihim sa Ilalim ng Aspalto’, the writer successfully pictured not just the avenue but the immortal queer love through mentions of ‘mga ilaw sa daan’ which the writer described to be blinking; and ‘ang mga stoplight’ given its own life as ‘tila may sariling tibok’ followed. Though the dagli lacked a name for where the old footbridge was, it extended beyond the avenue’s usualities through a shocking yet reassuring ending.  

Through featuring diverse literary pieces, like poems, memoirs, and prose, it weaved Metro’s soul, spotlighting human emotions. More importantly, the zine gave the LGBTQIA+ community the spotlight it so deserves. Not just to echo the community’s voice, but to uplift their humanity in an ideally ‘just’ world. 

Face of activism, romance, and freedom

In the zine, the writers combined the theme of revolution in the city with elements of romance and advocacy. It highlighted ongoing issues related to labor, inclusivity, and more. However, for future recommendations, the writers could incorporate more ‘tibak’ terms into their work. For instance, the writer could have referred to character’s lover as “Lek.” Additionally, scenes of protest could be enriched by using terms like “kompo” and “hanay.” This approach would better align with the slang used by activists.

The poem ‘Babae Ako’ by Lualhati stands for one of the most widely talked about misogynistic issues in our society–the bounded definition of what a woman is. The writer strongly upheld that being a woman extends beyond someone’s biology. It is empowering in all senses. 

Other pieces also included other societal sectors and their plights. Laborers like Kaloy from ‘Mga Lihim sa Ilalim ng Aspalto’ and the gay breadwinner at ‘Bakla Ako at Breadwinner Ako” were given the space. By illustrating that Kaloy works at night as a pedestrian lane painter and noting that 70 percent of LGBTQ individuals are employed in the informal sector, the zine encourages readers to confront the realities of capitalism.

The zine served as a haven for freedom and romance, showcasing love in all its forms: fleeting, longing, protesting, silent, and loud. Each page represented a space for freedom—not just for the community, but for all individuals. 

One personal favorite is Eonic Curist’s “We’ll Always Have the Commonwealth.” This piece vividly portrays the culture and reality of activism, emphasizing that often you may never know someone’s real name, and most moments are brief encounters, as activists are always on the move, mobilizing, and organizing. The prose concludes with the idea that despite these fleeting moments, memories endure, and so does the fight for the struggle of the masses.

To love is to protest

‘Komonwelt’ in all its wholeness stands for the thought that protest is a part of love, and vice versa. 

It inspires one to go to the streets. Stand under scorching heat. Raise our placards. Chant. 

The zine proves that love itself is a revolution, and through being a work for the LGBTQIA+ community, it serves as a rallying cry for what they should have. Not in the usual tough, iron-fist way, but in ways that make even the steel-like system or individual soften and surrender. 

The collection also shows why we meet people, and the power of vulnerability. It is a persistent yet gentle whisper to uphold our rights and all our humanness through loving the masses, the metro, and someone, whether we know their name or not. 

Overall, Pacesetter’s ‘Komonwelt’ proved that there’s a space for everyone–in love, revolution, and the city–regardless of one’s gender and identity. (RVO)