JESS SANTIAGO'S name doesnt soar in decibels, especially beside
those of todays pop superstars, or even of colleagues like Heber
Bartolome and Joey Ayala who conquered the mainstream music scene.
Yet his songs were among those that gave voice to the voiceless in
an era of silence, told stories of empowerment in a time of fear.
He is considered one of the pioneers of protest music during the Martial
Law period, with memorable, eloquent works such as Halina,
Huling Balita, and Martsa ng Bayan to his
name.
Prof. Teresita Gimenez Maceda, former member of progressive band
Inang Laya, describes Santiagos songs as familiar portraits
of oppression rendered in simple and intimate melodies and set against
the backdrop of the national condition. Halina,
for instance, gives a human face to harsh social realities using images
of three people from marginalized sectors: a factory worker, a farmer,
and a garbage dump dweller. In Huling Balita, the atrocities
of Martial Law are personified in Mang Kardo, one of the countless
desaparecidos and victims of arbitrary detention and torture during
those grim years.
Santiagos fascination with stories of ordinary people may have
started during his own childhood in Obando, Bulacan. The son of a
barber who was also a member of a local brass band, Santiago took
on odd jobs to support his education. He cites his clarinet-player
father as his greatest musical influence. He and an older brother
were taught to play the clarinet - not for musics sake, but
for free tuition in high school.
His stint at the school band didnt last long. Santiago went
on to earn recognition from various cultural institutions for his
poetry. Due to the governments clampdown on the mass media,
however, venues for publishing poetry were extremely limited. He and
fellow members of the writers organization Galian sa Arte at
Tula (GAT) resorted to giving out mimeographed copies of their works
and holding poetry readings in schools.
Describing himself as the most unlikely musician, Santiago
relates his transition into songwriting. As in poetry, he focused
on writing music about concrete social realities. Soon, he was performing
in rallies and protest marches, as well as in marketplaces, street
corners, and the countryside.
He further recalls the challenges he and other protest musicians
faced in creating their music. Ang unang challenge dun: kaya
mo bang panindigan yang ginagawa mo? Kasi unang-una, walang
pera dyan, he laughingly chides.
It took several years before he was able to perform, along with other
advocates of the Peoples Music, at a major concert
staged at the Metropolitan Theater in 1979. He had been composing
and performing for 15 years before he was finally able to make a recording
of his own songs, the independently produced album Halina.
Nandiyan [din] lagi ang panganib sa buhay mo, he admits.
He recounts a concert at a university in Bicol, where military presence
was known to be particularly strong. Santiago was the last performer.
Umuugong pa yung huling nota, huling syllable ng kanta,
tinatakbo na ako ng organizers.
Still, Santiago and other protest musicians found inspiration and
fulfillment in seeing their works - and along with them, nationalist
sentiment - flourish within the bleak context of repression. Their
music, having captured the quintessence of the times, somehow found
its way into the hearts of common people. Santiago says audiences
used to record their performances so that they may share the songs
with friends, or even with family members in the provinces. Soon,
progressive musicians also started conducting songwriting workshops
in various areas. Naglalakad ka sa kalye, kinakanta ng mga tao
yung piyesa mo, ganung hindi naman nila alam kung sino ang gumawa.
Yun ang pinakamasarap sa akin, he affirms.
He relives two experiences in particular. Martsa ng Bayan
was written as the anthem for a broad anti-dictatorship coalition
called the Peoples Movement for Independence and National Democracy
(Peoples MIND). When asked to write a song for a historic gathering
of anti-Marcos forces the next day, Santiago agreed to compose while
you wait (a practice known as mami siopao, he says).
Nationalist singer Susan Fernandez performed the song at the gathering.
Next thing he knew, Martsa ng Bayan was being sung by
tens of thousands of people during a protest action at the Liwasang
Bonifacio. After Ninoy Aquinos assassination, the number of
those spurred to action by the impromptu piece grew to millions.
His lullaby Meme Na, which incorporated ethnic melodies,
became popular in the Cordillera region. He recounts his elation on
hearing that mothers in remote mountain villages were singing the
song to their children. Far from being the stereotypical grim-and-determined,
angry musician-poet, Santiago finds joy in this simple achievement.
Emphatically, he claims that such are his wealth and his
rewards.
Asked to assess the role of protest music in the anti-dictatorship
struggle and in raising political consciousness, the veteran musician
humbly replies: Kung merong isa, dalawa, tatlong tao na may
epekto ang aking ginawa sa ikabubuti o ikauunlad niya, o ng lipunan,
o ng bansa, masaya na ako roon.
Likewise, he says to the new generation of progressive artists: Sikapin
nyong bihagin ang sariling talinhaga ng inyong panahon.
He approvingly observes, however, that the legacy and lessons of their
era have not been lost on the new breed of artists, since most of
them recognize the need to be politically and socially conscious.
At present, Santiago continues to write songs that shed light on
issues that are not given prominence in mainstream music. He also
dishes out razor-sharp criticism on current issues in his column Usapang
Kanto in the alternative newspaper Pinoy Weekly. His continuing
commitment and involvement are driven by his fervent vision for the
country, expressed in the song Pitong Libong Pulo (from
his second album Obando): At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon/
Pag-asay bulaklak na muling sisibol/ Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig/
Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip.