The battle is on the ground, among the people, hence ‘Teatro Tao sa Tao’

“Fuenteovejuna did it!” Those were some of the last words I uttered on the stage before the world was forced into lockdown. That scene with the entire townsfolk was also the last time I spent inside the theater with my mentor Tony Mabesa; the Dulaang UP play was his swan song before he was whisked away to the big stage in the sky. The ensuing pandemic was the setting in which “Teatro Tao sa Tao” was born. 

Many theater colleagues and I were part of a group chat that included a National Artist, OPM icons, Pinoy rock legends, musical and film directors, and A-list musicians and actors. We all had been rendered jobless and marooned by the COVID-19 lockdowns. Barangay La Vie, as we were called, was a loose group inspired by composer/lyricist Lolito Go’s mesmeric rewording of ‘La Vie En Rose.’ When the campaign season for the 2022 elections began, our group of old roses found a key purpose: to support the people’s campaign of Leni Robredo. 

Soon, we were producing music videos left and right, creating original works and rewriting timeless classics, and performing in sorties unendingly, offering our artistry and talents to wherever the Leni Robredo-Kiko Pangilinan campaign needed us. 

Giants in mob?

In one of our early meetings, Jim Paredes (of the legendary Apo Hiking Society) casually mentioned that we should do a flash mob. “A flash mob,” I thought. “With all these giants in it?” Why not? It had been more than two years since we performed live in front of an audience, and we were right away enthusiastic about the idea. 

Audie Gemora served as a de facto casting agent, setting up cold calls one after the other on Facebook.  Initially, we thought we only needed 15 musical theater actors. But in our last call, there was an influx of almost a hundred signees. The volunteer theater artists came from all the theater groups in town—Dulaang UP, PETA (the Philippine Educational Theater Association), Repertory Philippines, Tanghalang Pilipino, Tanghalang Ateneo, Ateneo Blue Repertory, and many others. 

No less than Celeste Legaspi served as the overall producer. Her cold calls online for donations to feed and transport our volunteers grew from an initial P15,000 to multiple times that amount, all from the generosity of patrons and fellow volunteers who were similarly fired up by our little idea. Joel Saracho took on the role of location scout, connecting us with members of the Krus Na Ligas community through the headquarters of Senator Leila de Lima (which also kindly lent us space for rehearsals).

Makeshift production

Jim, meanwhile, gave us without question his reworded version of the iconic Edsa 1986 anthem ‘Handog ng Pilipino Sa Mundo,’ so we didn’t have to bother with music rights. Divina Aromin-Diokno hooked us up with the Film Workers for Leni group so the flash mob events could be documented; the group even offered to shoot extra collateral materials for us to make sure everything was covered. Mitch Valdes and Bodjie Pascua volunteered to be part of the cast, lending their star power and unimpeachable artistic integrity to our makeshift production.

Cast, check. Food and transportation, check. Crew, check. All we needed now was a name. Joel suggested “Teatro Tao Sa Tao.” For a flash mob intended to supplement the Leni-Kiko national house to house campaign to bring in crucial votes, the name was perfect. 

Our first stage was at the corner of Tiburcio and Francisco streets in Krus na Ligas. The spirits of the late stalwarts Lino Brocka and Behn Cervantes were practically hovering above as the cast went through its paces; in directing them, I reminded them of the rich history of street theater that our mentors had done and that had played a pivotal part in the struggle for freedom against the Marcos dictatorship. Now a Marcos scion was threatening to return, and so we were back on the streets. 

Simple story

Our flash mob’s story is simple: Hindi na papayag ang sambayanang Pilipino na mabawi muli ang kalayaan. We have to fight to protect our hard-won freedoms, now more than ever. In less than three minutes, in song, dance, and impassioned speech, we made our appeal to fellow Filipinos in front of us. 

The more important part of the show was to speak to the community about the hope for change and renewal under a Robredo presidency. This message we brought along as we began scouring street after street, first in Krus Na Ligas and then in other communities, as we campaigned house to house after every flash mob performance — collaterals in tow and with hope as our strongest weapon. This was simply the most important role we would be playing in our lives at this point. 

Since Krus Na Ligas, we’ve managed to visit a number of other communities and performed before many more people than we’d ever imagined in the post-COVID period. In Tatalon, we were joined by Jaime Fabregas and Ronnie Lazaro. In Antipolo and Batasan Hills, Pinky Marquez and Soliman Cruz took the lead. Meanwhile, in Cainta and Tiendesitas (under the flyover, where volunteers shared bowls of lugaw with construction workers), Bo Cerrudo and Gem Padilla augmented our passionate cast. 

Even Jim, straight from Australia, came and took part in a few of our flash mobs like it was the biggest paying gig of his life. None of us was paid, of course, but you could say this was still our biggest gig—the payment measured in the sense of hope, optimism, and aspirations for a better government that we were kindling among and sharing with fellow Filipinos.

People’s line

“Fuenteovejuna did it!” was the line the people of the small Spanish village of Fuenteovejuna shouted when asked who killed their corrupt, rapacious military commander. It was the moment the people banded together and took control of their destiny. It highlights the power of the collective—the power of the people to change their lot and reject fear and oppression.

Like our flash mobs: We work best not in solos, but by the force of an entire cast, mirroring the possibility that with the collective power of the Filipino, we can overcome even the most persistent of dynasties and tyrannies. And, in the process, boy, do we do it with sheer gusto—through song and dance and tears and laughter, as only the best of Filipino artists do.

Ricci Chan is a veteran theater, film, and TV actor and a professional makeup artist. —ED