Notes from Formosa

I have always associated Taiwan with its old colonial name, Formosa, and with the 17th-century Chinese general, Koxinga. In the early 1600s, Koxinga captured Formosa from the Dutch and used it as a base to challenge Spanish Manila. Meanwhile, the island is also known as the first settlement of Austronesian peoples, who began migrating southward around 3000 BC, eventually reaching the Philippines and spreading across the Pacific. These layers of history—military, colonial, and ancestral—have long shaped my imagination of Formosa, and they set the backdrop for my own journey there.

I finally experienced the “Formosa” of my imagination when I was chosen to present my paper the IASPM-SEA - International Association for the Study of Popular Music conference, August 6 to 8, 2025, at National Taiwan University in Taipei, themed “Peripheries, Margins, and Ambiguities Across Borders in Southeast Asia.” My paper discusses on the social realities and struggles of Filipino musicians in the local gig economy, tracing their evolution from pre-Hispanic ritual and community traditions, through church-based systems of the Spanish period, to today’s platform-mediated freelance performances. It also explores how these shifting forms of engagement have shaped musicians’ livelihoods, artistic identities, and labor rights in contemporary Philippine society.

NAIA Departure Lounge-Drink with Dr. Cris Macazo

My uneventful return to NAIA after a quarter of a century. — Yes, the last time I traveled was almost 20 years ago, when I took a late afternoon flight to Kuala Lumpur to catch the night flight of Malaysian Airlines to Zurich. It was a long time indeed, and I won’t even claim that it was just like yesterday. It was simply not true and quite an understatement that I was stuck in the islands.

The PAL flight was rough, but I did not mind. I just wanted a short trip and nothing more. The sunny skies of Manila reflected on the metal wing of this machine. There was nothing to do but wait. Ten minutes to four, finally Taoyuan.

Taipei Blues
We caught the 5:22 train to Beimen. From Taoyuan it was almost a 2-hour ride. When we arrived at the National Taiwan University area in Gongguan District, it started to drizzle.

DAY 1
National Taiwan University (NTU) — The hunt for the conference venue.

“It’s quite hot!” — Imagine a Filipino saying this line. But I did complain about the heat. Walking around Gongguan, I noticed the people seemed relaxed, not unlike the erratic and rat-race atmosphere of Manila, highlighted by traffic and the miseries of tortured and punished commuters — a republic of discontent. No, not in Taipei. Or perhaps I just landed in an uncomplicated place, whatever.

It is summer season at the National Taiwan University, no wonder I only saw a few people around the campus. We walked in search of the conference venue.

Kuomintang Narratives

Manila in the 1950s was bustling, where agents of the Kuomintang—the party and political machine of the defeated Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek—operated with quiet urgency. From the day Chiang landed in Taiwan after retreating from the mainland, his network in the diaspora intensified its efforts, driven by his unwavering dream of returning to China to overthrow the Communists.

But the Chinese Communists were already in Manila. In the heart of Binondo, it was said that they had infiltrated the banking sector, using double agents who posed as respectable Chinoy businessmen while working to undermine Kuomintang operations.

Meanwhile, in leading provincial cities around the Philippines, the older Chinese generation saw their dream of a perpetual Hokkien cultural community slowly fade. The youth embraced the growing American influence—taking on names like Nancy Tan, Emerson Chua, and Thomson Yee —much as earlier generations had once adopted Spanish names. Many elders, sensing the change was inevitable, gave their quiet consent.

Winning over Filipino-Chinese youth to the Kuomintang cause proved impossible. They now saw themselves as part of the Philippines—Chinoys fluent in Tagalog and other local languages, confident in English at the country’s leading universities. For them, the mainland had become a distant and foreign place; whatever connection once existed had been cut long before.

The Kuomintang army never left Taiwan. There, it rebuilt its life, with baseball emerging as the island’s most popular sport.

From a vantage point where I stood, one can see the grand memorial to the Generalissimo—a monument to a man who never again set foot beyond the island, carrying to his deathbed the dream of a Kuomintang paradise.

DAY 2

I imagine Formosa as part of the network of DNA lines that define the Filipino race. It is commonly accepted that the Austronesian peoples settled in what is now Taiwan from their farming communities in southern China. From Formosa, around 3000 BC, the Austronesians began their southward migration, eventually reaching the Sunda Islands and spreading across the Pacific.

The Amis—a Taiwanese aboriginal group—gave a singing performance the other night that reminded me of this fascinating connection. These may be the very same people related to the inhabitants of the Cordilleras in northern Luzon, whose colorful traditions, languages, and mannerisms seem so strikingly familiar.

Of course, one must also acknowledge the Chinese elements that have shaped the island over centuries—from its people to its culture to the character that defines modern Taiwan.

Standing before Taipei 101 and admiring their prosperity I could not help but reflect on how, despite our geographic closeness, the Philippines never quite took off the way Taiwan did. I envy the easygoing yet industrious nature of the Taiwanese people.

Of all the things that remind me of Formosa, one peculiar element has now entered my personal definition of it: the smell of stinky tofu. I must admit that despite all my admiration, this is the one thing that unsettles me. And yet, deep inside, there is a quiet rebellion in me—a curiosity whispering:

What does that tofu really taste like?

Forget Koxinga, Austronesians, and all that history. Perhaps, like many things in life, taste is something one can learn to acquire.

DAY 3-- The Presentation

In Manila, a system of hiring musicians—known locally as nombrahan—has existed long before the term "gig economy" became widely recognized. Derived from the Spanish word nombrar, meaning "to designate" or "to call," nombrahan refers to the informal practice of booking musicians for parties, weddings, private events, and other performances. This system involves musicians across various genres, including string players, rock and jazz bands, singers, and even chamber orchestras.

At the heart of this system is the nombrador, the individual responsible for securing performance deals with clients and handling the musicians' payments. However, many musicians face challenges such as unfair compensation, lack of transportation support for distant venues, and the absence of proper provisions for food and other expenses. These exploitative conditions highlight the precarious nature of the local gig circuit. Moreover, recent government efforts to regulate this economy—including taxation measures—further complicate the situation for musicians who already struggle with financial instability.

What is Nombrahan?

Nombrahan refers to the informal system of hiring musicians for events such as weddings, wakes, town fiestas, private parties, and public celebrations. The term derives from the Spanish word nombrar, meaning “to designate” or “to appoint”—a fitting description of how musicians are selected and assigned to performances in this system.

At the center of nombrahan is the nombrador, a middleman who secures engagements, negotiates with clients, assembles the ensemble or lineup, and disburses payments. The nombrador effectively controls who gets to perform, how much they are paid, and under what conditions. While this role facilitates access to work, it also opens the door to abuse.

One of the most pervasive practices is the so-called “cut system,” wherein the nombrador charges clients a significant amount but pays the musicians only a small portion, keeping the remainder as profit. Without contracts, documentation, or legal safeguards, this setup leaves performers vulnerable—especially newcomers or those hesitant to speak out.

Over time, this practice also created a culture where exploitation was passed down. Some musicians, after gaining access to clients themselves, would replicate the system—hiring fellow musicians while taking their own “cut.” Thus, the exploited became exploiters, and the cycle continued. Many nombradors began as rank-and-file musicians who learned the trade through lived experience—some even rising to considerable wealth and influence within this informal network.

In hotels around Manila for example there are musicians who accept wages that are beyond the standard–choosing to work rather than to lose income. It is also common knowledge that many performers lack access to social security benefits or health care. Some probably have the possibility of securing at least a medical HMO but do not know the process in securing one. Many are unaware of how to apply due to a lack of initiative, representation, or institutional guidance.

Although music holds a deep place in the Filipino soul, many still view these artists as no different from the original concept of “Bayanihan”-- as individuals whose services can be requested as a favor, or hired for minimal fees or even in exchange for goods. The sense of the musician being a professional worker, with years of training, giving time and discipline to their craft needs to be instilled in the minds of many Filipinos

Thankfully it is slowly changing, given as proof of the many young people choosing a study and career in music. This growing number of young Filipinos reflects a cultural shift. Yet society must go further. Filipinos must learn to recognize that the musician in their neighborhood may also be among the most disciplined professionals—deserving of respect, fair compensation, and institutional support.

Ultimately, it is the Filipino musicians themselves who must lead the transformation– Contemporary artists around the globe are increasingly expected to go beyond their technicality and musicality – Accepting the role of being socially aware, politically conscious and ethically engaged individuals. Filipino musicians holds the potential to contribute in the issue of social justice, and a wider or broader democratization of arts and society --Through actions--in affirming music's important role in collective progress.

NEW BARKADA-
Filipino contingent at the IASPM-SEA Conference at Taipei -August 6 to 8 2025