Editor’s Note: John Andrew G. Evangelista or Andoy, for many, is a PhD student, a teacher, a queer activist, and a researcher. He has published articles on the queer movement in the Philippines and describes her aesthetic taste in drag as subversive bohemian.
“Regrettable,” said Senator Risa Hontiveros — the staunchest ally of the queer rights movement in the Philippine senate — on the recent viral drag depiction of Jesus Christ, as well as a remix of “Ama Namin.” She described it as something that requires “self-reflection.” Senator Hontiveros cautions the public not to use the incident as a way to deny LGBTQIA+ people their rights. I agree with this appeal. However, with all the respect I have for the senator, I would like to register a different opinion. The incident is not “regrettable.” Rather, it is an opportunity to highlight how drag is a means to offer social commentary.
In its long history as an artform, many drag artists used the stage to present exaggerated images to offer criticisms about society. We can go back to the satirical impersonations of Jon Santos, Willie Nepomuceno, and Tessie Tomas who offer critical insights about current events through caricatured characters. Similarly, in the classic skit “Si Nura at si Velma,” Allan K’s and Leonard Obal’s outrageous performance mirrors and ridicules popular culture obsession at the same time. More recently, we can remember the bloodied Filipiñana gown that drag queen Marina Summers wore in the “2022 Unkabogaball” — a reference to the history of political violence in the country. Summers also impersonated former President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo in the first season of “Drag Race Philippines.” Such presentations personify the ability of drag to infuse well-crafted images and stories with social commentary.
In the classic 1990 book “Gender Trouble,” Judith Butler asserts that drag transgresses what we consider to be coherent, normal, sacred, or even natural because it shows that identities are performed rather than given. Staple in the history of Philippine entertainment, for instance, “doble-cara” singers switch from baritone to soprano, revealing that one can slip from masculinity to femininity and vice versa. Imagine also Viñas DeLuxe’s manananggal image in “Drag Race Philippines.” When viewed from the front, it looks like a body dividing into halves but at the back we see that the image is created by an awkward positioning of the body. These examples present ironies that reveal that the images we initially see are not natural or even coherent.
“By inserting lived experiences into the performance, Pura Luka Vega exposed the exclusion of queer people from religious institutions.”
The irony in the “Ama Namin (The Lord’s Prayer)” performance lies in its attempt to infuse the image of Jesus Christ with colorful make-up, false lashes, and upbeat music. “It is my experience, my expression, of having been denied my rights,” Pura declared. Beyond being a “tribute to God”, Pura also revealed their intention to “challenge our notions” of worship to include those who have been excluded. “Jesus is also for gays. That’ s how I intended it”, they added.
By inserting lived experiences into the performance, Pura Luka Vega exposed the exclusion of queer people from religious institutions. To borrow from Philip Core’s essay “From Camp,” the performance mobilized fiction to “tell the truth.” The use of drag aesthetics to perform the image of Jesus Christ not only insists on the place of queer people in religious spaces. By presenting a novel way of worshipping, it also interrogates the distinction between sanctity and profanity.
Partly because the performance combines what society treats as sacred and profane, many were offended. Senator Miguel Zubiri, for instance, asserted that it may have violated penal provisions on “obscene or indecent plays, scenes, acts or shows.” And while the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines said it will not take legal action, Reverend Father Jerome Secillano, CBCP’s Public Affairs secretary, was quoted to have said, “If not used properly, such actions border on mockery and profanity.” These pronouncements clearly distinguished what is sacred and what is profane. They treat religious icons as the former and drag as the latter, implying that a queer artistic expression is an inappropriate means to worship. I think this is exactly what the “Ama Namin” performance avowedly challenges.
The moral outrage over this performance reminds me of a phrase. “Ang bakla ay para sa parlor,” we were told growing up. When society draws lines that designate a contained space for the bakla, it limits democratic spaces because it suppresses queer people’s right to expression. Meanwhile cis-heterosexual people do not experience that discrimination everywhere else. The outrage over this performance reminds us of the lines that limit artistic expression, and discipline queer identities into their proper places in society. By claiming religion is no place for queer art, this rage implies that some social institutions still exclude queer identities. And this is why we need drag to be more than amusing. At times, it also needs to be uncomfortable, because such discomfort reveals deeper truths about social institutions still unwilling to reflect on their own practices of suppression.
“As social commentary, drag forces us to see that what we deem natural is actually not, hence, revealing the possibility of changing our norms.”
As social commentary, drag forces us to see that what we deem natural is actually not, hence, revealing the possibility of changing our norms. For instance, the “Ama Namin” performance compels broader conversations around religious freedom, indecency, and sanctity. As a democratic nation, we have constitutionally guaranteed the freedom to exercise religion while also punishing obscenity or indecency. But these concepts are relative. Some see drag as profanity. Others like Pura Luka Vega see it as a valid expression of faith. By revealing that sanctity and profanity escape stable definitions, the controversial performance presents an opportunity to initiate discussions about diverse expressions of faith. It compels us to go out of our own bubbles and understand that there is more than one way of worshipping.