‘Bakla, bakla, paano ka ginawa’

I’m gay—born on June 27, eve of the Stonewall Riots.

I grew up listening to people blurt out, “sayang,” every time I declared, “Bakla ako.”

Over time, their language drove me to pick nits about myself, about my Sogie (sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression), in the past lumped together under the singular term “bakla,” loosely translated to “gay.”

The bakla in society, like women, are treated as second-class citizens. They bear the brunt of people’s hurtful language. Biting comments like “sayang” cut deep into their skin, proving how powerful language can be.

Take the conjunction, “pero.” Pero (but) implies a contrast. The pero in the sentence, “Magaling siya, pero bakla siya,” downplays the ability of gays on the basis of their Sogie. Meanwhile, the pero in its inverse form, “Bakla siya, pero magaling siya,” attempts to elevate gays by placing them alongside a positive attribute.

Both cases put the bakla in a bad light.

On the other hand, “lang,” used to emphasize limitation, minimizes the bakla. The sentence, “Bakla lang siya,” implies that there is nothing more notable about gays outside of their Sogie.

Pero and lang are two examples of how our use of language shapes reality.

But pero and lang are not alone. The term bakla itself can be weaponized to bedevil bisexuals, homosexuals, and trans women, too. By labeling someone as bakla in a pejorative sense, “moral entrepreneurs” perpetuate the notion that gays are inherently deviant or immoral, thus justifying social exclusion.

The term bakla can also be waged against people outside of the LGBTQ+ spectrum.

Bakla in our popular culture connotes “cowardice” or “weakness.” People who exhibit traits linked to gays, such as timidity, fearfulness, submissiveness, and oversensitivity, are called bakla.

The phrases “bakla, pero,” “bakla lang,” or “para kang bakla” are microaggressions—a subtle, often unintentional, form of bias.

Microaggression is not obvious. It often seems minor. But its cumulative effect can negatively impact the lives of gays in society. It can make them feel flawed. By retorting, “bakla, pero,” we convince gays that respect is conditional. Respect depends on the attributes that offset their Sogie. To earn it, they must work twice as hard.

Also, by saying “bakla lang,” we invalidate gays. We make them feel as if they are lesser human beings. Because of this, they develop feelings of inferiority.

The same is true in the phrase “para kang bakla.” It stereotypes, caricatures, and others the gays. Simply put, gays are shrugged off, shoved into a corner, or swept under the rug.

Accumulated microaggression results in prejudice, a fossilized bias. Prejudice normalizes gender-based discrimination. Through it, stigmas against gays seep into our routines. As a result, people do not question prejudice. They simply accept it as a part of daily life.

Acceptance fosters desensitization. People who commit microaggressions become less aware of the prejudice inherent in their actions, leading to more explicit discriminatory behavior. The gays who experience prejudice become resigned to these slights. They feel powerless.

Once prejudice takes over society, gender-based discrimination penetrates policies, resulting in systemic marginalization that is even harder to recognize and dismantle. As prejudice corrupts institutions, policies translate into violence. The gays are subjected to physical assaults, verbal abuse, sexual harassment, and hate crimes. They are discriminated against in employment, education, and health care. Worse, they are rejected by their families, who firmly believe that gays are hopeless, wasted potential—in other words, sayang.

Looking back at the many birthdays that indexed my life as a bakla, I have come to understand how language can be incisive. At the same time, I have realized its full capacity to be decisive.

A spiteful word, sayang, taught me that language is not sentient. It cannot make itself discriminatory. We, who construct and define language, are the ones planting discrimination in it.

If we desire a reality that marginalizes gays, we need only summon pero and lang to get the job done. But if we want a society that recognizes and respects them, we must use language to help gays overcome gender-based discrimination.

To accomplish it, we must rethink how we use language vis-à-vis gays.

We can omit pero in “Bakla siya, pero magaling siya” or “Magaling siya, pero bakla siya” to rebut gender-based discrimination through language. By doing so, we affirm their competence and dispel any negative assumptions about their abilities.

We can, as well, refute, by dropping lang in “Bakla lang siya.” By removing lang, we refuse to accept narratives that devalue gays. We assert their existence, and we do it sans any qualifiers.

As a bakla myself, I know that by using language for pride, not for prejudice, I and a parade of thousands can help shape a better reality for all, as did our predecessors, half a century ago, during the Stonewall Riots—a reality that blurts out, “Hindi ka sayang dahil bakla ka. Bakla ka. Hindi bakla lang.”

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Phillippe Tanchuan is, 25, an essayist from Antique. He lives in Iloilo with his partner, Fritz.