My father never buys ‘yaya’ meals

The “yaya meal” controversy made me appreciate how my father never buys  yaya  meals.

Last Black Saturday, former Binibining Pilipinas Maggie Wilson-Consunji went on Facebook to criticize an “offensive” practice of the exclusive Balesin resort in Quezon province. She wrote: “Our nanny ordered her meal and my mom wanted the same thing. The waiter said ‘Oh, hindi pwede ma’am, kase that’s a ‘yaya’s meal.’” She continued, “[T]he fact that there are people who don’t want their yaya’s [sic] to eat whatever they want to is beyond me.” Everyone up to Boy Abunda weighed in on the resulting firestorm, and comedienne Rufa Mae Quinto posted on Instagram her Balesin “yaya meal” of daing na bangus.

The resort clarified: “[I]f the guest or member chooses to have the Club serve the ‘yaya’ tenderloin steak and lobster thermidor, we will gladly serve it … we do not serve this meal if there is no instruction at all from the guest for a ‘yaya meal’ to be served to a ‘yaya’. Incidentally, the yayas are thrilled with their meals because these are deliciously prepared by our chefs, as well, for our  operating staff at Balesin.” Labor Secretary  Rosalinda Baldoz lamented: “Although the labelling of the meal as ‘yaya meal’ could hardly be considered a violation of labor laws … the same sadly reflects a socio-cultural reality where some segment of our society still look down on kasambahay a grade lower than ordinary citizens.”

The social media buzz on the so-called discrimination captures how difficult it is for our society to have critical human rights debates. The difficulty with the discrimination label is that no one has a right to tenderloin or lobster. If a cheapskate hired me to fly to Balesin and discuss the “yaya meal’s” legalities and served me the “yaya meal,” I could not complain and would be left to buy my own tenderloin and lobster on my own time. Baldoz and Consunji open an important moral discussion, but we cannot impose our aspirational moral standards on others. Indeed, one argues that Consunji’s mother was the one discriminated against because she was prevented from ordering the “yaya meal,” but Balesin might lose money if guests could eat at staff prices.

Mulling over the fiasco makes me realize that my father never buys yaya meals. Like many families, kasambahays accompany us on dinners out and short trips. They have always eaten what we eat. At a McDonald’s stop along a highway, he would cajole our kasambahay to order something more filling than the plain hamburger. At his favorite Chinese restaurant, she would encounter unusual types of seafood. The closest my Dad got to ordering a “yaya meal” was ordering more conventional dishes such as sweet and sour pork for kasambahay takeout.

My father’s approach to “yaya meals” was part of a simple attitude to life where he would treat a kasambahay the same way he might a senior lawyer, taipan or government official. Growing up, we would be firmly rebuked for treating kasambahays with any hint of disrespect. This extended to security guards, chauffeurs, messengers, office staff. I have always marveled at how my father is able to sincerely relate to people of all walks. Once, he gave his chauffeur an old office barong and laughed when he began to report for work wearing it proudly, with a spring in his step. My mother freely gives relationship advice to kasambahays as much as she does to my siblings’ friends.

Other lawyers I admire greatly share my father’s attitude to life. I had the privilege to work with Joe Concepcion, the highly regarded founder of  Accralaw’s litigation department, in his twilight years. For all his peerless wisdom and experience, the first rule he decided to teach  me as a first-year lawyer was to be kind to my  secretary. And the  second rule was to be kind to his. When I moved to London, my mild mannered Italian-American mentor likewise emphasized that one antagonizes the staff in a law firm at his peril.

Many other successful leaders share the same attitude. I overheard staff at BDO happily retelling how their president, Nestor Tan, attended his secretary’s wedding and stayed the entire night. His brother Lorenzo, president of RCBC, told me how he drinks with other employees. Indeed, after former president Cory Aquino passed away, her former bodyguards talked of how she would cook for them late at night. When Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew passed away, a newspaper tracked his former kasambahay of 40 years to China. She showed them her pictures with the family and described how Lee, as a young lawyer, would call them each night to let them know he was working late and check if they had dinner. How a person treats kasambahays  must be quite the measure of a man.

The uproar over the “yaya meal” is not a legal problem, but hints at a deeper communal sense of guilt at the wide social divide between a Balesin guest and a kasambahay. Malcolm Gladwell, in his bestselling book “Outliers,” listed the Philippines as one of the world’s most hierarchical societies and it would do us well to be less conscious of our perceived places in the pecking order. As our economy expands, one hopes we might move closer to a Singapore, where I took the same subway and ate at the same hawker centers as our overseas kasambahays, or to a Netherlands, where the prime minister bicycles to work without an entourage or bodyguards. Perhaps one day, we will not stigmatize on reflex a nickname such as “yaya meal.” Recall that in our country’s most moving moments from the Edsa revolution to Pope Francis’ public Mass, where President Aquino waited in the rain like anyone else, we were not rich or poor but simply Filipinos.

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