The Convention on the Rights of the Child sets out the rights that must be realized for children to develop their full potential, free from hunger and want, neglect and abuse. It reflects a new vision of the child. Children are neither the property of their parents nor are they helpless objects of charity. They are human beings and are the subject of their own rights. The Convention offers a vision of the child as an individual and as a member of a family and community, with rights and responsibilities appropriate to his or her age and stage of development. By recognizing children’s rights in this way, the Convention firmly sets the focus on the whole child.
—Unicef Convention on the Rights of the Child
HOW far can we go with our children?
At the elimination round of ABS-CBN’s Pilipinas Got Talent, a group of very young girls from Butuan easily qualified as one of the semifinalists. While the rest of the semifinalists had to slug it out, perform for their life and/or their death, the kids sailed through the praise and approval from the adult jury. I am confident that out there, more young girls and boys have their dreams etched already in their heads: They, too, could succeed and there is a very wide and open avenue for them. But they must be ready to perform to death. In order to live.
My position under the present dispensation is melodrama. The kids from Butuan are dancing or performing for the gritty reality and my perspective is pure sentiment and does not make sense in the kids’ quest for success. The victory in a reality show (it just cannot be competition nowadays) like Pilipinas Got Talent can mean money and material prosperity if these kids do win the contest. Who am I to stop them—and not that I can stop them. And who I am to tell them what’s good for them. In the meantime, we have to grapple from now on with their appearance on TV.
These kids are called the “Loverkada Kids” and they are described as gymnasts and contortionists. We have seen their kind in circuses and what have been called “freak shows.” This time, though, there are the shifts in mass media technology that cannot be ignored. These new developments have provided children and any one who has some skills to transform their physiology and appearance on a massive stage. The exposure by these children to other children is measured in terms of hundreds of thousands of viewers. There are changes also in viewing them. They are not called freaks anymore and they are costumed differently. While in circuses and carnival tents, they are seen as exotic creatures, here on TV they assume a legitimacy that subverts the very essence of legalizing their exposure. It is less simple now than before: kids as performers are given plots from where they can state their platforms.
The Loverkada Kids are good contortionists—but they are kids. Are they happy with what they are doing? Or, have we taught them to be happy about their skills and tasks? Where are the adults to protect them? But maybe they do not have parents. Why am I insisting on assessing them in what they do not have? We are not given a clear background of the children. It appears there are no visible parents with them. Except for the lady in the park with them who serves as their trainer, things remain sketchy about them. The only clear thing is that they have found meaning in their group and their marvelous act. Contortionism and gymnastics are always marvelous. Except when we think about the dangers to which these young girls are exposed.
One recent Saturday, the Loverkada Kids made the audience cry with their stories. In the province, they practice on tough grounds and the adult kibitzers around them make fun of them. One of the girls said somebody taunted them by calling them “baliw” (crazy) and “walang kinabukasan” (no future). All that has come to an end, it seems, as the girls rejoice at their winning. They have amounted to something.
In the meantime, we have to squint our eyes in fear and brace ourselves as these girls continue to astound us with the many things they can do with their lithe and young bodies. They walk across the stage while their legs serve as their arms and their arms are placed across their legs. They look like spiders and crabs. They do not look like little girls. They perform acrobatic feats that place them in great danger. At certain points, the youngest and the smallest girl is held by her ankle by the bigger members. They swing her around as if she were a pillow. We expect something to happen but nothing happens. We are ecstatic.
The feeling is not unlike one of watching a flying trapeze act: You pray that they do not fall but that prayer and the mixture of relief and anticipation of a fall make that act doubly entertaining.
How far can the jury stand this feeling? During the eliminations, was it Kris Aquino or Ai-Ai de las Alas who blurted out how they were terrified that something might happen—before quickly adding that, of course, nothing would happen because these girls have had a lot of practice, right?
But what if something does happen? How will the jury take this?
On national television, who is the conscience? Who is the arbiter?
The jury for this reality TV-competition is not exactly a sit-down judge. A template has been provided by its origin, America’s Got Talent. Sure, both the Philippine version and the original have its share of ridiculing the contestants. In the Philippine version, we have seen the elimination rounds where the jury sat through the most inane acts this side of the moon. I do not see the value in allowing the nonsingers sing and the nondancers dance, except perhaps for us to erupt in violent laughter at their expense. These performers will not even be allowed onstage during town fiestas.
Will any member of the jury stage a walkout in the same way that Sharon Osbourne does when certain young performers are criticized with such viciousness by Piers Morgan?
How long will the judges allow these young girls to pursue their dreams even as they are, in the pursuit of success and happiness, always walking on a tightrope and threatening to fall or break their legs or their skull? I am being melodramatic.
I feel for these kids. I am certain the jury feels for these kids. But we want them there because they are sensational. They assure us of text voting. They enable a TV network to stay on top, or to pull in respectable ratings. They entertain us.
Was it Marilyn Manson who asked, “Is adult entertainment killing our children? Or is killing our children entertaining adults?” How far indeed can we go for our children....
