#kilusan

Filipino Advocates for Justice (FAJ) celebrates its 42nd year with a conference in Oakland on June 20th, 2015. Kilusan: Health & Social Justice

3/29/14 - We decided to go to the Kilusan Cultural Show and show support to the club in Pacific.  Not only did we have fun but it was super amazing!!! You can see the hard work our fellow Pacific students put in it.

A Filipino American artist with Broadway dreams tells a story of discovering culture and identity in his one-man show.  (Photo Credit)           Kilusan Bautista looked as comfortable on stage as other people would be in their bedrooms. Despite his short frame, the poet dwarfed Baruch College’s theater the second he stepped in–with no introduction. At FUSED 2013, a local talent show for college Filipino organizations, he offered a change of pace among the singer-songwriter acts dominating the night’s set. The loud and rowdy audience of college students went silent, only making sounds to snap or hum approval at Kilusan’s words. His voice rose up and down in rhythmic acrobatics, flipping sounds into the air, letting stories freefall, and catching each word with his natural cadence.              He stared into the spotlight, and pressed the microphone against his lips so that each “p” sound punched the air.                            Deep down in my soul                            I pray to the universe with my flow                            I am a child of the wild metropolitan jungle. He started the opener for his one-man show and central piece “Universal Self,” an autobiographical theatrical performance combining his 31 years of life experience with spoken word, dancing, martial arts, and hip-hop music. As a Filipino-American, he’s already a minority in the performing arts world. As a one-man production telling a story of being Filipino, he’s even rarer in a industry where Filipinos typically play Latinos, East Asians, and everything but themselves to tell anything but a story about the Philippines.              Kilusan is days away from performing “Universal Self” at the One Festival 2013, a competition against eight other New York-based artists doing similar work, and he’s anxious to get his work staged once more.              The production revolves around Kilusan’s struggles with identity as a Filipino-American at the intersection of two cultures, family issues, and in his words, “social justice.” The show tells a coming-of-age story set in the 1980s and 1990s in Kilusan’s native San Francisco. Using every inch of the stage, he break dances, lyrically moves, performs spoken word while doing Filipino martial arts, and disappears into different characters. Off stage, the show follows him into bed and onto the subway, where he says he sometimes suddenly jumps into a different voice, sparking the birth of a new piece.              “Theater to me is like my jacket. It allows me to bring everything together,” he said, miming putting on sleeves with shoulder rolls that looked like a pop-and-lock move.              Dance is only a single layer of Kilusan, who with his signature fedora hat and innate suave confidence calls to mind the singer Ne-Yo, while his early influences of Tupac Shakur, Run DMC, and Ice T find their way into even his casual conversations. It always sounds like Kilusan is rapping. There’s no turning off his intonation nor poetic meter–even in his voicemail (“You’ve reached KIH-luh-SAN BAU-tis-TUH. PLEASE leave a message after the tone. GOD. BLESS.)               He speaks fluidly and uninterrupted save for carefully chosen dramatic pauses, and moves from subject to subject in a scattered manner whether it’s mentioning, twice, the significance of him being a Scorpio, fondly recalling his college’s Banana Slug mascot, or going off on his “philosophical tangents.”              He has no straight answers. When presented the word “stability” Kilusan took time to chew on the word and said, “That’s funny. I-I-I don’t know how to answer that. When I was younger you mean? Because it also applies for the now? Stability. What IS stability? Because I have a lot of friends who are financially well off,” he raised his eyebrows, “but emotionally unstable.” He then drifted off into the importance of education, redefining what “stability” meant, talking about writing, and then going into anecdotes about his father, uncles, and friends for several minutes before finally saying, “Stability was not financial, not just having a roof over my head…For me, stability came from the arts.”                          Drugs was my father’s nightmare                          broken by a society that didn’t care                          poor immigrant in his family now, cold hearted stare              If Kilusan had a close relationship with his dad, it’s very possible he wouldn’t be an artist. He grew up in a violent household, with a drug-addicted father whose Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings 12-year-old Kilusan would sometimes tag along to attend. He kept himself out of the house as much as possible, finding solace in discovering break dancing, theater, and martial arts.               “That revolutionized my whole identity, my expression, my voice, and as an adult and professional artist, my expression is full body,” he said, “Sometimes when I’m just reciting poems or doing spoken word poetry I feel limited because part of my identity has a lot to do with movement.”              His name – Kilusan– means “movement” in Tagalog, the national Filipino language. Originally born Jeremy Tagle Bautista, he changed it in 1999 after hearing it used by teachers and artists in the Philippines on a study abroad visit doing research for what would eventually become “Universal Self.”              “When I started studying on my own about history and movement and resistance to systems of oppression, I realize we’ve always been in movement,” he said, referring to the Philippines’ occupation by Spain, followed by the United States until independence in 1946, “I took up on that name, Kilusan, as a constant reminder for myself that I’m not just an individual but I represent a larger history,” he said, gesturing his hands in circular motion. (Photo Credit)              The artist’s Filipino background is central to “Universal Self,” which in its first carnation was called “Universal Filipino.”              Kilusan is a third generation Filipino-American. His great grand parents came to California in the 1940s post World War II and his grandparents and parents arrived in the 1960s.  He grew up around family members working “menial jobs” as field workers, janitors, McDonald’s employees, and Holiday Inn maids.              “When I was growing up I was ashamed of my history as a Filipino, growing up in a working class family” he said, quietly. Now it’s the opposite. Out of those born in his generation, Kilusan says he is the only one of his family “reclaiming pride” in his heritage by learning Tagalog, traveling to the Philippines, and wearing his culture in every way possible. Even his business cards have once been plastered with the iconic sun from the Filipino flag.                             I ran away at 16                            discovered myself at 17                            life isn’t always what it seems                           so I fought to maintain a high self esteem                           Kilusan found himself homeless at 16 years old, after running away from home fed up with his father’s drug abuse. He’d only rub the surface of this time in his life, reluctantly steering conversation away from the years he “resorted to surviving.” His repeated blinking, swallowing, and apprehension to speak urged “next, please.”              He did say involvement with theater didn’t fit in a town where people his age played tough having fun getting high, getting drunk, and sleeping around. Two tickets out of town hooked him: poetry and education.              Through the Education Opportunity Program benefiting first-generation college students and minorities entering college, Kilusan enrolled in the University of California, Santa Cruz. A scholarship and housing offering convinced him to pursue the school. For an income, he toured across the country and internationally as part of the Bay Area-based spoken word collective 8th Wonder. (Photo Credit)                            I write these stories to redeem                           my mother’s hope in a Broadway scene                          A real West Wide Story, if you know what I mean              While he doesn’t hustle for drugs, Kilusan constantly hustles for an audience. Self-promotion is something the poet does as seamlessly as spoken word, and there’s no secret why. “Universal Self” has been in a malleable state since its beginning, constantly changing title, format, and artistic direction; the final version, Kilusan says, debuts the day he arrives on Broadway. He hopes to get a production on the scale of fellow one-man-show, minority background and personal story-driven performer John Leguizamo.              At the start he scoured every borough for venues that would take an unknown, did workshops at tiny community organizations, and entered countless competitions until he’d rack up  venues such as the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, Bowery Poetry Club, Smithsonian Folklife Festival, and even the Sahbhaga festival in India.              Kilusan is never short of fliers for an upcoming performances, comments on every Facebook friends’ posts on his page with a link to his latest gig, and signs every text message with the hash tag #UniversalSelf, even when it is only seen by one person. If he has no upcoming performance, which is rare, he’ll link to his YouTube page, filled with recorded excerpts from “Universal Self,” new poetry, or videos of his performances.              When there isn’t a stage, Kilusan makes one. In one of his videos from last September he performed at BBOY Ultimatum, a b-boy competition in New York City streets where he shared an excerpt of his one-man show. On 35th street and Broadway, a crowd circled around a makeshift dance floor of black and white checkered cardboard, taped down to the concrete. Kilusan filled the entire makeshift stage with his movements as two people behind him held a “Universal Self” marquee banner crookedly. He generated cheers and applause at his spastic bouts of jumpy hip-hop dance moves, wide steps, and big hand gestures. He told the story of his native San Francisco’s hip-hop culture in the early 90s. Reverting back to the mindset of his vivacious 13-year-old-self, Kilusan shifted his face and body language to match a young teen convincingly. He spoke with excitement, a higher voice, about discovering dance, and people surrounding him either watched intently or with amusement, recording the spectacle with their iPhones.              There’s a confidence about Kilusan that makes him know he won’t merely be a forgotten video stored on a stranger’s cell. On considering the typical artists’ woes–finding success, finding an audience, and making money–he responded “No doubts,” like a reflex.              “I think as an artist we have to make a choice. And when you make that choice and say yes to it –there’s no looking back. You know, it’s one hundred percent. It’s all or nothing,” he said.               Cornelia McPherson, another New York- based performer Kilusan simply introduces as the “Artistic Director” of “Universal Self," also his girlfriend, can testify to that. Over the phone, she spoke at length of witnessing his tireless work ethic the past three years she’s known him. “He has his ups and downs, but that is very short,” she laughed and emphasized ‘very’, “Those times of doubt are really short lived moments.”               “Along the way there has been some rejection, he’ll be a little sad about that, but that hasn’t stopped him. If it did, he would’ve been done years ago,” she said.                                     I’ve got a backpack full of dreams                        with a heart that’s solider than a rock                        I respect the game on the block                        my mind is ready to unlock                        my passion and love for this world                       the ability to impact every boy and girl.                          Kilusan moved to New York in 2008 initially to follow an ex-girlfriend studying at grad school. In his poetic manner he explained staying after the relationship fizzled because “moving to New York City motivated me to put my art first.” More literally, Kilusan had taken on a job as a pre-GED Literacy Instructor with the Brooklyn Public Library.              After graduating from UC Santa Cruz, he would take on a slew of community organizing roles, reaching out to public schools through gang prevention group United Playaz in San Francisco and teaching Hip Hop courses around the Bay Area. Currently, he’s a teaching artist with NYC’s Department of Education working at Downtown Brooklyn Accesss GED, using parts of “Universal Self” as prompts for students to create their own works.              As a beneficiary of the Educational Opportunity Program in his youth, his investment in youth education comes as no surprise. “There’s always been this idea that whenever I benefit from something I have to give it back. It becomes a value system for me,” he said.              David Mumper, an English teacher at Downtown Brooklyn Access works with the same students alongside Kilusan.              “They react with excitement,” David said, “They look forward to him coming. I’ve seen a lot of them seem to be inspired to take more responsibility of their creative process and be proud of it and kind of embrace it.”              “Kilusan doesn’t hold back at all…I think it’s rare you come across people able to combine performance, critical thinking, rigor, and deep emotional content,” he continued.              Oftentimes the students Kilusan works with share the same gang, drug, and violence-ridden surroundings he had growing up. The mutual understanding allows him to connect with them easily.              “You have to ask the question: Why are the students sharing? Why do they want to be heard? Why do they want to connect and relate to others, you know?” Kilusan spit these questions with a steady rhythm, “My answer to that is because we’re all still trying to understand who we are and reflect back on it…This is a lifelong process.”                           Backstage at his performance for FUSED, Kilusan at first seemed slightly out of place because he was at least ten years older than everyone else and the only performer not strumming a guitar or singing. He stepped outside of the small closet-like space to concentrate on tai chi like stretches in the hallway in isolation. When he returned, ten or so performers initiated an impromptu jam session in the close quarters of the dressing room.              One musician played chords on his guitar, another joined in with different riffs. People bobbed their heads in unison, feeling the birth of a new song or hearing echoes of one they already recognize. The music continued, as if waiting for a vocalist to join in. At this point, Kilusan stood up. With a smile on his face he stepped out from the corner and nodded his head, confident and ready. Eventually, words flowed out in a smooth spoken concoction of sounds. He talked about love, about free styling, about himself, and all around people snapped their fingers when they liked what they heard. Singers in the circle mumbled melodies quietly to themselves, apprehensive to follow his lead.              “Trust yourself,” Kilusan told the group, “Let the words come to you. Just freestyle.” The singers slowly started coming in with improvised verses, layering voices one on top of another as he looked on smiling and nodding. The guitarists eventually stopped, unsure of what to play.              “Why’d you stop? Let’s go. Give me a tune, you’ve gotta play faster for me to jump in,” he said, never one to stay silent or moreover, stay still.  May 2013