Misrepresentation and the Czech Connection
Misrepresentation and the Czech Connection
By Cesare A.X. Syjuco
Published in: The Manila Times, June 21, 1986
WHAT the average Filipino would probably find most striking about Czechoslovakia is its marked similarity to the place he calls home. A small nation of traditionally feuding states fused together by a foreign colonizer, the country lies at the crossroads of Eastern and Western Europe, a most strategic location not unlike that of the Philippines. Primarily because it has been fated to play the role of a tactical geographic plum, Czechoslovakia has had to contend with a long and painful history of subjugation to the powers that be, resulting in the pronounced scrambling of its cultural lines of influence, and the inevitable introspection that comes in the wake of a people’s search for their own roots.
Czech handicrafts “in the folk tradition” are remarkably similar to our own, and in some instances, would be difficult to tell apart from pinoy produce. Wood and fabric ‘predominate', with a mutual penchant for elaborate detailing and a natural preoccupation with religious and festive themes. But whereas the Filipino has remained a captive of his agricultural past, the Czech has successfully translated his latter-day efforts into industrial dominance, turning out an astounding variety of world-class export items from precision equipment to sophisticated weaponry, heavy machinery to common household fixtures — and, of course, a great deal of legendary Czech glass.
Billed as an exhibition of “art glass” in the accompanying promotional fanfare, the recent show or contemporary Czech crystal at the Metropolitan Museum of Manila was grossly misleading. The glass on display there is what is commonly referred to as “commercial glass” by the Czechs themselves (if with some disdain), and would have been more suitable for display in a department store rather than in a museum. Indeed, the entirely functional nature of these objects (vases, candle-holders, ashtrays, etc.) hints of commercial reconnaissance, test-market samples presented in a rarefied setting that could probably make art of machined utensils. The more apt venue for such an exhibit might well have been Rustan’s, or even the Design Center offices, granted that the exhibited configurations themselves were of sufficient ingenuity to merit such attention.
As it is, however, the management of the Metropolitan Museum has again subjected the unenlightened (and therefore, hapless) Filipino audience to the outright misrepresentation of an ideal — in this case, the state of glass art and glass technology in no less a revered bastion of design and innovation than Czechoslovakia — constituting yet another sleight-of-hand infinitely demeaning precisely to those who know no better. But whether this sad turn of events represents a deliberate attempt by the organizers of the show to mislead the local public into reading more worth into the exhibited pieces than they possess in reality, is not a point for deliberation here. Perhaps the fact that Czechoslovakia is represented in this country by little more than a permanent trade mission, headed in truth by a commercial attache vested with wide-ranging diplomatic responsibilities, might have some bearing on this rather unfortunate outcome.
While we were on a cultural tour of Czechoslovakia in 1983, our decidedly-third-world imaginations were fired by the limitless possibilities for mutual cooperation that were suggested to us by some of our gracious hosts there, but which, unfortunately, have yet to see realization. One of the more intriguing ideas involved the exportation of Czech know-how to the Philippines, primarily to train local artisans in innovative glass techniques. Inspired by the growing international demand for Czech crystal and by the rising cost of Czech labor, such an effort would eventually culminate in imported glass molds being cut-faceted by Filipino craftsmen under Czech supervision, and then marketing these items worldwide in true multinational fashion. This arrangement would compensate Czech access to local labor with valuable training and expertise, a virtual give-and-take that would be advantageous to both parties when viewed within a liberal timeframe.
Thus far, however, the Czechs have done little else than to whet our collective appetites for self-betterment, regaling us no end with “before and after” stories derived from their own experience, but which are of no real use to us outside the realm of the inspirational. Born from the same humble beginnings, the Czechs are indeed our siblings in spirit. But the last thing the Filipino needs at this point is still one more condescending white brother.
More technology and less self-engrandizement will ultimately spell the difference between paper diplomacy and genuine fraternal cooperation. And you’d think that, by now, we would have learned to tell them apart.
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Cesare A.X. Syjuco, “Misrepresentation and the Czech Connection” (page 1 of 1), The Manila Times, June 21, 1986
