Palms, hosannas
The sun had set as my friends and I drove past the church in Pinaglabanan, San Juan, last Palm Sunday.
“Anyone needing palaspas?” I called out to my friends, referring to the people on the sidewalks selling them.
Alice quickly replied, “Me, me,” and my driver slowed down. We ended up making several purchases in observance of the tradition.
Buying the palaspas, I did think of Elmer Nochesadas’ riveting book entitled—what else?—“Palaspas,” subtitled “An Appreciation of Palm Leaf Art in the Philippines.” Nochesadas’ book is a cultural history as well as a how-to book on the many uses of palm leaves: sacred (Palm Sunday use), recreational (toys, used like sipa for kicking), decorative (all kinds of flora and fauna), practical (rice containers), even the profane (goat’s balls, I’ve translated for you).
Palm Sunday purchases are often multiple because, in folk Catholicism, the palaspas will be displayed in house entrances and windows, functioning as talismans to protect from evil, supernatural, and human (as in “akyat bahay” burglars),
My interest was Palm Sunday, vaguely remembering it was supposed to reenact Christ’s entry, described as “triumphant” in some commentaries. I never asked why it was described as triumphant—especially because Palm Sunday ushers in several days of agony and torment for Jesus, culminating in his crucifixion.
In my quick research, I found many contemporary commentaries—interpretations and reinterpretations—that depict palm processions as Jews protest against Roman oppression of the Jews. Crowds waving their palms cried out “hosanna” or “save us,” addressing Jesus, who they saw as the Messiah. It was an affront to the Roman rulers, who worried about the power of this carpenter’s son drawing so many followers.
In our times, the story has been reinterpreted to represent global discontent with the “evil empire” of our times, aka American imperialism. This year, the imagery is that of evil empires that seem to be at each other’s throats but are one in promoting an ethos of ruthlessness. US President Trump and his associates are particularly reviled in the way they rule with threats and iron fists and about how the world needs to be remade, with no room for kindness and compassion (read “wokeness”—why care about women, about minority groups, about refugees, about the sick and dying?).
Ideologies no longer divide these empires as they share common strategies, foremost of which is the erasure of truth and memory, employing technologies that originally intended to tap information for the common good but are now described as tools to distort, to “scrub” information, to expunge from databases and archives because they contain too much truth.
Elmer Nochesadas’ history of palms makes us truly appreciative. Spanish friars derided the palm’s religious uses—crafted into altars, for example, and decorative arches—as crude compared to European brocades and tapestries. Yet, the Jesuit Father Alcina writes with grudging praise that “they do not appeal badly” and that with time, they would improve as they became “increasingly European.”
Palm fronds greeting Jesus 2,000 years ago mocked the Romans. Today, there are many ways for us to subvert the new impositions of power and impunity.
It is tempting to despair, as I occasionally do, scrolling (doomscrolling) through international news.
But there is enough in the news each day that tells us kindness and empathy can be powerful as we have seen with those who dare defy the imperial edicts and the many wars of obliteration. Little victories can go a long way, sending an alternative message, reminding the powerful that there are limits to their impunity.
In our own daily lives, there is much that can be pursued to subvert not just ruthlessness but indifference and callousness. I was reminded about that as my friends and I walked along the Metropolitan Theater when a security guard called out to me about my shoelaces being untied.
I actually love those little reminders, ever so casual yet possibly averting serious, even deadly disasters. I was reminded and asked my friends if they had read a recent story in The New York Times about a woman who was jogging along and then went after an elderly man, saying, “Excuse me, excuse me,” to tell him his laces were untied. She didn’t stop there, offering to tie the laces as remedial action. He accepted; she knelt down, tied the laces, and went on her way.
Our little acts of kindness have us wielding our palaspas. The hosannas no longer appeal for help and salvation, but are a chorus of jubilation—more akin to a hallelujah for goodness and courage.
