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A megaphone moment to the heavens: Joining the Traslacion
"Iyan na ba yon?"
That's the question that always makes me worry when it comes to attending the procession of the Black Nazarene. The more "Iyan na ba yons" I hear, the rowdier the crowd. Those questions, after all, only come when there are a lot of newbies around.
I've been a Nazareno devotee for seven years, and each year, the meaning of it all seems to be lost in the growing number of attendees.
I started attending the procession in 2009, when I came out of a seven-year relationship. I was lost and in pain. Drunk on desperation, I did the novenas in Quiapo and Baclaran simultaneously. January 2009 came, and I decided to up the ante and attend the procession. I was ready with my wish. They said the Nazareno is powerful, and that anyone who touches him will get what they wish for. When you have nothing else going, you know you have to go.
One of the key characteristics of the procession is that people attend barefoot. Most people, at least. There's more than one reason people attend barefoot. They say it shows humility, as in being barefoot, everyone becomes equal. Also, it's a way to make sure that people don't get hurt when they step on each other. Stepping on each other is inevitable. People step on each other in the crush of the crowd, while some step on the sea of people going to and from the actual image.
Perhaps decades ago, that would be fine, but now, attending Traslacion barefoot is a health hazard.
The walk to the procession route has never been clean. One has to skip and hop past spit, urine, and the copious amounts of trash that litter the road. And if you successfully walk through without stepping on something, you are guaranteed to be stepped on by someone who stepped on everything.
Decades into this, logistics still leave a lot uncovered. Yes, there are more portalets, but like most big venues and events in Manila, there are no trashcans. Puddles of food, water, and human waste line the gutters, along with crushed bottles of water.
I find it ironic, sometimes, how these people have the gall to ask the high heavens, when they can't even show basic respect for the earth.
The numbers never seem to dwindle when it comes to the Black Nazarene. This is because the Traslacion is a family affair. Minus the thrill seekers, the procession route is lined with three to four generations of the same families. In the years I've gone, I've met third-generation devotees in their 20s-30s who continue to participate after their grandparents and parents have passed. They, too, plan to take their children someday. What scares me each year is the number of newborns and toddlers that are brought to the procession. People die in this exercise, but parents bring strollers and position their elder children atop trees.
I guess this is what happens when the most basic blessings are attributed to the Black Nazarene. For adults, it's an opportunity to ask and give thanks. For the children, it's an opportunity to meet the source of their family's good fortune.
On TV and in pictures, it may look like complete pandemonium down there, but believe it or not, there is method to the madness. In perhaps the world's longest-running mosh pit, everyone is responsible for everyone. Those who decide to jump in should be aware of their surroundings. Sometimes, when the ropes cross and a figure eight is formed, people can be crushed in the middle. So when the organizers say raise the rope, everyone should, to ensure that nobody gets entangled inside.
Those who decide to just watch from the center islands are not exempted from responsibility, too. In what may be perceived as a violent move, onlookers have to shove participants back into the fray to avoid being crushed by the center islands. The pushing and shoving become tools for safety.
Most of the devotees want to hold on to the rope and pull the Nazarene, and they say that this kind of service allows you certain graces. This must be true if you see the men (and some women) who participate, because once the opportunity to hold the rope presents itself, the friendly banter among the devotees is drowned by desire.
I understand why more and more young men and women try to join the Traslacion every year. For some, the rush of being in a sea of humanity is intoxicating. Once you commit to joining the fray, there's really little else for you to control. You don't move. The crowd moves you. Most get the chance to hold the rope for a brief moment, and once they do, you see them close their eyes and hold on. There's a prayer here and there, mostly for health and good fortune. Then, they let go and let the crowd push them aside. They raise their hands and spectators yank them out and into safety.
I started seven years ago and shortly after, I got what I prayed for. People ask what I wish for every time, but truth be told, I no longer go to ask. I go to say thanks. I go to say "Hello po. Thank you for everything."
I go because in the moment that you're in the middle of chaos, there is calm. For everyone else there and myself, the Traslacion is a megaphone moment to the heavens. And I guess, when you get a response more often than not, you just have to come back. — BM, GMA News
