G is for Gabriela Silang, or the Ramifications of Naming my Daughter after a Woman Warrior
#7 of 26 in the ABCs of Recovering Ilocano series
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
I knew that my daughter was a fighter when she was still in the womb. Her kicks were nothing like her older brother’s gentle nudges and butterfly flutters. Hers were fierce and persistent, on the spot that hit my bladder the hardest.
It should not have surprised me when she confirmed her character at a tender age. It was Christmas, and we were in her Little Seedlings class in church. The teacher gathered the children for the night’s pageant. My son donned a robe, a striped cloth tied with a rope at the waist. He held a staff and joined the other shepherds. The girls strutted in their white dresses and circled the manger.
My daughter planted her feet in one corner, lips pursed, her big flashlight eyes beaming with defiance. She wore a headband that formed a tinsel halo over her head.
The teacher approached her, “Gabriella, would you like to be an angel?”
She shook her head, and it seemed that her halo emitted sparks. She declared, “I…am not…an…angel!”
I gasped, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. I silently chastised myself for naming her after the Philippines’ fiercest woman warrior, Gabriela Silang.
I wanted a name that would reflect my culture. I considered geographical names like Sierra and Nevada and thought of Cordillera, the mountain ranges where my beloved Baguio City is nestled. Then I realized how she would spend the rest of her life spelling, pronouncing, and explaining her name. In the Philippines, a double l would sound like Cordil-yera, while in California, we pronounce only the y, as in La Jolla.
I scratched that idea. How about Gabriela Silang? She fought the Spanish colonizers and took over her husband Diego’s army after he was assassinated in 1763. She defied the patriarchy, which relegated women to the background, creating an image of the helpless, gentle, and meek damsel confined to the home. The Philippines had been a matriarchal society before colonization, conferring respect and honor to priestesses called babaylans. Precolonial women had equal property ownership and fiscal rights.
Gabriela was also an Ilocana like me. Her hometown was Santa, Ilocos Sur, only a few towns away from my dad’s hometown of Santa Catalina, and Mama’s in San Esteban. The name cemented itself as my choice after I scoured baby name books. The origin is from the Hebrew Gavriel, which means “God is my strength.”
Little did I know then that it was for my strength that I needed God. If I had to list the top five of my life’s challenges, raising teenagers has to be one of them.
In general, father-daughter interactions tend to be more easygoing than mother-daughter relationships. There is something inherently strained, whether I was a mother or a daughter. I envy those who proclaim to be best friends from the get-go.
My daughter is a delight in many ways. She opened a window to a life of discovery and curiosity. She made me laugh but also made me cry. In times of conflict, she reminded me of myself when I was her age. Back then, I was so sure of myself and never needed anyone.
As a young mother, I navigated between my upbringing and hers. In her words, “Mom, this is not a Catholic country, and I am not in a private all-girls school.”
On more than one occasion, my daughter and I faced off, and the truth and accuracy of her responses stunned me. They were like arrows to the target of my heart. I had used the same arguments, but it hurt to be on the receiving end. This had to be karma, my comeuppance for the things I did to my poor mom. It was a long time coming, but I never truly appreciated my mother’s sacrifices until I walked a mile in her shoes. Being a mother is not for the fainthearted. I learned many lessons. I wish I had heard this sooner: “It is better to be kind than right.” It could have saved me a lot of heartache.
When I think of my relationship with my daughter, a chemistry experiment in college comes to mind. On a burner, we boiled a liquid with many substances. The objective was to separate and identify the unknown by isolating it, as it would evaporate at a discrete boiling point. The steam goes through a glass tube and condenses on the other side, where a vessel collects the distillate, a pure substance. Such is the friendship with a daughter—it had to be earned, only after trial by fire.
I delight in witnessing my daughter become a strong young woman with a good teaching career, solid relationships, a sense of fun, a moral compass, and the ability to deal with challenges. She has no choice but to live up to her name.
How did you choose your child’s name? Does it reflect your culture, or your hopes and dreams?
GABRIELA (General Assembly Binding Women for Reform, Integrity, Equality, Leadership, and Action)
In my past life, I was a student journalist with White & Blue, Saint Louis University’s student paper. I was excited to meet President Cory Aquino at the College Editors Guild of the Philippines (CEGP) conference in Tacloban. Cory was at the height of her popularity, as the memory of the People Power Revolution was still fresh. My delegation and I traveled by barge to the southern island of Leyte. It would have been something for Cory to speak on the disgraced First Lady Imelda’s home turf. It wasn’t meant to be. I was miffed that Cory did not make it to the conference.
Nelia Sancho, the beauty queen turned activist, did not disappoint. She spoke of her time in imprisonment under Martial Law for protesting against the dictator Ferdinand Marcos. She was part of GABRIELA, short for General Assembly Binding Women for Reform, Integrity, Equality, Leadership, and Action, an alliance of organizations formed in 1984 after ten thousand women marched in Manila to protest a Marcos decree.
I do not remember Nelia’s entire speech in Tacloban. I was nineteen, and it was a long time ago. But when Nelia said that women must continue fighting, it dawned on me that People Power was just the beginning.
I carried that nugget with me. I think of it every time I see evidence of women’s strength - marching into Washington D.C. wearing pink pussyhats, saying Me Too, running for office, begging for our votes, using art as a medium of protest, running their households, and rewriting history from their point of view. Resistance is not merely confined to marching on the streets.
They all carry the spirit of Gabriela Silang—fierce, proud, and unapologetic.
Recommended Reading:
Finding Gabriela Silang in Abra
Positively Filipino: Nelia Sancho - The Last Conversations
The women of Ilocos Sur by Heny Sison, Philstar
5 Ways You Can Be an Activist Without Hitting the Streets
Finding Traces of Philippine Women
"The Power of Pinays" – A Short Essay by Wilfred Galila, Kularts SF