COMMUNITY & CULTURE
THE MELTING POT Trish Muyco-Tobin
I
’ ve been called an enigma by friends - even by those who know me well - and I am most often perplexed . “ What ’ s your story ?” they would ask . “ Which story ?” would be my usual reply . Then it hit me : Like most immigrant stories , mine is complicated , so instead of telling people the whole story , I self-edit and fast-forward to the present years , with details that come out almost automatically : I graduated from the famed University of Missouri School of Journalism , I was hired by KMOX Radio right out of college , I did broadcast news as an editor , anchor and reporter for more than 10 years , I was most recently editor-inchief at Ladue News , and I do my part for the community by being involved in a handful of nonprofits and charities . And let ’ s not forget , I have two loving and loyal dogs , I ’ m a doting aunt to my nieces and nephews , and I am blissfully married to my college sweetheart . But now I realize that telling you where I came from is different from telling you what brought me here .
I was born in Manila , Philippines , the eldest of three children . My dad was a business entrepreneur ; my mother , a chemical engineer . They had planned to immigrate to the U . S ., perhaps soon after I was born . In fact , they readied me by hiring an English-speaking nanny , who took care of me from infancy to my toddler years ( I learned to speak English fluently before even learning a word of Tagalog ). In addition to the nanny , our household included a live-in housekeeper , cook and driver , and a laundress who came in every day to hand-wash , starch and iron our clothes . This was typical for middle-to-upper class households - the wealthier the family , the more maids and servants they had .
I attended a private all-girls school . It was so exclusive that it was built like a fortress and required two guards at each entrance , who checked IDs and took names . I would start each school day with a wake-up from my nanny , with just enough time to change into a school uniform already laid out for me , get my waist-long hair styled by one of the maids , go downstairs to a hot breakfast , and brush my
“ Like most immigrant stories , mine is complicated … but now I realize that saying where I came from is different from talking about what brought me here .”
teeth before being shuttled to school by the driver .
You could say it was a charmed life , but the Philippines is not utopia by any stretch . My parents did their best to shelter me and my younger brothers from what was beyond our compound ’ s iron gates : extreme poverty , crime , crowded and polluted streets , and government corruption .
But sooner or later , you grow up … or something forces you to do so . In 1972 , President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law , making it challenging - if not impossible - for many Filipinos to leave the country . My parents ’ desire to come to America would have to wait . In the meantime , they nurtured their young family , working to ensure that my brothers and I would not want for anything .
In the summer of 1983 , the entire country was filled with anticipation . Marcos ’ political rival , Sen . Benigno Aquino , was returning to the Philippines following a self-imposed exile in the United States . My dad , along with millions of other Filipinos , saw hope in Aquino ’ s homecoming . It was their chance to establish a resistance movement to counter the government and its growing list of atrocities .
On Aug . 21 , the day of the senator ’ s arrival , my dad and I joined countless other Filipinos viewing the live news coverage from Manila International Airport . But in an instant , that flicker of hope vanished . Soon after his plane landed , the opposition leader was being escorted off the aircraft by government bodyguards when he was felled by an assassin ’ s bullet .
We watched in horror as pandemonium ensued on the tarmac . To say my dad was livid at the turn of events would be an understatement . He banged his fist on the furniture , spat at the TV , and cursed the Marcos regime . With that rallying cry , it didn ’ t take long for my dad to help mobilize a grassroots movement . He became involved full time with the opposition , taking the lead in planning marches and demonstrations , and appearing in various speaking engagements across Metro Manila . It was at this time that he also divested his various businesses and devoted his energies into a start-up newspaper , The Manila Hotline , a weekly that brought to light the gross injustices
86 GAZELLE STL