Dogeaters

Dogeaters portrays characters grappling with their cultural identity, caught between the allure of American modernity and the enduring pull of their Filipino heritage. Hagedorn employs irony and allusion to highlight this dichotomy. The characters’ internal conflicts reflect the broader struggle of defining identity in a postcolonial context, where the influences of colonial powers persistently clash with Indigenous peoples’ cultural roots.

The novel illustrates how colonialism can impact cultural self-perception to the point of obscuring one’s heritage. This is exemplified when Rio informs her cousin about their Chinese ancestry, a revelation that comes as a surprise due to their family’s racist attitudes: “Didn’t your father tell you about our great-great-grandmother Assumpta Gonzaga? Her real name was Assumpta Ching Ming Soong, and she was from the only Christian family in Shanghai” (76). Freddie also obscures the family’s heritage: “[A]fter Uncle Cristobal dies, his lawyer sends us copies of our genealogical chart...my father purposely misplaces it” (290). This speaks to Freddie’s broader sense of cultural alienation, which leads him to feel “like a visitor” (14) even though his family has been in the country for generations. This further epitomizes the sense of disconnection from one’s heritage that colonial society creates. Rio’s reflection on her father’s comment that Uncle Cristobal, “would have been a Marxist” (15) had he lived in Russia illustrates a common trend in postcolonial societies to adopt foreign ideologies for survival.

The novel contrasts the treatment of Rio’s grandmothers to explore cultural identity. Lola Narcisa, representing traditional Filipino culture, is treated with embarrassment and hidden by her family while Abuelita, who claims Spanish heritage despite being Filipino, is celebrated. This difference points to an internalized racism and Eurocentricity in colonial Filipino culture. The erasure of Abuelita’s Filipino past, symbolized by the fire destroying her childhood pictures, reflects a broader theme of cultural identity being overwritten by colonial influence.

Rio’s dream, where she sees herself as a moth endlessly circling without reaching a destination, metaphorically captures this feeling of disconnection. It reflects the internal struggle of individuals who feel unanchored due to the loss or dilution of their cultural heritage. This imagery in the novel underscores the broader theme of identity crisis experienced by those who find themselves detached from their cultural lineage, navigating a world where their roots seem increasingly distant and inaccessible.

Colonialism changes how one relates to family. Rio’s observations of an American movie actress’s behavior encapsulates this: “[W]e gasp at Gloria’s cool indifference, the offhand way she treats her grieving mother. Her casual arrogance seems inherently American, modern, and enviable” (8). This reveals the extent to which the characters idealize American cultural norms despite their contrast with traditional Filipino values.

Senator Domingo Avila challenges the prevailing admiration for American culture: ‘‘We Pinoys suffer collectively from a cultural inferiority complex. […] We are doomed by our need for assimilation into the West’’ (127). This statement, circulated in a pamphlet by the Philippine underground and timed to coincide with his Daisy’s crowning as the most beautiful woman in the Philippines, critiques Filipino society’s obsession with Western ideals of glamor and success.

The novel intricately explores how power is concentrated in the hands of a few, dictating the lives of many. At the apex of this social hierarchy are figures like Severo Alacran, who wield immense power, overshadowing even the President and First Lady. This concentration of power is not limited to political realms but extends into every facet of society, including entertainment and everyday life. It’s a system where the elite have pervasive control, leaving little room for others to rise above their predefined societal roles.

Despite achieving fame, Lolita Luna and Tito Alvarez are constantly reminded of their subservience to the elite. Tito Alvarez’s encounter at the country club with Pepe Carreon and Boomboom Alacran is particularly telling. When Pepe becomes the butt of a joke, Tito witnesses his capacity for violence: “Tito Alvarez is terrified of [Pepe] shaking with laughter in front of him. He is convinced Pepe has been transformed into a salivating dog” (226). This moment underscores the harsh reality that, regardless of personal achievements, individuals like Tito remain under the thumb of the powerful elite.

Joey, a young sex worker, exemplifies another aspect of this dynamic. He believes he has some control over his interactions, especially with clients like Rainer, a German tourist. However, the truth is more complex, as Joey is often the one being exploited, a product of tourism and colonialism: “Maybe he’s God the Father, lost in Paradise. He can’t get over how perfect I am; he can’t get over the perfection of his own creation” (161). This statement reflects Joey’s misconceived perception of power in his relationship with Rainer and, by extension, his place in society.

The contrast between the lives of Joey and Rainer is poignantly portrayed highlights the deep disconnect rooted in their differing social classes. This divide is exemplified in a scene where Rainer, oblivious to the gravity of Joey’s job and circumstances, casually suggests a replacement for Joey at CocoRico, unaware of the complexity and importance of Joey’s role there. This suggestion, coupled with Rainer’s comment on Joey’s cynicism, “You’re too young to be so cynical, Joey” (181) underscores Rainer’s lack of understanding of the harsh realities that Joey, and others in his position, face daily.

Rainer’s inability to grasp the depth of Joey’s experiences reveals a fundamental gap in their worldviews shaped by their vastly different socioeconomic backgrounds. While Rainer, a wealthy tourist, can afford the luxury of naivety and idealism, Joey’s life is a direct consequence of the exploitative dynamics often perpetuated by tourists like Rainer. Joey’s cynicism, therefore, is not a matter of choice but a survival mechanism born out of necessity in a society that offers limited opportunities to those at the bottom of the social ladder.

The novel portrays Manila as a city where American movies, television, and cultural values deeply permeate Filipino society, shaping and sometimes distorting the realities and aspirations of its people. Characters in the novel often find themselves caught in the allure of the American Dream, a concept that is both aspirational and illusory.

Romeo Rosales’s story exemplifies this influence. An aspiring actor, he embodies the seduction of media, and he lives according to the ideals of Hollywood romance. His mother warns him that real life is more complicated: “Sometimes it’s not about the kind of love you’ve learned about from those silly movies and songs you like so much” (198). This highlights the disconnect between media portrayals and actual experiences. Romeo’s pursuit of a Hollywood-like dream and his tragic end symbolize the peril of chasing these distorted ideals. Similarly, Lolita Luna’s life is dominated by her obsession with movies: “Everything for her is a scene from a movie: zooms, pans, close-ups, climaxes and confrontation followed by whispered clinches” (122). This description portrays her as a romantic female lead on and off screen, blurring the line between performance and authenticity.

Culturally, American media is a point of comparison by which Filipino media personalities are judged. One example is Cora Comacho, who is known as the “Barbara Walters of the Philippines” (31), and another is the singer Connie Lim, known as “the Barbara Streisand of the Philippines” (98). The desire to emulate Western culture devalues traditional Filipino culture. This is represented by the Gonzagas’ refusal “to listen to Tagalog Song, or go to Tagalog movies” (18). Even the government uses American media as a point of comparison, albeit in a negative light. In this case, they dismiss the serious allegations against General Ledesma as “American sensationalism.”

Against the backdrop of this media manipulation, Hagedorn portrays authentic art as a form of resistance. Clarita’s art is described as “shocking miniature landscapes of bright yellow demons with giant erect penises hovering over sleeping women” (141). These images defy societal norms and challenge prevailing power structures.