BLACK FETISH: As Close As I Can Get
(Photos & Text: Ian Felix Alquiros)
Dubbed as the single largest religious festival and one of the most spectacular events in the Philippines, the Feast of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo Manila held every 9th of January has become a yearly must-see event for me. This year’s festivity is by far the most memorable, if not the most heart pounding experience of all time. Simply because I have never been as close to the action, and second, this time I was armed with a DSLR camera with modest skills in photography.
My date with the Nazarene started quite late at 10:30am, immediately following my shift from t
he call center. After changing into my street clothes, I met up with some photographer friends in SM Manila to have breakfast and started walking towards Quiapo. Traffic was unusually heavy during that cloudy cool morning. As we climbed from the south end of Quezon Bridge, we began to see more and more people walking towards Quiapo, while the northbound traffic was at a snail’s pace and the other side of the road was closed to vehicles. As we descended from the bridge to Quezon Boulevard. we came into full view of a steadily bloating number of devotees mostly barefoot, wearing maroon and yellow shirts with the Black Nazarene’s image printed on it. We made our way under Quezon Blvd, through Lacson Underpass, and found a few hundred devotees in varying states of resting postures - lying, resting, preparing, sleeping, sitting and slouching on the dirty floor of the circular underpass. It was a refugee-camp with the stench of sun-dried human sweat. We approached the Villalobos Exit of the underpass and figured it wouldn’t be an easy task getting into Plaza Miranda as the stairs leading to the exit was full of people.
On a typical day, the redeveloped Plaza Miranda fronting the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene is a very busy piazza-like square with Roman-style arches and urns. filled with churchgoers, shoppers, fortuneteller stalls and street vendors selling anything from candles, fresh fruits, processed seafood, bathroom fixtures to amulets and substances to induce menstruation (pamparegla). Today, however, the plaza is an eccentric mix of breathtaking wonder and a dizzying panoramic view of a million and one devotees. Swamped with mostly men, occasionally cheering “Viva Senor” and waiving white handkerchiefs and towels, barefoot
as a sign of humility and penitence, all waiting for the procession that was set to start in the next couple of hours. While hourly masses are held continuously inside the church, we had the task of finding a spot where we could settle and have a good view of the upcoming procession. The elevated arch columns on both sides of Villalobos Street were filled with photographers armed with high-end cameras and humongous zoom lenses. Some were ingenious enough to tie themselves up against the columns for hopes of not losing balance and getting a better vantage point. The elevated scaffoldings at the left side and the ceiling of the entrance of the church are filled to capacity. A handful of brave photographers and cameraman managed to climb on top of the plaza arches amidst the cheering crowd, while we were still at the center of the stuffed plaza looking for a spot where we can squeeze in -- and time was running out.
Queasy and tired from work, I looked for any possible elevated and available structure I can find in the plaza. Fortunately, I saw an empty 7-foot-high obelisk at the Hidalgo side of Plaza Miranda. Making our way through the crowd, what stood as a simple slab of concrete and marble turned out to be the five year old Commemorative Marker of the Pla
za Miranda bombing. Hesitating for a moment, we decided to climb on top of the marble marker one by one. The marker comfortably accommodated three people. As we sat on top, gasping for breath and recovering from a difficult climb, we suddenly realized we may have gotten the most exciting spot in the area. With a 360 degree view of the devotees, at seven feet above the floor, my feet were dangling above the standing sea of devotees. As we settled on our prime seats, we began shooting away with our cameras paying close attention to the growing crowd, the picturesque uniform movement of the crowd and the grandiose church façade. Meanwhile, a priest on top the church entrance presided over the devotees with prayers, worship songs as well as tell jokes on current events and sarcastic political remarks that elicited a lot of cheers and laughter from the crowd.
Two hours of waiting amidst bright cloudy skies, my uncomfortable posture and lack of proper back support made me shift my position numerous times during the long wait. The church 
gates opened at about 2:00pm and we saw a partial view of the Black Nazarene on top of a gilded metal carriage. It sparked a scene that sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps all over my body, as a million or more devotees started chanting “Viva Senor” and waving their white handkerchiefs and towels in a circular manner. What a pure vista of catholic devotion and fanaticism!. Surrounding the Black Nazarene on top of the carriage are a dozen or more Marshalls clad in yellow shirts. They will serve as the Nazarene’s protector from devotees trying to climb into carriage and facilitators for the less adventurous devotees who settle on throwing their white handkerchiefs and towels to them so they can rub it against the image of the Black Nazarene and after which, throw it back to the owners.
The orderly chanting lasted for a little less than three minutes and what followed next is a chain reaction of total chaos that you wouldn’t expect to happen in a religious event
. Thousands of devotees trying to make their way closer to the gilded carriage, hoping to touch the Black Nazarene and hoping to receive a miracle. More than a thousand male devotees converge in front of the carriage as they try to grab one of the two 50 meter long abaca ropes tied in front of the carriage. Struggling and praying for a chance to hold them or hoist them on their shoulders to help pull the carriage through the flood of worshippers. The sheer volume of people trying to grab the ropes or get close to the Black Nazarene, is just physically impossible that, it creates a simultaneous and sporadic wave of people being pushed in all directions. The whole scene was an unbelievable mob of hundreds of people getting pinned on the cement walls of the adjacent buildings extending further to the smaller Villalobos and Hidalgo Streets. As the Black Nazarene painstakingly made its way out of the gates and through the plaza, the disordered scampering for the rope has pulled the carriage zigzagging across the vicinity and at one point ending less than 10 feet from where we were sitting.
Sturdy and stable, the marker has kept us safe through the frenzied turn of events. 
Nevertheless, the full view of people pushing in all directions, the scene of elderly devotees and children getting crushed at the base of the obelisk where we sit, and the stench of sweaty and dirty human beings in pure disarray, stunned me. I started to panic and fear for my life because everything that’s happening was just a few inches from me. My skin could feel the vibration of every move. And at that very moment, I thought maybe we were frighteningly close to the action as I hoped. At one point we had to pull up a young girl from the side of the marker as everyone below was dangerously being pushed against our sturdy marble stage.
Thirty minutes of pure adrenaline rush and heart pounding scene, as the carriage slowly entered Villalobos Street. The chaos started to melt inside Plaza Miranda. After then we s
aw a handful of devotees being rushed to an ambulance for immediate medical attention. A few dozen devotees starting to sit and slump on the floor and against any available wall they can rest their drained body on. Exhausted, we waited for another 20 minutes before we were able to shake off our disbelief and decided to descend from the marker. We made our way through the opposite northbound side of Quezon Boulevard, grabbed some mineral water and started gulping to quench our horrified senses.
Casa Catalina is a 5-story high building along Quezon Blvd., directly across Mercury Drug’s Big Screen TV. This is where I used to rent a room and have lived for about 3 years from 2002 to 2005. Fortunately, the Building Manager and staff are still the same people running the residential building. So we got a place to rest while we waited for the procession to pass along 
Quezon Blvd. After about three hours of resting, we were given special access to view the procession from the 6th level roof deck of the building. We were in full view of the stretch of Quezon Blvd. starting from Quezon Bridge up until Recto Ave. bisected by the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene in front of us. There was an estimated 2.2 Million devotees under our noses with the scenic sun descending at Manila Bay through the West, and the Muslim Mosque and Mandaluyong-Makati Skyline through the North-East. This time around, we were in full view of the slowly moving carriage going southbound from Recto Ave. towards Quezon Bridge while the northbound lane of Quezon Blvd. is totally swamped with spectators and heavy traffic. Eighty percent of the stretch of road looked like a regular peaceful oversized catholic procession with smaller replicas of the Black Nazarene sitting in more traditional carriages taking centerstage. Around 70 meters surrounding the Black Nazarene is the same scene of unbelievable disorder and riot. From our vantage point on top, we are in clear view of how the abaca ropes always end up being pulled in all directions instead of being pulled forward. This has made the Nazarene stalled most of the time. There would 
be an occasional orderly pulling of the ropes that would launch the Black Nazarene into a periodic but short-lived forward movement, and that never failed to generate loud cheering from the crowd and a rain of white handkerchiefs and towels. These scenes quiver me and would not leave my senses for a very long time. Around the carriage is another human drama unfolding. Hundreds of male, and some brave female devotees made their way to the top of the carriage. Once successful in touching a part of the Cross and the Black Nazarene, would send their bodies to fall back into the sea of people without fear like they do in rock concerts. We saw two men on stretchers being hauled to the ambulance just at the foot of the Quezon Bridge and hundreds of exhausted devotees slumped on the aisle facing the northbound lane of the road where a single lane of private and public utility vehicles are at a standstill as devotees block their way and some managed to occupy and climb on top of the unmoving jeepneys to get a better view of the procession.
It took more than an hour for the carriage to cross the stretch of Quezon Blvd. and as the disarrayed part of the convoy slowly left our view, we started 
to compose ourselves from where we stand and shake the excitement off from witnessing this annual display. It was past the hour of five in the afternoon when we descended into the street and walked our way through the still thick crowd in Quiapo, going towards Quezon Bridge and SM Manila. We noticed a generally calm, worn-out and less arid atmosphere. As people prepared to head home, they grabbed a drink to quench their thirst and some rested on the sidewalks to catch their breaths.
Being raised by devout catholic parents, I have learned to respect the catholic religion and their ways. While I may not be the most ideal follower of the faith, the Catholic Church has largely remained closest to my heart. I have grown up to form my own opinions on what I just witnessed, opinions that my folks would surely contest. But for the record, this year, I wasn’t there as a devotee of the Black Nazarene, I was there as a spectator of this great Philippine tradition and to document the event through my lenses. Nevertheless, this feast has never failed to be the most significant religious, physical, emotional and pure Filipino experience in my life that I would never dare pass every year.
What started out as a primary goal of simply taking stunning shots to this historical event turned out to be a spiritual epiphany at another perspective, the idealism of the Filipino faith may come out illogical, bordering to the extreme exercise of Catholic faith, but being there in the middle of the event made me think otherwise.
This year’s festivities have recorded and estimated 2.2 to 3 million attendees, 2 casualties and around 50 recorded injuries. I hope next year the ‘zero-injury feast’ target of the organizers would be met. And I think unless the Catholic Church and the organizers put a cap and some restrictions, it’s going to be a difficult task.
This is the closest I have gotten to the Black Nazarene during his feast, it’s a record that’s hard to beat, which I don’t intend to, not with a costly camera in my hand I won’t. Until my next adventure … “Viva Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno!”
