W A R N I N G!

***Some pictures in this gallery are likely to offend those sensitive to images of pain and blood.***

I used to laugh at those old movie scenes where a blood thirsty mob would gather outside the town hall, draped in those heshen sacks that used to pass for robes back then, waiting for a criminal to be sentenced, and then yell out, “Crucify him!” once the verdict was finally handed down. The crime was inconsequential; it didn’t matter if it was an adulterer or a petty thief, the town folk simply demanded to be entertained. It is almost impossible for many of us to fathom or even picture a barbaric society like that actually existed on the very ground we walk on today. Until you enter the little farming village of San Pedro Cutud, Pamapanga, that is.

Well there I was, standing on a piece of scaffolding no bigger than my thigh, for three scorching hours waiting for some kind of action to unfold. It must have been 50 degrees in the shade – ah, shade, that soothing mirage that may well have been fifty miles from here, because unless it was directly over my head, it was about as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle. It was the kind of searing heat that hurts the back of your throat every time you inhale. Throw in industrial quantities of dust, flies, smoke, plus humidity so intense that you almost have to chew each breath of air before swallowing, and you may begin to understand why I, too, yelled out, “Crucify him!” at the first figure that wandered up to the dry, dusty mound where the three wooden crosses were plugged into.

It turned out to be the barangay captain, just surveying the venue before the big event, and he was not amused. But hey, I was so starved for action, I would have done the same had my fellow photographer – and architect of this whole excursion to begin with – Ardie Lopez made it up there for a better angle. The heat was really getting to me. I could walk back to the car and chill out there for a while, but that would mean having to wade through a sea of at least ten thousand curious tourists, over to another dusty field behind the hundreds of hawker stands, only to have absolutely no chance of getting my vantage point back once the action did start. And I didn’t drive two hours at 6 am on a Good Friday morning just to be part of the fringes.

After all, it only happens here, and it only happens once a year. While there may be some similar rituals held in other South American cultures, this is the only Passion play in the entire world where the players are actually nailed to the cross.

On the way up, we passed scores of barefoot penitents, their faces shrouded by hoods and heads crowned with thorny vines, carrying heavy wooden crosses around the dusty, scorching streets, while a seemingly endless supply of flagellants appeared to be wandering around aimlessly, whipping their wounded backs continuously, and splattering their blood all over the camera-wielding tourists. “They cut their backs with broken bottles attached to a piece of wood then beat their wounds with bamboo whips to cause more blood to ooze,” Village leader Zoilo Castro explains. Yet despite its bloody nature, this celebration is “a call for peace and a return to religious values in a time where many wallow in sin,” he assures me.

But the church disagrees, and actually condemns the Lenten ritual. Religious leaders argue that the bloodletting is completely unnecessary because men can atone for their sins by sincerely asking for forgiveness and returning to a sin-free lifestyle. For one devotee, 45-year-old commercial sign maker, Ruben Enaje, this has already become his lifestyle after being nailed to the cross for the last 20 years in a row. “Most of these men are poor. They're either praying for something or maybe wanting to repent for some misdeeds,” Castro continued, adding that in Enaje’s case, it was his way of thanking God after he survived a fall from a building during construction.

“Most foreigners are drawn by curiosity. They come here because some don't believe that people really get themselves nailed to crosses here. They want to see to believe,” a toothless cameraman from a local network tells me as he draws a cigarette from behind his ear, pops it in between his thin, cracked lips and lights it up while waiting for the main event. “But this has made the event more commercial than spiritual for me.” He trails off with a mouth full of smoke.

Even as far back as 5 kilometers from this sacred site, enterprising villagers transform their front yards into kiosks, offering all sorts of thirst quenchers, snacks, souvenirs and native wide-brimmed hats to ward off the brutal summer sun. While many are opposed to what has become of the solemn celebrations, the reality is, aside from becoming a yearly tradition, the crucifixions also plays a vital role in the local economy of this impoverished village that was ravaged by the 1991 eruption of Mount Pinatubo.

Commercialism aside, the debate doesn’t end there. Some fear that the portrait of the Filipino is being exploited in the name of ratings and have expressed outrage at the fact that the international media will only give coverage to the Philippines if it involves some sort of disaster, human suffering or any spectacle that warps our image. Fernando Zialcita, author of the book ‘Cuaresma’, recalls a time where the Discovery Channel asked if they could interview him about flagellations and crucifixions in Pampanga. When he suggested they highlight the more mainstream celebrations in Pampanga, such as the magnificent processions, they never called back.

“Pampanguenos -- and Filipinos in general -- should protest against the stereotype that the international media, led by the Americans, portray concerning Filipinos. We're good for news only if it's about disaster, violence, poverty -- or gory things like crucifixions.” Zialcita writes on an online blog. “I suspect that in the list of Asian cultures, we are the least respected. They would sooner do a film on Bhutan or Laos than on the fine achievements Pampango, Tagalog or Visayan culture. We must protest against this.
There is a subtle prejudice against us majority, Lowland Christian Filipinos for not being "exotic" or "Asian" enough.” he continues, trying to drum up extra support for his plight.

But the controversy only fuels the fire around these parts and Zialcita’s words fall on deaf, sun burnt ears as the vast majority remain ambivalent towards the politics or cultural sensitivities and simply make their way down for a good show.

After almost four hours of waiting, the first of the Kristos start to appear, signaling the start of the program. The crowd becomes even more restless. There’s been a long build up, but we’ve finally reached the finale. The moment everyone has been waiting for is just minutes away. The intense celebrations that began at exactly midnight on the Monday of holy week with continuous live chanting, known as the ‘Pasion’ (a reading of the betrayal, trial and death of Jesus) and remained unbroken, 24-hours a day, for almost a week now, is finally coming to a climax. Faithful residents had taken turns behind the microphone to make sure the ‘Pasion’ continued uninterrupted until it eventually concludes at midnight on Good Friday. The harmonious tune filters through the villages of Pampanga using a somewhat antiquated system of stringing speakers together, allowing everyone to hear the continuous serenade.

But as culturally enlightening as that may be, just like the bloodthirsty mob that would wait outside town hall during biblical times, everyone was there for just one thing. The impatient and socially diverse crowd even broke into some impromptu chanting of their own to try and provoke some action up on the hill in front of us, while around 500 policeman stood guard making sure it never erupted into anything more than healthy anticipation.

As the Catholic devotees inched their way up to the sacred mound, wincing from the pain of the crosses that had torn through their robes and dug itself into the flesh of their shoulders, one Kristo stood out like Mercedes Benz at a Jeepney stand.

Dominik Diamond, a highly controversial Scottish DJ, tabloid columnist and presenter, stood as the lone white man in an otherwise all-Filipino cast. He was the latest of a number of foreigners who approached the village in recent years and asked to participate. These have included the British artist Sebastian Horsley, who got as far as having the nails banged in, but then fell off his cross as his foot rest gave way. He went on to stage a controversial exhibition of photographs, footage and paintings associated with his experience, and has been quoted as saying: "Christ was crucified to save mankind, I was crucified to save my career. Both of us failed."

A temporary ban on foreigners was actually imposed in 1996 after a Japanese volunteer, Shinichiro Kaneko, used footage of his crucifixion to make a sado-masochistic pornographic video.

The village elders had initially refused Diamond, but he was somehow able to convince them that he was sincere. A lapsed Catholic, Diamond claimed to be on a spiritual quest to see if he could "rediscover" God, and also to make a documentary, ‘Crucify Me,’ for British television's Channel Five about his profound personal journey. Many remained unconvinced after another explanation emerged, suggesting that this had all started out as a dare and was actually being filmed for a reality TV show.
All eyes were on the brave penitents. A total of 11 villagers, mostly poor laborers, signed up for crucifixion and were now about to make good on their word. There’s a play actually being acted out as they make their way up, complete with elaborate costumes, but everything is muffled by the crowd’s jeering. The role of Judas Iscariot remained unfilled this year after those who have played it claimed they were cursed and jeered as traitors for life. So the script was revised

As the chief Kristo, tradition dictates that Enaje goes first. Today marks his 20th time to be crucified. He inherited the title of Kristo from Herocito Sanggalang, who began his quest for spiritual atonement when his mother, Hilaria, nearly died of tuberculosis. In the throes of grief, Sanggalang vowed to have himself nailed to the cross for the next 15 years in exchange for his mother's recovery.
After his 15th year, he handed the title over to Enaje, worried in part that the following year’s Good Friday would fall on Friday the 13th, claiming that the last time he was crucified on the superstitious date, the nail he used pierced the bones of his left hand, disabling him for the next few days and keeping him away from his business of selling dried fish.
The crosses are lowered slowly, and after a few prayers, the volunteers are asked to lay down while their wrists, waist and ankles are tied up with rope. Enaje lays motionless on the cross, seemingly deep in thought and prayer. The rope acts as a support and a tourniquet that reduces the bleeding from the palms. After careful prodding and a mutual agreement on where the wound will be made, a pair of four-inch steel nails, previously soaked in alcohol to prevent infection, get hammered into the open palm, tearing through skin, flesh and muscle.
The crowd surge forward, jockeying for a better look. Enaje is now grimacing in what must be excruciating, if not familiar pain. He keeps it all in, resisting the natural temptation to scream; his cries are muted, but his suffering has not been lost on the crowd. There’s a mixture of pleasure and pain in their reaction; some cheer, some look away, but everyone wants more.
There are stretchers on standby to whisk the wounded away, although one penitent walks away barefoot through the dusty ground, unfazed by the risk of infection. After the next three are brought down from the crosses, the crowd begin to lose steam. Some opt for an early exit, in the hope of avoiding the chaos that will unfold in the makeshift car parks and narrow village streets as 20,000 extra people try to pass through roads that are already grossly inadequate for their 9,000 residents.
The brutal sun starts taking its toll. The blood-thirsty mob’s enthusiasm is diluted as the novelty begins to fade. Until Diamond gets up. Then the cheering becomes amplified and takes on an entirely new tone. There are wolf whistles and even hecklers cracking jokes and egging the foreigner on. It is a far cry from the reaction to the locals. Perhaps it’s a result of the crowd questioning his motives, or not swallowing his sincerity, but it becomes quite obvious that there is little to no respect afforded to the 37 yr old Brit.
As if trying to dial up the drama another notch, Diamond tries to engage the village leaders in some sort of a negotiation. Turns out, he was asking them to forego the nails. One unidentified village leader explained that if they forego the nails, he would be lynched by the mob below and that he has a much better chance of survival being crucified.
Minutes went by. The crowd become even more vocal than ever before. Diamond kneels in front of the cross, turning his back to the 20,000 strong crowd, and weeps. Nothing happens. Ten torturing minutes later, he gets up, embraces the Chief 'Kristo' and walks away from the whole thing.

The crowd boo and mock Diamond as he makes his way down. He is surrounded by military men and barangay chiefs for his own protection. He appears visibly shaken and humbled by the whole experience as he passes through some hecklers, careful to not make any eye contact, and boards a waiting ambulance and gets whisked away. His foreign television crew look just as disappointed as they pack up their gear and walk away with video tapes as empty as Diamond’s promise.

It probably seemed like a good idea when he punted it to television chiefs. But faced with a cross, a set of 4in nails, a man with a hammer, and surrounded by bleeding self-flagellants, Dominik Diamond's plans to be crucified during one of Easter's most brutal religious ceremonies literally ended in tears.

As we prepare to leave the site, a wise-looking old man walks up to me and offers his unsolicited opinion on the days events. He says in his native tongue, “In the end, despite the circus that surrounds this spectacle, and all the criticism that it attracts, you cannot doubt for a moment the devotion of the penitents. Call them mad, but they are at least genuine. You need some form of divine inspiration to be able to fulfill your vow. I’ve been up there. There is nothing more terrifying than actually waiting for that first nail to be driven into your open palm. It takes more than strength and courage to actually go through with it. It takes faith. And if you lack any, that is what happens”