Can the Subaltern Speak? A Dialectic
This article first served as my cultural analysis essay for GWS 950: Asian American Feminism, taught by Rachel Kuo at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in Fall 2025. This is the original version of my essay, which lacks polish and refinement but reflects my original thoughts on this topic.
Tune. Test, test, one, two, three…
The cruelty of the world hit you in the face like a rapid sixteen-wheeled articulated lorry or a deafening burst of feedback in the sound check every day. Imagine. One day, you are told that a foreign soldier choked and drowned your daughter to death in the toilet of a hotel room in your country, and your government cannot detain that man in the detention center of your country. What’s on your mind?
October 11, 2014. Jennifer Laude, a Filipina trans woman, was killed by Joseph Pemberton, a US Navy sailor, in the Philippines. Many years later, sounds still lingering as a nervous hum: Call Her Ganda (2018) was part of that aftersound, so is this article.
The Signals
Jeniffer’s mom, Julia Laude, cries.
Julia cries frequently throughout the documentary. One instance occurred on the day her attorney brought her and the official subpoena to the US Naval base in the Philippines, where they attempted to hand the document to the soldier in person. Slightly, she broke down in tears in front of reporters who pressed microphones into her face. Slightly, her attorney put their hands around her shoulders and turned so that she could face the camera. Slightly, her eyes gazed upward into the camera with tears rolling down her cheek. “Yes, I’m ready.” She answered the reporter’s question firmly with a solemn tone. She said she was ready to face the soldier. In the next shot, the scene shifts from outdoors to indoors, and the close-up shifts from Julia’s face to her attorney’s, who is explaining why we cannot help this case if we only consider it as a case of simple murder without stating the neo-colonial relationship between the Philippines and the US. After her serious explanation without any soundtrack, a cheerful orchestral music comes in, livening up the atmosphere. It’s the soundtrack of a clip from an old educational video named “This Is My Philippines.” Then the director montaged this clip with several pictures of newspapers, brutal photos, and videos, including exaggerated, ironic comic pictures, explaining the history of the Philippines from the US-Spanish War to the origin of the Visiting Forces Agreement. This treaty allowed the US to garrison in the Philippines; what’s more, it allowed the US government to return their soldiers to the US authorities while they committed crimes in the Philippines. This right is called the “legal hold,” which was crucial in Jennifer’s case. As the narrator of the educational video said, “it may be one of the best things we have in the Philippines,” before he truly explained the right.
I wanted to ask a question when I saw Julia crying in front of the US Naval base. Still, my question flew out in a tangential direction, according to Newton's theorem, before I even noticed I was losing it. It’s because the film's tempo accelerated so rapidly, with increasingly energetic and epic music, that the slowdown between two climaxes felt like an emergency breaking, featuring bloody images and documentaries of the Philippines' independent war, accompanied by sad and solemn music, or even silence. That question is: Why could she be so surely ready within a short time to face the killer of her daughter? If I were her, it would take me years to be prepared to face the killer of my child in person. Why could she do it within a short time?
The use of brutal scenes and the dubbing was so perfect that it successfully set not only the tones of the documentary, but also the tones of the audience’s understanding and feeling. It’s like a stop-and-go bus, making the audience gradually forget what they want to say in the shaking. The entire audience gains insight into the documentary's underlying themes, not only understanding what the past and present are, but also how we should feel about them. The compelling teachings behind this documentary were not only historical but also moral. The more successful use of montage to show the ridicules of neo-colonization and imperialism, the clearer the hidden moral teaching emerged. I named the main moral discourses behind this documentary “the signals,” while I am going to present, as a counter to the central thesis, some “noises” in the next section, which interfere with the signals in a fragmented but powerful way, like a guerrilla.
Let’s clarify the signals before adding some noise. In this documentary, the director employs the skill of montage, accompanied by an appropriate soundtrack or just the right silence, as seen in the example above, to convey facts and ideas to the audience. Teachings behind the scenes are very morally correct in the sense of Asian American feminism. We know the essence of colonization and imperialism is the abuse of power, violence, and that is brutal. By juxtaposing the bloody war scenes and the video titled “Philippine Progress,” this film makes the audience reflect on the imperialist narrative of civilization, modernization, and progress.
Another example is this film putting pictures of drawings related to traditional Shaman or Babaylan in the Philippines with the images of Western church priests, while a local activist was explaining how churches gradually marginalized trans people by the establishment of the Western religion. The editing concretized not only the image of religious colonization by Spain, but also the common activist strategy of using historical evidence of the acceptance of gender minority people in the past to justify the existence of contemporary trans people, without noticing that the terms they use are Filipino English, like “trans,” “LGBT,” or even “lady boy.” In my opinion, contemporary trans subjects, especially under the influence of American Navy bars, were products of post-war Pacific history. They are very different from those “transgender” people serving as spiritual ritual conductors in the pre-colonial history. Hence, using historical evidence in this way is historically incorrect. In addition, history-tracing strategies neglect the fact that there are far bigger parts of history describing and justifying the history of heterosexual patriarchy. Although the concepts we believe in today, such as gender justice and human rights, are still very young, we think they form the foundation of human dignity. What happened before is not necessarily correct or justifiable, and the fact that it didn’t happen before doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen, given our belief in social and cultural changes. For me, this is a more reliable direction for advocacy than misinterpreting history. However, my concern about this advocacy strategy flew out in a tangential direction again when this compelling bus started moving.
The Noises
The documentary conveys ideas in a more “non-fiction” style, which might create a sense of liability or objectivity while keeping the director's position out of view. Acknowledging that a documentary is a process of producing facts to deliver messages is a cliché. Hence, instead of criticizing why Raval hid themselves in this documentary, I would rather focus on examining the messages they want to deliver through a series of montages.
We could tell that Raval wants to give microphones to the subalterns, the Philippines, transgender people, and a heartbroken mom. However, Spivak (1988) argued that the simple “give them tools to voice” strategy can’t help. We cannot assume that the subaltern knows their interests and can speak for themselves if we give them tools — such as theoretical concepts or microphones and scenes — without resolving the problems of representation. Spivak’s idea is clear: scholars and filmmakers represent the subalterns. Her critique doesn’t mean we shouldn’t represent others; it means we should historicize the process of mediating others through our interests and ideologies. Hence, the following analysis seeks to dismantle the representation in this film by critiquing the “subject” it creates.
First, by introducing the VFA and its crucial role in Laude’s case, I argue that this film creates a subject who should have sovereignty over their country. It shows the history of VFA, the imperialist and neo-colonial logic behind it, and how local people respond to it. The struggles over custody put the conflict between the two countries under this asymmetrical international law order to the forefront, highlighting the Philippines' efforts to pursue its sovereignty as an independent country. Hence, asking the US Navy to leave the Philippines' territories has become an intuitive solution to the unequal relationship. However, as we saw in the film, this call for sovereignty of their countries provided fertile ground for the rise of authoritarian strongman politics. Duterte, in my opinion, is by no means the solution. We shouldn’t blame the Philippine people for electing a dictator, but the social conditions that made Duterte the only reasonable choice at that time. In addition to how the US government, who claim democracy as its core spirit, engaged in the production of a dictator in the Philippines, and the brutality of imperialism that it can make you elect your own killer without direct interference, I want to discuss the social conditions created by scholars.
As Pacific feminism advocates, we should refuse to privilege recognition or inclusion through the nation-state (Teves and Arvin 2018:113). Experiences of Pacific islanders show how the senses of “nation-state” and “sovereignty” can be part of colonial governmentality. This concept draws a line between islands, grouping them in a way that best serves colonial interests. Pursuing sovereignty in the Western sense, which implies having the supreme juridical power without other countries’ interference, is hence not the end of pursuing post-colonial justice. In fact, this film showed that if we are obsessed with the sovereignty of the nation-state, nationalism might give an authoritarian dictator a niche in which to gain power through populism. The brutality of Duterte will become a national issue; any attempt to condemn the authoritarianism will be considered as neglecting other countries’ sovereignty, without calling the US government to account. This is the deception of the post-colonizer, making the subalterns go against each other without revealing their manipulation. The subject of sovereignty is totally a scam, an illusion.
In addition to producing the illusory subject of national sovereignty, this documentary also reproduces the illusory subject that seems to have sovereignty over their body and gender identity. Kang (2002) and Mohanty (1984) argued that the postcolonial Asian American female subjectivity was misrepresented in the Western academy. I argued that this cultural, epistemological misrepresentation is concretized in the documentary. The interview scene with a local trans activist, which I mentioned above, is the focus of my analysis here. Behind the montage is the hidden script that implies that Filipino trans people used to be accepted before the Spanish colonization, and it is the Christianization that marginalized them. However, this might lead to a dangerous thought that if we remove the evil West from an innocent East, we will arrive at a gender liberated utopia. Instead of thinking of Asian trans women as “compositing subjects,” which assumes post-colonial gender minority has the subjectivity in the first place, I want to argue that what we saw in the documentary are “negotiated objects.”
Post-colonial gender minorities are not subjects. In Foucauldian terms, a subject is the result of power negotiations with several ideologies and political interests engaged in this historical process. Since one of the natures of colonization is the objectification of the colonized and modifying them with colonial orders via political oppression, economic exploitation, and educational brainwashing, once you get colonized, you will no longer be a subject. Under this power deployment, Filipina trans women are in no way subjects. All negotiations that look like struggles for subjectification are, in fact, leverages of self-objectification. The question then becomes: If we eventually will be objectified and dehumanized, can we at least be decent objects?
In the film, Raval sarcastically used the video clips produced by the US Navy to show how Asian women are objectified and sexualized by the US sailors. What about those who are unable to be considered as women? What about “lady boys” and trans women? Besides how Asian women are sexualized and objectified by the US sailors, this documentary also captured the local transphobia: stallholders who want to get all sex workers, many of whom are trans or ladyboys, out of their block, hostility described by trans women and sex workers stated that they cannot walk on the roadway openly except around the harbor. As the local activists said, they sell their bodies to sailors to survive. Survival in this term no longer implies struggles of subjects, but how to objectify yourself just to be financially and physically secure.
The narrator in the educational reels titled “Subic Bay” stated, “Here in the Philippines, you’ll find a lifestyle that is different from life in America. … it can be a richly rewarding experience.” After this introduction comes reels that sexualize Asian women with psychedelic music. Raval put these clips right after a local trans activist stated it’s understandable for a trans woman to sell their body to survive, creating a sarcastic comparison between Filipina and American perspectives. The default moral choice that Raval expected is to condemn the sailor who sexualizes and objectifies Asian women’s bodies and uses clips capturing their smiles to create an illusion of consent. However, what if the smiles are genuine, the happiness is true?
Drawing on Shimizu’s (2007) analysis of the hypersexuality of Asian Women and the possibility of productive perversity, I want to show how self-objectification could be a positive and productive strategy that embodies the spirit of queer theory for Filipina trans. We saw at the beginning of this film that Jennifer’s husband said she doesn’t have to sell her body to survive, unlike others, and she will go to the bar after work no matter what job she does. Right after that scene comes the description of the night that Jennifer was killed, narrated by Meredith Talusan, a transgender journalist and one of the attorneys of this case, Virgie Suarez, implying that Jennifer was nervous that Pemberton might discover she was a trans, so she agreed to do oral for him for 1000 pesos. Debates around sex work sometimes reference the concept of “voluntariness.” Most of the focus will be on whether someone could be truly voluntary to be a sex worker, and people who are pro-sex workers will sometimes reference the agency of the sex worker as a subject. However, these debates still assume sex workers are subjects. Like I argued above, Filipina trans women who do sex work are by no means subjects, in my opinion. What we’ve seen in the movie is that marginalized people voluntarily or involuntarily choose what kind of objects they want to be.
Local transphobic people deem them as abnormal devils, which is not a human at all. They are seen as neither women nor men, but rather as monsters, and they know it. That’s the reason why they gather in the bars near the US Navy base. Mainstream Filipino society geographically marginalized them to the corner of the country and the corner of the economic system. What else they know is that they are sexualized, objectified as things that could be traded under the US sailors’ gaze. Hence, what they could become is not a subject but a more decent object. Under local transphobia, they’re dehumanized, sexually abnormal, and sexually unwanted (who wants to have sex with a non-human?). Under the Western gaze, they’re hypersexualized, objectified as something a man could possess and trade. Due to the globalization of Western culture, “Western” looks are considered more beautiful according to the racialized beauty hierarchy; hence, dating a US sailor or having sex with a US sailor will be viewed as a privileged experience, not only in the Philippines. So, if there’s no way I could be a subject, why not be a hypersexualized sexual tool to the US sailor, who will not only give you money but also your dream of being seen as similar to other regular Filipinas? In the arms of a US sailor, you could finally walk across the road with confidence and pride and be envied by others. Isn’t it liberation?
No Signal
No, it is not. As we saw in the documentary, the destination is being a dead body. The destination is being a flesh without a heartbeat, embodying the concept of an object. Under the current situation, you must choose between two harms that will both kill you. The only difference between the two options is being killed by your own people or being killed by a US sailor. So, can the subaltern speak? No. Dead men tell no tales.
Retuned. If there’s an afterlife…
Spivak (1988) stopped at the point that the subaltern can’t speak, but as an activist, that’s not enough. As I discussed above, one trick of colonialism is making colonized people go against each other without finding that the root of the problems is colonialism itself. Colonialism narrows things into a dichotomy: Get rid of the sex workers in our neighborhood, or not? (See the tension between local stallholders and the trans activists.) Send the US Navy home, or not? (Think about the rise of Duterte.) Keep supporting Duterte, or not? (See the struggle of the liberals who care about sovereignty and trans rights at the same time.) This trap of dichotomies lets the historical process go unseen, the interests and power wrestling unseen, and then allows the one who should be accountable and responsible for all these problems, from the local to the global level, to go unseen.
To address this, we need to think across national borders, as Pacific feminism and transnational feminism (Ross 2025) advocate. Besides, we need to think across disciplinary and activist borders. Hence, I borrow the idea of “Just Transition,” a key concept of contemporary environmental studies and activism, to address the problems resulting from the VFA.
The just transition framework tried to ensure that the shift to a more sustainable economy left no one behind. Not only focuses on the development of sustainable energy but also emphasizes how to address the impacts on people whose lives depend heavily on the non-sustainable economy. As we saw in the film, if Duterte eventually decides to abolish the VFA, the whole neighborhood and the industrial chains that depend on the VFA economy will collapse in a single night. Who will then barely make ends meet? The lady boys, the sex workers, the stallholders, who are the underclass of society. Hence, the transition to substantial independence, which doesn’t imply reclaiming sovereignty but truly living without unequal relationships, should prioritize the most marginalized people.
The substantial independence from the US Navy should start with calling the US government to account. US citizens should pay for the costs associated with this transitional process. The US activists should cooperate with the Philippine people in this accountability mechanism. Then, we should use the fund of transition to strengthen the social security networks, primarily focusing on the personal and financial security of trans people, sex workers, and ladyboys. What’s more, we should help the impacted neighborhoods and industries, such as bars, hotels, stalls, or stores around the Navy base, build alternative customer bases by boosting local tourism targeting Filipinos/as. Then, we could eventually end the VFA when the entire Philippine society no longer needs it and the economic advantages it provides for survival.
Reference
Kang, Lauren H. Y., 2002, “Introduction.” In Compositional Subjects: Enfiguring Asian/American Women. Pp. 1-27.
Mohanty, Chandra T., 2003, “Introduction: Decolonization, Anti-capitalist Critique, and Feminist Commitments,” in Feminism without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity. 1-13.
Raval, PJ, 2018, Call Her Ganda. Produced by Ford Foundation, Fork Films, and Naked Edge Films.
Ross, Loretta, 2025, “Toward Transnational Feminist Futures”, in Black and Asian Feminist Solidarities. Pp. 282-290.
Shimizu, Celine P., 2007, “The Hypersexuality of Asian/American Women: Toward a Politically Productive Perversity on Screen and Scene,” in The Hypersexuality of Race: Performing Asian / American Women on Screen and Scene. Pp. 1-26.
Spivak, Gayatri, 1988, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” in C. Nelson and L. Grossberg (eds.), Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Pp. 271-313.
Teves, Stephanie N. and Maile Arvin, 2018, “Decolonizing API: Centering Indigenous Pacific Iskander Feminism.” in Asian American Feminism and Queer of Color Politics. Pp. 107-137.
