In recent weeks, I have decided to travel the Philippines. A country steeped in history, just like Quebec. This is where my parents were born and my grandparents still live. A country from which I draw my roots, but which I rediscover with an adult look.
I remember my childhood trips with my parents. This time, I came alone. And without the family filter, the country has been revealed otherwise. Less idealized, but more true.
Quickly, I wondered: what does it mean, to be filipino ? I quickly understood, after visits to museums and conferences of academics, that it was neither the color of the skin, nor the perfect mastery of the language, nor even citizenship on a passport. Being a Philippin is first of all a way of belonging to a community, a history, an economy, a common space. It is to participate, in everyday life, in the life of a people.
Seeing this identity lived in such an organic way, I thought of my home. That it also means to be Quebecois.
Often, this belonging to linguistic or cultural criteria is reduced. And yet, as in the Philippines, the main thing is played elsewhere: in the real contribution to society. Being a Quebecer is not just about speaking French or singing Félix Leclerc or listening to Leonard Cohen.
It is to teach in our schools, treat in our hospitals, build our roads, serve in our shops, protect our streets, fish in our waters. It is to pay their taxes and believe that everyone deserves to live with dignity, regardless of their income or their accent.
A strong parallel
It is in this logic of active inclusion that I found a strong parallel between my two identities. A parallel which does not erase the differences, but which connects them around the same idea: we belong to a people because we choose to contribute to it.
During my stay, I was struck by the simplicity and warmth of people. A generosity of everyday life. Solidarity without spectacle. In a sometimes proven country, resilience seems to be part of national DNA.
And despite the difficulties, people continue to believe in the future; Not in a naive way, but with this conviction that dignity is not negotiated.
I also wondered about the opposite movement: these North Americans or Europeans who choose to settle here in the Philippines, in search of a softer, more human lifestyle. What pushes someone to adopt land like hers?
Can we really live a country if you don’t understand its history? If you don’t participate in your struggles, your collective choices?
During the centuries of Spanish colonization, the very concept of “being Philippin” did not yet exist in the modern sense. It was José Rizal, a central figure of Philippine nationalism, who embodied and theorized. Inspired by the writings of the philosopher Johann Herder, Rizal affirmed that the nation is not based on the race or on the blood, but on the recognition of a common history and a shared culture. Being a Philippin, he said, is to recognize yourself in this community of destiny, even with no biological link.
In the same way, whether we have Philippin or French blood, we are Quebecois if we choose to be, every day, in our gestures, our commitments and our solidarity towards Quebec society.
Membership is not a fixed data. It is a living act, renewed on a daily basis.
I did not come to the Philippines to seek my origins. I already knew them. But this trip taught me that identity is not a frozen essence: it is active fidelity. A way to live in the world with those around us.
We do not wear a people in the veins, but in the voice with which we choose to say We.
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