ENTREPRENEUR, ENTRE-PINOY
Crisis or no crisis, more than any one would care to admit, Filipinos love to engage in commerce. As opinion editor Jerry Tundag noted in his Aug. 31 column, the Philippines is a country of sari-sari stores. "Almost every other house is, or has, a sari-sari store," and almost every other house sells ice and ice water.
My first recollection of an economic crisis was when Ninoy Aquino was assasinated in 1983. I was in college then when the pesos slid against the dollar from P7.00 to P14.00. Social unrest escalated 'till it reached a feverish pitch during the snap elections and civil disobedience campaign led by Cory Aquino and Jaime Cardinal Sin, duly followed by the historic EDSA Revolution in 1986. In that three-year period the economy seemed to hold up quite well, relatively speaking, of course, in hindsight. Observers theorized that it was because of the infusion of more loans or foreign aid. Others credit the remittances of the overseas foreign workers, then a significant contributor of foreign exchange even then. But in one news article an economist pointed to the country's underground economy as the one that kept things going.
This was the informal sector of trade and commerce in society. The black market in foreign exchange was cited, so were the "four-gives," (credit in installments) and "five-six" (loan sharks). Throw in the vendors, peddlers, sari-sari stores, and multiply it by the number of enterprising salaried people who sell stuff at work -- they might have been earning pennies and dimes but the collective sum of the trivial many was significant enough to keep the local economy from unraveling.
It is funny that these coping mechanisms are only noticed during hard times, such as now that the Asian contagion is the buzzword. I beg to disagree. The vendors and peddlers, the four-gives and ice water -- they have always been around crisis or no crisis. To quote Tundag again, "Filipinos simply love to sell."
Flashback to my elementary school days. At any schoolroom we always had about five or six classmates selling stuff to the rest of the class. In fourth grade the girl behind me dealt Sour Balls, while in the next row sat somebody selling Curly Tops, and behind us was another enterprising girl with a jar of homemade yemas. These sweets were bought in little boxes of 20's for P2.00 and sold for 30 centavos apiece. Once I caught the two young businesswomen exchanging candies and chocolates as a way of patronizing each other's products. I thought that was cute and walked up to my parents for some money so I could also sell sweets in school. My father was aghast, "what will people say if they see you, a doctor's daughter, doing something like that?" They canceled my school allowance, replaced it with nutritious sandwiches from mom's homemade buttered rolls. I didn't have any problem selling these to a chubby boy until his mother walked up to mine and spilled the beans how much her boy love mom's breads. Mom thought it was so hilarious she had difficulty scolding me with a straight face. Finally, my parents left me alone when I started selling mansanitas which I lovingly pick from our tree myself and bring to school in a nice basket. What a thrill it was when the girl selling yemas offered one of her candies in exchange for five mansanitas. I think we bonded at that moment.
Mom never forgot because in college she started sending shell necklaces from Cebu and abaca bags from Tacloban for me to sell to at the dorm in UP Diliman, for extra pocket money, she says. I would have been embarrassed except that there were other dorm residents selling chichiria (chips) and Avon cosmetics. I didn't think it was demeaning until student activists -- rallying for bigger Education budget from government -- ranted how degrading it was that teachers of this State university were selling tocino, chorizo and Triumph underwear to augment their meager salaries.
But really, there is more to this than earning a few hundred bucks to make ends meet. Unless you tried it yourself, you'll never know that special warm tingle when an item is converted to cash, that rush of the adrenaline as you count your earnings after everything is sold. Why else would the family members who worked as managers of a family corporation (at my first job) sell puto and pitse-pitse, daster (housedresses) and bedroom slippers to the employees?
It's not even restricted to the fair sex lang. This I learned from my brother who charged his classmates 50 centavos for every game with his "Game & Watch," the precursor of Brick Games and Tamagochi toys. Our neighbor's son sold wooden tops that he carved himself. There was also this boy in my fourth grade class who rented out his comics magazine collection. Mom once rode in a taxi wherein the driver tried to sell her imported perfumes supplied by a daughter who works abroad.
Thus it made me wonder when a resource speaker lamented during a livelihood seminar that most Filipinos don't want to become entrepreneurs. Except for the Filipino-Chinese who are exposed to the family business at a young age, most Filipino parents push their children to enroll in college courses that will ensure their gainful employment upon graduation. "Why are we willing to settle as employees, if we can start a business or run our own company," she asked. Perhaps because we put too much importance and regard for the white-collar worker, the employee who goes to work in a tie or blazer, and works in an airconditioned office. Perhaps because most are content to receive a fixed salary on regular schedule. Perhaps because as much as they love and enjoy selling, only a few entrepreneurs are innovative risk-takers.
Ever heard of the pan de sal syndrome? Nowadays they call it the lechon manok (roasted chicken) or the shawarma syndrome. Monkey see, monkey do. Rather than blaze new trails with innovative products and services most would rather wait for tried and tested formulas, and yep, pretty soon, every street corner has a lechon manok stand. People get tired sooner as a result of overcompetition, supply exceeds demand, the business dies prematurely, and the corner stand is empty again until another fad comes along.
Filipinos love to sell alright, both for the fun and little profit they can make -- but only for as long as they are having fun. What this country needs is a breed of enterprising Filipinos who have a vision and the stamina to go the distance, always one step ahead of his copycat competitors, crisis or no crisis.
October 7, 1998