When Tizon was young, the only point of comparison for his family’s exploitation of Eudocia Tomas Pulido—called Lola throughout his account—was the slave Pompey in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, a John Wayne movie he sees on television. It’s not clear from his essay whether the adult Tizon learned much about systems of domestic-labor exploitation across the globe: the mistreatment of au pairs in the U.S., the plight of migrant domestic workers abroad, or the epidemic of abusive marriages in which undocumented wives are cut off from society in ways that mirror Lola’s isolation.

Tizon chose a frame for his essay that omits these systems entirely. In doing so, he missed an opportunity to capture the full context of Lola’s enslavement: that she was his third parent, his true mother, and his biological mother’s battered wife.

Indeed, many of the tactics that Tizon’s biological parents employ to keep Lola trapped are straight out of the same playbook used by the abusive spouses of undocumented wives and the very worst host families of au pairs: Lola is prevented from assimilating into society, she does not have access to her own finances, and she cannot leave the house because she cannot drive. Her immigration status is wielded as a weapon against her. She is physically intimidated and verbally abused; she is beaten down day by day so that she will continue to take care of the children and do the work that the abusers cannot or do not wish to do.

But she lavishes affection on the Tizon children, and the children love her in return. Because the biological parents leave the domestic sphere to Lola, she is closer than either of them to the children: “She got to know the details of our lives in a way that my parents never had the mental space for,” Tizon writes.

The young Tizon fights back his tears while trying to defend Lola, only for his parents to then accuse Lola of turning him against them. His biological mother torments Lola all the more, in retaliation, if the children try to intervene or help Lola with her work.

Tizon and his siblings ask Lola why she stays with their biological mother, and she replies, “Who will cook?” and “Where will I go?” When Tizon reflects on the past, he wonders if he should have told others about what was happening to Lola, exposing the family to the threat of deportations.

Tizon’s emotional turmoil and self-loathing can be read as self-serving, but they also echo common experiences of children who witness intimate partner violence. In a way, “My Family’s Slave” is one more addition to a body of literature in which sons grapple with having to watch their fathers beat their mothers. Who will cook? Where will I go? These statements are likely familiar to anyone who has tried to convince a victim of abuse to leave their partner. And the choice to hide abuse, rather than to risk deportation, is particularly familiar in the context of an immigrant family.</s>The talk is of Philippines President Rodrigo Duterte's tensions with Washington and his courting of China, which is worrying the bar's mostly American clients who have settled in the vicinity of the huge Subic Bay base, a former U.S. navy installation.

"The biggest fear is that one day he's going to wake up and say 'everybody from the U.S., get out of town' and we'd have to leave our loved ones behind," said Jack Walker, a retired Marine sergeant who has lived in Olongapo, the town around the base, for five years.

For more than a century the Philippines and the United States have had a shared history of colonialism, wars, rebellion, aid and deep economic ties. That could change as Duterte's three-month-old administration re-examines the relationship.

In a series of conflicting statements, Duterte has insulted U.S. President Barack Obama and the U.S. ambassador in Manila for questioning his war on drugs, which has led to the deaths of more than 2,000 suspected users and pushers. He told Obama to "go to hell" and alluded to severing ties with Washington.

Then, after weeks of anti-American rhetoric, Duterte said the Philippines would maintain its existing defence treaties and its military alliances.

The comments have left Americans and U.S. businesses in the Philippines jittery about their future, said Ebb Hinchliffe, executive director of the American Chamber of Commerce.

"Every time he opens his mouth and says something negative about America, that hurts me personally ... and from a business standpoint, it's not helping," he said.

He said three trade delegations representing American technology, financial services and manufacturing companies had cancelled trips to the Philippines in recent weeks.

At least two American companies have opted to do business in Vietnam instead "because of the president's anti-American sentiment". Hinchliffe declined to name the companies or give further details.

The United States effectively ruled the Philippines from 1898, when it acquired the country from Spain, until recognising its independence in 1946.

About four million people of Philippine ancestry live in the United States, one of its largest minorities, and about 220,000 Americans, many of them military veterans, live in the Philippines. An additional 650,000 visit each year, according to U.S. State Department figures.

According to a Pew Research Centre study last year, the Philippines is the most pro-U.S. country in the world.

Despite the shared history, though, the Philippines has a strong nationalistic movement that has questioned the U.S. alliance. In 1991, the government asked Washington to vacate the Subic Bay naval facility and the nearby Clark Air Base.

But as tensions increased with China over the territorial dispute in the South China Sea, the Philippines signed an Enhanced Defence Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) with the United States in 2014 that grants Washington increased military presence through rotation of ships and aircraft for humanitarian and maritime security operations.

However, Duterte has said that agreement will be reviewed and he insists that the Philippines, the third-largest Asian recipient of American military aid after Pakistan and Afghanistan, can do without assistance.

He was to leave for China on Tuesday on a state visit that could shift alliances in the region.

Philippine government officials have sought to play down Duterte's comments.

"Where the president is coming from is that he wants to encourage the Filipino people to be more independent," said government spokesman Ernesto Abella. "It's not so much an anti-American relationship as a pro-Philippine sentiment."

Still, the mood was sombre at Dynamite Dick's bar in Olongapo when a Reuters reporter dropped in recently.

Edward Pooley, a former Marine colonel who has lived in the Philippines for nearly 30 years, said Duterte's words were "heartbreaking" but he remained optimistic about the bilateral relationship in the long term.

"We've always done a lot of charitable activities and ... we feel the appreciation. Don't give up on us," he said.

The mayor of the city of 220,000, Rolen Paulino, said his people were "pro-American" but that he supports Duterte's shift in foreign policy.

"If the president wants to invite Russia and China ... I will teach my people Russian and Chinese because we have to adapt," Paulino said.

But many in the business community have labelled Duterte's rhetoric as largely bluster and take comfort in the fact that he has yet to translate it into action.

The business process outsourcing (BPO) sector - expected to account for 9 percent of GDP this year - remains largely optimistic about growth in the Philippines.

"Suffice to say, there are questions that are being asked because of (Duterte's) statements," said Danilo Reyes, country manager of Genpact, one of the biggest American BPO companies in the country. "But it does not really translate to actions, we continue to expand."</s>On Sunday I ate at a Filipino restaurant. This was a first; prior experiences of Filipino food had been solely at friends’ houses. Restaurants were simply just not around. In fact, some googling seems to indicate there may be less than 10 in the entire state of NSW.

Which is strange considering the population of Australians of Filipino ancestry. The 2006 census gives 92300 people who speak Tagalog at home. This compares to 53900 speakers of Turkish. And Turkish eateries are ubiquitous.

Ethnic restaurants are one of the standard features of the experience of immigration. Why has it not occured with the Filipinos?

I asked the proprietor. He said that there were “a few out west” (this was in Dee Why) that served lower quality cut of meat with “more bone and gristle” to Filipino diners that “mainstream” customers wouldn’t like. He had chosen Dee Why, and was using modified ingredients to appeal to mainstream diners.[fn1]

I didn’t press the point (the place was quite busy) but I found this unsatisfactory. After all, the “few out west” appears to be a couple in Lidcombe and Blacktown, which is where there are larger populations of Tagalog speakers, but that is still astoundingly few compared to other ethnicities, including smaller ones. Why the discrepancy?

I’m generally wary of explanations that involve preferences since they seem like non-explanations to me – they appeal to something (tastes) that are only observable in terms of the consumption patterns you’re seeking to explain in the first place, and it’s a poor explanation that explains a phenomenon based on the phenomenon itself. That said, they are particularly weak in this instance. To attribute diners of a non Filo background with a lack of taste for Filo food is to mistake the causality with other cuisines. There, ethnic cuisines became popular with the broader population only after the restaurants were founded to serve diners familiar with the food. It is only after exposure from these restaurants that the cuisines enter cookbooks and TV shows and get bastardised packet mixes in the supermarket. Even now, most cuisines will have restaurants that predominately are patronised by people of that ethnicity. This is true of Vietnamese or of the massively proliferating choice of regional Chinese cuisines (it’s more than Cantonese!); strikingly it’s still true of the very widely popular Italian. But these restaurants exist nonetheless. So it’s difficult to attribute the lack of establishments to non Filo preferences. The alternative is to say that the Filipino population is far smaller that other ethnic groups or has a special disinclination to eat their own cuisine at a restaurant. The first is easy to refute, the second seems absurd.

So I think the answer must be supply based.

There’s a reason ethnic restaurants proliferate. A diaspora community is always more likely to go into business. Even when domestic institutions aren’t explicitly exclusionary, as was the case with European Jews and SE Asian Chinese, alien customs, culture and language make them difficult for migrants to enter. So they are more likely to choose self employment as a result. Hence the stereotypes of business acumen amongst said Jews or Chinese, or the Greek greengrocer or Indian service station owner. Additionally, a important part of the skills required for a restaurant (cooking a cuisine) has already been learned by being of that culture. Sometimes this can extend to neighbouring cuisines which have been picked up, such as the plethora of Japanese restaurants that are more likely to be run by Koreans instead of the relatively small and middle class professional Japanese community.[fn2]

Why is the Filipino community different, despite having a good supply of Filipino cooks?

Perhaps the clue lies in another statistic from the census. 61% of the speakers of Filipino at home are women. If we assume that a large portion of these are children born here and who are gender balanced, this implies the adult population of migrants is even more skewed. No other language on the list is that skewed.

What might this mean? We don’t need to resort to inate differences in gender to see how this might explain the restaurant question. One possibility: If these women are married, we will have a migrant group that is disproportionately made up of people whom are less expected to be main breadwinners in our still patriarchal society. This gives them an option of avoiding the workforce or entering low skilled part time work – options not socially acceptable for men who, alienated to some extent from most paid employment, gravitate towards self employment.

Alternatively, it may just point towards a feature of the community. A large part of the Filipino diaspora has left the Phillipines specifically to find work in low skilled sectors abroad, just as the 19th century Irish diaspora spread towards labouring jobs Unlike the Irish however, the low skilled jobs around today that they seek, in aged care or domestic service, are “feminine” occupations, both in the Phillipines and abroad and for both cultural and yes, preference, based reasons in supply and demand. The women leave because they can find work and the men stay because they can’t find work and war does not force them to leave; unlike any of the diasporas escaping from war ravaged Europe, the Middle East, Indochina or post Tiananmen China. Hence the gender discrepancy. If you’re in a low skilled job, you need not take the risk of self employment. Those for whom these jobs are less accessible are back overseas and therefore aren’t starting restaurants.

Unfortunately there are other communities that are not refugee in origin (although many, if not most are). For instance the majority of the non-Cantonese Chinese community is not related to the class of student admitted by a teary Hawke in 1989, but despite coming in the same era of feminised low skill work, the splits is 51-49 female to male if we take “Mandarin speakers” as a flawed proxy – we have an astoundingly large selection of differing regional Chinese cuisines to eat is restaurants as well. We’d also need to explain why the Philippines is apparently the only country exporting low skilled workers here – something beyond my capacities although I am sure it is possible.

But I can’t think of a better explanation as yet. You?

[fn1] It is worth noting that the only other diner who seemed to be of a non Filipino background was dining with someone who did appear to be so.

[fn2] Anecdotally, in the past at least, many of the astoundingly large number of Thai places were run by Vietnamese, which may explain why they could become a seeming plurality of independent takeaways in the Hunter and Sydney despite a relatively small migrant base.</s>Rappler's Lian Buan visits the grave of Eudocia Pulido, the subject of the controversial story penned by Filipino-American journalist Alex Tizon, and meets the relatives she left behind

TARLAC, Philippines – The Atlantic's "My Family's Slave," which featured the life of Eudocia Tomas Pulido as an unpaid househelp to a Filipino family in America, stirred so much controversy and opened debates to modern-day slavery, human trafficking, and race.

In the hilly town of Mayantoc in the province of Tarlac, Eudocia's relatives say they've always had a hint that she was not being paid but they never had a chance to discuss it with her because their communication was cut off for a long time. (READ: Finding Eudocia Pulido in her hometown in Tarlac)

In Mayantoc, they call her "Kosyang" and this is what they have to say. – Rappler.com</s>'We have yet to see the reactions and opinions of actual katulong/kasambahay back home.... It’s important to ask who is part of this discussion and who is not.'

The posthumous publication of Pulitzer Prize-winning Filipino-American journalist Alex Tizon’s "My Family's Slave" has provoked much discussion and some controversy. Many readers were moved by the plight of Lola Eudocia Tomas Pulido, who was 18 years old in 1943 when the author’s grandfather “gave” her to the author’s mother as a “gift” and who worked for the author’s family for 56 years.

Tizon provided harrowing details of how Lola Eudocia was subject to frequent scolding, forced to work long hours well beyond physical exhaustion and sleep amid piles of laundry, beaten in place of the author’s mother when the author’s mother misbehaved, promised but never actually given an “allowance.”

The essay also recounted Tizon’s own efforts to make amends: standing up to his mother in defense of Lola Eudocia; bringing Lola to live with him in her old age and helping her obtain US citizenship; giving Lola $200 a week to send to relatives, and later paying her airfare to visit relatives back in the Philippines; taking her on family vacations; and bringing her ashes back to her birthplace.

The internet being what it is, Tizon’s article has generated its share of commentaries both thoughtful and thoughtless, knee-jerk and nuanced. While some were quick to condemn Tizon for not doing enough, and sooner, to redress 50 years of suffering and exploitation (a point that should get one thinking in turn of how long the United States and its people have taken, and are still taking, to redress the trauma and long-term immeasurable human cost of slavery), a number of commentators have called for better historical and cultural understanding of slavery and the utusan/kasambahay/katulong (house help) system in the Philippines that made such suffering and exploitation possible in the first place. (READ: The Atlantic's 'My Family Slave' should not end with a feast)

The conversation has not been confined to one among Americans (including, of course, Filipino Americans, many of whom have learned about the situations of “maids” from their grand/parents or from their own visits to the Philippines), but has reached across the Pacific and the world to encompass middle- and upper-class Filipinos living in the Philippines and other parts of the world.

I say “middle- and upper-class Filipinos” because, so far, we have yet to see mainstream media solicit and present the reactions and opinions of actual katulong/kasambahay back home. In the case of overseas Filipino workers (numbering some 2.4 million in 2015, 51% of them female, and more than half of female workers being classified as “laborers and unskilled workers,” a category that includes domestic helpers [more about “unskilled” later]), it is also difficult to track the discussion among them because: 1) they are not likely to have the time to browse, let alone post comments in, English-language media; and 2) the internet discussion has been mainly in English (and there is no translation of the article into Filipino and other Philippine languages).

In short, it’s important to ask who is part of this discussion and who is not. (READ: Finding Eudocia Pulido in her hometown in Tarlac)

4Moreover, reading through the comments, one can’t help wondering at what is missing or, more important, what is silenced or erased when people – particularly those who identify as Filipino by nationality or by heritage – attempt to explain the context of slavery and the utusan system in the Philippines.

The most obvious context here is that household work in general is devalued and for that reason poorly renumerated. Economists do not factor unpaid “household production” or “own-production” – the work done by and within a family for its own use (cooking, cleaning, child care, etc) – in their statistics. There are now calls among some economists to come up with a way to measure household production, but the challenges of measuring the "quality" of such production remain.

In the Philippines, the labor (both muscle and emotion) needed for household production is sub-contracted by families (including some poor ones) to their katulong. Even when paid housework is included in national statistics (a country’s GDP, for instance), it is still viewed as “unimportant” and classified as “unskilled,” as though the quality of caring for home and children (the future generation, the human resources) doesn’t count for much.

Then there is the oft-repeated remark that since Eudocia Pulido was called “Lola” (Filipino term for grandmother), this meant that she was considered “part of the family.” This so-called explanation is actually a non-explanation, since it says nothing about the exploitation that happens within families. The cultural practice among Filipinos of calling their kasambahay “lola” in no way mitigates, let alone justifies, the exploitation of Lola Eudocia. Generations of feminists have detailed the abuse and exploitation that can be found in the most intimate, private sphere of the family, in the relationships between spouses, between parents and children, between heads of households and dependents. (READ: We are all Tizons)

In a posthumously published commentary called “Strange Hierarchies” (Philippine Studies: Historiographical and Ethnographic Viewpoints vol. 64, issue 1, 2016), the scholar Benedict Anderson argued that “maids are an interesting site to study the cross-effects of class inequality and intra-gender inequality.” He trenchantly observed that Southeast Asian middle-class children often “learn the ropes” of inequality from – and practice being “unequalizers” on – their own “yayas” (a Binisaya term that originally means “aunt” but is now synonymous with kasambahay who care for children).

In his comments, Vince Rafael rightly points out that Filipino "slavery" has its own specific history and system of social arrangements and relations. (Slavery in different forms, as well as other forms of indentured, conscripted, and unremunerated labor, exist in many regions of the world across centuries.) Rafael examines how the concepts of mutuality, reciprocity, utang ng loob (a concept more complex than simple “debt of gratitude”), awa (pity), and hiya (shame) underpin the historical system of slavery in the Philippines, and inform present-day relations between katulong and their so-called "amo."

The thing about these so-called “Filipino values” is that they work in a double-edged way: as much as they are often the only means by which the oppressed are able to assert their agency and human dignity against their oppressors (as Vince eloquently shows), the language of reciprocity has also functioned historically to mask and enable the power dynamics of inequality and subordination.

In fact, one of the thorny issues in the agrarian and tenancy disputes of the past century in the Philippines has been tenants and sharecroppers’ resentment of the way the landlords, who already benefit from a rigged system that keeps their tenants and workers perpetually indebted to them, still expect or demand personal services from them – services ranging from cutting firewood to repairing houses and, worse, offering their children as household servants – for free.

This is why the issue of wages has been an important component of the political struggles of workers around the world, as wages set some limits on how much mutual obligations people –particularly those in power vis-à-vis the powerless – can exact from each other.

Another running thread of the internet commentary on the Tizon article is the unconscious paternalism exhibited by some commentators who claim that one is doing a good thing – the right thing, even a favor – by giving the poor food and shelter in exchange for having them do house work for very little pay, or no pay. The middle classes, behaving just like the landlords (and, if you want to think farther afield, slave-owners and colonizers), like to invoke this brand of self-congratulatory paternalism when they say that they “take care” of their servants even as they relentlessly exploit them.

There are, it must be said, examples of good employers who do their best to ensure the welfare of their servants. But a comment such as this one – “i feel like many filipinos don’t have so much so i wouldn’t be surprised if some took people in as help…even when they weren’t paid, feels like a way for them to take care of each other” – does not help clarify things. Its vague talk of mutual help runs the danger of shading off into the patronizing rhetoric of hiring-maids-as-a-favor-to-the poor, because both beg the question of who is making more use of whom. After all, the cost of providing food and shelter is far less than having someone be at one’s beck and call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Just for comparison, let’s look at contemporary Japan, where servants were commonplace until the end of World War II. Nowadays, the cost of hiring a professional nanny to take care of one’s child is about 2,000 yen an hour, plus transport and other expenses. If you multiply this by 8hours, that’s already 16,000 yen for one day’s work – and the nanny cannot be asked to do any other housework (for cleaning, you have to ask another company to provide that labor, and you’ll also be charged per hour). A stay-in nanny who works 8 hours a day, 7 days a week for a month will cost you 480,000 yen. Compare this to the median family income in Japan, which is about 7 million yen a year, or around 583,000 yen a month. Which is to say that Japanese middle-classes cannot afford live-in nannies or even hourly-pay nannies. Companies like Duskin are hiring Filipino workers and paying them the equivalent of $1,500 or P66,000 a month to do house-cleaning for Duskin clients. Their pay is roughly comparable to the minimum hourly wages in Japan. (Compare this to the P2,500 that the Kasambahay Law mandates for domestic helpers in Metro Manila as against P9,000 per month for non-agricultural labor in the National Capital Region.)

The "culture" of the utusan system is deeply connected to politics, economics, and institutions. Alex Tizon is right to use the term “slave” because, in the 20th century, if someone doesn’t get paid for doing work that she ought to get paid for (regardless of whether she consents to an unpaid arrangement or not), then she is a slave by our 20th-century definition. It is possible to speak of a wife, a widow, a sister, a grandmother, an aunt, or a daughter (and their male counterparts) as working like a slave, even when the work they do is considered part of their “familial” obligation.

The point is that we are no longer talking about 16th-century or even 19th-century slavery. The national liberation struggles, the abolitionist and Civil Rights movements, the workers’ movements, the feminist and other social and political movements from all over the world since then have helped create a world where what happened to Lola Eudocia and the oppression of so many other people all over the world can no longer be condoned, and what is needed is not just understanding and individual initiatives to redress the situation – laudable as Alex Tizon’s efforts to make amends to Lola Eudocia had been – but larger systemic and structural changes such as better enforcement of laws and regulations and better protection of the vulnerable and the poor.

What exactly are the politics and economics of the utusan question and why is the utusan system so pernicious and long-lasting, despite the progress in our political and social values? What are the specific problems and challenges that we middle-class Filipinos need to grapple with?

If it is a question of housework, most Filipino middle-class families can save up for a washing machine, and assign the chores of cooking and cleaning among themselves (husbands and children included, not exempted). But the factors that account for the persistence and longevity of the maid system are deeply political and economic, and involve a series of institutional problems. Here are just a few of them:
• The erosion of the standards of the Philippine public school system: as recent as the postwar era, the public school was of sufficient high quality that people were proud to go to public school. The great historian Resil Mojares, for example, talks about his pride in being a public school student (as opposed to private school) in one of his essays in House of Memory. Washington Sycip and Kerima Polotan, two prominent Filipinos, went to public schools. The point about public schools is that they would have been within walking distance of the houses in a district. But the erosion through inadequate funding and bureaucratic corruption of the public school system has given rise to the middle-class preference to send their children to private schools, and because private schools are often located at a distance from their homes, they have to rely on maids to ferry their kids to and from school, or keep house for them as they ferry their own children back and forth.
• Concerns (real and imagined) about law and order: while most children of working-class families have no choice but to walk or commute to school by themselves, most middle-class parents worry about the safety of their kids, fearing that the kids will be robbed, molested, or kidnapped. Some middle-class children are so coddled by their parents that they have never taken a bus or a jeepney in their lives. (We haven't begun talking about how cocooning children from the world outside their airconditioned car windows and middle-class homes engenders a narrow, blinkered view of that world.)
• The repeated failures of industrial policy: had the country's elites been able to formulate and implement better industrial policies, the employment opportunities that would have opened up for women in factories, offices, and other better-paid workplaces would have encouraged more women to take jobs other than household service. Middle-class families often worry about the precariousness of their finances because they know the wages they themselves earn are not enough for them to pay their DHs well.
• The lack of support system for childcare: there are kindergartens, but only for those who can afford them, and there are not many government-subsidized and employer-provided childcare facilities that will allow working mothers to entrust their small children to adequately compensated, professional caregivers.
• The failure of imagination and mindset: while there are enlightened men who are willing to share the housework with their spouses, the onus is still on the women to do the bulk of the housework. Worse, because the middle- and upper-classes are already so dependent on their maids, they tend to breed in their own children a similar “señorito/a” complex that views housework as something only maids – other people – do. This kind of mentality explains the cluelessness of those who, having gone abroad or migrated to First World countries, complain about having to do the housework themselves and wax nostalgic about having katulong back home to make their beds for them (as Anderson mentioned in his essay). It also explains the annoying predilection of middle- and upper-class matrons to complain about the “laziness,” "slowness," “untrainability,” and "untrustworthiness" of their maids (an NHK documentary shown in Japan actually recorded one such conversation involving one of the Philippines’ elite families--had this documentary been shown in the Philippines, it would have ignited a firestorm of controversy). If the work done by the maids are not up to the standards of the matrons, why don’t the matrons do the housework themselves?

What “My Family’s Slave” has done is to bring up a subject that is often left unsaid and left unthought and unexamined, a subject that, far from being just a problem of Philippine poverty and corruption and lack of state capacity "out there," implicates all of us who have ever had yayas bring us up and keep house for us. We have to render ourselves accountable for – and live with the guilt and consequences of – all the things we have allowed to happen and all the things we could and should have done but failed, for whatever reason, to do. – Rappler.com

An earlier version of this piece was published in the author's site, ikangablog.

Caroline Hau works in Kyoto. Her latest book, Elites and Ilustrados in Philippine Culture, is published by Ateneo de Manila University Press.</s>See Ronaldo Valdez, Leo Martinez, and Pen Medina audition to get the coveted role!

MANILA, Philippines – KFC is searching for the first Filipino colonel.

In a viral video posted on Facebook Monday, May 22, fans saw 3 of the Philippines' top actors audition to be the first Filipino to play the famous Colonel Sanders.

Ronaldo Valdez, Leo Martinez, and Pen Medina all took turns auditioning for the role, giving their own spin to the iconic character.

Each of them also took turns pretending to eat some KFC fried chicken out of a bucket and saying the restaurant's famous tag line, "It's finger lickin' good!"

So who is KFC's first Filipino colonel? According to the video, this will be revealed on May 29.

Watch the video above and let us know who you think you get the job! – Rappler.com
A controversial piece written in The Atlantic magazine about the Filipino servant caste and the Filipino American family involved in it triggers a debate in both the Philippines and the United States.