The other half we refuse to hear

By Noel Galon de Leon

At the beginning of this year, I made a deliberate promise to myself to pay closer attention to local stage productions in Iloilo, not merely as entertainment but as cultural texts worthy of critique. On March 26, 2026, a Saturday, I found myself rushing to catch the final performance of Half the Story, staged by the UP Visayas Living Room Theatre under the direction of Prof. Alfredo B. Diaz. I arrived 30 minutes early, which allowed me the rare opportunity to linger inside the Iloilo Museum of Contemporary Art (ILOMOCA). That prelude would become an important frame for understanding what I was about to witness.

Walking through the galleries of the museum, I was struck once again by the richness of Ilonggo artistic expression. The collections, largely created by Filipino visual artists, challenge the assumption that artistic excellence is centered only in metropolitan spaces. There is an undeniable brilliance in these works. They do not beg for validation; they demand it. One cannot help but ask why so many Ilonggos have yet to step inside this space and confront the depth of creativity that exists within their own community.

The museum visit was not merely a diversion. It functioned as a conceptual gateway. The visual narratives I encountered seemed to prepare me for the theatrical narratives that followed. Both forms of art share a common urgency, a need to articulate experiences that are often ignored or dismissed. The transition from gallery to performance space felt seamless, as if the walls themselves were guiding me toward a different but equally powerful medium of storytelling.

As the performance of Half the Story began, I was immediately immersed in a series of 19 short plays. Each piece functioned as a fragment, a voice, a confession. Yet collectively, they formed something far more cohesive and unsettling. It felt as though I was not simply watching a performance but engaging in an intimate conversation with multiple women whose lives intersected with mine in unexpected ways.

The structure of the production is worth examining critically. Presenting 19 short plays is a bold curatorial decision. It risks fragmentation and audience fatigue. However, in this case, the fragmentation became its strength. Each story stood independently, yet the accumulation of narratives created a layered and complex portrait of womanhood. It forced the audience to confront not a single truth but a multiplicity of truths.

What struck me most was the emotional honesty embedded in these performances. The stories were not polished to perfection. They were raw, sometimes uncomfortable, and deeply human. Listening to the monologues and dialogues felt less like witnessing fiction and more like being entrusted with personal testimonies. There was an intimacy that blurred the boundary between performer and audience.

As I listened to these stories, I found myself reflecting on the women I know in my own life. The struggles portrayed onstage were not distant or abstract. They were painfully familiar. The plays highlighted the daily battles women face, not only within themselves but also within the confines of relationships and societal expectations. These are not isolated issues; they are systemic realities.

The production compels us to question the social constructs that shape women’s experiences. It exposes how deeply ingrained these constructs are and how they continue to dictate behavior, limit agency, and silence voices. The theater becomes a site of resistance, a space where these structures are not only exposed but challenged.

The performances themselves deserve careful recognition. The cast, composed entirely of women, delivered portrayals that were remarkably authentic. Their acting did not rely on exaggerated gestures or theatrical excess. Instead, it was grounded in subtlety and truth. This kind of naturalistic performance is difficult to achieve, yet they made it appear effortless.

Watching them, I was reminded that effective acting is not about transformation but about revelation. The performers did not seem to be pretending. They seemed to be revealing something deeply personal. This authenticity is what allowed the audience to connect with the material on a profound level.

It is important to name the performers not simply as individuals but as contributors to a collective artistic statement. Each actor carried the weight of her story with precision and care. There was no sense of competition, only collaboration. The ensemble functioned as a unified voice, even as each narrative remained distinct.

The direction of Prof. Alfredo B. Diaz played a crucial role in shaping this cohesion. His approach to curation demonstrated a deep understanding of pacing and emotional progression. The sequence of the plays was not random. It was carefully constructed to guide the audience from seemingly ordinary concerns to increasingly complex and heavy issues.

This progression is significant because it mirrors the way societal issues often operate. They begin subtly, embedded in everyday experiences, and gradually reveal their deeper implications. By structuring the performance in this way, the director ensures that the audience is not overwhelmed immediately but is gradually drawn into deeper reflection.

Prof. Diaz’s work also raises important questions about authorship and authority in local theater. What gives a director the right to curate and present these stories? In this case, the answer lies in his sensitivity to the material and his commitment to amplifying marginalized voices rather than overshadowing them.

The production also highlights the importance of local theater as a platform for social discourse. At a time when global narratives often dominate cultural spaces, local productions like Half the Story remind us that our own stories are equally significant. They deserve to be told, heard, and critically engaged.

One of the most striking aspects of the production was its simplicity. The staging was minimal, almost austere. There were no elaborate sets or distracting visual elements. This simplicity was not a limitation but a deliberate choice. It directed the audience’s attention to what truly mattered: the stories and the performances.

The intimacy of the production created a unique kind of engagement. The audience was not positioned as passive observers but as active participants. The proximity between performers and viewers fostered a sense of shared experience. It felt as though we were all implicated in the stories being told.

Before the performance began, Prof. Diaz emphasized the importance of presence. In a world filled with noise and conflict, he argued, the act of gathering to watch a play is itself meaningful. It is a form of resistance against disconnection. This idea resonates deeply in the context of contemporary society.

The notion of theater as a unifying force is both inspiring and problematic. While it has the potential to bring people together, it also raises questions about accessibility. Who gets to be present in these spaces? Who is excluded? These are critical considerations that must be addressed if local theater is to fulfill its social role.

As I watched the performance, I could not help but imagine its potential beyond the confines of the museum. These stories need to travel. They need to reach communities where such narratives are rarely heard. Theater should not remain within institutional spaces but should extend into barangays and alternative venues.

There is also the question of language. While the plays were powerful, presenting them in Hiligaynon could further deepen their impact. Language is not merely a tool of communication. It is a carrier of culture and identity. Using the local language would make these stories more accessible and resonant.

The idea of adapting these plays for different audiences is not simply an artistic consideration but a political one. It challenges the centralization of cultural production and advocates for a more inclusive approach. It asks us to reconsider who theater is for and whom it should serve.

Despite the many strengths of the production, it is important to acknowledge its limitations. One notable issue was the intrusive noise of the air conditioning system within the venue. There were moments when the dialogue became difficult to hear, which disrupted the immersion and diminished the impact of certain scenes.

This technical flaw, while seemingly minor, points to a larger issue regarding the conditions under which local theater operates. Limited resources and infrastructural challenges often hinder the full realization of artistic vision. Addressing these issues is essential if we are to support and sustain local productions.

I left the performance that evening with a sense of satisfaction but also with lingering questions. Half the Story is not a complete narrative, and perhaps that is its greatest strength. It refuses to offer closure. Instead, it challenges us to confront the other half, the parts of these stories that remain untold, unheard, and unresolved.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at the University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and UP High School in Iloilo. He serves as secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts – National Committee on Literary Arts.