Brutal Faith

A long highways across the province of Pampanga, naked men in masks whip their torn backs with bamboo sticks tied to a rope, hitting themselves repeatedly as they traverse the concrete pavement scorched by the sun. Behind them they leave a trail of blood - on the road, against walls, and on the shirts of spectators standing close by for a view of the bloodsoaked fest. They walk in a single file, slowly, each of them wearing a crown of thorns in an apparent reliving of the Son of Man’s tortured passion. Each whip tears open wounds and splatters blood quickly coagulating under the midday sun, each whip an introduction to an entirely new world of pain and suffering.