Amid stacks of bestsellers with familiar plots in leading bookstores, tales that challenge norms and speak uncomfortable, unlucrative truths rarely make it to the shelves. But Gantala Press, named after the Tagalog word for spool, winds a different thread. Unencumbered by the profit motive, it centers voices too often obscured: those of women workers, activists, and survivors. 

Through novels, poetry, zines, and anthologies, Gantala weaves together works that create a space for feminist storytelling—stitching communities together through shared narratives and collective resistance. 

Tales That Won’t be Spun

Picture one of the women etched into the nation’s imagination: Laura from “Florante at Laura,” portrayed as pure, delicate, and dependent. Contrast this with pre-colonial figures like Princess Urduja, a warrior leader who subverted norms on docility with strength and authority. This shift from empowered pre-colonial archetypes to subdued colonial ones reflects how narratives both inscribed and reinforced changing views on womanhood, as noted in a 2019 study published in the Surigao del Sur State University Multidisciplinary Research Journal.

Since these colonial archetypes continue to persist in some of today’s literature and popular culture, they leave little room for stories that confront the harsh realities many women from different sectors face today and the struggle they wage against the miseries that befall them. 

This is because mainstream publishers tend to play safe and favor narratives that already appeal to a wider audience, resulting in a lack of diversity in literary representation, according to a 2023 study in Cultural Trends. But Gantala Press refuses to follow this formula. Established in 2015 by writer Faye Cura, this independently run collective emerged to reclaim Filipina narratives and amplify marginalized voices. 

In its works, Gantala does not claim to speak for the marginalized, but ensures they speak for themselves. Rejecting mediation, which dictates the language and framework of storytelling, it empowers women to tell their stories on their own terms. 

True to this vision, Gantala cooperates with formations like the Amihan National Federation of Peasant Women, a grassroots alliance fighting for land rights and food security. It joins protests, engages in people’s movements, and visits communities—ensuring that women are not just subjects of literature but active participants in telling their own stories.

In doing so, Ganta forges counterpublics, which philosopher Nancy Fraser defined as the alternative spaces where marginalized voices challenge dominant narratives. As a feminist counterpublic, Gantala serves as an avenue where stories excluded from mainstream discourse are not only published but actively sustained through community engagement.  

Threads of Resistance

For Gantala, feminism “does not and must not detach itself from its economic and political roots.” This commitment views women’s liberation as inseparable from the struggle against all forms of systemic domination. 

Founded a year before Rodrigo Duterte took office, Gantala was still navigating its beginnings when misogyny and state violence became more pervasive. Duterte’s presidency normalized rape jokes, attacks on women leaders, and the silencing of dissent. His drug war rendered many women widows and grieving mothers.

Under this political climate, women took on roles as both caretakers and resistance leaders, transforming grief into collective action, according to feminist studies scholar Mariella Marcaida. For one, organizations like Rise Up for Life and for Rights mobilized mothers and widows to protest extrajudicial killings. 

Gantala’s “Suóng” echoes this spirit by presenting testimonies of women affected by these state-sponsored killings. As one of the few books that spotlight these narratives, Gantala resists a culture that often erases women’s pain and contestation.

Another glaring example of this erasure is in agriculture, where women make up one in four of this sector’s operators. On top of their domestic and care work, women farmers in Northern Luzon earn around P300 per day, which is less than men’s P400, found the Center for Women’s Resources. But these stories are not the kind one can easily browse in bookstores.

This reflects what advocates of socialist feminism critique: the nexus of class and gender oppression, where women’s labor both in economic production and social reproduction, remains invisibilized. Gantala actively seeks to remedy this issue.

“Lutong Gipit” used food as a storytelling tool, presenting recipes that speak of scarcity, resilience, and survival. The book highlights the neglect and exploitation of peasant women and their families, who are left without aid amid socioeconomic crises, food insecurity, and militarized lockdowns.

This practice of shedding light on overlooked narratives is one way through which Gantala challenges mainstream publishing practices that prioritize the demands of the market.

Fabrics of Change 

At the heart of Gantala is a resistance that goes beyond the content of its works. It challenges traditional publishing practices by prioritizing accessibility and collaboration over profit. This means making books as affordable as possible, even if it means earning only a meager profit and shouldering most of the production costs.

Its first book, “Danas”—a multilingual anthology featuring women’s writings on activism, motherhood, political imprisonment, and identity—had a unit cost of P226 but was sold for only P350. This strategy defies the conventional “times three method” of pricing, where rates are tripled to cover production and profit. 

Gantala’s publishing model prioritizes solidarity and community support. In doing so, it defies the logic of domination underpinning both capitalist and patriarchal regimes. Reflecting the feminist value of reciprocity, it offers authors higher shares in royalties—up to 30 percent and even 50 percent in special cases. Then most of its remaining earnings go directly to grassroots campaigns, including those advocating for political prisoners, indigenous women, and peasant women. 

Despite the challenges of working with limited resources as they rely mostly on donations and book fair gains, Gantala has remained steadfast in its mission, managing to publish over 40 books and zines since its establishment.

“It is upon us to document the times na kinabibilangan natin, para ma-record din yung mga aral. Kasi may mga aral na tayong generation ang nakinabang dahil naisulat ng mga nauna satin,” Cura said in a 2023 podcast.

Today, that fight continues. Whether it is the Maranao woman documenting her war-torn homeland, the peasant mother writing about her struggle for land, or the young queer Filipina expressing her love and defiance, their voices push back against silence. And as long as these narratives persist, Gantala will continue to weave them into existence. ●