October Newsletter - Gretchen in the Philippines

Another month has gone by in the Philippines and while I am amidst change at moment with my recent move to Cebu in the central island region of the Visayas where I will serve in my placement for the remainder of my stay, it is time to reflect and share about the past few weeks. The second portion of our two-month orientation period provided in-depth looks into the life of Moro (Muslim) peoples as well as Indigenous peoples through homestays and immersions. Our red light exposure gave us a glimpse into the realities of prostituted women in the Philippines and the business that occurs in literally our backyard as our home lies within the historic red light district in Malate. In addition to our immersions and exposure, a number of lectures, forums, and workshops revisited topics including human rights through interaction with current workers in various sectors, unlawful imprisonment with a visit to the prison of UCCP Pastor Berlin Guerrero, and introduced new topics such as armed conflict, current political landscape, the environment, and culture through dance, theatre, and art.

In a country dominated by Roman Catholicism and proclaimed as the second front of the war on terror, Muslims in the Philippines are victims of the present day dangerously ignorant of coupling Islam with terrorism. I observed on our first day in the Muslim community of Taguig within Metro Manila that few women wore head coverings only to later learn that this is one of the many precautions taken to avoid religious discrimination in the workplace and in public. Names are changed to appear more Christian. Religious identity is sacrificed to ensure security during a time when scrutiny is placed on the Muslim-populated and war-torn southern island of Mindanao. We were present in the community at the end of Ramadhan and at the breaking of the fast, the Muslim New Year. Arising at 4am on the morning of the twelfth, I watched women covered from head to feet hold the hands of dragging children as they climbed the hill to the dominating Blue Mosque for prayers at 4:15…4:35…again at 5:45, ending at 7am. Witnessing so many people of faith together brought the term community of believers to mind, represented in row after row of fervent prayer, reverence on bended knees, and the creation of personal sacred space within the larger collective setting. On our last day in the community, two of the interns were allowed to visit a nearby prison where Moro people were being detained—without formal charges filed—for as long as seven years. While I was not able to enter the prison, the stories from within the prison were shared. The 150 men being held are primarily from Mindanao suspected of terrorism links, though the methods of arrest were unlawful and nonsensical—all men named Muhammad might be rounded up from one village with the capturers receiving bounty—and due process nonexistent. Visitation by families is difficult since the journey is long, admittance into the prison purposefully-humiliating for Muslim women who are strip-searched in degradation, and the consequences threatening with many family members being arrested themselves afterwards. One lawyer handles all 150 men among three cases. As stalling in the courts continue, the detainees sit in prison, celebrating their own New Year in moments of solitary piety.

Our Indigenous peoples (IP) immersion placed us in southern Luzon after one of the most entertaining travel days yet in the Philippines. We found ourselves bound on the most over-loaded jeepney with 20 women, children, foreigners (yours truly), kilos of rice, and bags and bags and bags inside the jeep. Then 30 men loaded in on the roof with more bags in addition to the few men sitting on the hood of the jeep. Two hours into the four hour trek, we turned off-road and in time we would cross a shallow yet swift-moving river then criss-crossing the same river no less than 15 times as the jeep lurched, the ceiling caved, and my fears of being crushed alive increased. Needless to say, I made it out alive, but what an experience! Witnessing our surroundings in the daytime made the jeepney ride far worth the fear. Between the mountainous scenery covered in luscious green ran the river that constantly diverged from itself only to rejoin downstream. Small huts were nestled on intermittent flat tracts of land amidst the altitude. A walk to the neighbor’s house included crossing the river an average of three times, scaling a rocky hill, and trying to keep balanced along the muddy path. While interaction with the Indigenous people was difficult as they spoke strictly Tagalog and try as we might, mastery has not come in two months, we were able to perceive the disintegration of IP’s customs and traditions. On our last night, a village elder performed a traditional dance around a bonfire, donning a red shirt for his headband and miscellaneous fabric for his thong. While we felt privileged that he wanted to share this with us, we soon realized that not only could the village take him seriously, with uproarious fits of laughter, but he couldn’t perform authentically as he also had difficulty containing himself. When customs and practices are met with laughter, unable to be upheld in a globalized world, how does IP identity remain preserved? As expressed from an IP rights worker, self-determination is vital for survival in defending cultural heritage from the onslaught of modernity and affirming the viability of traditional practices from a decaying world of individualization and the destruction of community. The community seemed to be self-sustaining with the distance and jeepney fare to the market necessitating that sustenance, but the influence of globalization was undeniable in the traditions defaced and new customs adopted.

The singularly most incomprehensibly demoralizing and savagely submissive activity to witness yet in the Philippines occurred during out red light exposure. The exposure was structured such that we observed in the evening hours women who are prostituted and then processed the information the following morning with workers who advocated on behalf of them. As bystanders in two separate clubs—one designed for sex tourists, foreigners who travel here for one expressed purpose, and another meant for middle class Filipinos—we observed the nightly realities of stripping naked behind eyes full of emptiness for undeservingly broken men. As the sex tourism capital of the world, 400,000 to 500,000 men, women, and children earn their living by selling their bodies. The overwhelming majority of sex workers come from families of farmers or the urban poor. In either instance, sex work is seen as the only viable option to provide for one’s family; food is valued over dignity. Learning the history behind the rise of sex tourism makes seeing a woman expose herself even more disturbing. The colonial mentality ushered in by the Spanish accompanied subservience; the military bases brought by the U.S. welcomed clubs for the purpose of prostitution; the militarization of the Japanese systematized the rape of “comfort women” brought to bases to render sexual services; the modern-day Philippine government turns a blind eye to the illegal activity for the needed source of revenue. Prostitution is the only industry to prosper in the midst of crisis. Indeed the very crisis, the lack of economic stability perpetuates prostitution as the system that institutionalizes poverty continues. Feelings of hopelessness, frustration, anger, and deep sadness have fatigued us all following this experience, knowing that of the dozen or so women whose melancholy and disillusioned eyes revisit our thoughts, there are countless others who face the same realities night after night, sacrificing their righteousness for survival.

We continued our education of human rights through listening to the stories of various HR workers engaging in the field. From various sectors, ranging from health care to church work, from law to journalism, HR workers possess the unwieldy determination, the diabolical persistence to continue working under the gravest of circumstances. One worker of KARAPATAN, a leading HR advocacy group, meaning human rights in Tagalog, recounted the imprisonment of herself and her siblings during the Martial Law years of Ferdinand Marcos. As with many Filipinos, she describes the current situation in the Philippines as undeclared Martial Law with over 800 extra-judicial killings occurring under the reign of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. Differing from Marcos, President Arroyo’s government is attacking legal progressive groups in hopes of creating cowering fear during the growing demand for her resignation. Although she calls HR work a thankless job, to her living in service to humans is the most gratifying work. A woman working in journalism—a fearless field with more journalists killed in the Philippines than any other country, second only to Iraq—was also once imprisoned but continues to head the National Union of Journalists in the Philippines. A lawyer entered his field after being arrested and tortured at age eighteen and having experienced the hope of visitations made by his legal advocate. He believes, like a rubber band, human rights only extend as far as empowered people demand. In uniting the Filipino people in defiance of the current circumstances, he expresses his passion for continuing his work: “We continue to work because there is hope. When the Filipino people band together, we will be able to chart our own history.” Each HR worker views the struggle to uphold human rights as an embittered fight that must not end, for the advocacy of human rights is never an option for a human, it extends beyond necessity.

Having never visited a prison previously, my expectations were non-existent when visiting the wrongly-accused Pastor Berlin in the Cavite Detention Center. Within the low-security prison lacking many bars and confined cells, many prisoners were allowed to walk freely about the grounds, to visit the small shops set up around the courtyard. However, not all prisoners were granted this freedom, especially since a crackdown on security followed a recent escape. Pastor Berlin, privileged to have his own private cell while most prisoners found themselves living in cramped, claustrophobic cubbies, would only see the outdoors once a week. Visiting with four others in the private cell measuring merely 5’ x 5 ½’ x 5 ½’ was a constant struggle to remain grounded amidst the knowledge of 200 other bodies in the cell block and no view of the outdoors. Rather than wallowing in the grimness of this new reality, Pastor Berlin utilizes his private cell as the setting for Bible studies, pastoral care sessions, and his writings which relate to a different time and a different cell—that of late pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, protestor of the Nazi Regime. Despite the relatively low level of security, prison life, as one would imagine, lacks ease with the deplorable living conditions. Prisoners are crammed to full capacity, creating an intimidating sea of orange shirts; food is inedible, the dogs even refuse of touch such food; and as a result, outside support is heavily relied upon. Living in such a reality with the knowledge of unlawful detainment following abduction and torture, one would expect to be downtrodden. But the Filipino spirit resonates in Pastor Berlin—the quintessential underdogs, Filipinos may often be down, but rarely are they out. Pastor Berlin and the UCCP community continue to fight within the court systems as he cheerfully says full of hope, “I shall leave here by Christmas.” I hope to be writing just that in my December newsletter.

Through workshops we have experienced Philippine culture through dance, theatre, and art, and through lectures, we have been introduced to additional important topics of armed conflict, current political landscape, the environment. With a local UCCP church, we were introduced to liturgical dance and the possibilities of expressing our most compelling experiences through theatre. While the seven of us proved to be not the most talented group as far as dance was concerned, we were able to create two separate dramas describing our encounters within our urban poor communities, helping us to revisit the immersion and further process. We performed the dramas in subsequent weeks at two UCCP churches. We were afforded the opportunity to spend a day with international-known artist Manny Garibay and his circle of artists who use various media to explore social and political issues within the Philippines. As one can imagine, I was in heaven the entire day talking about art, its social relevance, and creating sketches within the serenest setting in all of Manila. Within the realm of politics, the morality of armed conflict arises often considering the state of injustice that lives in the Philippines. Such a sensitive subject was presented to us by a UCCP Bishop from the standpoint of being both a Filipino and Christian. He queried if violence was a permissible means for change and cited Bonhoeffer as a man who deemed violence antithetical to the Christian message yet necessary under Hitler’s regime. In the Philippines where, like poverty, violence is institutionalized, can one accept armed conflict as a last resort? With the clambering for President Arroyo to step down and her continue insistence that there will not be a new president until 2010, there are certain groups in the Philippines who consider arming oneself to be a desperate, final attempt for justice. The current deteriorating situation is such that the president receives support from political factions as well as a majority of the Senate, which poses the question, will anyone be better than Gloria considering the string of corrupt and contemptuous past presidents? However, this very question enables Gloria a victory at her own game. As the HR lawyer stated, it is not until the Filipino band together to chart their own history that victory over oppression might be realized. From an environmental perspective of Philippine situation, the land rich in numerous resources is made weak and decrepit, sacrificed at the altar of the global market for profit.

Needless to say, our orientation was more akin to boot camp than a smooth transition into a different and oftentimes inexplicable culture. But we all survived and as of this very day, everyone has made it to our various placements scattered widely throughout the country. While the details of my placement here in Cebu City are not entire set with the current absence of my facilitator for the next week, I know I will work with a grassroots organization under the umbrella of the Visayas Community Medical Center. As I once again find myself in a new and absorbing place, the cross-cultural experiences, the stories of hardship, and the opportunities for growth will continue to roll. Stay tuned.