much belated november newsletter! - Gretchen in the Philippines

After undergoing an intense orientation period in Manila, during which I and the other six interns were exposed to various sectors and struggles within the Philippines—from the urban poor to the farmers, workers to Indigenous People, and the prostituted to Moro people—Arin (intern from Indonesia) and I moved to Cebu City within Cebu province to begin our placements, where the bulk of our time and work would be done during our year. Over the course of our two-month orientation, the seven of us grew together in our awareness of the situation here—processing post-immersion, wrestling with injustice, and expressing anger, frustration, sadness, and despair together. In the process, we formed a new family. Leaving this family was difficult but in looking toward to the future months, my move to Cebu was greeted with excitement and anticipation. Growing up in Vermilion, Ohio, the hectic streets and lifestyle of Manila stood in stark contrast to my own preferences, and while I understood that Cebu City resembled the urban landscape of Manila being the second largest city in the country, I began to view Cebu as an escape from this craziness. However, this viewpoint would not last long.

During one of our first days in Cebu, we were invited by members of Promotion of Church Peoples’ Response (PCPR), Arin’s host organization, to accompany a group of human rights workers and lawyers to Turburan, Cebu province, a half days’ journey over the mountains traversing the island. This was the site where an 8-year-old girl had been interrogated by the military (I use the accurate term rather than the less aggressive term, interview) of the whereabouts of her parents who were allegedly linked to the New People’s Army (NPA), the armed wing of the Communist party. The human rights workers were present to return the girl to the protection of her aunt and were able to do so peacefully. While returning back to Cebu City after an overall successful day, I began to internalize that although we were exposed to these same problems in Manila—forced disappearances, interrogation, and worse—they are truly endemic to the Philippines. No place within a country where corruption, injustice, and poverty run rampant would I be able to “escape.” This awakened an awareness of a lacking in myself that I have been struggling with since the very date of my arrival and continues to this day.

Growing up in a country where the majority live in the middle class and oftentimes a lack of awareness on the grassroots level—where people are most affected—of poverty home and abroad occurs has made transitioning to the reality in the Philippines difficult. There are times I find myself legitimizing poverty and inequality in the U.S. since I feel I have a responsibility to present realities in my country rather than those skewed images presented by the media and popular culture. But of course, to equate the severity and widespread effect of poverty in the Philippines with issues facing the U.S. is inaccurate and glosses over my purpose here. The contradictions of remaining locked in two worlds that couldn’t be further apart—my background that can accurately described though grudgingly admitted as privileged and my present situation where people my same age with the same level of education have no guarantee for any employment, let alone that which would necessitate a bachelor’s degree—highlights the difficulty of being in limbo. How do I separate myself from the mindset of unawareness and embrace the minority who live and work for the poor when I am intrinsically linked to my past, of which I have an incredible amount of pride and affection for? I know that I will never be able to empathize with the Philippine struggles—my very privilege inhibits this—but I can sympathize. I have learned that simply saying one is in solidarity with the people of the Philippines and actually living and serving every day are two separate entities. I continue to wrestle with this, and it is my hope that is not viewed as insensitive of me, but rather a realistic concern that through all this questioning might awaken the possibility of genuine solidarity as well as an option other than straddling a distance that can seem larger than the ocean separating the Philippines and the U.S. itself.

This struggle of understanding my place in the Philippines has contributing factors that lie outside myself in the awareness, or lack thereof, that people here have of my role in their country. Many people within the United Church of Christ in the Philippines itself are unaware of the intern program, and in turn the program is not explained well to people outside the church with whom I interact. Oftentimes after hearing I am working through the UCCP with the ELCA as my sending church, many instantly assume I plan to enter seminary when I return home, which I do not think is quite in my future. While I understand that every outreach and project of the UCCP cannot be known to every churchperson, it is often difficult to try to explain myself, my reasons for being here, and my expectations for the year in a surface-level conversation. My conviction to spend a year away from everything I have known, my desire to learn about the situation here, and my duty to become an advocate of the Philippine people cannot be described without having a deeper conversation. And to be quite honest, it becomes exhausting to have a conversation of that caliber at a moment’s notice.

As well as some difficulty in making my purpose here clear, there are the inevitable feelings of being “other.” What a strange feeling it is to walk outside, knowing that no one else looks like me, save for the occasional sex tourist, which is no consolation. There is a self-consciousness that accompanies the knowledge that I am a novelty, attracting attention everywhere I go, though Americans are clearly not new to the Philippines. Language is another stage in which I feel foreign. The local dialect of Visaya (or Cebuano depending who you ask; people from other islands in the central island region of the Visayas call their dialect Visaya and refer to that of Cebu as Cebuano) is quite different from the Tagalog of Manila. Despite language lessons now in Visaya, my progress is slower than I would like since there are few useful books to learn practical, conversational Visaya. I want so badly to be able to communicate in at least some Visaya, since although many people know English, viewpoints towards English seem to habituate the “colonial mentality,” meaning that many Filipinos who speak English with proper grammar and no trace of a Filipino accent are elevated in status. Those who are not afforded the opportunity to study English in college are, using the common adjective, ashamed of speaking English with an American. In this sense, while I know I can always “fall back” on English, I myself feel ashamed that I must rely on my native tongue to effectively communicate.

I thought before I came to the Philippines I had a higher than normal level of patience. Growing up with four brothers (sorry to call you out, boys), I learned over time to tolerate their taunting and frequent annoyingness. I am a person that is not impulsive, but often takes much processing to come to a decision, patient to see the resolve that often reveals itself. Therefore, I was shocked with myself when my patience began to flee and my frustrations grew. There was some time the past month before my facilitator (my link to the organization I would be working with as well as the contact person for the community) arrived when I felt useless, without having a solid direction of what I was to be learning and doing. This lesson would reveal itself in time as many others. I would have to expand my former patience beyond its prior limits. Living in a country where plans are constantly changing, making a schedule makes an excuse to break it, and planning for a major event mere days in advance require this expansion of patience.

When my facilitator, Dr. Alex Montes, arrived in Cebu, my feelings of restlessness abated and my direction focused on my host community of Punta Engano. Dr. Montes is a non-practicing physician and head of the outreach program of the Visays Community Medical Center (VCMC), a private-hospital owned by the UCCP, which is also my residence. (Arin and I live in the Administrator’s guest home within the hospital compound, which incidentally is also the office of the outreach program. The commute to work involves emerging from our bedroom, funny enough.) I also work with the community builder living and working in the field, within Punta Engano itself, Butch Rosales. The outreach program is supported by the UCCP but funded by an umbrella organization CONCORD (Consortium of Christian Organization for Rural-Urban Development; Filipinos love acronyms, sometimes I think the acronym is invented before the full name). The outreach program focuses on addressing issues facing communities of urban poor and farther a field, including the barangay (akin to neighborhood with locally elected officials) of Punta Engano.

Punta Engano is a two-hour jeep ride from my home base of VCMC, but distance-wise it is only on the next island over from Cebu City, Mactan Island, a place of historical significance. This is the place where the first Spanish settlers led by Magellan landed in the Philippines. Incidentally, it is also the place of Magellan’s death at the hands of local chieftain, Lapu-Lapu, who is commemorated as the first Filipino to resist foreign rule. However, many Filipinos, specifically of Mactan, continue to wonder where the victory of the Battle of Mactan is today. Punta Engano, a microcosm of the major issues facing the entire country, struggles with lack of land ownership, economic exploitation by trans-national corporations, few jobs and poor pay, inaccessibility to social services, and militarization. The livelihood—primarily fishing—and the right to shelter are threatened daily by encroachment of resort hotels. Residents’ homes along the peninsula of Mactan where Punta Engano is located are bought out and demolished by big developers who feed them misinformation and convince them they have no other option. In addition, many of the people live on the land without ownership; they are informal settlers who have occupied the land for decades yet are bereft of land titles. As well as the land, the resorts claim to own the water surrounding their hotels (although illegal in the Philippines), prohibiting fisherfolk (fisherman) from fishing in the area. It is therefore crucial to organize and educate the community, so that they know their options and the implications for future generations before settling a deal. Under Philippine law, when demolition occurs there must be a plan for relocation, regardless of type of settlement—formal or otherwise. However, for countless families in Punta Engano, the talk for relocation has been just that—talk. The mayor the city in which Engano lies has proposed a 6 million peso deal with a developer to provided adequate relocation, yet this plan has failed to materialize, and even if it does, it breaches the agreement of resettlement within Punta Engano, planning to displace families to the opposite end of Mactan Island.

Hearing the story of Punta Engano within the walls of the office was quite different from experiencing daily life in the community, where I spend a considerable portion of my week. Contradictions abound within the barangay; such a quick impression is possible even within the confines of viewing from an overcrowded and bumbling jeep. Five star resorts—Shangri-La and Hilton—exist side by side to families living in squat huts made from nipa palm, undoubtedly victims of demolition. The smoothness of the jeep ride depends on its proximity to such resorts; well-paved roads lined with the soft glow of lighted trees at night exist in the meters surrounding the resorts, but disappear instantly, transferring one from the momentary immitation-serentity back to the reality of the place, conditions, and those who live in Punta Engano rather than those who vacation for a week. Concrete walled fences demarcating land titles are ubiquitous, representing the age-old battle mentality of “divide and conquer.” No sooner than a deal is made, the walls are constructed providing a visual reminder that quietly and stealthily, the land falls victim to the grandiose plans of developers who wish to see Punta Engano as a tourists’ dream without any trace of the original inhabitants. The specific community, or sitio, where I stay in Punta Engano is called Jansen, a historically Protestant community where I also worship. Truly unique within the barangay, Jansen has been paying the government for the past 18 years a monthly sum for the rights to the land. At the end of the 25-year span, the land will be in the sole possession of the inhabitants. This situation is hopeful for the people of Jansen, but in seven years, many residents worry Jansen will be a small square on the map of Punta Engano surrounded by resorts. It is the desire of the outreach program that many more squares in addition to Jansen exist and remain within Punta Engano.

To see this desire put into the practice, the outreach program realizes the power of information to educate the masses and the need for leadership among the residents to empower the community to chart their own history rather than simply accepting the future that those in positions of power offer. Rather than looking to “dole-out” projects to aid the community, the outreach focuses on sustainability to address the pressing issues while simultaneously utilizing available resources, be it legal council to understand land rights or organizational methods to make social services better accessible. In the past few weeks, Dr. Montes, Butch, and I have been working to make alliances with local organizations, such as the Christian Young Adult Fellowship of the UCCP, to assist in the organizing effort. We aided in facilitating the forming of a citywide urban poor organization of various sectors including vendors, drivers, youth, women, and fisherfolk in order to work together for a common goal constructively. An upcoming leadership training program to educated community members of effective leadership methods is being planned. But despite these larger projects aligned with the vision of the outreach program, smaller tasks crop up, and it requires patience to see purpose in even the simplest of contributions.

I am now a Sunday school teacher for the older elementary students in Jansen, who love to practice their English with me, asking questions as diverse as “what’s your favorite Pokemon?” and “do you have a love life?” I have also been put in charge of running a children’s Christmas program for the community. The children’s’ mothers are enthusiastically holding practices when I am not in the community, and I am looking forward to the final performance, set for Christmas Day itself. By opening the Christmas program opportunity to the whole community rather than operating solely through the framework of the church, it is the outreach program’s hope that the parents will be attracted to this event and the overall organizing effort. While a Christmas program is a small contribution, it is the patience that is growing within me along with a resolute and unfaltering hope that wishes to subtly accomplish more than I set out to do.

While I have taken this time to reflect, to delve into myself, to try to understand the Philippines, the world, I also know there will be many more times of questioning. I will admit that in this questioning I experience frequent frustration, realizing that I come from the other side of the world in more ways than simply distance. I have yet to formulate a plan of action so that I can one day soon quit this balancing act of being a privileged American in the Philippines working for the poor. Yet a creative plan must be in the works, because straddling distance, culture, language, and ideology is downright exhausting. But perhaps in this exercise of pushing past unforeseen limits, patience will not only be expanded but also a strength in the understanding that through faith, passion, and hope a continuation past one’s previous self might be realized.