Holy Land

At their next to the last night at the evacuation center, the refugees took time to dance.  It’s very Filipino, very lumad to not just move in the face of tragedy, but to sway and to jump, to pick up one’s feet and be in every moment.  The rain heaped a racket on the tin roof of the barangay hall, just a basketball court really.  No one brought them cots or snacks or clean linen and it is hard for their songs to breathe here; where the river of Babylon runs with sewage and trash.  But their music will swell in two days time, when they climb through the forest and up the mountain, toting their infants in their arms and their possessions on their backs.  They know what they will be returning to- they’ve been through this before.  There is no choice.  That land is home.

Sacredness is all in the perspective.  The holy land is the place with your people’s name; your livelihood, the soil that feeds your children.  A man cannot own the land until it owns him, until his ancestors belong to the soil that kicks up and dirties his feet.  Then it is the land where God formed him- its sacredness melts into the roots of the trees, into the veins of the crops, and the bellies and lungs of the people.

What will become of this Diaspora?  As a war wages on the banks of the Jordan, there is a world full of Holy Lands that is crying out for justice.  The lumads do not want to profit from the land, they don’t wish to kick anyone out.  They are the original Third World and their desire is not to oppress but just to survive- to be where their God tells them to be and to feed their families and teach their children.  Their weapons are bows and arrows against an entire empire of steel.

How can they win?  When I hear indigenous, my heart cries out, “It’s already too late- too many loses over too long a time.”  But I am a fool who used to believe that some lands are more sacred than others.  Holiness is relative, it’s injustice that’s as real as rain.

 

Solidarity for Peace- for Response Magazine, May 2008

Talaingod.  When I speak the word my lips feel magical, its name alone testifies to the mountains and the stars.  High in the hillside, the air cools from the low lands and rushes through the forest on its way to meet the sky.  This “middle of nowhere” is perhaps the center of the universe, the place where God first breathed divine life into his more perfect creation.  If God comes down to put his hands in the dirt, it must be in Talaingod.

And so, where God creates, man destroys.  Talaingod is only one of many communities on Mindanao threatened by large-scale corporate mining, only one of the many places whose forests stand to become mining pits and whose people could very soon become refugees.  In a world raging with war and injustice this is only a tiny speck, only a few hundred people, only a few hundred acres of ancestral lands.

The Filipino Government’s soldiers visited before I did.  Under the claim of rooting out terrorists (particularly members of a rebel group called the New People’s Army) they terrorized the peasants with their high tech military equipment, interrogating children, harassing adults, and finally, setting a house on fire.  The people were forced to flee.  This already impoverished community lost many crops and livestock to lack of attention or blatant theft.  Many families returned with sick children to ransacked homes. 

I came after the disturbance was over.  A sole Daisy among a field of Asian flora, I climbed on the back of a battered Kawasaki motorcycle loaded past its capacity with food and medical supplies.  I braced myself against bags of rice and bounced and teetered on the back of the bike along the 30-minute journey away from electricity and modernity as I knew it.  The jungle spread out over cliffs and drop-offs, the engine of the motorcycle roaring like a lion in the beginning of March as it fought through the mud.

The trail led on and on- past the point where the residents of Talaingod could get to a hospital or a school in a reasonable period of time.  We passed from the Third World to the Fifth. Talaingod is not just poor and remote, but it’s native, indigenous, lumad.  When Christian Filipinos emigrated from the north to settle Mindanao (per foreign request), these lumad were already here- unknown, uncolonized, “uncivilized”.

Today, one hundred years after the Northern “Visaya” Filipinos brought their culture, morals and Catholicism (all given to them by Spain in the 17th Century), the lumads and their way of life are an inferior subculture on an island that they’ve belonged to for thousands of years.  They’re already the very least of the people, and yet the army comes to ready their land for mining, comes to take it away under the guise of public safety.

Along with my sarong and military cap, I also carried guilt with me to Talaingod.  It was smaller than mynotebook, but heavier than the rice.  I tucked it in my heart and tried not to let it show in my face.  The US Military had just the month before stepped up their presence in the Philippines, training the Filipino troops in counter-terrorism techniques.  Not only had my government paid for the M-16s the Filipino soldiers were carrying, but now it had taught them how to interrogate, how to find the “terrorists”.  I saw the results of the anti-terrorism campaign when I arrived in Talaingod- the nervous people, the wild-grown fields, the empty livestock pens.

As my fellow activists handed out rice and conducted medical exams over the next three days, I wrestled with my guilt.  I took pictures of surroundings and of the people (my assigned task), played with the children and helped feed the chickens.  And on my last night there when we were all gathered around a bonfire, I realized my guilt was gone.  I took the time to look at the stars and dance with the elders while they played their wooden instruments.  There is minefield of self-centeredness between feeling guilty and taking responsibly and I crossed it with the help of some time in a peasant village and some handfuls ofchicken feed.  There is nothing I can do to undo what has happened, all I can do is be there in the moment.

Solidarity is a lot harder than charity.  Charity is easy because it doesn’t require surrender of power.  When we give to those less fortunate, we often feel good about who we are and what we’ve done.  And the people who receive those gifts feel indebted to us.  Charity perpetuates a cycle of giving out of our extra and being congratulated for it.  This can never be the way to peace, because peace only comes out of unity.  Charity separates those who have and those who don’t.

Solidarity says “It’s not about me, it’s about us.”  When we’re in solidarity, we take the role of equals, not of saviors.  It would be blasphemy to say I struggled with the people of Talaingod, but I did dance with them, I pet one of their pigs, and I played with their children.  Certainly that alone will not make life easier, but lumads were given a chance to say what happened and they knew that someone was listening.  Talaingod is not just a fleck on a giant mural of injustice.  I was given the wonderful gift of being there and now it’s inextricably a part of me.

Solidarity is the only way to peace because it must start with acknowledging commonality.  When we link ourselves to each other with relationships built on compassion and mutual growth, we tie our fates together.  True peace can only happen when there is justice for all of us.  When we’re connected, we can all walk toward peace together.

Talaingod isn’t the only place where solidarity can be had- we just need to know where to find it.  Solidarity is hard to find when donating dented cans to a soup kitchen, but it’s readily available in conversations with homeless men and women about their lives and struggles.  Pitying a shut-in is a long way from creating peace, but taking time to listen to an elderly neighbor’s stories is a step to solidarity. 

Solidarity starts with letting go of guilt and venturing out of our comfort zones.  My journey didn’t end with dancing on mountaintop- it began there.  The next day I climbed back onto a motorbike and splashed through the mud back to a world of paved roads and power lines.  I don’t know if there will be any peace for the people of Talaingod.  I don’t know if there will be peace for any of us.  But Christ calls us to try, to work for a just world for everyone.  And the only way to start is through relationship.

Evacuwhat? My first first hand experience with propaganda

June 12, 2008.  From Sun Star Davao, a daily rag on Mindanao: “In his latest tirade Army Major Medel Aguilar said… “Clearly, militant organizations behind the evacuation of the lumads who were held like prisoners at the Bankerohan gym are merely exploiting the weakness of the lumads… simply for propaganda purposes.”  He went to say these “militant organizations” refused to return the lumads to their homes in Compostela Valley and blocked acces to the evacuees for the delivery of food and services by government agencies.

Which all would have been horrible, horrible things, except none of this happened.  It’s not just a misstatement of facts or confusion about events, Aguilar told gross lies to the major Filipino media.  As for his reasoning, I’ve only been able to come up with two disturbing possibilities.  One, in his effort to prove the AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines) alligiance to the transnational mining corporations, he is not only willing to disenfranchise his own countrymen, but he’s wiling to check all of his remaining ethics at the door.  Or perhaps more disconcerning, he has actually become so deluded with imperialist rederick that he believes whatever he says about the Filipino left must be true.  

Webster defines it as “combative and aggressive in support of a political or social cause, particularly favoring extreme, violent, or confrontational methods.”  So who are these militant organzations.  Aguilar doesn’t know, or it seems he would have mentioned them by name.  And even though I visited the evacuation center in Bankerohan gym several times (several times more than the ranting army major did, for sure) I can name the “militants” either.  There were a number of NGO’s from InPeace’s network coming in and out of the evacuation site in Davao City (bringing relief to the people, talking to them about their situation, offering services such as counseling) none of which were brandishing weapons or support violence.  The NGO that maintained a constant presence was Community Based Health Services Association (CBHSA).  Funded by the European Union (EU), CBHSA serves the impoverished communities in and around Davao City who cannot afford any medical care whatsoever.  The group sponsors medical missions in the field and holds trainings in which the CBHSA staff teaches peasants and urban poor how to practice home health care and make herbal remedies.  The (mostly) female staff of this organization did not block government aid or services.  In fact, the doors to the gym were left wide open.  The only government officials who visited were politicians looking for photo ops.  And the “militants” welcomed them and members of the media with open arms and lots of questions on when the evacuees would be able to return home.

The cost for feeding and caring for the evacuated lumads at the gym ran an astonishing P5,000-10,000 (US$125-250) per day, none of which was covered by the government or by personal contributions from Major Aguilar.  That may not seem like much to an American, but it should be noted that all of this cost was covered by these “militant” NGO’s, whose individual staff members make an average of P1,500 a month (less than US$40).  If this was a publicity stunt by NGO’s to keep the lumads in the gym, who had the money to pay for this?  And why, in the name of God, would these poor people volunteer to stay there?  The Bankerohan gym is far from the Hilton Suites.  The people sleep on the concrete floor, there are two toilets for 150 some people, children get sick and while they’re all cramped in the stuffy pavilion, their crops and livestock are going by the wayside back in Compostela. 

Major Medel Aguilar had no problem openly lying to the press for his own political purposes.  And it’s very possible that his orders to do so came from someone higher up in the chain of command.  I have long heard about the corruption of government and military agencies in the Philippines, but this is the first example of obvious and disgusting propaganda of which I had first-hand experience of the subject in question.  Part of me had been holding onto the liberal idea that there is truth on both sides, that the accusations by the NGO’s and peasants here could not be entirely validated.  My naivety caught up with me on page three of yesterday’s paper.

Evacuwaiting

Almost three weeks after they were forced to flee, the 255 Matigsulug lumad refugees from Compostela Valley are still a long way from home. They’re worn down and tired, sleeping on the floor of the Bankerohan Gym in Davao City, where they first arrived on May 15. The 50 plus families share the two toilets in the gymnasium, receive limited medical care from a local NGO, and eat whatever they can get their hands on. Their existence is day to day, their struggle- bleak. Even as the children need to start school and their parents need to tend to the farms, the AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines) vows it will not give up its military operations in Compostela Valley, regardless of the cost.

The military has been haphazardly displacing lumads all of this year, its latest campaign against “terrorism” took off in Compostela Valley Province on April 5. This group of lumads currently stranded in Davao is already the third such group of refugees from the province, preceded by families from the Mandaya and Mansaka tribes last month. An infant, Romily Cayan from the Mandaya tribe, died in an evacuation center.

The AFP claims it is only in Compostela Valley to wipe out the rebellion. According to the military, in early April soldiers under the 1001^st Brigade discovered six rebel camps New Bataan. Gasoline, radios, and land mines were among the inventory found at the camps. Then on April 20, suspected NPA members set aflame a Globe Telecommunication tower in Pantukan. That was more than enough figurative ammunition for the military to declare Compostela a war zone.

The military launched operations on the afternoon of May 12 in Purok 4 – B, Brgy. Mangayon Compostela Town. Evacuees first fled to the Compostela Town Gym, but soldiers (many of who were not wearing name plates) followed them there. The soldiers harassed the people and tried to present videos about the military’s counter-insurgency tactics. Fearing for their safety, the people fled again, this time to Davao City. Various NGO’s were able to pay for the lumads’ bus fare so they would not have to walk the long distance. Unfortunately, the military is saying this is proof that militant groups “imported” these evacuees to Davao for political purposes.

As the days turn to weeks, the possible validity of this accusation grows thin. Non-profit groups on Mindanao could not possibly have enough capital to pay the 10,000 to 12,000P ($250-300) per day required to feed and care for the evacuees in Davao City. And while stranded at the gym with absolutely nothing to do, the Matigsulug people can feel their livelihoods slipping away- precious livestock will starve or be stolen without proper care and attention; fields untilled will yield no harvest.

And there is also no money for the return bus fare. Even once the people arrive at their homes, which they will find ransacked (at best), there won’t be rations waiting for them. Their stored foodstuffs will most likely have “disappeared” when the troops rolled through and it will be impossible to reap anything immediately from their overgrown lands.

Despite the enormous desperation of it all, the thought of going home is truly academic. As of June 2, 2008 the AFP says it will only be stepping up military operations in Compostela Valley Province, with the goal of wiping out the ever illusive, ever convenient NPA (New People’s Army). The military’s answer to the problem is that there is no problem, there are no human rights violations and the people should just return home.

The lack of movement in the situation is reflected in the eyes of the evacuees at Bankerohan Gym. They’re tired of waiting for change in their lives and honesty from the government. Resolution to this militarization is a long way away.