Joy in the simple

Some time ago, a student bemoaned, online, the Ateneo’s lack of celebratory cheer: too few Christmas decorations, too few rituals honoring its students’ achievements, too few shows of being “proud.”

When I first read the post, I recalled CNN’s interview with former Harvard University president Drew Gilpin Faust, who had just published her memoir.

Faust grew up in the segregated Deep South, where both her childhood and the civil rights movement shaped her as a historian. When asked about today’s student protests, Faust was frank.

She said that protests during her time were confined to students’ voices; there was no need to involve “the grown-ups,” no need for assistance or support from the faculty to stand for one’s principles.

Today, Faust said, students put pressure on universities to release official statements, to react publicly with greater force. She did not focus on the idea of universities having a voice; they do need to take a stand when called upon by society. Instead, she focused on the notion that students seemed to “need the school to always ratify their beliefs.”

There is some evidence of such a style of protest over here. I’ve encountered students who expect school to be called off or be given makeup work if they join unofficial, nonschool protests. While we applaud their willingness to speak up, their need to do so is their own business. True bravery means accepting the consequences of choosing to miss classes, and not expecting safety nets for what one chooses to do outside of one’s current obligations.

Related to this is the constant need for validation, which I believe many college professors now observe. There is stubborn clinging to grades as the sole indicator of success, to the point that students focus on getting perfect scores rather than remembering what they learn. I’ve heard stories of students demanding an A for subpar work, asking to resubmit their requirements because they aren’t satisfied with their grade, or claiming that they learned nothing because they got only a B+.The next semester, mere months later, students sometimes forget what they learned regardless of the grade they received. This is dangerous for college courses that build on each other with each passing year. Sadly, the students still focus on the A, often for the sake of simply getting one.

Paired with students demanding “more exciting classes,” this constant need for validation through grades has drained many of us in the academe, both physically and emotionally.

I remembered the post once again as I spoke on the phone last week with a good friend, Fr. Joseph Patrick Echevarria, a Jesuit priest. Patrick is the treasurer of the Loyola College of Culion (LCC), the Jesuit school that serves indigenous peoples and the descendants of the leper colony.

Patrick always seems happy about his post. The people are friendly, and his daily life is modest, seemingly idyllic; it begins and ends with the coming and going of the sun. On the call, however, he was being realistic: like many private schools post-pandemic, LCC was finding it hard to make ends meet. Sustainability is a concern, and there are whispers that the school is in danger of closing.

Both Patrick and Fr. Neo Saicon, the school president, are doing their best to find ways for LCC to continue operations. The tricky part is funding the school’s numerous scholarships: 73 percent of LCC’s students have some form of scholarship, and many of these are for members of the Tagbanwa tribe, who receive assistance for nearly all their school needs, including food and dormitory.

This work is part of the school’s mission. By providing good education and formation to these young Tagbanwa, the school hopes to give them the tools for self-governance and a better chance to preserve their tribe’s culture.

Patrick also spoke of where he worked. Compared to Manila, Culion is simpler: he just walks to the school, there is no “nightlife,” mahina ang signal (cell signals are weak). He, too, had heard the complaints of the lack of decorations back at the capital.

“But in Culion,” he said, “I find that many people are happy to have food on the table, to have loved ones around, and to have a place they can call home. Yun naman ang mas mahalaga, diba? (That’s what’s more important, right?) So what if the decors are recycled and the lights not so many?”

The lyrics “May the Spirit of Christmas live always in our hearts” should be more than just part of a carol. They call for us to celebrate even without outward signs of festivity.

In the abstract, we are called to recognize that our achievements aren’t always measurable by letters or numbers; that our achievements are not about us alone, and need not always be recognized publicly to be important. We are reminded to bear our own light, without expecting anyone to praise its grandeur.

(Learn more about the Jesuit Mission in Culion at www.loyolacollegeofculion.edu.ph)

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