The government was criticized for window-dressing Manila for the 45th annual meeting of the Asian Development Bank early in May. The news featured the board-ups installed in an effort to hide the ugly slums, particularly in the areas where the delegates would pass. How typical, I thought. How cosmetic. How childish.
My husband and I are advocates for the family, and we are deeply involved in the Center for Family Ministries of Ateneo de Manila University. So it was no surprise that my husband was invited to prepare a talk for a group described as coming from the slums. We had done talks for residents of Payatas and similar groups, and so my husband calmly accepted the invitation.
Little did he know that he would meet with a group of more than 100 street people (kariton dwellers, barkers, homeless persons), who had been herded from the streets of Manila and housed in an open gymnasium-type area in San Mateo, Rizal, for the duration of the ADB meeting.
My husband went to the place and delivered his remarks with a megaphone. The irony was that while he was doing so, my boss in the UN programme office I work for was preparing to attend the ADB meeting. And there I was, stuck in the middle.
My husband prepared a talk titled “Buhay na Buhay Ka Ba, O Buhay Lamang? (Are You Living The Life, Or Simply Existing?).” He honestly didn’t know how far he could go in terms of impact. He had discussed the subject with various groups, but it was the first time he was doing it with this segment of society.
He asked his audience to do group work on the “hindrances” to a full life, and the results were astounding. Being street people, they could be expected to mention “poverty,” “lack of government support,” or “people taking advantage of me,” but none of these came out. Instead, they blamed their state on their personal issues, the top three being hopelessness, laziness, and greed.
Yes, perhaps the same answers you and I would give. These were the answers that came from their hearts. How funny that our government couldn’t venture past their grime to see this humanity.
After the discussion, the street dwellers’ answers to “what would make their lives worth living” (“buhay na buhay”) were: “pagbabago ng sarili” (change of self), “pagtitiwala sa Diyos” (trust in God); “magsumikap para may makain ang pamilya sa pang-araw-araw” (strive and work to put food on the table every day).
It was reported that more than 4,000 business leaders, policymakers and development experts from all over the world, as well as representatives of 71 financial institutions such as the International Monetary Fund, World Bank, European Commission, and United Nations, civil society organizations, and international corporations attended the meeting. But those street people had a vulnerability that made them beautiful. They were honest, sincere, and had as much, if not more, depth and introspection than the ADB meeting attendees.
The slums and the ADB meeting represented segments of my personal reality, where life presents ironies for a reason. As in my husband’s talk, I, too, wrestle with a life worth living. On that day-in-the-middle, when I was at my UN programme office—considered a “high-profile” job, hoping to make a difference in the world—on the other side, my husband, amid the heat, sweat, and grime, was actually making a difference.
Can it be that the things that appear to matter (e.g., pleasing high-profile, powerful people) don’t really amount to much in the final analysis, and that what we take for granted—God, relationships, good food—are the ones that matter? I have my answer.
—MELISSA ELSA P. CRUZ,
meliecruzgmail.com