From a ‘lola’-feminist
Every year, the world observes International Women’s Day on March 8, the day chosen because it coincided with a huge march of sympathy for women workers—many of them young immigrants—who perished in a fire that hit the Triangle Shirt Factory in New York’s garment district.
The observance has since spread throughout the globe, and in the Philippines, we observe not just International Women’s Day but Women’s Month, with a slew of activities guided by a slogan coined by the Philippine Commission on Women (PCW), the government’s “focal point” for women’s concerns, which oversees the “mainstreaming” of gender into all aspects of governance and policy.
We in the women’s group Pilipina (nicknamed “Pinay,” in true Pinoy fashion) used to launch elaborate ceremonies or joined larger observances as part of Women’s Month. But this year we’ve been rather quiet, not just because most of us are now indulging our “senior moments,” but also because many of us have been caught up in the maelstrom of contemporary events. Besides, and this is cause for both concern and celebration, Women’s Day and Women’s Month have been “mainstreamed” to such an extent that shopping malls set aside a special day to observe it; marketers target women buyers with feminist come-ons, and local governments hold their own special events.
Still, we Pinay sisters found a way to celebrate Women’s Day by way of a letter written by Jurgette Honculada, peace negotiator (with the Communist Party of the Philippines/National Democratic Front/New People’s Army and labor movement stalwart. The message roused memories, and triggered reflections on what it means to be women, wives, mothers and grandmothers these days. It has plenty to say to all women—seniors and millennials, Pinays and otherwise—which is why I’m sharing excerpts of it below. Happy Women’s Day and Month. Sisters rock!
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Dear Sisterhood,
It’s been almost two and a half decades since my introduction to Pinay at a balmy Davao seaside resort, venue of a women and theology seminar with Sr. Helen Graham holding forth on women in/and the Bible. Here I also first touched base with Remmy (Rikken), Dinky (Soliman), Ging (Deles, with a paperback on the simple lifestyle), among others, on mattresses lining the floor of our spartan sleeping quarters.
In the 1980s, and on through part of the 1990s, we had the National Commission on the Role of Filipino Women (now Philippine Commission on Women) and Lakas ng Kababaihan leading the charge of women coalitions rallying to the call of the hour (passage of landmark bills, or simply celebrating our womanhood and each other). But by the turn of the millennium, middle age was having its fill of us and senior-hood was calling. I don’t mean to say that age brings diminishing returns, I simply want to say that some (many?) of the things we were fighting for have come to pass and, in the meanwhile, each of us in the sisterhood were leading parallel, conjoined and distinct lives.
Parallel because we shared the same advocacies (and were raising, schooling and sending off our children into the world); conjoined because we came to the same events, or even inhabited the same workplace; distinct because, maybe, a sister had soared too high, or sank too deep, or strayed too far.
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I write now as a mellowed feminist—perhaps lola feminist is a better term because it is simply a statement of fact. There still is a fire in the belly but without the apocalyptic sense of young know-it-all feminists. And as a lola feminist let me greet you with some thoughts on what this interface of age and gender has brought me.
First of all, a deepened sense of wonder. As I say, it takes at least four miracles to produce an apo: first, you must meet and fall in love with someone, second you must stay with that someone long enough to make/have a baby, third, that baby must grow up to adulthood and fall in love, and, fourth your son/daughter must stay with a partner long enough to make/have a baby. Any break in the chain can spell disaster.
When (my first grandchild) came into this world through C-section, I asked myself: what have I done to deserve such joy? I still ask myself that question as he grows in strength and, hopefully, wisdom (although all I can see now are his charm and mischief).
A sense of wonder is akin to a sense of the holy, which one theologian (German Lutheran Rudolf Otto) calls the mysterium tremendum. Which brings me to the second thing: life as surprise.
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As diligent students and seasoned activists and NGO executives, we learn that planning and preparation are key to success. But you know what? Life has a way of turning our world topsy-turvy more times than we feel we deserve. What then? Then one reaches deep into one’s inner resources and digs in for the long haul. But sometimes the disorder is a delight (borrowing from a poet).
And so, a couple of years short of 70, I do have my goals, still am in search of my “sacred contract” (Carolyn Myss), but having received the gift of life twice over, outrageous fortune can do what it will, I will be well, I can bite the bullet, bite the dust, and survive, perhaps thrive.
Again, that is of a piece with the third thing lola-hood has brought me: greater balance and equanimity. How to put that into words? Let me quote from a greeting card Ed de la Torre used to make in prison (in the 1970s to raise funds): “A tree is born, a tree dies, the forest lives forever.” One’s sense of the here and now is more nuanced, more grounded, reaching back in space and thrusting forward in time.
Finally, does it take lola-hood to come to all this? I suppose not. It comes with age. But the trick is in the aging process so that in one’s later years, one is like fine wine, not the vinegar of a life ill-lived; or the dry dust of a life not lived.
