Dearest M, how are you? You are out of my reach at present, but maybe you’ll read this one day. I am affirming your stories of long ago. Remember your stories of oppression, of inequality, and of the struggle for social justice? It took firsthand experience for me to finally comprehend them.
I have been asked to write an account of my recent stint as a researcher for a health-anchored nongovernment organization. I went with a medical mission organized to respond to a massive evacuation of indigenous people that started last January. Barangay Balit in San Luis, Agusan del Sur, is approximately 100 kilometers from Butuan City. According to the Rural Missionaries of the Philippines-Northern Mindanao Region, the lives of these indigenous people have been shattered by the presence of military men in their ancestral domain, a prelude to intense land-grabbing.
Do you remember? You told us that these lands are protected by law, and belong to the descendants of the unbowed and unbroken tribes that fought three eras of colonization. You liked talking about justice. I found little of it over there. Let me tell you the Banwaon’s story, or at least part of it.
The Banwaon people live on hundreds of hectares of untouched land. They are humble people that live off the land solely through agriculture. The trouble started when mining companies became interested in their domain. Their community leaders, the datus, refused to allow entry to the mining companies because it would intrude into their way of life and destroy not only their environment but also their culture.
And the cliché of corporate-military connivance to terrify indigenous communities once more rang true.
At the evacuation center to where they had fled, I asked the Banwaon to tell me their stories. A pregnant woman was bound by the hands and ordered to serve as a guide for the soldiers. Peaceful farmers who continued to work their fields were accused of being rebel guerillas. Quiet homes were raided. The community leaders who refused to sign land title transfers were threatened with death daily. Teenagers were forced at gunpoint to sign up as paramilitary volunteers; if they refused, they were beaten by the soldiers. (In all, 93 human rights violations were reported.)
And then the Banwaon’s barangay captain was murdered. He was described as a hardheaded advocate of human rights and a defender of the ancestral domain of his people. He was vocal against land-grabbing and the entry of mining companies into their area. He was shot dead in front of his child a few days before Christmas.
How ironic that 44 dead policemen are celebrated for their heroism, yet some of those in uniform perpetrate atrocities.
As many as 1,000 members of the Banwaon community, 80 percent of them women and children, were forced to flee. Exhausted, their health put at risk, they endured two days of near-endless walking in the rain, and sleeping outdoors in freezing nights, to reach the lowlands. Once there, they lost two of their members, one a three-year-old, to pneumonia. Three more of their people would die of sickness.
The first few weeks in the evacuation center spelled disaster for the Banwaon. The source of clean water was encircled by the same troops that had been purging them. Both adults and children suffered diarrhea for days. Hunger became a matter of routine. Indeed, practically everyone’s eyes were bloodshot. One mother told us that back in their homes, they were all healthy. It was only in the evacuation center that their health deteriorated.
In time a number of adults were diagnosed with tuberculosis, and many children came down with measles.
The average dwelling in the center, made of excess timber as pillars and soiled plastic sheets as walls, measured about 2×4 meters in size. Packing two to three families inside each would be inhumane, but that was exactly their situation.
The air was stale, and there was absolutely no space for proper sanitation.
Tuberculosis and measles in a camp of a thousand people crammed in a field the size of four basketball courts: a surefire formula for an outbreak.
We live in a world where justice and government attention are measured by the depth of one’s pockets. We have seen how P4.7 million was spent to hide 100 street families from Pope Francis’ attention. A few million dollars was enough to drive the peace process to the grave, kill 44 police commandos, 17 Moro rebels and three civilians, and start a political crisis. And P11.8 million can easily comprise bail for a suspect in the Ampatuan massacre.
But you see, my dear M, during the medical mission I observed something remarkable. The look in the Banwaon’s eyes spelled strength. Their words echoed courage. Their smiles spread hope to one another.
They were hungry, but for peace based on justice. They were striving as a community, as one people. It was their collective effort that was keeping them alive, and they intended to fight on. It reminded me of your words: It is our decision to stay silent or to struggle along with the oppressed.
Do you remember, M? We chose the latter. I hope to see you again someday, and maybe by then the Banwaon would have achieved their justice.
Den Lacson, 24, is a nutritionist/researcher and a member of an NGO affiliated with the Community-Based Health Programs of the Philippines.