An extraordinary woman

I knew Professor Carmencita T. Aguilar was involved in many organizations, but I won’t be naming any of those groups and instead just talk about what she did.

Filipino-style, I will refer to her as “Mam Cita.”

I’ve done “appreciations,” a term I prefer to obituary, several times in my column not just to honor the person who passed away but to talk about how we might learn from them. With Mam Cita, I will be specific in saying she offers us many lessons about life in an educational institution, which can be most challenging.

Teaching, though taxing, is the easier part, mainly because it can be so enjoyable. But there is much more being in a school, especially at the collegiate level where, ironically, collegiality can be elusive. With often very limited resources, the academe becomes fiercely competitive, marred by political maneuvering and intrigues, and a tendency to look out for your own self-interest. Neglected, promising young faculty leave the academe out of frustration, seeking new environments with better salaries, and much less politics.

Above the fray

Mam Cita was above all the fray. She was certainly not naïve, having been an administrator. But it almost seems that her many involvements in organizations and in mentoring younger faculty were her way of “getting back,” of proving you can still—to use the cliché from the second world war—keep calm and carry on. Mam Cita did that, connecting people, creating networks and, in the process, serving UP and the country.

In the 1990s, I was one of those young faculty in UP on the verge of leaving, weary of the politics. It was Mam Cita who pushed me to get more involved with UP, and with academic organizations.

With time, I realized she was watching younger faculty, not necessarily from her own department, which was political science. Ever the networker, she would connect people, across disciplines. At her wake, people recalled how she got Filipino social scientists talking with natural scientists, long before it became fashionable.

Each time I would assume a new administrative position, she would drop in within the first week to congratulate me and, more importantly, to offer advice. Always, her main concern was to remind me to pay special attention to junior faculty and to non-academic staff. She was also very concerned about social science faculty outside of UP. In the 1980s, as college associate dean, she started an extramural program to train social science teachers from around the country.

Mam Cita leaves lessons for us, not necessarily just those in education.

First, be loyal to institutions, to friends. Loyalty is a much corrupted term in our culture, now associated with corruption and patronage. Mam Cita mentored many younger faculty, but never asked anything in return—her definition of loyalty coming closer to an almost fierce sense of duty. It’s not surprising that amid all her commitments to UP and to numerous organizations, she still raised eight children, six of them her own, and two from a close relative.

Second, be gracious. Mam Cita was from Iloilo, with a strong sense of urbanidad. Dress well, speak well. One time in Thailand when I was about to get an award she had nominated me for, she gave me a rundown of who to greet and how to greet them, reminding me of my own parents who, even in my mid-life, would still remind me, “Auntie is here. What do you say to her?”

Third, be kind. Her children told me about how she would go out of her way for household helpers. When I became dean she reminded me that we had many contractual workers who were always excluded from activities and benefits.

Recently, when UP Diliman’s maintenance office had an outing with some 150 staff, the workers commented that they have had no outings for years, and never had contractual workers been included. Mam Cita would have been pleased to hear them. To her, that would have been the only natural thing to do, even if you had to spend your own money.

‘Tatak Mam Cita’

There’s something akin to a “Tatak Mam Cita” in UP Diliman when it comes to kindness and graciousness. The maintenance office is under Vice Chancellor for community affairs Nestor Castro, who Mam Cita mentored as well. Nestor’s a tough nut to crack, and the first time I saw him getting teary-eyed was when he talked about Mam Cita.

Finally, a side to Mam Cita I only realized the last few days: She was someone intensely curious about the world. Checking the Internet I found one of her articles, this one about Muslims in Manila, published in 1987. I was so engrossed reading her article I nearly forgot to get back to my column.

Nothing escaped her curiosity. At the wake, I found out that as a student, she was even a UP varsity track and field athlete, a short-lived involvement, unfortunately because her uncle told her it wasn’t feminine.

Mam Cita’s curiosity wasn’t that of a dilettante though. Her curiosity was about people and what they did, and what she could do to make their lives even more interesting.

That curiosity converged with her sense of loyalty, kindness and graciousness, and could not have been better reciprocated than at her wake, when a dozen alumni members of UP Cherubim—a chorale group of very young talents—performed five songs for her.

Dr. Elena Mirano, who has directed UP Cherubim for years, told me that the people who showed up—now all professionals—were among the many UP Cherubim members who Mam Cita had cared for, watching them through rehearsals, helping to get them into their theater garb, making sure they were all well, and prepared for the next performance.

Mam Cita was extraordinary in the way she took the most basic of human values to transform people’s lives, without fanfare.

Dr. Carmencita Tiongco Aguilar (1937-2015) leaves behind her husband, lawyer Aramis Aguilar, children Channette, Glenn, Mitzi, Mylene, Melanie, Christine, Anne and Pinky, grandchildren, and countless educators in UP and other academic institutions throughout the Philippines. Mabuhay kayo, Mam Cita.

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