The unfairness of it all
By Jose Ma. Montelibano

LAST Friday, I accepted an invitation to talk to a group of informal settlers who had been residents in the famous "homes along the riles" [homes by the railroad tracks] of Metro Manila and nearby provinces. This particular group, composed of 600 families, had resisted attempts by government to relocate them to several areas in Bulacan province, north of Manila, under a program of the National Housing Authority.

Their reasons are common to those like them, but two stand out. First, the relocation sites are too far from where they earn their livelihood. Transportation expenses would simply deplete the little they earn. Second, the amortization rates of their new homes are deemed too high for them to pay with consistency in order to avoid eviction in the future.

Their resistance earned for them the demolition of their homes. In desperation, with whatever they could gather from the debris of their former shanties, the informal settlers found a property owner who allowed them to use his facilities as temporary shelter. All of them were housed in a warehouse like sardines in a can, but they felt lucky nonetheless. The same property owner also acceded to negotiate and sell five hectares if the government's community mortgage program could accommodate the transaction.

When I arrived in the area, which is now under negotiation for a community mortgage arrangement, it was muddy all around. It had rained that morning and the sight of mud and shanties again managed to provoke rage and drastic thoughts in me. I knew that all of them had muddy floors, leaking roofs, no water, no electricity. I knew they were living more like animals than human beings, and I wanted to cry right there and then.

I was invited there to represent the national leadership of Gawad Kalinga (GK). The informal settlers themselves had asked for the intervention of Gawad Kalinga.

It seems that GK is a ray of hope for the landless and homeless poor. Although I serve as a mere volunteer for special projects, it had to be me to attend, as all the leaders had their own commitments to follow.

From the beginning, I saw it was not going to be just a simple meeting. More than a hundred families were gathered, and there was a congressman of the area and a town councilor representing the mayor. There was also an officer from the External Affairs of Malacañang. Apparently, he had kindly intervened for the informal settlers, and it was apparent that they appreciated his presence.

What was supposed to be a meeting turned out to be a gathering with a full program. The invocation given by one of their leaders gave me a hint of the sentiments of the audience. Indeed, it appeared that they were not strangers to prayer and had all their heads bowed in respect. I believe they could not do much more but pray.

I could not help but keep staring at the way their shanties were positioned neatly over what seemed like over a hectare of newly bulldozed and graded land, now muddy because of the morning rain. I could not help but look and become enraged at the way these poor Filipinos had to swallow indignities just to survive.

Meanwhile, the invocation became less prayerful and took a more resentful and militant tone. It was obvious that the speaker was trying very hard not to be confrontational but could not fully disguise his pain and frustration. What was clear was that he was hoping for answers to their plight, and urged that no more promises that could not be kept be given to them that morning by any of those who were invited, including Gawad Kalinga.

With that, I asked the emcee to remove me from the list of speakers. Gawad Kalinga did not send me there to make a promise, or to give an answer to their needs, only to assess the situation. Personally, though, I did not wish to speak because I thought I could not contain the pain and anger I was feeling inside. I was afraid I would end up ventilating my own sentiments, which then would have simply affirmed the unfairness of it all.

I listened through the talk of the congressman, who was himself showing signs of great anguish that he could not do more for them than what he was already doing. I learned that he had been sympathetic to the plight of this group of informal settlers and had joined them in protest action.

The program was shortened because I decreased their speakers by one and because two other congressmen and the mayor did not make it to the gathering. However, a question-and-answer forum was initiated and I could not avoid answering questions as easily as I avoided giving a speech. And I could not help but assure them that Gawad Kalinga would try its best to appeal their case to national government and source out their needs as best as it can.

Before I left, though, one of their leaders, Rowena by name, talked to me about the pain that was eating her inside. Her voice was quietly firm and her emotions under control. She told me of the hardship that poor Filipinos had to undergo in a country that declares them squatters or without any right to be anywhere. No right to be anywhere, no birthright of security as a native of this beautiful but broken country, no inheritance of pride and dignity and simple privilege to lie in decency.

She spoke of her pain at being looked down as though she and others like her were not full human beings. She spoke of how even the "barangay" [village] captain thought so low of them simply because they had nothing but shanties, and how he was deliberately slowing down their purchase of the property where they were situated by withholding his signature.

She explained that kindness was largely missing from government, except for one or two of the many officials they had to engage in the past few years. She described how Filipinos in position and power shabbily treated them, and prejudged them as thieves, liars, drug addicts.

Man's inhumanity to man -- I saw the effect of it up close.

As tears slowly made their way to her cheeks, my own tears followed suit. I had to think of the millions of other poor Filipinos who were in the same position, and I thought I understood why so many could not help but express their sympathy in great rage and violence. Definitely, I, too, felt disturbed enough to be capable of more drastic action.

If there are many political, social and religious advocates who ask that Filipinos should not tolerate wrongdoing, I ask that they first insist on not tolerating poverty. A nation whose people think enough of others in great need and which moves with determination to lift the poor out of their misery will be a righteous nation by simple consequence.

I did not give a promise for Gawad Kalinga, because it is not within my authority to do so, even as I know Gawad Kalinga that will help. But to myself, I did make a promise. As tears rolled down my cheeks, I made a promise. It is a personal one, a private one. It is a promise I can fulfill, a promise I will keep for as long as strength flows through my body.

It is a promise to care, a promise to share. It is a promise to do what I can to be a better Filipino for poor Filipinos. It is a promise that I will try others to make as well, in the privacy of their hearts or in the light of the public eye. Let us promise. Let us not tolerate this kind of suffering anymore.