Starting to process.

For a while, I couldn’t be focused enough in front of the computer to process my exposure trip with GABRIELA Philippines. The whole month has been such a whirlwind of experiences and emotions and new ideas. I’m thinking a lot faster than I can type. I don’t know where to begin. Should I recount this last month chronologically or blurt out a young adult stream of consciousness a la Holden Caulfield?

One thing I know for sure: it’s all real.
There are a few heartless, greedy muhfuckahs out there. They are the reason that millions of other people suffer. And it’s up to those who are oppressed to get together and [figuratively] kick their asses for the betterment of our society.

My processing will be a process. Let’s start here:

ANONANG

Anonang is a small barangay in the municipality of Rizal in the province of Kalinga in the Cordilleras Region of the Philippines. Here, members of the indigenous But-But tribe lived a simple day to day. Most were farmers who relied on the rain to water their crops because the government (always hungry for photo-ops) only continues construction on the years-long irrigation system project when nearing infrequent election periods. Some were blacksmiths who still used dangerous, centuries-outdated, fire-breathing machinery to produce bolos out of old car parts to sell to their neighbors for 100 pesos a pop. A lot didn’t have a job and hung around the hut in which my host family lived, picking at the mud on their slippers, shooing away the chickens from that day’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner of beans and rice, and eating fruits they picked from the bayabas tree down the dirt road. Around 4PM everyday, we sat on a bench underneath the roof made out of dried palm leaves and waited for the thunderclouds to brew up a cool, refreshing storm.

On Sunday, Eden, my guide, took me to church. They’re Roman Catholic too, all the way over there. Did the Spanish priests long ago brave the same bumpy 20-minute tractor ride that I went through to spread the Good Word? These days, one Filipino priest braves that ride once a month. I happened to be there on a weekend he wasn’t available. A But-But woman led the mass in lieu of the priest. More than 10 years of Catholic school told me that she can’t do that cuz she’s a woman. I like Jesus and all, but this patriarchal dogma is really the only reason I don’t go to church anymore. She welcomed me to their community. She spoke to me in English, because she couldn’t speak Tagalog and my Ilocano parents never taught me Ilocano. The whole mass was in their But-But dialect. The only thing I understood, because it was the only other thing in English besides my welcome, was, “No one in this world is dispensible.”

Everything in Anonang was so green. I felt organic, like a Whole Foods store. This was the closest I had ever come to nature in my whole life growing up in the concrete jungle that is New York City. I breathed in clean air for once. It was refreshing. It wasn’t that bad. It was like a vacation.

And then I asked Eden where the restroom was. “Our restroom is outside! One whole hectare! Pee or poo?” She took me behind a tree which was a little trek from the hut. “Are you sure it’s safe here?” I asked nervously. “You sure no one will see? I mean, we are on flatlands.” She laughed at me. “No one will see. No one will care. Just go. You know your way back to the house right?” And she walked away. I looked back at her, feeling more and more abandoned with every step she took. I looked ahead at miles and miles of flatlands leading into mountains in the distance, the mountains we should have hiked if we were scheduled to stay here for longer than 2 days. I looked around once more for any peeping eyes. Seeing none, I judged it was safe to drop my pants and drop the kiddies off at the pool (fuck, there was no toilet so that euphemism does NOT work here). Thank goodness for the plastic on-the-go Charmin toilet paper dispenser I kept in my cargo shorts pockets, because this Fil-Am from Queens had parents who saw no point in signing me up for Girl Scouts and I hella wasn’t gonna gamble my ass’ well being with some potentially poisonous leaves to wipe up with.

Then I heard a rustling in the tall brush. Some rustling and some oinks. Eden’s family pig followed me to the tree and was the only being in Anonang’s entirety who was interested to see what I was up to at the moment. I hadn’t finished what I went there to do, so I shooed the piggie away with my hands. I kept my crouching balance surprisingly. Piggie went away. Then came back soon after from another angle in the brush. Stealthy, she was. This territorial game continued until I thought I was stable enough to get up and run. Pigs are herbivores, I thought. But I ran anyway, hearing the pig squeal joyfully behind me. She won and she knew it. I got back to the hut, panting and double checking my sandals to see if I stepped in anything funny, which I later accepted would be inevitable in Anonang. Eden told me that the pig follows whoever goes out there to poop so that she can run and eat what the person leaves behind. And that’s why they taste good when we eat them. Eeee.

Wake up, First World!

Thanks to the women of GAB Philippines who set up our program. They dropped us off in a world that was the complete opposite of ours. I got to know discomfort very well. The world was testing me, I felt it. I was always sticky with sweat. I had to reapply Off bug spray every four hours. The mosquitoes bit me anyway despite that effort. I was afraid that my body couldn’t handle drinking the water from the water pump so I lugged around the mineral water bottles our guides bought us just in case. I slept on a banig with itchy blankets. I always always ALWAYS stepped in someone’s shit. Tabo showers with freezing water. Naked children. No internet. No electricity. No running water. Darkness come night.

The right approach, said the GAB women, was not to feel pity towards their hardship. Turn all those emotions to acceptance and understanding of where you come from and where they come from. Turn it into admiration that no matter how hard life could be for these people, they continue to organize and struggle for true national democracy. Use this experience and what you saw as a means of contextualizing theory into practice. And tell them about your life too. In every corner of the world, there is a struggle whose story must be shared. Share your struggles.