The good news that is Erica

Philippine Daily Inquirer/OPINION/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

WHILE WE continue to reel from the series of bad news—disasters, heinous crimes, bombing of innocents, accidents, price increases, etc.—that have sprung on us as 2011 began to unfold, we have not been bereft of good news.

The case of Catherine Erica Buenaventura was a big ray of sunshine that came during these crazy weather days. And it was not just about her, it was about so many people that were part of the miracle that slowly unfolded. Women and men of science and medicine, people and institutions in the service of the sick and needy, individuals who quietly gave of themselves financially, bodily, unselfishly without thought of rewards, and parents and next of kin who, armed only with faith that God would deliver the near impossible, never gave up.

Here was a frail little girl, all of three years, who could just have been slowly decimated by a deadly ailment—end-stage liver disease—and could have been given up as near dead. Erica was also suffering from portal hypertension or an increase in blood pressure in a system of veins within the stomach intestine, spleen and pancreas. She had malnutrition and bleeding in the veins and around the esophagus, both complications related to portal hypertension.

When I received notice from The Medical City (TMC) about Erica’s case, I didn’t think twice and went to the press briefing. The venue was full of medical personnel in their white jackets. So many of them, I thought, just as many as the media people present. Dr. Alfredo Bengzon, chair and CEO of TMC, gave the opening statement.

Here was a first. The first pediatric liver transplant on a Filipino child to be performed in the Philippines. The first to be performed by an all-Filipino team of doctors.

Two simultaneous operations took place on Jan. 7. Erica’s diseased liver was removed entirely. A part of her 18-year-old uncle Jefferson Llantino’s liver was also removed, after which it was grafted to where Erica’s liver used to be. The entire procedure took almost 24 hours, from 7 a.m. of Jan. 7 to the early morning hours of Jan. 8.

After the operation, Erica was brought to the hospital’s pediatric ICU where she remained for eight days. On Jan. 16, Erica was transferred to a regular room. The head of the transplant team, Dr. Vanessa H. de Villa, described Erica’s fast post-operation recovery as extraordinary with her new liver functioning well.

And Jefferson the liver donor? He has recovered fully and was discharged from the hospital on Jan. 14. De Villa said that Jefferson’s liver will regenerate fully in a couple of months. Jefferson, a computer buff and budding animé artist, sporting an animé hairstyle and all, was at the press conference to say a few words about why he did what he did. To paraphrase what he said in Filipino: “And why not, if we could give part of ourselves in order to help others?” I almost burst into tears.

Liver disease is common in the Philippines and affects both adults and children. The most common liver diseases among adults are chronic hepatitis B infection, alcoholic liver disease and non-alcoholic fatty liver disease. One in five with these conditions would develop cirrhosis, liver failure or liver cancer.

Erica had biliary atresia, a disease of the bile ducts that affects one in 15,000 children, that developed into liver failure. Liver transplantation was the only option for her and for countless children like her. Sadly, the Philippines had been left behind in this department.

But not anymore. The team that performed the transplantation was as good as any. De Villa, director of TMC’s Center for Liver Disease Management and Transplantation, had spent years in some of the best transplant centers in the world. She had worked in Hong Kong and Taiwan where a number of Filipino children with liver disease had gone for treatment. Now she is back.

Also in the surgical team were hepatobiliary and transplant surgeons Drs. Allan Concejero, Dante Ang and Anthony Yap; plastic and reconstructive/microsurgery surgeons Drs. Eric Arcilla and Catherine Asedillo. And there were the anesthesiologists, pediatric gastroenterologists, adult hepatologists, pediatric intensivists, cardiologists, radiologists, pathologists, developmental pediatricians, a rehab specialist. I wish I could mention all their names.

Around to observe the Filipino surgical team at work were De Villa’s colleagues from Hong Kong. Erica’s doctors were assisted by more than 50 professionals from nursing, laboratory, radiology, pharmacy, nutrition and physical therapy departments.

That was the medical part. The Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO) played a big part in this feat. There were individuals, too, who gave their share. A number of them had read about the plea of Erica’s parents, Christian and Carmela, in the Inquirer. Carmela tearfully recalled how doors closed on her (“Erica will die anyway”) and how so many doors also opened. But one thing led to another, and soon the walls just broke open.

PCSO head Margie Juico announced that one good deed deserved another. And so Jefferson, the liver donor, will no longer have to worry about his computer education and anime dreams. The PCSO will take care of that. And of course, for the long haul, the PCSO will be there for Erica’s medical needs, Juico assured.

It’s awesome. A whole village, so to speak, of health experts and service-oriented groups and individuals trying to save the life of a child and showing that it can be done. Yes, the entire procedure, when quantified, cost millions. But one cannot put a price tag on this miracle. And other miracles to come.

The forces of the entire universe conspired to give Erica a new lease on life so that the goodness, gifts and skills of Filipinos would be revealed.

Wanted: website for ML victims-claimants

Philippine Daily Inquirer/OPINION/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

INQUIRER JAN. 15 banner headline: “$1,000 for Marcos victims.”

In the story: “A federal judge in Honolulu approved on Thursday the distribution of $7.5 million to settle a lawsuit filed by thousands of victims of torture, execution and abduction under the Marcos regime. The distribution provides the victims their first opportunity to collect something since they sued in 1986. Each eligible member of the class-action lawsuit will receive $1,000 under the plan approved by US District Judge Manuel Real.”

And so two nights ago I pulled out from my steel drawer the thick folder on which I had written in big, thick letters in 1993: “PROOF OF CLAIM of MA. CERES P. DOYO, Journalist. Re Estate of Ferdinand E. Marcos, Human Rights Litigation, MDL 840, CLASS ACTION.” Below it I had scrawled, “Mailed, July 19, 1993” and “9539 claimants.”

The folder was inside a clear plastic envelope with a missing zip lock. I couldn’t help thinking that had my house gone under the 2009 “Ondoy” flood, as many Metro Manila homes had, these documents would have become flotsam. I found them dry and intact but yellowed.

Inside were supporting documents (news clippings, publications) and my personal account on what I had gone through during the martial law years. Letters/notices from the law offices of Robert A. Swift and Rodrigo C. Domingo were also inside. I received the latest one last month.

My experiences were nothing compared to what thousands had suffered. Many of them, I was told, did not, could not, file a claim because to recall the torment and torture they had suffered was like reliving their suffering all over again. Nothing could compensate their loss and pain.

But why did I file? (So did the editor in chief of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.) It was to bolster the claims of 10,000 or 9,539 victims to be exact. The compensation I will receive, my journalist’s mite, will not go to my pocket.

And so as of today, it’s supposed to be just a breath away, the $1,000 or P44,000 for each of the 9,539 claimants (now reportedly reduced to 7,526) seeking compensation for the human rights abuses they suffered during the martial law years under Ferdinand E. Marcos.

The amount looks like a miserable pittance or “loose change” compared to the claimants’ claim against the Marcos estate that is in the billions of ill-gotten/hidden wealth. But no one is protesting, because: One, there should be more where it’s coming from and this amount is just the first tranche, so to speak. Two—and this is even more important—this is not about the money but a historic victory that would vindicate the human victims of an evil reign. But yes, the money is also important especially for those who are poor and infirm who have long waited for justice to come their way.

The two groups of claimants, Claimants 1081 and Selda, which are not in a great relationship ideologically and otherwise, have not expressed differing opinions.

The latest notice from the lawyers has the heading “Notice of distribution of proceeds from judgment and application for counsel fees and expenses.” It says that claimants “need not appear at the hearing or take any other action if you approve of, or do not object to, the application of class counsel for attorneys fees and expenses.”

What is worrisome is that there is a paragraph with the heading “Eligibility of Class Members” and which goes: “Not all Class Members are eligible to receive payment. The Hawaii Federal Court required class members in both 1993 and 1999 to submit Claim Forms. Only those Class Members who submitted complete Claim Forms in each of those years will be eligible to receive payment. It is too late to submit or supplement a Claim Form.”

Is the non-submission of 1993 and 1999 claim forms the reason why the number of claimants has been drastically reduced?

It is now time for the Swift and Domingo law offices to put up a website that claimants can access for information and direct questions to. I have received queries myself and I cannot say I know the answers. Like: Would claimant so-and so be still on the list? Is $1,000 all there is? What about deceased claimants?

Claimants 1081 has a blogsite (http://claimants1081.wordpress.com/) and supplies information on the class suit, but the entries are a bit dated and have nothing on the recent ruling on the $7.5M.

Despite victory in the courts, thousands of victims of human rights violations during the martial law regime remain empty-handed and continue to hope for their just compensation. Four administrations after Marcos have not helped in dispensing justice and have instead stood in the way. For the final hurdle, the lawmakers have only to sign their names to pass the Human Rights Compensation Bill, but why the long delay?

Speaking for the victims-claimants who are mostly poor, former chair of Claimants 1081 and now chair of the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) Etta Rosales told me some time ago: “The Republic of the Philippines has succeeded in blocking the Marcos victims from the partial enforcement of a judgment they had won in US courts.”

Dead, dying, aging, sickly, poor. Many had waited for so long until time overcame them. The surviving generation, the strong who are still able-bodied continue to wait. Many are now senior citizens.

The CHR is expected to play a role in the distribution of compensations. It would be good if the commission could team up with the claimants’ lawyers in putting up a website on the claims. This should help prevent messy disputes and allow only those qualified and deserving to experience the justice they have been waiting for, almost in vain.

I hope the government does not stand in the way.

An adventure with God in Mynmar

Sunday Inquirer Magazine/FEATURE/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

CAREER-WISE, everything was going roses for her: a series of job promotions, a hefty salary and a responsible position in a bank, great challenges to prove herself. There was no stopping her rise in the corporate world.

And then she made a sudden, radical shift to NGO work with all its challenges, lived a simpler lifestyle and made do with less money. Yet, she experienced much more joy. Going from corporate chic to a back-pack life, as she called it, the possibilities also seemed endless.

Carol Daria is a Catholic lay missionary who has been working among the youth in Myanmar for almost five years and with Fondacio-Asia, the spiritual community to which she belongs, for some 20 years. An accounting and industrial relations graduate, Carol continues to be amazed at the mysterious ways she had been led to where she is now.

Fondacio is an international Christian community, “a school of the Gospel, at the service of the world.” It has a status of “private association of the faithful” and is listed in the Vatican directory under new communities and movements.

Present in 20 countries, Fondacio gathers and animates people from different sectors of society – youth, students, professionals, poor, elderly, married couples and families. It is involved in works of evangelization, formation and development. (Visit www.fondacio-asia.org.)

This is how Carol describes her missionary work in Myanmar: “The mission that was entrusted to me is to help the Church form young people to become leaders at the service of the Church and society. Today, I am responsible for the formation program for the youth.”

Carol also does consultancy work for some international business corporations.

“I feel young when I am with the youth,” Carol reflects. “I am happy to see how they have been transformed. I feel them blooming in the space and freedom that we are giving them. We awaken the aspirations in their hearts. This gives me hope in a land where dreaming has been forgotten.”

Myanmar is hardly the place to which a Catholic or Christian missionary will rush to go. Myanmar (pop. approx. 55 million and composed of seven major tribal groups) could be considered the most restrictive country in Southeast Asia. It is one of the 10 member-nations of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.

A former British colony called Burma, Myanmar has a mainly Buddhist population and is ruled by a military junta. Myanmar’s long-detained and recently released democracy icon and Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi continues to be an inspiration to her people and freedom advocates all over the world.

Carol was recently in the Philippines to be with her family during the Christmas holidays and to touch base with her fellow Fondacio members at the Institute of Formation-Fondacio Asia (IFFA), which runs a formation program for the youth from different Asian countries. IFFA has been in operation since 2005, with Carol among the founders.

IFFA was barely on its feet when Carol was suddenly sent to Myanmar. “It was very painful,” Carol recalls. She had been in Myanmar for immersion in 2004 but she did not imagine Myanmar would be her home for many years. “Imagine a mother who, after giving birth, would have to give up and leave her baby.” But that is all water under the bridge.

Carol now calls Myanmar her home. She has travelled around the country and has reached even the most remote borders. She continues to learn the main language (bama or Burmese), eats local food and could be mistaken for a native. She lives in an apartment in Yangon (the capital city) and has the full support of Archbishop Charles Bo. The Fondacio, she says, enjoys the recognition of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Myanmar.

“I have no cell phone, TV and Internet connection,” Carol says. This is not a lifestyle choice. Such amenities are simply not common there. So how does she relax? “I feel relaxed when I am with the youth,” she smiles. Being an officer of the Filipino Association in Myanmar, Carol is in touch with the Filipino community and with Philippine embassy personnel, particularly Amb. Hellen Barber.

Were there times when she was afraid?

The massive demonstration of the monks in 2007 were tense moments, she answers. “Cyclone Nargis that hit Myanmar on May 2, 2008 was another.” Carol describes her cyclone experience in a reflection piece with pictures of the devastation.

“I learned that international media aired very little information about us until the evening of May 5. I felt we were abandoned and I thought, are we going to die without the world knowing what happened to us?”

As a student, Carol had entertained thoughts of joining a religious order. “And not just any order,” she laughs, “but a cloistered, contemplative order.” After graduating from the Philippine School of Business Administration, she attended search-ins and retreats. She continued her search even while working in a big bank. She had already met Fondacio at that time and was living its tenets and “four points of covenant,” but she didn’t know in what direction her life was going.

One day she tagged along with a friend to apply at the Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM), a big NGO by national standards. “I had no experience in community organizing,” Carol says. But her corporate experience must have served her in good stead and she was taken in.

The change was abrupt. “My salary was one-fourth of what I used to get at the bank. Suddenly I was a backpacker, going around the country. I was the credit specialist of the savings and credit program.” Carol associated with people at the grassroots and listened to their needs.

After a few years, Carol decided to move on and joined friends in setting up a consultancy group that would help organizations. She felt the restlessness again creeping in. A brief romantic relationship was not the answer. When the subject of marriage came up, she said, `Oh no, I still have so many things to accomplish.’” That was the end of it. Off she went to pursue a master’s degree in industrial relations at the University of the Philippines.

Already a full-fledged Fondacio member at the time, Carol wanted to deepen her knowledge and the practice of her faith. “World Youth Day 2000 in Rome was a turning point for me. I was praying at St. Peter’s when something happened. I felt God’s call. I felt disturbed. I knew I had to discern and prepare myself for something. I was 29 years old.”

For deepening, Carol went to the Institute of Formation-Fondacio Europe in Angers, France. She took up theology and pastoral ministry at the Catholic University of Angers. She and other Fondacio students stayed at the motherhouse of the Religious of the Good Shepherd. After France, Carol went to Africa for her practicum.

Upon coming home to the Philippines, Carol became closely involved in setting up the Institute of Formation-Fondacio Asia (IFFA). “Fondacio spirituality in an Asean context” was to be the defining mark of the formation program.

And then the big letting go: she would not be there for IFFA’s becoming because she was being sent or called to Myanmar. The pain was made more intense by her father’s illness and her concern that he would die while she was away. That this should not happen was the one promise she asked God to fulfill. And He did.

It was while Carol was briefly in the Philippines to finish her Ignatian course at the Ateneo that God took her father. Grieving a loss but seeing her “baby” (IFFA) coming to life without her, Carol became even more despondent.

She writes: “A few days after the death of my father I felt the struggle. I thought, I helped in giving birth to this school, why do I need to go to Myanmar? A priest friend who was standing beside me at that time asked, ‘Do you understand the mystery of Jesus?’ He looked toward the celebration and said, ‘Go there. It is the only way to understand the passion of Jesus, go through the pain up to the end.’ I was dying at that moment and I understood what it meant to die.”

Carol now looks back and asks, “What does it mean to take up our cross? It is to renounce the things which we believe to be very important in our lives. It was only after going through the pains of fully letting go of the things important to me that I experienced the resurrection. I felt renewed and ready to again have an adventure with my God. After embracing the newness, I experienced a fruitful life in my mission in Myanmar.”

Indeed, Carol’s ongoing mission work in the place she describes as “a pure country” is not just any adventure. It is, for her, an adventure with God in “a land where dreaming has been forgotten.” •

Black Nazarene, the morning after

Philippine Daily Inquirer/OPINION/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

O, POONG Hesus Nazareno…

It is now also a tourist attraction, this recent annual orgiastic, mesmerizing ritual that saw millions of devotees, males mostly, taking to the streets on their bare feet with only their salty towels to protect them from the sun and intermittent January rain. If you’re a tourist in search of exotica and a faith experience, this one was good enough if you can’t be at the true-to-life crucifixions in Pampanga during the Holy Week.

Christmas Day was just two weeks ago and New Year’s Day a week ago, and already the harbinger of dolorous but colorful Holy Week-bloody Jesus carrying his cross was out on the street. A great way to jolt many from their post-holiday stupor.

Until yesterday, several days after the Jan. 9 feast of the Black Nazarene, people continued to flock to Quiapo Church in Manila, the home of the venerated statue that, according to police reports, had some 7 million devotees showing up for the procession from the Quirino Grandstand (where the statue had been taken the day before) and back to the church of St. John the Baptist, also known as the minor basilica of the Black Nazarene. The procession lasted 17 hours. Not four or five, for that short distance. Indeed, the number of people and the procession hours have more than doubled over the years. And this was no longer a one-day but a three-day event culminating at midnight of Jan. 9.

The streets of Manila were once again filled with the odor of sweat and clogged with steaming bodies clad in crimson. Many fainted on the wayside, not a few clambered and walked on the sea of heads and hurled themselves on the carroza carrying the statue and found themselves tossed in the air like pizza dough. But all that waving, rubbing and throwing back and forth of white towels, all that fainting and moaning were part of the tableau, so to speak, as was the main attraction, the Black Nazarene, and its many doll-like clones borne in procession in the urban haze.

No deaths this year, only 700-plus injured and fallen ill. And mounds of garbage. But, most of all, renewed faith for millions.

Unlike in the past years, this time I did not see (on TV) streamers of the feast’s earthly patrons—department stores, hopia bakers, fast food joints, restaurants, drug stores, etc. But as usual, in the crowd were self-styled bearded messiahs crying in the urban wilderness, Jesus look-alikes wearing scarlet robes, faux long tresses and crowns of thorns. You cannot not have them.

I had watched this Quiapo spectacle up close only once, many years ago when I went with some photojournalists to shoot. The crowd then was not as frightening as what we’ve been seeing in the recent years. Quirino Grandstand was not in the itinerary then. For safety, we decided to perch on the high concrete island near Plaza Miranda. You either joined or ran away from the force of bodies cascading in your direction. You had to decide whether to flee or faint and be engulfed, slow-mo, by the surging tide.

One could be carried away by all the heaving, pushing, fainting and humming of bodies. There is something surreal about the ocean of faces gazing up with that look of hope alloyed with silent desperation. It is awesome. There is an unseen force that propels, there is a spirit that pushes the crowd to move like a river desperately seeking a direction, like lava exploding to break free.

The Quiapo fiesta is clearly and mainly for the masa, the tormented, hopeless, voiceless citizens of our landscape. A participant must be sturdy or near-desperate and poor to shove and push in order to touch the tassel of the Nazarene’s cloak. Mostly the poor, because they know this place that lies between hope and despair.

Psychologists might see signs of mass hysteria or ASC (altered state of consciousness) manifested by the crowd. But for those seeking divine intervention in their difficult lives, theirs could be a mystical experience like no other. Rapture at high noon.

Religious fundamentalists could scoff at the devotion and cry idolatry. They do not understand that this is not only veneration but a cultural manifestation, an outpouring, a kind of catharsis. One must adjust one’s antenna to be able to listen to the pain of these humans groaning for redemption. One could only gasp at the devotees’ raw expression of their faith and affection. Sure, you can attempt to apply some theology. But this, no doubt, is mass popular religiosity at its most intense. Should I say, wildest?

The life-size image of the Black Nazarene carrying a cross has been in Quiapo church since 1787. The statue was brought to Manila by a Spanish priest in 1607 aboard a ship which caught fire. The statue got burned and blackened but was preserved for veneration. Many miracles have been attributed to the devotion to the Black Nazarene which is brought out for procession on its feast day and Good Friday.

Over the years, the observance of the feast has evolved in many ways that can be described as hysterical, frenzied, uncontrollable (or controlled by a few?), environment-unfriendly and life-threatening, more so than the overloaded pagodas in fluvial processions that have had their share of dead and near-dead. One insane move, one sociopath could cause a major disaster. Hundreds of law enforcers had to be fielded for days to secure the crowd.

What are the church authorities doing to temper all these down?

And so millions of devotees have made their annual pledge to the Poon, the icon and Lord of their lives. In Him they have entrusted their hopes, joys, desires, even their sinfulness. Millions have made manifest their thanks, proclaimed their helplessness and asked for favors from the tortured Man from Nazareth. Tomorrow is another day....

ULAP's silver lining

Sunday Inquirer Magazine/FEATURE/by Ma. Ceres P.Doyo

THE ANSWER is in the clouds. That is, if one is to go by the name of this organization run primarily by women and say the word with tongue in cheek.

“Ulap” literally means cloud, but for the women who want to start over, go on their own and bravely forge ahead, Ulap means Ugnayang Lakas Patungo sa Pag-unlad. Here the meaning of Ulap translates into something like “a gathering of strength towards progress.” It sounds awesome, but for those who are decided to eke a better future for their families, it should mean precisely that.

Brigida “Virgie” Apuyan Arteta, 49, has been a member of Ulap for eight years now. It was Ulap, a people’s organization based in Legazpi City in Albay, that gave her hope, strength and courage to start over and move on after a failed marriage.

Virgie’s case is not unusual. After their five children were born, her husband, a construction worker, began to look elsewhere. “Nagbalik siya sa pagkasoltero (He went back to being a bachelor),” Virgie says in crisp Bicol and sans pain in her voice. She laughs the laughter of the liberated.

By Virgie’s own account, she had done her legwork and gathered enough evidence of her husband’s infidelity. To the police precinct she went and had her complaint blottered. She even sought help from the Public Attorney’s Office. Parties involved came face-to-face in a meeting but there was no mistaking the fact that the marriage had already smashed against the rocks.

To make a long story short, Virgie had no choice but to set herself free and be on her own. She did not have much of a formal education, having stopped schooling after sixth grade. For a time she left the children with someone she trusted and went off to find a job. After she found work as a laundrywoman, she gathered her brood and put their lives back on track. She has her hands to show for all the hard work she continues to do.

And then she met Magdalena “Dalen” Abejuela Ramos, who invited her to join Ulap, which became a support group—emotionally and materially—for Virgie. “Little by little my problem became lighter,” Virgie recalls. Her newfound strength and resolve, she adds, had a positive effect on her children (now aged 24, 22, 19, 14 and 9).

Dalen, 63, is like a mother hen in Ulap. Like Virgie, she did not have much formal schooling and finished only Grade 4. Through Dalen’s leadership and Ulap’s micro-lending program, many families have experienced improved lives.

According to Dalen, her family found themselves in a “home along da riles” or by the railroad tracks after they were driven out of the land which had been their home. Because they were poor, they could not afford the services of a lawyer. The family moved to San Roque, a barangay (village) in Legazpi City that used to be known for its seedy, slum-like ambiance at that time. Of course, the place has since changed its ways and look, thanks to the people who worked on the community’s transformation, “diit-diit” or little by little, and to Ulap.

A transforming presence in this community are the Religious of the Good Shepherd (RGS) nuns, who came in 1990 to accompany the poor and minister to women in need of support, women who are in pain, in danger, or trapped in oppressive situations.

The Good Shepherd Sisters are into “community-based integrated services (geared) toward economic justice and eradication of gender violence.” The Good Shepherd Home in Legazpi City offers direct services for the recovery and healing of women and children in violent situations. Within the Good Shepherd compound is a warm and quiet home for these survivors in the process of picking up the pieces and starting over.

Side by side the personal services that the Sisters render to individuals are socio-economic development programs, community organizing, training and formation of leaders. Sr. Veronica Nobleza, RGS, head of the RGS Legazpi community, says that the sisters are also active in advocacy and networking. Integral growth and development of individuals and the community are paramount.

When Typhoon “Reming” devastated the Bicol region two years ago, when flood waters poured into San Roque and dark clouds hovered in the typhoon’s aftermath, Ulap revealed a silver lining through its women’s strength and resolve to forge on.

Virgie and Dalen are just two individual women who have personally experienced the transforming power of women helping women and who have directly participated in their community’s becoming.

Ralph and social action in time of terror

Philippine Daily Inquirer/OPINION/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

HERE’S A great quote for New Year from Wendell Berry, conservationist, poet, philosopher, Christian writer, teacher: “When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

I wrote a 2008 New Year piece on Berry’s “The peace of wild things” and received inspired reactions from readers. It was a dark and difficult time and Berry’s words just seemed to come down softly like a shawl of clean rain. 2010 has not been an easy year for many, the poor especially, and December brought with it a final dose of tragedies and other shocking matters.

There is a time to grieve and a time to celebrate. Celebrating the life of Msgr. Ralph Crisol Salazar are his co-workers in social action circa the late 1970s and early 1980s. He passed away on Christmas Eve 2010 in the United States. He was 65.

Monsignor Ralph’s ashes were brought home and a two-day wake was held here in Metro Manila, after which his ashes were brought to Legazpi City where he had served in various capacities as a priest. Burial is tomorrow after the 9 a.m. Mass at St. Gregory the Great Cathedral where he once served as pastor.

I have no hesitation in writing about someone’s passing in my first column piece for 2011. Not if it is about a person whose life and work had an impact on the so-called “PDO” (poor, deprived and oppressed, a catchphrase during the martial law years).

Monsignor Ralph’s co-workers in social action who learned about his passing immediately came together to pay their respects. This may sound commonplace but it isn’t.

Long after Ralph (let me do away with the Monsignor) had ended his term as executive secretary of the National Secretariat of Social Action (Nassa) of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines, the staff during his watch continued to be a family in many ways. Something was forged during his watch and long after they had left Nassa to move on to various service fields and bigger involvements, the media, etc., many of them maintained their bond. They—okay, we—call ourselves X-Nassa and we meet at the drop of a hat, that is, four to five times a year, to share stories and jokes, discuss the latest issues and, most of all, eat. Regular venue is the home of Maring Feria in Bel-Air, Makati.

Ralph rarely attended the get-togethers as he was busy with pastoral work in Albay, and later, the US, but he was present at our big 2009 gathering for him. Bishop Julio Labayen, chair of Nassa during Ralph’s watch, is present most of the time.

I was not a Nassa employee and therefore not close to Ralph but I did some writing projects for Nassa under his supervision (I have kept the publications) and think of myself as part of the X-Nassa family. I am almost never absent from the regular reunions.

In Ralph’s time, I remember going to the printing press to collect hundreds of copies of “Iron Hand, Velvet Glove,” a publication on military abuses. Nassa partnered with a human rights group in the documentation and publication of “Iron Hand.” Shortly after I had loaded the stuff in my car and driven off from the press, about a dozen plainclothesmen with firearms flagged me down. Guns were trained on Nassa writer Chit Estella and me. We were being brought to Camp Crame. It was night time.

I had the presence of mind to insist on being brought back to the printing press to make calls. After all, the Arrest Search and Seizure Order (the dreaded Asso) was not for me but for Al Senturias, my boss in the human rights group. I thought, once I stepped into Crame I would never get out. It was Ralph and Sr. Christine Tan, RGS (both in the board of the human rights group) that came to the rescue and extricated us from the clutches of the military. I drove home shaken but relieved. Sophie Lizares-Bodegon, head of Nassa’s research, publication and documentation who was on top of the “Iron Hand” project had to be more conscious of her own security.

Sophie could not come to celebrate Ralph’s life with us but sent e-mail: “I will remember Ralph as a courageous empower-er. It was incredible how well he knew our gifts and trusted us to use them to run our departments and in his absence, the National secretariat. From him more than 30 years ago, I learned how the Church could be a responsible organization abiding by the processes, transparency and spirituality which successful corporations are only discovering today. Those were difficult times under martial law and yet the most fulfilling and exhilarating for the Church and all those who worked in social action.”

Words from Ralph taken from a Nassa publication (“Of joys and hopes, of griefs and anxieties”) I had helped produce. His essay had a special format, thus: “for indeed how could religion retain its relevance/ unless it redeemed scandalous situations/ of peasants and workers perishing in penury/ as profiteers and landlords lolled in wealth?/ of masses ogling at the march of progress/ or getting crushed by the engines of growth/ while vainly expecting the trickle of largesse/ from the enclaves of the pampered few?/…rightly octagesima adveniens underscored/ the need to pass from economics to politics/ in upholding the common good…/but thank God for enough witnesses/to the vitality of redemptive incarnation/ from the various sectors of God’s people…”