Crowns of flowers, thorns for Sr. Flor Maira Basa

Philippine Daily Iniquirer/SPECIAL REPORTS/by Ma. Ceres P. Doyo

                                                    (First of two parts)

Thrust recently into public consciousness because of her family ties to protagonists in the impeachment trial of Supreme Court Chief Justice Renato C. Corona and because of the pronouncements she had made to uphold a party in the skirmish, Sr. Flor Maria Basa of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary (FMM) has become a much sought-after figure by the paparazzi.

Here is a nun who has quietly lived her religious vocation for 65 years suddenly coming out, with guns blazing so to speak, to shoot down what she believes is not the truth. Speaking truth to power, one might call it.

Sharp memory

Sister Flor Maria (Flory to her next of kin) shuns public attention, but circumstances—divine providence, she calls it—pushed her into unfamiliar terrain. Ah, but she is far from being discombobulated, disoriented or confused—as some critics might want her portrayed. Her steps may be slow but not the flow of her words. Her memory is as sharp as a middle-lifer, her reasoning sharp, her handwriting elegant, her reflections confounding and her humor endearing.

THE NUN’S STORY. Sr. Flor Maria Basa, FMM, at her convent’s chapel in Cavite with a reproduction of the Cross of San Damiano in stained glass in the background. The question is, will she be summoned to the witness stand? Photo by MA. CERES P. DOYO

She does not wear distance glasses, she does not use a hearing aid, she does not need a cane. A recently discovered ailment does not faze her. She is ready for flight. She pores over newspapers and watches the impeachment trial on TV. When the Inquirer came one Sunday morning for a scheduled interview, she had already read the day’s banner story and spoke about it. She is not your typical nonagenarian.

“Oh, is that so?” is her calm reaction when told about unflattering text messages about her. And where should these come from? she asks, as if begging the obvious.

Will Sister Flor Maria be summoned to the witness stand? That remains to be seen. FMM provincial superior, Sr. Josefina Fernando, assures the public that the FMM keeps abreast of developments in the trial.

To make light of it, if your honors please, Sister Flor Maria might stump the court with bursts of, esto, Spanish or French that would spice up her English and Filipino. Levity aside, this nun had been formed in the old school, she minds her Ps and Qs and is not prone to making flighty utterances. “I grew up in that era when children were seen and not heard,” she chuckles.

Truth and charity

“Teach us truth and charity.” These are the last lines of the invocation recited daily these past three years by the FMM who are celebrating their century of presence in the Philippines this year.

Ninety-year-old Sr. Flor Maria Basa, FMM, takes this prayer to heart and strives to live it. To the prayer, she lately added one more virtue to beg for—justice. That the world may be steeped in it. This she prays in this final season of her missionary life.

Sister Flor Maria was born in Sampaloc, Manila, on Dec. 6, 1921, to Jose Maria Basa and Rosario Guidote. Shortly after her birth, the family moved to a house on Lepanto Street (not far from the controversial Basa-Guidote property that is the subject of arguments in the impeachment trial).

Sister Flor Maria’s grandfather, Jose Ma. Basa, her father’s namesake, was a renowned Filipino patriot who, along with national hero Jose Rizal, fought Spanish rule. Many streets have been named after him. He was exiled to the Marianas Islands for many years but later was able to move to British-ruled Hong Kong where Sister Flor Maria’s father was born. Sister Flor Maria can talk lengthily about historical vignettes related to her grandfather’s odyssey and struggle for Philippine independence from colonial rule.

How Sister Flor Maria’s parents met, wooed and wed was a love story in itself. The nun relishes telling the story. At that time, her father held a good position at Compania Maritima. Sister Flor Maria is the fourth of five children. Her siblings, now all deceased, are Sister Concepcion, FMM, Mario, Asuncion (nicknamed Monina) and Jose Ma. III (Peping). Born on the feast of St. Nicholas, Sister Flor Maria recalls being sometimes teased and called Colasa. “My mother named me after a character in a Spanish novel she had read,” she explains, and because her mother loved flowers and the Virgin Mary.

Death in Barcelona

Sister Flor Maria’s father died when she was 9 years old. “He was only 47,” she recalls sadly. “He was brought to Spain for treatment and we were all there with him. He was supposed to go to a Madrid hospital but he died in Barcelona.” Sister Flor Maria remembers the long sea voyage to and from Spain and the pain of loss the family endured.

Her husband gone, Rosario raised all five children by herself. Sister Flor Maria remembers coming down with typhoid fever and how her widowed mother sought treatments for her. “Mama made me drink freshly squeezed sugar cane juice and that helped me get well,” she says, marveling at it now. There were difficult times but the Basas were not exactly penniless.

Sister Flor Maria and her sisters attended St. Theresa’s College, run at that time by Belgian nuns, while the boys went to Ateneo de Manila. She also studied at Loreto Parochial School, Holy Ghost College (“For Fine Arts, to please Mama”) and later, briefly at the University of Santo Tomas. Her eldest sister, Concepcion, went to the University of the Philippines where she took music lessons under the famous Francisco Santiago. She later went to Spain to study.

The call

Even in childhood, Sister Flor Maria recalls, she already felt drawn to the spiritual life. “I had my first communion in Grade 2,” she narrates. It could have been earlier but her father advised her to wait because he thought she was too young to understand. Looking back, Sister Flor Maria considers that quite revealing and appreciates her father’s wisdom. “That was despite the fact that maybe he still had antifriar sentiments.”

It was during her first holy communion that the young Flor Maria felt the call. “I can never forget Jesus calling me for Himself.” After that, she says, she would often find herself running to the school chapel to be with her beloved. As a young adult, she had her share of admirers but she knew in her heart that she was meant for something else. “The Blessed Sacrament magnetized me. I wanted intimacy with Jesus.”

At first, she thought she might be called to a contemplative life and end up with the Pink Sisters (Sisters Servants of Perpetual Adoration). “But there was another call,” she confides. She learned that the FMM had a contemplative side to them and spent time in prayerful adoration. “What appealed to me was this was not going to be just the Lord and me, but I will bring the Lord to the people and the people back to the Lord, in adoration.” She was attracted to the Franciscan simplicity and the life centered on the scriptures and the Blessed Sacrament.

And so she decided on the FMM. With her eldest sister in the convent abroad and her other sister Asuncion married, she wondered what it would be like to leave her mother. There were twists and turns on her way to the convent. How she finally entered the novitiate (then located on Legarda Street) with only the clothes on her back was a story in itself. The day after her entrance, the entire brood came to see her wearing an old hand-me-down postulant’s garb that got ripped in the joyful frenzy. The year was 1947.

Bold nuns

Sister Flor Maria’s eldest sister Concepcion (then called Sr. Divino Amor) had joined the FMM ahead of her and was sent to Rome for formation. With World War II raging in Europe, Sr. Divino Amor and other sisters from countries under the Allied Forces were sent to the United States for safety. She was later assigned to follow up war damages compensation for the destruction wrought by US bombings in the Philippines.

A first cousin, Sr. Caridad Guidote (aunt of artist-activist Cecile Guidote-Alvarez), had also joined the FMM. (Sister Caring, as she was called, became a known anti-martial law activist and intellectual who, after her studies in Paris, lived in exile in the United States for several years until Philippine democracy was restored. Her dissertation in French was considered subversive and could not be published at that time.)

When she received her religious habit as a novice, Sister Flor Maria was given the religious name Sr. Blanca Azucena. (Like many missionary nuns, the two Basa sisters would revert to their baptismal names in the late 1960s after Vatican II.) She then continued her formation at the new FMM novitiate in Tagaytay City. The clean air and cool climate did wonders to her weak lungs. The war over in 1945, it was “peace time” once again and the FMM sisters were back in their respective assignments. (Several foreign sisters had been interned by the Japanese in concentration camp during the war.)

Like duck to water

Sister Flor Maria made her first vows in 1948 and her final vows in 1953. According to Sr. Maria Asuncion Borromeo, FMM, retreat and vocation directress, FMM sisters making their first vows are crowned with flowers and on pronouncing their final vows, receive a crown of thorns which they take with them wherever they are missioned. Religious life in the 1950s, unlike now, was very strict. “One never questioned,” Sister Flor Maria recalls. And some biblical imperatives—humility and poverty, among them—were practiced to the letter.

The FMM is among the many Franciscan congregations inspired by the spirit of St. Francis of Assisi who renounced wealth and embraced poverty. Because of his love for nature, Pope John Paul II declared him patron saint of the environment in 1982. The FMM was founded in 1877 in India by a Frenchwoman, Mother Mary of the Passion (now a “Blessed” and, hopefully, on her way to canonization) who envisioned an international institute of contemplative-active missionaries. The FMM consider their “cradle” the first foundation in Ootacamund in India. (This writer was a guest there many years ago.) With almost 7,000 sisters of 80 nationalities serving in 75 countries, in six continents, the FMM is presently one of the biggest women’s congregations in the world.

Twelve FMM of different nationalities sailed from France and set foot in the Philippines on Dec. 10, 1912. Fast forward to 2012: serving in 16 communities in the Philippines are 161 FMM sisters, mostly Filipinos; 34 Filipino FMM are missioned in 16 countries. The FMM sisters serve in many fronts and frontiers—indigenous communities, hospitals, schools, catechetical and spiritual formation, the urban poor, rural poor, farmers, workers and children of patients with leprosy. Close to a hundred FMM in the Philippines have gone to their eternal reward.

Sister Flor Maria took to the Franciscan life like duck to water. Leaving the convent never entered her mind. “I always said that where I am sent, that is where Jesus is waiting,” she reflects. “There is a saying that if a garment was made for you, it will fit you.”

A ‘bouche-trou’

She had worked in many places in the Philippines. One of her longest stints—10 years—was in Jerusalem where she took care of children of displaced Arab families and managed a spiritual center for pilgrims. “I was the only Filipino in our international community,” the nun says, “and I often had to speak French.” During breaks, she was sent to Rome for courses in spirituality, spiritual direction and discernment.

“Whenever there was a need somewhere, I would be pulled out and sent over,” Sister Flor Maria says with a smile. She was, as the nuns would say in French, a bouche-trou, panakip-butas or a stop-gap. She was a missionary to the core, who walked in the steps of the bold and daring FMM foundress who braved the wilds of India and whom Sister Flor Maria fondly calls in French, Maman Passion.

The Franciscan way of life was, for her, the only way.

(To be continued)

"Subversive Lives'

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

I am sure many reviews, reflections, analyses and comments will be written about this book. It will be dissected, critiqued and deconstructed. If reading is one of your preoccupations this super hot summer, “Subversive Lives: A Family Memoir of the Marcos Years” (Anvil, 2012) should be on your list. It is, you bet, better than fiction.

A book like “Subversive Lives” comes in a rare while. Or, I should say, it is a book like no other that I have read. It is a family memoir, big on family, yes, but it is also about the lives of individuals who happen to have come from the same womb and been cradled by the same arms. But these separate lives with a common origin had an uncommon almost-common direction—the protracted communist revolution—to which they were drawn separately and for which they poured out much of the substance of their young lives. And—let me promptly add—from which they would later turn away, one by one, upon reaching the crossroads.

“Subversive Lives” is a compilation of autobiographical pieces by and about the Quimpo family mainly during—but also before and after—the martial law years under the Marcos dictatorship. The stories are packed with colorful details and drama—triumphs and tragedies, love and loss, awakenings and disillusions.

The Quimpo siblings, 10 of them, are the story weavers. Although two brothers lost their lives during those dreadful years, they come alive through their letters and the recollections of their siblings, friends and comrades. Susan and Nathan are the main authors of “Subversive Lives,” but the book also contains pieces written by the rest of the brood. Through their stories, the essence of family stands out.

Here are the Quimpos in chronological order: Elizabeth (Lys) Q. Bulatao, Norman F. Quimpo, Emilie Mae Q. Wickett, Catherine (Caren) Q. Castaneda, Lillian F. Quimpo, Nathan Gilbert (Sonny) F. Quimpo, Ronald Jan F. Quimpo (+), David Ryan F. Quimpo, Ishmael (Jun) F. Quimpo Jr. (+), and Susan F. Quimpo.

Vicente L. Rafael, professor of history at University of Washington, said in the Foreword, “Radiant Hope, Dark Despair”: “Written as a family history, ‘Subversive Lives’ furnishes us with powerful testimonies on the era of Ferdinand Marcos and Jose Maria Sison, along with narratives on the vicissitudes of the revolutionary movement. Each Quimpo sibling bears witness to the events they and others (helped) so much to shape.

“From aborted attempts to smuggle weapons for the NPA to heady times organizing ‘spontaneous uprisings’ and general strikes in Mindanao, from the cruel discovery of the cause of one brother’s death at the hands of a kasama (comrade) to the near hallucinatory tales of imprisonment and torture at the hands of the military, these stories remind us of the personal costs and the daily heroism of those who joined the movement.

“But they also bring forth its messy and unresolved legacies; of sons alienated from their father; daughters abused and victimized by the military and deluded by a religious cult; brothers lost to the war; friends betrayed, comrades purged, and revolutionary affection soured and then destroyed by intractable ideological differences. Such stories are much less about an unfinished revolution as they are about an inconclusive one.

“To read these accounts, each so rich and distinctive in its tone, is to hear the rhythm of the revolution.”

How this book came about is a story in itself, as recounted in the Preface. How the siblings pulled it off was indeed a feat.

I began reading the book from the end and by examining the pictures. I couldn’t wait to find out what had become of the Quimpos. The last chapter, “Aftermath” has each of the eight surviving siblings reflecting on the hills and valleys of their past lives and on the present landscape where they dwell. One of them, a former Opus Dei numerary, provides an interesting finis to her own rocky journey.

“One by one, the siblings dropped out of the revolution. Those who tried to see it through, despite the CPP-NDF’s continued misreading of political events in the mid-1980s, were finally forced out in bitter recrimination, in the midst of a Party split that effectively ended the revolution. In Februrary 2009, on the island of Siquijor, the Quimpo family held a reunion. The last time the family was complete was in the late 1960s prior to Lys’ leaving for the US for graduate studies.

“The Siquijor reunion brought together the surviving eight siblings, their spouses, their children and two grandchildren from four continents. For the Quimpos, the revolution was a memory that evoked mixed feelings. Each one reflected and wrote a brief account of how things unfolded in their lives, and what has remained with them of the revolution.”

Now back to the Preface: “At the Bantayog ng mga Bayani we have scrutinized the names… on the Wall of Remembrance, checking ourselves when we see familiar names and remembering what little we knew of their stories… After the failed revolution and its price in fragmented lives, here stands a Wall with the names of young heroes and martyrs who were among the best and truest of their generation…

“So we hope our family memories serve to commemorate a generation of kasama, who, out of unfettered love for the country and its people, gave all they had.”

“Subversive Lives” is more than just a page turner. The stories in the book are not mere historical vignettes, or footnotes to a revolution. They give the nationalist struggle a human face and heart—and more. Historians, social and behavioral scientists, political analysts, freedom fighters, ideologues and revolutionaries will find in the book something that would speak profoundly to them. #

Goldman prize for anti-mining priest

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

HE AND Mangyan leaders put their lives on the line and went on a hunger strike in 2009 to protest mining operations in Mindoro. I saw this for myself and wrote about their do-or-die move. Their sacrifices paid off.

Filipino Catholic priest Fr. Edwin “Edu” Gariguez, 49, was one of the six recipients of the 2012 Goldman Environmental Prize awarded last April 16 in San Francisco. These green heroes’ collective efforts are indeed crucial to the survival of our common home, Earth. In distant places out there, as well as here, individuals without much wealth and lofty positions can make crucial changes. Here are the “fearless emerging leaders working against all odds to protect the environment and their communities.”

Edwin Gariguez, Philippines. This Catholic priest is leading a grassroots movement against large-scale nickel mining to protect Mindoro island’s biodiversity and its indigenous people.

Ma Jun, China. He is working with corporations to clean up their practices with an online database and digital map that shows Chinese citizens which factories are violating environmental regulations in their country. (I had written a front-page story on him in 2009 when he came to receive the Ramon Magsaysay Award.)

Ikal Angelei, Kenya. Risking her life, she is fighting the construction of the massive Gibe 3 Dam that would block access to water for indigenous communities around Lake Turkana.

Evgenia Chirikova, Russia. Challenging rampant political corruption, Chirikova is mobilizing her fellow Russian citizens to demand the rerouting of a highway that would bisect Khimki Forest, Moscow’s “green lungs.”

Caroline Cannon, USA. She is bringing the voice and perspective of her Inupiat community in Point Hope to the battle to keep Arctic waters safe from offshore oil and gas drilling.

Sofia Gatica, Argentina. A mother whose infant child died as a result of pesticide poisoning, Gatica is organizing local women to stop indiscriminate spraying of toxic agrochemicals in neighboring soy fields.

The prize includes a whopping $150,000 for each one of them with “no strings attached.” Established by philanthropist couple Richard and Rhoda Goldman in 1990, the prize is the first and largest award in the world for grass-roots environmentalists who often work at great personal risk.

The Philippines’ own green hero is the pastor of the Catholic Church’s Mangyan Mission in Mindoro and now executive secretary of the National Secretariat for Social Action, Justice and Peace. Born in Quezon province, Gariguez has been working in Mindoro for decades. He cofounded Alliance Against Mining (Alamin), a coalition of Mindoro residents, civil society groups, church leaders and indigenous peoples who oppose mining on the island.

Uniting thousands of Mangyans, farmers and even political leaders, Gariguez and Alamin led protests that led to the island-wide moratorium that stopped Norwegian mining company Intex from operating. The company had proposed an open-pit nickel mine close to a biodiversity area and within Mangyan ancestral domain. It was within the watershed that feeds the island’s four major rivers that provide drinking water and irrigation.

The priest even went to Norway to address parliamentarians and Intex shareholders. That was a watershed moment. A Norwegian group helped Gariguez file a complaint with the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development.

Gariguez’s continuing advocacy and leadership to protect the environment and the indigenous communities are inextricably woven into the essence of his priesthood. Gariguez said: “I do this because of my faith. When I try to bring about change, I do it in fidelity to the social teachings of the Church in a way that is responsive to the challenges of the times, including poverty, mining and corruption. Through our work on Mindoro, we are not trying to impose our faith on others, but are trying to be credible witnesses on how to bring about social change.”

A long Q & A with Gariguez is in the April-May 2012 issue of World Mission Magazine (a very well-edited church magazine, I must say) whose cover story is on harmful mining. Editor Fr. Jose Rebelo writes: “The Philippines is ‘one of the world’s most highly mineralized countries,’ says a US Department of State report. Its estimated untapped mineral wealth is worth more than $840 billion—in copper, gold and chromate deposits; other available minerals include nickel, silver, coal, gypsum, sulfur, clay, limestone, marble, silica, and phosphate, according to the same report. This is one of the reasons mining has become a very hot issue.”

Gariguez and Alamin are in dialogue with government officials and in the process of finalizing the Alternative Mineral Management bill which provides for safer and more just alternatives. “The passage of the bill,” Gariguez says, “would be a landmark bill for all mining regions throughout the Philippines. We are not asking for a complete ban on mining altogether; we are making sure we do not sacrifice the rights of the indigenous people and the environment…”

In his prize acceptance speech, Gariguez paid tribute to the Mangyans: “I was taught by the Mangyans to care for the earth. For them nature is likened to a womb that sustains us with life. One of the leaders is Badang, a Mangyan woman who went on hunger strike with me. She was ready to die to save the watershed threatened by mining. For her, once the forest is destroyed, we too will perish. She helped me understand that what is at stake in the campaign is the survival of our planet, of which we are merely a part.”

To you, too, Badang, hugs and congratulations.

Boracay Ati home at last

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

Around this time last year, I spoke with Delsa Supitran Justo, Ati leader from Boracay. Her people, she told me, were being barred from occupying their ancestral land in the so-called island paradise (not anymore, if you ask me) that was their ancestors’ home since the dawn of time. I wrote a piece titled “Boracay Ati barred from ancestral domain.” She said in the language I could understand: “Panginmatyan namon ini kay amon ini.” (We will lay down our lives for this land because it is ours.)

Questions I asked then: Why are the Ati who have lived in Boracay long before the paradisiacal island became world-famous, being barred from occupying a piece of land that the government turned over to their community on Feb. 11, 2011, by virtue of a Certificate of Ancestral Domain Title made possible by the Indigenous Peoples Republic Act?

Why can’t an indigenous community of 46 families whose ancestors called the island their home long, long before the island became a tourist haven, occupy a tiny 2.1-hectare area that has been designated as their home?

Why does the area called Dead Forest, which has been declared inalienable and officially declared to be the ancestral domain of the Ati, have non-Ati claimants who do not want to let go?

Playing in my mind then were thoughts that Boracay, the party island that never sleeps, would be cursed—yes, cursed—and fall into disrepute if the Ati, who nurtured the island for generations before developers crashed in, would be barred from their homeland.

The good news is that last Tuesday, the Ati dared to occupy the two-hectare land that was meant for them. Two days before then, I received a call from Assisi Foundation president Ben Abadiano (2004 Ramon Magsaysay Awardee for the work he has done for indigenous communities) who told me that it was do or die for the Ati, and that he was flying to Boracay to accompany them. I also learned that Inquirer Visayas reporter Nestor P. Burgos Jr. would be there.

On Wednesday, the Inquirer came out with the good news (“Ati tribe occupies land in Boracay”). Burgos wrote: “Before the sun rose on Tuesday, the Ati tribe of Boracay Island occupied the land titled to their community in what they hope would be the end to decades of struggle to have a home in the world-famous resort.

“At least 60 tribe members, along with nuns and other supporters, prayed the rosary as they marched for more than a kilometer along the white beach from their community in Barangay Balabag to the 2.1-hectare lot in Barangay Manoc-Manoc awarded to them by the National Commission on Indigenous Peoples.”

With the news report was a big color photo of Boracay parish priest Fr. Magloire Placer celebrating Mass and surrounded by the Ati and their supporters. He said: “If we can open Boracay to foreign tourists and investors, why can’t we give land to the earliest settlers of the island?”

Last week, Catholic Archbishop Sergio Utleg, chair of the Episcopal Commission on Indigenous Peoples, issued a hopeful statement that the Ati of Boracay would soon occupy their ancestral domain which is a tiny 2.1 hectares of the 1,032-hectare island. Utleg called on the government to support the Ati because non-Ati claimants were continuing to harass and intimidate them.

Bishop Broderick Pabillo, national director of the National Secretariat for Social Action, Justice and Peace of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines, also issued a statement of support. He said: “The social doctrine of the Church reminds us that the goods of the earth were created by God to be used wisely by all. They must be shared equitably, in accordance with justice and charity. The Church stands for the rights of the weak and the marginalized.

“While there is the continuous influx of tourists in the beautiful white sand beaches of Boracay that sustains the economic initiatives of business people, let us not forget that before the onset of these enterprises were the Ati, the indigenous people of this island. It is the recognition and promotion of their uniqueness as a people that will bring forth beauty in diversity in the island.”

They are called Ati in the Visayas, while their counterparts in Luzon are called Aeta, curly-haired, shorter and slightly darker versions of our mainly Malay-Chinese-Hispanic selves. They are said to be the original aborigines of our islands; they were here when time began, so to speak, before the Malay, Chinese and Spanish arrivals. But I leave this subject to the anthropologists and historians.

President Aquino and Interior Secretary Jesse Robredo reportedly met a few days ago on the issue and the latter has been tasked to implement the writ of possession through the NCIP.

The 21st-century reality is that the Ati/Aeta and other indigenous peoples in the Philippines who, in the past, were marginalized, discriminated against, oppressed and belittled, should now be able to invoke their rights that have been written into the Constitution—among them, their right to remain in and protect their ancestral domains. Making this happen has not been easy on the part of the IPs.

I’ve visited Boracay only twice—in 1991 when it was still Robinson Crusoe country, with no electricity, and in 2007 when a cousin treated a bunch of us to a three-day stay at Fairways and Bluewater (resort and golf course), which had a quiet cove and beach at the back. One trip to the Boracay “downtown” mall was enough for me and I promptly fled back to the deserted beach where the water was clear, to be with the tiny fishes that frolicked around my feet.

To Ati brave Justa, here are assuring words from Kalinga brave Macliing Dulang: “Only the race owns the land because the race lives forever.” Kabay pa. (May it be.)