There's a beatiful book, written by a woman doctor, entitled "Trauma and Recovery: the aftermath of violence- from domestic abuse to political terror." Although to be traumatized is not really a beautiful experience.
I though I'd write about it because as a woman you can't help thinking about the inequality in this world. In fact, according to the World Health Organization, our lifespan is reduced by 5% for every violence that we experience. And violence does not only refer to the physical abuse, but the verbal, emotional, psychological, sexual and even socioeconomic type of violence that we can think of. Unfortunately, those violated of their rights are silenced. But must we? Or if we already are, must this continue? Here's something to think about and which I'm quoting from that book:
"In order to escape accountability for his crimes, the perpetrator does everything in his power to promote forgetting. Secrecy and silence are the perpetrator's first line of defense. If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim. If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure that no one listens. To this end, he marshals an impressive array of arguments, from the most blatant denial to the most sophisticated and elegant rationalization. After every atrocity one can expect to hear the same predictable apologies: it never happened; the victim lies; the victim exaggerates; the victim brought it upon herself; and in any case it is time to forget the past and move on. The more powerful the perpetrator, the greater is his prerogative to name and define reality, and the more completely his arguments prevail."
Sounds sickening? Yes. But there's a way out. Shout! And create noise - especially collective noise.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Spirit
It was in 1996 when I wrote my article "Mother to an Ayta" (please see my blog). A few days later I got a telegram (uso pa noon). It came all the way from Baguio from a bigtime professor of mine. Bigtime because she had a PhD, she graduated from UP Diliman and had a fellowship in the USA to finish her postgraduate studies. And if you're in class, you had better listen well because she does not only have the "authority" to teach Political Science. She's also not the high school teacher stereotype who "spanks." She's also married to an American (I think he comes from a farming family) who teaches Political Science in UP Baguio then.
One time she assigned us to describe the Philippine electoral process. I'm not sure if I was able to research this in our school library, but I came up with an answer by copying (plagiarizing, actually. ooops!). My History teacher told me then that we had the same type of government like the USA so I presumed we had the same electoral process. My professor asked me to come and see her. Of course I never did. I was guilty. So you could just imagine how I felt holding a telegram that came from her 6 years after graduating. My... But you know what that telegram said?
"Write whenever the spirit moves you." She read "Mother to an Ayta." And she guessed it was me who wrote it though my surname then was already different because I got married already.
I'm writing about this Spirit, not because I believe in spirits. I'm not even the church-goer type. I'm writing because I was reminded by Barbra Streisand ( in a DVD-concert- which I watched over the weekend). I have not tracked down Streisand's love life. But I was touched by her singing "Now that I'm around you" - so soulfully to his son, minus the father who was not in the audience with them.
And I was reminded of how it is to be a woman and a single parent. This is a difficult situation to be in, but at the same time it is liberating. Why? Because you get to discover more your own spirit, you nurture it, you make it soar so high and you linger there. But you never lose your feet on the ground because there's the kids to feed, clothe and give good education to.
And not many women have discovered this. Many of us, women, have subsumed our roles for the sake of children, husband, family and society. And it's really unfair. For how can this world be happier if half of its population live in fear? in desperation? I hope many of us are liberated, by our spirits.... in time.
I
One time she assigned us to describe the Philippine electoral process. I'm not sure if I was able to research this in our school library, but I came up with an answer by copying (plagiarizing, actually. ooops!). My History teacher told me then that we had the same type of government like the USA so I presumed we had the same electoral process. My professor asked me to come and see her. Of course I never did. I was guilty. So you could just imagine how I felt holding a telegram that came from her 6 years after graduating. My... But you know what that telegram said?
"Write whenever the spirit moves you." She read "Mother to an Ayta." And she guessed it was me who wrote it though my surname then was already different because I got married already.
I'm writing about this Spirit, not because I believe in spirits. I'm not even the church-goer type. I'm writing because I was reminded by Barbra Streisand ( in a DVD-concert- which I watched over the weekend). I have not tracked down Streisand's love life. But I was touched by her singing "Now that I'm around you" - so soulfully to his son, minus the father who was not in the audience with them.
And I was reminded of how it is to be a woman and a single parent. This is a difficult situation to be in, but at the same time it is liberating. Why? Because you get to discover more your own spirit, you nurture it, you make it soar so high and you linger there. But you never lose your feet on the ground because there's the kids to feed, clothe and give good education to.
And not many women have discovered this. Many of us, women, have subsumed our roles for the sake of children, husband, family and society. And it's really unfair. For how can this world be happier if half of its population live in fear? in desperation? I hope many of us are liberated, by our spirits.... in time.
I
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Labeling
Did you ever wish, as a parent, you had gifted children - children who could read even before he could go to school? or children who could play the violin like the Promil commercial? If you don't, or if you have not discovered yet that you do, read this blog. My eldest of 12 years old blurted last night that his teacher is a bully. This lunchtime his teacher told them in class(they're in section 7) that they will not pass the National Aptitude Test and therefore had to stay 5 more years in elementary. Goodness!!! But here's the study I was talking about before I talk to my son's teacher - or perhaps write their Principal.
In a ghetto area in the USA in the 1960s, a study about labeling of schoolchildren was conducted. The children's status from kindergarten up to Grade II was tracked down. Specifically, the teachers' practice of labeling its students was looked into. During kindergarten, the teacher placed its students in tables 1, 2 and 3. The placement was based on physical appearance, body odor, school language used, socioeconomic status and family size, and whether they were "fast" or "slow" learners.
Those in table 1 were the teacher's favorite - they were "fast" learners, were clean in appearance and odor, used standard American English, had high economic status and small family size. The farther the table, the "worse" the status. Amazingly, the children followed the way the teachers treated them. Those in table 1 were "respected." While those in table 2, and worse in table 3 had behavioral problems and low self-esteem.
There were 30 kindergarten students. This was reduced to 18 by the time the kids reached Grade 1. The teacher during this grade level followed a similar classification of the students and treated the students similar to the kindergarten teacher.
By the time the students reached Grade 2, there were only 10 of them.
You ask why? There's a theory we call Labeling. It says that labeling is a "self-fulfilling prophecy" - the more the kids are labeled "bad," the more they actually turn into "bad" kids. And unfortunately, the kids followed what the adult did. The worse part here is if the "bad' kid comes home to a non-ideal family.
The moral lesson? Be careful when you label children, or perhaps even adolescents and adults- they more likely become what we want them to become. So instead of destroying someone's life, try finding the "giftedness' of other people - be they young, not so young or old. Here in the Philippines, Ibon Foundation reported in 2004 that only 1/10 Filipino child is able to finish tertiary education.
In a ghetto area in the USA in the 1960s, a study about labeling of schoolchildren was conducted. The children's status from kindergarten up to Grade II was tracked down. Specifically, the teachers' practice of labeling its students was looked into. During kindergarten, the teacher placed its students in tables 1, 2 and 3. The placement was based on physical appearance, body odor, school language used, socioeconomic status and family size, and whether they were "fast" or "slow" learners.
Those in table 1 were the teacher's favorite - they were "fast" learners, were clean in appearance and odor, used standard American English, had high economic status and small family size. The farther the table, the "worse" the status. Amazingly, the children followed the way the teachers treated them. Those in table 1 were "respected." While those in table 2, and worse in table 3 had behavioral problems and low self-esteem.
There were 30 kindergarten students. This was reduced to 18 by the time the kids reached Grade 1. The teacher during this grade level followed a similar classification of the students and treated the students similar to the kindergarten teacher.
By the time the students reached Grade 2, there were only 10 of them.
You ask why? There's a theory we call Labeling. It says that labeling is a "self-fulfilling prophecy" - the more the kids are labeled "bad," the more they actually turn into "bad" kids. And unfortunately, the kids followed what the adult did. The worse part here is if the "bad' kid comes home to a non-ideal family.
The moral lesson? Be careful when you label children, or perhaps even adolescents and adults- they more likely become what we want them to become. So instead of destroying someone's life, try finding the "giftedness' of other people - be they young, not so young or old. Here in the Philippines, Ibon Foundation reported in 2004 that only 1/10 Filipino child is able to finish tertiary education.
Oxygen
Did you know that 1 mature tree can give-off oxygen for 7 persons? The data came from an article by Tebtebba Foundation. Perhaps it won't be long for oxygen to be sold in bottles. So plant trees before somebody patents oxygen in bottles.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Politics in the Hospital
Teaching is a dialogue. Students learn from teachers. And teachers learn from students. Otherwise, there is no teaching. But sometimes you get surprised with what you learn from your students. I did. And I was horrified.
Years back, I innocently required my Nursing students -probably all of whom wanted to work abroad after graduation- in our Philippine Government and Constitution subject to come up with a paper about Politics in the Hospital. This means telling stories about their experiences during hospital duty which they consider as "political."
Of course we had to define first what politics is. Well, I got all the answers related to politics. But I summarized its definition to its simplest nature which is "the ability of A to make B do something which B would not have otherwise done." Sounds clear enough. But I wanted the concept not just to be defined by them but to let the concept eventually sink down their head and heart (even after taking this subject) and perhaps influence them to decide to help our country first rather than work abroad after graduation. Here were some of their stories:
1. There was 1 baby patient who was looked after by her mother and her 12-year old brother in the Pediatric Ward. Hungry, the mother decided to have her younger son to buy them food. Having bought food outside the hospital, because the hospital canteen was already closed and food was much cheaper, the boy went outside the hospital. He, however, never returned to their ward because Visiting Hours was over. The security guard gave the food to the mother but disallowed the boy to enter the hospital.
2. A patient suffering from pain from his pelvis and downwards was admitted in the hospital. Not knowing yet the cause of his pain, the doctor told the wife to make the patient to undergo several tests. Upon knowing the amount of 1 ultrasound, which was P9,000, the wife decided not to have this. Because no payment was made, no ultrasound was taken. Nurses were described to be texting and laughing away their time. Next day, the patient died.
3. One patient was going into shock. Horrified, although disallowed, the student-nurses wanted to perform CPR to revive the patient. When the students informed the nurses on duty about this they were told that the patient's relative already signed some papers stating that DNR will be performed. So what's DNR? DO NOT RESUSCITATE! That's because the patient does not have the means to pay for their bills.
4. A statistic supposedly observed in the hospital is 1 syringe = 1 patient. Out of poverty, or for some other reason this hospital practice is to use 1 syringe for 2-3 patients.
5. Another poor patient was admitted in the hospital. An external fixator was placed in him to keep his broken bones intact. This device, however, has to be removed. Without the money to buy anaesthesia, the fixator was removed - just like that, without the anaesthesia.
Horrified? Who wouldn't be? Did I learn? Yes, and I did painfully. After reading all the papers my students submitted I thought - maybe thinking about them not working abroad is too far enough to be given a thought. Some form of "debriefing" for the students would have helped them understand better the horrors in the hospital. But is this available? Not really. About 2 years ago, government only allotted about 35 centavos for the healthcare of 1 Filipino citizen.
Years back, I innocently required my Nursing students -probably all of whom wanted to work abroad after graduation- in our Philippine Government and Constitution subject to come up with a paper about Politics in the Hospital. This means telling stories about their experiences during hospital duty which they consider as "political."
Of course we had to define first what politics is. Well, I got all the answers related to politics. But I summarized its definition to its simplest nature which is "the ability of A to make B do something which B would not have otherwise done." Sounds clear enough. But I wanted the concept not just to be defined by them but to let the concept eventually sink down their head and heart (even after taking this subject) and perhaps influence them to decide to help our country first rather than work abroad after graduation. Here were some of their stories:
1. There was 1 baby patient who was looked after by her mother and her 12-year old brother in the Pediatric Ward. Hungry, the mother decided to have her younger son to buy them food. Having bought food outside the hospital, because the hospital canteen was already closed and food was much cheaper, the boy went outside the hospital. He, however, never returned to their ward because Visiting Hours was over. The security guard gave the food to the mother but disallowed the boy to enter the hospital.
2. A patient suffering from pain from his pelvis and downwards was admitted in the hospital. Not knowing yet the cause of his pain, the doctor told the wife to make the patient to undergo several tests. Upon knowing the amount of 1 ultrasound, which was P9,000, the wife decided not to have this. Because no payment was made, no ultrasound was taken. Nurses were described to be texting and laughing away their time. Next day, the patient died.
3. One patient was going into shock. Horrified, although disallowed, the student-nurses wanted to perform CPR to revive the patient. When the students informed the nurses on duty about this they were told that the patient's relative already signed some papers stating that DNR will be performed. So what's DNR? DO NOT RESUSCITATE! That's because the patient does not have the means to pay for their bills.
4. A statistic supposedly observed in the hospital is 1 syringe = 1 patient. Out of poverty, or for some other reason this hospital practice is to use 1 syringe for 2-3 patients.
5. Another poor patient was admitted in the hospital. An external fixator was placed in him to keep his broken bones intact. This device, however, has to be removed. Without the money to buy anaesthesia, the fixator was removed - just like that, without the anaesthesia.
Horrified? Who wouldn't be? Did I learn? Yes, and I did painfully. After reading all the papers my students submitted I thought - maybe thinking about them not working abroad is too far enough to be given a thought. Some form of "debriefing" for the students would have helped them understand better the horrors in the hospital. But is this available? Not really. About 2 years ago, government only allotted about 35 centavos for the healthcare of 1 Filipino citizen.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Christmas is just around the corner
Christmas is definitely just around the corner because:
1. My youngest has been bugging me for days to buy a Christmas tree (!) for their class in school and I could only afford a foot-long Christmas tree. Of course there had been debate to buy a more than foot-long Christmas tree, but only to find out that it wasn't a Christmas tree that his teacher requested but Christmas lights. Well, that still costed us P64.00.
2. While riding home with my kids and laughing about one scene in the movie "Inang Yaya" where the girl-bida is teased by her classmates for wearing "Skeechers," one old, bearded, American (yata) with the Santa Claus hat boarded our jeep. Of course the passengers had all eyes on him especially because he was talkative. But it was nice of him to have helped the other passengers unload their boxes. And never mind his "putok" which we smelled when he finally got off. He's Santa Claus, anyway.
3. One fisherman-neighbor of ours felt sad because his catch was low (about a kilo) while he had all the Hanging Amihan, in Subic Bay, to greet him while catching fish.
4. My youngest, 9 years old, asked me if he could hang his socks so Santa Claus does not forget to give him gifts. And I replied that yes, he could. "Kaya lang baka amagin ang medyas dahil matagal pa ang Pasko." Of course, he did not pay attention to what I said. Because Christmas is definitely just around the corner.
1. My youngest has been bugging me for days to buy a Christmas tree (!) for their class in school and I could only afford a foot-long Christmas tree. Of course there had been debate to buy a more than foot-long Christmas tree, but only to find out that it wasn't a Christmas tree that his teacher requested but Christmas lights. Well, that still costed us P64.00.
2. While riding home with my kids and laughing about one scene in the movie "Inang Yaya" where the girl-bida is teased by her classmates for wearing "Skeechers," one old, bearded, American (yata) with the Santa Claus hat boarded our jeep. Of course the passengers had all eyes on him especially because he was talkative. But it was nice of him to have helped the other passengers unload their boxes. And never mind his "putok" which we smelled when he finally got off. He's Santa Claus, anyway.
3. One fisherman-neighbor of ours felt sad because his catch was low (about a kilo) while he had all the Hanging Amihan, in Subic Bay, to greet him while catching fish.
4. My youngest, 9 years old, asked me if he could hang his socks so Santa Claus does not forget to give him gifts. And I replied that yes, he could. "Kaya lang baka amagin ang medyas dahil matagal pa ang Pasko." Of course, he did not pay attention to what I said. Because Christmas is definitely just around the corner.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Looking for Gold!
We were in a meeting discussing about a project when somebody said that we were actually having difficulty finding resources and that the people who are supposed or whom we expected to be supportive of the project turned out to be the opposite and even seemed to wish us doom. Everyone was exasperated, desperate. But I said "we'll find gold."
Gold is a precious stone which we don't easily find. In fact they're probably hiding. Not that they want to. But with all the noise in this society - " I know better than you do. I am richer and more powerful. I have political clout. I am in position and the laws are mine to use. I have puppets at the tip of my fingers and a magic wand to convert every nook and cranny of the seas and mountains of this world to whatever I want these to become." It's difficult to find them.
The golds are probably smudged in soot, lying in coffins, working back-bent in rice fields crying because they have seen other golds destroyed in front of their families and or are racially discriminated.
Yet they shine. the harshness of people and nature, rather than cover them up with mounds of soil 6 feet underground, make them even shine more.
Who are they? They're people like you and me. But they are set apart, because like gold they shine brilliantly from deep inside towards wherever their illustrious ray of light would reach. And they don't do this with effort. They just shine, naturally.
So where does all the shining, shimmering splendid come from? Well, what could be inside something that comes out but never dies and is always reaching out, but passion?
They love their work. They're so in love with what they do that they don't keep their talents, their skills, their time. They share it with whoever reaches their passionate feelings and ideas and movements be this near, across the globe or even in another galaxy.
They discover their value and work more not for material things. But for art's sake, for culture's sake, for other's sake, or for humanity's sake.
You hear of a child being burned to save her siblings. You read about a 70-year old providing shelter to whoever comes her way in her shack while wishing she would someday find her own missing daughter. You hear of an artist trekking mountains and rivers to discover IPs and humbly mimicking IP lullabyes to produce a CD for an emotionally distraught world. You get invited to a seminar whose speaker is a forensic pathologist who took this course because, as she explained, she's more patient with the dead than the undead. She was on tv and newsprint with the voluminous books to provide information to a Filipina who was raped in Subic. You encounter an ex-nun, about 60+ years old, helping human rights victims like she had not been "violated" herself. She was joined by community women during her incarceration in what looked like a pig pen because they were just too many to be placed in the town's jail.
With all the unfortunate events, and these don't come in trickles but sometimes in torrents, they've learned to laugh and laugh their happiest, love like they do not just embrace the cloth of the person but its soul which does not exist only now but also then and in the future. They think even with the limitations of their brain and produce outputs as a result of nerve endings which have wired up like you've never imagined them simply because it is necessary.
You don't see them puking seeing all the maggots (like cheese) of a dead body of a child, said to be an NPA, which they have to exhume to find out the truth. They don't easily get scared being chased by the notorious riding-in-tandem motorcycle. In fact, the chasing stopped, they retold, when their car went straight to the police station.
You read about them going to Alcoholics Anonymous. Yet for several times in the past they have acted in movies one of which portrayed a doctor-character which asks its audience if a doctor is actually treating his patient as a disease himself/ herself rather than as a person. You see them in class as a teacher trying to draw something on a blackboard to summarize a book of concepts discussed about Gender. And then you hear the whole class laughing at her. The teacher asked why and 1 boy says that the illustration shows that the teacher is "mahilig." And the teacher smiles and replies to the class, "Sex is good." Do you imagine the guffaws and the shrieks? Well, the teacher is me and the students were my last batch of passionate graduating Nursing students.
So where's that gold? It's still in this planet Earth. But we have to keep on looking, hope that we see their sheen and that they continue to shine even under stormy skies. Life is hard enough. But with all the gold, life becomes easier.
Gold is a precious stone which we don't easily find. In fact they're probably hiding. Not that they want to. But with all the noise in this society - " I know better than you do. I am richer and more powerful. I have political clout. I am in position and the laws are mine to use. I have puppets at the tip of my fingers and a magic wand to convert every nook and cranny of the seas and mountains of this world to whatever I want these to become." It's difficult to find them.
The golds are probably smudged in soot, lying in coffins, working back-bent in rice fields crying because they have seen other golds destroyed in front of their families and or are racially discriminated.
Yet they shine. the harshness of people and nature, rather than cover them up with mounds of soil 6 feet underground, make them even shine more.
Who are they? They're people like you and me. But they are set apart, because like gold they shine brilliantly from deep inside towards wherever their illustrious ray of light would reach. And they don't do this with effort. They just shine, naturally.
So where does all the shining, shimmering splendid come from? Well, what could be inside something that comes out but never dies and is always reaching out, but passion?
They love their work. They're so in love with what they do that they don't keep their talents, their skills, their time. They share it with whoever reaches their passionate feelings and ideas and movements be this near, across the globe or even in another galaxy.
They discover their value and work more not for material things. But for art's sake, for culture's sake, for other's sake, or for humanity's sake.
You hear of a child being burned to save her siblings. You read about a 70-year old providing shelter to whoever comes her way in her shack while wishing she would someday find her own missing daughter. You hear of an artist trekking mountains and rivers to discover IPs and humbly mimicking IP lullabyes to produce a CD for an emotionally distraught world. You get invited to a seminar whose speaker is a forensic pathologist who took this course because, as she explained, she's more patient with the dead than the undead. She was on tv and newsprint with the voluminous books to provide information to a Filipina who was raped in Subic. You encounter an ex-nun, about 60+ years old, helping human rights victims like she had not been "violated" herself. She was joined by community women during her incarceration in what looked like a pig pen because they were just too many to be placed in the town's jail.
With all the unfortunate events, and these don't come in trickles but sometimes in torrents, they've learned to laugh and laugh their happiest, love like they do not just embrace the cloth of the person but its soul which does not exist only now but also then and in the future. They think even with the limitations of their brain and produce outputs as a result of nerve endings which have wired up like you've never imagined them simply because it is necessary.
You don't see them puking seeing all the maggots (like cheese) of a dead body of a child, said to be an NPA, which they have to exhume to find out the truth. They don't easily get scared being chased by the notorious riding-in-tandem motorcycle. In fact, the chasing stopped, they retold, when their car went straight to the police station.
You read about them going to Alcoholics Anonymous. Yet for several times in the past they have acted in movies one of which portrayed a doctor-character which asks its audience if a doctor is actually treating his patient as a disease himself/ herself rather than as a person. You see them in class as a teacher trying to draw something on a blackboard to summarize a book of concepts discussed about Gender. And then you hear the whole class laughing at her. The teacher asked why and 1 boy says that the illustration shows that the teacher is "mahilig." And the teacher smiles and replies to the class, "Sex is good." Do you imagine the guffaws and the shrieks? Well, the teacher is me and the students were my last batch of passionate graduating Nursing students.
So where's that gold? It's still in this planet Earth. But we have to keep on looking, hope that we see their sheen and that they continue to shine even under stormy skies. Life is hard enough. But with all the gold, life becomes easier.
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