I was one of the privileged
participants of the 6th Franciscan Dialogue Program held in Binoligan, Kidapawan City. The first two modules of the said program
dealt with 1) identifying and healing the root causes of the MINDANAO conflict, and 2) imbibing the dialogical values, knowledge,
and skills needed to live out the so-called "3-fold dialogical processes", i.e. intercultural, interreligious, and dialogue
with the poor. In order to deepen and concretize everything that we have learned from those two modules, the third was
a 5-day EXPOSURE in either a Lumad or a Muslim Community. It was in that juncture that I stayed in Barangay Lagunde,
Pikit North Cotabato - in a purely Muslim neighborhood.
The following poem was written for the children
I had the chance to PLAY with during those
days of exposure. These were the kids who ran for their lives and hid themselves from those series of bombs and explosions
in the years 1997, 2000, and 2004. They were those who have seen the warplanes right above their heads. They were among
those jampacked in the grief and misery of the evacuation centers.
They are NOW the children who do NOT tremble nor cry. They are those who now
SPEAK - but always
with a clenched fist - both angry and fearful. They are now the pupils who walk aimlessly in and out of the classroom,
screaming and boxing with each other during class hours. They are now those who are DEAF to any lesson - be it academic or moral, BLIND to reprimanding stares
and grouchy faces of helpless teachers, INDIFFERENT to their shouts and ridicules, NUMB to the pain of the bamboo stick. They are now
the children who DREAM of being REBELS and SOLDIERS in the future they were
taught to mistrust.
At one point during the GAME, I made a PAPERBOAT that seemed to fascinate
a number of them. I handed it to one little boy who started to play gently with this "new and vulnerable"
toy. BUT . .
. another kid created his own - very much like the one I made, except for the flag he added inside the boat. The flag
bears the words: PNP HOLES.
The bell rang and they had to go home.
There was no chance for me to create another paperboat that would risk face the fuming challenge of the PNP HOLES - whatever
that means!
So goes this poem:
Huwag mong tingalain ang eroplanong pandigma
Galit na halakhak sa kamusmusang
nagluluksa
Sumasayaw sa putuka't mga kanyong dambuhala
Habang kapatid mo'y naglalaho na lang bigla
Humihikbing nakaraang isinisigaw ng 'yong mukha
Nagkukubling panginginig sa kamaong nakahanda
Pa'no muling bubuuin ang nalusaw mo nang tiwala?
Pa'no muling maibabalik katuturan ng Balarila?
Huwag mo munang isuko ang iyong pagkabata
Huwag ka munang maging manhid sa
panaghoy ng ulila
Hindi musika ang kalampag, bulyaw at pangungutya
Sa taynga mong nasanay na sa dagundong ng digmaan.
Subukan mong makalikha BANGKANG PAPEL sa simula
Papanatagin ang loob mong nilulunod ng luha't sigwa
Hayaang anurin siya ng mga pangarap mo't gunita.
Huwag mong kit'lin ang pag-asa sa pagtunog ng kampana,
Sasapit din BANGKANG PAPEL sa bukas na mapayapa.
