(Article) The Unseen Perspective

The Unseen Perspective

By Andrew Estacio “Hay! Mga walang magawa sa buhay ‘tong mga aktibista. What are they fighting for?

You know, they keep on yelling, rallying, and causing nuisances. They are hooligans. All they do is to bash. After all, nothing happens except for the heavy traffic and trashes left by their rallies. And besides, being with activists will put you in danger. Baka maya-maya’y dukutin ka’t mapatay.”

Perhaps, that goes to be a common and shallow stereotype when it comes to the topic of activism. It is, in fact, a dialog I overheard from a parent dealing with his son not to join mass organizations upon entering UP. Admit it. Some or maybe most UP students did have a bad thinking with activism. Of course, with all the influences of media, portraying rallies as nuisances and delinquency, who would think that activists are friendly, perky beings? Well, they are fierce and serious lions.

Actually, that lopsided thinking brings us to the metaphor of ivory tower. And it’s common to the mid-class and elite. They tend to stay at the top of the tower, only seeing a shallow perspective of stories. They don’t see what’s at the bottom where neglected truths are. Indeed, one understands the motivation of activists when he immerses himself to the bottom-tower, to the realm of what they see—oppressed people. And what’s in it that inflames them with so much indignation? Let’s immerse with an experience.

Squatter houses were along the highway side; barb wires fenced demolished sites; settlers were deprived of their homes; armed men were left and right, eyeing on us.

Those were glimpses of experience in Sitio Balacbacan. Terror, pity, and anger would, indeed, sum up the feeling of being situated there. Beforehand, we, the whole staff, were prompted to act professional during the whole immersion for most settlers were still traumatized of the demolition. Being journalists, we were much observant and sympathetic of the dreadful situation; we had to take away our comfort and sacrifice our security. It was about becoming the victim in order to get the genuine capture of story.

Written on a post, these statements somehow welcomed us with an inconvenient truth: “CAMPOS DAYUHAN SALOT SA MAMAMAYAN NG SITIO BALACBACAN” “BINTONG MANALO TUTA NI CAMPOS” “CAPT MARIO KASALUTSALUTAN”

Apparently, the message wanted to yell names of enemies who caused the destruction. Campos, in fact, was always mentioned in stories of the victims. He was the landlord who mercilessly ordered the demolition of their homes. People disgusted how Campos and his allies fabricated and legitimized fake entitlements to own the land and exploit it for tycoons and investors; when in fact, residents lived there for almost a hundred years, and that they had documents that would support their right to reside. However, Campos was even befriended by the local government, fooled and blinded with the illusion of tourism and foreign investment.

A victim shed tears when he narrated the demolition. Armed men in uniforms came to bulldoze the houses. But the dwellers opposed and rallied towards them. Some even held bolos, attempting to fight like it was a battlefield. Yet the military held more powerful arms and weapons to shatter the whole place. Some soldier even pointed a gun to an innocent boy; some were cruelly pulling dwellers out of their homes. Walls were being bludgeoned; sounds of crushing bricks and objects were horrifying and distressing. In just minutes, the military pulverized all houses, built through decades of sweat and labor. The rights to reside and to live in peace had also been pulverized. That day entailed tremendous outrage and grief.

Shame on Campos! Shame on the Government!—were all we wanted to scream. To slap them with kasalut-salutan on posts is not enough for the people of Balacbacan. We felt the fire blazing in us; we were enraged by the devil mind of the landlord and the shameful abandonment of the government. Left with no secured and comfortable houses to live in, people of Sitio Balacbacan became squatters living on high way sides. Their appeals had been barely heard. Also, it was the children who were immensely traumatized by the nightmare. They had witnessed how inhuman and unjust those greedy lords were for snatching away their safe shelters. They even made their song of grievance: Bahay namin, laging ginigiba Presyo pataas, Sahod pababa…

Meron ding karahasan, Kulang sa Edukasyon Kawawa naman, kawawa naman kaming mga bata Karapatan ng mamamayan, ipaglaban!

Walang aalis sa Balacbacan!

Documenting the whole immersion, our cameras and writings had been genuinely inspired to capture the outcry of the people. It was by way of experience that we discerned the point of view of being a victim of demolition.

Nevertheless, you now have learned perhaps a little view-changing story. Somehow, narrating you that Balacbacan experience is already an immersion of you to the perspective of it in a dramatic literary nutshell. The form of narration, the essence produced by the sentences can be powerful to enliven the experience. But the weight of it cannot be fully contained in words. One has to immerse deeply in the real situation.

Immersion is a portal of discernment to things we think ill-mindedly. We thought informal settlers are pasaways and must be kicked out from territory. We thought demolitions do equate economic development. Well, the bottom-tower speaks the reality—demolitions equate human rights violation, injustice, sham development, and exploitation of resources for the benefit of a few.

Nonetheless, communication serves as mechanism in immersions, that’s why people tell their stories and grievances. Stories are powerful to inspire and inflame emotions, eventually, changing minds and enacting movements.

It is also communication that fundamentally drives activists. They don’t just yell and rally; they tell stories of oppressed people they represent, so to change the ill-mindedness of society and destroy the ivory tower, to inspire and empower the people’s voice in this democratic country, and to forcefully and legally eradicate the oppressor. Analyzing all these, the effects go in domino chain. Without their presence on streets and their significant yells, different situations, like in Balacbacan, would never be disclosed and addressed.

Upon immersing oneself to the bottom-tower, one must have the fire to represent them and tell stories about them. But that does not only end in simple sharing by word of mouth and any literary form. We don’t want to be only enclosed with narration but with a concluding message. And that is committing with and exposing the stand of the oppressed.

Through that can stories be active and be supplemented with reason and a call for solution.

Stories must be a catalyst for change. And so with the voices of Balacbacan, I end this with a call: “END DEMOLITION NOW! DO NOT DENY PEOPLE OF THEIR RIGHT TO HAVE DECENT HOMES! JUSTICE FOR BALACBACAN!”