Tremors of Change

In early 1985, after being released from prison where he served 22 months on charges of political subversion, Filipino church worker Karl Gaspar began to consider what would be the next step on his political and spiritual journey. He decided to immerse himself for six months in the lives of the people of the island of Negros, one of the poorest areas of the Philippines.

While in Negros, Gaspar kept a journal in which he reflected on his personal experiences and those of the people he came to know and love. Explaining in the foreword to his journal that names of places and persons had been changed, Gaspar states, "We all know why this is necessary."

The journal was distributed to Gaspar's close friends, including Jim Wallis, and contains both rich and disturbing reflections. We offer an excerpt from the journal here. --The Editors

JUNE 13

THE BACOLOD AIRPORT was jam-packed at the time of my arrival from Manila. It was high noon. A pleasant breeze greeted us as we alighted from the plane, and I was filled with excitement.

Up there in the clouds I had thought, "Negros, here I come." Negros meant a new life, a new opening. I kept asking myself, "Is this the right choice?" Perhaps. "Is it God's hand that is leading me to this direction? Or is it only a temporary escape?" But how can one escape life's realities and challenges in a place like Negros? No, this is not an escape. It is a new sojourn.

Flying over the hills and plains, mountains and streams of the boot-shaped island of Negros is a fascinating experience for any newcomer, especially one from the island of Mindanao. The terrain is so different. The land is rich and fertile. The various hues of green reveal a land that must be quite bountiful. But it is not without a bit of pain. Why are people starving in the midst of such a paradise island? Why must the situation be so depressing, when there is so much beauty across the valleys and mountain ranges?

The sugar cane plantations look like a gentle mantle that covers the pain and sweat, the agony and suffering of the people. At first glance it is very pleasing to the tired eyes of a traveler. But as one gazes intently on that mantle, one can't help seeing streaks of red across the greens and yellows. It cannot be denied that Negros is a bleeding land.

JUNE 16

AFTER MY RELEASE from prison, I was absolutely convinced that I needed a major shift in my life. It was time for a new setting, a new environment that would not be suffocating. I needed to go about life's concerns with more time to take a pause and take a deep breath, away from the spotlight and centers of frenzied events. I will be at home here.

Of course, I still ask myself the question, "What am I doing here?" However, I do not worry if the answers are not convincing to anyone, even to me. God is perhaps asking the same question. Does God have an answer? Who knows?

JUNE 30

THE THOUGHT of having the opportunity to be involved again in base Christian community work fills me with excitement. Indeed, it has been a long time since those days in the Prelature of Tagum when the seeds of base Christian communities were just being sown.

The late 1970s saw the rise in the setting up of base Christian communities. Organizing was initiated among other marginalized sectors, for example, the urban poor, fishers, and peasants. The visit of the pope in 1980 provided the occasion to mobilize the base Christian communities and to expose the dehumanization of God's people in Negros, since in Bacolod Pope John Paul II spoke militantly on the rights and dignity of the poor and powerless.

The pope's strong message can only be appreciated if one is familiar with the evil that exists in Negros. The island has a mono-crop agricultural economy, which thrives mainly on the sugar industry and supports 90 percent of the Negrenses--more than two million people. Negros is the sugar bowl of the country, accounting for more than 60 percent of the total land area planted with sugar cane.

Sugar production involves vast tracts of land. Land ownership and control account for Negros' explosive situation. The latest data point out that in Negros Occidental there are 9,539 sugar farms. These are owned or controlled by some 11,160 planters, who make up five percent of the total population. The majority are small planters, but a select group owns from 100 to even 1,000 hectares [about 2,500 acres] of prime sugar-growing land.

Half a million sugar workers toil and sweat for the bittersweet produce of the cane plantations. They are without land, education, social security, or any property that will provide income during the lean months or the power to demand that their rights be respected. Caught in the feudal land-holding structure that also involves feudal master-slave relationships, the sugar workers are generally not even allowed to plant food crops during the off-milling season.

One can readily imagine the maldistribution of income and wealth. A recent study showed that 25.6 percent of total households in this region share among themselves three percent of the total household income. At the opposite end, only 1.5 percent of all households divide 41.5 percent of total income.

Decades ago sugar was the Philippines' golden agricultural crop. It had been one of the highest earners for our gross national product. But even then the hacenderos [plantation owners] monopolized the income to support their privileged lifestyles.

In the early 1980s, the golden dream of the sugar barons soured. But the ones who would suffer most the tragic consequences of the collapse of the sugar industry were the workers and their families.

Negros projects a collage of images, and each image reinforces the other. It is a collage which has evolved through the blood-stained years of this ravaged island. Towering over all the images is Mt. Kanlaon [the volcano]. Like anything that manifests might and power, it will determine the inevitable conclusion of history. It is a reminder that change--radical change--will take place, come what may. When it rumbles, God's wrath is heard.

JULY 18

NEGROS AS THE PROVERBIAL social volcano is perhaps the best position from which to witness the impending outburst. As it is, the tremors are felt everywhere. War is real; much blood is shed. Death is no longer a stranger, and the atmosphere is thick with the texture of a revolutionary fervor. The seed of a coming insurrection has been planted. The volcano will erupt in its own good time--unless new dynamics arise to delay it or altogether prevent it from occurring.

I believe that it is not an accident that I am in Negros. This is where God has led me. In faith, I can say, "Here I am, Lord."

JULY 19

WHAT HAS HELPED facilitate my easy entry into Negros is the fact that it shares so many parallels with my home area of Davao. The extent of the violation of human rights, the escalating militarization, the growing insurgency, the wide gap between planters and workers, the huge crowds that join mass mobilizations, the progressive church scene--all these contribute to a profile that I would find quite close to that of Davao.

Some friends worry that I took a jump from one fire to another. It's not that I don't have fears about staying in Negros. But unless I get rid of this fear of a setting like Negros, I'll be chained forever to the past. I'll always be burdened by the paralysis of fear. Hundreds are sticking their necks out. I intend to get back into the arena.

AUGUST 4

WE WERE CONSCIOUS of the fact that we could not take our security for granted. Being new church workers linked to a Redemptorist mission and speaking with a Cebuano accent, we were bound to attract suspicion. We could not pretend that our guardian angels would protect us from harm. One can presume that informers are all over the place. One's most innocent words could be twisted to suit their purposes; one's apolitical actions could be given subversive meanings. The challenge is to fully trust the Lord and to trust that the people will eventually take care of us.

AUGUST 8

THE PAST THREE DAYS have been depressing. It rained intermittently, thus reinforcing the bleak landscape of this village. The streets are muddy and slippery. One curses the government for borrowing huge amounts from the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund and not paving the streets of barrios in the provinces.

Finally we were face-to-face with hunger and poverty. We went on a house-to-house visitation and encountered the face of despair and powerlessness. We thought we were ready for the shock, but when the images revealed the stark shadows of slow death, we were taken aback.

To know a family is to know its history. Each history is part of the same tragedy, each story but a variation of the same theme: how families endure the devastation that comes from being poor. But each story is told with a quiet dignity that can only come from those who do not ask much from life. They tell their story straightforwardly, devoid of self-pity.

Most families cannot afford to cook rice for every meal. They are lucky if they have rice once a day. Three square meals a day is an illusion. If you ask for it, you ask for miracles. Most of the time the women boiled vegetables: camote tops, cassava tops, eggplants, okras, and the like. Occasionally there are sweet potatoes or cassava. Fruits are also very rare, as is meat, except frog's meat. But even the supply of frogs has gone down.

Lola Magdalena has a goiter, so she speaks with some difficulty. Her husband's laguerta [small farm] is their only source of income, since he cannot work in the haciendas anymore. They can't rely on their children, for they have families of their own and are faced with problems of survival. Her daughter's oldest child is in the hospital in the city. The girl has polio. All their savings are gone to hospital bills, but she is not getting well.

Joel, a driver and mechanic, had an accident in the compound of the hacienda years ago. He was hit by a tractor, and one of his legs was crushed. He couldn't keep his job because he limps and does not have full control over one leg. He manages to find occasional work as a mechanic, but the long hike to the compound is at times unbearable. His wife, Angela, does sewing work for a dressmaker in town. She isn't well herself; she complains of chronic back pains. But they have seven young children. The oldest wants to finish high school, but she will have to find work too.

Base Christian community seems a pie in the sky in the midst of all this hunger, disease, despair, and pain. What is the use in doing mission work in a God-forsaken place like this? The people need jobs, not seminars on salvation history; they need food, not the Marian Year celebrations.

I am into rough times. I welcome them, but it takes so much effort to cope with them. I am caught up with so much frustration. I still long for comfort and things: radio, newspapers, instant coffee. We romanticize a simple lifestyle, but when we are into it, we look for all kinds of escape. Oh, to find the guts of a Francis of Assisi.

AUGUST 22

WE FOUND GOD'S FACE in the hungry, exploited, and afraid. It wasn't an attractive face; in fact, it was appalling. If God became human, like these men, women, and children, then there's a meaning behind these human sufferings. But God certainly has not willed this to happen. The people have not willed it either. We may not have willed it ourselves, but we could be party to its perpetuation if we retreat into safety and convenience.

But God, we're up against a solid, huge wall. Generation after hopeful generation has seen women and men of deep courage who dared to break down that wall.

Are we called to do our share in dismantling this wall? Are we to believe that we can only effect cracks here and there as others do their own share? Or are we only to help empower the people so that in time they'll push down that wall and see it tumble down?

The choices are there for us to consider from the perspective of faith. Faith in the Lord's abiding love for his people, yes. But also faith in the people's steadfastness in the face of despair and darkness.

When it does not rain at night, the village of Kabungyuran glows. The sky is bright with millions of stars. The constellation takes on a three-dimensional profile in the pitch black night. Because fireflies swarm all over the yard, it looks as though you can catch the stars in your hands.

On top of our hill in the quiet night with all that glitter illuminating the eyes, one is in perfect communion with the heavens. How can it all be so majestic and peaceful out there? Here we won't even dare walk across the valleys and hills of this place. We look up to the stars, but we remain captives.

In the early morning, there is a profuse display of colors in the garden when the blooms catch the glow of sparkling sunshine. As a result of this lavish display of nature's bounty, hundreds of butterflies swarm the place. The combination of colors takes the breath away. All this beauty in the midst of greed. When will all these contradictory images end? When, O Lord?

SEPTEMBER 5

THE YOUTH of Kabungyuran. One's heart is broken to see what is happening to the youth of this village. Only a few finish elementary school; less than five percent ever enter college. If they are not studying, there is a tremendous pressure on them to find work as soon as they are strong enough, usually at age 13. In fact, in the milling season children start working at 7 a.m., when they accompany their parents for light work in the fields. The priority is for everyone to earn while there is work. Whatever extra income is earned is what they hope will tide them over through the off-milling season.

There is a saying here that the youth go straight from childhood to adulthood. They help support their family, until they too have their own. At 16 years old, some of them are married already. It's what their parents did. It is what is expected of them.

Once they are married, they go through the same problems as their parents. This time, though, things are even harder. There are fewer jobs, more mouths to feed, more people getting sick. Still so young, but with so little promise for happiness.

They hunger for times they can be themselves in the company of peers. They long to escape even for a moment from the shared responsibilities at home. They wish to spend some time being young: singing songs, enjoying one another's company. They flock to the activities of the mission: masses, seminars, choir practices.

SEPTEMBER 14

A PROJECT IS SHADING UP in the barrio: the cattle-fattening project. This is a joint project of the mayor's office, the sugar planters association in the area, and a government agency. Fifty families will be benefited. But the project was decided on by only a few people. The people were not consulted at all; they were just recruited to join the project. Even before the cows arrive, the forecast is that the project will fail.

The government is desperate to win the hearts and minds of the people and cannot avoid the fact that the people have no more faith in the regime. So they are trying their best to make an impression. Along with the planters, they have set up a feeding program for the children, provided seedlings for backyard gardens, and now offer this cattle-fattening project. But it is a case of too little, too late.

SEPTEMBER 22

I JUST CAME BACK from a conference in Davao, when I heard the first sketchy news reports. There was no denying the horror of it all. No one could tell immediately how many were killed and how many were wounded, but it was clear that there was a massacre in Escalante--perhaps the worst massacre that Negros has ever seen.

Twenty people have been confirmed dead, and there could be more. Dead bodies could still be found in the nearby cane fields, where people rushed after they heard the burst of gunfire. Scores of others--sugar workers, students, and urban poor--were hit by the strafing. Blood spilled all over the street. Death once again claimed the lives of brave men and women who had committed themselves to struggle for life!

Even before an investigation could be conducted, Gen. Fidel Ramos [military chief] absolved his men of the heinous crime, claiming "self-defense." It was the people's fault, he said. His men only protected their lives. They were fully justified in murdering 20 welgistas [strikers].

Life has become so cheap in Negros, as well as the other areas of militarized Philippines. Since the declaration of martial law, hundreds of innocent civilians have been arrested, tortured, detained, and "salvaged" [found mutilated after disappeared]. There has been no end to the atrocities committed against the ordinary people. There is no peace on this island. There is only hunger, poverty, exploitation. And when the people stand up for their rights, they are considered enemies of the state. The regime literally gets away with murder!

But in spite of the risks involved, the militant Negrenses continue to resist the U.S.-Marcos dictatorship. They continue to deepen their understanding of the roots of poverty and oppression in Negros. They know the reason why militarization has escalated in this island. They see through the feudal structures of land ownership and control as concretized in the hacienda system. They can perceive the capitalist hand that has brought about the worst hunger they have experienced in years. They can no longer be fooled by those who have enslaved them for generations.

SEPTEMBER 28

THE WOMEN IN KABUNGYURAN are doubly oppressed. They do all the household chores, take care of the children, find ways and means of supplementing the meager incomes of their husbands, but they are the last to eat and sleep. We are in a macho culture, and the men need to transcend sexism. But feminism is unheard of in a barrio like Kabungyuran. For now, my women visitors are content to hear that the women here are beginning to show some militancy vis-a-vis the struggle.

Even as I write these lines, I accept our own failures as we reinforce sexism. Since the beginning of our stay in Kabungyuran, we have always insisted that all of us will take turns cooking, fetching water, washing, and doing other household chores. The people know this, but a few of the women constantly come to volunteer to do these for us. So many times we succumb, and even now Tsay Lily is cooking our supper.

OCTOBER 7

WELL, OUR PRAYERS were heard. We had a good turnout of fathers in our reflection sessions with them. More than 80 fathers came. In cases where the husbands could not come, the wives took their place.We had to face up to the bad news too: The majority of them could not read. They were embarrassed to say it, but they had to be honest when we asked for volunteers to read. We suspected that we would encounter illiteracy among the fathers, but we did not realize it would be so widespread. Going to school was a luxury.

A few are outspoken, but the majority are not animated at all. They say very few words and only then if coaxed. The feudal structure that governs the land has influenced their minds as well. They will say very little in the presence of people they consider authority. They are not just shy, they are embarrassed to speak their minds, not knowing whether they will say sensible things. The culture of silence in which they're imprisoned is staggering. But they sit patiently and listen. They are interested; one can see it in their eyes. But for now, they'd rather stay at the periphery.

Despite the odds, our sessions with the fathers look promising. One need not send them for exposure to the lives of the poor, deprived, and oppressed. They know how it is to be exploited like animals. They have no security, no future. All they have are their tired bodies and their starving families. They are God's people, the chosen ones. They are not the people to encourage to opt for the poor. They are the poor.

OCTOBER 17

HOW CAN GOD be present, when the dignity of the people has been so barbarously violated? There is only evil and the perpetuation of an oppressive system that has blatantly disregarded God's plan for creation.

God's seeming absence is reinforced by the tremendous power and wealth of the privileged. It just looks so absurd: Those who defy God's will are the ones who run away with all the wealth and power. The oppressor becomes more powerful, and God's supposed favorites become further subjected to death and plunder.

But it is in this "double absence" of God that one discovers God. The fact is that it is the poor who have such deep trust in God. They are the ones who are more appreciative of God's blessings. And they who are "the neglected" have the time for God. In all the moments of their lives--harvesting and planting, bearing children, burying their dead, celebrating their simple joys, planting root crops in the moonlight--in all of these they acknowledge God's presence and gifts. And they are never constrained to share the bounty of the earth with each other; generosity flows naturally.

NOVEMBER 7

WE TOOK A BREAK after the hectic schedule of the past month. The people were busy with the All Saints' Day celebrations, so it was a good time to go away from the area.

In the past week we remembered the dead, especially those who offered their lives for the sake of others. We recalled the lives of friends and co-workers whose lives were like candles in the stormy dark night. The angry wind blew out the light, but the glow of their lives remains with us. They continue to inspire us, to sustain us in our moments of doubt and to convince us of the value of the cross. Like Christ, they show us the way to the ultimate meanings of our human life. Their spirit is in us, and we are grateful.

The reports make us realize how near we are to the claws of death. In the last 10 months of the year, 286 persons were arrested, 27 were salvaged, 26 were killed in massacres and nine in strafing incidents. Eight persons have disappeared. O, God, we are so vulnerable.

NOVEMBER 11

OUR MAJOR CONCERN has been focused on the fathers. We needed to go through the education program before we could discuss with them concrete programs that would respond to their needs in the community and work.

Through an introduction of the characters in the gospels, we were able to reconstruct Palestinian society. Then we analyzed the economic, political, social, cultural, and religious systems operating in that period, both in the Roman Empire and in Palestine. By the end of the session, they knew how this society was corrupt and oppressive. They saw the structure as benefiting the established elite but marginalizing the majority of the people. They perceived why God chose Joseph and Mary and why the Son walked with fishers and workers.

Even before we could turn their attention to the parallels of Palestine to the Philippines today, they themselves were already commenting on the similarities. The comparisons were concrete: Rome and the United States, Herod and Ferdinand Marcos, the Zealots and the New People's Army, the Israelites and the Filipinos, the merchants and the sugar planters, the shepherds and the sugar workers. The shock of recognition was a bit overwhelming for a few of them, who just shook their heads.

They are far more convinced now that God is on their side. A few of them could not help challenging the others to do something about their situation, saying that they shouldn't fear those in power, that they needed to be united to fight for their rights. The others only listened, but one could tell that they were listening intently. They were weighing the pros and cons of taking such a radical commitment and trying their best to neutralize the fear in their hearts. A few, publicly and privately, would resist these words, but they had been disturbed. They could no longer remain apathetic. For the sake of their children, they had to believe that the kingdom would reign one day. But for now they'll have to struggle for it.

NOVEMBER 30

TODAY IS National Heroes Day. In the urban centers there are rallies to commemorate the example of all those who died for the sake of freedom. Here in the church of La Esperanza, we're on our second day of the leadership seminar, attended by more than 70 men and women with distinguished valor.

This is a two-day seminar with very modest objectives: to provide the first phase of leadership training, to orient them to a service-oriented leadership in the tradition of Christ, to acquaint them with the process involved in Bible-sharing, and to do planning for the Christmas holidays. From this assembly, the community-based leaders will emerge.

I recalled the leaders we've trained in some dioceses in Mindanao. A few have been salvaged, others "have been arrested and tortured, while a few others have disappeared. If there are a few of them who will follow in the footsteps of the Lord, we had better be ready for the eventuality that some will pay the high cost of discipleship.

DECEMBER 5

SUNDAY WAS a red-letter day in Kabungyuran. We started the Advent season with the dayegon [Christmas] play in which we paraded through the village. Almost 60 youth and 20 children took part, along with a number of the parents. It was a community endeavor that mobilized the help of more than half the community.

After walking around the puroks [neighborhoods] accompanying Mary and Joseph to look for a place to stay, we ended up in the barrio plaza for a liturgical celebration. All those who had just finished the leadership seminar had a role in the liturgy. They were now standing in front of their barrio-mates, challenging them to dismantle the fear in their hearts. They were calling on them to witness to the gospel, follow in the footsteps of Christ, and serve the common good. They appealed to their sense of community, reminding them that unless they were united, their problems would only worsen.

At the Lord's Prayer, we held hands together and sang the prayer, and I gazed across toward the sugar cane fields. In the midst of the passionate singing, I remembered all the times when I was caught in the same grace-filled moment: holding hands with fishers in Cabuaya while gazing toward the deep blue Pacific Ocean; linking arms with mourners at the wake of a slain human rights advocate; holding tight to other detainees at the Davao stockade while wishing the barbed wire and prison bars would disintegrate. Linked as a child of the source of life, one accepts God as father who provides for the total needs of his people, God as mother who struggles with us for a place in the sun, God as land whose blessings should be shared by everyone, God as the country providing us freedom and security.

DECEMBER 7

THE LAKBAYAN [people's march] had started on Dec. 4 from two points. Across the fishing grounds of Valladolid, the green rice fields, the cluster of huts in small villages, the sugar cane haciendas, we marched. We sang the militant songs of the popular movement, joined in chanting the slogans, and helped ourselves to the water that the people had offered on the side of the road. Throughout the march there were a lot of people who lined the streets--fishers, peasants, workers, mothers with their children, students--not only out of curiosity, but to express their solidarity. One could sense that many would like to take part but this was not the right time for them. We walked nearly 25 kilometers that day.

DECEMBER 8

BY THREE O'CLOCK in the morning, the first ones to wake up were getting ready for the last leg of the march. Being used to waking up early in the haciendas, they also carried the habit here.

After lunch we positioned ourselves on the main road to Bacolod, only 10 kilometers away. The noon heat was excruciating! Our leg muscles were starting to give way. Some of us had colds and toothaches. A few others couldn't march anymore, so they rode the trucks. The marching, lack of sleep, and inadequate food had taken its toll. No matter how much water we drank, our throats were parched. Our skins were burnt. The sun was merciless. But we marched.

A Bayan official told us that close to 40,000 people were marching to Bacolod. By the time we reached the plaza, we would swell into 50,000. As we got nearer, the chanting got louder. There was euphoria in being part of this mammoth gathering, which foreshadowed liberation--when the people would walk the streets and be part of a wild celebration.

As I looked at the other marchers, I remembered the people in Negros. Here were representatives of all sectors: peasants, workers, fishers, women, students, out-of-school youth, and professionals and rnedia persons. These were the people who cared enough about their island and their country to be willing to make this sacrifice. Here were the ones who had accepted the challenge of social transformation. They were ready to pay, the price for this commitment.

Before I knew it, we were walking near the airport. I remembered June 13. It was six months ago that I came to Bacolod, but it seemed like only yesterday. I was almost finished with my stay here. I was still hoping to do the little bit that I could in accompanying the people in their march for freedom and justice. If we could be one in this march, we could be united in our struggle for liberation!

In the next two days, the Welgang Bayan [general strike] will take place. The people will be in the barricade centers around the city. Schools and offices will be closed. There will be marches and rallies around the city. On the afternoon of the 10th, close to 100,000 people are expected to converge on the plaza for the commemoration of the United Nations' Declaration of Human Rights. There will be murals, songs, poetry, speeches, testimonies--the works! Bacolod will take the look of a liberated city. And the people's flag will fly proudly in the sky.

The Lakbayan finally reached its final destination. Tens of thousands of marchers entered the plaza and packed the entire square. We were tired, but we were euphoric. Our feet were crushed, but our spirits were high. We broke into loud songs and felt triumphant in the midst of true brothers and sisters. The faces of the people manifested the promise of the inevitable victory.

To everything there is a season. A season to feed the children, and a season to fear that there will be no rice on the table. A season to harvest the cane, and a season to plant the sweet potatoes that will tide the people over through the off-milling season. A time for burying the dead who never found comfort and security while they lived, and a time to give counsel to young girls who are falling in love for the first time. A season of massacres and atrocities, and a season of tranquility across the hills and plains.

A time to say prayers, and a time to sing songs about love for country. A season of rain, and a season of rumblings. A time to keep the seething rage in the depths of the heart, and a time to march along with thousands so that the streets will echo with their longings. A time to hope, a time, to dream. A time to rage, a time to struggle.

A time to stay in the shadows of Mt. Kanlaon, and a time to move on.

Karl Gaspar, who was imprisoned for nearly two years by the Marcos regime and who wrote How Long?, a book of prison reflections, was a Filipino church worker when this article appeared.