KARL GASPAR, A THEOLOGIAN, ACTIVIST, dramatist, and longtime friend of Sojourners, was a Redemptorist brother working in the rural barrios of central Mindinao in the Philippines when this article appeared. His deep love for his people and committed work for their liberation led to his arrest and imprisonment for almost two years during Ferdinand Marcos' reign in the Philippines; a book of his prison reflections, How Long? (Claretian Publications, 1985), was published while he was still under detention.
Gaspar was visiting Sojourners when the "People Power" revolt of February 1986 swept Marcos from power. Below, he offers his reflections on the time since that revolt and the future of the Philippines. He was interviewed by Jim Wallis during their travels together.
Jim Wallis: It has been two and a half years since "People Power" toppled Ferdinand Marcos in February of 1986. We saw so much promise in Cory Aquino, and yet we hear alarming reports coming from the Philippines. What's happening now in this country?
Karl Gaspar: Despite the still generally positive coverage of the Cory Aquino government by both the national and international press, there is a growing dissatisfaction here regarding this government's ability to deliver basic social services for the well-being of the poor. I work in the rural villages of central Mindinao in the south of the Philippines. When I ask the people whether there has been any positive change as a result of the "People Power" revolt, they say nothing has changed. While there have been good reviews of the new Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program Bill, the landless peasants still doubt whether in fact they'll be able to own a piece of land.
There is still very little government support to enable the peasants to earn more from their labor. The price of fertilizers and insecticides imported from Western countries--the peasants' only alternative to use--continues to rise. The ecological problems resulting from the destructive logging which the government tolerates have also led to a decreasing volume of production. The prices of basic commodities have also gone up. So for most of the rural peasants, life has become even worse than it was during the Marcos regime.
At the national level, even government statistics now claim that 60 percent of our population lives below the poverty line. In the big cities you can see the indicators of this reality. There are far more homeless people, more children prostitutes, more people lining up in offices that recruit Filipinos for migrant work abroad. And despite the government's propaganda that it has stabilized the economy, we have a $30 billion national debt.
In the area of human rights violations, figures show that there are fewer political prisoners now--but there are political prisoners. One reason why there are fewer now than during the Marcos dictatorship is that people are just killed. They are "salvaged," to use our local term--by the military and more and more by vigilante groups. The government has not denounced the abuses of the vigilantes precisely because it has supported the establishment of such groups.
Because the government and the military are out to completely dismantle the insurgency movement, they will spare no effort in their counterinsurgency program. They will justify human rights violations in the name of national security. It's very much the same as Marcos' policy.
Who are the victims of the vigilante violations?
Generally the same groups who were victimized under the Marcos dictatorship: the powerless-peasants, workers, urban poor, out-of-school youth-and the lay leaders of our basic Christian communities. In the name of counterinsurgency, the military has abducted and killed a growing number of our people because they were suspected to be sympathizers of the NPA [the guerrilla New People's Army].
They are suspected because they are involved in education programs, or in liturgical celebrations, or in Bible studies in which the people are encouraged to remain critical of their situation, to express their dissent, to join peasants or workers unions. Some victims are also leaders of urban poor communities who continue to organize the people in the spirit of "People Power," to stop the government from ejecting them from their little houses in the slum areas.
Why hasn't the situation changed? Has Mrs. Aquino betrayed the promises that she made? Is she out of control? Is she under control?
More and more Filipinos are convinced that Mrs. Aquino has very little power. Right after what we here call the "EDSA Revolt" in February of 1986, she was perceived to have much power, because the military was really on the defensive despite its participation in the revolt. But through the last two years, the military has been able to consolidate its position in Philippine society and acquire a lot of power.
After all, this is the same military. And many of those in the top echelons of this military machinery would not want to go back to the barracks, would not want to be subservient to the civilian authority and lose their privilege. Therefore there has been a destabilization drive, in the hope of making Mrs. Aquino more and more dependent on the military to safeguard her government.
As a result of this, many political scientists conclude that she has really moved to the Right. And there are manifestations of this, including a very cozy relationship with the military. She has refused, or been unwilling, to pursue investigations regarding human rights violations of the military during the Marcos regime, for fear that the military will go against her.
Mrs. Aquino has also refused to say openly that she is against the U.S. bases. This is becoming very embarrassing for her, I think, because the 1986 constitution that she recommended to the people for ratification has a provision in which the Philippines declared that it would be nuclear-free. And everyone knows the U.S. bases have nuclear weapons and nuclear-powered submarines. And yet it looks like Mrs. Aquino will attempt to find a way out of this provision precisely because her government does not have the political will to oppose U.S. foreign policy in the Philippines, for fear that the United States government will destabilize her.
You live and work in small barrios in the countryside with simple farmers who are very poor. Tell us about the life of those people.
The people I have been with are migrants from the other islands of the Philippines, mainly the central islands. They were landless, as many of the peasants are, working as tenants on huge sugar or coconut plantations.
Mindinao, which is the southernmost island in the Philippines, was seen as the "Land of Promise" in the last 30 or 40 years. But there is no more land now in Mindinao, because landlords have taken over mass tracts of land and plantations have been leased to transnational agribusiness companies and corporate farms.
Peasants came to a place like San Fernando because they thought they could own a piece of land. And maybe as many as 30 to 40 percent of them were able to secure deforested land that the logging companies left behind. But this meant tremendous work, difficult work--getting rid of all the logs, manually taking out the huge roots, being subjected to mosquitoes and malaria.
To get to most of these barrios you have to cross rivers. Children have to hike from three to five kilometers to school, sometimes through water six or seven feet deep. Large percentages of school-going children aren't able to finish elementary school in six years, and as low as 2 to 3 percent of the youth finish high school.
Because the people work very hard in the fields, because of the elements of nature, because the food they eat isn't very substantial, many people are sick. In a municipality like San Fernando, where you have about 40,000 people, there's only one hospital, with one doctor, two nurses, and one midwife. And barrios are 30 to 50 kilometers away from the hospital, and there are no roads.
Tell us about the work of the basic Christian communities in this situation.
What we're doing here in San Fernando is no different from what we did during the Marcos dictatorship. The issues which we tackle have expanded as the people have become more able to understand the roots of their poverty and more empowered to organize themselves to respond.
We tap the richness of our culture, which is to a very great extent influenced by our Christian faith. Maybe as high as 90 percent of the Filipinos are Christians, perhaps 99 percent of those are Catholics.
Before Vatican II the priest would go to the chapels in the countryside only once a year for the fiesta of the patron saint. But with the BCC, parish workers, priests, and religious now go to the village and get the people together.
But this is not something that's strange to the lives of the people, because there have been mechanisms where the people help one another. They would plow each other's fields; or if someone died, they would collect whatever contributions they could to feed the widow or the orphan. And they would come together to solve their problems. And there has always been popular piety in the hearts of the people.
What we did with the BCCs was to bring them into another level. Through what is generally known as conscientization, through popular education, we're able to bring the people into a deeper understanding of the roots of their poverty and powerlessness.
In the beginning, the military, the government, let us be. But when they saw that the people came together to assert themselves, to fight for land, to speak out against human rights violations, then the military got scared. Eventually during the Marcos dictatorship the leaders of these BCCs were arrested, detained, tortured, and ultimately killed.
We were hoping when Mrs. Aquino came into power that things would change, that there would be a democratic space around which we could do BCC work in peace. And for a while that was so. But toward the end of Mrs. Aquino's first year, things again drastically changed. A low-intensity conflict strategy was set up by the powers-that-be.
The low-intensity conflict strategy is the strategy of total war at the grassroots level. Total war means "winning the hearts and minds," isolating the people from movements of change so that they can become controlled by the government to support the priorities of government, including counterinsurgency. The idea is to use all the cultural apparatus in society--the media, religious groups such as fundamentalist evangelical sects, schools; to use the political apparatus--local government, the military, paramilitary; to use the cultural expressions such as community organizations--and co-opt all of these under the strategy of total war against anyone suspected of being interested in reform. And therefore all of us working with the people immediately not only became suspect, but became targets of anti-communist hysteria and propaganda.
This past year there has been tremendous, intense propaganda against the Redemptorist missionaries, against the lay leaders and the catechists of the basic Christian communities. What complicated it here was that the people got involved in stopping the destructive logging of two companies owned by rich and powerful corporations and families. The people were desperate, given that the ecological imbalance had resulted in destruction of their farms and homes due to floods and droughts.
They organized, set up barricades, and did everything they could to stop the logging. The government responded initially by sending in the military to dismantle the barricades, and truncheon the people off the streets. But because the people continued with the struggle, and some church groups supported them, and media picked it up, eventually the government's Department of Natural Resources and Environment issued a temporary suspension order [against the logging].
But while the people succeeded, there was a backlash. The Right, and even now the moderate groups in the villages, say that the people were infiltrated by communists. And therefore the church that provided support is also communist. So now it's a lot more difficult for us to do BCC work in the villages.
What are the dreams of the people? What kind of life do they long for?
When we ask the people about their dreams and their hopes, they become especially eloquent about these when their sons and daughters are at their feet. Often they are more articulate regarding their dreams for their children than their own dreams.
Their dreams and hopes are really very simple, very basic. For example, they would say, "I dream of our children being educated, being able to finish high school and college, because we have never really gone to school." They have realized that, because they are uneducated, they can be oppressed, deceived, and taken for granted. They want food to eat-rice, some vegetables, occasionally a little meat or fish. Just knowing that food will be there would be a great change for most of the people.
They also dream of good health for their children. They don't want their children to die so young. They're very, very insecure when the children get sick, because for so long they have seen brothers and sisters and their children succumb to death. They know they could save the life of a child if they could get to a hospital.
They also dream of having a nice home. The homes in the barrios are so dilapidated, and when the rains come the people get wet. But they really only can afford roofs of leaves from coconut trees, or palm trees, or just grass.
They dream of a piece of land which they can call their own--and perhaps a caribou to help them cultivate it. They know that once they are able to acquire a piece of land that they can till, their livelihood will be much better, and they will be able to provide more for their children. It's always the children they think of--food for the children, nice clothes for the children, education for the children.
The people have no money at all, no savings. When they need to apply fertilizer and insecticides, they have to go to the town center to this rich person who owns the big general merchandise store, and he supplies fertilizer and insecticides on credit, adding on a percentage to the price. Because they are already indebted to this person, come harvest time the people have no choice but to sell their rice or their corn to that "middle man" at a price lower than the market price. So it's a double sort of oppression.
They dream of a world that would free them from usury, from non-access to capital, from such a burdensome way of transporting and selling their products. And so they wish that the government would not neglect them, would provide them that. And yet, they've come to realize that maybe help is not coming.
And naturally, within all of this they dream of peace and order, because a good number of them have gone through a life of turmoil. They have moved, and moved, and moved, searching for land. And now they realize there is no other place to go.
They know there are problems all over. They know vigilantes are coming. They're tired. They're tired of having to cope with all the implications of a very unstable society. So they dream of peace and order, so that finally they'll be able to stay in this land with their children, settle down, grow old, and die.
And, of course, they dream of community--really caring community--because they have had that. To a certain extent they still have that, but somehow these values are being eroded, because the implications of capitalism are becoming more and more real to their lives.
Now there are video cinemas--even in the barrios--that run on batteries, which have provoked this need for entertainment on Sundays. Before, they would plow each other's fields. Now, they help each other plow on the condition that they get paid, because they need the cash for that video on Sunday, as well as to buy basic commodities. But they want to retrieve that sense of community.
So these are the people's dreams--they're so basic. And there's really no reason why a country like the Philippines cannot provide or facilitate the process so that the people can work toward the attainment of these dreams.
In some areas the people have given up on a democratic system and support the insurgency. But other people hope for the kind of society where somehow there can be an end to poverty without bloodshed, because they have seen the consequences of the insurgency.
In our work in the villages, the hopes and the dreams of the people are foundations on which we can build. We can initiate a process that encourages them to come together in groups, hoping that through the continuing dialogue and participation the people themselves will think of ways of responding to these hopes and dreams. And we hope to empower them to believe that they can start to do something about their situation--that they don't have to wait for the government to give them attention; that they can be inspired to take into their hands the destiny of their village, of their community and the neighboring communities, of their province, and ultimately of the country.
I've been very encouraged by what I have seen in our people. The source of our hope is the richness in the spirit of the people. They have suspicions, they have insecurities and doubts--but the moment you're able to penetrate those and connect with their wounds and pains and sufferings, as well as their joys and hopes and dreams, you can feel the relationship as brothers and sisters. And you can relate to them in the faith that God is with us and that God will eventually liberate our people. And that becomes so clear, because there is just such goodness in the hearts of our people.
Despite all the propaganda, the moment there's a breakthrough, the hospitality is just enormous. They will feed you with the best food that they can afford. They will put you on the best bed and get the blanket that they only use for special occasions. They will be the ones to defend you from those who would attack you.
And you see a process where the people are starting to link up, to listen to one another, to care for one another. As a Filipino, I sense that it's really there in the hearts of our people. And if only there can bloom a process where they're able to connect their hearts, and the beating of their hearts to the situation, they can respond to it not individually but as communities. Then the power is there.
One saw that of EDSA. For all that you can say about the limitations of EDSA, there was something very important there. And that was that the Filipinos who were there responded to the beatings of their hearts in terms of caring for other people, caring for our nation, caring for justice, caring for freedom. And they held hands together, despite the risks of it.
And that is why it's such a tragic thing that the "People Power" of EDSA is practically gone. It's tragic that this government has not been able to build on the good will and fellowship that came out of that revolution. But the hope is there to be tapped--if only we can break the barriers between families, between communities, between people of various religious affiliations or theological orientations; if we can get so that there is a base on which we can really unite ourselves as brothers and sisters.
What I think embraces that is integral to our culture--the people's faith; the fact that they are Christians who have through the years listened to all these homilies and prayed and cried out their suffering and pain to the Lord in the hope of being blessed.
When you are really immersed in the people, and you're there when someone gets sick, or someone dies, or when there's a flood, it just bursts out like that. What we need to do is mobilize that, nourish it, and let it bloom. If that can really happen, there's a richness in the culture that can truly contribute to a just and humane society for this country.
There is another source of hope. When you are in a place like San Fernando--and you look out to the sky, and you look up at the mountain range across it; you look down to the river at the reflections of the shades of the sky, and you look at the land--you are enveloped by a recognition of God's presence and love for the people, and God's promise that there will be liberation. And that has been a source of comfort to me, because one cannot reconcile the beauty and bounty of nature with the lack of possibility that there would be this blooming in the lives of our people.
And you have also the beauty that is in the faces of the children. You're just so convinced that God is present despite all that which would negate God's presence in this village. And therefore, one becomes really encouraged, empowered, because the people themselves would express that God is with them, God listens to their prayers.
I also have the community of my co-workers--people who could have chosen another alternative. You have young men and women who are willing to suffer the inconveniences and take the risk--the risk even of being killed.
There's a community that will always be ready to provide all the encouragement you need. I'm not saying there are no quarrels or tensions. But there's a wellspring to which we come again and again for our strength.
For someone who has been in this for so long, the young people joining us is a source of inspiration. It's a sign that perhaps we have been able to show an example. Perhaps our efforts have not been in vain. Despite the fact that we don't really have huge successes to show, there are these young men and women who make those choices like we did 15 years ago, and therefore we have this continuity.
I'm amazed at this reality, the continuity. I put it within the history of my country. If we look back 300 to 400 years, the struggle of the Filipino people began generations ago--against the Spaniards, against the Americans, against the Japanese, against the Americans again, and the politicians, and Marcos--it's been a long history of struggle. And the struggle continues.
One source of strength and encouragement for me is that the struggle hasn't ended. It continues to challenge young people to get united into this continuing journey, opening the door for the dreams.
Beginning as a student years ago, and then through prison time, with hopes raised up and then crushed down, you still believe that someday the struggle, with the grace and help of God, will bring justice and liberation to the Filipino people.
Whenever the people I work with have discussed this, we always reach the same conclusion: that perhaps the fulfillment of this dream may not even happen during our lifetime. Again, within the historical background, who are we to say that in our lifetime the unfinished revolution finally will triumph? Especially if one understands revolution, not only in terms of one very narrow perspective, but in the total perspective of what comes with a radical social transformation of society. And so we are ready to accept the fact that it may come only in the next generation, or the generation after next.
The EDSA Revolt showed us that there is no such thing as a shortcut to social transformation, and we can't just be satisfied with minor changes in the structures of our society. When the revolt took place, a number of us intuitively sensed that it was not going to radically transform Philippine society. Not that we didn't share the people's hope and optimism; not that we didn't appreciate the democratic space that erupted during the time; not that we did not thank God for this change. We did. We got ourselves aligned with the people, and we tried everything we could to operate within this space, even to work with the government in various attempts to respond to urgent problems.
But even then we knew something was wrong. We knew the honeymoon with Cory was going to be short-lived. And I'm not really all that discouraged, because we knew what the revolution was all about, and we projected what was going to happen. We just saw it as one more moment in history from which we carry on.
And there are many reasons to be optimistic about the future. Not that the dawn of that final day is already in sight. It's not. And yet, the optimism is in the outbursts of hope even as people struggle.
And now we always make an attempt to celebrate those moments, to clap over them, to cherish them, and to be nourished by them. And there are many reasons to be grateful to God, to our people, to our friends, for all that has been--for years of deep joy, deep satisfaction.
And this has provided memories on which you can fall back when you have difficulties and you are beginning to lose hope. For whatever we do now, there is a foundation that was built years ago. And we hope that what we do is a foundation on which those who follow us can build their own foundations for the continuing struggle.
And there are many gifts--gifts of affection and friendship and support and solidarity. Of being prayed for, of being cared for. I'm amazed at such a reward I get. God is providing so many blessings.
That isn't to say that I'm in heaven now, but you do need to be able to appreciate the simple things. I used to take these things for granted; now many of us are far more convinced of the value of these to sustain us in a commitment.
A good number of us reached periods when we could have burned out and become embittered. Part of the reason, we realize in retrospect, is that we refused to appreciate all the gifts that could empower and sustain us, because we were so busy that we had no time to relish the moments of joy and celebration and appreciate the good that was there.
And maybe we're just getting older, too. We're a little bit more able to acknowledge that, since this is a long struggle, in the process we should continue to nourish and nurture ourselves. So now we balance things more. And, as a result, we also tend to become less demanding, less impatient, less intolerant. So we're able to reach more people and draw them into questioning the situation.
It's in this context that one is able to provide oneself more time to pray, and worship, and celebrate, and not feel guilty about it. You shouldn't be apologetic when you're joyful.
A lot of things have converged, and I've been able to find the right balance. I'm immersed in the lives of the poor. I get to know them, to listen to their problems, to play with their children. I get to walk in the hills and see all these rainbows. And yet I still respond, whenever possible, to invitations, urgent calls for meetings, and I go to Manila and attend conferences and therefore stay in contact with friends and former co-workers and get updated about what's happening. It's a good life, a fulfilling life.
And I know that despite the pain and the suffering, the anxiety and the insecurities, we are no longer such a few. I know that the people who have gone through this experience and continue to commit themselves to the call of the Spirit are a good number. They're still not the majority in this country and in the world, but it's expanding.
Not that it will lead to such enormous growth--but we are there. Other kindred spirits are there. And there are people who are willing to journey with us--fellow sojourners, in our own context and in other contexts but with the same vision; people coming from their own response to the call of discipleship. It's an amazing thing for me to contemplate.
I will not advertise now for Sojourners. And I will not make flattery. But certainly, having been in touch with the people of Sojourners has made such a major difference--and sojourners in the sense of fellow Christians in the United States and Europe, in Australia, in other Asian countries.
Because they are involved in their own context, they are in solidarity with our context; because they are immersed in their people, they are indeed integrated into our people's struggle. And because they too seek the very same God that we pray to, we can really embrace each other as brothers and sisters and feel this oneness, feel this one big family. Despite the fact that we're oceans apart, we can feel this vibrant expression of brotherhood and sisterhood and solidarity. And when that is there, can God be far behind?
Jim Wallis is editor-in-chief of Sojourners magazine.
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