Dear Dawn,

Sure, kaya mo ngang magdrama. Magdramang tumutulong ka sa environment.

Hindi nga ba't kayo ang nasa likod ng operasyon ng mga plantasyon ng saging at pinya sa Davao del Norte at Davao City na sinasabing lumalason sa mga taong naninirahan malapit sa inyong mga plantasyon sa pamamagitan ng mga kemikal na ginagamit ninyo.

Hindi mo ba alam na habang pinapalabas ang commercial na ito ngayon ay lumilipad din ang mga eroplanong bumubuga ng mga nakakalasong kemikal na hindi lamang tumatama sa mga saging na binibenta ninyo sa mga Hapon, kundi maging sa mga batang naglalaro sa ilalim--nakikipaghabulan sa anino ng eroplano at naliligo sa chemical drift.

Hindi mo ba alam na habang sinasabi mong kaya mong palitan ang diaper ng iyong anak, ang mga bata naman sa mga bayan ng Davao del Norte at mga barangay ng Davao City na apektado ng aerial spraying ay naluluha at nangangati dahil sa epekto ng nakakalasong kemikal?

Kaya mo rin bang tanggapin, Dawn, ang katotohanang hindi ninyo tinutupad ang probisyon hinggil sa buffer zone na nakakalagay sa inyo mismong environmental compliance certificate o ECC? Kaya mo bang tanggapin, Dawm, na ang buffer zone ay siya sanang security ng mga tao laban sa mga nakakalasong kemikal na binubuga ng inyong mga eroplanon at malalaking spraying machines?

Kaya mo rin bang aminin, Dawn, na kaya hindi ninyo kayang ibigay ang buffer zone, bilang proteksyon ng mga tao at maging ng mga open bodies of water, dahil mangangahulugan ito ng pagkawala ng milyong pesong halaga ng kita.

Kumikita nga kayo ng limpak-limpak na salapi, Dawn, at the expense of the people. Alam mo ba yon?

Ang dami ko pa sanang sabihin sayo. Pero napagod ako sa rally namin kanina sa harapan ng AJMR, isa ring kompanya ng saging, kung saan nagdala kami ng isang dosena ng kabaong para iprotesta ang unti-unting pagkamatay ng mga taong may mga sakit na ngayon--lahat mga simtomas ng mas malala pang sakit na tulad ng kanser.

Napagod ako dawn. At wala akong ganang magdrama ngayon. Kasi naman ay hindi ako nakapag-Myra 400 E kanina.

Blooming pa rin na kagaya mo,
Bananas

The banana fight resounding...





relentlessly.

My feet felt really cold as if I was standing on a huge block of ice. I struggled not to shudder but my flesh rebelled, breaking me into little quick frissons that rendered my hand to write illegibly. I barely understood the words of the man sitting in front of me, his voice faded, segueing into silence the moment they came out of his mouth.

Outside, the sun shoo away the clouds revealing the majestic dark expanse of Mt. Apo. A villager later said that the weather was good that day contrary to the past days where fog and drizzle blanketed the whole village.

Strangely, my back started to get wet of sweat. My fever was still high, worse than the other night when I still had Athan as an instant nurse. The smell of Durian and ripe bananas was just to inviting, only that I was so sick to salivate.

But I did not have the choice than to keep my remaining senses intact, and regain the ones I lost to high fever. I did not have the option than to force a normal function mode and avoid a failure interview.

The man in front of me, a 30-something, was the village chief. He was a Lumad. If there was anything that caught my interest about the encounter was his story about how he and the council of elders in the village settle petty crimes such as stealing so successfully, as if telling that "hey, it's zero crime rate here, man!"

He said there came a time that the villagers’ number one problem was the cases of “chicken-stealing” allegedly perpetrated by the tambays. Because of this, they were prompted into coming up with a barangay ordinance.

The ordinance? To parade anyone caught in cold-blooded chicken-thievery around the village, force them to even go house-to-house, self-proclaim that they are thieves, and that they should not be emulated.

Since then, not one was caught stealing chicken again. The village chief even said that those who were earlier caught and suffered the public humiliation are also closely watching possible chicken stealers “aron makabalos daw sila (to get back).”

But get back to whom?

While in the middle of the discussion, a man in full battle gear came--an armalite slung on his shoulder and a grenade that resembled those that can be exhumed from Japanese graves clipped on his blazer.

Later we learned that he was the first councilor who chairs the peace and order committee.

It occurred to me then that in that village, the council of elders and an ordinance are not actually enough, but an armalite and a grenade to run after chicken stealers.

Maybe it was her cologne or the lotion that overwhelmed the large room, the scent of it subdued the bright colors and density of the paintings hanging all over the large room.

The often “uncontrollable” that we are, suddenly were under her spell. At that very moment, she was the boss. Doors were shut upon her request. No cameras. No recorders.

The rules were set and I had the impression that had anyone of us dared to violate those simple rules, she would have not spoken a single word.

Well, sorry for those whose journalistic skills were only limited to transcribing recorded messages or those who practice journalism with great reliance on voice recorders. Even fast-scribblers like I am, however, wobbled later as the encounter with her turned out something very relevant and emotional.

She admitted about hating the media as it only worsened the agony that embattled her—as it became a major instrument that fueled her depression while she suffered from the mounting isolation and societal stigma.

She identified herself as Sheila Magpaye, a person living with HIV-AIDS. Shortly after her introduction, a serbidora opened the sliding doors that rendered her wordless.

Not one from the audience spoke. I was barely breathing.

More about Sheila here.

Presenting...John Kenneth


better known as Joana Kimberly