Quarantine in Bunawan: The State of Activism in Rural Philippines
I was born in Bunawan, a small rural town in the backwater province of Agusan del Sur plagued by the constant fear of change and raids by the New People’s Army. It was a simple town, and when I left it for college I only knew three things about activists: 1) they’re a just a bunch of whiny people who always blames the government and who has never done anything substantial, 2) most activists are just people paid by other activists, recruited and brainwashed from marginalized communities to join their protests, and 3) I must never, ever, under any circumstance, become one.
How Activism is Viewed in the Countryside
It had already been six years since then, and I know a lot more about activists that I did then. I know for a fact that protest had always played a pivotal role in Philippine politics and society, from the Mapayapang Pagsuway by the Sakdalistas in the 1930’s, to the student movements throughout the Marcos administration, to the eventual People Power Revolution in 1986. when literal millions rushed through the streets of EDSA to protest the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos. Peaceful protests have been key moments in passing legislation and ensuring that justice is given where it is due. Today, with the many controversies of the Duterte administration, activism in the Philippines is very much alive and, if I may say so, very much needed.
Yet when I went back home to Bunawan and spent my quarantine months here, I found that little has changed in my family and the community’s opinion about activism. My mother still mockingly jokes that I should say I am against the government and Duterte when I was applying for my scholarship in UP. My co-volunteers still joke that “Andam na jud ni magaktibista ba!” (“You’re ready to become an activist!”) when I decided to grow my hair long this quarantine. A pastor once told me na “Samok samok ra man jud na sila kay Duterte oy” (“They’re such a nuisance to Duterte”) when a dinner time discussion turned to progressives posting on the internet.
For a majority of Filipinos, activism continues to be a distant idea; just another item on the Manilacentric evening news that passes by the television as we anxiously wait for the prime time dramas. For many communities ravaged by leftist groups, activists may even be considered as something evil, taking part in a movement that continues to cause fear and terror in the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of Filipinos. Today, in the age of social media and misinformation, activism has taken a more sinister face in the provinces as a mere tool of the opposition to reassert their dominance against a pro-poor, pro-Mindanao, anti-establishment administration, whose president continues to receive an approval rating of +72 as of May 2020.
The Great Challenges of Philippine Activism in the Countryside
In this age when we are facing more and more crises in our country, it seems that activism rarely takes root in an overwhelming majority of Filipinos. This is even more true in the provinces, where a majority of Filipinos live and where Duterte considers as his base of power. As I continued to live and spend my quarantine in the solidly Duterte-loving Bunawan, I began to see why activism rarely takes roots in the countryside.
The Culture of Authority
Recently, I was watching the news with my family. ABS-CBN had just been shut down, and as a long time Kapamilya, there was a certain sadness in the room. Every one was sad that we won’t be able to see Cardo Dalisay shoot down a helicopter with a pistol ever again. They were showing a noise barrage by ABS-CBN employees when she finally broke the silence and said “Ngano dili man gud sila magpa-ubos kay Duterte ba… Ingon jud among principal sauna na dapat magpa-ubos ka sa imong head.” (“Why won’t they just submit to Duterte… Our principal once said that you should always submit to your head.”)
To most Filipinos, the idea of standing up to authority by standing in the middle of the streets to present your grievances are, at best, futile. Ever since the Spanish colonization, Filipinos have literally been groomed for submission to an infallible authority for centuries. The institution of the Catholic Church, despite its noble and sincere intentions, had been Spain’s main tool in building this culture of submission, and religion continues to play a major role in an overwhelming majority of Filipino lives today. American colonization continues to emphasize the need for a meek populace to ensure the prosperity of a country.
Thankfully, the dawn of modernism has slowly opened up Filipinos to the idea of challenging people in power. Access to education and social opportunities have shown many that things can and should change.
Unfortunately, radical changes in political views are often concentrated on major urban areas in the Philippines. A lot of these modern ideas haven’t reached rural Philippines, where 54.7% of Filipinos still live. Here, where the Church continues to play a hugely important role in both politics and daily life, and where institutional problems are either rarely discussed or resolved with violence, the idea of protests are as foreign as, well, feminism or climate change.
The Scars of the Marcos Dictatorship
My mother once told me a story when Bunawan was raided by the New People’s Army back when she was an elementary student during the Martial Law era. She was going home with her childhood friends when they were met by a frantic crowd, and the sound of gunshots echoes in the distance. She recalled hiding inside a culvert as the sound of screams and footsteps echoed above ground while she, a mere child, shivered in fear under the sewers. Hours later, she emerged, all scared and stinky, as my grandfather searched for her around town in the aftermath of the firefight. Now, when she sees a protest initiated by groups bearing the same colors, symbols, and ideas as those that raided Bunawan decades in the past, she cannot help but remember the hell she and her family had been through.
Unfortunately, many Filipinos share similar stories with my mother. The association of the political left with the trauma and atrocities caused by the New People’s Army during the reign of Ferdinand Marcos continues to have severe implications today, both politically and emotionally. The villification of activists and socialism both by the Marcos administration and the United States have been thorough and effective, and their propaganda (violence is necessary to enforce peace, activists enable terrorists, we must compromise freedom to have security) continues to echo in the minds of many Filipinos.
Now, with the rise of another authoritarian president in the Malacañang and the prominence of social media in daily life, these echoes are getting louder and louder. As rural communities begin to have access to mobile internet, historical revisionism and internet illiteracy are amplifying these talking points that have been used nearly 50 years ago, rising back from the dead to haunt us again.
Manilacentrism
This quarantine, I watch the nightly news with my family. It was a moment to bond, our bellies full from a warm supper. As the elder brother, I would hold the remote and we watched TV Patrol as the headlines passed by. Two men shot dead in Pasig. A car crash collision on EDSA. Students activists protesting on Mendiola about tuition fee hike. A new feeding program by Mayor So-and-So in Quezon City. After a while, my father would say “Unsa man na, puro ra man na news sa Manila, ibalhin na oy.” (“That’s all news from Manila, just change the channel.)
For most of the 88% of Filipinos living outside Metro Manila, Manilacentrism has long been a source of grudge and resentment. It has been a long held grudge by probinsyanos, and it has played a major role in electing a Mindanaoan to the presidency. It has sparked a national discussion on the possibility of federalism, and it has been a staple of Duterte supporters from the extra-judicial killings to the imposition of martial law in Mindanao.
My Facebook feed has been drowned many times by posts such as “Kayo lang naman sa Manila lagi nagrereklamo, okay lang naman kami dito sa Davao.” (“You in Manila are the only ones complaining, we’re okay here in Davao.”) or “Di niyo kasi alam ano sitwasyon namin dito” (“You don’t know our situation here.”) For people living outside the Metro (including me), the desire to topple Imperialist Manila will always be there.
In communities geographically and culturally far from Manila, activism will always seem to be an distant movement, staged by privileged city dwellers who never knew the “true Philippines.”
Moving Forward with Hope
Activism continues to face many challenges moving forward, especially in penetrating the farms, swamps, and fields of towns such as Bunawan. The continued myth of fake activists, the surge of misinformation during the era of misinformation, and the intellectual divide brought by the lack of educational opportunities in the provinces among others continue to be hindrances towards the embracing of citizen participation and activism in rural Philippines.
But despite all this, I continue to hope. Protests in local indigenous communities due to militarization and the presence of corporate armies have always been present in the country. The continued expansion and abuse of corporate entities have always been a breeding ground for activism.
From the palm oil plantations in San Francisco, Agusan, to the banana farms in Santo Tomas, Davao del Norte, to the fields of Polomolok, Cotabato, I have personally witnessed how unified rural communities rise up to challenge big agriculture from exploiting human and indigenous rights. I have seen how young professionals return to their home provinces to raise their voices and vote out political dynasties. I have seen how many teenagers struggle to inform themselves with social media and the internet about the many social issues plaguing our country, becoming vocal in challenging age-old ideas.
As I scroll through my Facebook feed, sipping a cup of coffee, I smile as I see friend in Bunawan, old and new alike, begin to post and share about their discontent with the policies being enforced locally and through out the country. With a sliding democracy, the encroachment of new foreign players on our soil, and an environmental crisis just around the corner, I believe, and I know that the countryside will rise up and learn on their own how protest can change the world. I just hope we won’t be too late.
