Iba ang kinang ng kanyang mukha sa dapithapon Habang nilalarawan ang kanyang bayan na kinalakihan sa tabi ng ilog, pinalibutan ng gubat at bundok simula ng pagsibol ng makata. Takot ka sa linta, sabi mo, mukhang hindi ako makakapunta doon.
Saka niya sinabi na aabot ang tren doon at sa iba pang bayan sa kapuluan. Takot ka isipin ang balang araw, sabi mo, kung kailan ako’y matanda na? Saka niya sayo ipinalagay ang mundong walang alipin, para kang sinaniban ng iyong tiyahin, sabi mo, paano kung hindi kayo magtagumpay?
Sagot niya ay siya’y magalak na mamamatay. Hindi man lang bumigat ang iyong dibdib, ang kaligtasan ay nakakalasing. Kung ikaw ay hindi mabuting modelo bakit hindi kita magawang kamuhian, at sa usapin ng kasal at bayan landas mo pa rin ang sentido kumon.
Ang pagkainis ng makata sa mga rebulto ng malecon dala ng lumbay, ay hudyat na ng wakas. Pagdating ng iyong irog, sinalaysay mo ang pangako ng pagkakaisa sa kinabukasan sa iisang wika kahit pinatay na ang plano para eskwelahan. Dagdag mo, aabot ang mga riles sa lahat ng sulok ng bansa balang araw. Mga panaginip mga panaginip, sagot niya, hindi mo makuhang magalit.
Katabi sa kasela, kumindat sa iyo ang kanyang hikaw; sa lipunang kolonyal at pyudal, sundin mo man ang lahat ng panuto para sa tagumpay, masikap, mag-aral, mangarap – bibiguin pa rin ang iyong puso.
Gusto kitang alahanin Isagani, dahil mas marami ang tulad mo, hindi mailuwa ang mga ligtas na landas sinubo sa kanila mula pagkabata, meron pang ibang paraan para sa makata. Mula malecon, kailangan bumalik sa gubat.
First Picture. We started trekking towards the barangay where the assembly will be held. It was almost 8 am when we got off the rented jeepneys that brought us from Iloilo City. It was a chilly Saturday in January, almost everyone was wearing jackets and hats. I asked how far the place is, my professor said an hour and a half. Forty-five minutes if they are by themselves, then he laughed. It was a dirt road, often steep, hence we need to go by foot. Our procession extends whenever we have to avoid the leg-deep mud puddles in the middle of the path. I can’t even remember the exact name of the place anymore.
Second Picture. We usually passed by thin forests, but also there are wide open fields, rocky and can’t support crops. One of the students asked if there will be stopovers later. Our teacher chuckled again, and answered no, but we can walk a bit slower if you like. There are several leaning electric posts, dangling wires, still not repaired after Typhoon Yolanda went through here. I asked, can I take pictures? Of course, my teacher said, just don’t show our faces. I was invited to attend Ati-Atihan back then, I said I had plans.
Third Picture. We can see the venue from afar. The wide roof, with worn-out red paint, belongs to the gym where the assembly will take place. At that point in the hike, we have learned to savor moments going downhill. Those ahead waited for us before entering the barangay. Quick checking ins, especially first timers, you can’t see traces of exhaustion in the smiling faces. We formed lines and got ready, practices some chants. Show of support for the Tumandoks. Yesterday, they said a helicopter landed near the houses. It didn’t do anything; the soldiers didn’t get off. They just wanted to be beside the space of the gathering. The residents are used to similar tactics. Though our shouts are not as loud as propellers, it was warmly received. Because the pandemic has been brutal, it was hard to process news of another massacre before the year ended.
Fourth Picture. The security was tight in the gym. We were given tags where we wrote our names. We need to wear these at all times, to let them know we are friends. There are no chairs inside, we found a spot in one free area, just like the hundreds who arrived before us. We will see the houses where we’re sleeping later, the introduction of visitors went on. The clarity of the voice from the one holding the mic is destroyed by the structure but didn’t prevent applause, the most enthusiastic ones coming from children. We saw a news crew being refused entrance. Someone said to me, the network betrayed the trust of the community before. The Tumandoks haven’t not forgotten. Carrying their camera and gear, the three men started trekking back to the town where we started. I wonder if people who bought the expensive books of transcribed epics were also bothered.
Fifth Picture. The program starts. Speeches of checking in, and fiery welcomes to the gathering. The stage is small and simple, made of bamboo, behind it a tarp where the long title and theme of the occasion is written; delineating who are our friends and who are our enemies. The mastermind is the current regime, the defeated vice president candidate, and a veteran senator. The last two, frequently reminding that they are from here, from Panay, bringer of blessings from Manila, from other countries. A few moments later, there’s dancing in the stage; an intermission, courtship dance, with no need for instruments, the stage itself is being hit to create rhythm. You’ll see later, a friend go arrived ahead told me, in the evening all of them are dancing. I felt a bit nervous as the stage shook but the dancers have entered a different realm. The National Museum also released a statement a few days after, but it was about indigenous textiles of Panay.
Sixth Picture. After lunch we headed to a classroom for a consultation. The participants were all men, we arranged the chairs into a circle. Problems were discussed. Trailing. Promises. Intimidation. Sell your land so we can build a prison complex. There will be jobs for the Tumandoks, much better than being further buried in debt because of farming. The woman organizer said, it’s not true that there will be such a project. And if it is, that’s probably where the men will come from, and be hidden, the ones who will take you down. Some forget and give in to state agents. They were scolded, we will not win if we are taken over by fear, other remain quiet, no judgement, there’s a deep understanding of the situation, of what they grew up with. After a few months, a community leader in the next barangay who witnessed the massacre was also killed, he knew he was going to be next.
Seventh Picture. The public toilets were near the community kitchen, set up for the next two days. Large fires and cookwares, a tall pile of firewood. The food committee are taking a break in one corner, boiling of the pork will take a while. It was my first time to taste bitter melon, first time in a long while to taste krills. I swallowed my inhibitions regarding food because of fascination, on the feat of feeding that multitude. Every time I pass by going towards the toilets, tears gather in my eyes because of the smoke. In Iloilo City, men impaled the head of the lawyer handling the case of the Tumandoks, he survived the attack by playing dead.
Eight Picture. We woke up early. Again, from the cold. We talked about the speeches the previous day. The child who sang a komposo about the murder of his father. While dancing, a list of those killed was being recited. This is what ancestral land means. Breakfast is not yet ready, but coffee is. No sugar, placed in a tall plastic cup. I could not explain the taste, while drinking you can see the coffee beans at the bottom. Until going home, every time I barf, I can taste the waterfall. They want to submerge it, but the epic is alive in the heart of Panay.
Hello there! I am a self-confessed book junkie who has an eclectic taste in books and loves to explore book shops & libraries. Have a look around and hope you enjoy it.
"The poems are the work of a profoundly serious temperament and a professional translator of world into word"-- Michael Salcman, Judge, Harriss Poetry Prize
Jacob Laneria 