Sleep hungry

It’s a typical day for Mang Potenciano. He prepares the backpack of his apo (grandchild) as he the boy go to school. He also prepares an extra bag for himself. He takes his grandson to school, and sits in class. You see, they go to school together as classmates—for real.

In this Aeta community in the town of Cabangan, Zambales, Mang Potenciano is going through what other elders don’t have the courage or perseverance to go through at their late stage in life: an education. Indeed, it may be too late for Mang Potenciano, but not for his grandson.

Each student—more like pupils—in San Juan Annex School has a special gadget in his bag, apart from paper, pencils and books. It is a dining plate. A small team from our firm (who brought about 100 new seats to the school as part of our Seat of Hope program) watches in amusement as kids enthusiastically pull out their own plates to get ready for a serving of rice and mongo prepared by teachers and parents who help out in this regular feeding program for the students. (Our team was not left out, as they were served a generous decent meal of fried fish and rice.)

Teachers, who were assigned there to teach, brought it upon themselves to engage in social work as well. But to them, this is part of the teaching process in this place. School children would miss school if they have nothing to eat for breakfast and lunch, as they would have to fend for themselves to earn something to buy dinner. If they sleep hungry, they would still be absent the next day. Our team brought some cash with them, enough to have one hearty meal that lunch time. But the teachers, who were so appreciative of the meager fund, said they would stretch the money to feed the children for three days. Every meal will be simple, but there will be meals. The children can concentrate on studying, and the teachers will be able to do what they are best at, which is to teach.

By then, one other problem will remain relevant: the river that everyone needs to cross from the Aeta community in the main municipality of Cabangan to the school in Sitio Maporac. When the river is shallow or knee-high, jeepneys and tricycles can pass. Otherwise, students and teachers are not able to cross. Those who are able to cross and go to school can get trapped when the river water rises. Even teachers have to suffer sleeping in classrooms overnight until they are able to go home, depending on the river’s water level.

People there say that not much help comes from the government. The local government even assessess real property tax on the ancestral land on which the school stands.

In a country with a poverty incidence of 25 percent, indigenous peoples (IPs) have been regarded as the poorest of the poor. Their culture and their lives are closely attached to their ancestral lands, to the forests, and their limited industries of farming and fishing. But the cruel climate during the hot season makes the land unproductive for farming and the river too shallow for fishing. The lack of opportunity for decent education, save for some who were able to leave the place and struggle for education in Manila, traps them in a vicious cycle of poverty.

I cannot understand then the government’s notion that people earning minimum wage are not included in the poverty line. A daily wage of P465 can take a family of four to existence, but not much quality of life. Take out rent and utilities, house supplies, transportation expenses, educational costs, clothing and needed supplies, and little would be left for food at three meals a day for four persons. If we observe firsthand how the Aetas live in the modern society, where most of them, undistinguished in their pants (instead of bahag or loincloth) and their straight hair (instead of the curly strands we remember them by), we would really understand what poverty meant.

The government as early as 1997 had passed the IP Act (Republic Act No. 8371, or The Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act of 1997), which sought to recognize the IPs ownership of their ancestral lands, their right to preserve their culture, and practically much of their human rights.

This law has created little impact because it does not address the basic need of industry, and the Aetas struggle to survive on a daily basis. To date, reports on malnutrition and poor access to healthcare show the situation persists unabated.

The Aeta community encounter made certain things quite obvious:

1. For inclusive growth to take its critical steps, government funds should first be directed to the poorest of the poor.
2. The government should build at least a bridge for human traffic to traverse the river that geographically isolates the Aeta community residing in the interior of Barangay San Juan from the rest of the community.
3. The preoccupation on land titling or ownership, as shown by the lessons from our land reform law implementation, is less important versus creating for the community industry and livelihood.
4. Educational support from the government to the Aeta community cannot stop at only providing teachers.
5. Private sector needs greater involvement to help the foundations and NGOs already helping the Aeta community.
6. Teachers, especially those courageous and kindhearted teachers of San Juan Annex School, deserve recognition and proper reward.

When adults struggle for their next meal, we assume they will get by, and that such is life. But when children, with empty stomachs during the day, sleep hungry as they try to live normally by getting education—it is heartbreaking, especially if we imagine these children to be our own. We will not heal unless we do our part to help them mend.