Published in Cebu Gold Star Daily
The disembodied spirit is immortal; there is nothing of it that can grow old or die. But the embodied spirit sees death on the horizon as soon as its day dawns.
- THOMAS HOBBES (1588 - 1679)
For those of us who work with the law, we often think in terms of finality. We believe ourselves to be boxed in by parameters set by old men and women who seem all-knowing of all there is and all there ever will be. Our education implies that outside this box we call the Rule of Law, there is no other form of succor. But any person with a bit of life experience knows that there are forces greater than government, institutions, and people. There are virtues far greater than the decent human minimums of justice and fairness.
This holy week, I invite everyone to reflect on the greater things in life -- more than our business interests, our personal ambitions, and our dreams. These are the greater forces of compassion, kindness, and love -- super-natural urges that seem to always keep us off tangent from normal human behavior and reasoning. Why are we capable of being generous at a time of personal need? Why are we able to reach out and pull up those we fairly defeat in life’s race? Why do we still believe in miracles after all that education we’ve been put through?
There exists that great force that keeps humanity reaching out for its best qualities. Whether you are Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist or even a self-declared atheist, there is reason and meaning behind every good work that you do and reprieve from your baser actions. The inevitable truth is that we are all spiritual beings and no denial, no backsliding, no distancing mechanism can change that.
Whatever may be your interpretation, there will always be room for greater things and greater ideas in your life. Call it God, goodness or love; we recognize it almost immediately when we see it. We are forever drawn towards it in our search for meaning.
Sometimes your cynicism may leak out through your words, but your actions will always betray the truth. How hard you work for your family will show it. How you comfort a friend at a time of loss will show it. How you tip the cab driver or the waiter will show it. How you call people through your mobile phone for no reason except to say “How’s it going?” will show it. How you forgive someone who took much from you or betrayed you in the most terrible way will show it.
These things are who we are. These things fuel our hope.
Our failures, our pains, our frustrations fade in time because we are spiritual beings, mindful of things more important than simply what we go through this day. We are a constant work-in-progress and will remain this way until the day we die. This is our common journey towards perfection – towards the spirit.
Thus, we are not of this world. We will never be satisfied with what we have now because they lock us up in this place so fleeting and temporary. That bigger TV or faster car will become old and meaningless in time. Your clothes and jewelry will go out of style. Your gadgets will become obsolete and stop working. Your beauty will fade. Relationships will end, whether by choice or by death. Everything has an expiration date.
So survey your blessings. Value the good things in your life because all these are temporary: our careers, our material things, and our loved ones. Someday, we will lose them. Someday, only shadows and memories of the good old days will remain. But even on those days, we will survive. Through any war, recession, heartbreak or frustration, we will survive. Because at the end of every episode of pain, after every loss and even when everything else fades into wind, the human spirit remains.
Peace and blessings to you all. Happy Easter!
This article originally appeared in the July 2007 Issue of ThePalladium, Ateneo Law School's official student publication. This was a piece for my column Legal Personality.
The most meaningful mass I ever attended was neither in a beautiful medieval church in Magdeburg nor on a mountaintop overlooking Baguio City. It was on the roof deck of an unflattering residential building, deep in the heart of the Islamic City of Marawi. Just as the sun came down to bleed into the horizon of Lake Lanao, the local bishop began his homily in unison with dozens of mosques chanting the Maghrib or their post-sunset prayer. We were probably the only Christians in the entire city, and yet, there was a deep feeling of universal peace. It was a moment of profound deliverance to know that we were free to be different from our brothers and sisters, and yet, accepted as friends.
It has been more than a month since our trip to Lanao del Sur, and I still have recurring staccatos of both bad and pleasant dreams about the whole experience. Working with the Ateneo Human Rights Center and, more recently, the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE) has never been easy, in spite of the constant presence of good-natured companions. After four years as a human rights advocate, I thought there were no more surprises. But this recent summer was full of firsts, as it presented me with a totally different level of work with much higher stakes. There was a looming sense of real danger, and I knew that I would have to be ready for the worst of eventualities.
I was never a stranger to the Philippine south. My father's family originated from Cagayan de Oro City and I spent a year there for college. I have been to many places in Mindanao, but always circling and never setting foot on any of the ARMM territories. This would be my first time to set foot on Lanao del Sur. Entering Marawi City felt much like entering into a foreign country. I instinctively searched through my pockets to see if I left my passport, realizing my folly only after clearing my throat. Although materially the same – the foliage, the weather and the people, there was this strong unwelcome feeling, triggering a heightened cautiousness I had never before drawn. The chartered van that harbored us offered no sense security at all. We entered the city with all eyes locked on us, as if telling us to turn back while we still can. Amidst all of this, four battalions of heavily armed soldiers were deployed in the city. Never before have I seen so much firepower in real life.
It was then that I learned how to be part of a minority. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but it brought me into a concrete level of pure understanding. The ideas of tolerance and the protection of free will broke away from my mind and materialized before my very eyes. You never realize how precious your freedoms are until they become scarce. When you are part of the minority, both your movements and your words are calculated, always avoiding any cause to offend the unfamiliar people around you. When you are a visitor in a strange land, your internal system is locked on defensive mode as you distrust your surroundings just as you perceive it to distrust you.
Help would not take long to arrive and in the next few days, we would meet friendly faces and share long conversations with both the locals and other people from neighboring provinces who came to lend a hand. Fear and distrust are inversely proportional to understanding, and the more time we spent with these volunteers, the more my ignorance faded and the more I was emboldened to rise up to the occasion. We borrowed from each other's strengths and were able to do our jobs with confidence, knowing that we were working with people from the locality and they, in turn, had doubled-up their resolve because our presence meant that the whole country had its eyes on them. What started out as an episode of fear and distrust turned out to be a strong coordinated response to a common social problem. There was an election to be guarded and we had much work to do. We would find ourselves at the different counting and canvassing areas, welcomed by some and questioned by others. Days would pass and the local skeptics would soon understand that we were there for no other reason but to see that people's votes are properly appreciated and taken into account – to ensure that the vote of a single farmer or laborer from Lanao del Sur will count as much as a that of the CEO of a huge business firm in Makati.
For 100,000 votes, we risked our very lives. Why? Because those votes belong to people who need the most protection. And if we can protect the most vulnerable – those who are most difficult to protect, we might be able to find confidence in Philippine democracy once again.
For six days, I was part of the minority. I feared everything I saw, in spite of the apparent inescapable beauty of the city. It took much determination, some friendly conversations and a few laughs to finally ease up and become myself again. In the end, I would find more than twenty new people in my phone book, among them, a young Maranao girl anxious about entering her first year in law school, two soldiers from Cagayan de Oro who shared their noteworthy battle experiences and showed me how to operate a grenade launcher, a driver who shared his first-hand observations of deception during the 2004 elections in Mindanao and many other lawyers, paralegals and volunteers who gave their time and effort to show Lanao del Sur that we care about their choice – a choice that will affect the greater Filipino nation.
During the mass, the bishop would call our attention to the beautiful melodies filling the night skies of Marawi City.
"They are praying for peace", he said.
And so were we.
