To hold this peace

For Nasudi Francine, for saying that she cannot hold her tears

To hold this alien peace

you know is to look out the window

of her seven year-old soul.

She is your daughter

born of summer rains you did not see

and the fierce storms you read

in the papers, their wrath

yours as well for having left your country

too soon and not lingering but raging past

ships and seas that were cold

to your leaving. 

You left her, this one-year old

in between saying yes and no

and now at seven she tells you,

Come home to sing your lullaby 

so I can watch you tone down

your throat with the music

of your exile's longing, 

that one longing

that I know as well. 

She tells you of a quick repartee

you cannot take to heart:

I do not understand why each time

I say goodbye, the phone line cracks

and a lighting strikes my voice

and a thunder grips my fear

and my tears I cannot help

but let them roll. 

You tell me to put down 

the receiver first, father,

in that daily ritual of saying hello

and then the words grow warm

and I cannot let you go. 

I cannot, father,

I cannot put down the receiver

first. You do.

My arms would lose

all the strength

my small fingers that almost 

do not remember you

would grow numb with the thought

of not knowing you so.

I do not have the memory

of your guttural Ilokano voice,

your R's rolled and unrolled

depending on your rage or 

which message of repeated

absences imprisons you so

as you write with those hands

that do not tire of words

many I never saw. 

You tell me to keep 

on with my fairy tale books,

visit the countries 

in the geographies of their hopes

and in the Disneyland of my mind

I forget you are months 

and miles away.

Each day you speak to me

I would make you promise, again

and again: for us to go cross-country

in our dreams even as I lay awake

waiting for your coming

back into our midst.

Such fatherly absence 

coming in the quick

but we try to understand

why children like us

in this republic manned 

by thieves

would have to let go

of fathers and mothers

before we go to sleep with our fears.

We pray to the guardian angel,

and they are more now:

Exorcize, exorcize 

o guardian angel,

the reasons for our grief

in this homeland of our sorrowful birth.

Bring back, bring back

our fathers and mothers 

and the poetry of our relief.

You look at the receiver

and its promise of a redeemer

and the words you send grow warmer

as they grow colder. 

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/Jan 30/09 

Editorial: A difficult love, again

Observer Editorial

A Difficult Love, Again

On practically the ‘eve’ of the celebration this February of our sometimes commercialized and commodified understanding of love and the affairs of the human heart, a death occurred: a violent death, a death that follows the route of domestic violence. 

This time, the one who is stabbed to death is a man and the one who stabbed him is his girlfriend. 

Let us put names to the faces—and faces to the names: John Shaniyo and Rachael Berta. 

On January 5, this killing that should not happen happened—something that the larger Hawaiian community, in partnership and collaboration with other not-for-profit organizations—have always been working hard to address. 

And it happened in Kahului where peace and quiet and tranquility could be its other name. 

We go to Kahului from any point in Maui and the vast and calm sea greets us with its foam of waves, its fluid dance one of dynamic stillness, rhythmical in its constant teasing of the shore where the land begins.  

The town’s verdant palm fronds reach out to the blue skies, and the tops and shoulders of mountains invariably remind us of spring and summer that both come in time and beyond time, with these two seasons proudly showing us the fresh flowers endlessly abloom on the town’s roadsides in that riot of colors we can only see in a land touched by human hands, true, but the touching suggests care, concern, and commitment to what is alive, to what makes life, to what sustains life. 

But this death in Kahului rattles us off from our grace-filled tranquility. We simply cannot be still, not when domestic violence has that haunting presence in our midst.  

While it is so that by the quantities, women outnumber men in that sad tale of women taking the beating and men doing the beating, we cannot take domestic violence as a simple case of men against women. It is much more than that.

While it is that in past, the pattern tells us of women dying—being killed—by the very men who have vowed to love and protect them, we cannot take domestic violence as a simple case of women going to the grave and men going to jail and repenting after committing the deed. 

There is something awfully wrong somewhere in every phenomenon of domestic violence. Some people have called it power and control—a circle that is vicious: who wields, who yields, who can up the ante, who loses beyond loss, who is maimed, who dies, who threatens, who scares, who blackmails in the name of love or its substitutes. 

It is February and it is the month of love—but how can we enter into a celebration when out there, so much of the loving has yet to be defined for what it is in the light of fundamental human justice, and defended for what it is in the light of our commitment for another human being?

Many of us will go through the familiar annual rite: the bunch of pink roses on hand, the chocolates in red beribboned boxes, and the candles with their dancing light giving off that glow that can only reveal the texture of romantic moments.      

Let it be.

At the end of the day is that one difficult question we need to ask: what is love in this time of difficulty, in this time of extreme need, in this time of crises, in this time of recession, in this time of financial want and burden? 

What is love when the jigsaw puzzle of life seems not to fall into the right places so that we are left wondering which are the pieces that need to be worked out?

What is love when worries come knocking on the door? When the world is turning upside down, when all our cares do not make sense any longer?  When instability of all kinds makes us go haywire? 

Domestic violence is a difficult text of our life—one text that needs to be eradicated totally. We do not need another death whether man, woman, child, parent, friend, neighbor. 

Every death diminishes us.

Every death of this kind makes us loving less and less. 

Every death of this kind invalidates what The Day of the Hearts means.

A. Solver Agcaoili

Published, FAO Editorial, Feb 09

Hawai'i

Colmenares Couple

A Feature Story, Fil-Am Observer, Jan 2009

Dr. Jun and Dr. Letty Colmenares—

Observer’s Outstanding Couple of the Year Standing Out

 

By Aurelio S. Agcaoili

  

Today’s issue—and this year—inaugurates another commitment of Fil-Am OBSERVER to serve the community of Filipino-Americans who have called Hawai’i a home away from the homeland.

 

The editorial board has unanimously selected the couple Dr. Serafin Colmenares Jr. and Dr. Leticia Colmenares as this paper’s first Outstanding Couple of the Year. This decision is based on the extraordinary professional and personal achievements of Jun and Letty—achievements that are a veritable proof of the kind of mind and character they have, competent professionals as they are, dedicated public servants as they are, committed community workers as they are, and caring parents as they are.

The proofs are self-evident: their years and years of serving the various communities of Hawai’i.

 

Jun, a doctorate degree holder in political science from the University of Delhi, moved from a variety of professional involvements in Hawai’i as soon as his immigration status allowed him to do so. Along that professional mobility was his drive to keep on learning and to keep on giving at the same time: as a lecturer of political science at Chaminade University, Leeward Community College, and the UH School of Continuing Education; as a utilization review analyst of a private medical service organization; as a bilingual health worker of a government health center; as a case manager of a religious organization; as a program officer for an organization engaged in health and aging issues; as an evaluation analyst with the Department of Health’s Executive Office on Aging before he was appointed by Governor Linda Lingle in 2007 as the first executive director of the Office of Language Access.

 

Letty, a doctorate degree holder in chemistry from the University of Hawai’i, also moved from a variety of professional commitments as a chemistry instructor in the Philippine’s Mindanao State University, as a lecturer in chemistry at Honolulu Community College, as a research associate at the University of Hawai’i, and then as an assistant professor of UH-Windward since 2004. Together with her colleagues, she has continued to publish in various internationally refereed journals, a testament to her keen scientific mind.

 

It was in 1974, at MSU—a state university in the Philippines known for its edge in science and technology education, research, and training—where Jun and Letty met for the first time, Letty in her senior year in chemistry, and Jun as a returning scholar who had just wrapped up his graduate studies in Delhi. Letty would soon wind up her studies, joined the faculty of MSU where Jun also stayed on as instructor, then assistant dean, and eventually acting dean. In between these professional commitments and engagements, Letty would soon continue to work on her graduate work in chemistry, first getting a master’s at the University of the Philippines, and then receiving an East-West Center grant to do her doctoral work at the University of Hawai’i.

 

Letty’s graduate studies in Honolulu would soon bring the whole family to the United States, with Jun and their two sons, Serafin III and David Roy joining her as her dependents.

 

Jun recalls that the immigration rules prohibited him from taking on a job during their first year together as a family in Hawai’i and that the family had to make do with Letty’s stipend as a grantee. The stipend could hardly see them through, but they persisted. As soon as Jun was allowed to work after a year of residence in Hawai’i, he took on odd jobs, he says, and did not mind what jobs were those. He recalls with fondness now what he went through: “I worked as an assistant manager of a store and a restaurant, sold vacuum cleaners and insurance, moved and painted stuff, did inventory and field enumeration work…”    

 

Soon, Letty was able to wrap up her doctoral work, and as part of her post-doctoral training, she was allowed to stay in Hawai’i for two more years. Jun and Letty planned to go back to the Philippines after her post-doctoral work but the sons urged them to stay on and applied for their permanent residency. Because Letty had a contract with the East-West Center to go back to the Philippines and do her two-year home-country service, she went back to the Philippines to fulfill that contract. Jun and the children remained in Honolulu, with Jun at this time working for his second master’s degree—in public health, which he took at the University of Hawai’i.

 

It was not a walk in the park in the beginning for the new immigrants, with the children helping out in so many ways, working during their spare times even as they were doing their schoolwork and graduating on top, with Serafin III finishing a bachelor’s in microbiology, summa cum laude, and eventually a doctorate in cell biology, on full scholarship, from Harvard Medical School; and with David Roy finishing his bachelor’s in science and his master’s in education.  The children soon went on to follow the same road to excellence less traveled by many immigrant families burdened by the wages of eking out a life in a new land—and with four successful professionals in a family, this feat of Letty and Jun and their children, is indeed, a rarity. It is not very often that we see three doctorate degree holders in a family—and this extraordinary achievement of the Colmenares family is one exemplar that is difficult to duplicate. Certainly, their collective and individual sacrifices and hard work had paid off. 

 

While Jun and Letty continue to serve the community, Serafin III and David Roy are now on their own, exploring the world before them armed with their extraordinary skills, academic training, and experience. Serafin III is now a fellow of the National Institutes of Health while David Roy works as a mathematics teacher of a Honolulu public school.

Published at FAO, Feb 09/Hawai'i

 

 

 

 

Panagsalbar

Kayatko a salbaren ida (dagiti tallo nga annakko a babbai), salbarek koma ida, ngem napadsodan, O Dios, O Dios! Dr. Aboul Aish iti Gaza, Youtube.com, Enero 17, 2009

Maysaak a duktor ti dunggiar ken gerra,

amin a napait a balikas iti baet dagiti sagrado

a diding ti Jerusalem. Kanayonko nga iyapros

dagiti ima kadagiti sugat ti rabii ken aldaw

iti panangpagungga dagiti bala, idi ken ita

agbusi dagitoy kadagiti rungsot kadagiti amin a suli

ket amin nga ar-aria ken anniniwan

mansuenda iti pannusa, kas iti adipen

a malatigo tapno agsayasay ti dara

agayus a kas karayan kadagiti kalsada

dagiti lalaem maipilkat kadagiti ruangan

a pagserkan dagiti mannakigubat

a panagduadua iti kappia.  Matay dagiti igam

iti pannakapadso dagiti mapuntaan a buteng

di makailasin iti ibit a mangikanawa.

Ita a bigat a nalawag, kinunak kadagiti annak,

waloda amin nga agtawid iti kapanunotan

kadagitoy a binnalubal iti kinadaksanggasat:

iti oliba a ti bulong daytoy nga agparipirip

ti dios dagiti panawen iti sari-ugma, nga idi un-unana

ket matiktikawen. Ngem ita, kadagiti raya

ti init iti Gaza a mangbirok kadagiti nakalemmeng

a dagensen kadagiti siled a tanem ni ayat

kadagiti komedor a lua ti idasaren a pammigat

iti darang ti aldaw a kadagiti agsipnget

mangigigir iti masansanen a pammakawan

ditoy nga agbiroktayo iti imnas a nasudi, 

pammateg kadagiti sugat iti maaldawan nga oras. 

Tuldekak dagitoy a balikas, iyebkasko

manipud iti bubon dagitoy a saibbek:

tallo kadagiti annak ti parmeken ti bala

dagiti maladaga a bagi ti namnamak kadakuada

dagitoy ti sumuko iti dangadang ti kappia!

Ibitak amin dagitoy ket amin koma nga amma

ket kaduaendak nga agdung-aw, agtabugga

a mangkarit iti langit, agsaludsod nga awan ressat

no apay a ti biag a naunday ket kadagiti laeng matay!

Tallo nga annak a babbai ti indatonko

iti daytoy a rinnupak: ubbing a ti isemda

ket dagiti bannog ken kettang kaniak ti subad. 

Ngarud denggenyo, padak nga amma:

mangngagasak iti ag-agalen ti agrakaya a bagi

kas iti isip, kararua, ken il-iliwen nga ili nga awan

iti ladingit nga ammok a ti kaaddana

ket iti pagbabakalan dagiti pammadso a kas itan.  

Ngarud, patgandak koma nga agbasbassawang:

ibitik ti nakakaasi a panungpalan ti lasag

a kadagiti annak ket iti isu amin a nabiag

iti nasayud a kasasayudan nga apagapaman.

Sakroyek koma dagiti naidasay nga annak

ngem iti barukong ket ti dalluyon a rumkuas

lemmesenna amin a rikna nga iti lagip

ket ti nasantuan a ginnasanggasat

a koma, kadagiti tuldek ti sentensia

ket ti agrapiki a kararag ti panagwaywayas

ngem ita iti panagsaksi ti angesda magsat!

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/En 27/09

A Name to a Face/Nagan iti Rupa

And I am glad that I can finally put a name to a face. J Bowen, BBC News Middle East, "Bowen's Diary," Jan 23/09

A name to a face/

nagan iti rupa.

Ania a Gethsemani daytoy,

ti mangbirok iti nagan para iti rupa

ti mangihuego iti rupa iti nagan 

nga agkatangkatang kadagiti naidasay

a panagmalmalanga ti bomba

iti Gaza, kas iti mapukpukaw a Palestino

kas iti Jerusalem dagiti gagem

a managkamalala?

Iti baet ti didigra 

iti balikas

kas iti saning-i, 

kasano daytoy,

kasano nga awiten ti babantot

ti napaidam a kappia? 

How do we ever settle

for something lesser than this peace

when the home is a graveyard

of all what we have hoped for

and today, today, the remnants

of the people's dreams 

are ruins 

are ruins of the only

language they know 

the language they know how?

Aglibas kadakami dagiti palimed

ti kari a naitantan, 

kadagiti kanalbuong

ti igam wenno iti siled ni diruan nga ayat

nga ita ket tanem ti garakgak.

Kadagitoy a bakir, lusod, waig,

kinelleng, urit dagiti oliba wenno ubas

a ditoy, uray ti tartarubong mapasag: 

young faces with no names

young fathers with no names

names looking for their faces

fathers looking for their sons

sons looking for their fathers

only to meet in farewells

that come too soon

even as we allow our fears to evacuate

go home to a place with no walls

except those of the dark nights coming

to us too soon and endlessly cold

in this fall of our grief. 

Ti lenned a rabii,

adalem kas iti ibit, saning-i

nga agbirbirok iti pingping

a pagkarayanan ti lua ti ama.

 

Kuna ti ama:

The dark night of our fears

walled us from all the dangers lurking

and we succumb to death,

the arms akimbo catching up on us

even as we pray one thousand times

pray harder so that bombs 

would not fall on our living rooms

they would not fall on our young ones

so they can recite who we are in the years to come

the young ones whom we entrust our souls

and sins, and the salvation of our fathers. 

Agrutingto pay ngata dagiti salakan, 

kas iti talisman

ti lagip iti putot nga iti isisingising ti init

ket ti pannusa ti kanion a balinsuek?

Kasano, kasano nga itabonko 

dagitoy a saem

kadagiti daga a maslep iti dara

daga a matris dagiti amin 

nga an-anek-ek

manipud idi aginngga ita 

a panawen ti paripirip?

Kuna ti agiwarwarnak:

nabirokakon ti nagan

dagiti rupa:

ti ama iti saibbekna

ti anak iti kanibusananna.

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/Jan 24/09 

 

Helmi saying farewell, 1

For me, it is still the most memorable single image of the war. It showed a young Palestinian father kissing his dead baby son goodbye. He was murmuring farewells to his boy and I defy anyone to view it and not be profoundly moved. J. Bowen, "Bowen Diary: A Father's Loss," BBC News, Jan 23/09

1.

The journalist says 

they have no names:

that father in his grief, 

the young child

in the stillness of sleep,

final, deep. 

2. 

The father's kiss 

says farewell,

final, forever like gun salutes

for the dead aborted. 

Helmi, this is you.

And is all yours.

It is the crouched image 

that makes you weep

allowing each tear 

to tear you apart

the son in his father''s arms

the tenderness of years to be lost

lingering long and endless 

in the mind's eye, 

father as you are to your memory

to the children of your young love

in all these times of wars and more.   

Your son stays calm, 

dead to the pain 

eyes closed but seeing all

as if in peace and listening 

to your entreaties

saying in silence, 

talking back, father, father

give me your kiss that blesses. 

3. 

The journalist says he could 

not look in the seeing, 

such dazed dialogues dazzling

in their hopelessness

despairing with the sputtering 

of blood on the edges

of your fears. 

For how can it be that here

in this land where God walked, 

this sacred quiet of earth

that makes us pray 

slide to hide in drunken nooks

we could not reach, 

or our fainting voices, still now

in the cadaverous image before us 

you saying goodbye 

to a dead child, yours,

flesh of your own flesh, 

and you speaking

in the desolate 

and lonely language 

we can never ever know between

a father that lives that is you

and a son that dies on your cradling

in the name of country, faith, nation

in the name of the place that demands

in the name of life that kills

so much of the warm blood for the rituals

whose other name is the relentlessness

of our grief taking hold on our words

and our power to say our prayers,

how can it be, how can it be? 

4.

The journalist of our sorrows

reminds us of this memorandum

of truth: we cannot cage this freedom

we yearn, including this lamentation

that leads us to what pain offers. 

This you know, Helmi, this you know.

5.

He will bury him, the son,

and the him is the you that rages on

your throat the parched fields

of roses and tulips bereft of breeze or rain

you digging the small earth for him

with the bare knuckles of fingers

and the sorrow in your heaving chest

that volcano erupting while you busy

yourself with the thought of his tomb 

unearthing a shallow hole, small 

for your child-son's place of dwelling

his body going back to the land you crave

this land you love no less

this sad land accepting accepting your gift. 

6.

Now they have a name:

Helmi for the gravemaker,

Mohammed for the tomb owner

in Gaza, in this Gaza

the capital city of the skeletons

of dreams, holy, biblical, 

ugly dreams.  

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/Jan 25/09

Pammakada iti Panawen ti Gerra

Inunggona ti rupa ti ubing a lalaki, ket kanayon nga intantanamitimna "awankan, awankan." Jeremy Bowen, BBC News Middle East, Enero 23, 2009

Binirokda ti naganda 

kadagiti nagawangan ti bala,

ti ama iti maudi nga unggo

ti anakna iti agmassayagen a katawa.

Binirokda dagiti kinaasinnoda 

kadagiti mabugiaw a tapok 

nga iti langit ket tumukno

agpaisalakan nga agpaarayat 

iti agsayasay a dara dagiti appigud

dara a ginalon a bisibis dagiti kalsada

desdes arubayan talon kinelleng

a balabala ni wayawaya a naimut

galonggalon a dara 

ginalon a dara nga iti langit

sumuknor tapno kadagiti ulep

sadiay nga agpasugnod

agreklamo kadagiti abstrakto

nga idea ti gubat wenno kinalinteg

nga amin dagitoy ket agindeg 

iti ngudo ti paltog.

Agkan ti ama ti ubing 

ket kadagiti marakrak 

a kappia sadiay a matay dagiti anug-og

a kadagiti dakulap ket ti karayo ti ubing

ti makaabbukay nga inna panagpasaklot

panagpasarimbaboy a kabulig ti panagdakkel

dagiti kallid wenno panagpadanon dagiti isem

iti pannakasay-op ti nain-amaan a pay-od

nga isangbet iti agsipnget manipud 

iti aldaw ken dagiti karit ti agmalem

tapno koma sumangpet saan nga ti ipupusay

no di ti panagilem kadagiti bunga

ti oliva wenno ubas nga iti panagrururos

ket mangpasangbay iti panagkutibeng

ti rikna tapno agkukot iti atag ti lamiis

a kaatag dagiti umbi ken ray-a. 

Anansata maigamer iti nasantuan a daga 

ti dios ama ti lipat

a dios anak ti panagulimek 

a dios espiritu santo ti artek 

dagiti kanion a kadagiti kinelleng 

ken laem ken siled maimula

tapno iti kanalbuong ket ti batibat 

dagiti bangkay ti agsapa.

Diak makaidna, kinuna ti ama 

a buyogan dagiti ubing a luana

ti malmalanga dagiti tanamitim, 

isuna nga iti basbas ti Allah

ket ti putot dagiti rugso 

a kadagiti sellang ket agalipaga

tapno kadagiti araraw 

dagiti agdungdung-aw a muezzin 

kadagiti moske a kamposanto ti panagsagaba.

Agkan ti ama ti anak:

ulimek a ladingit ti itedna a basbas. 

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/En 25/09

To Cry for Your Homeland

To Cry for Your Homeland/

Tapno Ibitam ti Daga a Nakayanakan

 

1.

Today, you watched The Debut

And you cried for your homeland.

It is so far out there in the memory

Seven thousand miles away

Of worlds swirling, sterile and haunting

The letters of your country

Bearing no address no addressee

But words of regret for leaving

And then losing the chance

To touch the warmth of her absence.

 

Ita, binuyam ti The Debut

Ket inibitam ti daga a nakayanakan.

Adayo daytoy iti lagip

Milia a pito ribo a kaadayo

Dagiti lubong a puligos a puligos,

Lupes ken mangar-araria

Kadagiti surat ti pagilian

Awanan mangibuson awanan mangawat

Ngem dagiti balikas a panagbabawi iti ipapanaw

Tapno laeng mapukaw ti tiansa

A mangapiras iti darang ti panaglanganna.

 

2.

The emotions come confused

As you think of green leaves falling

While the young grow old in strange

Foliage of dialect and diction

Their dreams a dire dictum moving

To where the westerly winds surrender

To the full moon, its light

Spiraling low and low

In the free fall of a midnight

Of estranged self in solitude

Of generations the future has no hold

No virtue for what comes a hundredfold

And yet, and yet, here you are

In this stronghold of this newness of old,

Leaving soon in the earnestness

Of the morning’s early hours to roost.  

 

 

Agsidunget dagiti rikna

Iti panagpanunot kadagiti agruros a berde a bulong

Idinto a dagiti naganus agbanagda a natangkenan

Karkarna a panagrukbos iti dialekto ken bengngat

Dagiti tagainepda nakakaskas-ang a kassaba

Nga agkamang a sumuko kadagiti pul-oy nga abagat

Iti kannag, iti karayrayan a silawna

Agbalinsuek nga agpabpababa, agpabpababa

Iti nawayas a pannakaikarasukos iti kaltaang

Dagiti naiwawa a bagi iti panagmaymaysa

Kadagiti henerasion ti masakbayan nga awanan pateg

Awanan birtud iti sumangbay a ginasut

Ket nupay kasta, nupay kasta, addaka ita ditoy

Iti daytoy a puerta ti kabaruanan ti un-unana a panawen

Dandanin pumanaw iti regget

Tapno agapon kadagiti nasakbay nga oras ti bigat.

 

 A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/Jan 10/09

 

Panaggaarimutong ti ayat daytoy a rabii

Gapu ta dinawatda ti panagdaniwko...

Naisurat iti baet ti panagsubo ken panagrambak, Paskua iti Max's, Waipahu, HI

Dis 15, 2008

Panaggaarimutong ti ayat daytoy a rabii

Panagpasangbay Dios Apo,  Dios ti kaasi

Mesias nga anak dagiti salakan a tagibi

Kadatayo amin ket teggeden a panagaklili

Daytoy a rabii ti ramrambak ni ayat

Panangimatang iti umadanin a gasat

Ita a kanito ti punganay ti basbas

Rugit' amin a bendision, agas ranggas

Daytoy a garakgak 'tay amin ti saksi

Ti saksit' awan labas a panangngaasi

Ngarud ita intay sagrapen ragragsak

Agray-o makapabang-ar a bayakabak

Iti bayakabak a mangsibog ti puso

Mangilili iti barukong, kas karayo

Mangibatit' dam-eg rikna, kas rugso

Mangited grasia  mawaw a kararuatayo

Anian ta ti Paskua ket maminsan laeng

Koma ti agnanayon kadagiti biag dumteng

Ngarud isu daytoy ti intay ar-ararawen

Panangtaginayon ti ayat amin a panawen

A. Solver Agcaoili

Honolulu/HI/Dis 2008

Cabugao talk on Ilokano language and culture

TI AKEM DAGITI ILOKANO NGA ORGANISASION ITI HAWAI’I ITI PANNAKAPADUR-AS TI KULTURA KEN PAGSASAO NGA ILOKANO ITI NAGAN TI DIVERSIDAD KEN PUDNO NGA EDUKASION ITI DEMOKRASIA KEN JUSTISIA

 

Ni Aurelio Solver Agcaoili

 

(Bitla iti 2009 Cabugao International Celebration, Waipahu, Hawai’i, Enero 3, 2009)

 

 

Thank you, so much, Mr. Brigido Daproza, for your generous introduction.

 

They say that when a true friend introduces you to his true friends such as his friends at Cabugao International, you must believe—you must believe that that is sincere.

 

On this note, therefore, I wish to say that Manong Brig has honored me tonight, for which, this honor I will take it to heart, and I will take it to heart forever.

 

I must also give my thanks to the president of your organization, Mr. Ernie Garcia, whom I had the pleasure of co-directing in his acting for a play with Annak ti Kailokuan iti Amerika last year. Manong Ernie, my gratitude for having me over here tonight.

 

My gratitude also goes to Mrs. Remy Baclig for believing that I can do justice to your celebration tonight as your guest speaker.

 

Manang Remy knows that the only thing I can do is to write and recite a lousy poem for birthday celebrators of GUMIL Hawai’i.

 

Even if she knows how limited I am in terms of my knowledge of what you do, she nudged me to come and speak before you believing that perhaps, just perhaps, I would be able to change course from poetry to public speaking.

 

I know that there are visitors here who are not Ilokano speaking so please permit me to first speak in English, and then switch to Ilokano to conclude my talk.

 

When I asked Manang Remy what I would talk about, she said, suit yourself, talk to them, talk to the Cabugao International from your heart.

 

 

I took that to mean that I could talk to you about anything—and the meaning of anything, for me, is something that is close to my heart, something that is related to the kind of advocacy work I am doing personally, and I am also doing professionally as administrator of the Ilokano Language and Literature Program of the University of Hawai’i.

 

I must say—for the information of everyone here present—that our Ilokano Language and Literature Program of the University of Hawai’i is the only such program in the world that offers a scientific and academic study of our Ilokano language and culture.

 

I say this with the hard facts: there is no other University or College in the whole world that does what we do at the University.

 

Even the Universities and Colleges in the Philippines do not even have the vision and courage to think for our people, to have a vision of Ilokano language and culture promotion for and in the name of our people.

 

It pains me to tell you that a University that is more than 7,000 miles away from the Philippines has the courage to admit, and the brilliance to execute its plan to promote our being Ilokanos, and proudly so, to the world.

 

Our program at the University is the only one that offers any of the three courses: a bachelor of arts in Ilokano—the only one in the world; a minor program in Ilokano—the only one in the world; and a certificate program in Ilokano—the only one in the world.

 

It pains me also to tell you that in the Philippines, there are problems in the educational system. It is not that there are no problems in the educational system of the United States—there are a lot, including students who have the temerity to talk back to their teachers, or even kill them with a gun.

 

I know: I have been a teacher in Los Angeles before I moved to Honolulu, and I have seen for myself how our students need to be reformed and now. 

 

But the problem with the Philippines is that the educational system is based on a false—a very false belief—that the only way for our people to get an education is to be educated in English and in Tagalog, which they now call Filipino. Filipino, the term for this national language, is of course a lie—the foolish legislators’ and educators’ way of making us believe that Tagalog is different from Filipino.

 

We know, of course, that they are the same, even if this foolishness has gone on the inane TFC—The Filipino Channel—that airs all those equally inane shows that make mockery of our women in mini-skirts, as in Eat Bulaga, or make commerce of the misery of our poor people, as in the TV show of Willie Revillame, Wowowee.

 

This kind of use of Tagalog in the TV medium has invaded our own living rooms, and every Ilokano right now has gone on to believe that the only way to become a true Filipino is to speak Filipino, which is, in fact, Tagalog.

 

I have nothing against Tagalog as a language.

 

I have nothing against the Tagalog people.

 

I have everything against this imposition of Tagalog on our souls—and the way this imposition is turning all of us as Tagalog-speaking at the expense of Ilokano, our very own language.

 

Something is wrong here—and that something that is wrong must be described with determination and daring as wrong.

 

That which is something wrong is the making of all Ilokano people as Tagalog-speaking people. This is a most terrible thing.

 

It is the making of Ilokanos as a people that has become incompetent in their own language.

 

A people that is ashamed to admit that they are Ilokanos.

 

A people who would prefer to be known as Tagalog-speaking even if their accent shows simply that they grew up in Libtong.

 

I call this the “saan-ka-dimmakkel syndrome”—a kind of mental incapacity that reveals that in the mind is that insecurity one feels when one is found out that he is not Tagalog but Ilokano.

 

I do not understand why an Ilokano has to hide himself, away from the brilliant lights of his being an Ilokano.

 

I know some people who would almost always come up with a lame excuse that they did not grow up in the Ilocos, even if they were born there, and that is why they do not know Ilokano that much, and that they are more adept at speaking Tagalog.

 

If you open your radio station in the morning, you will uncover this pretense of Ilokano announcers and disc jockeys and newscasters trying to hide away from their being Ilokanos, and masking off themselves with their absurd and funny way of speaking Tagalog, their pronunciation clearly the hard, guttural Ilokano even if the words that come out of their lips are Tagalog words.

 

Clearly, this ‘saan-ka-dimmakkel syndrome’ is hitting us so hard—and it is killing our sense of self, our sense of who we are, our sense of being Ilokanos.

 

Why have we come to this point? What brings us to the point where we are embarrassed to even admit that we are Ilokanos, when we are embarrassed to admit that we know how to speak Ilokano?

 

I can surmise several guesses.

 

One, we have come to believe that our being called Filipino is enough. That is not true.

We are Filipinos because we are a people of the Philippines but we are Ilokanos as well. We cannot pretend that we are Tagalogs, even if we know how to speak the language.

 

Two, we have come to believe that knowing Tagalog means we are civilized, that we know Manila or that we have been there, that we have lived there, and that Manila, only Manila, is the measure of our worth as Filipinos. This is equally wrong.

 

Before Manila was ever a city that now makes us linguistic parrots and zombies, and cultural caricatures, there was an Ilokano nation.

 

Before there ever was a Philippines, as we understand it today, there already was Ilocos, there already was Ilokano.

 

This means that the Ilocos and the Ilokano language existed first, that we came first, and our language came first, before this political fantasy and invention we call as Philippines came into existence.

 

How come now that we have lost the pride of being Ilokanos? How come now that we cannot even say with self-esteem and self-respect that we are Ilokanos?

 

We are a people with a heritage—with a culture and a language—and this heritage is being denied of us, in the Philippines and elsewhere.

 

Three, we are continuing to fight for our right to our language and culture—in the Philippines and in the United States.

 

In the Philippine educational system, we are fighting that Ilokano be returned as the medium of instruction in the public schools, from the pre-school to high school, alongside the teaching of English and Tagalog.

 

Our view of the matter is this: that students who are taught in their own language are able to understand better those things that they do not know if they become competent in their own language.

 

In Hawai’i, for instance, this experiment is being done by GEAR-Up at Farrington High School, and which experiment is going to be duplicated at Waipahu High School next year. The seven-year experiment at Farrington High School has given you the facts: that those going through a heritage language in Ilokano are able to hurdle better the challenges of going to college and university and to work for their degree.

 

In the Philippines, what we have got in the Ilokos are students, who like us in Hawai’i, are ashamed of their being Ilokanos.

 

For one, they cannot even speak in good Ilokano anymore.

 

Number two, they cannot read in Ilokano anymore.

 

Number three, they cannot write in Ilokano anymore.

 

These same mistakes are repeated all over, and in Hawai’i we hear terrible stories from parents.

 

One parent has argued with me: Why would I send my son or daughter to an Ilokano class? She or he knows Ilokano already? What would he or she learn in an Ilokano class?

 

Let me translate this insult for you to understand—an insult directed to us at our Ilokano Program in the University, an insult that is also heard among parents in the Ilocos and in the Ilokanized provinces of the Cordilleras and Cagayan Valley region:

 

Apay pay laeng a pagadalek ti anakko iti Ilokano? Ammona metten ti agilokano. Ania ngarud ti masursurona dita?

 

Kunada a ti karigatan a makita ti mata ket ti agong, uray no agkarrubada, uray no aginnasidegda.

 

Paggaammotayo nga agkarruba ti utek ken dagiti bibigtayo—ti utek a lugar ti adal ken dagiti bibig a paggubuayan ti pagsasao. Ngem gapu kadi ta agkarrubadan ket ammo aminen ti utek ti rummuar iti bibig?

 

No kastoy ti panagrasrason dagiti Amerikano, apay pay laeng a dagiti naiyanak ti Amerika a ti umuna nga aweng a mangngeganda ket aweng ti Ingles, ket adalenda pay laeng ti pagsasaoda manipud iti pre-school aginggana iti universidad?

 

Dagitoy akikid a kapampanunotantayo ti maysa kadagiti rason no apay a marakrakrak ti kinaasinnotayo.

 

Dagitoy saan a nawada a panagpampanunot nga agbalin a pagtuladan dagiti sabali ti mangdaddadael iti nainkalintegan koma a panagrespetotayo iti karbengantayo iti lengguahe ken kulturatayo.

 

Iti Amerika, partikular iti Estado ti Hawai’i, adda dagiti programa a mangitantandudo iti panagrespeto iti lengguahetayo, kas iti programatayo iti Universidad.

 

Kadagiti sistema ti korte ken paglintegan, kas pagarigan, adda dagiti pagalagadan a mangdawdawat iti panangusar iti bukod a lengguahe. Kadagiti interpreter iti korte itatta, narugianen ti panaglisensia dagiti amin nga interpreter babaen ti panagalada iti examinasion nga ituyang ti govierno a federal.

 

Iti bukodmi a biang, bitbitibitenmi ti pannakapadur-as ti pannakaiyadal ti Ilokano.

 

Itay napan a tawen, rinugianmi ti Ilokano Plus Program iti Maui Community College, maysa a programa a pangpangalantayo koma a mangituyang iti respetado a programa ti Ilokano iti Maui.

 

Kaniak a biang, adun dagiti panggedan a nagpaspasarak.

 

Malaksid iti panagisurok iti nadumaduma a pagadalan, nagpapaayak pay a periodista, trabaho nga inaramidko met laeng iti panagimigrantek idiay Los Angeles. Kadagitoy a pakaseknan, inar-aramatko ti lente ti kina-Ilokanok, lenta nga inaplikarko met laeng iti panangirupir iti kalintegan dagiti sabali pay nga etnolingguistiko a grupo, dagiti minoria a grupo, iti Abagatan a California babaen kadagiti editorial ken salaysayko, babaen ti panangisurok kadagiti migrante nga ubbing, babaen ti panangiyabogko kadagiti mamaestra a Filipino nga agsublida iti eskuelaan tapno makipaggamuloda iti pannakaipasdek ti mas sensitivo pay a komonidad iti Amerika, maysa a komunidad a sensitivo kadagiti kultural a kinabaknang nga awit-awit dagiti amin nga imigrante. 

 

Pinanawak ti Los Angeles tapno sarangtek ti karit a kakibin ti panangtagiben ken panangpadur-as iti program ti Ilokano iti Universidad ti Hawai'i. Diak ammo a kastoy ti karigat daytoy a karit gapu ta saan met amin a suporta a masapul ket ited ti govierno.

 

Malaksid laeng kadagiti sumagmamano nga organisasion a makaamiris iti rigat ti panangpataray iti kastoy a programa, a pakairamanan ti GUMIL Hawai’i, mabilbilang laeng iti ramay dagiti tumultulong.

 

Awan babalawen ti kastoy.

 

Umuna, adu dagiti di makaammo nga adda programa iti Ilokano iti Universidad, nga adda kastoy a programa a makasapul iti tulong.

 

Maikadua, nakurang siguro ti pannakikammayet daytoy a programa iti komunidad iti naglabas a 37 a tawen, ta naipasdek daytoy a programa iti Universidad idi 1972, nga inallawatko idi 2006.

 

Gapuna nga iti panagsaritak ita iti sanguananyo, sapay ta maallukoyko ti liderato ti Cabugao International tapno iti kasta ket tulongandakami a mangtagibi iti daytoy a programa.

 

Ti dua nga umuna a pakaseknanmi ket ti pannakapataud ti fondo para iti scholarship dagiti adalanmi a numan pay nalalaingda, ket saan isuda a kabaelan a gastosan dagiti dadakkelda. Maysa pay ditoy ti pannakapataud ti fondo tapno maiwayattayo dagiti sabali pay a projekto.

 

Inton Noviembre—iti daytoy a Noviembre, isayangkattayonto ti maikapat nga internasional a kumperensia ti Nakem.

 

Daytoy Nakem Conferences ket maysa nga internasional a tignayan iti pannakaprotektar, pannakataripato, ken pannakaipromover ti lengguahe ken kultura nga Ilokano agraman dagiti lengguahe ken kultura iti Amianan.

 

Daytoy met laeng ti mamagtaripnong kadagiti amin nga edukador, agsuksukisok, cultural worker, mannurat ken policy maker iti kultura dagiti Ilokano ken taga-Amianan.

 

Sapay ta makikammayetto kadakami ti sibubukel a Cabugao International tapno naimballigian a maisayangkattayo daytoy a kumperensia.

 

The challenge for all of us Ilokanos is for us to make it certain that our language and culture will not only survive but thrive, and last forever.

 

At the present, there are an estimated 20 million Ilokanos and Ilokano-speaking people of the world. Our population is that of the population of Australia. Our Ilokano speaking population is almost 20 times that of the population of the State of Hawai’i. But pray, tell me, where are we? There is such a thing as the death of language. If we did not do anything to make it certain that our Ilokano language thrives, God forbid, it will die sooner than we least expect it.

 

At the Laoag International Airport in Ilocos Norte, there is this streamer that cries out to the heavens that says only English and Tagalog, or what they call Filipino now,  are spoken there. 

 

When I first saw that sign in 2007 when we had the Nakem International Conference in Batac, I felt sad, very sad. I could only grieve—I could only cry from within.

 

Kasano nga iti bukodmo a paraangan, kasano nga iti bukodmo nga ili, kasano nga iti bukodmo a pagtaengan ket maiparit ti panagsao iti bukodmo a lengguahe?

 

Ania koma a kita ti kararua ti mangipagel iti bukodna a pagsasao iti lugar a dayta a pagsasao ket natural, a ti aweng dayta a pagsasao ket isu dagiti immuna nga aweng ti panagtao, sa panagubing, sa panagnakem?

 

No, we cannot continue with this injustice against our language.

 

No, we cannot say that we are going to allow Ilokano to be relegated to the dustbin of history, relegated to the corner, and left there to rot.

 

No, we cannot allow that the 20 million Ilokanos and Ilokano-speaking people will simply be wiped out by the unjust language policies of countries where we are found, including the Philippines where our language should have found a cultural public space as a matter of our basic human right.

 

No, we cannot allow that this injustice in our educational system in the Philippines will continue to be the reason for our oppression as a people.

 

In the State of Hawaii, there is now this Senate Concurrent Resolution 210 that takes very seriously this issue of respecting our heritage right and thus, the teaching of the heritage languages of the Philippines that we initially defined as Ilokano, Sebuano, and Tagalog.

 

We need each other then to advance and pursue our case of promoting our Ilokano language and culture. We need each other in this act of correcting the linguistic injustice that has been our lot for a long time.

 

For indeed, there is injustice in making us believe that we are more Filipino if we speak Tagalog, and that we are less Filipino when we speak Ilokano.

 

This statement is a sham; it is one big lie we must unmask, as our being Ilokano is what makes us Filipino, and vice versa.

 

Together, we can make this happen—if only we stopped hating ourselves as Ilokanos because we cannot speak Tagalog enough.

This thinking that has become a false and empty value has got to stop.

 

I hope that Cabugao International will take up this challenge of renewing ourselves as Ilokanos, of helping us with our work of promoting a more scientific study of our language and culture as a people, and of helping our program and our students through their moral and financial support to our various projects.

 

I hope that in the future, Cabugao International will take up the cudgels, as GUMIL Hawai’i has done, and come to help us so we can help our students.

 

 

Dios ti agngina. Naimbag a rabiiyo amin.

 

Thank you and good evening to all of you. 

Agpanglaing ti Angin, 1

Agpanglaing ti angin ita a panawen

iti Ilokano a tanap nga al-allukoyen

a kadagiti karayan daytoy abbeden

ket kadagiti kinelleng saranayen

ti daniw nga iyaw-awan panglakayen.

Agpanglaing ti kigaw nga angin ita: 

Mabatitayo nga agmalmalanga,

datayo a dagiti balikas balitokda 

gumawgawawa a kumarkarappet, 

iti talon dagiti balitungeg

iti linabag a baliwegweg.

Agapanglaing ti puyot nga angin:

iti talon ti mannaniw a manganting-anting

tumurogsit a tumaray kas masanting

mangliway iti sagrado a panagngilin 

magagaran a kas mannagapet

iti natikag a murumoran ti sugpet

dagiti nalabaga a bin-it' panaglak-am 

a kadagiti kinelleng ti sao masarakan

a mangitukit iti grasiat' panagnanam.

Agpanglaing ti balinsuek nga angin

mangted buteng no awan saing

agpanglaing nga angin a wagwagting

mangisagut ruting iti bin-i balbalingling

bin-i a balikas nga agdawa a di agruting

lupes a balikas tapno agbugi iti agsapa

iti tig-ab nga ariwawa no masekka

puraw a pannakapnek a simamansa 

a mangasakibot iti ganas sarsarita

a ti nakanganga a pagbagasan

di agkiraod a di manglangan

mangisaganat' panagpagunggan.

Agpanglaing ti bulsek nga angin 

kadagiti agam-amarilio a kinelleng

ti agmurir a daniw ti agbibisin

tanso a medalia iti an-anaken

a kadagiti ranggas ti kakaen

ta ti bagiot' biag dina maarikapen:

regregenna ti sabong ta arrap

pintas a mairaep koma a masagrap

a kasungani ti eppes nga arapaap

ti ili dagiti sirmata ni mannurat 

agsarsariwawek nga agsiglasiglat.

A. Solver Agcaoili

Hon, HI/En 2/08

Observer Editorial

RENEWAL

 

We begin the New Year with a note of hope.

 

We begin it as well with the commitment that this hope that resides in us will continue to spring eternal and that, unlike the challenges that we had to contend with last year, it will not push us against the wall.

 

For in these difficult circumstances we are in, this sense of hope is what makes sense to the already senseless events and news and realities that bombard us each day, deadening our sense of the morrow, and numbing us to become unaware that there is grace in life, however inchoate this grace is insofar us our set of expectations is concerned.

 

The whole gamut of meanings that we can draw up as we transition to the new year is encapsulated in that very sense of hope that we keep deep in our heart and soul: each of us, with that sense always the anchor upon which we secure our commitment to struggle for something better, something truer, something more beautiful even as we become witnesses to the opposite of what we least want to see.

 

The times are dire.

 

The times are difficult, very difficult.

 

The times of our lives are not memorable in the sense of their being joyous, as they should be, as we expect them to be, as we want them to be.

 

The times of our going through the motions of living life everyday under the threat of foreclosures and recession and job losses and all other trying circumstances are not what we Filipino Americans came to America for.

 

Certainly, we were expecting something grander, something rosier as soon as we took the first step on that plane ride to this country. In that first step was our living and huge dream of making it—as all other people in the past, remote and immediate, have dreamed.

 

But herein comes the double-edged sword threatening our existence, and threatening the life of our dreams.

 

Here is where the need for us to hold on to that dream so that it becomes immediate, urgent.

 

Here is where our capacity for the testing of our mettle comes to the rescue, with our inner force from our ability to hope for something better the proof of that capacity.

 

Whoever says that joy is only defined by our being under the warm and bright sun?

 

Joy is also dancing in the rain, and committing to memory each moment of that act of dancing—our own dancing—in the rain.

 

This New Year then requires a renewal on our part, one from our relentless act of hoping, one from our ability to dance in the rain, and enjoy that dance of our life.

 

We wish you the kindness and blessing of the times. 

 

We wish you a blessed renewal the new times offer. 

A. Solver Agcaoili

Fil-Am Observer Editorial

Hon, HI/Jan 2009