SULADS STORIES

PLEASE DON’T LEAVE US SIR

By Eduard Paglumutan

Katalawan  Mission School

When the chief Datu Mandidly of Tacucon Mission School was tortured to death by the NPAs, (New Peoples Army communist rebel group) his people were scattered into the forest, and the school was closed.  The next one on the list to be killed is Datu Balintinaw of Katalawan village who, according to the NPA, was linked to the foul play slaying of the two NPA commanders.

Because their hidden village was found, they did not go into the interior of the forest anymore.  They came near the road close to a military camp for safety.  They left their wide plantation of upland rice, sweet potato, wild lanzones, giant atis, and durian.

From MVC, we joined their camp by the road in Mahayag where lowlanders are living.  Twenty-eight families squeezed themselves into an abandoned house.  I, together with my partner, tied our hammocks over the children.  An epidemic of cold and flu spread around.  Children developed a dry cough and barked at each other every night and disturbed our sleep.

Datu Balintinaw, together with the fathers and warriors, were on red alert every night patrolling about our place.  They had observed that NPA members had followed them and were spying on them.  They knew them for sure because they had seen them in the forest with the rebel group.  Despite the situation we continued to stay with them.  We continued our scheduled worship every sunset and sunrise.  We also continued our literacy class with the children in the open classroom.  We used pebbles and kernels of corn for our math.  We made use of their saved pieces of paper and pencils. 

Later on, we realized that the need for their learning was no longer the first priority.  There was no food to eat.  The people don’t speak the language of the lowlanders, but they need to work in order to eat.  So we arranged for some work.  We divided the group.  The men cleared an area for planting, the women harvested corn, the teenage children chose where they could be of help, and the smaller children were left to attend to those even smaller.

Our hearts broke when we learned that the lowlanders were exploiting our people.  Because they don’t know how to read and write and don’t speak the language their wages were not worthy of their hard labor for the day.  Many of them got sick.

We reported the situation to the nearest military detachment commander.  The officer grabbed the opportunity for using these people to be in the frontlines to fight the rebel group. They were supplied with guns and ammunitions. But the food problem was not solved yet.  With this offer the people were happy so that they can fight back and claim back their land.  To them, living in the lowland is a suicide and lowlanders just make fun of them.

Our presence in that village was dangerous because of our connection with the military in helping these white natives go back to their forest life.  We were warned that the NPAs were after us.  One early evening my partner, Ricky Serrato, went to see the village leader to talk about our dangerous situation.  In a bush somewhere behind the kitchen of the leader’s house he noticed somebody stalking.  Very clearly in a silhouette he could see the long barrel of a rifle.  He shouted and alarmed the village leader of the intruder.  When that leader cocked his rifle and came to sir Ricky’s rescue, the unidentified intruder scampered into the dark.

In the morning, we went to Mountain View College to report to Sir Daryl our director on what to do about the situation.  He advised us that we should pull out for safety reasons.  “It is better to be a living missionary than a dead one,” Sir Daryl stressed.  We took his word.

We went back to the village to tell the people that we were leaving.  “Please don’t leave us sir,” the children cried.  The mothers were crying too.  “Won’t you come with us back to the mountains maestro,” they pleaded.

 Datu Balintinaw, with choked voice said, “We need you very badly maestro.  I have seen how sincere you SULADS teachers are in helping us.  I have learned to love you.  I want to tell you how heartbroken I will be when you leave us.  Can’t you come with us, Sir, for the sake of my people?  You see, the children have learned to sing, to pray, to read and write because of you.  What then will become of my people when you leave us?”

My heart broke and I couldn’t control my tears.  The children were holding onto our hands crying.  And then my partner spoke.  “It pains our hearts to leave you.  But we cannot go with you back to the forest to fight the NPAs.  That is not our work.  That is the work of the military.  This is not yet the time to go back with you.  Let’s wait for the time when everything will be settled and we promise to come back to serve you again.  Whenever you have solved the problem and you have settled in a village, just come to MVC and inform our SULADS director and we will come back to serve you again.”

We ended our meeting with prayer and tearful goodbyes.

Friends we did not close the school for these white skinned natives for just no reason at all.  We promised to go back and serve them when the problem is solved.  Please bear with us, and don’t forget these people in your prayers.