It cannot be denied that we are hopelessly polarized. We are so divided on issues such as the Marcos burial, the seemingly random killings in the government’s anti-drug war, the declaration of a state of lawless violence in the country, and the President’s fast and dirty mouth. Social media is noxious with casual insults, lies and half-truths. No one is willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
After a bruising election campaign, there has been no attempt to heal the wounds we inflicted on each other and unify the country. No magnanimity from the victors, no humility from the defeated. A lot of chest-thumping and jeering from one side, and endless criticisms from the other. We have been talking at each other, calling each other names, shaming one another, making real communication, even among close friends and cousins who are on opposite sides of politics, practically impossible.
It is wearisome and deadly, as if the country has been taken over by dementors sucking the life and goodness out of everyone. At this point, I feel the need to shout out loud: For everything that matters, please stop the hate.
Last week, I was pleased to read a Facebook entry by Nash Tysman, a 28-year-old writer, teacher, and community worker, a millennial, who shared her experience when she attended the oral arguments at the Supreme Court on the issue of the Marcos burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani. She had gotten into a row with Marcos loyalists at the gate of the Supreme Court who accused her of being bribed to be there. Thankfully, a friend rescued her from being mobbed and led her inside to observe the proceedings.
She sat there for hours listening to the arguments, learning along the way that justice is complex and “the law is both realm of possibility and fairness.” She wrote of a realization: “We speak so much of corruption and are easy to be swayed into thinking that SC Justices can be bought, but when one listens and observes the process, you get a deep sense of respect for the institution and its role in playing arbiter for a working democracy.”
She learned from the Commission on Human Rights about the need to have a wider conversation around human rights. “These are not just theories floating in air — karapatan po natin ito bilang tao. Responsibilidad nating alamin yan para hindi tayo maging biktima ng kasaysayan.”
From the Human Rights Victims’ Claims Board she learned about the rigorous process of reviewing over 70,000 cases of torture, detention, disappearances, salvaging, rape – “individual stories and lives needing closure” with a small staff, a puny budget, a creeping deadline. She learned what the claimants have to go through to substantiate their claims. “I have gained a new level of respect for all those who took pains getting their documents in order and repeating the horrors of their torture until it could be proven and deemed true by a body composed of people who were probably not around when all this was happening.”
And she wept as she listened to the stories of some of the human rights claimants who were asked by Chief Justice Sereno to narrate their experiences under martial law. “The mood in the court turned somber. I looked at the young lawyers sent to court by their professors. Most were in tears, as we were. Having worked with some of these women, I felt bad realizing how much I underestimated them thinking they were frail...Can you imagine living them and occupying these hurts until your old age? The last man to speak broke down complaining of how much our forgetfulness hurts him. What do you say to this pain, really?”
Then Justice Marvic Leonen brought up Ferdinand Marcos, asking, “How much shame an individual could take, and of the Marcos family, and what this logic of demonizing people might achieve.” This, Nash wrote, was his way of explaining that everyone, even a deposed dictator, is entitled to human rights.
Nash was astounded. “It struck me to hear this because I think, in the heat of our passions fighting for what we believe to be true, we forget that we are using people to make our arguments. The Hitler-Marcos comparison, the belittling of the pain of those who were tortured, and the constant need to drive home these narratives as if martial law survivors are only defined by their struggle. We are all capitalizing on each other’s grief and it doesn’t quite feel right.
“Working on this issue has taught me that the angry mob is not the enemy. We are not each other’s enemy and we shouldn’t be in the business of comparing our hurts, trying to negate each other’s pain for our gain. We take crafting messages, figuring out strategy, very seriously. How should we position ourselves? What is a compelling photograph? What’s the narrative?”
But, she concludes, “We haven’t really changed the conversation and there can’t be any conversation if we can’t even listen to each other and acknowledge every hurt as (perhaps not equal but) valid.”
After the hearing on her way to the LRT station, Nash attempted to start a conversation when she ran into the group of Marcos loyalists she had encountered earlier. She asked them to join her for a snack in Jollibee. They looked at her, surprised, but they went their way and she ate alone.
It will take such openness, empathy, compassion and respect for our conversations to resume, heart to heart, mind to mind, Filipino to Filipino. It will be difficult in our current situation where the leading personalities are more divisive than unifying, and deadly trolls have poisoned the internet with lies, taunts and threats. But really, guys, if this country is going to go anywhere these next six years, we must all begin to take the first step.