Free, even behind bars

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger, and you invited me in; I was naked and you clothed me; I was sick and you visited me; I was in prison and you came to Me.” Matthew 25:35, 36??

One of my first “public” dance performances was before the inmates of the Iloilo City prison when I was in Grade 2. Sister Julia, our Mistress of Class at the Assumption Iloilo and some of our teachers (I remember Miss Magno and Miss Divinagracia) accompanied us as we danced the Itik-itik in our checkered orange saya on a stage in the prison grounds.

I couldn’t understand then why we were dancing before these so-called “bad people” but since even my parents Frank and Sonia supported this outreach activity, I knew it had a purpose greater than my orange saya.

It was only years later, when I accompanied my son on a similar outreach program to the New Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa, did I realize the purpose of visiting strangers behind bars.

After my visit to Bilibid in 2002, I wrote:

If you hitched a ride on the wings of a bird flying a thousand feet high in the sky, Muntinlupa would look like a tree-lined expanse of rolling hills and verdant plains shaded by leafy mango trees, the swathe of green broken only by cubic figures that must be houses or buildings. But when the bird swoops down, you will see that the tiled and shingled roofs of the Mediterranean-style mansions on one side of Muntinlupa are set off by the rusty galvanized iron roofs of several three-story buildings on the other side.?You see, Muntinlupa is home to two major gated communities. One belongs to the rich, the famous and the free, and the other, just as well-secured, is home to the poor, the punished and the persecuted. The lines between life’s castes are very clearly drawn in Muntinlupa.

I used to think that if I were to reach out to the less fortunate, I would reach out to orphans and street children, rather than provide moral support to prisoners. I must thank Fr. Raymond Holscher of the Ateneo High School, who has been leading outreach programs for the juvenile offenders confined in the Medium Security Compound, for a change in my perspective. Father Holscher invited my son Carl to join one such outreach activity early this school year and my son came back insightful rather than repulsed. His class, 3-J, thus initiated a school-wide drive for soap and toothpaste for the juvenile inmates. The next time he and his classmates were scheduled to go, I asked Father Holscher if I could join them.?I told Father I wanted to bring some soda in cans, but was afraid the juvenile prisoners would throw them at each other. Father Holscher shook his head, and asked me, “Is that what you imagine them to be like?”

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Bilibid is really a piece of hell in a wide expanse (450 hectares) of heaven. The property is really so lush and verdant, just take out the prison cells and you have a real estate agent’s dream. Two sets of barbed-wire fences are what one has to go through to enter the Medium Security compound.

A wooden makeshift community hall that doubles as a chapel is the first building you see to the left.

The head of the choir is Alex, 27, from Samar. With his crew cut and wide smile, Alex looks more like a supervisor of a fast-food outlet. In prison for 11 years now, he was sentenced to a 20-year term for robbery and homicide. He says it was bad company that led him to prison.?A casual talk among the other teenaged prisoners brings out a glaring fact: All of them were hooked on drugs, particularly shabu, at the time they committed their crime. Most come from broken homes, with both parents married to, or living in, with other people.???

* * *

We were then taken to a huge field with flowers the color of raspberry. Since it is visitors’ day, the place looks like a town square. There is a videoke hut and there are several tiny sari-sari stores that sell almost everything from vegetables to slippers.?Each building in the compound houses several brigadas. Each brigada, composed of 60 prisoners, is assigned to a cell the size of a classroom. Inside the cell are rows and rows of makeshift multi-deck beds. The more senior you are, the higher and the more private your sleeping space is. You can install makeshift sliding doors or curtains around your bed. During visiting hours, you can even have your partner (of whatever sex) stay with you there.?James and Toto, who “toured” us around the compound, have no complaints about the food.??“We have pork, chicken and beef!” they said. That Sunday, their food was brought in a big plastic pail. It consisted of bulky slices of pork swimming in pale adobo broth.?In one corner of the room is a toilet and shower. They proudly showed to me the brand-new, gleaming shower head.

The “mayor” of each cell is a much older prisoner, much like a cell headmaster.?These mayors are usually in prison for murder, and they say they were provoked not by drugs but by money.?One of the mayors is actually a licensed civil engineer. He claimed he was cheated by a business partner, and so the crime was committed. While serving time in jail, he is teaching Math to the younger prisoners.

* * *

So why go to prison to offer comfort to inmates? Don’t they deserve their lot??Perhaps, they do. But looking at the juvenile offenders, who will have served their full sentence before they reach the age of 40, one realizes that if you don’t help in these kids’ rehabilitation now, you will be letting loose an army of confused and angry adults when the time comes. When you help these juvenile offenders now, you are also helping yourself. They are young. They will be in your midst one day. It is not too late to make a difference in their lives now.

* * *

Back to the present. I dug up my notes on my visit to the NBP after I received a press release from my former principal Pinky Valdes about the Marie Eugenie Theater of The Assumption’s or METTA’s outreach activities at the Medium Security prison in the Muntinlupa compound. She called it a “day of transformation” when the Bureau of Corrections (BuCor) College Guild and Drama Guild  performed Love in Action: Sining na Walang Rehas for no less than Sister Martine Tapsoba, Mother General of the Assumption, and Sisters Maria Del Carmen Escribano, Françoise Martin, Maria Eugenia Ramirez, Sheryl Reyes and Anna Carmela Pesongco. In the audience were representatives from the Asian Institute of Management, The French School, Assumption College, benefactors and friends. They were visibly moved by the musical about reformation and transformation of inmates from the day of “sentencing” to the day of “inner liberation.”

“Inmates, staff, audience and donors said they experienced a sense of oneness for, after all, we are all brothers and sisters,” said Pinky.

“METTA Assumption continues to work with the Guild at BuCor to create and learn from a space where we are all one, a place of compassion and love,” she added.

This Christmas, we remember those in prison — behind bars of steel, hate, bitterness and envy. May we be truly free in this Season of Redemption.

(You may e-mail me at [email protected].)