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OPINIONS
/ COLUMNS
(September
22 – September 28, 2008) Riknakem Herdy La.
Yumul The powerless academic I
feel like a prostitute, used and not
taken seriously, unimportant and powerless, paid for some passing need. This
is how a few years in the academe has made me feel. Thousands of nursing
students have attended my classes, and they have come in various shapes and
forms: young, not so young, married, single, well-off, poor. They have one
common goal: to leave this country as soon as possible. Ask them why they
took the course, and they are quick to tell you success stories of their
relatives in other countries, and the dim tomorrow that awaits us in our own. These
students are well-driven, and well-motivated. Charity begins at home. And so
are apathy, resignation, and materialism. Any influence that I wield as an
educator is very easily negated by the gospel of a world that is painfully
real. When I decided to
move to teaching from a better paying job, I was in high spirits. I yearned
to live and grow in the academe, where knowledge thrives, where the ideal is
pursued, and where young people are taught how not to commit the same
mistakes our fathers did. Today, I am afraid, I am reduced to being an
accomplice to one sugarcoated mistake. My students listen
to my lectures, but seem too occupied to really get the message. Our nurses
are leaving by the hour. Operating rooms are filled with novice nurses
because the skilled ones have left. Women and children are dying in depressed
communities where health care is poorly administered. Because nursing
students pass through my classroom, blood is also in my hands. How can we build
a country deserted by the best of her sons and daughters? I cannot take this
sitting down, but I have also grown too weary to resist. I am just another
powerless academic. For this, I grieve. And I grieve even
more when I meet students who were forced and brainwashed by their elders
into taking up nursing. Many of them have come to me in tears. They tell me
of their agony, the pain of killing a dream at its infancy. Such is the
epidemic that plagues the homes of the Filipino middle-class today, a scandal
that negates what the fathers of this nation lived and died for, a plague
that would not spare my own home. I gained a better
insight into my students’ situation when a year ago, my nephew J-Jay informed
us that he wanted to be a mathematician. It was a surprise. In this country
where young people dream of becoming doctors, lawyers, actors, and
presidents, we have someone who dreamt of being a mathematician. Members of the
family were proud of him, especially when he graduated on top of his class,
and aced all aptitude tests in math. But many were worried about his future.
“What will he become, a teaaaaacher?” they asked, apparently concerned about
the prospect of J-Jay dying of starvation. Consequently, our relatives
convinced him to take another course that is close to numbers, but farther
from the sting of poverty. J-Jay chose Engineering. That was a good
compromise—or so we thought. But then Ate Hedy,
my older sister, went home for a three-month vacation from I talked to Ate Hedy
and told her we should not teach J-Jay wrong values. Her reply pierced my
heart deeply: “I am just trying to enlighten him. Wala nang pag-asa ang
Pilipinas! Wala nang mangyayari sa atin dito! Bakit, sa tingin mo, may
pag-asa pa ba?!”. And Ate Hedy was not
content with J-Jay taking nursing. She also urged me to take my chances
abroad, promising help. The offer was sweet,
but it left a bitter aftertaste. It’s grounded on the assumption that I was
not happy, or might not continue to be happy, if I stayed in this land.
Apparently, even in my loving family, I am a powerless academic. I did not want to
ruin Ate Hedy’s vacation and her balikbayan bliss, so I spared her a lengthy
discourse about nationalism, responsible citizenship, and the price we have
to pay for them. If she were in one of my classes, I would have bored her by
my pleading to imagine our nation in a more kindly light. I am not sure though
how my one and a half hours of talking about big concepts would change the
way Ate Hedy looks at things. I was even beginning
to be unsure if I made sense to my students. No, I was not telling them not
to take nursing. I was asking them to serve our countrymen, and not to give
up on this nation. I was asking them to give back to this land, a land that
they feel has not given them enough. Rizal must be
rolling violently in his grave. The youth is a source of hope no more. I’d
rather draw strength from people who are decades wiser, those who never cease
to believe in their power to make a difference. Dr. Nancy Balantac of MMSU is
one of them. The lines in her face reveal her age, but the glow in her eyes
shows a burning love of country that is as pure and intense as the love of a
two-year old child for her mother. Then there is
philosopher Rizal Javier, a man of letters who I am fortunate to work with.
His living is modest, but his universe is wide and meaningful. My mom is another
big inspiration, she allowed me to pursue this dreamy life. I hope she is
proud of me. If only for her, I cannot sell out. And so I write this
piece in the hope that like-minded citizens will come together to keep the
flame of hope burning. Powerless academics unite! Let’s come together and
share our own victories and failures. Let’s tell what keeps us going, ever
refusing to concede defeat. What keeps me going?
There are some saving graces. One came in the form of an e-mail from Kadz, a
former student, who wrote to say she had transferred to San Beda to major in
philosophy. She said that if by making that difficult decision, she could be
half as happy as I seem to be now, then it would be worth it. It’s not true
that I was taken for granted, she assured me. Meanwhile, J-Jay
went on to take Engineering, and my Ate Hedy lovingly understands. I am now able to
sleep more soundly these days as I think of Kadz, J-jay, and other brave
souls who took the path less taken. I pray that Bathala may shower them her
most abundant blessings. But I pray harder
for Jeus, Danica, Archie, Bertrand, Byron, Mininio, and many others held
hostage by either need or greed. I mourn for the death of the philosophers, mathematicians,
artists, and dreamers in them, even as I celebrate the demise of the
prostitute me. E-mail: herdiology@yahoo.com;
visit http://riknakem.blogspot.com Ilocos Times copyright 2008 |
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