We've grown up a little and moved to wordpress:
www.kerrabroad.wordpress.com
Seriously, way cooler than blogger.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Black Friday
I was thinking about Good Friday this morning as I was walking back from the local sari-sari (corner store), through a nagging drizzle that muddied the dirt on the streets and encouraged the smell from the sewers. Death anniversaries are the major celebrations for the Filipinos. Sure there are birthday parties for children and acknowledgment and drinks for adults, but it's nothing compared to Day of the Dead (Nov. 1) and nothing compared to what Filipinos do on the anniversary of their loved one's death. A Black Friday for everyone.
Black Friday. The first time I heard that term used to describe the day Christians honor Jesus' death on the cross, I was struck with sadness. As a child of the capitalistic West, Black Friday for me will first be the Friday after Thanksgiving when Americans run out to the malls at 5am to consume mass quantities of goods in preparation for a holiday that bears Christ's name, but none of his spirit. Certainly I'm over simplifying. Not all Americans get caught in the corporate trap of Christmas, but as Christians who love the American economy, who love capitalism, we must understand that Black Friday (our Black Friday of sales and coupons) is necessary fuel for the greedy American economic machine. We buy into it. And we pay for it.
Filipinos buy into their Black Friday, too. They rise early, still fasting from the night before. They parade from church to church all day, as they have to say a summary of the Rosary at 12 different churches before the day ends. The main mass lasts from 12-3, with silent processions and wailing. In some provinces, men and women alike reenact the crucifixion by having their hands and feet nailed to a cross. Vendors often sell water and snacks to the onlookers, but this can hardly be considered destruction of the holiday's intent.
My flip flops kicked spritzes of water onto the back of my bare calves. My freshly washed hair hung damp against the back of my neck. I turned my thoughts to our own versions of Christ. The Jesus we're most comfortable with.
In the US, I think we prefer a newborn Jesus. A Jesus that won't call us to societal revolution, that won't ask us to change. He's just a little guy in need of our protection. And we're the watchdog of the world, we can protect this little Jesus just fine until January when we stuff him back in a box bound for the attic. We honor him on Black Friday. We open the doors to our shopping centers wide and buy and sell as much as we can- all to be given and received on his birthday.
The Filipinos prefer a crucified Christ. A Jesus who suffers and dies and doesn't seem to have a say in what happens. He's a mistreated martyr and understands their pain. As victims of abject poverty and an abusive government, they empathize with this Jesus until Easter dawns. They honor him on Black Friday. They close all the stores and travel from church to church, begging his mother to pray for them.
It's not my place to judge whole societies of people without understanding the individuals, but as a Christian it is my place to pause for thought. On a rainy Holy Thursday morning, I thought to myself, if the newborn Jesus is in the US and the crucified Messiah is in the Philippines, where is the Resurrected Christ? I suppose for simplicity's sake one could say, "Somewhere in between", but I'm fairly sure that's just an empty spot in the Pacific Ocean. And while I don't doubt God is out there in the sea, there just must be a easier place to find Him.
Well, maybe not easier, at least not for human beings caught up in either what we can gain or what we have lost. The difficulty for all of us in grasping the Resurrection lies in its open-ended nature; in its lack of tangibility, in its inability to be put on display. We know what babies look like, how they cry and need us. We can understand a Jesus in a cresch. We know what dying men look like, how they suffer and bleed. We can understand Jesus on a cross. But who among us has seen a resurrection? How can the inevitable be defeated? In this horrible broken world, how can we dare to hope?
Neither Filipino nor American Black Friday is really all about Jesus. Americans are just buying up as many material possessions as they can to fill the void, and Filipinos are looking down into the void over and over again, hoping their own death won't go unnoticed. Meanwhile, Resurrected Jesus is standing on the other side of the suffering with his arm outstretched, just waiting to pull anyone across. Anyone who will dare to look up from the darkness.
But that's a risky venture, looking outside of ourselves, looking up into the light and believing that something else could be out there. Because when we cross that void, every time we cross that void, we'll be changed. We have to be. We can't look the Resurrection in the face and go back to being a good consumer. We can't grab hold of possibility of life eternal and go back to perpetual grief. Believing in the Resurrected Christ, preferring him above everything else will mean letting go of the world around us. This Christ isn't defenseless- He's calling us to give up our lives of material gain and break down the systems that hold others in oppression. And this Christ isn't broken- He's calling us to give up our endless tears and dare to believe that life can be better. This Christ is no weakling child and he's no dying man. He's powerful and terrifying and even though the scriptures try to enlighten us to who He could be, we can't know for sure.
The Resurrection is more than just the reappearance of Jesus. It's a thousand letter word that means 'if love is enough.' And that's what we have to believe if we say we know the Resurrected Christ- love will overcome material wealth and emotional burdens. Easter is a lot harder than Black Friday, a real Easter, that is. Because we can play the trumpet and eat the ham, but if we never look up from the void, then we're only throwing more tradition into the darkness, trying to see if we can fill the holes inside of us.
But, if love is enough, which I believe, I dare to believe, it is, than we can see Christmas and Black Friday for what they truly are- steps along the journey, acknowledgment that the love that destroys every sadness, came at a price. That love isn't easy, because when we get a hold of it, when we look up from ourselves and grab hold of Easter, the love will change us. It will want to make itself known. And it's scary to think what we'll lose when we really start loving each other; we won't be able to let others starve while we live in abundance, we won't be able to grieve endlessly, because we'll have to believe in more.
I'm still afraid. As I write this in a tiny office in Davao, I know there's a suffering world right outside my window that needs the love of Christ. And there's a broken person inside of me that is terrified of letting go of the sadness. We all need to make the choice every day. Is today a day I'll live as Black Friday, or is today a day, is this moment a moment, I let go of myself and take the Resurrection that's being offered?
Just look up from the darkness. Christ is standing right there. Drop everything else and reach across.
Black Friday. The first time I heard that term used to describe the day Christians honor Jesus' death on the cross, I was struck with sadness. As a child of the capitalistic West, Black Friday for me will first be the Friday after Thanksgiving when Americans run out to the malls at 5am to consume mass quantities of goods in preparation for a holiday that bears Christ's name, but none of his spirit. Certainly I'm over simplifying. Not all Americans get caught in the corporate trap of Christmas, but as Christians who love the American economy, who love capitalism, we must understand that Black Friday (our Black Friday of sales and coupons) is necessary fuel for the greedy American economic machine. We buy into it. And we pay for it.
Filipinos buy into their Black Friday, too. They rise early, still fasting from the night before. They parade from church to church all day, as they have to say a summary of the Rosary at 12 different churches before the day ends. The main mass lasts from 12-3, with silent processions and wailing. In some provinces, men and women alike reenact the crucifixion by having their hands and feet nailed to a cross. Vendors often sell water and snacks to the onlookers, but this can hardly be considered destruction of the holiday's intent.
My flip flops kicked spritzes of water onto the back of my bare calves. My freshly washed hair hung damp against the back of my neck. I turned my thoughts to our own versions of Christ. The Jesus we're most comfortable with.
In the US, I think we prefer a newborn Jesus. A Jesus that won't call us to societal revolution, that won't ask us to change. He's just a little guy in need of our protection. And we're the watchdog of the world, we can protect this little Jesus just fine until January when we stuff him back in a box bound for the attic. We honor him on Black Friday. We open the doors to our shopping centers wide and buy and sell as much as we can- all to be given and received on his birthday.
The Filipinos prefer a crucified Christ. A Jesus who suffers and dies and doesn't seem to have a say in what happens. He's a mistreated martyr and understands their pain. As victims of abject poverty and an abusive government, they empathize with this Jesus until Easter dawns. They honor him on Black Friday. They close all the stores and travel from church to church, begging his mother to pray for them.
It's not my place to judge whole societies of people without understanding the individuals, but as a Christian it is my place to pause for thought. On a rainy Holy Thursday morning, I thought to myself, if the newborn Jesus is in the US and the crucified Messiah is in the Philippines, where is the Resurrected Christ? I suppose for simplicity's sake one could say, "Somewhere in between", but I'm fairly sure that's just an empty spot in the Pacific Ocean. And while I don't doubt God is out there in the sea, there just must be a easier place to find Him.
Well, maybe not easier, at least not for human beings caught up in either what we can gain or what we have lost. The difficulty for all of us in grasping the Resurrection lies in its open-ended nature; in its lack of tangibility, in its inability to be put on display. We know what babies look like, how they cry and need us. We can understand a Jesus in a cresch. We know what dying men look like, how they suffer and bleed. We can understand Jesus on a cross. But who among us has seen a resurrection? How can the inevitable be defeated? In this horrible broken world, how can we dare to hope?
Neither Filipino nor American Black Friday is really all about Jesus. Americans are just buying up as many material possessions as they can to fill the void, and Filipinos are looking down into the void over and over again, hoping their own death won't go unnoticed. Meanwhile, Resurrected Jesus is standing on the other side of the suffering with his arm outstretched, just waiting to pull anyone across. Anyone who will dare to look up from the darkness.
But that's a risky venture, looking outside of ourselves, looking up into the light and believing that something else could be out there. Because when we cross that void, every time we cross that void, we'll be changed. We have to be. We can't look the Resurrection in the face and go back to being a good consumer. We can't grab hold of possibility of life eternal and go back to perpetual grief. Believing in the Resurrected Christ, preferring him above everything else will mean letting go of the world around us. This Christ isn't defenseless- He's calling us to give up our lives of material gain and break down the systems that hold others in oppression. And this Christ isn't broken- He's calling us to give up our endless tears and dare to believe that life can be better. This Christ is no weakling child and he's no dying man. He's powerful and terrifying and even though the scriptures try to enlighten us to who He could be, we can't know for sure.
The Resurrection is more than just the reappearance of Jesus. It's a thousand letter word that means 'if love is enough.' And that's what we have to believe if we say we know the Resurrected Christ- love will overcome material wealth and emotional burdens. Easter is a lot harder than Black Friday, a real Easter, that is. Because we can play the trumpet and eat the ham, but if we never look up from the void, then we're only throwing more tradition into the darkness, trying to see if we can fill the holes inside of us.
But, if love is enough, which I believe, I dare to believe, it is, than we can see Christmas and Black Friday for what they truly are- steps along the journey, acknowledgment that the love that destroys every sadness, came at a price. That love isn't easy, because when we get a hold of it, when we look up from ourselves and grab hold of Easter, the love will change us. It will want to make itself known. And it's scary to think what we'll lose when we really start loving each other; we won't be able to let others starve while we live in abundance, we won't be able to grieve endlessly, because we'll have to believe in more.
I'm still afraid. As I write this in a tiny office in Davao, I know there's a suffering world right outside my window that needs the love of Christ. And there's a broken person inside of me that is terrified of letting go of the sadness. We all need to make the choice every day. Is today a day I'll live as Black Friday, or is today a day, is this moment a moment, I let go of myself and take the Resurrection that's being offered?
Just look up from the darkness. Christ is standing right there. Drop everything else and reach across.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Dwelling with those who hate peace
Too long have I lived among those who hate peace. I am a man of peace, but when I speak they are for war- Psalm 120:6-7
It's hard to explain how being out of the country for six months has made me feel like I better understand America. Maybe it's because I feel more American here where I am part of a small minority. Maybe it's because I read everything I can about the US when I find it online or in the newspaper. Regardless, here's what I've learned so far:
One. America has macaroni and cheese. The Philippines does not. I've lost weight but I can't say it's been worth it.
Two. America has money. (Not all Americans, but America- yes). Lots of it.
Three. Money rules the world.
Four. America loves war. Loves everything that comes with it- bombs, guns, flagrant superficial patriotism.
Five. War makes money.
I know many people would want to debate number four. After all, who loves war? Surely not the people who lose sons and daughters. Sometimes I wonder if this group of people becomes jaded into thinking that war is noble, that war MUST be noble as to justify the loss of their loved one. But referring to the opening scripture, I can hardly say these are the people who hate peace.
Do the soldiers hate peace? It's an interesting question. They seem to favor the politicians who have sent them to war. For the most part, war as we wage it today is different than how their grandfathers fought. The killing is mostly anonymous. Machine gun fire into the bushes, rocket launches from a distance, and most often bombings from the sky. (More on that later.) Certainly they receive horrid *horrid* health care and benefits when they return home and soldier's widows often live in poverty, but that's rarely enough to make them turn on the army. Soldiers are trained for violence, they're hyped up about weaponry and killing. Many marines refer to fighting in combat as "getting some", a phrase also used to describe having sex. (Sadly, I think that's meant to be a positive correlation.) Still, I don't think they hate peace. They've been trained to love war but most of them will grow up to face the consequences of their government's violence. Surely, they can't hate peace.
But someone must. Someone in America must hate peace. Otherwise, why so little of it? Since WWII America's wars have not been retaliation for another country invading our soil. I suppose some (most) would say that we've attacked other countries only when they've bombed our embassies, tried to assassinate our leaders, or for God's sake September 11th! I guess it depends on your point of view. The American military bombs embassies, they participate in assassinations of foreign leaders, they drop depleted uranium missiles on targets knowing full well it's going to kill civilians whose only crime is that they live in a country America hates. Do these countries have the right to attack us in turn? Assuming what's good for the goose is good for the gander, when will this end?
Arms suppliers hate peace. Weapons manufacturers hate peace. American military suppliers hate peace so much that they sell weaponry to countries that hate us. Then, when these countries are fully armed, the US Government has to buy its own military bigger guns and bombs and more uranium missiles to use against the aforementioned nation. If world leaders were all sitting around a table talking about how we could institute foreign economic policies that are fair and just, these suppliers wouldn't make any money. And if by some miracle global leaders were able to work out a just economic peace, then those suppliers would go out of business. Peace doesn't make corporate profit.
I may be accused of spin if I spell out facts, so I'll leave it to you to look up what stocks are owned by which national politicians. Don't just go googling the Bush camp though, check up on the Clintons too. In fact, if you have some time, look at all of them. Every single one of them have money invested in a stock market that surges anytime the military spends money bombing the hell out of someone else. I'm pretty sure capitalistic economics hates peace.
I try to be a person of peace. I haven't dwelt anywhere that long, but already I, like many others, am tired of war. I'm tired of being told that I hate America because I think an Iraqi life is just as valuable as an American one. I'm tired of living in a country that so many people want to Christianize as long as it only applies to prayer in schools and putting an end to abortion. American Christianity so often stops at the national flag. And while it's stopped there it looks the other way when its government rains hell from the sky on God's darker-skinned children. I am not immune from blame. When I speak out against the war, I allude to the amount of tax dollars spent (more than $14,000 a minute in Iraq alone) and the mistreatment of American veterans (who make up 60% of the male homeless population). I rarely talk about the Arabs breathing in poisonous chemicals or the disproportionate number of children born in Serbia with unnatural birth defects. It's wrong for me to be so self-righteous as to assume that my fellow Americans hate peace. We just can't. We just can't claim to know God and hate peace.
Loving peace is more than just hating war. To love peace, true peace, is to love justice- to love justice so much that you want it for everyone. It means we have to want reparations and apologies not just for Americans but for the people America has wronged (some of whom are still Americans). It means we have to want a living wage not just for ourselves but for farmers and workers in our communities as much as for those around the world. Loving peace means we have to sacrifice our comfort with the status quo, means acknowledging that the same systems that grant us so much surplus put a choke hold on people we've never met. Loving peace is hard.
But what is the alternative? To hate peace is to turn our face from the oppressed, is to live apart from God. Surely, we live in a society of excess that hates justice, that hates peace, so as Christians we are called to be counter-cultural, to resist societal oppression as Christ would. To stand with those most marginalized.
So long as I dwell among those who love war, I will not cease my calling for peace.
It's hard to explain how being out of the country for six months has made me feel like I better understand America. Maybe it's because I feel more American here where I am part of a small minority. Maybe it's because I read everything I can about the US when I find it online or in the newspaper. Regardless, here's what I've learned so far:
One. America has macaroni and cheese. The Philippines does not. I've lost weight but I can't say it's been worth it.
Two. America has money. (Not all Americans, but America- yes). Lots of it.
Three. Money rules the world.
Four. America loves war. Loves everything that comes with it- bombs, guns, flagrant superficial patriotism.
Five. War makes money.
I know many people would want to debate number four. After all, who loves war? Surely not the people who lose sons and daughters. Sometimes I wonder if this group of people becomes jaded into thinking that war is noble, that war MUST be noble as to justify the loss of their loved one. But referring to the opening scripture, I can hardly say these are the people who hate peace.
Do the soldiers hate peace? It's an interesting question. They seem to favor the politicians who have sent them to war. For the most part, war as we wage it today is different than how their grandfathers fought. The killing is mostly anonymous. Machine gun fire into the bushes, rocket launches from a distance, and most often bombings from the sky. (More on that later.) Certainly they receive horrid *horrid* health care and benefits when they return home and soldier's widows often live in poverty, but that's rarely enough to make them turn on the army. Soldiers are trained for violence, they're hyped up about weaponry and killing. Many marines refer to fighting in combat as "getting some", a phrase also used to describe having sex. (Sadly, I think that's meant to be a positive correlation.) Still, I don't think they hate peace. They've been trained to love war but most of them will grow up to face the consequences of their government's violence. Surely, they can't hate peace.
But someone must. Someone in America must hate peace. Otherwise, why so little of it? Since WWII America's wars have not been retaliation for another country invading our soil. I suppose some (most) would say that we've attacked other countries only when they've bombed our embassies, tried to assassinate our leaders, or for God's sake September 11th! I guess it depends on your point of view. The American military bombs embassies, they participate in assassinations of foreign leaders, they drop depleted uranium missiles on targets knowing full well it's going to kill civilians whose only crime is that they live in a country America hates. Do these countries have the right to attack us in turn? Assuming what's good for the goose is good for the gander, when will this end?
Arms suppliers hate peace. Weapons manufacturers hate peace. American military suppliers hate peace so much that they sell weaponry to countries that hate us. Then, when these countries are fully armed, the US Government has to buy its own military bigger guns and bombs and more uranium missiles to use against the aforementioned nation. If world leaders were all sitting around a table talking about how we could institute foreign economic policies that are fair and just, these suppliers wouldn't make any money. And if by some miracle global leaders were able to work out a just economic peace, then those suppliers would go out of business. Peace doesn't make corporate profit.
I may be accused of spin if I spell out facts, so I'll leave it to you to look up what stocks are owned by which national politicians. Don't just go googling the Bush camp though, check up on the Clintons too. In fact, if you have some time, look at all of them. Every single one of them have money invested in a stock market that surges anytime the military spends money bombing the hell out of someone else. I'm pretty sure capitalistic economics hates peace.
I try to be a person of peace. I haven't dwelt anywhere that long, but already I, like many others, am tired of war. I'm tired of being told that I hate America because I think an Iraqi life is just as valuable as an American one. I'm tired of living in a country that so many people want to Christianize as long as it only applies to prayer in schools and putting an end to abortion. American Christianity so often stops at the national flag. And while it's stopped there it looks the other way when its government rains hell from the sky on God's darker-skinned children. I am not immune from blame. When I speak out against the war, I allude to the amount of tax dollars spent (more than $14,000 a minute in Iraq alone) and the mistreatment of American veterans (who make up 60% of the male homeless population). I rarely talk about the Arabs breathing in poisonous chemicals or the disproportionate number of children born in Serbia with unnatural birth defects. It's wrong for me to be so self-righteous as to assume that my fellow Americans hate peace. We just can't. We just can't claim to know God and hate peace.
Loving peace is more than just hating war. To love peace, true peace, is to love justice- to love justice so much that you want it for everyone. It means we have to want reparations and apologies not just for Americans but for the people America has wronged (some of whom are still Americans). It means we have to want a living wage not just for ourselves but for farmers and workers in our communities as much as for those around the world. Loving peace means we have to sacrifice our comfort with the status quo, means acknowledging that the same systems that grant us so much surplus put a choke hold on people we've never met. Loving peace is hard.
But what is the alternative? To hate peace is to turn our face from the oppressed, is to live apart from God. Surely, we live in a society of excess that hates justice, that hates peace, so as Christians we are called to be counter-cultural, to resist societal oppression as Christ would. To stand with those most marginalized.
So long as I dwell among those who love war, I will not cease my calling for peace.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Lenten Reflection
Ezekiel 37
The Valley of Dry Bones
1 The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3 He asked me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"
I said, "O Sovereign LORD, you alone know."
4 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath [a] enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.' "
7 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8 I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.' " 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
11 Then he said to me: "Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.' 12 Therefore prophesy and say to them: 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: O my people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. 13 Then you, my people, will know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. 14 I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the LORD have spoken, and I have done it, declares the LORD.' "
There was a noise, and behold a rattling sound over the Valley of the Dry Bones. The Lord told Ezekiel to prophesy and as he did, the former armies of Israel began to move. Bone to bone they met each other, part by part they rebuilt each other.
I remember distinctly when I first heard this text read aloud. I was sitting in a pitch-black church during Easter Vigil. Alone in the back row of the church, I was wrapped in isolation that extended out the doors of the sanctuary. I’d been stuck in a place of darkness for quite some time- long enough to have forgotten which way was out.
“Oh, Lord,” I whispered, a moan as much as a prayer. Only you know if these bones can live, if these bones can lift themselves up.
God knows because he is not afraid to go into the Valley of the Dead. He is not afraid to walk among his fallen creation, corpses stacked to his left and to his right. When the Lord resurrects, he doesn’t snap his fingers from on high like a sorcerer, he descends down into the valley and breathes out his own life. The God of Israel is not afraid to get dirty and is not afraid to feel pain.
Through Christ, God also descended into the valley of grief. When his close friend Lazarus dies, Jesus weeps like any of us would weep, feels the emptiness in his heart that we all feel when we visit the tomb of a friend. And then, because he is also God, he says, “Roll away the stone.” This is a Messiah who is unafraid of the stench of a recently occupied tomb. He doesn’t just come to the grave to mourn (and later to die), he comes to pull us from it. Filthy in sin and dirt as we are, Christ will breathe us new life.
If we as gentiles are the indeed the people of the New Israel, the heaven to come to earth, those are our bones in the Valley. Jesus descends and breaths out his spirit, covering us in the flesh of the Lamb and we as a church boldly testify to the Resurrection to come. It is our job to persevere through the darkness, to do something with these moving bones. Imperfect as the bones may be, with the breath of God we can connect the pieces, joint to joint. By clinging to each other we can build the Body of Christ.
That night after Easter service, as I lay in my bed staring through the darkness at the ceiling, I heard a car engine turning in the alley outside. But to my ears it sounded like a rattling of dry bones. My heart was moved within me.
I turned my thoughts to the Lord.
The Valley of Dry Bones
1 The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3 He asked me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"
I said, "O Sovereign LORD, you alone know."
4 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath [a] enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.' "
7 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8 I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9 Then he said to me, "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.' " 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
11 Then he said to me: "Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, 'Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.' 12 Therefore prophesy and say to them: 'This is what the Sovereign LORD says: O my people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. 13 Then you, my people, will know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. 14 I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the LORD have spoken, and I have done it, declares the LORD.' "
There was a noise, and behold a rattling sound over the Valley of the Dry Bones. The Lord told Ezekiel to prophesy and as he did, the former armies of Israel began to move. Bone to bone they met each other, part by part they rebuilt each other.
I remember distinctly when I first heard this text read aloud. I was sitting in a pitch-black church during Easter Vigil. Alone in the back row of the church, I was wrapped in isolation that extended out the doors of the sanctuary. I’d been stuck in a place of darkness for quite some time- long enough to have forgotten which way was out.
“Oh, Lord,” I whispered, a moan as much as a prayer. Only you know if these bones can live, if these bones can lift themselves up.
God knows because he is not afraid to go into the Valley of the Dead. He is not afraid to walk among his fallen creation, corpses stacked to his left and to his right. When the Lord resurrects, he doesn’t snap his fingers from on high like a sorcerer, he descends down into the valley and breathes out his own life. The God of Israel is not afraid to get dirty and is not afraid to feel pain.
Through Christ, God also descended into the valley of grief. When his close friend Lazarus dies, Jesus weeps like any of us would weep, feels the emptiness in his heart that we all feel when we visit the tomb of a friend. And then, because he is also God, he says, “Roll away the stone.” This is a Messiah who is unafraid of the stench of a recently occupied tomb. He doesn’t just come to the grave to mourn (and later to die), he comes to pull us from it. Filthy in sin and dirt as we are, Christ will breathe us new life.
If we as gentiles are the indeed the people of the New Israel, the heaven to come to earth, those are our bones in the Valley. Jesus descends and breaths out his spirit, covering us in the flesh of the Lamb and we as a church boldly testify to the Resurrection to come. It is our job to persevere through the darkness, to do something with these moving bones. Imperfect as the bones may be, with the breath of God we can connect the pieces, joint to joint. By clinging to each other we can build the Body of Christ.
That night after Easter service, as I lay in my bed staring through the darkness at the ceiling, I heard a car engine turning in the alley outside. But to my ears it sounded like a rattling of dry bones. My heart was moved within me.
I turned my thoughts to the Lord.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Ma'am
Ma'am is the polite term used by people in customer service. Sometimes it gets a little overused and sometimes Filipinos use it for white women or to fill space while they look for a word. I was on a very crowded public jeepney when I had this conversation with Sunny, a male college student who lived in my host family's community in Sanghay. Everyone around us can hear this conversation.
Me (in broken Visiya): How many brothers and sisters do you have?
Sunny (in beautifully spoken Enlish): We are a dozen, ma'am. Twelve brothers and sisters in all.
Me (genuinely shocked): Wow! That's huge, even for a Filipino family!
Sunny: Well, ma'am, you see, ma'am. My mother, ma'am, doesn't use... contraceptives, ma'am.
(The people around us nod in agreement, as if to say, "It's true, we know this woman. No contraceptives.")
Me: Oh. Umm...
Sunny: Yes, ma'am.
Me (in broken Visiya): How many brothers and sisters do you have?
Sunny (in beautifully spoken Enlish): We are a dozen, ma'am. Twelve brothers and sisters in all.
Me (genuinely shocked): Wow! That's huge, even for a Filipino family!
Sunny: Well, ma'am, you see, ma'am. My mother, ma'am, doesn't use... contraceptives, ma'am.
(The people around us nod in agreement, as if to say, "It's true, we know this woman. No contraceptives.")
Me: Oh. Umm...
Sunny: Yes, ma'am.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Two months in less than 2000 words, as I watch everything opening in front of me.
Originally I had wanted to post a blow-by-blow account for you of the past two months but really, the details that matter here (and anywhere) are rarely the who, what, where, and when, so let those be an afterthought and not the heart what I say and who I am. The past two months have been filled with puppies and parties and teach-ins and immersions. In my ever evolving environment, I keep reminding myself that I didn't become a missionary to make cool new friends and have my own room and access to a shower. That's hard isn't it though? When what we've imagined comes face to face with our realities. Even worse I think is when the people we thought we were meet the people we've become. I like this woman I've become, the one who rides water buffalo and whom the villagers call Esai. I like when I hear visiya come out of her mouth and I like that she knows how to harvest kamotes and slaughter a chicken (it's true!) The old me is shocked when I see her happily eating meat and doing laundry by hand.
I spent most of December on the east coast of Mindanao, near a tiny city named Mati, the better half of my three weeks living with a family in this little barangay called Sanghay. (There are pictures of my host family and the farm shack where they live at www.flickr.com/slavishtubesocks) I rode a horse (falling on my rear when I tried to mount him), I rode a water buffalo (they don't move until forced to, so are easier to board), and I climbed a mountain to a remote(r) community where a priest performed the first mass that the people had in a month. He baptized babies, though it was just really a formality. Due to the high rate of infant mortality in many countries, the Vatican has extended the right of baptism to the child's mother, so children in remote provinces are blessed almost immediately after their appearance from the womb. The Vatican no longer states that unbaptized babies wait in purgatory, but the people are still afraid of this possibility.
I spent Christmas at the Benedictine convent near Sanghay. It was amazing and spiritual experience: vespers, prayers, lauds, and some of the best food I've eaten in a long time. The nuns grow their own food and tend to their own animals, along with being the medical, social, religious, and activist outreach to the communities around them. On Christmas Eve afternoon I took a nap at the convent and had a horrible nightmare that when I got home everyone else had just gone away. When I woke up I had to run into the chapel for lauds and during our prayers I began to weep openly. The Reverend Mother left prayers and brought me tissues. After I washed up and came out for Christmas dinner I began to weep again and Reverend Mother held me. I will never forget what she said. "Oh, Esai. Why are you crying? You are so beautiful and the sisters and I bought you all sorts of beautiful things for you, didn't we?" (Affirmations from the nuns) "Oh you know those puppies we have that you've liked playing with? You can have one! Two if you want! I know how hard this is."
All of the nuns there had been foreign missionaries for a time and they shared stories about their first Christmases away from home. The Reverend Mother had been a medical missionary in Ughanda and had spent her first Christmas in a bomb shelter cooking wild chickens for terrified women and singing them Christmas carols. Sister Stella contracted influenza as her first Christmas present away from home while working in an orphanage during an epidemic. I know it seems atrocious but these stories were told to make me laugh. And I did. I ate the fabulous dinner they'd grown and prepared and opened the beautiful presents they'd given me. I had to leave the puppy at the convent (there's no way I could take him home) but Sister Stella (the dog lover there) said she's taking extra good care of him and texts me updates as to how he's doing. In case your wondering he's grown to be 65 pounds and they're trying to teach him only to eat the leftover chicken they put in his bowl and not the live ones that are running around the yard.
When I came home around New Year's I was excited to start my "real work". Fascinating that after four months I had learned nothing. But, third immersion is the charm. This time there were no kind nuns to care for me (though I will be visiting them again soon!). I was sent to an urban poor community in north Davao City. Only a half hour ride from where I "live" but most of the homes in this community were without electricity and all of them were without running water. Some of the houses didn't have toilets. I stayed there for two weeks with two different families. I did "work"- I spoke to the people (in Visiya!!) about the Visiting Forces Agreement and Balikitan (the US military exercises here). They have sewing machines in the community that were donated as a microloan concept for the women to make dresses and bags to gain lucrative employment. The project has gone by the wayside, so as the activists got them to reorganize around the idea, I tinkered with the machines and put them in working order, along with talking to the women about idea possibilities for modern bags that would sell easily. I made some prototypes. I worked in the dress shop, in the town "hall", on my host families farm. But I think the crucial moment for me was when I was sitting in my host-family's "living room" after having walked a 3 km trip to the stream to bathe and do laundry. It had gotten dark and I was staring at a blank page in my journal. I wrote this:
Today was the perfect day to search for beauty. As will be tomorrow and every day I breathe. I see it everywhere in this one moment, in the mud on on my feet, the rice on the table, the rain coming down into the buckets outside. I understand this wholeness, these precious moments and this precious rain water, drop by drop caressing the earth, to be so much more than what I do or where I go. Being is not just solidarity and living is not just for social change. It's beauty, it's all just a search for the beauty in creation, and my desire for busyness and effectiveness can suffocate a more perfect world around me. Long blades of grass grow two feet high across the path in my atte's garden. They're reaching up and bending over and worshiping the sky and loving the rain. There's no other place they'd rather live, no other planet where they'd rather be. I myself have also grown fond of this one.
I leave on February 1 for Cagayan de Oro where I and my coworkers will be helping at conferences and seminars about Balikitan and the US military presence in the Philippines. We'll be there for three weeks and during that time I'll be taking a short trip to Thailand to meet up with a fellow UM missionary. I wonder about the tea and the peanut sauce, the temples and the landscape. I wonder when this world opened up for me. I didn't see it happening but I'm so glad it did. May the Lord punish me, be it ever so severely, if I fail to thank the earth properly.
I spent most of December on the east coast of Mindanao, near a tiny city named Mati, the better half of my three weeks living with a family in this little barangay called Sanghay. (There are pictures of my host family and the farm shack where they live at www.flickr.com/slavishtubesocks) I rode a horse (falling on my rear when I tried to mount him), I rode a water buffalo (they don't move until forced to, so are easier to board), and I climbed a mountain to a remote(r) community where a priest performed the first mass that the people had in a month. He baptized babies, though it was just really a formality. Due to the high rate of infant mortality in many countries, the Vatican has extended the right of baptism to the child's mother, so children in remote provinces are blessed almost immediately after their appearance from the womb. The Vatican no longer states that unbaptized babies wait in purgatory, but the people are still afraid of this possibility.
I spent Christmas at the Benedictine convent near Sanghay. It was amazing and spiritual experience: vespers, prayers, lauds, and some of the best food I've eaten in a long time. The nuns grow their own food and tend to their own animals, along with being the medical, social, religious, and activist outreach to the communities around them. On Christmas Eve afternoon I took a nap at the convent and had a horrible nightmare that when I got home everyone else had just gone away. When I woke up I had to run into the chapel for lauds and during our prayers I began to weep openly. The Reverend Mother left prayers and brought me tissues. After I washed up and came out for Christmas dinner I began to weep again and Reverend Mother held me. I will never forget what she said. "Oh, Esai. Why are you crying? You are so beautiful and the sisters and I bought you all sorts of beautiful things for you, didn't we?" (Affirmations from the nuns) "Oh you know those puppies we have that you've liked playing with? You can have one! Two if you want! I know how hard this is."
All of the nuns there had been foreign missionaries for a time and they shared stories about their first Christmases away from home. The Reverend Mother had been a medical missionary in Ughanda and had spent her first Christmas in a bomb shelter cooking wild chickens for terrified women and singing them Christmas carols. Sister Stella contracted influenza as her first Christmas present away from home while working in an orphanage during an epidemic. I know it seems atrocious but these stories were told to make me laugh. And I did. I ate the fabulous dinner they'd grown and prepared and opened the beautiful presents they'd given me. I had to leave the puppy at the convent (there's no way I could take him home) but Sister Stella (the dog lover there) said she's taking extra good care of him and texts me updates as to how he's doing. In case your wondering he's grown to be 65 pounds and they're trying to teach him only to eat the leftover chicken they put in his bowl and not the live ones that are running around the yard.
When I came home around New Year's I was excited to start my "real work". Fascinating that after four months I had learned nothing. But, third immersion is the charm. This time there were no kind nuns to care for me (though I will be visiting them again soon!). I was sent to an urban poor community in north Davao City. Only a half hour ride from where I "live" but most of the homes in this community were without electricity and all of them were without running water. Some of the houses didn't have toilets. I stayed there for two weeks with two different families. I did "work"- I spoke to the people (in Visiya!!) about the Visiting Forces Agreement and Balikitan (the US military exercises here). They have sewing machines in the community that were donated as a microloan concept for the women to make dresses and bags to gain lucrative employment. The project has gone by the wayside, so as the activists got them to reorganize around the idea, I tinkered with the machines and put them in working order, along with talking to the women about idea possibilities for modern bags that would sell easily. I made some prototypes. I worked in the dress shop, in the town "hall", on my host families farm. But I think the crucial moment for me was when I was sitting in my host-family's "living room" after having walked a 3 km trip to the stream to bathe and do laundry. It had gotten dark and I was staring at a blank page in my journal. I wrote this:
Today was the perfect day to search for beauty. As will be tomorrow and every day I breathe. I see it everywhere in this one moment, in the mud on on my feet, the rice on the table, the rain coming down into the buckets outside. I understand this wholeness, these precious moments and this precious rain water, drop by drop caressing the earth, to be so much more than what I do or where I go. Being is not just solidarity and living is not just for social change. It's beauty, it's all just a search for the beauty in creation, and my desire for busyness and effectiveness can suffocate a more perfect world around me. Long blades of grass grow two feet high across the path in my atte's garden. They're reaching up and bending over and worshiping the sky and loving the rain. There's no other place they'd rather live, no other planet where they'd rather be. I myself have also grown fond of this one.
I leave on February 1 for Cagayan de Oro where I and my coworkers will be helping at conferences and seminars about Balikitan and the US military presence in the Philippines. We'll be there for three weeks and during that time I'll be taking a short trip to Thailand to meet up with a fellow UM missionary. I wonder about the tea and the peanut sauce, the temples and the landscape. I wonder when this world opened up for me. I didn't see it happening but I'm so glad it did. May the Lord punish me, be it ever so severely, if I fail to thank the earth properly.
Ocean of Pineapples
I never wrote at length about the time I spent on the Dole Pineapple plantation in Polomolok, at least not on this blog. This is an article I wrote for InPeace about my time there:
When Polomolok children first see the ocean, they see it from the shores of the Sarangili Bay. The public beaches there aren’t particularly clean, but they’re swimible and so the Filipino children dive in clad in shorts and t-shirts. It’s a metaphorical lesson- when Polomolok children grow up they will need to be ready to swim in the sea. Though not a sea of water, but an ocean of pineapples.
This tiny community on the southern shore of the island of Mindanao has a one-fruit economy. More than 50 percent of the work force punches their time card at the Dolefil cannery and plantation. The other 50 percent works mostly in the service industry (caring for the workers) or on small farms (most selling pineapples to Dole.) An undetermined number wait outside of the Dole industrial complex each day to see if they can fill an open spot.
Polomolok the Dole Pineapple is not just an ocean, but it’s the air and the land as well. The sweet smell of pineapples mixes with kalichuchi flowers, exhaust fumes, and sewer openings. Land that used to grow rice and vegetables for consumption now produces pineapples for export.
Polomolok is not alone. The whole economy of the Philippines now revolves around exportation. Whether it’s foreign call centers, cash crops, or workers moving abroad globalization has changed the way Filipinos do business. Certainly it’s changed things for Americans too. When Americans call a credit card help line then end up talking to someone in Asia, when Minnesotans want coconuts in the middle of February they need only go to the grocery store. Many young Filipinos move abroad in search of higher, often just living, wage. It’s the brain drain- the best and the brightest in the Philippines move to China, Europe, or North America to do work for which they are over-qualified. Doctors work as nurses, nurses as caregivers; lawyers and teachers become cabbies and janitors. And they still make more money doing this than they will at their previous profession in their home country.
Certainly the brain drain is known in Polomolok, but it’s the land drain that has the people here most concerned. There’s a tiny Bla’an Lumad community on the edge of one of Dole’s massive pineapple fields. The men travel to the next town over to work on farms there. When asked where their ancestral lands were, the Datu pointed out at the field. But we don’t even work there now, he said.
“The pineapples are bad for the land,” said KMU Union President Jose Tuelad. Kilusang Mayo Uno (KMU) is a nation-wide union; the Polomolok KMU was chartered in 1985. “Big companies rent the land for a small price and when they return it to the people in 20 year it will be destroyed.”
Small-scale farmers get around problem of pineapples being nutrient-draining by performing extensive crop rotation in cycles over years and years. But according the Tuelad corporations like Dole don’t see the land as a irreplaceable resource, but rather as a short-term commodity. If the soil is depleted, they’ll just find somewhere else to grow their pineapples.
“Pineapples that aren’t even for us,” Tuelad goes on, shaking his head. Like all the other multi-national food producers in Mindanao, their crops are for export only. After being collected, the vast majority of these pineapples are immediately processed at the cannery down the street from the fields. Those fields, that used to yield vegetables and rice for the people’s consumption, surround the people with a bountiful harvest but the price of their personal foodstuffs continues to climb. Pineapples, pineapples everywhere, but there’s nothing for the people to eat.
For its own part, Dole insists that it’s a responsible corporation that takes care of the people in the plantation communities. The question of course is how can a corporation truly be responsible to working people? If the corporation by-laws state (which they do) that Dole’s first and foremost responsibility is to make as much profit as possible for its shareholders, how can the needs of the community truly matter?
Naysayers would point to the vast amount of charitable contributions given by Dole to Polomolok. The backs of the chairs in the Catholic Church near the cannery are stamped with the words “Donated by: Dole Philippines, Inc”. In fact, Tueland says that the whole church was funded by the company- from the sanctuary, to the priest’s quarters, to the statue of Christ on the top of the building, dressed as a conquestador. Hardly a donation as much as a purchase. Can a priest speak out against the company who paid for his house and church? Can the people sit on chairs marked with Dole’s name without being reminded of its power?
The charity extends to health services for families and to schools for children. Temporary clinics are set up in Polomolok and other Dole plantation communities every few months to treat certain health problems and do general check ups. Elementary schools wear huge signs that say “This school is funded by a generous donation from Dole Philippines” or more simply “Dole Philippines Cares!” Workers and managers alike pass these sign on their way to work. Who are these signs for?
In their hurriedness to provide all this charity, at some point it must have occurred to the higher-ups at Dole that the company is the reason all of this charity is needed. There’s no reason why men and women working six days a week, 10 hours a day for a large corporation should need someone else to fund schools for their children and churches for their families. But the average pay for steady workers averages about 200 pesos per a 10-hour day. Roughly this is one-tenth the amount a minimum wage earning American worker would receive for the same amount of labor.
And those are the steady workers, the only group of workers at Dole who make at least minimum wage and only 25% of the work force. The way Dole “saves” the largest amount of capital (or exploits labor the most) is by abusing the contractual labor system. Under labor laws, companies are allowed to higher contractual workers (often through service providers) for temporary work, like construction or consulting. Dole uses loopholes, and just out-right law breaking, to employ contractual laborers as the vast majority of its work force. Contractual labor is more exploitative (and in turn cheaper) for a number of reasons, the first of which is that contractual laborers are not required minimum wage. Many young people work in the cannery for less than 125 pesos a day. Even though canning and harvesting are far from temporary work at a pineapple cannery, these contractual laborers are only guaranteed their jobs for a few months at a time. This lack of stability keeps them quiet to company abuses. They’re not allowed to join the union and so any success the union achieves (ie benefits, higher pay) does not apply to the great majority of the workers at Dole.
In light of these contractual labor abuses it’s no surprise that one of the primary goals of KMU is to get as many contractual laborers switched to permanent labor status. In 2004 the union was successful in such a case. After long and complicated negotiations with Dole Philippines 1,500 contractual laborers were granted full-time labor status and admitted to the union. This raised the union’s membership up to 5,200 workers, or 25% of the Dole labor force in Polomolok.
“Still a long way to go,” Tuelad said lighting a cigarette, “(but) the workers can do everything if there is unity.” The long way stretches out before them. As corporations like Dole continue to grow and take over whole communities, the workers continue to see the cost of staples like rice and vegetables on the rise while the promise of permanent work is often uncertain.
Smoke escaped Tuelad’s nostrils as he writes union dues tallies on the chalkboard in his office, the cigarette exhaust a bit reminiscent of a dragon. Unlike in Europe, in Asia the dragons are the heroes; symbols of good luck and fortune. KMU may need both to stay afloat in the pineapple ocean.
When Polomolok children first see the ocean, they see it from the shores of the Sarangili Bay. The public beaches there aren’t particularly clean, but they’re swimible and so the Filipino children dive in clad in shorts and t-shirts. It’s a metaphorical lesson- when Polomolok children grow up they will need to be ready to swim in the sea. Though not a sea of water, but an ocean of pineapples.
This tiny community on the southern shore of the island of Mindanao has a one-fruit economy. More than 50 percent of the work force punches their time card at the Dolefil cannery and plantation. The other 50 percent works mostly in the service industry (caring for the workers) or on small farms (most selling pineapples to Dole.) An undetermined number wait outside of the Dole industrial complex each day to see if they can fill an open spot.
Polomolok the Dole Pineapple is not just an ocean, but it’s the air and the land as well. The sweet smell of pineapples mixes with kalichuchi flowers, exhaust fumes, and sewer openings. Land that used to grow rice and vegetables for consumption now produces pineapples for export.
Polomolok is not alone. The whole economy of the Philippines now revolves around exportation. Whether it’s foreign call centers, cash crops, or workers moving abroad globalization has changed the way Filipinos do business. Certainly it’s changed things for Americans too. When Americans call a credit card help line then end up talking to someone in Asia, when Minnesotans want coconuts in the middle of February they need only go to the grocery store. Many young Filipinos move abroad in search of higher, often just living, wage. It’s the brain drain- the best and the brightest in the Philippines move to China, Europe, or North America to do work for which they are over-qualified. Doctors work as nurses, nurses as caregivers; lawyers and teachers become cabbies and janitors. And they still make more money doing this than they will at their previous profession in their home country.
Certainly the brain drain is known in Polomolok, but it’s the land drain that has the people here most concerned. There’s a tiny Bla’an Lumad community on the edge of one of Dole’s massive pineapple fields. The men travel to the next town over to work on farms there. When asked where their ancestral lands were, the Datu pointed out at the field. But we don’t even work there now, he said.
“The pineapples are bad for the land,” said KMU Union President Jose Tuelad. Kilusang Mayo Uno (KMU) is a nation-wide union; the Polomolok KMU was chartered in 1985. “Big companies rent the land for a small price and when they return it to the people in 20 year it will be destroyed.”
Small-scale farmers get around problem of pineapples being nutrient-draining by performing extensive crop rotation in cycles over years and years. But according the Tuelad corporations like Dole don’t see the land as a irreplaceable resource, but rather as a short-term commodity. If the soil is depleted, they’ll just find somewhere else to grow their pineapples.
“Pineapples that aren’t even for us,” Tuelad goes on, shaking his head. Like all the other multi-national food producers in Mindanao, their crops are for export only. After being collected, the vast majority of these pineapples are immediately processed at the cannery down the street from the fields. Those fields, that used to yield vegetables and rice for the people’s consumption, surround the people with a bountiful harvest but the price of their personal foodstuffs continues to climb. Pineapples, pineapples everywhere, but there’s nothing for the people to eat.
For its own part, Dole insists that it’s a responsible corporation that takes care of the people in the plantation communities. The question of course is how can a corporation truly be responsible to working people? If the corporation by-laws state (which they do) that Dole’s first and foremost responsibility is to make as much profit as possible for its shareholders, how can the needs of the community truly matter?
Naysayers would point to the vast amount of charitable contributions given by Dole to Polomolok. The backs of the chairs in the Catholic Church near the cannery are stamped with the words “Donated by: Dole Philippines, Inc”. In fact, Tueland says that the whole church was funded by the company- from the sanctuary, to the priest’s quarters, to the statue of Christ on the top of the building, dressed as a conquestador. Hardly a donation as much as a purchase. Can a priest speak out against the company who paid for his house and church? Can the people sit on chairs marked with Dole’s name without being reminded of its power?
The charity extends to health services for families and to schools for children. Temporary clinics are set up in Polomolok and other Dole plantation communities every few months to treat certain health problems and do general check ups. Elementary schools wear huge signs that say “This school is funded by a generous donation from Dole Philippines” or more simply “Dole Philippines Cares!” Workers and managers alike pass these sign on their way to work. Who are these signs for?
In their hurriedness to provide all this charity, at some point it must have occurred to the higher-ups at Dole that the company is the reason all of this charity is needed. There’s no reason why men and women working six days a week, 10 hours a day for a large corporation should need someone else to fund schools for their children and churches for their families. But the average pay for steady workers averages about 200 pesos per a 10-hour day. Roughly this is one-tenth the amount a minimum wage earning American worker would receive for the same amount of labor.
And those are the steady workers, the only group of workers at Dole who make at least minimum wage and only 25% of the work force. The way Dole “saves” the largest amount of capital (or exploits labor the most) is by abusing the contractual labor system. Under labor laws, companies are allowed to higher contractual workers (often through service providers) for temporary work, like construction or consulting. Dole uses loopholes, and just out-right law breaking, to employ contractual laborers as the vast majority of its work force. Contractual labor is more exploitative (and in turn cheaper) for a number of reasons, the first of which is that contractual laborers are not required minimum wage. Many young people work in the cannery for less than 125 pesos a day. Even though canning and harvesting are far from temporary work at a pineapple cannery, these contractual laborers are only guaranteed their jobs for a few months at a time. This lack of stability keeps them quiet to company abuses. They’re not allowed to join the union and so any success the union achieves (ie benefits, higher pay) does not apply to the great majority of the workers at Dole.
In light of these contractual labor abuses it’s no surprise that one of the primary goals of KMU is to get as many contractual laborers switched to permanent labor status. In 2004 the union was successful in such a case. After long and complicated negotiations with Dole Philippines 1,500 contractual laborers were granted full-time labor status and admitted to the union. This raised the union’s membership up to 5,200 workers, or 25% of the Dole labor force in Polomolok.
“Still a long way to go,” Tuelad said lighting a cigarette, “(but) the workers can do everything if there is unity.” The long way stretches out before them. As corporations like Dole continue to grow and take over whole communities, the workers continue to see the cost of staples like rice and vegetables on the rise while the promise of permanent work is often uncertain.
Smoke escaped Tuelad’s nostrils as he writes union dues tallies on the chalkboard in his office, the cigarette exhaust a bit reminiscent of a dragon. Unlike in Europe, in Asia the dragons are the heroes; symbols of good luck and fortune. KMU may need both to stay afloat in the pineapple ocean.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)