YOUNGBLOOD

a friend forwarded this to our YG.
read a snippet of it, and i got inspired. that dreary disposition (i've been carrying) had momentarily waned. i guess it really pays to fight for what you truly believe in. all those sacrifices have been well-worth it in the long run.

in reading this, i got a bit mushed. it did hit my soft spot. made me miss daddy dearest and think of all his wise words. integrity would really take you places. it's more than the tangible things you acquire. it's not what you do, but how and why you do it that matters come sundown.


YOUNGBLOOD
On the same street
By Janice Cambri San Jose
Inquirer
Last updated 03:56am (Mla time) 07/26/2007

A police officer for a father and a militant activist for a daughter -- "What a great irony!" people would often remark about us. Most people probably think the only thing we have in common is our DNA make-up. However, we have an unusual bond that is far stronger than any blood relationship: our principles.

Daddy has always been simple, silent and serious. He has the looks and bearing of a military officer: clean haircut, snappy posture, no vices, and cordial conduct. He is a bit antisocial, but remains civil with everyone, including those he despises. He prefers to read the newspapers or watch the news while sipping his coffee to chatting with the neighbors. He has never been inordinately conscious about being an officer of the law and never has he bragged about his position.

His idea of fun is limited to family celebrations and playtime for him is almost non-existent. When we were young, our mantra was "study, study and study." On school days, the TV set would be locked in the closet and we only got to watch it from Friday night to Saturday night. He insisted that we take our studies seriously.

Most of his expectations were impossible. But I never took it against him. After all, we did not have to plow the field and we never had to swim rivers or walk barefoot for several kilometers to go to school, with only a banana or camote for snacks. Which was what he did in his youth.

Who can blame Daddy? He was a poor farmer's son who had to work his way through college, taking janitorial jobs. He graduated cum laude from law school and became an officer in the Philippine National Police. And he would never let us forget about it, saying: "Ako, anak lang ng magsasaka, nakatapos ako. Kayo, anak kayo ng opisyal, dapat mas malayo marating 'nyo." ["I was a farmer's son, and yet I was able to finish college. You are children of a police officer, so you should be even more successful." ]

Despite his meager salary, he enrolled us in a small-town private school. He called it a very good investment. "It doesn't matter if we would be reduced to licking salt, as long as you have a good education," he told us. "That is the only thing I can leave you, so you better study hard."

I bled from his cruel words whenever I fell short of his expectations, but I always knew he had the best intentions so I did my best to excel in my academics.

Another treasure that Daddy passed on to us, which is much more priceless than our education, is integrity. At a time the credibility of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and the Philippine National Police has been tarnished by so many cases of ill-gotten wealth, graft and corruption, organized crime, human rights violations, and electoral fraud, Daddy was one of the few good men who withstood the temptations of greed and power. While many generals have their mansions, we continue to live in our small bungalow. While many of his colleagues drove SUVs and kept several cars in the garage, Dad who spent 32 years in the service, used only a worn-out, assembled jeep of the kind that you see in old Filipino movies. It was only after his retirement, when he got his benefits, that he was able to buy his first brand-new vehicle.

During hard times, we were fed like we were in a military barracks, with food being measured and distributed equally among us. There were times when my brothers and I had to settle for soy sauce and calamansi with rice because we were still hungry. I learned to drink six cups of coffee a day to pacify my grumbling tummy. Most of our books and uniforms were hand-me-downs. In college, I would sometimes eat fish ball, or banana cue, or "taho" for lunch because my food allowance went into photocopying our lessons.

I often wondered why we were so impoverished while some of the kids I knew and whose fathers were lower-ranked police officers enjoyed affluent lifestyles. Dad never took home anything grand -- just packs of "bukayo" and small jars of "belekoy." They were "pasalubong" [arrival tokens] from his subordinates returning from vacation in the provinces. My Dad said he did not want to feed us with dirty money. We may be poor but we would keep our dignity intact. He was afraid of karma.

At 19, I came to understand what he had been saying when I joined the militant group Anakbayan. Although we had somewhat conflicting ideologies, he never stopped me from pursuing my crusade of serving the people in a framework different from his. Up to now, he does not have anything against the movement. He recognizes the truths in our advocacies. He, himself, has experienced injustice and witnessed irregularities in the armed services and the government.

We would often discuss politics, and dispassionate debates became a normal happening at home. But our ideas clashed, and during rallies, we became foes.

I remember one strike at Manila Hotel in 2000, where I joined the picket line of the oppressed workers together with other activists. He stayed behind the police unit where he acted as one of the ground commanders, while I linked arms with the protesters. He never told anyone I was among the militants, not even the cops who would soon use their truncheons to disperse us. I never pointed to him as my dad either. It was a silent pact between us. We would exchange brief looks, then go on with what we had to do.

After every mobilization, he would be relieved to see me unharmed. It must have been terribly painful for a parent like him to anxiously wait for his child to be home safe and in one piece, while knowing what his colleagues were capable of doing to militants like me.

But despite all of this, he never asked me to abandon the movement. Unlike other fathers who would ground, threaten, lock up, or beat up their activist kids to stop them from pursuing their cause, Dad just let me be. And I will always be grateful to him for that.

Dad is retired now, while I remain an activist. He has his own legacy, and I am proud of him. We both love our country and this principle has been the bond that binds us, transcending age, social roles and family trees.

Daddy and I stood on opposite sides of the street, and we looked like foes in the eyes of many. However, we are on the same street. The real adversary is on another.

Janice Cambri San Jose, 27, is completing her MA thesis at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City.