Apology after the storm

BENCHWARMER
Ramon Dacawi

Peter Fianza is a rarity. The city administrator, action officer of the City Disaster Coordinating Council, lawyer and friend to many, has the patience of Job. It’s a virtue many of us, including me, are badly wanting of.

His patience is virtue to a fault. Perhaps that’s the only criticism you can hear about the man, even from volunteer rescuers who had seen him up close and personal during calamities. He takes negative criticism, however unfounded it may be, in silence, leaving critics feeling distress over being ignored.

After all, he knows a community is never be complete without critics, in the same token that a village can’t be whole without “kulits”, alcoholics, fence sitters, opportunists, armchair analysts and activists, holier-and-busier-than-thous-in-residence.

This time, however, Peter had to listen when some of his men recalled how one officer in an agency accused them, in the aftermath of their days of operations saving lives, of having done nothing. This time, their story passed his ear but not out the other.

He knows his volunteer rescuers inside out. Those who were tagged do-nothings are among the best, some of the most dedicated, efficient and effective. From countless experience, they know their work. They had long accepted what it takes to be a volunteer in rescue. They even have practical antidotes for worry and hypothermia: Don’t change to dry clothes as you’d get soaked anyway by the next dispatch to an emergency site. Keep on burning energy, even with the crudest of tools – shovels, picks, ropes, flashlights, Or bare hands. Shovel aside recurrent thoughts of how your own family is faring at home so you can focus on what you volunteered to do –and to try to do -, which is to save lives.

When it’s over, take a gin shot and then, if needed, another. Alcohol helps shield the mind from the recurrent image of victims who didn’t make it despite your efforts. It steels you from news that the one you saved eventually died. Start saving for that heavy duty raincoat and pair of rain boots you didn’t have but hopefully would don when the next calamity comes.

If you can’t work within these givens, don’t volunteer. Stay home and be dry and comfortable, a hot coffee cup in your hands. Put off the radio. The news would be too much to bear compared to being out there, soaked in mud and flood until and beyond dawn.

So they were repeatedly out there in the dark of night, at the height of typhoon Pepeng, and when it returned and lingered to wreak havoc it failed to inflict the first time around.

I’ve witnessed the courage and daring of these men and women and their colleagues from other teams –including our ever-dependable miners. I’ve long been impressed by their practicality in making do with the barest of tools and equipment. I’ve seen them work almost without rest since the typhoon signal was first raised. They had long fleshed out the culture of caring that is Baguio’s centennial theme.

Whatever negative comment that surfaced was borne out of ignorance. It’s the same reason why, now and then, we hear demeaning slurs and misconceptions about who we really are. We’re Igorots, be it by birth, blood, choice, sentiment or heart. We’re as human as those who perceive us to be less than that. At least, they can’t fault some of us for having better command of English.

As this is being written, I heard whoever uttered the uncalled-for found the virtue of humility. He called up Peter and offered apology. That eased the load on the city administrator After all, he had better things to do, like apologizing to boat owners at the Burnham Park lake. Without their knowledge and consent, he had his boys take five boats during the flooding emergencies.

The simple misunderstanding was apparently triggered by the fact that the dyed-in-the-wool rescuers never announced what they did and do for others. It’s not part of the culture up here to flaunt whatever good one does.

Perhaps a prayer former Baguio journalist and now full-time mother, Anabelle Codiase-Bangsoy, shared me years back would fit: “From the ignorance that knows no truth, from the cowardice that shirks from new truths, and from the arrogance that thinks it knows all truth, O God of truth please deliver us.”

Sense of community and gratitude are inherent in the culture up here. That’s why city mayor Reinaldo Bautista Jr., who heads the CDCC, got calls from officials of Benguet and its towns .

They thanked him for dispatching the city’s heavy equipment operators to help clear the road slides, not only along the major arteries but to the side accesses like Asin Road . and Yagyagan. That sense of community also made administrator Fianza’s redirect embalmers who arrived to La Trinidad, Benguet. The body count is greater there.

The culture, too, I guess, somehow lightened the load of the mayor, Benguet Gov. Nestor Fongwan and Mt. Province Gov. Maximo Dalog, mayor Bautista and mayors of our affected villages. Relatives of some of those who perished asked for body bags, instead of coffins which they themselves later fashioned out, in keeping with time-honored traditions of our villages.

They’re not saying it, but what’s heavy for some of the miners and other rescuers comes when the victims have all been accounted for. As tradition dictates, they have to perform the cleansing ritual (daw-es) for peace of mind after extricating survivors and retrieving bodies.

So when Gov. Fongwan received word that Ifugao Gov. Teddy Baguilat called to assure support was coming, my Ifugao mind stumbled on an unsolicited advice I didn’t let pass. Perhaps Gov. Nestor could ask Gov. Teddy to also send some “mumbaki” (native priests) to work with their counterpart “mambunong” (Benguet native priests) in performing the cleansing ritual.

“Tila ibagbagam; ingkan man, agsubli ka ketdin idiay Baguio (Whatever you’re saying; go, return to Baguio ),” he barked with a grin. With dispatch, I heeded His Honor’s advice.

In the midst of great loss, humor helps keep us afloat who mourn. Unfounded criticism doesn’t.. (email:mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments).