My grandmother just died but I am unable to go home to mourn properly. I cannot go back to my hometown of Catarman, Northern Samar because there is a possibility of getting arrested, abducted, or killed; these are real threats faced by individuals like myself who are red-tagged.  

My grandmother’s name was Nellie. Being a retired elementary school teacher, I remember her expecting the best out of me. She would make my cousins and I do reading and spelling exercises on weekends. She pushed me to participate in school activities and student formations. She was strict, and for a long time I thought she didn’t have any affection for me. But getting older means learning about the nuances of love, how it manifests in the little things that often go over our heads. Now that she’s gone, the memories of her that linger are the best ones. Like how she would boil eggs for me whenever I would leave for Tacloban City in the wee hours of the morning; how she would peel oranges or slice apples for me; how she would smile whenever I would visit home from college. I hope that, in the 74 years she walked this planet, Mama Nellie lived a life she had been satisfied with.  

I realized that Eastern Visayas, the region I grew up in, was heavily militarized in my first year of college at the University of the Philippines Tacloban. I learned about Memorandum Order No. 32 from student organizations in UP, which campaigned against it for deploying hundreds of police and military units in peasant communities all over the region. The memorandum was supposed to run after so-called insurgents, but as I had come to learn, it was the farmers who suffered from the increased militarization. And it had been going on long before I entered college. I admit being ashamed of how ignorant I was of the reality in my own home province. How there are communities bombed indiscriminately by the military, how literal sitios in far flung towns would evacuate because of military and police harassment; I really had no clue while I was in my adolescent bubble in Catarman.  

Since I was with the campus press back in high school, I decided to join UP Vista, UP Tacloban’s official student publication. In my sophomore year, I was associate editor of the publication. There, I learned more about social realities, student struggles, injustices, and the systemic ills in our society. This was also the time when I met Ate Frenchie, Ate Maye, Ate Mira, Ate Mars, and Kuya Chakoy—the ‘Tacloban 5’ activists who were arrested on February 7, 2020 under false charges. This stage of my life transformed me, now that I think about it. Learning about the rotten systems in place and then seeing it happen first-hand—who would not be enraged by how the government so blatantly disrespect our basic rights? 

When the pandemic hit in 2020, I was locked down in Tacloban. When a typhoon hit the region, we planned on conducting a relief drive that did not push through because o f the stringent quarantine measures at the time. This was the first instance I was red-tagged. A Facebook page called ‘PAGAL NA”, which we suspected was military-run, posted an infographic asking where the donations went.

I went back to Catarman in December 2020 since classes back then were done remotely. But in February 2021, I was rattled after apparently being photographed while reading at my grandmother’s balcony by alleged intelligence officers while reading. Mama Nellie sat me down one night and talked to me about the incident. She said that these military goons wanted to speak with me to ‘take me back to the side of the government.’ I remember her being frustrated and on the verge of tears. She asked me why I would involve myself in activism and pleaded for me to stop. Of course, as any parent figure would be, Mama Nellie was only afraid for my wellbeing. I would like to believe that, by the end of our conversation that night, she understood where I was coming from. 

The following week, I left for Manila. Being conscious of what these state goons are capable of doing, even to students just trying to get their essays and exams done, I had to leave home. It was difficult especially because I had all these plans with my friends once I finished my course requirements. I didn’t even get to enjoy one sunny day at the beach, having to leave so abruptly.  

And now I am here, working at the Altermidya, trying to become a good journalist. Compelled by my political awakening in Tacloban, I committed myself to helping continue the campaign to free Frenchie Mae Cumpio and dismiss the charges against the Tacloban 5.  

It has been two years since my anxiety-ridden exodus from Catarman. But the threats against my security have not stopped. Recently, I learned that someone from the military included me in a presentation for a meeting held in my hometown. The military official reportedly showed a diagram and labelled me a ‘recruiter in social media and clandestine meetings.’  

The human response is to fear for your life, right? But as I grow more and more conscious of the state of our country, I can confidently say fear no longer gets the best of me. Haven’t these people realized that threats against us people seeking social justice is fuel for our work? I am sad that I couldn’t pay my respects and mourn the passing of my grandmother who had taught me so much. Sometimes it gets hard to breathe because the reality of my situation is that I have lost my hometown and to an extent, my family living there. It was taken from me by people who continue to spew lies against people who want to contribute good to society.  

Perhaps someday, when things change substantially, I’ll be free to go home. I do miss being able enjoy the beach back home with my friends and family. But until the threats continue, I’ll just have to keep doing my best to do good. #