This Love Affair I Have With The PNP

I had the privilege of discussing the agrarian reform program with trainees of the Philippine National Police a couple of days back,  stationed in a detachment in Ilocos Sur. The objective of the discussion, as I understood it, was to impart to the organization how they can help better implement the programs of government in the countryside. The invitation was intended for my boss, our Regional Director, who in turn delegated the task to me as he had a previous commitment. I have been so angry about the Mamasapano incident of late, so I took this task as an honor, to meet the young men and women of the peacekeeping force in the country.

The detachment was accessible from the national road, but the interior route was quite steep and rough. I have been in worst places. A young trainee on a smoking break motioned to us to proceed where the venue of the discussion would take place. It was a makeshift classroom, with bamboo poles holding up a tent-like cover, with plastic chairs facing two of I assume the most decent tables they had. There was, however, a projector screen, as we requested beforehand. I had to smoke, get ready for the discussion,  so I went to a corner. I looked at the huts where they ate, the hammocks carelessly tied from one wooden pole to another, crisscrossing. Strewn about were their civilian shoes, socks, drinking glasses, an empty can of sardines, towels. Not too far, their washed clothes hung on tree branches, some with clotheslines. Water was fetched from deep wells, but they had manual water pumps. Wind swept dust all over, from the dry soil we step on, the trees perched randomly about. 

 We proceeded to set up, while waiting for the trainees to report back after their break. They did, in trickles, their eyes curiously peering at us, seemingly asking 'five women from which department?'. They were young, good-looking men. There were only about four women in the group. I asked their ages, the youngest at 21. Images of the fallen44 again invaded my mind, they were only a bit older when they died. I blinked to get the images our of my way, and I started to talk about agrarian reform. They were all focused, a bit stiff at the start. I attempted to make the discussion more personal by speaking in the dialect, Ilocano, only to be cut by some, who did not understand it. Turns out there are those who spoke Pangasinense, and their boss, the Captain, is from Bukidnon. So, I spoke in Tagalog. I surprised myself really, I did not know I still had in me 'formal' Tagalog, but it seemed easy. 

I took them to this trip I had in my years in agrarian reform, most of the valuable lessons I have are those which cannot be said with statistics and legal language. Although we had to go through the motions of that. They asked impressive questions, all of which I know they did with their minds intent on better serving communities. I spoke about how the DAR has laboured to do what it has to, for our farmers; of the small victories here and there that somehow do not land on front pages of the papers nor headlines in the news. I asked them to be more circumspect in viewing DAR, so that they can help us assuage the sentiments of the poor, vulnerable farmers influenced by those who refuse to recognize our efforts to be better. They, who would rather camp out in our Central Office and rally, putting up streamers cursing us to the heavens, instead of spending their productive hours in more meaningful endeavors.

I ended the discussion thanking them for the opportunity to have been part of their training. I asked that they continue to strive to be the 'tagaligtas' of this nation riddled by poverty, and help us show those who wallow in it that they have a government that cares for them despite all the criticisms of those who actually could not care less about them in the first place. I asked that they do all these, to honor the death of their fallen comrades. I told them to bear in mind that the lives lost will have significance only if we all continue to be sincere servants of this nation. I was about to burst in tears, I could feel it coming, but I did not let go. I have never been prouder in my life than that day. Of me, my staff, who faced them and answered their questions. Proud of them, too, for asking the right questions.

Lunch was not offered to us even if we finished at noon. We expected that. So we said our goodbyes, and rode our jeep. I looked through the window and saw them eating lunch with their hands, on plates bought cheaply from somewhere; two comrades eating from one pan cover. They were content. I just felt we have to do more for our police force (the army was also involved in fhe training). Access to cleaner drinking water, perhaps. Maybe we can help. It is the least we can do for these young men and women, who chose to serve in the countryside. Something to think about.