walang p.

luna bayle

this is a common phrase used here in geneva among the

filipino community. it means “walang papel” or succinctly, “no
paper.” many filipino migrant workers here are undocumented
or do not have residence permits. from the rough 5,000 in
geneva, maybe 70 percent are undocumented.

they live in fear from the men in uniforms that routinely check
bus passes. they fear the winter raids. most of all, they fear the
denouncement of their fellow countrymen. because of this,
kababayans (compatriots) often ignore the other which is
contrary to filipino inherent values. so many instances have
happened that a filipino was “raided” because of some petty
argument that arose. anger subsumed the other and the
reasons why both of them worked and cleaned toilets didn’t
matter anymore. a trampled ego or unbridled pride was enough
to wreak havoc and make the other lose his/her job plunging
his/her family into more poverty. it was poverty that sent them
out in the first place. but all is forgotten when anger is there.

it makes my heart cry to hear of these stories. traveling from

country to country, seeing the plight of my countrymen, it has
been a privilege to share in their lives. i am also an OFW
(overseas filipino worker). but my life is arguably better than
most.

one of my friends now, who i used to go hiking with in the lush

mountains of our alma mater is cleaning houses and scrubbing
toilets in a country that once colonized us for almost 400 years.
it is still a decent living. but poverty has driven my countrymen
out of our homeland. when will this diaspora end?
the philippines blessed with 7,101 islands have made some
lives unlivable for some. a golden age ended with the power
hungry politicians so eager to fill their pockets with government
money.

so many filipinos seeking greener pastures are willing to give

up the prestige of a degree to clean houses in a far away land.
they risk being deported from switzerland to put food on the
table for their families back home.

never had i seen such determination. not even when i was in

the states, where the undocumented lived in relative comfort.

when i first left my country in 1990, i left that picture of

poverty, the tenement style BLISS housing project that Imelda
Marcos had constructed. i left some playmates whose joy was
to fiddle with the passenger jeep parked in the then brown
earth. i left the insult of my tattered clothes. i left the public
school whose teachers made students come over their houses
to do extra credit work to check school papers.

i saw what the american dream was. blessed filipinos who had
gotten out during marcos’ time or even earlier and when
doctors and nurses were in demand, had resurrected their
impoverished lives from the ashes and lived in enviable
comfort.

big houses with manicured lawns, swimming pools and billiard

rooms, erected from the sweat of the 18-hour shifts of some
toxic hospital ward. they had reaped the rewards of their labor.

some forgot what it was like to be poor and began to look down
on the less fortunate often renouncing charity because they
had risen from their perceived own sweat.

others still did not fail to recognize the help they got and
passed on the good work by helping others in need.
it is sorrowful to see suffering of broken homes because of
economic dictates. why can’t we provide for our people in our
country?

i sit here now in geneva and i remember the countless parties

in the states of the filipino organizations. i recount the bloodied
suicide attempt of a kababayan who just slashed her wrist
because of a love triangle in abu dhabi. i reminisce the lashes
on the back of sarah balabagan, who was punished by shari’a
law for murdering her rapist/employer. i remember the blood of
an abortion on our carpet. i recall the denial of fear in iraq’s
abundant oil-wealth as filipinos witnessed the transition of
dictatorship to eventual hostage-taking.

this is all in the name of putting food on the table and making
the lives of filipino families better.

statistics show that 1 out of 10 in the philippines has an OFW.

that is 10 million filipinos seeking their fortunes elsewhere. it is
millions of families separated, a mother and father that children
never knew and came to symbolize only a source of monthly
stipends to buy the latest phone. the children sometimes follow
when there are legal means. others stave off homesickness and
go as long as 11 years without going home to their families. the
phone card business thrives because of phone calls that
substitute for hugs and kisses.

walang p. can invariably equate walang pera (no money). such

a sad reality but reality is never really the rose-colored fantasy
we all hold dear in our hearts. we just like to hope and wish it
was.