“There is a classroom in one of the poorest barangay in my district—with 38 students and only nine chairs,” began Leni Robredo, keynoting a ceremony not too long ago giving out awards for outstanding efforts in advancing the cause of freedom.
She continued: “When I was visiting that area in one of my weekly trips to my district I saw a piece of cartolina where the teacher wrote down a schedule for which child sat on Monday, which on Tuesday, and so forth.”
These words etched a picture in my mind that has stayed with me long after Leni’s speech, which ended with a moving appeal for institutionalizing safeguards of freedom for the generations to come.
Nothing makes my temper rise as much as seeing a child denied its basic dignities, like having its own classroom chair. And there are children whose rights need to be protected, indeed, from the very adults they look up to and trust, or even love and respect—for instance, parents and other relations who use them for their own gain.
But the worst kind are people who claim to represent God and in His image, betray children’s trust and rob them of the very innocence they are meant to protect.
Handy excuse
National poverty used to be a handy excuse for why so many children suffer. Given the indecent amounts officials steal systematically from the public coffers, the excuse is no longer credible. I’m only too glad that the vulgar larceny is not only being investigated—and investigated openly—but that previously untouchable suspects are now in detention.
The temptation is for one to feel free of blame for all the unnecessary, if not downright immoral, deprivation brought upon our children.
To think my classmates and I were already feeling ecstatically philanthropic for distributing 10,000 pairs of slippers for unshod rural schoolchildren. Oh, I could cry for shame for such a drop in the huge bucket of children’s urgent needs—far more urgent needs: education, nutrition, shelter, health care.
They have deeper and subtler needs, too. Who’s to protect their tender hearts from breaking when a teacher— perhaps not ill-meaning at all—metes out a punishment too cruel for someone so sensitive as Liam Madamba to take? And punishment for what? One “stolen paragraph” in a whole opus. Shamed by the very teacher he meant to please, only 18 and desperately heartbroken, Liam is driven to break the rest of him by leaping to his death.
A former teacher of his, Jane Fisher, who cares deeply enough to have noticed and understood her students individually, wrote Liam’s parents. She likens him to “translucent glass. . . fragile, vulnerable, beautiful”—she may well have been describing any child, only her letter is rich in such detail about Liam as only a teacher who truly cares would remember. She ends as she begins it, in the same tragically sensitive tone: “My heart broke when I heard the news about Liam . . . It remains broken still, and I will leave it that way.”
Inconsolable
No doubt Liam’s parents are suffering through the most painful loss—the loss of one’s own child, and in the most painful of circumstances yet, which they may always be tempted to imagine they might have been able to change. They may be inconsolable, but it would be hard for them not to find solace in Jane Fisher’s kind words.
By God’s love and compassion, Liam survived long enough to be able to give his mother’s name and phone number and receive the Last Sacrament.
Alas, we cannot protect them all. But we could at least do right by those in our own home and backyard. Pope Francis, who is especially fond of children, allows parents to spank them, but not to the point of taking away their human dignity.
Parents in custody squabbles often forget about their children’s own anguish. Too self-absorbed and often too angry, too, if not vengeful, they seem so intent on going at each other, their own children’s interest goes unconsidered. I remember my own case. My children, all yet in school, initially joined their father upon our separation. Maybe I was too stunned to make a fuss or get angry. The children may have loved us both, but when pressed to make a choice, they chose to be with him.
It was my psychiatrist friend who spoke the most consoling words. “You know very well that you have capital invested in your children (may puhunan ka na sa mga anak mo) in terms of time, effort and love. Let them be.” She was convinced it was actually better for them to be with just one parent, instead of dividing their time between us. In fact, she said, “The arrangement will make them see things more clearly. They’ll feel less guilty and become less confused.”
She also assured me, “They will be back.” And true enough, one by one, of their own accord, for different reasons, in their own time, they were back with me.
Of course, it’s best for families to try to stay together, but not everyone has the capacity to work things out happily. And it would be peachy if custody cases could be resolved by Solomonic decisions and all mothers conducted themselves like the genuine one in the biblical case—the one who would rather lose than have her child cut in two so that each claimant got half of it.
Anyway, no matter what happens, children are part of both their parents, always. If they have to, they ought to be able to choose freely. Perhaps estranged parents ought to be welcoming and loving, whether their children are coming or going.