Searching for Lost Idealism
by Mary Anne P. Ledesma
I was ushered into the working world in 1986, that year when a huge multitude of which I was a part launched a bloodless revolution that successfully evicted a corrupt dictator from his position of arrogant, shameless oppression. It was a year when the Filipino was extremely proud, when hearts were stout and brave, when the youth had good reason to believe that the ills of this world could be conquered, when idealism was in vogue. I had then just graduated from a university whose hallowed corridors echoed with the strains of one song each of its students sang even in their sleep: "Lord, teach me to be generous...to give and not to count the cost, to fight and not to heed the wounds."
Our education was capped by a nine-day silent retreat among the age-old trees and quiet walls of a seminary in Novaliches. In this retreat, one came face-to-face with no one but God to surrender to Him one's life and consult Him on the soul's many questions. I prayed then to know where my mind and heart, hands and feet could be used to translate my idealism into action.
The answer came a few days later in the form of a teaching job offered. It was an offer that refused to go away no matter the number of times I blinked.
Thus, for twelve years, I taught. In five schools, two in my province and three in Manila, I taught. From children of fishermen and rank-and-file employees to girls of a prominent exclusive school to special children with learning handicaps, I taught.
1998 marks the first year I finally pause. I pause in search of my idealism. In the last school I taught, I painfully wrestled with corruption and the same arrogant, shameless oppression that I saw in the dictator of my country's past. This time, I stood not with the might of the emboldened multitude but alone.
In the midst of the struggle, battle-scarred as I was, I chose to withdraw and pause. I pause not in outright defeat but in a passionate desire to rediscover my idealism; I am not as of yet ready to simply yield to the forces of darkness. I pause with my idealism momentarily crucified but with the undaunted hope that its resurrection is forthcoming.
And as I pause to wait, I search.
I search for my idealism after my experience with a school where money and power have become the values unwittingly taught and, in the process, respect and truth blatantly disregarded.
I search for my idealism after having been part of a system that allocates a substantial part of its budget to peddle lies and half-truths in brochures under the guise of "marketing ".
I search for idealism as I finally realize that the nation's traditional political system of patronage that we so despise and desire to cleanse is no different from the political system that underlies some (many?) school systems. I have seen with my own eyes how, because top people succeed in using the right garnishings on their arguments and have lawyers as added props to support their "We will sue..." threats, it becomes legal, correct, and acceptable to treat those at the bottom teachers at that, mind you as just a few notches above slaves.
As I pause, I meet people along the way who tell me to merely give up, give in. "Get real, lady, " I am told. The cold facts are rapidly rattled off; the face of reality that is painted for me indeed points towards the direction of despair.
Yet, I still find myself waking up in the morning searching. I begin my search in the face of the One who does not give up nor give in on me. I mean, c'mon, get real, the facts about me, too humiliating to divulge, are stacked in favor of throwing me into Hell's fires. Instead, He went as far as dying for me. I take a deep breath and start my search with Him. There's no better place to start.
Then, I search inside of me where, together with memories of wounds I continue to nurse, are memories of students I have loved and worked with. In my mind's eye, I still see their expectant and hopeful eyes. The world's cynics may loudly declare that filth, injustice, and deceit are realities that are here to stay, but the fragile world of these young ones which we are tasked to protect is anchored on optimism and hope. They dream of becoming lawyers, doctors, engineers, basketball players, and making a dent in our world someday. They hope to fall in love with someone who will love them, marry, have children, live in simple houses with solid foundations, and raise a decent family. They believe in the tomorrow that awaits them. Their dreams, hopes, and beliefs consume my search. It is for these that I yearningly await the time when the fires in my heart can be lit again.
And so, I search. I search with the calm confidence of one who knows that the answers to my questions will come. Occasionally, the search is stalled as the wounds that need to heal demand attention and require indulgence. But in early mornings before the sun heralds a new day, in deep nights before sleep sets in, in the limbo of long bus rides, in the minutes it takes to sip large glasses of diet coke, I search.
I do not know nor do I craft my thoughts to will the nature of the answers I will eventually arrive at. I only know that as I search, I also ponder on the fact that in the same year that I pause, the dictator we fought against in 1986 has also been allowed burial in the Libingan ng Mga Bayani. I wonder if a connection exists between them.
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