Friday, January 20, 2012

Going Back

By: Sharon Gouveia
Here is some sun. Some.
Now off into the places rough to reach.
Though dry, though drowsy, all unwillingly a-wobble,
into the dissonant and dangerous crescendo.
Your work, that was done, to be done to be done to be done.
-       Gwendolyn Brooks, “to the Diaspora”

It began with a late Thursday afternoon and a hastily packaged proposal. I had a bright idea.  My work had just presented me with the opportunity to support an anti-human trafficking initiative, and to become smart on all forms of Trafficking in Persons (TIP) specifically within the Asia-Pacific region.  And I could pick a country, any country to visit and further develop this initiative. Scanning the gargantuan six foot map in my boss’s office, my proposal targeted just one. There, I said, pointing. Philippines.

It’s been exactly 25 years, and I never thought I’d go back.

Two weeks later my plane descended into the well-worn but strong beating heart of Manila, and I dreamily absorbed the beckoning lights of the bay with the perfectly complete and sublime thought of, “You lucky girl.”

But there’s more than just luck to this story. I had arrived to Hawaii on October 4, 1985 wearing a white dress, a red hair clip, and clutching a straw suitcase. I was two. My caretaker/escort and I had only known each other a short while; the one who was supposed to bring me over was suddenly killed in a car crash the month before. I was slowly recovering from dysentery. My mom told me later I was quiet and miserable. But standing right outside of customs was some sun, my sun, Ron and Carrie Gouveia.

The Philippines is a country shadowed with political complexity, corruption, proletarian goodness, poverty, and a fervent, sustainable people. Its history can be divided into four parts: the Pre-Spanish Period (before 1521); the Spanish Period (1500s-1898); the U.S. Period (1898-1946); the Post Independence Period (1946-Present). My life seems to be divided into two: Pre-Adoption Period, and Everything Since.

Gratitude is enigmatic and binding. My brother and I coincidentally arrived to Hawaii the same day, though he came from South Korea on October 4, 1982, three years before me. Every year we celebrated our anniversary; my brother would get an apple pie with candles, and I got my custard. Every year we celebrated more than just happenstance and timing – we celebrated having life.

 My Pre-Adoption Period began with an ill-fated love affair between a young unmarried woman and an older married man on the southernmost island of the Philippines, Mindanao. Now, you can ask any humanitarian agency working within the Philippines, and Mindanao is all the rage. Its fractious ideologies, terrorist networks, lack of infrastructure and poverty compose much of its landscape. My biological mother gave birth prematurely in the city of Cagayan de Oro, and according to a social worker’s report, could not afford the hospital bill. In a dirty but not uncommon business exchange, the hospital kept me until payment was made in full. It’s been said that she visited me for 30 days then disappeared.

In November 1989 People Magazine published the article: “Exploring the Dark Side of Paradise, an American Couple Takes Up Misery’s Gauntlet.” It’s the extraordinary and awe-inspiring story of Tom and Diane Palmeri, my foster parents, and their service to the children of the Philippines. For over thirty three years, they’ve run a foster home, provided school sponsorship to nine hundred children in thirty-one public elementary schools, and have opened an elementary level boarding school and a farm. The school comprises of one hundred students ranging from ages nine to twenty-five. They still have my picture above their kitchen sink.

It was Diane Palmeri who whisked me from the hospital in Cagayan de Oro city to Camiguin Island north of Mindanao, who held me, who rehabilitated me for the next 17 months. During that same time, my parents in Hawaii wanted another addition to their family. My mom hoped for a girl, and being half-Filipina she petitioned the Philippines Consulate for a girl around the age of two -- my name was first on the list. But this was more than just luck. Tom and Diane Palmeri and my parents teach me that being blessed and having gratitude are not enough; there’s work to be done.

Human trafficking is the modern slavery, and it’s a problem of magnitude. According to a California-based “Not For Sale” Campaign, there are more people being bought and sold at this moment than in the entire 300-year history of the Atlantic slave trade. Our global financial crisis has spurred two concurrent trends: 1) a declining global demand for labor and 2) a growing supply of migrant workers willing to take risks.

Every year, the U.S. Department of State publishes a Trafficking in Persons (TIP) Report, which ranks governments according to how well – or fail – adherence to anti-trafficking laws for prevention, criminal prosecution, and victim protection. There are 12.3 million men, women, and children in forced labor, bonded labor, and forced prostitution. The ratio of trafficking victims is 1.8 per 1,000 inhabitants; in Asia and the Pacific, it is 3 per 1,000 inhabitants.

Last year I traveled to Dubai to attend a United Nations conference on disaster risk reduction. It was held in an opulent convention center. During one of the lunch breaks, I sat in a quaint cosmopolitan cafĂ©, savored delicious Indian food, and marveled: “what a global experience!” Shortly afterward, an older Filipina woman approached me and asked in a quiet tone verging on fearful – of how I could walk around alone. How I should have my head covered, and that I must be more careful. It’s common that Filipinas are trafficked to the Middle East to work as domestic helpers, and I felt sickened with helplessness. Simply being appreciative of my own lot felt to be the most benign act.

The Philippines has been placed on a Tier 2 Watch list, which means its government does not fully comply with the minimum standards but are increasing efforts toward compliance to global anti-trafficking regulations. The Philippines is a source country, a transit country, and a destination country for men, women, and children exploited into forced labor or prostitution. Child sex tourism remains a serious concern, and according to the State Department’s TIP report, there’s never been a conviction for labor trafficking offenders. This raises alarm considering the millions of Filipino overseas workers and the latitude for exploitation.

Despite these numbers, there are many local NGOs and government programs focusing their efforts on the “3P” Paradigm (prevention, prosecution, and protection). From increased monitoring of mail-order bride businesses, to advocacy and information campaigns on child labor and sexual exploitation, to the 2003 Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act issued by the Philippines government broadly defining trafficking and all its forms in addition to penalties, to counseling hotlines, to rehabilitation shelters and/or halfway houses specifically located at ports, and to reintegration and repatriation programs for the victims back to normal life and to “normal business.”

There’s work to be done, to be done, and being done. I really wish I could say something cathartic and visually memorable about what I did in Manila, apart from meeting those on the ground actually doing the good work and championing human dignity in a “spirit of emancipation and with fierce urgency.” It was a privilege to meet them. A privilege to work where I work. To have the opportunity to become smart on human trafficking. To have the opportunity. To have.

There is nothing like flying into Honolulu International Airport. Passengers fling open the window shades like excited children, flooding the plane with warm Hawaiian sunshine, and as the plane descends, your eyes hungrily traverse the ocean meeting the white beaches, meeting the mountains, and it’s like wham! Internal homeostasis.

 I called my dad while disembarking. We were nearly an hour delayed, and he is a very punctual man.  I imagined him pacing. Post-colonial theorists would term my entire trip as circular migrancy. A re-assemblage of self. But here is how I see it.

I arrived back into Honolulu on September 17, 2010 clutching TIP information packets. I was neither quiet nor miserable. And right outside of customs there stood my dad, with a broad smile and a bigger hug, and the feel, the fierceness of home.

2 comments:

  1. Still beautiful, my dear, and more fluid now. I want to see more of your writing!
    (This is Katrina, by the way).

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  2. I'm not sure how I'm just now reading this, but what a beautifully written account, Sharon! I agree with Katrina - please write more!

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