By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS
Small talk, big issue
A smiley sticker the size of a saucer in the back of my car proclaims: I AM PRO-LIFE. I AM ANTI-RH BILL.
I don’t allow unnecessary stickers on my car—not even religious ones—but this one is an exception. I even applied it myself and only much later did I realize I had broken my own no-sticker rule. It was an act-now-think-later thing but the reason that surfaced later was as clear as a newborn baby’s eyes.
I wanted it to be a voice for the voiceless—the voiceless unborn that the clanging of the RH bill supporters’ cymbals is programmed to annihilate. A colleague gave me that sticker at the Filipinos United for Life Interfaith Rally held at the PICC grounds in Manila last February 13—the only rally I have ever attended in my whole life. Since I can’t attend pro-life rallies as much as I’d want to, I take to the streets everyday with this sticker as my megaphone. Instead of marching in the streets for life with a placard, I drive around fighting death with a smile(y).
I was happy when one morning, at a filling station along E. Rodriguez Ave. in Quezon City, , a gasoline boy asked me, “Ma’am, ano ba yang RH bill?” He was appreciating the sticker, preparing to inflate my tires. I replied, “Ay naku, mapang-api sa mahihirap yan,” and then proceeded to tell him why I think it should not become a law. I said the bill sees a human being as just another mouth to feed, which is contrary to the Filipinos’ belief that children are the wealth of the family.
It usurps parents’ right to educate and look after their own children when it comes to sex, I explained in Tagalog. If that bill is passed, I told him, parents can be jailed for trying to stop their daughter from having an abortion. They can’t even object when their grade-school kids are taught how to use a condom! “Biruin mo, magulang ka, hindi ka na puwedeng magturo ng tama at mali sa anak mo, dahil pakikialam daw yon?!” (It’s no joke that you’re a parent but you’re not allowed to tell your child what’s right or wrong, because that would be taken as meddling!)
Anyone speaking against it will also automatically be judged as malicious and can be thrown into jail, I continued. “Imadyin mo, pag nagsalita ka ng nasasa loob mo, ikukulong ka, tama ba yon?” (Imagine you could be imprisoned for speaking your mind out—is that right?) The gasoline boy quipped, “Patay! Sino na mag-aalalay sa mga anak natin, gobyerno?” (Shucks! Who will guide our kids then, the government?)
That’s what’s so sad about it, I told him, the institution that’s supposed to protect our life seems hell-bent on endangering it. “Mukhang desidido gobyerno eh. Hindi pa nga batas yan ipinatutupad na nila nang patago eh” (The government seems determined; even now they’re clandestinely implementing parts of the bill), I said and recalled for him a story told by a friend whose labandera gave birth at a government facility. Because she’s enlisted as an indigent patient, she was apparently entitled to a maternity benefit of some 3,000 pesos, but she was told she could avail of it only if she would agree to undergo tubal ligation. “Kung hindi siya magpapatali, hindi niya makukuha ang pera. O, ganon ba ang paggalang sa karapatan ng tao? Hindi ba pangbabastos yung iniipit nila yung mahirap?”
We ended at that. How much could one say, after all, in the time it takes to inflate four little car tires? But the incident made me grateful because one gasoline boy noticed my message, and asked about it. I hope I satisfied his curiosity; I pray he heard more than what I said. Small talk on a big issue, totally unplanned, absolutely unexpected. Truly, God never sleeps. And that’s the truth.
END
TRT/March 15, 2011
