When we attended a social gathering two years ago, my aunt, who is with the UN, and I joined the queue for lunch. An in-law who has a column in a newspaper wrote about it. Just. Because. We. Queued.
But queuing was not really something spectacular we did. My father instilled that in me and my siblings. And he must have been molded by his own clan to think the way he did. My relatives -at least, most of us - abhor the sense of entitlement people think are attached to positions or social status.
Dad always stressed that a high post in government does not give one entitlements. You become a public servant. It is just a role which is not more than that of the farmer who produces our food, the teacher who educates our children, the activist who struggles to change the world, the doctor or nurse who takes care of the health of others, the driver who takes us places, the janitor who keeps our workplaces and environment clean.
What is important is that we do right by our roles, regardless of how high or low, or how important or not, society views them. No role is more important or higher than the others. What matters is we do not use them to take advantage of others. We use them to help humanity.
But stratification and the entitlement attached to it are a social reality. In the Department of Justice, there are celebrations to mark milestones. During the anniversary in 2017, there was free lunch for everyone. When I said to the staff, "Let us now have lunch, " Kuya Loloy, a staff of ASec Macarambon, said to me, "Ma'am, VIPs will have lunch in the (other building). Let me take you there." I jokingly told my staff, mostly Igorots, and ASec Macarambon's staff, all Muslims, "You are also VIPs - Very Indigenous People. I will join my cohort of Very Insufferable People."
We all laughed.
Anyway, back when when we were making the invitations to my wedding, someone - a relative of my husband- said we should list the sponsors according to "order of importance" and that meant putting the names of the high-ranking politicians (Two were asked by us while the rest offered.) ahead with their titles prefixed by Hon. (eg. Hon. Juan Dela Cruz). To the long list, I added my Aunty Francisca Lim-ay Anton, Ms. Rosita Dang-awen and Ms. Paula Agdaca, also aunts who were among my favorite elementary school teachers, Mr. Esteban Tiwaken (to appease my aunts who so wanted him to become my father-in-law even if his son did not intend to make me his wife. Haha. And I also wanted him to be there.), Ms. Dolores Lagyop, one college professor of mine, Cong. Victor Dominguez who was like a second father to me, and Mayor Mauricio Domogan (who happens to be a relative).
I objected to the "marching order" of the well-meaning relative from the other side to list the ninongs and ninangs according to "order of importance." The well-meaning relative insisted that we use "Honorable" for the incumbent politicians who should be first on the list, "tay siya ino nan maik-ikkan (it is how it is being done)." I said, "What makes them more honorable than the others? They are all honorable." My mom said to me, "You give in. That is not enough reason to create conflict." I would not give in to convention but I also saw wisdom in Mom's entreaty. So in the end, the ninongs and ninangs were listed in ALPHABETICAL ORDER and everyone's name was prefixed by "Hon." That was my small defiance.
Every time I look at the invitation, I laugh and remember how I stuck to "honorable" in its ordinary meaning (The political meaning is different. "Honorable" means you are an elective official or hold a high-ranking government post, even if you do dishonorable things.). I bite my tongue, too, for my hard-headedness.
But I stayed true to a belief my father taught me: Human beings are equal. Treat the powerful guy as you would the weak one. And if you have power in your hands, use it for the weak.
I remember Daddy poignantly today, Father's Day. It has been 6 years since he left us. But his words abide in his children. May our children catch them.
(He wrote me a letter when I graduated from high school. He wrote me when I graduated from college. I guess I was
his problem child.)
