Culture

Pilipinos in Persian Limbo: My Experience with the OFWs of Kish Island

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Filipinos stranded on Kish Island, waiting to return to the UAE for work. Author's note: this is the  first, of hopefully several, in a series that provides a glimpse of Pilipino communities around the world through my own travel experiences.

One of my most favorite hobbies out there is to collect stamps. I would travel far and cross countries just to receive an exotic one. I would try to hop around a few nations just so I could help bolster my collection further. Admittedly though, the stamps that I collect aren't ones that you paste into envelopes but are ones that you receive in your passports.

Admittedly, the condition of mine is not at it's best and I've had issues on occasion for it's authenticity (last June I had not one, not two, but five Chinese immigration officers in Shenzen inspect it, much to the annoyance of passengers behind me) but it's almost filled up to the point where I can feel worthy enough to request a replacement. Each stamp inside it can easily evoke memories of trips long past, but there is one that I've valued since receiving it five years ago: the stamp that I received upon entry to Kish Island, Iran. And while the original purpose of my trip was to collect that stamp and say that I visited Iran, I ended up running into a group of overseas Pilipinos who live in legal limbo.

I booked my ticket at a travel agency in the relatively old Bur Dubai district of this otherwise dynamic emirate. An agent greeted me with a "Hello, Kuya. How can I help you?" She is one of the many overseas Filipino workers (OFW) that make up the diverse expatriate population of Dubai - expats make up about 90% of the emirate's population. I proceeded to her desk and joined her friend, a fellow OFW, who was hanging out with her during his break. It was on this day that I made my reservations for a flight to Kish and marks how I found out more of the Filipinos who don't reside, don't work, but wait in that island.

Not wanting to be left behind by the explosive growth going on in the Gulf, the Iranian government designated Kish Island as a free trade zone in hopes of catching some foreign investment flowing into the region. One incentive to encourage growth was that, unlike mainland Iran, Kish didn't have a visa entry requirement. This incentive, however, attracted foreign workers of neighboring countries whose visas were close to expiration. Instead of paying an expensive airfare back to their home countries, they would take a short and cheap flight into Kish, take advantage of the visa waiver, and wait it out until their visas are renewed. Some wait for days, some weeks, and some for months. Ate Travel Agent made sure to emphasize that last point for me when she handed me my ticket:

"Remember, while you may be able to visit for just a day, there are hundreds still waiting to come back to Dubai."

The following morning I found myself in Terminal 2 of Dubai International Airport. Unlike the more glamorous parts of the larger Terminal 1 (along with Terminal 3 which opened after I visited), Terminal 2 was a no-frills building for low-cost carriers and smaller regional carriers that serve destinations I'd typically hear in the news. My most favorite memory out of that place was watching a family with little kids that looked dressed for a day in Disneyland board a flight... to Kabul. The gate of my Kish Island flight was filled with the passengers that make up the demographics of Dubai's working class foreign labor: individuals from Africa, the Indian subcontinent, and Southeast Asia were seen. I'd hear dialects that I never heard before, which at times was so overwhelming that I saw comfort when I heard a Tagalog speaker floating in the crowd.

The Kish Airlines Fokker 50 has a colorful history.

Now the flight itself was the epitome of unconventional. While our boarding passes gave us a designated seat assignment, it was apparently thrown out once we entered the cabin in a Southwest Airlines-esque free-for-all for onboard seat selection. The Fokker 50 we were on board certainly had a colorful history: overhead signage was in English and Spanish while parts had a smattering German thrown in for diversity, a prime example of Persian resilience despite trade embargoes, which prevent the likes of it's local aviation industry from acquiring spare parts.

I ended up sitting next to a young Pilipina who was about to join the kababayans in limbo at Kish. She hailed from Cagayan; she had left the comforts and familiarity of her home in order to provide for her parents by becoming one of the many OFWs in the region. OFWs there are not strangers to the difficulty of adjusting to the culture shock, the backbreaking hours put in, the rights that they had (or rather didn't have), the crowded conditions of living with six other OFWs in a studio apartment, and more. The list goes on.

As we were chatting and I learned more of my seat mate's history, I remembered the words that Ate Travel Agent gave me the day before and I suddenly broke into tears. The epiphany of how realizing  much I was blessed with as a Fil-Am became more hard-hitting. It made me realize more how much of a bubble I lived in, more so than from my encounters in the Philippines. Yes, I had heard about other overseas Pilipino communities and occasionally bits on their struggles. But to hear it from themselves was nothing short of powerful.

Now arrival and passport control at Kish was an experience in of itself: as long as the lines were, it nonetheless moved and it moved fast, that is, until I came up. Upon seeing my US passport, I was escorted to the side while the officers took care of the remaining passengers. Eventually, I was all by myself in the immigration hall, growing more concerned, and eventually scared, as the minutes passed. What didn't help was that I was sharing the hall with Iranian soldiers who looked like they were enjoying the fear that I was emanating. Eventually, one of them looked directly at me and hand gestured his index finger, moving it across his neck. I began repeating to myself, "I'm gonna die today, aren't I? Am I going to be the next Robert Levinson?!"

In the end, their shenanigans were in jest, and they eventually came up to me to take a gander at my iPod (which was blasting Return to Innocence to calm my nerves, and whose music video inspired me to do a backtrack on my own life at the same moment) and to pick up a few extra English phrases. Disregarding their dark humor, they ended up being friendlier than most CBP officers I usually have to bear with when returning to the US! I was then ushered to a private room where I was given the Iranian equivalent of CBP's secondary screening. Understandably, it seemed suspicious for an American to stay in Kish for just a day and wanted to verify my intentions before sending me off. WikiTravel didn't exist when I visited but it's Kish entry gives a disclaimer that I wish I had received prior to visiting:

Beware: if you are Western, you may be sternly questioned as to the purpose of your visit.

Eventually I managed to join the rest of the expatriates in the town itself. I wandered around the areas where they would spend their days while waiting to return to their intended workplaces. I heard of a story of two Pilipinas who were unable to have their visas renewed, didn't have enough money for a fare to return to the Philippines, and ended up committing suicide. I never did follow up on it for authenticity, but there was one story that I remember earlier this year where another one did unfortunately choose to take her life.

Biding their time at the billiards in the Farabi Hotel.

Before heading back to the airport, I made a tour around the island which can be easily done within just a few hours. As I was inquiring about doing the tour, I noticed a flyer advertising the services in Tagalog, a break from all the Farsi that I was overwhelmed with. The island itself is beautiful, with peaceful beaches, ancient underground aqueducts, and a slower pace for those that want to take a break from the hustle and bustle of Middle Eastern economic growth. But ever since this humbling experience, I'm reminded that it is also an island were many overseas workers still wait for their chance to return to job opportunities in order to provide for their families at homes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MekvELPcprs

And among those are Pilipinos who are thousands of miles away from home. I only managed to catch a quick glimpse of it, and admittedly it's small compared to what Malou Garcia experienced in her week there, Leah Quilongquilong who spent thirty three days, and the thousands of others who continue to wait in that limbo. Even my own half-brother--estranged until a couple years after my visit--had experienced Kish as an OFW (and admittedly quite frequently which unfortunately raised eyebrows with Israeli immigration officials later on as he went through a land border crossing from Jordan!).

A spring in the Underground City.

As I shake my head, having to work with Argentina's expanded reciprocal fee, waiting for another passport extension at the local office, or having to make a couple trips down to the Chinese consulate to process my visa, I try to remind myself that such inconveniences are petty compared what the Pilipino community in Kish goes through, alongside the greater struggles of millions of OFWs experience.

Seeing a familiar language was a sight for sore eyes, especially when I caught this at the hotel's front desk!

Ate Travel Agent's words still echo through my trips, and have helped me appreciate the freedom and ability that I have to travel. I may have been given an extra treatment by Iranian immigration but it pales to what much of the world has to do to get an American visa, and even then entry into the US is not guaranteed, as what was seen with Carina Yonzon Grande who was denied entry in Seattle by CBP after a longhaul flight from Manila and an extensive secondary screening process that made my 30 minute immigration backroom interview made Iranian officers seem like peanuts. (At least the Iranians were polite and courteous, that is with the joke about cutting my head off notwithstanding.) I was able to essentially go in and out of Kish as I pleased whereas many OFWs still hang in that legal limbo, waiting for the day when they can return to their exhausting jobs and providing valuable remittances that make up ten percent of the Philippine GDP.

And this experience is amongst several that I use encourage fellow Americans, Fil-Am and otherwise--to not only express--but also appreciate that same freedom. Hopefully through such appreciation and expression, we can be inspired to help out and become more involved with issues that involve Pilipinos at home, in the Philippines, and in the many communities across the world.

Photo credit (top photo): Gulf News

Luzviminda Camacho: Making Stride for Pilipinas

 “Woman must not accept; she must challenge. She must not be awed by that which has been built up around her; she must reverence that woman in her which struggles for expression.” - Margaret Sanger

Luzviminda Camacho after taking her oath in the Philippine Senate in September 2013.

On October 28, 2013, the Philippines made headlines as reports of their seventeenth peace-keeping mission to Haiti decorated both written and internet news publications. The Pilipino contingency is a part of a larger pacifist effort called the Multinational Interim Force. Conceptualized by United Nations in 2004, it was the reaction to the bloody confrontation that occurred between the Haitian government and insurgents that same year. They continue today as a means to maintain peace in Haiti, a country torn by violent anti-government revolts.

As a participant in this initiative, the Armed Forces of the Philippines provides perimeter surveillance, administrative and logistics service to UN diplomats. They ensure the safety of these figureheads as they move forward in their attempts to stabilize Haiti’s still transitional government and prevent any acts of violence that would only increase the amount of blood already spilled.

This ongoing campaign is praiseworthy without help, however, that is not the reason why it was plastered on newspapers and websites in bold print. The reason is Luzviminda Camacho. Camacho is this year's commander of the Philippines' peacekeepers. She is also a woman, the first woman the Philippines has ever sent on such a mission. This is an enormous stride for both Camacho and Pilipino women, and it is not the first she has made. In fact, she is quite familiar with the notoriety that surrounds a 'first woman leader'. She was the first female to command ships in the Pilipino Navy (four naval vessels over a period of three years). Assigned to traditionally male-occupied positions, Camacho is both carving out a larger space for women in the Pilipino military and proving that the intellectual skills of strategy and leadership do not elude women as much of society may think.

Gender Equality in the Philippines

Heavily influenced by Spanish colonialism, the Philippines is a society that, in its early years, centered itself a patriarchal ideal. Men were breadwinners and women homemakers. However, with the ascent of female President Corazon Aqunio, the Philippines saw major changes that allowed women to shatter the "glass ceiling" in the Philippines. Not only was a women assigned to the most influential seat of power in the nation, but Aquino released a revised the constitution so that it guaranteed Pilipinas impartiality in the eyes of the law and protection in the workplace. The following 30 years brought even more progress, enacting legislation that counteracted gender discrimination in political representation, reception of land, and entrance into military schools.  Women were also protected, by law, from sexual harassment, rape, and partners seeking mail-order-brides. As a result, the Philippines, today, boasts the title of the best performer of gender equality in the Asia-Pacific, ranking number six in on the list of most gender-equal nations.

As noteworthy as this accomplishment is, there are still instances, albeit reduced, of workplace exploitation, and violence against women. These instances are proof that there are still obstacles hindering complete gender equality; although the "glass wall" has been broken, shards of it remain. Luzviminda Camacho is, then, more than just the first Pilipino female to command a naval fleet and more than just the first Pilipina ambassador to Haiti. She is an example of women who refuse to let their brilliance be repressed. She is not a woman who will bashfully reject compliments, but rather eagerly accept the well-deserved rewards of her excellence.

As a naval captain, ready to confront the dangers of  protecting foreign diplomats, she has not limited herself to "making puddings and knitting stockings." She is as physically capable as any man. As a single mother, constantly leaving her son for foreign seas and countries, she does more than "[play] on the piano and [embroider] handbags." Her emotional and intellectual capacities are as far-reaching as that of her male counterparts. Although she may not know it, Camacho is an active warrior evening the playing field between the sexes, working to close the gap that has deceivingly defined men as society's "more privileged creatures."

[I]t is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that [women] ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Photo credit:

Passing on the M.E.A.L. Plan

It is a running joke in my family that my siblings and I did not take up the "M.E.A.L." career plan championed by every parent. M.E.A.L.–that is, Medicine, Engineering, Accounting, and Law professions–is the golden standard, the life paths parents cross their fingers for as soon as their toddlers start school. M.E.A.L. jobs are hard-earned titles, widely respected, financially stable, and of no interest to my siblings and I. Trust me, I often wish I grew up with dreams to be a doctor like so many of my admirable friends, but my restless mind led me to a different calling–a calling that too often generates furrowed-brow-wrinkled nose-reactions at Pilipino family parties.

"A writer? But, why? Are you sure you don't want to take up nursing?"

Cue: sigh.

From left to right: my two older brothers, me and my younger sister.

I have three siblings. My oldest brother studied linguistics, traveled around the world teaching English for several years, then returned to be a high school Mandarin and French teacher. My other older brother studied Film and Television, had a run as an NBC Page, and now works in production at Discovery Communications. I'm studying journalism–a career my heart was set on since I was 14. My 15-year-old sister doesn't know what she wants to be yet, but the M.E.A.L. plan isn't on her radar either.

Our parents never imposed any M.E.A.L. dreams on us. They let us discover our true passions, only bolstered by being raised in a city where opportunity sits at your fingertips. I was only 12 when my mom gave me a door sign that read "Future Award-Winning Author at Work."

My mom encouraged creative pursuits with gifts like this sign.

Why did we not pursue more traditional careers? Why did we choose the risk of uncertain paths with no set plan or mode of study? Despite my parents' undying encouragement and gung-ho dive into uncertainty alongside their kids, I still have felt guilt. Sometimes, I've wished they could boast about their daughter-the-doctora. I have felt the succeed-or-else urgency unique to second generation kids, and have been reminded of the struggles often associated with parents who leaving the Philippines in order to provide for their families.

I recently read an article in The Atlantic titled "All Immigrants Are Artists," profiling one of my favorite writers, Edwidge Danticat. It put into perspective the creative pursuits of my siblings and I perfectly.

"First-generation immigrants often model artistic behavior for their children... I realize now I saw artistic qualities in my parents’ choices—in their creativity, their steadfastness, the very fact that we were in this country from another place. They’re like the artist mentors people have in any discipline—by studying, by observing, by reading, you’ve had this model in the form of someone’s life. My mother could not have found time for creative pursuits with four children and a factory job. But she modeled the discipline and resourcefulness and self-sacrifice that are constant inspirations in my own life’s work. The things she did, the choices she made, made the artist’s life possible for me. I didn’t know it, but she taught me that being an artist makes sense."

If stringing words together, painting meaning from language, and capturing life's moments with pen and paper fulfill me both personally and professionally–I do not need to apologize. The M.E.A.L. plan wasn't for me, and it doesn't have to apply to others who have felt guilt as like I did. Besides, there are young Pilipino girls and boys with creative dreams like mine, and they need a role model to look to. Why not me?

The Journey of a Brown Girl Community Launch Party

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The Journey of a Brown Girl's launch party on November 15 brought attendees to The Living Gallery in Brooklyn, a cozy space just waiting to be christened with community. The walls were decorated by original creations by Journey's own team members and performers, including Vanessa Ramalho's handmade scarves, apparel by Inez Galvez, the iconic Journey painting, and even live art created on site by Karoleen DeCastro. Aside from fundraising for the production itself, 15% of proceeds from donations would benefit Sagip-Tulong sa Pilipinas (STP)'s relief funds for those affected by Typhoon Haiyan. The four actresses, Vanessa Ramalho (Fire), Karen Pangantihon (Earth), Renee Rises (Wind), and Precious Sipin (Light/Mother) opened the show, along with a piece from the show's creator Jana Lynne Umipig. The night was akin to an intimate family gathering, including familiar faces from Tagalogue, with an abundance of drinks and people, packed in to the point where some were sitting on the floor. A wide range of acts went on, including those by Chris Celiz, Andre Dimapilis, Nicole Maxali, Renee Rises and Luis Guillien, Deep Foundation, and Hydroponikz. Spoken word, stand up comedy, beatboxing, rap, and song were all part of the lively mix–a testament to the growing Filipino Arts Renaissance. The center of the room played a stage, and the absence of boundaries allowed the vibrant audience and artists alike to absorb one another's talents and messages.

Learn more about The Journey of a Brown Girl's message at thejourneyofabrowngirl.com. Keep posted for its debut in Spring 2014.

Photo credit: Kristina Rodulfo

Blood is Thicker than Water: The Importance of Family in the Pilipino Culture

THWACK

A thin bar of plastic had descend on my shoulder. A hanger and my older sister wielding it.

SMACK

My sister was crying. My clenched fist had just collided with her stomach.

I was not quite ten and she not quite fourteen.

If you have siblings then you probably are, I venture to say, familiar with this type of experience. Growing up with two sisters – who were more like brothers when they were angry – I have experienced, and inflicted, my fair share of emotional and physical blows. I cannot count how many times I’ve been hit, punched, bitten or screamed at. How often I heard the words, “I hate you!" or felt the sting of a cold shoulder is beyond me. When we fought—and we fought A LOT—no feelings were spared, no insult was unused and at least one of us walked away with a bruise.

My sister and I during a childhood Christmas.

When I reminisce about all the childhood clashes that classified my sisters as enemies, two things happen. One, I realize that my sisters and I were little barbarians when we were younger. I mean when you resort to biting an adversary, you've regressed a few evolutionary steps.  Two, I look at us now and wonder how did three people who could so easily "hate"  each other become three people who could not live without one another? I suppose some of it has to do with getting older. As the number on our birthday cakes increased, the petty differences that pitted us against one another dwindled in importance. But was it really just time that changed us? Definitely not.

A blur of flying fists and ugly words — especially now, more than a decade later— I remember very few details about our fights. What I do remember is my father saying this:

"Love your sisters. At the end of the world, your family is all you have."

Repeated each time I ran to my room in tears, my dad's advice became tradition. No argument felt complete unless it ended in his voice and these words. There seems nothing abnormal about this; just a father trying to mediate between his bickering children.  However, there was strange and remarkable about this advice: I didn't have to fling a toy at my sisters to hear it. Any situation in which my dad had my attention, he found some way to remind me how essential my family is (the man could turn conversation about Christmas dinner into a sermon about family!). But however much fun I like to poke at my father's lessons, they worked. There is no one I trust more than my little sister, no one I can joke around with like my Ate. And as I became older, I began to understand these values were not exclusive to just my family. Like the eight-rayed sun, close family bonds are indicative of the Pilipino culture.

The family stands at the center of the Pilipino culture. A beautiful feature that only adds to the richness of our culture, many Pilipinos - myself included - do not often ask why. Why is family such a crucial part of life for Pilipinos?  According to Ador Vincent Mayol in the Global Nation Inquirer, religion is the driving force behind this mentality. Mayol asserts that the family is a gift from God and as a cohesive unit it is a representation of the Lord. It is no surprise, then, that the arduously Catholic Pilipinos feel the need to strengthen family ties as another means of showing reverence to God. No doubt, the family, my family,  is a great blessing. However, I would like to share a different possibility.

The Philippines is a poor country. Yes, it houses the very modernized, very affluent Manila, but the greater majority of this island nation is in a state of seemingly perpetual poverty; its poverty level have remained stagnant for the past six years.  So impoverished is the Philippines that the goal of many of its younger residents is to leave the country, unwilling to raise a family in these dire conditions. This is a disheartening fact, but it is one that, I believe, encourages Pilipino families to develop such unshakable relationships. When you have  no financial stability and very few material possessions, and when you live in fear that at any moment you could be removed from school because of insufficient funds, the only constant thing is your family. In a country whose economic state is constantly testing the physical and emotional resilience of its people, the family in the Pilipino culture is a gold mine of strength.  It is the cushion for when one falls and the holler of joy when one succeeds. The family provides, for Pilipinos, a sense of togetherness and emotional stability vital in a situation earmarked by toil and inconsistency.

Am I glad that my parents, my titos and titas, my grandparents faced such hardship? Never. No one should have to wonder if they'll have enough money to buy a decent meal or suitable clothes. However, I do consider myself lucky having been born to Pilipino parents, born into a culture defined by endurance and a clear understanding about the importance of family.

"We never had a lot, but we always had each other." -Glenn Estavillo, my dad