IN 2007, a teacher named Nellie Banaag and her team had just concluded the counting of votes. Their next move was to bring the ballot boxes to Taysan Town Hall when armed men arrived and began shooting; they poured gasoline on the boxes and set them on fire. Banaag and another woman sought cover in the toilet. The flames engulfed the entire building, with the teacher and Ramos burnt to death. This happened in Batangas, a place near Manila and not in some isolated islands in the south.
More were injured, with one dying in the hospital. Banaag was only 42 years of age. She would be the only teacher to have died during the said election. In other places, however, more violence was committed against other teachers, with four of them kidnapped in Maguindanao and two wounded in Abra.
In 2011, an odd press release from the Department of Education was celebrating the fact that “our teachers serving in the frontlines of the election were spared from whatever form of violence.” Of course, there is no need to belabor the obvious. But belaboring the safety of teachers does not belong to the given nor the obvious. As the report states, with teaching, danger accompanies responsibilities. It, sadly, comes with the territory.
There is helplessness in that quote, “spared from whatever form of violence.”
In 2022, however, there was just an ill omen for teachers: in Himamaylan, Negros Oriental, Mercy Miguel was killed by unidentified men. She was to serve as Board of Election Inspector for the coming election. The statement from the Department of Education is worth noting: “Though it is unclear yet if such brutality was election-related, we denounce any acts of violence towards our teachers who have dedicated their lives to the Filipino children and are now selflessly serving the country in this year’s election.
I discovered online a site called TEACHERPH, which asks whether the teachers have the right to strike. It makes clear these points: “Joining the mass action of peaceful assemblies during school hours amount (sic) to a strike in every sense of the term, constituting concerted and unauthorized stoppage of, or absence from work which teachers have a sworn duty to perform. While it is true that teachers are allowed to seek redress against injustice to the administration, they shall, however, avoid jeopardizing the interest and welfare of the learners whose right to learn must be respected (The Code of Ethics for Professional Teachers Art. VI sec. 4). Participation in organization activities is allowed outside school hours or with consent from the school authorities if within school hours (RA 4670 Magna Carta for Public School Teachers sec. 28b).
Note how tied the teacher to his or her status and function as a teacher.
I recall a sociologist, Leonor Dy-Liacco, whose anecdotes about kinship and protocols of the 50s were disarming in classrooms. With teachers being one of the most respected positions immediately after World War II, all parents were particularly proud of their daughters (mostly) who became maestra. In their town in Camarines Sur, this particular mother would hail a jeepney on the other side of the street announcing, “Señor Tsuper, please allow my daughter who is a teacher to take a ride in your jeep.” The jeepney would stop and the well-dressed teacher would then walk from the other side of the street, with all the passengers looking—marveling—at her. The modifier may sound pompous now but in those years, the description was a mark of how high the respect accorded the teachers.
This respect for the teacher has historical support albeit you could look at this development now with a skewed perspective. On April 1, 1937, the Teachers’ Pavilion was constructed exclusively for the free hospitalization of public school teachers who were afflicted with tuberculosis. This ward was located in what is known as Quezon Institute or QI.
While it appeared the Commonwealth government then cared much for its teachers, recalling also the special status attributed to their profession, such focus could have only come from the fact that teachers caught tuberculosis given the rigor of their works and the thanklessness given to the long hours they needed to give for the “education of our youth.” More interestingly, QI, before the name Quezon was appended to it, was called Teacher’s Santol Sanatorium. Its building bordered Santol Street across what is now E. Rodriguez Avenue.
But, to what degree do we really care about our teachers?
On October 5, 2022, last week, a 24-year-old teacher was raped and killed allegedly by a worker in Claveria, Burias, Masbate. The crime took place on World Teacher’s Day.
The body was identified by her colleague in the room she was renting. Her head was bashed.
You can picture this young woman and all young teachers who get assigned away from the comfort and safety of their homes. Imagine them enjoying the relative sense of independence in a place where their dreams and ambitions are coming true. Be with them in their daily struggles. Think of their families and the hopes pinned on their acquired status.
On that day, the murder of a radio commentator had attracted the attention of everyone. A reward was raised to hasten the capture of the murderer. In Claveria, people were, I suppose, mourning the death of Jessica Mangubat. But the mourning ended in her own neighborhood. She was just a teacher. She did not raise her voice to demand for change. Her status prevented her that. But she served the nation. Selflessly, the word we love to use for teachers we think we honor and love.
E-mail: titovaliente@yahoo.com
Image credits: JImbo Albano