THE LAND OF MUD BLOOD

INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS. 

“The world works opposite to fairness and equality especially for those people on the lower part of the pyramid. The right to property is only for the rich and

privilege.”

TARLAC, 2004

The vast sugarcane land has been my home since I was born. My father is a sugarcane farmer so as my mother. I have two older brothers who also work in the farm. In almost 6,000 hectares of the land surrounded by countless tall grasses, in the middle of excruciating, heat relies the most abused people- we, the slaves or in royal’s term, workers.

“Arturo, haven’t they considered our request? Our services do not complement our salary. We’ve been suffering for almost decade.”, my mother exclaimed using her tired tone.

“I know, Teresa. We are trying to negotiate with Chief, at least consider our request. But they keep on insisting the law. This isn’t our land. We are just farmers of other's land.”, answered by father hopelessly.

“But we all know the truth that the law is being controlled by them, Arturo. We can never win this if we remain weak and silent.”

Those last words of my mother will forever remain in my memory. Somehow, it inflicts a burning fuel in my inner system. At the age of 12, I know how life works. The world works opposite to fairness and equality especially for those people on the lower part of the pyramid. The right to property is only for the rich and privilege.

We are working continuously for 18 hours in a day yet we only received 100 pesos. Amid of heat, rain, sweat and sleepless nights, our worth costs a hundred peso. We plant, we take care, we operate, and we harvest but the products are not ours. Even the compliment will never be ours. That’s how slaves celebrate their everyday life.

We wake up for crops and sleep thinking about crops. We are not allowed to study, even to move out from this cage.

Education is not relevant. I heard that royal blood never wants us to go to school. Of course, if we would know how to read and write we will never settle on this hellish life. We are illiterate but we are not dumb. Aside from petty salary, the issue about the ownership of this land will never end.

I remembered how my father told me the story of how Papang (my grandfather) vanished. Papang was one of the pioneers in farming here in Tarlac because of the presence of wide land in our property. Papang mastered the art of planting from flowers to crops. One day, unknown people went to our land and talked to Papang about the land issues. They said that our land is not ours and the owner wants to get it right after the talk. They fought and cursed. After that, Papang vanished without a trace. Days had passed and unknown people suddenly shown up claiming our land. What’s confusing is the piece of contract about land ownership with Papang’s signature as permission to sell the land.

Up to these days, Papang never came back and we, the owner became the slaves. I asked my father about the issue of ownership because it is unfair for us. However, father insisted that we already lost. The royal is our enemy that’s why winning is like planting crops through air. Indeed, impossible.

NOVEMBER 4, 2004

I woke up from loud noises coming from the outside. I immediately fold our sleeping mats (banig) and start sweeping the floor. Without a second, I left the room cleaned and organized.

“ Joselito come here! Listen!” I was caught off guard by the scream of Emanuel, my buddy ages as mine.

“What is this meeting all about, Tata?” I asked in confusion. Almost all of the farmers are here wearing their unusual serious reflection. It is my first time to see some of them because there are almost thousands of farmers in this land. I don’t know but suddenly I feel scared and threaten by the presence of them. I was grabbed by Emanuel and placed a seat beside him.

“ Shhh! This is for the strike on the day after tomorrow” Emanuel whispered.

“Strike? What do you mean, Eman? I don’t get it.”

“ My father and your father, with the help of other farmers planned to take a strike the day after tomorrow. They just want to hear our voices. You know, almost a decade of waiting for promised piece of land yet still no hint up to the present. Also, the crops are not sufficient for the land and we want them to pay for the fertilizers we bought using our salary”.

“ But isn't it crucial for us?”

“ We don’t know unless we try"

NOVEMBER 16, 2004

Ten days after the said strike of farmers, the crops slowly drying because we don’t plant and take care. We devote ourselves for this strike. At first, I was hesitant but as the day goes by, I understand our dilemma. Originally, this land belongs to us but illegal taken by the royals. Our strike promotes peace and fairness. Tata reminded all of the farmers not to bring any weapons that may trigger war. However, when we are on the main office of royals, things went unexpected.

“ How dare you to start a war, Arturo! We treated you fair and this is how you express your gratitude?” spoke by brown haired woman wearing luxurious jewelries and branded clothing.

“ This is not a war, Madam Corazon. We are asking for the land you

promised and also for increase of our salary. Even the fertilizers for crops.”

“ Are you really think that I am idiotic to give you my land? Pity for all of you! Eduardo, fuego!”

A loud deafening sound envelops my system as the gun shots splattered over us. Without a blink, Smokey white fog circulates the vicinity of the area. I heard unusual cry for help as I tried to avoid suffocation. Blood. All I can see is blood. Slowly by slowly, my breath is dying. This fog isn’t air. It is poison for our lungs!

“ Nana, where are you? Tata?” As the random noises filled the area and the chaotic vision of red hue deliberately striking my sanity. Meters away from me is my Tata. Soaking wet in bloodbath.

“ Tata! We need to leave! Tata stand up!” No matter how much I tried to remain calm. The situation prepares the contrary.

One last shot, I fell. I felt the sharp pang of pain on my back. I know, I was shot. The hazy vision caused by weakness and teargas retaliate my memories. Ah, this how the world works for oppressed. The law is twistable in favor of Royal Blood.

I might die right now but did I even live? The struggle of property does not only define land. The freedom to find ourselves and choose our own identity can be relating to property. Our property is ourselves but being weaponized by those on the top.

I might die but the revolution never silences.

We failed, but time will never stop hunting the freedom and justice we deserved.

THIS IS THE BEGINNING.