Dr. Ammar Eustaqio working for Peace thru Education

Is working for peace a way to die? As paradoxical as it may sound, this is one of the first thought that crossed my mind when I heard the news of the death of Dr. Arturo 'Ammar' Eustaqio III. Although I don't know him personally and has never met him, deep inside me, I feel an inexplicable 'closeness' to him. Since the time I came to know about his conversion to Islam years ago, there was in me a degree of desire of wanting to know him more. And so I 'googled' him up and searched for his email address, sent it but I got an email failure delivery reply. At that time he wasn't still the president and UZ was still ZAEC.

As an enthusiast in  education and specifically Islamic Education, there was a subconscious process in my mind that made the connection between the personality of Dr. Ammar (may Allah have mercy on him) and the education of Muslims in Southwestern Philippines - Zambasulta area (Zamboanga, Basilan, Sulu, Tawi-Tawi). I felt that he can play a vital role in providing education to the underprivileged Muslim youth in a region where literacy rates is among lowest in the country.

At that time (circa 2005), there was an inverse relationship between my interest in education as a means of liberation and my stance towards revolution. My understanding of the Fiqh of Muslim minorities requires the Muslim to be part of the political process and nation building endeavors. When my children got bigger, the psychological demand for quality Islamic education is slowly growing in my head. This led me to a quest of looking for visionaries who shares the same sense of responsibility and urgency. Alhamdulillah for the great visions and amazing intellects of Islamic education advocates like Sherma Sappari, Warina Jukuy and Mark Santos, the Mindanao Islamic Education Conference 2012 will insha Allah transpire on the 10th of April 2012.

Now back to Dr. Ammar, he was supposedly one of the key discussants of the Focus Group Discussion in the conference. For me, it would be a dream came true to finally meet him and hear his thoughts about the role of education of Muslims in Southern Philippines. Universidad de Zamboanga, UZ, has the overwhelming number of share of enrollees in the region 9 area and a lot of Muslim students prefer UZ as their school.
But, Allah has decreed and He does whatever He wills, he was shot dead 9 days before the conference.

Searching again his name in google I came accross a PDF file entitled "Education and Peace". He eloquently expressed that servitude and slavery - in many forms -  hasn't vanished in the modern world and that education is the way to freedom. Recognizing that peace can be achieved by giving education to the underprivileged, he wrote:

'The more “underprivileged” are granted access to educational opportunities, the less “discontents” there will be.'

 To me, and probably for others as well, I believe that Dr. Ammar, or 'Sir Archie' practiced what he preached. Unlike those who just talk of peace, he practiced it by allowing Muslim student in UZ more freedom to practice their religion while they undergo education and training.

To end this, I say the same thing Sir...

Education for freedom!  Let this be our battle cry in our quest for peace. 

Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon.

My Idealism has ended but the Ideas have not

 

There was something nice about being young: naïve and carefree, the world at that time is a blank canvass, an undefined and boundless potential. The mind is fresh enough to perceive ideas, that are shape not by experience but by unbridled imagination. My lack of experience was compensated by insatiable hunger for information. And so I remember reading everything readable I can lay my eyes on, including the Green Book of Qadafi, supposedly, a ‘Muslim’ version of the Red Book or the Das Capital of Carl Marx.

And yes, I wanted to change the world, well, specifically Mindanao. The Bangsamoro narrative was slowly introduced to my pscyhe during the Ramos-Misuari era and SPCPD and what not. Thus I saw my self, primarily as somebody from the Bangsamoro – hence I wrote under the pen name “albangsamori”. With Armed Revolution romanticized by Che Guevara and Che Guevara Wannabes,  and being influenced by that,  I was furious and indignant that Misuari had to make a peace deal with the government. This belief (that we need war to achieve change), which I now believe to be misdirected, was reinforced by misunderstanding the Islamic methodology of Al Amru bil Ma’roof wa nahtu ‘anil Munkar (Enjoining what is good and forbidding what is bad).

Once I was with a wise man, Mr. Ibn Hajr Turabin, a father of a friend. He told me for Muslims to get back their homeland, they have to buy Mindanao (or some of its portion).  It sounded like a joke to me then, but now, to me at least,  it makes more sense than fighting an unwinnable fight.

And so the years gone by, and to my disappointment, the world has still not change.  My idealism has waned. I no longer wanted to write using the pen of ‘albangsamori’.

Having said all these, I am aware that this shouldn’t stop me from communicating my ideas about my homeland.

Am I living a dual life?

The first thing I do when I arrived at work is to put my coffee thermo-mug on a shared desk (virtually by everyone including our Aides). Sitting atop this desk is a corporate computer that allows multiple user accounts. As soon as I settle on a synthetic coated cushioning seat of a steel chair, my right hand inavertently reach towards the waiting mouse automatically navigating it on a padless surface and consequently dragging the cursor towards logging into my account. With the username and password logged in, the familiar opening scene of Windows OS appears before me revealing the desktop and its innumerable shortcuts that have been sitting there unused for months.

I find opening my corporate email exciting because of the regular updates I receive from several online research websites like medscape and pubmed. Thus without much effort the exciting new world of medical and scientific updates are there ready to be explored with a single click of the unwary mouse.

Randomized-controlled trials or RCT's are all I'm looking for in a new research. I tend to ask all the basic assumptions of Physiotherapy practice most especially in treatment prescriptions. If I have only enough time in the world, I'd read about every single issue that's affecting my patients. Just recently I have a traumatic brain injury patient with heterotrophic ossification on his right knee just slightly above the medial epcondyle. I couldn't help myself but consult Shaikh Google for a medical fatwa on the subject. Just kidding actually, Google has a 'Scholar' tab where one is supposed to go if one wants to 'stand on the shoulders of the Giants ( I think it was Sir Isaac Newton who said this) and look for Systematic Reviews, Meta analysis, Cochrane Reviews and RCT's. But I don't have all the time in the world to do this to all my patients in all of their concerns.

Is it wrong to feel elation - well not really elation - but some kind of inexplicable happiness or satisfaction when I get to download free articles in PDF formats (considering that it took at least 3 years for the publishers of these papers to study and write them)? Thus stacks and stacks of unread papers are just piling up on my shelves waiting to be bound according to their year of publishing and topics.

Then I go home...and here is when the crossing over happens; when I enter my car, start its engine, I get reminded that I have to prepare for my Friday lecture at Fanar.

Teaching Islam to new Muslims may sound easy but if one wants to teach properly according to the standards set by the scholars from the days of old up until now, one has to choice but to read about the topics in more scholarly details. If reading about Salah in Fiqhus Sunnah doesn't sound hard enough, what about going deeper and read about it in Bidaayatul Mujtahid written by Ibn Rushd (Averroes). Although there is a standard manual used in the organization, I cannot but help to look for the Takhreej of the Hadeeth mentioned therein in order to ascertain for sure their authencity or not. Good thing alhamdulillah because of this cyber-digital-revolution, one can find thousands of classical books in Arabic packed in a three gigabyte file with a search function in it. This is not called Al Maktabah Ash Shamilah (The Complete Library) for nothing.

Evidence base science is not only in medical practice but also in Religion. Allah repeatedly said in the Qur'an "Haatoo burhanakum in kuntum saadiqeen". "Bring forth your proofs if you are truthful". Thus in Islam, every minute point of belief, every single action of worship, has to have an evidence from the Qur'an and Sunnah and its derivatives (Ijmaa, Qiyas, 'Urf etc).

I guess this insatiable search of mine of truth - whether it is emperical truth or truth by revelation that drives me to dig and delve deep if possible to the bedrock of things. I maybe exploring two separate directions in terms of inquiry, nevertheless I now realize that they are actually one. There is no conflict between science and religion because all the truths came from the same source. One of the names of God is Al Haqq - the Truth.

God told us to say this when we ask Him for something:

Rabbana atina fiddunya hasana wa fil akhirati hasana wa qina adhabannar. O Our Lord give us the best of this life and the next life and save us from the punishment of the fire.

Also in Soorah al Mulk (67) He said, "Alladhee khalaqal mawta wal hayata liyabluwakum ayyukum ahsanu amala'". He it is who has created death and life so that He will test you which of you is the best in Deeds."


Barakallah feekum

THE HERO QUEST 2

Busbus Underworld

Barangay Busbus is a coastal area where houses are built along the shores of northwestern part of Jolo. However this is far from what is now termed as beachfront living because the houses extend far towards the ocean leaving no beaches at all. In those years, it was already over-crowded with houses and people. Houses are built on poles, mostly wooden, the height of which must accommodate for the ebb and flow of tides. The surrounding sea water serves many purposes: as the sewage, garbage dump ground and the swimming ground as well. During low tides the bare sand becomes the children's playground. One can only imagine how awkward it could get when one is roaming underneath the houses searching for crabs and the surrounding's air quality suddenly deteriorates because one is standing in a no man's land underneath somebody's toilet. On rare occasions, unwanted grazing on these unholy grounds can be prevented, especially when the place is busy with its occupant, usually by a loud cry "Aun nangingintau". [Somebody is defecating!].

Farther into the sea where the sands are whiter and cleaner are the dwellings of the Samals. The Tausugs call them Samals but they are called the Badjao group by the Historians. It didn't dawn on Ben's mind that time that there are many people in the world today who are called by a name different from what they call themselves. The first Americans didn't call themselves Americans, the early Filipinos didn't call themselves the Filipinos or the Moros didn't call themselves the Moros. Their houses are built on stilts constitutes the farthest from the coastal shallows of Busbus. Ben could not understand nor speak their language but they do speak the Tausug language and he didn't see them going to the Masjids and pray. Ben thought that they are not Muslims although he was aware that Father Gen, the priest of Mt. Carmel Church in Downtown Jolo, was actively proselytizing them into Roman Catholicism. Most of them are fishermen with perhaps the exception of Bulawan who instead of wandering into the open sea fishing, strays into inland where the Tausug dominates, selling firewoods on his cart.

At Buh's house.

'Eat your lunch' Buh said.

Buh is probably the gentlest person Ben has ever known. Although in the local vernacular, the word 'buh' means an aunt or just a term of respect to any elder woman, Ben, his siblings, cousins, even his parents have known their gentle grandmother by this name. She was probably an octagenarian when Ben was big enough to take cognizant of things,. With a sweet smiling face, wrinkled yet bright, and long gray hair flowing from her head, she is that perfect old grandmother the children would love. It was said that Apuh Madnuj, the patriarch of the family who passed away before anyone can remember, saw her bathing in the river and being captivated by her beauty decided to kidnap her. Pag guyud was the norm of the day where a man drags a woman to marriage commonly employed by men if the woman they love does not reciprocate their endearment – but in Buh's case, it was probably love at first sight that Apuh Madnuj could not stand of losing Buh to anyone. Had he taken the normal steps of marriage proposal, he wouldn't have been denied, due to his stature as a great man in the community. Then the rest is history.

'You must be tired from swimming all day'. 'Here drink your Milo', Buh continued.

Lunch at Buh's house is not usually great for kid's taste buds. The usual Tausug delicacies: pyutu, agal-agal, piyalam, tyulah istah, syanglag and tiyapah istah are adults favorites. However, the exhaustion brought about by roaming around the Busbus underworld during low tide and swimming its waters – particularly swimming its waters because its a bit of a task to avoid all the trash, caput, rubbish and the dreaded yellow submarine a term coined by the children referring to human feces floating around – are bit taxing even for the seemingly inexhaustible energy reserve of playful children that Buh's lunch offer is more than what a child can ask for.

Just after the children finish their lunch they heard their big brat neighbor Botbot raising his voice to a group of Samals. He is probably the perfect definition of the word bully. Big, muscular, taller than most at only five foot seven inches, his height is more than the Tausug or Samal's average height.

'You must salute first before you can pass this way'

Botchok firmly said directing his ire to the scared Samal kids like a military officer demanding attention from his men. To Botbot, this seems to be a play but for the scared Samals, this is as serious as it can get.

The bigger of the two is more alarmed than the smaller one and spoke in a dragging Tausug accent,

‘Salut na kami sil, palabaya hadja kami’. [We will salute sir just let us pass by].

Thus the Samal kids saluted at him and ran away as fast as they can.

Ben and the other kids burst into laughter, happy at the sight of Samal kids sprinting away towards their homes.

The time goes by very fast after that while the children are sitting on the wooden bridge. They were talking about their favorite heroes or people whom they thought to be hero characters.

‘Who is better Superman or Batman?’ Al asks.

‘I like superman because he can fly’ Ben interjected.

He then naively posed the question,

‘Who will win the fight Leif Garret, John Lennon or Lito Lapid’?

In his young mind, whoever is posted on his uncles’ bedrooms were probably heroes as well. So for him, an American teen idol, a singer or a Filipino action star are all the same. Heroes.

It was late in the afternoon when their grandaunt Tah fetched them home. The siblings parents are in abroad – in Saudi Arabia where their mother is working as a nurse and their father is working also but they don’t know what it is so it was their grandaunts Inna and Tah, both were unmarried who carried the burden of taking care of the three children. The role of grandmothers has been downplayed in history. Recent social scientists now claim that grandmothers played a great role in the preservation of human race and advancement of civilization. It was their role in taking care of the newborns while the mother recuperates that improves infant survival, they argued.

The mode of transport of the day was a manually driven pedal tricycle, a three wheeled vehicle that can accommodate at least two adults in the attached pedicab.

'To where are we heading' The driver asks.

'Upper San Raymundo' Tah replied.

Now to Ben's youthful psyche the name of the place where they live doesn’t quite sound strange, but as you will know later in our story once he grew much bigger than he is now, he would start to ask why in the world his hometown, wherefrom Islam spread throughout the Philippine Archipelago is named after some Catholic saint? Never could Ben know at that time that San Raymundo could be Saint Raymond of Fitero, a Spanish monk and abbot who organized an army in Toledo Spain as a part of major offensive against the Moors in the 12th century. Is it a mere coincidence that the name of a person who helped defeated the Moors of Spain is given to a place where the subjugated 'Moors' of the Philippines live? Ben couldn’t have known.

Ben notices the sweat from the driver’s forehead dripping to his nose while the driver swipes them dry using a white towel hung on his neck.

‘You must study hard in school so that you will not end up like him’. Tah interrupted while looking at Ben.

Arriving at home, they had an uneventful night, Ben was tucked to sleep, being exhausted during the day, closed his eyes as his thoughts wandered away thinking of who will really win the fight between the characters or famous persons of the day.

THE HERO QUEST

Chapter 1 Lupah Sug

Downtown Jolo

Tingingingining…the bell rang signifying the time of mid morning recess in a government school in downtown Jolo. The children rush out from the classroom, hurrying to fall in line and get in que for the hot and tasty Nutri Bun available for 25 cents in the local canteen. The aroma of this newly baked delight can be smelled even from the fourth grade classroom which is located at the opposite end from the canteen of the quadrangular school ground of Muhammad Tulawie Central School.

Ben, being a bit smaller and slower than the rest is at the end of the line. Actually there is no line at all. It's as chaotic as it can get. Bigger children who are at the higher level of Elementary grades are the ones getting the buns first. After some time the scuffling, pushing and yelling mellows down the kids then disperse from the crowd. Ben, who's stomach is aching for that aromatic nutrient fortified sweet roll developed by the USAID in the 70's and 80s, haply walked away empty handed.

Bang! Bang! Pak! pak!

Suddenly there was chaos on the school ground. Children running across the field. Ben stood frozen in the middle of the field near the school's stage where the ceremony is usually held. Suddenly a man appears few meters away from him with a revolver standing against the wall, peeping at the edge and trying to get a glimpse at somebody, petrified and gasping with fear.

Bang bang!

Another shot was heard. Ben, trembled and reflexly ran to the opposite side, being that skinny athletically challenged kid stumbled and tripped and fell on the ground, standing again then entering the sport teacher's room where he saw the teacher himself and some other students hiding underneath the ping pong table. Somewhat relieved, Ben unhesitatingly hid in the same place and felt safe but slowly feeling the burning pain of a bruised right knee.

The walls of the school are so low that even a fourth grade smaller than average Tausug boy like Ben can easily climb over. The main gate was perpetually open – rather there was no gate at all, only a gape between two walls with an oversized acacia tree on its eastern side. There was no way of protecting the children at school so that a shooting episode like this between the Tumawi clan and the Tang clan, political rivals of the day, can easily end up inside the school campus. During summer holidays when all the vegetables planted in the Agriculture class have grown up and ready to be picked, there will be no vegetable to harvest at all because either some people have already harvested them or worst, one can find human poops on the garden that a student worked so hard on. Sadly, Ben's garden is one of them.

Having survived the ordeal and has gotten safely home after the class has been cancelled, Ben thought of a happy weekend coming when he, his brother Al and sister Yeng usually spends in Bus Bus where his great grandmother Buh lives.
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Beach Heads

Khalid (8) and Safiyyah (6) Wakrah Beach Doha Qatar

Computer Babies

Az Zubair (3) with Ate Safiyah (6)