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Friday, March 29, 2024

‘Me Too’ long before #MeToo

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"Is coming forward ever really worth it?"

 

Sixty-five-year-old Maria Rosa Luna Henson was washing clothes at her home one day in 1992 when she heard the announcement on the radio. Representatives of the Task Force on Filipina Comfort Women were on air, talking about how a South Korean woman had come forward to say she was kept as a sex slave by the Japanese military during World War II.

The task force’s members believed that if such systemic abuse happened in one Asian country, it could likely have happened in other countries as well. They realized the uphill battle before them: There was not one historical document that proved the existence of such widespread slavery. At that time, too, the Philippine government was working hard to build a good relationship with Japan – which in turn had been giving aid, investments, and employment opportunities, not the least of which for Filipino entertainers.

When Henson heard the plea to come forward, she stopped doing the laundry and started shaking and crying instead. She had been keeping her secret for more than 50 years. She had gotten married, had children, separated from her husband, and she was now a grandmother. She had been haunted by the ghosts from her horrid past. Was it time to finally speak up?

The decision was difficult. In her mind she battled with her younger self, the 14-year-old girl who was advised by her own mother to keep quiet about her ordeal. No man would want her if he knew. She would not be able to build a family of her own.

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Young Rosa was adamant about coming forward this late in the day. “Kapag muling binigkas, muling nagkakatotoo, (Talking about something would just make it happen all over again),” the girl told her older self. Speaking out would only make her relive the experience, and would threaten how other people perceived her. In turn, the elder Rosa argued she had been silent for far too long and now wanted to unburden herself. In fact, she occasionally wrote “Ginahasa Ako (I was raped)” on small pieces of paper, throwing them on the road, outside the window – everywhere she could think of – secretly hoping someone would see it, and ask.

But no one did.

Henson eventually decided to call the task force and tell them her story, and then to go public about what had happened to her and to many other girls during the war.

She soon realized coming forward did not magically solve her dilemma. The ghosts remained, and people started judging her. Her granddaughter got into a fight at school in her defense. At a press conference her intentions were questioned, her memory impugned, her true motives scrutinized. How much money did she hope to make, she was asked. She felt like she was being raped all over again.

Over the following years, a flurry of legal activity took place. Henson joined a class suit demanding an official apology from the Japanese government. What resulted from the suit was the Asian Women's Fund from private citizens – not an official allocation, much less an apology. The case was eventually thrown out.

Henson died in 1997, unable to see the rightful end to the battle she had begun. In fact, the just end still eludes the handful of the Lolas who are still alive but frail and beaten in their old age and despair.

* * *

This is the story of “Nana Rosa,” staged by the UP Playwrights' Theater, written by Rody Vera and directed by Jose Estrella. It opened on February 27 and will run until March 17 at the Tanghalang Wilfrido Ma. Guerrero at Palma Hall, UP Diliman.

The play is an indictment of the government, across various administrations, that has been too feeble in helping the women obtain justice. None of our public leaders have taken up the cause of the former sex slaves – efforts to build their case and help them have only been through civil society. Worse, some politicians just milked the issue for populist support but actually did nothing to advance the cause.

It's an acknowledgment of the reality that there are many conflicting issues that must be balanced against each other, and of the sad truth that often, the more practical and pragmatic concerns win.

“Nana Rosa” also confirms that coming forward to lend a voice – the very core of #MeToo that swept the globe 20 years after Henson's death—is never easy. The movement is meant to build solidarity among victims of abuse and to remind them that the struggle is bigger than one victim and one perpetrator. Alas, coming forward has made many victims feel even more alone, and wish they never spoke out in the first place.

The play is an encouragement that ultimately, in the grander scheme, coming forward is worth it.

Henson may not have lived to see the fruits of her decision to come forward, but in the end, people have been made aware of what truly happened. Perhaps in the future, justice will truly come, and the younger generation will correct history and know better than allow the same thing to happen again.

Henson is remembered fondly for many things. Like many others who suffered during the war, she was resilient, choosing to live one more day despite being tempted numerous times to end her life.

Her valiant fight until the end of her days reminds us that we cannot just sweep the ghosts of our past under the rug. Things do not get better or go away if we keep silent; instead they fester.

Henson mustered courage to speak up when no one else here has. Imagine her trepidation at the thought that her children and grandchildren would know about her deep dark secret. Imagine her shame and guilt, her constant doubt whether she somehow played a part in her destiny. Imagine her fear of how the community would view and judge her.

It is in speaking the truth – no matter how hurtful, unsavory, ugly, tragic, embarrassing – that we are ever really empowered to deal with our demons. And slay them.

adellechua@gmail.com

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