Our own story

In last week’s Davao Media Freedom Day forum where I was tasked to discuss telling the stories of the community, I told the communication students of Davao City gathered at the Holy Cross of Davao College AVR room that in today’s world where information can be accessed from all across and around the world, everything becomes redundant. Except one: Our own stories.

In a workshop of women from indigenous tribes on “her story” more than a decade ago, I pointed out that throughout civilizations, tribes, and people, there are three common narratives: The creation of the world, the big flood, and ascension.

“The only difference between you and the precursors of Christianity is... they wrote down their stories,” I said. Had you written your story about the great flood, then there would have been more than Noah and his family, I added.

Indeed, our strength lies on what is ours.

In a world where China imitations can be shipped anywhere in a flash, copying bothers and trying to eke out a life from that just doesn’t make sense. And yes, this also goes to those who try their best too look like the whiteskinned Asians when we belong to the brown race of the southeastern islands.

Our strength is in the color of our skin and our stories that connect to other southeastern tribes.

Let us find our soul by knowing what these stories are and prosper from there.

First assignment: Get to know Mamalu and Tabunaway, Agyu, Anilaw, Tuwaang, and Lumabet. They are just a few of the Mindanao epic heroes many of whom have greater superpowers than the Avengers, the Justice League, Saitama and even the Super Saiyans.

Sad to say, our people will quickly recognize Goku and Izuku Midoriya and all the configurations of the Pokemons, but do not even know that Tuwaang rides lightnings. And so we get templated stories of life, sufferings, and loves in the pattern of Disney princesses, and not the empowered tales of Mindanao’s past.

But because they wrote their stories and made comics and movies about them, they are engraved in our collective memories while we are not even aware of our own.

It doesn’t help that our basic education system is peopled by those who find pride in the acronyms that come after their names and not the sparks of passion they light up in the hearts and imagination of the children.

In a world where China imitations can be shipped anywhere in a flash, copying bothers and trying to eke out a life from that just doesn’t make sense.