DAVAO CITY - Emmanuel Arpon, better known among his peers as Kulot, is a bright and cheerful 16-year-old Dabawenyo. He is the kind of person who can instantly make someone laugh by continuously cracking the timeliest jokes. He seems to be living a happy life, but his sun-burnt skin and heavily calloused hands say otherwise.
He works as a house help for a foreigner couple who lives in the city. He earns just a little more than 100 pesos for a long day’s work, but as he says, “It’s better than nothing.”
Kulot is just one of the thousands of minors who have gone outside of the educational system. Reasons for being an out-of-school youth (OSY) vary from case to case. Some because of teenage pregnancy, some due to drugs, but the predominant reason is extreme poverty.
He was raised by his maternal grandmother Francisca Arpon, who took care of him after his parents separated, leaving him all alone. Francisca does laundry jobs every now and then, charging a measly 50 pesos a day. With that little, it is a wonder how she managed to fend for everyone in her household of four throughout all these years, or maybe not.
Francisca and her grandson are members of what most call the “masa”, the sector of the society which is often neglected by everyone else. They live miles below the poverty line and have access to very few government services, particularly education. They do not know their rights as a citizen because education wasn’t something that they freely had. It’s bad enough that they cannot have enough food for the table, all the more if they use it for books.
“I know that Kulot is grossly underpaid,” said Francisca in the local dialect, “but if I will not let him do it, what else would he do? He will just be like his out-of-school peers who rob people’s homes and kill each other off.”
It is ironic that citizens from developed countries complain about poverty and violence in their streets. They have not seen poverty until they have seen this.
Actually, there are scholarship grants available in the city administered by local government units and charitable non-government organizations. However, it is a sad fact that the numbers do not always add up, as these grants seldom come with a long-term guarantee, something long enough to guarantee more than ten years of schooling as required by the education department.
Kulot was awarded a Caritas Foundation scholarship grant when he was still in the second grade; it was funded by an Australian philanthropist. Things went relatively well throughout the early years, until the grant was revoked when on his second year in high school, as the Australian ceased extending aid.
“We are very thankful to the man up to now,” said Francisca, “but we are not really in a position that enables us to finish what was started. We live in a depressed community, where people kill each other over the smallest things, and where working is never seen as a right, but rather a privilege.”
Asked on why she didn’t look for other grants, she said, “We actually did, and he was approved for a scholarship grant from an incumbent official, but as soon as the politician’s office knew that we supported his rival, we instantly got turned down.”
It is a sad fact that government-mandated scholarships, administered by public officials, are oftentimes being used as propaganda material instead of the supposed objective. In Davao City, numerous government officials require unconditional allegiance to their faction before giving out any form of aid, aid that should have been for anyone regardless of their affiliation.
Most of OSY’s in Davao move away from what could have been a brighter future, into a life of violence and crime.
In May 2010, Mayor Rodrigo Duterte cited the “strong resurgence” of crimes involving the youth. He cited that the Juvenile Offenders Act, instead of effectively protecting the youth, teaches them to disrespect the rule of law. Minors, often OSY, commit crimes without fear of punishment because of immunity granted by the said law. They get arrested for a crime but get released right away, as soon as cops realize than they’re not yet eighteen.
These minors learned the trick right away, to the point that stealing and the situation has gone so awry that the mayor has formed a special task force to deal with it.
“The Pangilinan Law erased the concept of crime and (consequent) punishment. (Now) there’s only crime but no punishment. Children go out of prison without respect to the crime (that) they committed. Even if this is just relatively small scale, it can contribute into something more sinister in the future,” said the mayor, in Filipino.
If a minor is busy with preparing for exams, reviewing past lectures and writing term papers, all in the hope for a brighter future, will he find enough reason to do these lawless deeds? Life for minor is synonymous to attending school, and getting out of it predisposes them to future of hopelessness.
“I want Kulot to succeed in life,” Francisca said,”but we do not possess a level of education that is enough to land a decent job. Maybe there are ways to get out of this, but we honestly don’t know what. His mom finished high school, but has had four more children with her second husband. They now live in Manila in a situation which could be worse than where we are at.”
Francisca went on to say, “I guess our life will always be the way it always is. It may be difficult, but we cannot afford to think that it is impossible. We just have no other choice.”
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Feature article published 13 June 2010 issue of Sunstar Newspaper Davao (Print Edition)
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