Off The Beaten Path

Campland

By Roy Gersalia

“With the situation in our town being hopeless brought by the present leadership – there are an army of jobseekers but there are no jobs to offer, there are enough resources but there is no food, prices of commodities soaring high and not much possibility in engaging in business because of politics – maybe it is now better to leave Bulan for good in order to survive,” an old acquaintance said against the backdrop of gray skies with an imminent storm coming in a dog-day hour, according to a report that day of the not-so reliable weather bureau. I just smiled, for I thought then that he was just trying to engage me in argument or he is saying it in jest. But when he uttered it, I noticed, there is an echo not only of hopelessness but of helplessness.

I recall a similar scenario in a book by Alexander Solzhenitsyn “The Gulag Archipelago” when the Nobel Prize laureate described the Soviet labor camps in his time. I do not now recall which of his characters said it, but it is like this: “Forget the outside world. Life has different laws in here. This is Campland, an invisible country. It’s not in the geography books, or the history books. This is the famous country where ninety-nine men weep while one laughs.”

That was what I thought when that kakilala of mine told me his opinion.

I also thought that his predicament was also the effect of the words the former mayor said in radio, answering his critics over the BIT issue that goes: “Kun diri kamo kuntento sa palakaw san administrasyon, magaharali na kamo didi sa Bulan,” (If you’re not contented with the policies of the administration, better leave this town.) or words to that effect. This, I guess, and rightly so, the thought that is also occupying my kakilala’s mind which he, evidently, is unable to say during the course of our brief conversation. Anyway, I asked him what drove him to say that, he said, “Because he’s not contented.” End of conversation.

Not really true to his words, that old acquaintance of mine left Bulan and is now working in a prestigious company in Makati (he refused to name the company) but vowed to go back to his hometown to “fight another day”. He promised he’ll fight against injustice, misery wrought by leaders and poverty. That was what occupied his mind until now, preparing to be ready when the time comes like Carlos Bulosan who scoured American libraries preparing to fight tyranny.

But to go back, that gesture of my old-acquaintance –when he said that he’s planning to leave Bulan for good – is an ominous sign of lack of hope in his beloved town, restlessness among the young and helplessness of the poor. He’s lucky he’s got job and is now living comfortably, but what about our other town mates who never made it or have not become lucky in their own exodus? Those people who carry pain in their hearts and vowed never to come back again? I can’t even imagine the answer.

In a Campland the skies are gray and the storm is imminent.