Sunday, September 23, 2007 Estremera: Innocence, ignorance, ideals By Stella A. Estremera Spider’s Web
I WAS just about ready to give up. The current was strong and there were no rocks to hold on to. I was constantly signaling to my dive buddy Mikai that I'm too tired. But there wasn't much she can do except stay by my side and watch me struggle on. We only had our own finpower to rely on, there isn't much power left to spare. With a generic four-year-old fin, all I can do was stay in place. The distance I had to travel was earned inch per inch by grabbing at sand, the finning was just to make sure you're not swept off into the blue yonders.
The dark silhouette of a coral wall was thus a welcome sight. We were nearing the Big Ligid wall toward the pinnacle rocks, thank God. At least there will be rocks there to hold on to while catching my breath.
After the struggle at the sandy area 80 feet below, the same strong current by the wall did not look as bad. At least there I can grab at rocks to push myself forward or take rests with. Better than finning without moving an inch.
And then I saw it... it was gleaming white amid the almost black wall. A dead full-grown caraballas. I picked it up and noticed some wounds.
First thought that popped out was, "There's a predator somewhere..."
But when each of my dive companion already had one dead caraballas in hand and were pointing to more, different varieties yet -- like a huge sampling of the whole reef fish community, I knew there was something worse than a caraballas predator that passed by.
Predators in nature kill to eat, not kill and leave behind hundreds dead, uneaten, untasted. You should see how a trigger fish can render a hapless prey into white skin and bones in just minutes.
A closer check showed the fish had wounds near their mouths. Earlier researches about destructive forms of fishing made me recognize it as symptoms of dynamite fishing. The predator was man. We took photos and left them to rest in peace.
It's been almost a decade now since municipal and barangay officials (even fisherfolk themselves) have been claiming that the days of dynamite fishing have long gone. But on that day, just two days ago, we were faced with a wall full of evidence that dynamite fishing still exists.
Bad. Worse still because Ligid has been declared as a Marine Protection Area by the Island Garden City of Samal. The gall, the audacity, the sheer mockery of law... It was like somebody was blowing a huge red raspberry while jeering, "Look at what I can get away with?"
To fish in a sanctuary is a violation. To blast is criminal impudence.
Caraballas, 'Nemos' (anemone fishes), isda sa bato (reef fishes of different kinds and colors)... all dead. Remnants of a blast outing. There must have been more when it happened.
We could only fume in silence (you can't rant underwater and we were saving our breath to fight the current...).
*****
In a bar two decades ago with a lady friend who was treating me to some rounds of drinks: After successfully parrying the advances of the father of a very good friend (geeessh!) I was fuming and huffing my disgust to my lady friend cum mentor who was a decade older than me. She asked, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two," I said.
"Stella, at your age it's no longer called innocence, it's called ignorance."
I wanted to protest, how dare she call me ignorant!
But a few seconds of quiet made me realize she has a point there. I've ventured into a world that required me to know everything about the world -- about dads raping their daughters, about brothers killing their sisters, about old men trying to shack up with young girls. Therefore, I have to be all-knowing, even if I have to bluff my way. Ignorance has no place here. But still I fume at that memory. Like, "How can he do that?"
*****
In a staff meeting, after being apprised of one more shenanigan, I couldn't help but blurt out, "Why can't we just do what's right?"
Making mistakes is okay. We all do that. But doing what is deliberately wrong just doesn't make sense.
In that exclamation, I have voiced out those quiet fumings, and yet I don't have any answer.
I can almost hear my friend (who is still my friend until now) ask me again...
"How old are you?" And this time, her rejoinder will definitely hold true. At my age, it's no longer called innocence, it's called ignorance.
Four decades old and I'm still asking, "Why can't we just do what's right?" Maybe I am indeed ignorant... I just hope there are thousands more ignorant beings out there though. (http://saestremera.multiply.com)
