Whenever we get together, we end up packing more activities than what the hours can accommodate, despite her best intentions to keep things slack and simple.
"Letty, ah, uhm…. Can we hear Mass at the Correctional Institution for Women (CIW) before we go to the bazaar? My Zonta group will stand witness to the release of 15 very, very old inmates pardoned by President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo."
"How old?" I asked Rita.
"Between the ages of 70 to 85," she replied.
"You mean, there are lolas (grandmothers) in jail?" I exclaimed.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Rita retorted.
At the gate, neatly uniformed lady officers greeted us while a guard eagerly stamped "visitor" on my wrist. The supervisor tried to stop her. "Not them," she said.
I saw women dressed in loose orange garments, the official prison attire. I whispered to Rita, "Did you know that orange was Frank Sinatra’s favorite color?"
A thanksgiving mass was officiated by Fr. Macalinao of the Jesuits. I smiled as I saw inmates who were neatly groomed and obviously made the effort to be their Sunday best.
I was studying the basket of fruits for the offertory and the cruets containing water and wine when the Gospel reading hit me: "You fed Me when I was hungry, you clothed Me when I was naked, you gave Me water when I was thirsty, you visited Me in prison…."
When I looked up, the inmates were raising their hands, clapping and exchanging the sign of peace.
After Mass, the women guards gave us a smart salute as they ushered us to our reserved seats. Like any women’s soirée, everybody spoke nonstop, happily, excitedly and noisily.
A woman dressed in a beige barong Tagalog took the mike and introduced herself as the CIW Superintendent, Atty. Rachel D. Ruelo.
Atty. Rachel was a picture of subtlety in motion. I thought she was just one of those civic-minded volunteers who chose the institution as her vehicle for charity. Listening to her, I realized that she was the legal dynamo behind the concise and comprehensive line of defense for each of the women under appeal.
With the release papers now officially signed by Malacañang, Atty. Rachel kept stressing one piece of advice to the freed lolas: "Huwag na huwag uulitin (Do not ever do it again)."
The story of the "Laya Ka Na Lola (Freedom for Grandma)" movement required a sustained collective effort from scores of committed women.
It all began on Oct. 17, 2003. A group of Rotary Anns from the Inner Wheel Club of Sucat, Parañaque, brought the inmates gift bags of cosmetics, toiletries and other feminine stuff.
One inmate, Lola Pacita, approached the president of the Rotary Anns, Liza Elorde, and asked with a kind voice, "Ineng (young lady), would it be possible to exchange these cotton pads for a tube of toothpaste?"
Liza was caught by surprise. Lola Pacita had long, gray hair. She was way past childbearing age (definitely not a cotton-pad user) and she was old.
Just like my initial reaction, Liza wrestled with the thought of seeing elderly women in jail.
Nov. 16, 2004: A group of Zonta Club members from the Makati-Ayala Chapter paid a visit to CIW. They, too, were taken aback. Betsy Basa-Tenchavez, newly elected Zonta president, quickly weighed the urgency of getting them out.
Call it an old but tested formula but women turn to other women to get things moving fast.
Betsy convinced her longtime friend Kate Gordon to join Zonta, and together with other resolute members, they linked up with Liza Elorde and the Rotary Anns of Sucat, Parañaque to flood Malacañang with letters, appeals and personal representations. They also enlisted the help of Abner Mercado of ABS-CBN’s Correspondents to feature the lolas in one of their episodes.
Nov. 20, 2005. Freedom Day. It took two years to see the fulfillment of this quest but sweet victory it was.
Liza Elorde was asked to speak before the excited crowd, and she expressed her delight to finally open the gates of freedom to these lolas. She reiterated Atty. Rachel’s advice to the lolas to stay out of trouble and encouraged them to get fit and to enjoy the blessings of time while they still had it. To sweeten the pie, Liza remarked, "Come to Elorde Sports complex and I’ll teach you boxing."
For Betsy Tenchavez, she related her personal experience of being separated from her loved ones during the martial law years. That, too, was some form of exile parallel to what the lolas went through.
But it was Kate Gordon who brought sobriety to the gathering as she tallied the facts:
• These women violated the law. They were sentenced to life imprisonment. They served more than 10 years of their sentence; some have been in prison for 30 years. They are 70 years old or older. They are frail and not in the best of health anymore. One lola, in fact, Manay Norma Pulido, already lost her sight to diabetes and there were five other lolas who had passed away due to lingering illnesses.
• It was the President’s responsibility to follow the law, and it was also within her authority to extend executive clemency. (The Zontians and the Rotary Anns used this avenue to obtain pardon and freedom.)
• These lolas were not exempt from fear and anxiety. They carried the stigma of an ex-convict. But hopefully, regaining precious freedom will fortify their resolve to preserve and keep it.
With that out of the way, Kate assured the other lolas not to lose heart. If necessary, the Zontians and the Rotary Anns will switch from stubborn nags to joyful, optimistic lobbyists to capture the ear, the head and the heart of Malacañang.
I drew a comparison.
Fate brought two seemingly opposing factions together: law enforcers versus violators of the law. Behind the walls of the institution, they shared many calendar years together.
While inmates took responsibility for their wrongdoings, they sought spiritual growth through meditation, prayers, and acts of repentance.
Prison officials fulfilled their duties by looking after the rehabilitation of inmates through education and honing their skills so that they could use these when they re-enter society.
Civic organizations, like the Zonta Club and Rotary International, bridged the modest resources of the institution with their generous donations and contributions.
Everybody played an essential role in the scheme of things.
From where I sat, I felt the air grow thick with emotions. I saw inmates wiping tears of joy and sadness, and prison officials were just as visibly touched and affected.
Inmates who were being left behind, struggled between rejoicing and weeping, knowing the accumulated years of longing and camaraderie were drawing to a close.
It was hard to say goodbye.
The Zontians distributed gift baskets to each departing lola – a sort of advanced Christmas bonanza – while we were treated to a song-and-dance medley prepared by the CIW family.
As we passed through the gate of the institution, I told Rita, "Your group has opened the floodgates of compassion."
Like the biblical widow who was not deterred by any hurdles as she courageously and relentlessly pleaded her case before the judge, the Zontians and the Rotary Anns are just getting warm.
Another incredible phenomenon also came to mind: the power of women, never underestimate it. And, once they get their act together, they pack a wallop.
Y-E-S!