Thank you po

When I was here in 2022 or the time before, my coworker introduced herself to me—she said “Hi, my name is Ren, po.” I got all excited and told her: “Nice to meet you Renpo!” and everyone cracked up hard. “Po” is a word of respect that is added onto phrases po. We still laugh about that. I feel inadequate here, people talk to me in Tagalog as if I understand, but I don’t. I add po onto the end of my sentences in an attempt to be polite, to pass. Sometimes is works. What wor(l)ds am I missing in the isolation of not understanding?
**

Yesterday, my friend was driving from a meeting to his office and suddenly all the cars were stopped. After a bit, he and other drivers got out to see what was going on, and found themselves smack dab in the middle of a confrontation with ice. Community, peaceful. Ice, not so much. Ice, afraid. The crowd ended up being shot heavily with tear gas. My friend is safe now, but he’s sore and shaken, recovering and full of resolve to keep building with and for the youth of his community in Chicago.
**

Today in Manila I hopped into a vehicle with coworkers and we drove out of the city an hour and a half to Tagaytay, near the volcano Taal to attend a training. As we drove, I wondered why the training was held so far out of the city; I didn’t really know where we were going or what it was about. The drive provided the opportunity to learn about the work of my colleagues, to see our similarities and differences. Here they have their own “social technologies” that they create with and for communities in need, and they partner with NGOs and the local government to implement these programs. They have been uniquely adept at youth driven, youth-led programming.

It turns out that we drove so far out of Manila today because our training was at a local school, and the training was for youth—it was led by youth and so engaging, all day long. A lot of social emotional learning, self-regulation, and advocacy. Things we would call DEI, the importance of diversity, the importance of our bodies and our breath and our relationships. The youth in attendance will eventually become a bank of trainers available to train others, and they received a stipend for their participation. I loved witnessing the way they were invited into their ea throughout the day, how their joy became part of the process of learning as they laughed and played games and acted out scenes. It made me reflect on how things are back home, how our youth are different from each other, and also how joy and laughter is such an important part of growth and integration. 
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Since we are in the Philippines, rice has been ubiquitous, we’ve eaten it almost every meal. Appropriate as an ancestor, but after nearly a week, my palate is searching for other flavors. Tonight I’m eating a jabong salad from the street market with shrimp and a funky, chunky, coconut-lemongrass-fish paste dressing. While I may not be eating rice tonight, I’m grateful for the reminder of the stickiness of relationships, something my Japanese culture reminds me to be grateful for. Indeed, I believe that’s all that will get us through the coming days. We have to take care of each other as best we can.
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This weekend we attended Shakespeare in the Park near where we are staying. It was a performance of Twelfth Night, it was funny and good. They wove pop songs and modern references into the script, so well done. When one of the characters uttered the line: “I’d rather be a criminal than a politician,” the whole audience erupted. There have been some big scandals here of late, and this well-timed sentence hit a nerve.

“And what if the politicians are the criminals?” 
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In the car ride today my colleague asked me what the US bases their child welfare policies on, since the US refused to sign the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. Here in the Philippines, everything is based on that. It’s an important frame for our mission-work, and while important overall, is a bit unfamiliar to us in language and application back home. He asked what we used instead. I explained to him that what the US does, and what the state of Hawai‘I government does, and how the community and different community members/agencies feel/interact with the concept of child welfare/wellbeing and childhood rights are potentially very different. I find the differences fascinating and striking. So many cultures of origin in the Philippines. So much diversity amongst the original peoples of this place. The scale of wealth and poverty seems overblown. The rights of children are so important to assert everywhere. Yet, we think we don’t need to talk about child rights in the US. We assume and assert that all our children have the same rights, which is an untruth disproven by lived experience all across the land, from Chicago to Hawai‘i and everywhere in between and beyond. 
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There’s not a hopeful ending this week. I feel good but exhausted by travel and attuning my ear to a foreign language all day, trying to understand everything I possibly can. Listening between the words of friends and family back home and beyond, hoping they are all feeling safe, protected, and loved.

Perhaps disjointed, fragmented, the feeling I have that is leaking out of my pen now is like grasping the frayed edges of what has made us feel comfortable and safe. Even the things we dislike about our lives are often a privilege. And even our privilege won’t keep us safe. 

Sending you aloha from the edges, and people that pull you out of the line of fire and gently wash your burning face. Sending you a sense of your own center to weather what lies ahead, and lots of solidarity for our collective work and humanity.  

Thank you po,

Dawn Mahi

Photo taken in Chicago, 4/8/25