Published in Maganda (University of California-Berkeley)

      Like the Magi, we came bearing gifts, all fifteen of us Filipino-Americans, for the young child.  We came from afar and from lives of privilege to meet this child who would change our lives.  Only this one was not newly born: she, Crizel Jane Valencia, was a six-year-old plagued with leukemia, the cancer of the blood.  And unlike the Magi, we were led to that place not by a star, but by sickness, which had haunted Crizel's community for several years.

     From the moment I first saw Crizel in the dark, concrete-and-aluminum house, I knew that she was special.  The face of the balding young girl with a brilliant smile, the kind that shines out the eyes and surprises one with the joy it evokes, held me in awe.  How could she be so happy, so carefree? I wondered.  Is she incognizant of her condition, or has she simply come to terms with it?  She seemed both old and young, old in the way century-old women are, having experienced the travails of life and realized that peace comes from seeing the world with youthful eyes.  She appeared more at ease with her illness than anyone else, especially her mother, whose tears never ceased as she described Crizel's plight.

     Little did I know at the time of that first meeting that I would be living in the back room of that very house, waking at dawn every morning to the elfin squeals of Crizel and her brothers and the sizzle of pancit on the stove.  Little did I know that Crizel would become as close to my heart as a sister or even a daughter.  What I did know, at that first meeting, was that I needed to do something for the cause which had brought us to Crizel's doorstep.

The Toxic Legacy at Clark, Pampanga

     The story of that cause begins something like this:  for almost one hundred years, the United States military occupied Philippine soil.  This presence initiated after the end of the Philippine-American War in 1902 and was formalized with the US-RP Military Bases Agreement in 1947, which provided a rent-free 99-year lease.  In 1991, however, the original agreement was brought to discussion in response to rising anti-bases sentiments.  Its renewal was rejected, calling for the abandonment of the bases.

   Arguments against U.S. military presence included wage discrimination against Filipinos, increased prostitution and drug use, the neglect of Amerasian children, and toxic contamination in Philippine soil and water. All of these left their legacy in the Philippines.  But the last may be the most elusive, for the poisons which were left nearly ten years ago continue to slowly and invisibly manifest themselves in the environment and bodies of Filipinos.

     Clark Air Base, located about two hours northwest of Manila in Central Luzon, is the second largest of the 22 bases, nearby Subic Naval Facility being the first.  The story in Clark proves particularly compelling, for there is a twist: only 2 months prior to the planned abandonment of the bases, Mount Pinatubo erupted, expelling U.S. troops immediately.  The volcano, according to the beliefs of the local Aeta tribe, was angry at the exploitation of its resources.  Lahar,  volcanic ash, soon draped the once verdant landscape in a dismal grey.  Members of communities lying at the foot of the volcano were forced to flee, taking shelter at a temporary camp set up on Clark by the government.

     Around 20,000 families found themselves making a home at Clark Air Base Command (CABCOM), which contained former army barracks and makeshift shacks. They were unaware, however, of the fact that CABCOM had once been a motor pool, a detail not told them but which later provided an essential piece to a disturbing puzzle.

Proof of Contamination

     In Clark alone, a total of 27 contaminated sites have been identified, based on two important documents.1   One of them derives from a soil and water baseline study conducted by U.S. consulting firm Weston International at the request of the Philippine Government.  According to the Weston: 

*Twenty-one sites had at least one pollutant that exceeded drinking water standards,including heavy metals mercury and lead, pesticide dieldrin, and varioussolvent including benzene and toluene.  All of these have been linked to healthconditions such asbirth defects, tumors, cancers, and seizures.  Benzene and pesticideshave been connected to leukemia.           

*Thirteen soil test sites confirmed unsafe levels of contaminants includingpolychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), pesticides aldrin, dieldrin and heptachlor, and petroleum hydrocarbons

*Many of these sites are located very close to or within communities

            Some of these chemicals are identified as Persistent Organic Pollutants (POPs), which research has linked to health problems such as falling sperm counts, testicular and breast cancers, behavior disorders, and immune system changes. Former base workers attest to the presence and unsafe handling of hazardous waste materials.  Says Mang Pablo:

            It was only in 1985 when we learned that the Clark Air Base had PCB transformers, which is cancerous...All underground wires within CAB had asbestos including the telephone wires.I really have no idea how the Americans disposed of their wastes because...they would dig a hole inside CAB for their waste and none were ever burned.  We would see them disposing of their waste...have it smoothed and covered with soil in the afternoon...It would look so clean you won't even see a single sheet of trash paper on it.3

     And if personal testimony is not enough, one need only read statements from the U.S. government itself.  The GAO, in a document procured in 1992, reports that 'environmental officers at Clark Air Base and Subic Bay Naval Facility [had] common environmental problems with underground storage tanks that lack leak detection equipment, and fire fighting facilities that have no drainage systems.'4 Before the military withdrew from Clark, officials had proposed 'pollution abatement and environmental projects at an estimated cost of approximately $8.4 million...including PCB removal projects, asbestos abatement, and hazardous waste removal.'5 To this day, however, these projects have not been carried out.

      The geography of Clark and surrounding communities only worsens the situation: the average elevation of surrounding barangay is 100 feet lower than that of the base.6   Several rivers and creeks flow down towards these communities, potentially carrying the dangerous toxins.  And lahar as well as porous soils readily allow contaminants to seep into groundwater.

Communities in Crisis

     Perhaps the most poignant testimony of the toxic legacy comes from the inhabitants of these very communities, especially those of CABCOM, for whom the contamination was most blatant.   Residents describe their drinking water as 'bad smelling,' 'bad tasting', irritating to the skin, and as having a layer of grease on the top.7   Yet for three years or more, these families had little choice.  Water tests documented by the People's Task Force for Bases Cleanup indeed confirmed their descriptions,  showing 'concentrations of oil and grease higher than the health limit.'8 This water was also shown by the Weston study to contain above-standard levels of mercury and nitrate.

      As early as 1991, reports of vomiting, diarrhea, respiratory problems and miscarriages began to rise from CABCOM.   'Many children were sick,' laments former CABCOM resident Alberto Carlos; 'even the dogs were sick. Many people lost their hair, and [their] skin was damaged.'  Almario Escoto, who still suffers from lung problems, recalls, 'Many died; [for example] children died in the uterus.'9

     In response to an increasing number of such reports, the People's Task Force For Bases Cleanup, which emerged from longer-standing anti-bases NGO Nuclear Free Philippines Coalition, resolved to monitor them.  Through their persistence, world-renowned activist Dr. Rosalie Bertell and the Canadian Institute for the Concern for Public Health performed a comprehensive health survey in 12 barangay surrounding Clark.

     Bertell's study showed that these communities had conspicuously high rates of female, urinary tract and nervous system problems.  It linked, importantly, corrosive water and water with an unusual taste or smell with kidney, urinary tract, respiratory and nervous system problems.  It also associated dust with kidney problems, an uncommon correlation.  She stated, 'it is clear that this is not normal dust.'

      The report urged immediate cleanup.  'If this is not possible,' she said, 'then evacuation...should be considered until cleanup has taken place.'10  She recommended that in the meantime, people should limit their contact with the water and soil.  'To do nothing,' she warned, 'is to invite disaster.'

     That statement was made by Rosalie Bertell two years ago.  And since then, the United States government has done nothing, and disaster has continued to characterize the lives of many of these families.  Crizel and many other children born or conceived at Clark struggle with serious conditions like congenital heart disease,  seizure disorder, and birth defects which prevent them from speaking or walking.  Adults and chidren alike grapple with skin disorders and kidney infections.  One woman, Avelina Manalo, had to stop working as a lavandera (washerwoman) because the rash covering her body became so severe. The types of cases vary and years have passed, making correlation to specific contaminants and proof of causality almost impossible.  Toxicologists assert that chemicals manifest themselves differently, at varied times, in exposed peoples' bodies.11  The Philippine Department of Health has refused to take action until an 'epidemic' has been documented, but it is unlikely that such an event will ever take place.

     At this time, the People's Task Force For Bases Cleanup continues to monitor Madapdap Resettlement Area, where many formber CABCOM residents now reside, and other communities, educating and mobilizing community members, assisting patients in receiving medical services through a program called 'Lingap Clark'.  Meanwhile, the organization is lobbying the U.S. government to take notice, and ultimately to take responsibility for the injustice done on this former colony.

A Personal Encounter

     In August 1999, a group of Filipino-Americans studying on the Tagalog On Site program, I among them, took an 'exposure trip' to Clark.  We were instructed to bring pasalubong for the 'sick people' we would be meeting. Crizel was one of them.  That night, many if not all of us cried at what we saw and felt.  As for myself, I couldn't shake the memory of the visit to Crizel's house.  I was spellbound.

     After Tagalog On Site ended, I had plans to remain in the Philippines for several months and leaped at the opportunity to work with the People's Task Force for Bases Cleanup, which had brought us on the Clark tour.  Task Force coordinator Christina Leano, also a Fil-Am, set me up to do a photo-documentation project on the site itself--at Madapdap Resettlement Area, from which most of the current health problems were being reported.  I would photograph and interview around 65 people during a one-month period; and, by sheer chance, I would stay in an extra room in Crizel's family's house.

     After living with Clark coordinator Nerissa Agustin for one week, following her around on various activities which included accompanying a reporter from the Boston Globe on a tour of the sites, it was time to move to the 'community'.  So, backpack atow, I arrived at the Valencia's simple house.  They greeted me with the warmth and acceptance which was to characterize my entire visit.

     I will never forget the joyous giggles and sweet voices of Crizel, Carlo and Rudolph, ages 6, 5 and 4, which greeted me then and every day of my stay.  They were to become my guardian angels, reminding me to laugh and play in the midst of a very weighty issue.  As Crizel could not attend school because of her depressed immune system, I began to teach her the alphabet.  But she was my teacher, too.  Her positive attitude, even as the leukemia slowly ravaged her tiny body, clearly outshone that of Pollyanna. Her gums would be bleeding, her appetite lost, and still she would skip into my room at 6 in the morning and invite me to breakfast.  We had drawing sessions that would last hours, and she would practice writing while I worked on my project.  And often she would sing to me in the Tagalog that she taught herself, love songs much too old for her, which ended with great laughter.  Over the course of that month, Crizel and I grew very close,a fact which made my time in Clark both more comforting and difficult: for now I would have a heart-connection with one of the patients.  There would be no distance; this was evident from the start.

     And so my project commenced.  Accompanied by the trusty PTFBC volunteer Bobet, who acted as a translator at times when either my Tagalog failed or the interviewees preferred their native Kapampangan, I entered the homes and lives of the 'toxic waste victims' of Madapdap.  I still put those words in quotes because I never became comfortable with the term 'victim': these people were strong, had endured so much.  The series of events that made their lives like a depressing movie--discrimination in their own land, a natural disaster which took away their homes, and relocation to a place poisoned by a government who refuses to notice--may have threatened them, but these people were survivors.  It was evident in their ability to move on, to forgive and even to speak of their experiences with a sense of humor.

   Even Milagros, who was in her dying days from breast cancer, and Carmelita, whose daughter suffers from heart disease, managed to bring a smile to my face.  These people were survivors.  Still, I could not help but feel sad and angry at what I was seeing.  In fact, their ready acceptance made it all the more difficult to swallow; it meant that they had conditioned themselves to accept their lot, out of plain necessity.

     My broken Tagalog aside, the interviews were beautiful.  I often just let my hosts speak, especially the talkative ones, make kuwento about their lives.  A few times I could detect some resentment: who was I to record these stories, capture these faces, I with the comfortable home and computer and plenty of food back in the States.  Some asked me if I would give them money or medicine, which I could not.  I tried to explain that what I was doing would help them, though not so immediately.  But still, I felt guilty for my privilege, for belonging to two worlds so vastly different.

     Through the lens of my camera, I saw these Filipino's souls.  It is said that taking photos steals people's souls, but I didn't feel that way. These people, especially the children, who comprised around half of the group, were giving me access to their souls, willingly, with the intention of helping me understand.  And I think I did gain something of understanding, as I gazed into the brown eyes of each of them.

     The 'project' was only the beginning.  During the interview period, there were six emergency cases, two of which ended in death.  Often when I look back at the memories of visiting Nelia at the hospital in her last days, or sleeping on the floor of Crizel's isolation room, I can't believe they actually happened.  This was my own movie, which I would tell time and time again after I returned to the States.

     Like most, I had never really dealt with death, had never seen a dead body.  There is always a first, and that was so when I saw Nelia, a 27 year old who died from pneumonia and liver cancer, lying in her coffin.  And there was the first, too, of seeing Milagros atrophy from a woman smiling for my photos, eagerly sharing her tale, to a body crumpled on a urine-stained bed, exhausted from fits of delirium and seizures.  There is always a first.

     But nothing would match the horror of seeing Crizel, my 6-year old friend, come within a razor blade's edge of death. It happened just after I moved out of her house; I came to visit a few days later, to find her immobile with a fever, bruises on her skin, and one foot swollen twice its size.  She had been bitten by an ipis or cockroach. And because her immune system could not fight back, the bite had gotten infected and would not heal on its own.  It was a gruesome wound, as was Crizel's appearance: yellowish skin, teeth tender and bloodstained, and a blankness in her eyes which signalled danger.  I had arrived just in time to accompany her, her mother Dina and aunt Levy to the regional hospital.

     There, Crizel received fluids through an IV tube and was given antibiotics.  I waited in the emergency room, practically biting my nails

off with anxiousness.  Finally, Ate Levy asked me to contact Nerissa Agustin because they needed money, and fast.  I rushed back to Angeles, one hour away.

     The next day, Nerissa and I arrived at the hospital to find Dina holding a limp Crizel in her arms,  rocking her silently.  We both feared the worst.  Was she going to die--from this small roach bite?  Dina could barely speak; every time she tried, she would burst into tears.  We spoke to Crizel's pediatrician, who said that if Crizel's system, aided by the antibiotics, could not fight this infection, there was 'nothing more' they could do.  What did that mean?  Nerissa and I could not believe our ears. But this was only the regional hospital.  It lacked even a room for isolation, the closest they could get having windows open to the dirty streets, and a janitor who came in frequently to move the dust around with a blackened mop.  There had to be another option.

     Fortunately, we had procured money from a benefactor in the U.S. who sympathized with Crizel's plight--enough money needed to transfer Crizel to the best hospital in Manila.   If we were to take her there, we asked the doctor, did she stand a chance at recovery?  Yes, he said.  In the Philippines, money can mean the difference between life or death.  Never before had it been so obvious to me.

     Several hours later, we were at St. Luke's, a clean, well-staffed hospital usually accessible only to the upper crust of Manila.  Crizel was quickly taken into the emergency room and dosed with more antibiotics; soon, she was transferred to an air-conditioned 'isolation room' where she was safe from germs and viruses.  For the first night, Nerissa and I were allowed to stay with Dina and Crizel.  I slept on the cold floor while crews of nurses flowed in and out, taking blood tests, checking her IV and temperature.  Everyone was exhausted.  We took turns accompanying Crizel to the bathroom and to the x-ray chamber, far into the wee hours of morning.

     Crizel remained at St. Luke's for several weeks, and yes, she did recover.  During her long hospital stay, Crizel had many visitors, including senators and American journalists, who were each charmed by Crizel's fighting spirit and winning smile.  Crizel spent her days drawing while one arm remained splinted to an IV tube.  Her eyes slowly gained back their usual brightness.  And, eventually, she was able to return home.

     This episode had been the worst, but not the only one.  In fact, Crizel had grown used to hospitals and clinics, having spent so much time in them. Since February of 1999, Crizel's health had been a roller-coaster of highs and lows, and at any time her family knew it could plummet--for good.  But Crizel's soul, it seemed, was not ready to go.  It has been one year since Crizel's diagnosis with Acute Myelocytic Leukemia, a rare form of the disease with a low chance of remission.  Doctors say she is not fit to undergo the rare and expensive bone marrow transplant, which has only been performed in the Philippines a few times.  There is no promise that she will live another month, or even another day.  But still she not only survives but brightens the lives of all who meet her--a teacher and an inspiration to us all.

     I left the Philippines just before Christmas, both sad to leave my homeland and ready for the familiar comforts awaiting me in the States.   I returned to California, where I now go about with the regular tasks of earning a living, socializing, pursuing dreams.  But this pair of eyes will never be the same.  It is in my hands, in the hands of us all, to share experiences which have changed our lives, especially when they could make a difference.  If speaking about my encounter with the patients at Clark, with Crizel, with the toxic waste issue,  may do any bit of good, let me speak. The children may continue to suffer; some will die; and it may be a long while before any responsibility is taken--but at least the silence will have been broken.

On February 24, 2000, almost one year after her initial diagnosis with AML, Crizel Jane Valencia passed away on the Greenpeace Rainbow Warrior boat. She and several other sick children from Clark were attending a celebration of a book release about the toxic waste issue by the People's Task Force for Bases Cleanup.  Crizel's health was failing even as she boarded the boat, but she insisted on going because it was one of her wishes--this would be the first time on the sea.  After gleefully riding a motorboat, she was exhausted and her mother told her to lay down and "go to sleep".  She died shortly after.

     Because of her strong impact on all who have met her or witnessed her in the media, Crizel's death has catalysed action among activists, including her mother, who speaks out even more fervently about the issue.  Crizel has been dubbed the "toxic warrior".  Even in death, her life and strength continues to provide fuel to the battle for bases cleanup. The People's Task Force for Bases Cleanup has recently launched FACES (Filipino American Coalition for Environmental Solutions), a campaign in the U.S. to fight for bases cleanup through consciousness raising among Filipino Americans and by calling upon the US government to take responsibility.  If\ you would like more information, please contact: 

FACES
c/o MCC Washington Office
110 Maryland Ave., NE #502
Washington, D.C. 20002
FACES @mcc.org
Phone: 202-544-6564
West Coast Contact:  (415) 495-1786
MidWest Contact: (651) 646-1985