Chapter XXX

THE PLEA OF THE WOMEN

AMONG foreign observers who have lived for a quarter of a century with the Moro, but one testimony can be got as to Moro morality.

"If a man wants to draw from a Moro a black look and a right hand quick to the knife-hilt," says one, "let him make some risqué remark in the presence of Moro women."

"Reversing the Filipino," said another-and I quote no weak witnesses "the Moro is no sniggerer. He sees no humour at all in unclean language, stories and pictures. They simply disgust and offend him."

As to the women themselves, no New England American is more careful of her honour. The Moro girl feels that she belongs to her father or her family until her marriage. Then she belongs to her husband. Custom, severely enforced, forbids that any man outside those bounds so much as touch her with a hand offered to help her across a road. In earlier days a woman dishonoured was placed in a fish-basket filled with stones and dropped into the sea. By the letter of current Maguindanao law concerning adultery, both parties to the crime are to be buried in the earth up to their necks and then stoned to death.

But, so strong is Moro public opinion-so wholly does that unity formed by Islamic law and religion govern Islam's daily life-that offences of its moral code are exceedingly few.

Yet, by late figures, over 72 per cent of all crimes committed in the Department of Mindanao and Sulu are sexual crimes. Of these, over 50 per cent involve the acts of Filipino school-teachers or small Filipino officials.

By the Manila politico much is made of the fact that the Moro objects to sending his daughters to school-"because," says the politico, "of his bigotry." The Moro does object to sending his daughters to school, and the true reason has just been given.

The one excellent school-the one piece of true humanitarian work in all Moro-land, apart from Bishop Brent's lesser place in Zamboanga, is the Moro Educational Foundation's school at Jolo-a scrupulously non-proselyting effort also founded by the Bishop and that gentle and fearless lady, Mrs. Lorillard Spencer; largely assisted by Mrs. Thomas Emery of Cincinnati and Mrs. Willard Straight of New York. Mrs. Spencer spends much of her life on the spot, with the small American staff. Her quiet influence and the affection and loyalty with which she and her work are regarded by the Moro people, are incalculable powers for good. A drop in the bucket, maybe this Moro Educational Foundation-but the sort of drop whence healing rivers spring. I visited it, saw its work and heard its praises with deep gratitude. It is an oasis of honour in a desert of reproach.

Almost all public schools in Moro-land are taught by male Filipinos. And the male Filipino school-teacher in the south is the same character, with the same habits, that he is in his own country. The difference in response lies in the different moral quality of the populace. Put American teachers—or even Filipino women-in place of the Filipino men, and you find the Moro, other things being equal, ready to send his children to school. But he will not willingly endure seeing his son made personal servant to the Filipino school-master in lieu of being taught. And, above all, he will not see his daughter prostituted.

I cite the case before me of a Moro in jail because he refused to send his daughter to school. The Superintendent of Schools-an American-called on him there to investigate.

"I am afraid for her. Afraid of that Filipino teacher," said the prisoner.

"But you are wrong. The teacher is a reliable honest man -I myself will respond for him," argued the Superintendent, finally prevailing upon the prisoner to comply with the law.

The outcome, almost at once, was exactly what the father had feared-and the Superintendent's humiliation and helpless rage could repay nothing of destruction wrought.

The following statement, which I choose from many simply because of its commonplaceness, has been carefully checked. It is true.

Alvarez one day last winter found sitting at his door a poor Moro, travel-stained, spent with hunger and weariness. The man seemed in deep trouble, but waited patiently to be addressed. Then he told his errand.

"Sir," he said, "I have come from. . . [and he named a place that means many days' foot-travel] to ask your wisdom. I am in great distress. My case is this:

"I have a little daughter, Idda, seven years old. She is our only child. And now she will not go to school. I have tried all my influence with her-for I want her to have an education--but she will not go. She is afraid-so afraid! I do not know why-just afraid of school. Then they fine me for not sending her to school. I have been fined so much and so many times because of this, that I can pay no more, for my money is gone. My wife has even beaten the child-which hurts our hearts. And then the officer has come and dragged her to school, she screaming and struggling like a crazy thing, away, out of our sight.

"And when the officer left her with the teacher, she kicked the teacher-fought him-bit him on his hand. My little girl is almost frantic with fear. My wife and I, we have to watch her all the time because she tries to get away to the river to throw herself to the crocodiles.

"As for me, since I have no money to pay more fines, they will soon put me in jail and that means to leave my wife and the child unprotected. I see only two things left to do. Either to kill them both, for their safety, and then run amok, or else

to call my kinsmen and take to the hills as an outlaw. But first, I came here, hoping light from your wisdom."

Alvarez took the matter up. It then transpired that Idda's closest playmate had been caught in the schoolhouse, gagged, bound and raped by the school-teacher-a Filipino. This child's wild misery, and the things she had wailed into her comrade's ears, had made such an impression on little Idda that the terror of school was literally driving her mad.

The American Superintendent, being informed, could only say, "Let her stay at home for the present. In two months' time I shall be able to get up into that territory and see what is going on."

I shall not soon forget the fixed, brooding horror stamped into the face of an eleven-year-old girl, the victim of her Filipino teacher, into whose case I also looked. One could scarcely have believed that so young a child could so desperately have felt her own tragedy. But examination led me to think that scarcely a girl in the school here in question had escaped ruin. The man, in this instance, got a heavy court sentence. But sentences, however heavy, seem insufficient to reduce the number of offences. And for one case that reaches court, who shall say how many go unheard.

How far, for instance, is a complaint likely to get when the offender himself is not only the justice of the peace with whom complaint must first be lodged, but is also the arresting and investigating officer?

I am informed on the best authority, substantially re-enforced, that when two refugee murderers were recently and erroneously said to have escaped to the island of Basilan, the Filipino Constabulary captain there adopted a policy of terrorization that upset the entire island. It is affirmed that he ordered all outlying natives first to destroy their crops and then to move in to reconcentrado camps. The Constabulary detachments enforcing the order burned the people's houses almost over their heads, throwing out the sick and helpless, and leaving little or no time for the saving of goods. The labour thus

secured was put to making a road along the southern part of the island. Meantime, the people's cattle strayed away, or were seized and sold as ownerless, the wild hogs broke in and destroyed what remained of the plantings, and thirty-two men were summarily shot, here and there about the place-shot by Constabulary in satisfaction of miscellaneous old grudges. After killing the men, it is stated, the officers raped the women. Basilan is a Moro island 482 miles square. Its population numbers 8,000, and contains 54 voters. Its area comprises some one hundred thousand acres of the best rubber-growing land in the world, one-third of which is now grass land, the rest virgin timber. About two thousand acres are now planted to rubber, and two-thirds of the trees are being tapped. It is possible, or even probable, however, that native instinct, rather than any consideration of these facts, prompted the activities described in the foregoing paragraph.

To move intimately among the Moro people is to become acutely aware everywhere of tension drawn close to the breaking point. Passing one day through a small village, I came upon a wedding-party. They were holding the ceremonial dance in a tent, and the head man came forward with all eagerness to welcome an American. At the top of the room sat the little bride and her maids, straight and still, with hands extended flat upon their knees, with chalk-white, delicatelypainted faces, with downcast eyes, immovable as carven goddesses.

"Etiquette demands that they see nothing, hear nothing, and seem apart from all earthly concern," some one explained.

But the rest of the party was full of life. Single dancers succeeded each other upon the floor-sometimes a statuesque woman, wrapped in long garments, subtly, rhythmically leading the gongs with her flexing wrists and ankles-sometimes a youth, dramatically dancing a story-sometimes a merry old man, proudly proving the trim of his nerves by balancing a cup of water upon his head while his body capered to the music. And the audience-men, women and little children