It is not often that I reflect on the formal education I received from the Jesuits, which was from elementary school to sophomore year in college at Xavier University Ateneo de Cagayan. But the tragic drowning of Ateneo de Manila University men’s basketball players Rene Baterbonia and Divine Adili on June 8 and Ateneo’s mishandling of the shocking event made me think of what I have learned from them.
My overall reaction to the drowning of the two players in Dipaculao, Aurora, and its aftermath is: Sometimes the smartest people are also the stupidest.
Being among the Philippines’ leading universities, Ateneo is certainly better than average and not to be sniffed at where intellectual ability and achievement are concerned. It was thus a big disappointment to a basketball-crazy, grieving nation that the school was less than forthright and obviously too much in shock to react in the compassionate, intelligent manner expected of such a highly regarded institution. It froze. It went faceless and clinical. Certainly not the right thing to do in such an emotional and painful situation.
So, what have I learned from the Jesuits?
One is not to make sweeping generalizations because always, there are exceptions. To make room for error. Not to be immediately judgmental or critical.
Another, and related to the above, is to make fine distinctions. Which can either be good or bad. The good is when it encourages critical thinking. The bad is when it is used to gain advantage and escape responsibility.
Still another is the development of a love for literature, poetry in particular, and the use of language to express the most deeply felt and universal human truths. The Socratic method employed by one of our Jesuit teachers—there were just three of us selected students in that “special class”—helped make us think and speak for ourselves instead of sitting bored to death in regular high school English literature and composition.
Of the books I read during those years of my early youth when I was with the Jesuits, I remember most “Old Yeller” and “The Catcher in the Rye.” The first, being a tale of a boy’s hard frontier life and the stray dog who came into his family’s life, helped develop in me a love for animals and the attendant values of loyalty, devotion and the realization of the harrowing truth that “we kill those we love.”
Holden Caulfield of “The Catcher in the Rye” was as much a model for me then as was Che Guevara for a nonconformist, rebellious but humanistic attitude.
Thus, those three—critical thinking, values, and a humanistic attitude—are what I would have wanted to see in this tragedy nobody wanted.
It did not help that then Ateneo head coach Tab Baldwin—who in looks and manner reminds me of the music conductor in the movie “Whiplash,” a tyrannical, ultra perfectionist taskmaster who brooked neither error nor opposition—went cold and silent.
There seemed to be on the part of the school an undue fear of liability. As though they knew the math and they knew they did not add up. Calculating. Fearful.
Without passing judgment on the people concerned, there seems to be one thing clear: There was negligence on the part of the authorities because there appeared to be no safety procedures in place. Any sporting event or training exercise that may be particularly strenuous or risky must always have rescue and medical emergency personnel on standby. I ran several full marathons in my youth. And always there were aid stations, ambulances and motorcycle escorts to assist any runner in distress. Even military special forces when training in survival swimming (even in just a swimming pool) always have rescue divers to lend a hand. Because the unforeseen may happen at any time. As it did in the ocean in Dipaculao on that fateful day. With unforgivable consequences.
It’s like Rene and Divine were just snatched by God or by Death or by Fate. With neither rhyme nor reason.
One of my Jesuit teachers always cited the example of a Christian martyr, St. Thomas More, as portrayed in the award-winning movie “A Man for All Seasons,” who said that the preciousness of conscience is like water cupped in our hands. If we let it slip through our fingers, it will be gone forever and there is nothing we can do to be ourselves again. It is exactly what happened to Rene and Divine. The authorities in whose hands they were cupped, to be protected and nurtured, let these young, promising lives slip through their careless, negligent fingers.
The only thing we the living can do is man up. And know that nothing will ever be the same again. For ourselves and for the bereaved. CS
