With Lola Menen Castillo speaking before Amnesty International in Bangkok
I am writing here to share my story as the daughter who waited on the sidelines, sometimes assisted the person she loved most—her mother, to understand her cause, her passion and persistence.
I remember how it all began. I was 11 and we went to Seoul. There was a meeting and it was in December. The experience was a Iot of firsts. It was the first time that I experienced snow. It was the first time that I visited South Korea and the first time I was able to see my mother in action.
That experience brought the birth of Task Force on the Filipino Comfort Women and Lola Rosa Henson. My mother would sometimes bring her to our home and I would often wonder why she would cry as she told her story. I did not understand a lot of things at that time. I was a child then.
It was painful to see my mother away. I had to grow up without her. I learned to be strong and independent without her. Because in my heart, I knew she was doing something good, something right.
She raised me to look at life with optimism. She said that we should let go of worries, forget about things beyond our control and think about what we can do.
And as I gained experience, skills and maturity, I would sometimes be invited to immerse myself in her work. I would be tasked to care for the Lolas, to accompany them and to translate their stories to those who would listen.
I would write their stories. And I would sometimes look at my mother in wonder. She knew all of the comfort women’s names. She knew their relatives. She was close to their families.
In rare occasions that we are alone, she would sometimes blurt out things that would catch me by surprise. My mother’s mother died at 53. I never met her. My mother said she feels blessed. She may have lost her own mother, but she gained hundreds of mothers. She was referring to the Lolas. The Lolas would treat her like their own and vice versa.
My mother is a strong woman. It was an unspoken trait that we have. I never dared cry in front of her as she never cried in front of me. But there is always an exception. Heartbreaking moments when tears would fall uncontrollably are exempted. These were moments when one of the Lolas die.
And each time, I can feel my heart being eaten up. Is there still hope for the Lolas? They kept their secret for so long. And when they told their story, most of them did not have enough time to see it through.
When the Lola’s daughters would ask me, “When would justice be given?” My heart would be eaten up once more. There is no definite answer to that question.
But then, there are the good people, who would help us tell the world what has happened. We have travelled far and wide. Lobbied like crazy and yet—time is running out. I want the Lolas to experience what is just and due for them while they are still alive.
I don’t want my mother’s love and passion, her commitment to the Filipino Comfort Women for 17 years, to be all in vain. Given the choice, I want us all to be alive to see the day.
Help us with this cause. Let’s make the Japanese government see that they have to do what is just. Legal compensation and a public apology—for all victims of Japanese Sexual Slavery in World War II. Now.
Let us show the world that love, goodness, kindness and justice exists.
