Living in the Philippines affords me a number of privileged opportunities. For instance, during a stakeholders' meeting a few months ago, I was put in touch with a priest who conducts expressive art therapy for abused and exploited women and girls. His name is Father Jaque, and he had studied this type of therapy in France and Switzerland before taking up residency in Cebu.
Since I had been a play therapist for autistic children in Los Angeles, I was curious as to how play therapy could be applied to abused and exploited girls. But, I kept the number on my desk for two months before getting up the nerve to call him. I was afraid that I might have been mistaken, that in fact, he worked in a different field, or that he simply would not have any time for me. As it turned out, when we finally met up for coffee one morning, we talked for hours.
Last Sunday I accompanied him to the St. Peters Recovery Home*, about forty minutes out of the city. The house is run by a few progressive Filipina nuns who work to rehabilitate victims of trafficking and other forms of abuse. They welcome Father Jaque every Sunday afternoon. Expressive art therapy, in particular, involves music, dance, drawing, and journaling etc. as a means to healing. I wanted eagerly to participate in this kind of therapy, but as a foreigner, I also didn't want to be instrusive or distracting. Yet, as I watched the departure of a visiting German nun, who cried heartily as she hugged the girls goodbye, I was reminded that outsiders can be just as much a gift to these communities as insiders. In fact, therapy isn't something that one person simply imparts upon another. But rather, it is a fluid exchange of learning from each other.
Significantly, one of the activities is called the 'dance of dignity'. This is where the girls take a piece of silk cloth and dance in a group to classical music, expressing their personal concept of dignity. The music filled the whole house and the movement of the flowing scarves became mesmerizing. The wind blowing from the storm outside only dramatized the moment further. Some girls danced gracefully, some girls giggled light heartedly, while others seemed truly confused with their movements. But as the song took hold, I could see that all of them were searching with all of their heart. Many had been mistreated, and perhaps felt at a loss to express the concept of dignity. But in this vulnerable state, I saw dignity reveal itself in a whole new way. It seemed they expressed it perfectly just in the act of trying.
Father Jaque tells me that some of the girls were sold by their own parents. One, in particular, had been sold by her Auntie to a foreigner at eleven years old. Her name is Desiree* and under threat, she kept the incident a secret from her family. As a result, she grew up believing that her only worth was in selling her body. She ended up working in bars where she was exploited further for several years. Later, her Aunt was arrested for trafficking other minors, and now Desiree receives rehabilitation services here at St. Peters. Today, as we reflected on how we experienced the dance, Desiree had this to say: 'God teaches us that our body is sacred, and that dignity is something that no one can take away.' In front of my eyes, I was witnessing her learn that she is worth more than the way she had been treated. She is learning of God's love and the power of redemption.
Getting to know Desiree allows me to reflect on my own dance of dignity, and how we are all learning how to treat ourselves and eachother. For instance, there are times when I feel full of grace, where my movements are confidant and controlled. Other times I am flailing. But somehow I know that God loves me for trying. So I thank those who have given me the opportunity to take this dance.
Love,
Ali
