"Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth." — Muhammad Ali

At a very young age, I personally witnessed a racial riot. The year was Nineteen Seventy-Two — a remarkable year! Muhammad Ali defeated Bob Foster on the 8th round in a boxing match, setting him on the road to regain the heavyweight boxing championship title; Martial Law was declared in my country; racial riots took place in Olongapo City; and it was the height of the Vietnam war, in which my Papa, who was in the US Navy, had served.

Olongapo City was popular back then for its nightlife — bars with live-band music, clubs, restaurants — especially to the American military personnel stationed at Subic Naval Base, just south of the city. Sailors were frequent patrons of the bars, clubs, etc.

Back then, one of my older cousins was my movie buddy (essentially, my adolescent babysitter who is none the wiser). Whenever we visited relatives in Olongapo City, we would go to a movie theater (just a few minutes' walk from my cousin's house) several times during the week. The movies we went to see, if memory serves me right, were predominantly of the horror genre or sub-genre action films — most of which involved Asian legends and martial arts.

The night in question was sometime in October of 1972. Martial Law had just been declared a few weeks prior and nightly curfews were imposed. My cousin and I were on our way home after seeing Dracula A.D. 1972 which starred Christopher Lee (he was knighted decades later). It was getting late, so we were in a rush to get home. I was not sure if we snuck out to see the film, but we were both worried not only of getting caught by our parents, but also of cutting it close to the curfew! (Seriously, the things I got away with when I was a minor!) Anyhow, we managed to get into the side entrance of the house with no one noticing because the elders were upstairs, out on the front balcony. My cousin lived in a two-storey home with three balconies just off 4th Street – a part of town called The Jungle – which I later found out, was where Afro-American sailors went for their RnR. Having successfully snuck in, we quietly went upstairs to join the grown-ups. As we approached the front balcony, I started to hear the noise emanating from the street down below. At first, it sounded like a mob being rowdy, but the noise escalated to something inexplicable to my very young self! Hurriedly, my cousin and I joined the elders at the balcony to see what was going on. What I saw was more confusing and more frightening than the blood-sucking Dracula in the film we just saw.

There were two groups on the street of what looked like sailors and they were shouting, fighting, and throwing bottles and rocks at each other. Both sides were very angry. I heard one of our family elders say that it had something to do with “Black versus White”. It was difficult to understand all of that at age seven. All I knew then was that they were American soldiers in a foreign land — our land — violently fighting against each other. I am not quite sure if witnessing that riot has had any lasting effects on me. However, that image of sailors rioting is one that remain with me to this day. It was only much later that I learned and understood more about the racial tensions and the riots near the military base at that time.

Over the years, I have had numerous encounters and friendships with a lot of individuals from different cultural backgrounds. I find them enriching my experiences and my world. I do not have categories for people based on the color of their skin, their religion or faith, or age, gender identity, etc. I have lived in three different countries my entire life — two wherein I was, and still am, what one may call part of the minority. I have encountered racial discrimination and intimidation and, in my experience, there are people who fear what they do not understand and manifest their fear through anger, intimidation, or violence. There are also those who believe that belonging to a huge group in numbers (the majority) means superiority and that minority means inferiority.

I am truly stunned that racism still exists. At age seven, I knew then that it was wrong. Violence is never an answer and is neither a tool for peace. History teaches us that violence does not work. Violence only begets violence. It does not address the issues. It does not heal the community. What heals is education, communication, and empathy.