Editorial

Giving Them a Louder Voice

Doing this issue on older women has been a process of learning and discovery for all of us involved. From identifying contributors to finding the right photos, to searching for the politically correct term—everything has been a new and exciting experience.

It was from Mary Racelis, a Filipina who is active on this issue, that we learned the politically correct term is “older persons,” instead of elderly. Elderly connotes feebleness and dependency, she said, while “Older Persons” simply indicate they’re being in the upper ranges of the age spread. “Older persons” is also the term the United Nations uses, she noted, may have came about from many NGOs pressuring the world body to make the shift.

Of the many insights that came upon us in the course, one was clearest of all: the issue of older women has not been sufficiently addressed by the women’s movement. Yet, one out of 10 persons today is over the age of 60 and likely to be a woman. Latest data from the UN show that the number of people over 60 years, estimated at 605 million, is expected to double to 1.2 billion by year 2025. Those living in developing countries are expected to account for almost three-quarters of the age group.

According to the State of World Population 2000 report, women receive less old-age support from public programmes than men because public pension systems were built on the premise that the men are the primary economic providers. We all know now that this is not true. The attrition of jobs associated with men on account of the sea changes of technology, plus the economic dislocation due to globalisation, has forced more and more women to take on paid work on top of their household responsibilities. In many poor households, women are the main breadwinners—albeit in the nonformal, ergo invisible and uncounted sector. To make matters worse, women suffer from high rates of disability at older ages because of their lack of health care, education and nutrition in earlier life. Thus, older women are more likely to be poor, compared with older men, as a result of the accumulated impact of lower lifetime earnings, lower pensions, lower social status and weaker access to property and to inheritance.

On top of these, older women are more likely to take care of their older spouses. In countries with large numbers of migrant women workers, older women often take on the role of caregivers of their grandchildren. For sure, the AIDS pandemic has increased the number of older women left as sole providers of their children.

Needless to say, it is imperative for the women’s movement to address the concerns of older women and build on what has been started by the groups that identified the issue as an emerging one in the Beijing + 5 Review.

For this issue of Women in Action, our contributors tried to reach out to as many older women as possible who were willing to share their stories with us. Zenaida "Bridget" Pawid writes about the lives of six indigenous women from Northern Philippines; Reihana Mohideen discusses the plight of older migrant women in Australia; Lorna Israel looks at the young-and-old dichotomy that exists even among women in the church. In addition, the views of the older women who agreed to speak with our writers are juxtaposed with those of six young women members of the Network of Asia-Pacific Youth.

Through this issue, we hope to raise awareness on the issue of ageing. We also call attention to the World Conference on Older Persons to take place in Spain in 2002. But first, does everybody realise that the 1st of October is the International Day of Older Persons?

Interestingly, the International Tribunal on War Crimes against Women (07-12 December 2000) held in Japan concluded recently. The strength and courage of the older women who were forced to become comfort women to Japanese soldiers during World War II were extraordinary. This was plain to see as they testified and retold their stories, without fear, driven only by a quest for justice—a legacy that should inspire the younger generations of women. The challenge now posed before us younger women then, as we take up the cause initiated by our mothers and grandmothers, is to give a louder voice to their issues.

Growing Old, Gracefuly and Wisely: Cordillera Indigenous Women After Fifty

by Zenaida "Bridget" H. Pawid

Socio-economic indicators for 1998 and 1999 in the Cordillera Autonomous Region of the Philippines show an increasing number of persons aged 65 years and above. Of these, the women are outliving the men. Other demographic data pertaining to age brackets, school attendance beyond elementary level, the labour pool, civil status, etc., conform to the pattern of women being in parity with men, if not outnumbering them. The phenomenon is not confined to the Cordilleras. What makes the trend significant is that age is often equated with wisdom among the indigenous peoples and "homes for the aged" are unknown in their communities.

Older indigenous women occupy an enviable position within the family and the community. They are the bearers of tradition, keepers of the faith and social arbiters. In the fast-paced world of today, older tribal women act as anchors in a sea of change, graceful reminders of a more orderly, if simpler, lifestyle. They are the fulcrums of activity during rites of passage and change.

Yet these roles are not well understood and too often unappreciated. Here several tribeswomen of the Philippine Cordilleras, all over the age of 50, share their life stories.

Keeping the Faith

Fa-taan's family consists of her two daughters, two nieces and three adopted sons. She has never married, and supports them all by herself.

From the time she was old enough to work the fields, she has observed the annual rhythm of terraced wet-rice culture. Year in and year out she has meticulously observed the taboos, celebrated the appropriate rites and rituals, planted, cared for and harvested the rice in the same paddies, always mindful of the "old ways" of how everything is done. Her life mirrors the ebb and flow of rice paddy, the field camotal (field where sweet potato is grown), the pigs and chickens and the sharing-caring visits of kith and kin.

Hers is a well-defined existence, her role as clearly spelled out as those of the others in the ili (village). She can be counted upon to know and share the proper decorum for every occasion, prescribe the right solution to age-old problems of health, home, farm and interpersonal relations. The metes and bounds of the village are like lines in her criss-crossed palms, the genealogical lineage of each village person easily traceable over six generations, the trees, shrubs, plants and weeds intimately named, the events that mark the lifeline of the ili as fresh in her memory as if they happened the day before.

It is not as if she has never left home, for she did. The city lights beckoned and for a time she lived in relative ease and abundance, soaking in the whole experience with gusto. But she came home again and stayed. Recently, she took on the Department of Public Works and Highways and a millionaire in what became a precedent-setting definition of tayan (clan woodlot where offerings are made to ancestors), and road-right-of-way.

What makes Fa-taan unique is that she, and others like her, "keep the faith" by living what they know has kept the village what it is and its residents who they are. She has seen two different worlds and chosen one. She is the living past.

A Pioneering Homesteader

Francisca, called "Iska," is sixth in a family of seven children. Like most village girls, she finished high school in the capital town, married and settled down as a farmer, but her husband had larger dreams and brought his bride of two years to the government-sponsored "homestead farms" in a humid flat land to raise three crops of rice each year.

Those years were a nightmare of constant prickly heat, endless physical labour under the scorching sun, battles with insensitive bureaucrats, deprivation of basic social services, a spartan existence, malaria. She buried two children who died before the age of six, as well as her best friend, a faithful farmhand.

She never looked back to the old ili, knowing her children would have a better future in the homestead where they were born. But she fought, along with the other mothers, for a health centre, then a day-care centre, then an elementary school, then a high school. Generously she contributed time, labour and money to get deep wells, then a waterworks system, a chapel and parish priest, electricity, a co-operative, a reassembled jeepney, a village hall, farm training courses, market linkages for their produce, a rice mill, even the organisation of a women's club. What was once a rough frontier community now boasts of a two-storey building, a general store that sells newspapers and has a direct-dial telephone service.

Francisca is mother to a doctor and a lawyer, and she has seven grandchildren, one of whom recently passed the nursing board exams and works in New York. She has blazed many new trails yet remains the young lady who left yesterday to begin tomorrow.

The Village Head Teacher

Dalen (baptised Magdalene in the Anglican Church) was born in a mining community, some three hundred kilometres from her parents' original ili. As a child, she had a weak heart and lung problems. Her family decided she would be a teacher and avoid the more strenuous activities of an active social life.

At age 21, Dalen returned to her village to teach in the parochial elementary school. The old ways were a shock to her at first and she could not imagine staying on for years. But fate has a strange way of intervening and she married the town kadangyan (landed gentry, social arbiters), landed and hardworking but unschooled. A son was born. She clung tenaciously to the teachings of the church, finding solace in the predictability of the schoolyear and the clarity of her Christian faith. At the same time, having married into the landed class she was expected to lead in the indigenous rites and rituals. (Later, her husband was baptised as a Christian.) Being both kadangyan and educated brought prestige and privilege and, without guile, she bridged the gap between the two men in her life-her husband, a traditional farmer, and her son, a mining engineer.

Year after year Dalen put her frail self through the test of teaching the children of her kith and kin, cajoled them to finish their studies, presided over countless medal-awarding ceremonies, served as unofficial village hostess, secretary to all village assemblies, informant and translator, guidance counsellor and village "auntie." She earned her master's degree in community affairs and finished her doctorate in applied psychology. In her sixty-eighth year, this year, Dalen died of tuberculosis, beloved of her menfolk and neighbours and adored by her pupils.

A Village Doctor

Ma-an (nickname for Marie Antoniette) was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the only child of the ili's first lawyer and municipal judge and its first pharmacist. Both her parents are baknang (Ibaloi term for landed gentry or social arbiters), landowners belonging to prominent political clans. She was born in the capital town, educated in the city, and graduated with honours from the national state university. All her life she was waited on, pampered, made conscious of her social status and expected to bring even more prestige to her family. She did.

Then Ma-an fell in love with a fellow doctor who drew her into student activism. Together they made for the hills under the threat of imminent arrest and served their cause for the next ten years. She lost a baby daughter to the primitive conditions of the rural setting they chose, and her loved one in an armed encounter just before the dictator Marcos was finally ousted in 1986.

The new "space" created in 1986 provided her the opportunity to visit her parents who had gone through the emotions of rejection, recrimination, bereavement and resignation. The reunion was indescribable. Then her old friends gathered to welcome her back and asked her to stay. With her substantial inheritance, her parents' blessings in death, and her friends' extended families, she has opened a modest clinic to serve her people, introducing acupuncture, herbal medicine, community health and a new-found respect for what is truly baknang.

Ma-an's fondest dream is to bring home and bury the bones of her husband and child. She has no regrets and exudes an enviable, contagious zest for life.

The Barangay Councilor

Bugan has no other name. She is sixty-five, married with two children, eight grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. The village will refer anything and everything to her. She is the barangay councilor but is called Kapitana (captain), an indefatigable busybody, sanitary inspector, truant officer, conflict arbiter, change agent, generous host, fearsome bully, communications expert, a benevolent despot. Nothing escapes her notice, or participation.

And it all began with the simple realisation that her mother died only because there was no help, from anyone. That made Bugan angry-at the insensitivity of government authorities, the hypocrisy of the local elite, the remoteness of basic social services, the helplessness of the people of the ili. And she made certain that everyone would know how she felt. She badgered the local council, organised the young, the old, the not-so-young/not-so-old in all kinds of associations. She asked questions and was never satisfied with uncommitted answers. She joined all kind of meetings, training courses and study tours. It did not matter that she could neither speak English nor Filipino. She threw herself into the affairs of the traditional ili, learning and re-learning its ways.

In the course of events, she married the village mumbaki (priest or religious leader), raised their children, sent them to school and helped them find jobs.

Bugan's disillusionment with the local leadership led her, after much confusion, to seek and win public office in 1995. Her inimitable accent, her unabashed curiosity, her desire to learn and unconditional service to her barangay have made her the quintessential Kapitana who simply talks but effectively delivers. In 1998, her outstanding service was honoured by the Department of Interior and Local Government in the Cordillera Administrative Region. She showed up in full native regalia and delivered a short and thoughtful appreciation for the support of her constituents.

The "Expat"

Mary of Kowloon Road in Hong Kong bears a commonplace name, but she definitely is not a commonplace individual. A public school teacher, she married young. Her husband, who worked in the Department of Agriculture, died in 1984 leaving her to support four children of whom three were in college.

There were expenses and obligations to be met, and she was bitter at being by-passed for a well-deserved promotion due to political patronage. Mary was driven to seek employment abroad as a domestic worker. The first year in Hong Kong was bleak and painful. Her employer was unfair and demanding, the pay barely enough to pay pre-employment debts and family expenses, the loneliness poignant. But pride and necessity bound her to the job. After three years a British lady offered her better work conditions, also in Hong Kong, as nanny to her two sons. Mary made a brief visit back home to witness the graduation from college of two children, and attend the wedding of another one. She found her father bed-ridden. The weight of family problems nearly kept her from leaving again. Hong Kong became a prison cell from which she would honour her commitments, both to employer and family. Tediously she accounted income and expenses, scraping together and hoarding every Hong Kong dollar for the folks back home. She missed two graduations, watched her children turn into strangers, saw her bank account depleted as soon as it was replenished, smiled through lonely Christmases, All Souls Days, birthdays and anniversaries. But she stayed on, doggedly giving the best to her wards, living the life of a virtual nun, coming home only to bury her father. Ten years after leaving home, she visited for two months with an ailing mother, unsympathetic siblings and rebellious children. Her only consolation was a ten-year-old granddaughter.

Mary felt defeated and unappreciated, totally alien to her own ili. She was tired and longed for rest but could not find it in the village she left. Boldly, she initiated proceedings to adopt her granddaughter (whose mother had married another man) and take her to Hong Kong. Two years after, she won custody of the child and moved on to become housekeeper to an older British couple, who invited her to come live in London. She did, and since then has never looked back. She's earning enough to be comfortable and still be able to send some money home. This year, her youngest daughter, a registered nurse, has joined her in Great Britain.

Appreciation for and attention to the older women in indigenous cultures are perhaps long overdue. Most of them have remained in their villages and country, while a good number have sought their fortune elsewhere. Not all of them may merit certificates of recognition for their life stories, these being considered too common.

Yet one discerns a pattern in which these older women consciously try to hold on to the past even while they grapple with an uncertain present and face a more indistinct future.

In other times and places, older women become productive members of society, given to bittersweet remembering and incessant recrimination. These indigenous "golden girls" have neither the luxury of modern amenities nor the security of paid-up insurance premiums. They return to the "old home" or remain emotionally attached to it. There is no chance to sit back and watch the rest of the world go by. The fields have to be tended, the family traditions upheld. Family members have to undergo the rites of passage and the ili has to continue to be home. The menfolk, more often than not, have long died and those still around are addicted to the bottle or too busy making a living to pay attention to the needs of traditional community life.

Taking a well-deserved rest and counting their blessings should really be their lot. Yet, the question can be asked, "What happens after a woman 'retires,' or does she at all?"

When Young Women Look at the Elderly

by Lalaine P. Viado

“I suppose that once she had had a virginal waist, a graceful bearing, and profile worthy of a medallion, but by the time I met her she was already a rather bizarre old woman with shoulders rounded into two gentle humps and with white hair coiled around a sebaceous cyst the size of a pigeon egg crowning her noble head.” -- Isabel Allende, Stories of Eva Luna

The images of older women in most literature are premised on the physical contrast between them and the younger women. As in the quotation above, young women are generally considered virginal, graceful and beautiful, unlike older women who are even thought of as bizarre. Such stereotypical body images reflect social prejudices. Deterioration, physical and otherwise, is associated with ageing and consequently older people are regarded as a liability in society. Older women feel they are treated as nothing but obsolete living individuals, and they resent it.

Following is a report on a round of interviews conducted with the following young women:

1. Shameen Ahmad is a 19-year old from Afghanistan. She is a member of Revolu-tionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA). Since Shameen does not speak English, questionnaires were first translated into Persian and the answers into English.
2. Khumar Huseynova is a 25-year old medical doctor and member of the Azerbaijan Medical Association.
3. Amanda Smith, 21, is from Fiji and is a member of Youthemedia.
4. Misumi Taeko works at the Department of Behavioural Science Faculty of Arts and Letters of Tohoku University in Japan.
5. Cheekay Cinco, 25, is from the Philippines. She is Project Administrator of the Asian Women's Resource Exchange (AWORC).
6. A young Nepali woman requested for her name and age to be withheld.

The objective was to survey their perceptions of older women and the roles they play in the family and in society. The respondents are members and youth partners of the Network of Asia Pacific Youth (NAPY).

Q: Who are the older women you encounter in your life?

Ahmad: The women I encounter everyday are the ones who have several years of political experience with RAWA [the Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan]. Some are leaders and some are active members.

Huseynova: Men and women between the ages of 60 to 65.

Smith: My grandmother, aunts and other relatives. Women you and I happen to meet on the street.

Taeko: My parents and my friends' parents.

Cinco: My mother, her friends, aunts, grandaunts and other relatives. Mothers and grandmothers of my friends. Some of the women I've met in Seoul, mostly professors.

Young Nepali woman (YNW): My mom, mom-in-law and my grandmom. I live with my mom-in-law. I was living with my mom before marriage and I visit my grandmom very often as she lives nearby.

Q: How do they spend their time?

Ahmad: They spend their time mostly at RAWA meetings and activities such as organising functions, demonstrations, printing and publicity work of our journal The Message of Woman. They conduct nursing and literacy courses for women in Pakistan and Afghanistan and other home-based courses. They mobilise other women and raise their awareness, travel abroad, constantly study and analyse the political situation in Afghanistan. Most of them have their own families. Besides the above work, they raise their children, do household chores, maintain relations with friends and relatives and mobilise them towards the struggle against Jahadi and Talibi fundamentalism. It is worth mentioning that some of them (the older women) have barely enough time for all these activities.

Huseynova: They travel or take care of their grandchildren.

Smith: They stay at home, clean, cook, sew, take care of grandchildren, watch television and some are sick in bed or hospital.

Taeko: Some are still working. Others are doing the things they want to do such as going to computer school and/or learning English.

Cinco: Most of them are still working (like my mother, at 61). Some have retired from work and opted to stay at home to take care of their children and grandchildren. They have found their careers, hobbies and other things and these have kept them busy. My mother, whose life is most familiar to me, spends most of her week working. Her weekends are spent with the family and/or simply relaxing. She occasionally goes out with her friends to go dancing, shopping or simply to have dinner. Other relatives and family friends who fall under the category of "older women" spend most of their days taking care of their homes and grandchildren.

YNW: My mom works, she's a professor. My mom-in-law stays at home, she has a husband to look after and she is in charge of the house and in ensuring conduct of religious rituals in the family. Same with my grandmom, she takes care of her husband and attends to family affairs. With so many religious activities to be performed, these older Hindu women do not have to worry about how they should spend their time. In a way such practices save them from the depression that women from other cultures may have after their children have grown and start questioning their worth besides being mothers. In our culture, old age comes with the responsibility of pleasing the deities to make place in heaven for them and making sure the family follows the tradition.

Q: What is your everyday interaction with them?

Ahmad: Our daily talks with them are mainly about political issues (Afghanistan and the world situation), on RAWA's work and about our daily activities. They give us advice on improving our work. We also talk about some of our personal issues such as family problems, and they help us as much as they can. In addition, we talk about marriage and the oppression of the Afghan women within it.

Huseynova: It's "hello-goodbye." Sometimes I ask them about their health.

Smith: Talking to them, helping them when they need things done, visiting them in hospital, asking for advice or help or just to share a joke.

Taeko: No everyday interaction with them.

Cinco: I live with my mother so I see her every day though we are both busy with our jobs. We make it a point to spend Sundays with the family so I catch up with her on weekends. We share one big room at our house, with our separate spaces, of course. I have always insisted on this arrangement because I want to be on hand if my mom needs anything.

I don't see many older women in my daily life other than my mother. But when I do encounter them (usually in family gatherings and in the work environment), I become a little more formal, more reverent. I do not feel uncomfortable in the presence of older women, but I often feel that I have to be more sensitive-there are some topics in conversation and/or behaviour that I feel they will have a hard time accepting.

YNW: In the culture where I come from, older people have their say and may demand some respect from the youngsters. It's not really saying that we agree with everything they say but as much as possible we pretend to listen and try to obey. With my mom and grandmom I can argue and win sometimes if I want to, but with my mom-in-law there is absolutely no "questioning." SHE HAS THE POWER!!!

Q: Imagine yourself at the age of 60. What will life be like for you?

Ahmad: I wish to remain as active and as dedicated as I am now with RAWA. I wish to be like the older members when I am at the age of 60. I wish to be a good teacher and mother to young children, just like what the older members are to us now. I hope to remain very strong against all the difficult circumstances I may face in my life.

Huseynova: I hope I will still be working and continue to operate on people in medical clinics and hospitals.

Smith: Hopefully retired and writing a book based on life experiences. Taking long cruises on cruise liners or just staying at home and spending time with my family.

Taeko: I hope my life will still be challenging.

Cinco: Hopefully a lot more settled and very content. I do not plan to get married so I'm prepared to be by myself at the age of 60. I do not expect to have children who will take care of me when I grow old. Even if I did have children, I would not obligate them to take care of me in my old age. I want to have a quiet life when I'm old, but I also want to have an active life. I want to be involved in various hobbies or volunteer work, and I expect to be still surrounded by my friends.

YNW: As I plan to be working till I can, life in the 60s should be as exciting for me. Maybe I will have a more peaceful and relaxed attitude towards life and with the wisdom that will come with my greying hair, I would love to be one happy old woman.

Q: How would you like to relate to younger people when you get older?

Ahmad: The young generation is the future of a country and the same is true with our organisation, RAWA. Therefore good care and education of the youth are very important because they would be of great help to our people and to RAWA. At 60, besides having good and nurturing relations with them, I'll also work towards their patriotic education.

Huseynova: I hope I will be more laid-back. I would encourage them to seek more knowledge than I have been able to do. I wouldn't be stingy with advice.

Smith: Provide them as much advice as possible on life. I guess being a role model for them to look up to and learn from. Being someone who seems to have the answers to just about everything.

Taeko: I would like to keep being interested in their culture and in the way they think and feel.

Cinco: I'd like to think that when I grow old, I will be able to relate with younger people as equals-that is, I will not expect any special treatment or added respect because of my age. I would like to be the kind of older person whom younger people can be comfortable being with.

YNW: I really would like to be careful in the way I relate to youngsters when I'm old. My attitude would be "I've had my life and learned my lessons. Let them live their own lives and learn." I believe that everyone wants to learn from his or her own mistakes. We never agreed to learn only from our elders, did we? Life would certainly be less complicated if we did but then less interesting too!

The responses reported above reflect the variety of interactions and relationships that the six young women have with older people in their lives. Some commonalities, however, can be gleaned.

The young respondents look at the older people in their lives not only as functioning individuals but more importantly as active members of society. They partake in various aspects of social, political and cultural life. This contradicts the fallacious notion of older people hopelessly lying in their sickbeds and merely exhausting welfare services from their communities. Though they themselves need care and attention, older women continue to be caregivers. They take care of grandchildren and look after the family's well-being as they continue to attend to their usual reproductive functions such as cooking, cleaning and sewing. In addition, older women are also located in productive spheres, as economic actors in the course of their paid work, although at some point they are expected to retire. In the case of Afghanistan, they also serve as a powerful force towards a country's transformation.

Depending on their economic, social, political and cultural contexts, older women also find time for self-development, leisure travel and healthy social life. In the case of Japan for instance, older people would take computer and/or English courses.

They may also take the lead role in observing religious traditions and cultural practices in the family and elsewhere. Such a role, however, could influence the quality of their interaction with the younger women, especially when power relationships are involved (with a daughter-in-law as in the Nepali case or a co-worker like the Philippine respondent).

Given this, the young women would like to learn from their elders particularly with regard to visualising their own old age. The desire to continue having a useful and challenging life is apparent in their hopes to keep on working, at home or outside, and to maintain an active lifestyle (such as taking long cruises and even writing a book, in the case of the respondent from Fiji). They also wish to enjoy healthy and nurturing relationships with younger people, even treating them as co-equals.

All these they hope to do while surrounded by family, friends and/or fellow activists with whom they could share the wisdom gained through the years.

Growing Up, Getting Old as a Nun

by Lorna Israel

The young and the old are conventionally represented as both sharing the traits of frailty and dependence, immaturity and incompetence, passivity and vulnerability. If this is true, older people can be said to reflect youthful traits. Middle-aged adults, on the other hand, are supposed to mediate the needs of the young and old.

Sr. Mary certainly feels that way. She describes her present age as “the best.” Her behaviour when she was in her 20s, she says, was “childish” but at 33 “I am now able to look at things from a different, more mature perspective because I am filled with so many experiences.” She adds that “additional age brings with it additional experience and a new level of maturity and outlook in life.”

At 18, she crossed over the threshold of adulthood by joining the Religious of the Good Shepherd (RGS), a Roman Catholic order that is active in predominantly Buddhist Sri Lanka. Perceived as mature, dependable and responsible, today Sr. Mary is assigned tasks that would normally be given to a more experienced nun. These include giving counselling and overseeing the physical and emotional needs of several women staying in the RGS’ Welcome House.

There is a political economy behind the stereotyping of youth and advanced age, the young-and-old dichotomy. While it was and still is common to see young children making a living like adults, social policy has intervened to prevent them from competing in the labour market through the introduction of compulsory education. While older people continue to be active, compulsory retirement has rendered them unproductive. There is an unspoken policy that the retirement of older workers opens employment to relatively younger workers. While the negative “young” and “old” stereotypes tend to magnify the economics side of it, the positive age-stereotype blurs negative connotations, shifting it from age identifier to roles and expectations, attitudes and behaviours.

Though there is no fixed age requirement in entering the congregation, the RGS prefers relatively young women. It is their belief that the formative years are the best time to prepare them for the rigour and austerity of religious life. The RGS administers several schools in Sri Lanka, in one of which Sr. Mary used to be a student active in extracurricular activities. It was a teacher, an RGS nun, who invited the young girl to consider a religious vocation.

At present, however, the congregation finds it difficult to attract new recruits. The age of admission or postulancy has been raised from 15, when most Sri Lankans students have passed their O level, to 18, when most of them are about to enter university following completion of their A level. It seems that the youngsters are obliged to look for jobs and start earning money as a way of repaying their parents who have already invested so much in their education. Media has also been instrumental in promoting a youth-centred culture that values modernity and economic independence.

On the surface, there would seem to be no significant difference between the younger and the older nuns in the congregation, for instance in the division of apostolic work. Everyone is expected to carry out the day-to-day work of the RGS. In fact, the only sign of age difference obvious to Sr. Mary’s eyes is that older nuns are addressed as “Sister,” as a sign of respect, while the younger ones simply call each other by their first names. The latter, she observes, are grateful to the older nuns for their pioneering and untiring efforts to carry out the mission of the RGS.

Twenty-four years ago, authority and administration of the entire congregation rested in the hands of the Irish nuns. The Sri Lankans who later assumed leadership are now mostly in the senior bracket. Among the 482 RGS, at least a hundred are much older than the others. Despite their age, they remain active and vibrant, carrying out their daily work with competence and strength.

Today, the RGS is a respected institution in Sri Lanka. It is known for its apostolic work with women who have difficulty re-integrating themselves into the mainstream of society which looks down on them—the unwed mothers, prostituted women, those who have been physically or sexually abused, or any woman having problems but no one to talk to or nowhere to go. Meanwhile, young women who have been recruited from rural villages to work in export processing zones are also welcome to seek refuge in the RGS’ Welcome Houses.

Such is the high regard for RGS-run schools that even non-Catholic families send their children to study there. The Sri Lankan police, on the other hand, have made it a practice to turn over to the congregation women they had rounded up from the streets.

The RGS’ excellent reputation in Sri Lanka is attributed by Sr. Mary to the initiatives of her seniors. She also thinks that it inspires the older nuns to continue being active and live up to their religious vows.

Clearly, the older nuns embody the positive stereotypes associated with old age such as wisdom, kindness and compassion and they teach the younger nuns by their example. The RGS has devised a system that maintains the sense of community amongst its 482 members. The nuns are divided into groups composed of three or more members and each group is called a community. As a community, members live and stay together, work and pray together. This takes the place of a family set-up for most of them. (Every year, however, they are allowed a two-week vacation to rejoin their families.)

In 1995, Sr. Mary joined two other nuns, one of them 77 and the other 69. Though her provincial chose this community for her, Sr. Mary says she wanted nothing less than this one, which has been engaged in an apostolate amongst women working in export processing zones. These young women, mostly from the countrysides, commonly seek advice and counselling on how to adapt to an urban setting or how to deal with their depression and confusion after being sexually harassed or abused.

The two older nuns feel responsible for Sr. Mary, treating her as if she were their own daughter. “They encourage me and make me feel that I’m doing just fine,” she says.

With Sr. Bridget, aged 77, “I can talk about almost everything,” the younger nun says. She adds that Sr. Bridget knows all about her, both her daily activities and the dilemmas she encounters, but without being judgmental or intrusive. Sr. Bridget is in charge of the kitchen, marketing and meal preparation. Despite her age, she goes about her work untiringly and enthusiastically. When she “really gets old,” Sr. Bridget says, that’s when she would join the other senior nuns who have formed their own community and live in the same house together.

Sr. Rose, 69, on the other hand, is the visionary one. As the superior, her vision of the future is sharp and certain. She leads the little community role with wisdom and high spirits that don’t seem to decrease with the years. She is ever willing to share her experiences and foresight as a way of supporting Sr. Mary. She tries not to make the latter feel incompetent when a mistake has been made, nor does she treat her like a youngster.

Both nuns make Sr. Mary feel that she has their full attention, constantly watching her grow and bloom. She is allowed to take initiatives, to push the frontiers of her limitations and potentials. This has allowed her to overcome the barriers of age and experience.

Sr. Mary does not seem to notice that her fellow sisters have slowed down on account of their age. She actually finds it difficult to treat them as elderly. On the other hand, she herself feels mature and not at all a youngster. This feeling is all the more compelling because Sr. Mary has yet to work with other nuns her own age or younger.

Srs. Bridget and Rose’s fond reference to Sr. Mary’s youth and vibrancy and the future role of younger nuns highlights the young-and-old duality apparent in the congregation. This, however, is played out on a more positive, albeit stereotypical, plane. Sr. Mary’s zestful laughter, her ever-ready smile and her capacity for hard work make the two nuns feel young, energised and vibrant. Both Srs. Bridget and Rose believe that the future of the congregation rests with the younger nuns. Hence, they take every effort to give the latter advice and guidance, inspiring them with stories from their younger years.

It is the congregation’s responsibility to take care of its older members. Going back to their birth family upon retirement is out of the question. For one, parents may have died by then while their other relatives may also not be young anymore. For another, the senior nuns still feel productive and would rather stay with the congregation for the rest of their lives, competently carrying on the mission of the RGS as long as they can. Sr. Mary notes that their productivity is what perhaps animates them, or the knowledge that they are living up to the RGS vow of zeal. In any case, these nuns are not referred to in the language of burden and decline. They have not been relegated to second-hand participation in the over-all administration of the congregation.

Inevitably, though, the physical and biological manifestations of advanced age catches up with the older nuns. It now becomes the responsibility of the younger ones to take care of them, keep them company and witness their deterioration and death. Sr. Mary does not want this to happen to herself. Though she thinks the younger nuns don’t mind taking care of the older ones, she doesn’t want to be a burden to them when the time comes. She has observed the dependency of the older people who are residents in the RGS’ Home for the Aged. Here and amongst the senior nuns, Sr. Mary has caught a glimpse her own future, and she feels threatened by it. Despite her positive experience within the community, she seems unable to reject the negative stereotype associated with aging.

Sr. Mary clearly speaks from the other end of the young-old duality. She is still in a position to enjoy the positive connotation of being young and productive. But the logic of associating old age with burden and dependency, which she herself has witnessed, has proved to be persuasive. If she can avoid it, she would not like to see herself getting old to the point of having to be washed and fed by a younger woman. It has not occurred to her, though, that as a baby, her mother or another older person washed and fed her. Indeed, caring for the very young is universal. But then, there is no question that babies and children need to be cared for and prepared to become productive and useful members of society. Why cannot the same care be seen in the same light with regard to older members of our society?

It has been said that the social construction of age exerts a more far-reaching influence than its chronological and biological aspects. It goes without saying that nobody can avoid becoming one’s chronological age. Biological aging, with its accompanying physiological changes, is also inevitable even if it is medicalised as ill health and physical decline. It is the cultural meanings attached to aging and its bodily expression that make age a less-than-certain identifier. Sr. Mary’s community has evidently re-drawn the coercive boundaries of the young-old duality. But why does the younger nun still think that growing old means becoming dependent and a burden to others? The possibility exists, of course, that this will in fact happen.

In many societies today, growing old is enforced and institutionalised. People are pressured to retire earlier and to live in homes for the aged. Upon reaching the age of 60, they are labelled as “old,” for whom last year, 1999, was declared the year of the elderly.

Positive old-age stereotypes such as recognition of their past contributions and the wisdom they have gained, their memories as repository of history, obscure the reason why older people are “demoted” to volunteer work, mentoring or grandparenting roles. The stereotypes also mask the ways in which the older people themselves contest how their old age has been determined for them.