In Memoriam: Steve Arevalo

Born with a manong’s eyes and a manong’s heart and a manong’s mind that would not forget. Manong Steve, you said, “Our legacy is not for sale”—pushing onward, always looking forward. How many meetings did you go to? How many youth did you mentor? The seasons passed before your eyes but you saw the big picture and the little things, too. Every grain of rice was precious to you and your kababayan, tending the soil, watching the seeds you planted grow and feed our movement. You carried the fire of the manongs—never forgetting the injustices, never taking no for an answer—working even when you were tired and experiencing much physical discomfort. Visiting you in the hospital, you asked about the family in SOMA that was fighting their eviction. “What’s going on with them?” you asked. “You heard anything since last time?” Not even the hospital, not even an amputated leg could keep you from the march, the fight, from the pulse of our people. You were a leader, an elder—someone with vision.  But you loved to laugh. It was that manong laughter that you surely heard growing up, that never left your mind but fermented, becoming sweet rather than bitter—the laughter of SOMA, of Manilatown and the I-Hotel, of the Gran Oriente. You refused to forget the smell of boiled beef and rice, refused to give up what was sacred and important to our people. All the committees, meetings, advisory boards—you put your heart you into it all. The heart is a gage, a portal—it can take the temperature of its surroundings, it can foretell the future and look back into the past. You had the heart of a poet, the spirit of a poet. You knew the price of the path you chose. You told younger activists to be mindful of their futures, that sooner or later they’d have to be concerned about having security as the years would surely come before you knew it. You gave this advice out of love and concern because you saw that your own situation was not secure, living on a limited income, battling health issues, living in a small SRO room. Where does the path of the manong lead? But you could not stop giving to your people—your heart, your eyes, your legs, your body—all that you could give. My regret is not having a cup of coffee or sitting down to eat with you more often. We’ve gotten so busy with our cell phones, meetings, obligations, agendas, pronouns, etc. Our elders always found time. There is much we can still learn from you, Manong Steve. I recall one time when we did have coffee. We met to talk about the Gran Oriente situation. I met you at a coffee shop and there you were—drinking coffee and eating a toasted bagel covered with thick chunky peanut butter. I was going to tape an interview with you to share with the community. We sat and you ate that bagel and the peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth and on your lips and I could barely make out what you were saying because most of what came out were smacking noises so I just sat and watched you eat that bagel and peanut butter…smack, smack, smack. It was funny and I felt like I was sitting with an uncle, just being ourselves. But you loved the community, giving your life to it. Thank you for your love. Your life and what it means to us resonates in the words of James Baldwin:“None of it belongs to you. You can only have it by letting it go. You can only take if you’re prepared to give. And giving is not an investment. It is not a day at the bargain counter. It is a total risk of everything, of you, of who you think you are.” Manong Steve Arevalo…presente!