Are books enough?

By Noel Galon de Leon

This was the question I kept asking myself after our visit yesterday, August 18, with Sir Al of Room to Read, to the Ati community in Kati-Kati, Guimaras. Room to Read is planning to establish a library there and to donate books that would benefit the community, especially the Ati children. When Sir Al asked me which community in Western Visayas would be most suitable for such a library, I did not even hesitate. I immediately suggested Kati-Kati. The choice was not only practical but deeply personal. This community has been close to my heart for years, ever since we held one of our Sari-sari Bookstore sa Barangay programs there during the pandemic. I have seen their need with my own eyes. I know how hungry their children are for stories and for opportunities that we often take for granted. I also know how often they are excluded from government programs. Announcements rarely reach them. Connectivity is unreliable. And the truth, no matter how painful, is that communities like Kati-Kati are rarely the priority of our book and literacy initiatives.

During the pandemic, when everyone was still required to wear face masks and bookshops and libraries across the country were paralyzed, my friends Sol, Gil, and Michael, together with our generous supporters Allen and Wayne, decided that we could not just wait for change to come. We created a program we called Sari-sari Bookstore sa Barangay. Instead of hosting book fairs in malls, we traveled to depressed and extremely challenged communities in Western Visayas. We wanted to bring literature where it was least expected but most needed. Kati-Kati was one of those places. With the help of the National Book Development Board, Kasingkasing Press, the Iloilo Mega Book Fair, and several individuals who cared deeply about our mission, we brought books directly to Kati-Kati and placed them into the hands of Ati children.

Our dream was not complicated. We only wanted to share books directly with children. We wanted to teach them the joy of reading, to help them discover that books can be companions, treasures, and guides. We wanted them to feel that they could start their own small collections at home, even if it was only a few books on a shelf. More importantly, we wanted to inspire them to write their own children’s stories, stories in which they could finally see themselves as heroes. Because the sad truth is that very few books in the Philippines represent our indigenous groups. This is true not only in Western Visayas but across the country. Looking back now, I can say that our project during the pandemic was one of our most meaningful efforts. Even without financial support from the agencies that should have been responsible for these programs, we managed to make it work. We did so because we believed wholeheartedly in the power of literature, in the magic of words, and in the life-changing beauty of children’s stories. We ourselves had grown up with beautiful books that deepened our love for reading, and we wanted these children to have that same chance.

When we visited Kati-Kati again, I was surprised and delighted to discover that the community now has a daycare center. During our first visit, we had held our program in a modest wooden house. Now there is a small cemented structure where Ati children can learn. I felt joy when I saw that some of the books, we had donated years ago were still there. But I also felt sadness when I realized that the collection had not grown. So many children’s books have been produced in the Philippines in recent years. Many of them have been honored with awards and celebrated as the best in the field. Yet these books have not reached Kati-Kati. They have not reached children who need them the most. And sometimes, when I think about this reality, I begin to lose faith in those awards. What good is recognition if the books never find their way into the hands of the children who hunger for them? What use is a celebration of excellence in Manila or other big cities when it is disconnected from the realities of distant communities across the Philippines?

That is why I was genuinely excited to see Sir Al appreciate our visit to Kati-Kati. We sat down with members of the Ati community. We listened to their stories. And through those conversations, I gained a deeper understanding of their struggles. The marginalization of the Ati people is undeniable. Opportunities rarely reach them. Their own self-image is often burdened with the low expectations imposed on them by society. Poverty continues to define much of their everyday life. As I listened, I found myself torn between hope and doubt. Can books really change all of this? Can stories truly save them? Can a library shift the weight of history, neglect, and inequality? I do not know the answer. Part of me desperately wants to believe that the answer is yes. But another part of me knows it is unfair to place all these burdens on books alone. Words and stories can inspire, but they cannot fill empty stomachs or replace the systemic support that marginalized communities need and deserve.

And yet, I still choose to believe. I choose to hold on to hope that books, in their own quiet and persistent way, can make a difference. That a child who discovers a love for reading can begin to dream bigger. That a story can spark confidence where there was once only silence. That a library can become a safe space for imagination, for healing, and for growth.

This is why I see Room to Read’s plan to build a community library in Kati-Kati as something profoundly meaningful. It is not just about donating books. It is not about numbers or statistics. It is about creating a place of dignity and opportunity in a community that has been left behind for far too long. This effort stands in stark contrast to many government book projects, which often seem designed more to benefit big publishers than the children who are supposed to receive the books. I cannot stay silent on this issue. I believe public funds should not merely be spent on bulk purchases from established publishers. They should be invested in writing workshops, in contextualized content, and in books that reflect and respect the lives of marginalized sectors.

 

For this reason, I salute Room to Read. By building libraries across the country, they are showing true respect and recognition for our communities, especially those who have been excluded from so much for so long. In doing so, they remind us that while books alone may not solve everything, they are a beginning. They are a promise. They are a light that can help guide the way toward a future where no community is left without a story, without a library, and without hope.

***

Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in both the Division of Professional Education and U.P. High School in Iloilo. He serves as an Executive Council Member of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.