by Scott Allford
October 18, 2009
If you live outside of the Philippines and you watch or read the news you may feel very justified in believing that the Philippines is a very dangerous country, savaged by typhoons, earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, and terrorist attacks. You may also be assured in your belief that it is a poor country with images of children picking through garbage, slums, and corruption scandals broadcast in most international news reports. I am not going to deny that these things are true, however, they are not all that the country contains. Not every person in the Philippines is poor, a terrorist or a victim of terror. In fact other countries around the world suffer from these same problems yet they do not become iconic images of those nations.
The Common View of the Philippines
A few months ago I was at a roof-top birthday party in Makati filled with socialites and expats. Whilst there I was introduced to a German ‘journalist’, and my friend asked him why the Philippines is portrayed in such a negative light in the foreign media. His response was in two parts; Firstly because in his experience he could not sell stories about the Philippines in Germany if they were not about poverty, violence or corruption. Secondly, he said that because there is so much poverty, violence, and corruption, there is nothing else to report on. After saying this, he sipped his glass of red wine and was whisked away into a group of Filipino socialites.
Perhaps the red wine was ‘poor’ in taste, or the fact that that particular roof-top was one of the few in Makati which doesn’t have a swimming pool made him focus on the poverty in the Philippines, or maybe the sounds of merrymaking were ‘violent’ on his ears. I think that it was none of these things. Germany, a developed country, has slums. But if the focus can be moved away from the poverty in the developed countries and put on some islands way out in the Pacific Ocean, then people in developed countries can feel a little bit better.
I remember growing up in Australia, taking garbage out to the dump after cleaning up the garden. I would see Aboriginals picking through the garbage for food. Yet that has never been an iconic image of Australia. I went to ‘water villages’ in Malaysia and Brunei and thought how similar they look to slums in Manila. Yet ‘water villages’ are tourist attractions and the slums here are not. I lived in South Korea a few hundred kilometres away from the DMZ, with jets and helicopters flying overhead all the time it felt like a war zone. In the spring I would have 40 tanks facing in the direction of my apartment. Yet South Korea is generally not viewed or branded as a dangerous country. And South Korea has slums too. Perhaps the time will come when people outside the Philippines will come to realize that the branded image of the Philippines portrayed in the media is only a small piece of the full picture of this country.
A Different View
Since the Philippines was settled by people 30,000 years ago, this country has blossomed into a mix of over 180 indigenous ethnic groups, over half of which also represent unique linguistic groups. This array of cultures, languages and cultural artifacts cannot be matched by most nations of the world. From the Ilocano, Pangasinense, Kapampangan, Tagalog, Bicolano, and Visayans to the Binukid, Moros, Ati, Igorot, and the T’boli, just to name a few. These cultures are rich, strong and proud and in most cases the people that make up these cultures are very friendly and welcoming to outsiders. On a trip to Sagada I was welcomed into a very warm and friendly Kankanaey family. T hey showed us around Sagada and told us stories of Kankanaey cultural practices. They even taught me how to wear a traditional bahag (a hand-loomed loin cloth or G-string).
Neighbouring Sagada is Ifugao, with vast rice terraces that shape the mountains of the region. The oldest rice terraces are 6,000 years old, which is 1,000 years older than the oldest pyramid in Egypt. If put end to end the rice terraces dwarf the Great Wall of China, and the rice terraces were not made by using slave labor like most other ancient wonders of the world.
The Banaue Rice Terraces are a UNESCO World Heritage site. But they are not alone. The Philippines have numerous UNESCO world heritage sites including the Baroque churches of San Agustin Church in Manila, Nuestra Señora de la Asuncion in Santa Maria, Ilocos Sur, San Agustin Church in Paoay, Ilocos Norte, and Sto. Tomas de Villanueva Church in Miag-ao, Iloilo. There is also the beautiful and historic town of Vigan in Ilocos Sur. Furthermore, there are the natural UNESCO World Heritage sites of the Puerto-Princesa Subterranean River National Park and the Tubbataha Reefs Natural Park.
Lastly, the Philippines consists of 7,107 beautiful islands. These islands contain remote beaches and amazing rock formations as well as other natural wonders like the Chocolate Hills in Bohol, the perfectly conical Mt. Mayon volcano or the stunning Bacuit Bay in El Nido, Palwan. B ut also on these islands is a range of biodiversity not seen in most other places on the planet. In Romblon, Sibuyan Island is known as the Galapagos of Asia as it contains such a diverse range of species which can be found nowhere else on the planet. If you get off these islands and dive into the cool blue-turquoise waters of the Philippines, you may also see some of the richest biodiversity in the world’s seas. The Verde Island Passage has been named as the ‘centre of the centre’ of marine biodiversity in the world. It has over 300 species of corals as well as vast numbers of fish that you will not find anywhere else.
With all that this country has to offer, I am baffled as to why it has been branded in such a negative way by the international media. However, I think that more and more people are starting to discover that there is a different side to the Philippines to the one they have been bombarded with for the past few decades. Those who come to the Philippines to seek out the beauty of this country will not be disappointed. However, first time travelers to the Philippines should beware, just like me and many other foreigners, this amazing country may compel you to stay quite a bit longer than you initially planned.
----------------
Scott M. Allford has lived and worked in Australia and South Korea and has traveled extensively throughout Asia - Mongolia, China, Tibet, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan, Indonesia and Japan – fell in love with the Philippines and decided to allocate at least two years to comprehensively cover the country.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Final piece of a puzzle by Krisanne Alcantara
Philippine Daily Inquirer First Posted 02:57:00 02/09/2008
The great Filipino Diaspora has resulted in countless Filipinos settling down all over the world, in countries such > as the United States, Canada and Australia. These Filipinos are admired for uprooting completely and attaining the coveted Western dream, all-inclusive of the dollar-earning corporate job, Mercedes-Benz, shiny Gap-clothed offspring and glittering palatial homes in the suburbs.
But let me tell you, all that glitters is not gold.
I know, because I am one of those Filipino-Australian /American offspring, part of an entire generation of young Filipino adults who have lived and been raised "abroad," a generation who, despite being born into the Great American Dream of their progenitors, cannot help but suffer from some form of identity crisis.
I am the perfect case study. Born in Manila, shipped to Australia for 10 years, only to be relocated in America, then back in Australia during my adolescence, I had completely given up finding a place to call home. Consequently, for years I insisted on calling myself a "citizen of the world." By the ripe old age of 21, I was jaded and slightly defiant, if not a little confused.
That was until a week ago, when I found myself standing in the middle of a traffic-congested road with no distinct lanes, poorly attempting to "para" [halt] a jeepney in the thick of the Manila heat, knowing a total of 12 words in Tagalog and not knowing the difference between a P5 and a P10 coin -- and feeling right at home.
Coming back to the Philippines in my adulthood is akin to the satisfaction of finding that final piece of the puzzle and placing it snugly where it belongs. It is like filling an empty space that you never knew existed. "Where have you been all these years?" I wondered, as sweat poured down my brow and I was almost killed by a reckless taxi driver.
Ironically, I have lived the "dream life" abroad like so many Filipinos constantly tell me they are desperate for. Whenever I mention that I currently reside in Australia, this revelation is always immediately followed by something along the lines of "Ay, Australia, gusto ko 'dyan!" ["Australia, I want to be there!"]
And with good reason. Me too, I like it in Australia. It's practically impossible not to like the country. It is so clean and so green, there is hardly any traffic and the weather obeys the seasons: winter means "cold" and summer means "hot."
Yet, now, after years of desperately trying to find this elusive place called home and instead being offered breathtakingly beautiful substitutes, I find myself loving a country where winter means "hot," and summer means "heat so excruciating you may as well be living inside a furnace." It's a country where people stare at me like an alien when I attempt to speak Tagalog (and oh, I try so hard), and a country where the skyline is defiled by billboards of heavily airbrushed superstars advertising anything, from hair products to coffee creamer.
What many people don't know about we "lucky" Filipinos who have lived abroad our entire lives is that there is a tug-of-war that happens beneath the surface for many of us. There is an entire generation of Filipino young adults who have been brought up in another country, who experience a constant, underlying struggle between the culture that runs in their blood, and the culture that they live and breathe on a daily basis.
We are the young people who have been forced by our parents to adopt English as our first language and eat Weetbix and Cornflakes for breakfast. We nonchalantly take our SATs or HSCs, knowing that getting into universities is no drama, and neither is finding some form of employment if we fail.
Yet there is some kind of inexplicable emptiness that is hard to fill, or even admit, that is common among many of us Fil-Oz and Fil-Am youngsters.
I know this, having Filipino cousins and friends in both America and Australia. Within many of us lies the similar, disjointed feeling of being neither here nor there, being neither wholly American/Australian nor wholly Filipino.
Please don't misunderstand me. I love Australia. It has been very kind to me, and I would not be sitting here had it not generously awarded me a free education at one of its most prestigious universities and then sent me to work here, expenses paid. And I know it sounds shallow, but boy, is Australia beautiful.
But the Philippines possesses a different kind of beauty that does not have to do with immaculate greenery, flawless stretches of golden desert and glittering turquoise ocean. In my opinion, the Philippines is beautiful because of its irony and its endearing imperfection.
A Third World country with gargantuan shopping malls to rival the world's best. A country with the most shopping malls, and also the most slum areas and poverty. A country so devoutly Roman Catholic yet also one of the most destitute and plagued with the most problematic of governments. And a country whose citizens are labelled "the happiest people in the world," according to the Chinese Asiaweek.
I have witnessed firsthand the breathtaking opulence of Malacañan Palace during vin d'honneur, and I have visited slums where shanties are packed so tightly together that the tiny doors can only open inwards and children run around barefoot and naked. I have witnessed both Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo' s presidential address beneath a glittering crystal chandelier and the heartbreaking sight of a sweating man standing in between two lanes of traffic, balancing a stand of peanuts on one arm and his toddler in the other.
The Philippines is such a charming, enchanting, endearing mess of a country. Nothing really seems to fit, yet it all does.
And it reminds me a bit of myself. Perhaps that's why I feel like I fit right in. Perhaps that's why after all these years I can say I have finally, thankfully, found my home.
So, for all you fellow Filipinos here in the Philippines who dream of a life abroad, I am not telling you to stop dreaming. Explore your horizons. Go to college, apply for scholarships, and work abroad. Just know where you came from, and feel blessed to have what you have. And never forget to come back to help your fellowmen, your people
And to the lost souls, the confused "citizens of the world" like me who may be reading this: Don't lose hope. As the famous saying goes, "Life is a voyage that's homeward bound." In other words, no matter where or how far you wander, don't fret -- you will one day end up where you belong. Take it from me.
----------------------
Krisanne Alcantara, 21, is a journalism student at the University of Sydney. She won the Myer and AKF journalism scholarship and is currently an intern at the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
Copyright 2008 Philippine Daily Inquirer. All rights reserved.
The great Filipino Diaspora has resulted in countless Filipinos settling down all over the world, in countries such > as the United States, Canada and Australia. These Filipinos are admired for uprooting completely and attaining the coveted Western dream, all-inclusive of the dollar-earning corporate job, Mercedes-Benz, shiny Gap-clothed offspring and glittering palatial homes in the suburbs.
But let me tell you, all that glitters is not gold.
I know, because I am one of those Filipino-Australian /American offspring, part of an entire generation of young Filipino adults who have lived and been raised "abroad," a generation who, despite being born into the Great American Dream of their progenitors, cannot help but suffer from some form of identity crisis.
I am the perfect case study. Born in Manila, shipped to Australia for 10 years, only to be relocated in America, then back in Australia during my adolescence, I had completely given up finding a place to call home. Consequently, for years I insisted on calling myself a "citizen of the world." By the ripe old age of 21, I was jaded and slightly defiant, if not a little confused.
That was until a week ago, when I found myself standing in the middle of a traffic-congested road with no distinct lanes, poorly attempting to "para" [halt] a jeepney in the thick of the Manila heat, knowing a total of 12 words in Tagalog and not knowing the difference between a P5 and a P10 coin -- and feeling right at home.
Coming back to the Philippines in my adulthood is akin to the satisfaction of finding that final piece of the puzzle and placing it snugly where it belongs. It is like filling an empty space that you never knew existed. "Where have you been all these years?" I wondered, as sweat poured down my brow and I was almost killed by a reckless taxi driver.
Ironically, I have lived the "dream life" abroad like so many Filipinos constantly tell me they are desperate for. Whenever I mention that I currently reside in Australia, this revelation is always immediately followed by something along the lines of "Ay, Australia, gusto ko 'dyan!" ["Australia, I want to be there!"]
And with good reason. Me too, I like it in Australia. It's practically impossible not to like the country. It is so clean and so green, there is hardly any traffic and the weather obeys the seasons: winter means "cold" and summer means "hot."
Yet, now, after years of desperately trying to find this elusive place called home and instead being offered breathtakingly beautiful substitutes, I find myself loving a country where winter means "hot," and summer means "heat so excruciating you may as well be living inside a furnace." It's a country where people stare at me like an alien when I attempt to speak Tagalog (and oh, I try so hard), and a country where the skyline is defiled by billboards of heavily airbrushed superstars advertising anything, from hair products to coffee creamer.
What many people don't know about we "lucky" Filipinos who have lived abroad our entire lives is that there is a tug-of-war that happens beneath the surface for many of us. There is an entire generation of Filipino young adults who have been brought up in another country, who experience a constant, underlying struggle between the culture that runs in their blood, and the culture that they live and breathe on a daily basis.
We are the young people who have been forced by our parents to adopt English as our first language and eat Weetbix and Cornflakes for breakfast. We nonchalantly take our SATs or HSCs, knowing that getting into universities is no drama, and neither is finding some form of employment if we fail.
Yet there is some kind of inexplicable emptiness that is hard to fill, or even admit, that is common among many of us Fil-Oz and Fil-Am youngsters.
I know this, having Filipino cousins and friends in both America and Australia. Within many of us lies the similar, disjointed feeling of being neither here nor there, being neither wholly American/Australian nor wholly Filipino.
Please don't misunderstand me. I love Australia. It has been very kind to me, and I would not be sitting here had it not generously awarded me a free education at one of its most prestigious universities and then sent me to work here, expenses paid. And I know it sounds shallow, but boy, is Australia beautiful.
But the Philippines possesses a different kind of beauty that does not have to do with immaculate greenery, flawless stretches of golden desert and glittering turquoise ocean. In my opinion, the Philippines is beautiful because of its irony and its endearing imperfection.
A Third World country with gargantuan shopping malls to rival the world's best. A country with the most shopping malls, and also the most slum areas and poverty. A country so devoutly Roman Catholic yet also one of the most destitute and plagued with the most problematic of governments. And a country whose citizens are labelled "the happiest people in the world," according to the Chinese Asiaweek.
I have witnessed firsthand the breathtaking opulence of Malacañan Palace during vin d'honneur, and I have visited slums where shanties are packed so tightly together that the tiny doors can only open inwards and children run around barefoot and naked. I have witnessed both Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo' s presidential address beneath a glittering crystal chandelier and the heartbreaking sight of a sweating man standing in between two lanes of traffic, balancing a stand of peanuts on one arm and his toddler in the other.
The Philippines is such a charming, enchanting, endearing mess of a country. Nothing really seems to fit, yet it all does.
And it reminds me a bit of myself. Perhaps that's why I feel like I fit right in. Perhaps that's why after all these years I can say I have finally, thankfully, found my home.
So, for all you fellow Filipinos here in the Philippines who dream of a life abroad, I am not telling you to stop dreaming. Explore your horizons. Go to college, apply for scholarships, and work abroad. Just know where you came from, and feel blessed to have what you have. And never forget to come back to help your fellowmen, your people
And to the lost souls, the confused "citizens of the world" like me who may be reading this: Don't lose hope. As the famous saying goes, "Life is a voyage that's homeward bound." In other words, no matter where or how far you wander, don't fret -- you will one day end up where you belong. Take it from me.
----------------------
Krisanne Alcantara, 21, is a journalism student at the University of Sydney. She won the Myer and AKF journalism scholarship and is currently an intern at the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
Copyright 2008 Philippine Daily Inquirer. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
There's the Rub: May araw din kayo
By Conrado de Quiros
There's The Rub, Columnist
Philippine Daily Inquirer
Posted date: August 17, 2009
"Tatagalugin ko na nang makuha n’yo. Kahit na lingwaheng kanto lang ang alam kong Tagalog.Tutal Buwan ng Wika naman ang Agosto. Baka sakali ’yung paboritong wika ni Balagtas ay makatulong sa pag-unawa n’yo dahil mukhang ’yung paboritong wika ni Shakespeare ay lampas sa IQ n’yo. Kung sa bagay, ang pinakamahirap gisingin ay ’yung nagtutulug-tulugan. Ang pinakamahirap padinggin ay ’yung nagbibingi-bingihan . Ang pinakamahirap paintindihin ay ’yung nagmamaangmaangan. Bueno, mahirap din paintindihin ’yung likas na tanga. Pero bahala na.
Sabi mo, Cerge Remonde, alangan naman pakanin ng hotdog ang amo mo. Bakit alangan? Hindi naman vegetarian ’yon. At public service nga ’yon, makakatulong dagdagan ng cholesterol at salitre ang dugong dumadaloy papuntang puso n’ya. Kung meron man s’yang dugo, kung meron man s’yang puso.
Bakit alangan? Malamang di ka nagbabasa ng balita, o di lang talaga nagbabasa, kung hindi ay nalaman mo ’yung ginawa ni Barack Obama at Joe Biden nitong nakaraang Mayo. Galing silang White House patungong Virginia nang magtakam sila pareho ng hamburger. Pina detour nila ang motorcade at tumuloy sa unang hamburgerang nakita nila. Ito ang Ray’s Hell Burger, isang maliit at independienteng hamburger joint.
Tumungo ang dalawa sa counter at sila mismo ang nag-order, hindi mga aides. Nagbayad sila ng cash na galing sa sariling bulsa at kagaya ng ibang customers ay pumila para sa turno nila.
Ito ay presidente at bise presidente ng pinakamakapangyarih ang bansa sa buong mundo. Kung sa bagay, ’yung amo n’yo ay hindi naman talaga presidente. Di lang makita ang pagkakaiba ni Garci kay God kaya nasabing “God put me here.” Pekeng presidente, pekeng asal presidente.
Sabi mo, Anthony Golez, maliit lang ang P1 million dinner kumpara sa bilyon-bilyong pisong dinala ng amo mo sa bansa.
Ay kayo lang naman ang nagsasabing may inambag ang amo n’yo na bilyong-bilyong piso sa kaban ng bayan. Ni anino noon wala kaming nakita. Ang nakita lang namin ay yung bilyon-bilyong piso—o borjer, ayon nga sa inyong dating kakosa na si Benjamin Abalos—na inaswang ng amo n’yo sa kaban ng bayan. Executive privilege daw ang hindi n’ya sagutin ito. Kailan pa naging pribilehiyo ng isang opisyal ang di managot sa taumbayan? Kailan pa naging pribilehiyo ng isang opisyal ang magnakaw?
Maliit lang pala ang P1 million, ay bakit hindi n’yo na lang ibigay sa nagugutom? O doon sa mga sundalo sa Mindanao? Tama si Archbishop Oscar Cruz. Isipin n’yo kung gaano karaming botas man lang ang mabibili ng P1 million at karagdagang P750,000 na nilamon ng amo n’yo at mga taga bitbit ng kanyang maleta sa isa pang restawran sa New York.
Maliit lang pala ang P1 million (at P750,000), bakit hindi n’yo na lang ibigay doon sa pamilya ng mga sundalong namatay sa Mindanao? Magkano ’yung gusto n’yong ibigay sa bawat isa? P20,000? Sa halagang iyan 50 sundalo na ang maaabuluyan n’yo sa $20,000. Pasalu-saludo pa ’yang amo n’yo sa mga namatay na kala mo ay talagang may malasakit. Bumenta na ’yang dramang ’yan. At pasabi-sabi pa ng “Annihilate the Abus!” Di ba noon pa n’ya ’yan pinangako? Mahilig lang talagang mangako ’yang amo n’yo.
Bukod pa d’yan, saan ba nanggaling ’yung limpak-limpak na salapi ng mga kongresista na pinansisindi nila ng tabako? Di ba sa amin din? Tanong n’yo muna kung ayos lang na i-blowout namin ng wine at caviar ang amo n’yo habang kami ay nagdidildil ng asin—’yung magaspang na klase ha, ’di yung iodized. Ang tindi n’yo, mga p’re.
At ikaw naman, Romulo Macalintal, tapang ng apog mo. Maiisip mo tuloy na sundin na lang ang mungkahi ni Dick the Butcher sa “Henry VI” ni Shakespeare: “First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” Pa ethics-ethics ka pa, pasalamat ka di nasunog ang bibig mo sa pagbigkas ng katagang ’yon.
Marami mang sugapa rin sa aming mga taga media, di naman kasing sugapa n’yo. At di naman kami sineswelduhan ng taumbayan. Wala naman kaming problemang sumakay sa PAL at kailangan pang bumili ng P1.2 billion jet. Anong sabi n’yo, kailangan ng amo n’yo sa pabyahe-byahe? E sino naman ang may sabing magbabyahe s’ya? Ngayon pang paalis na s’ya—malinaw na ayaw n’yang umalis. Bakit hindi na lang s’ya bumili ng Matchbox na eroplano? Kasya naman s’ya ro’n.
Lalo kayong nagpupumiglas, lalo lang kayong lumulubog sa kumunoy. Di n’yo malulusutan ang bulilyasong ginawa n’yo. Para n’yo na ring inagaw ang isinusubong kanin ng isang batang nagugutom. Tama si Obama at Biden: Sa panahon ng recession, kung saan nakalugmok ang mga Amerikano sa hirap, dapat makiramay ang mga pinuno sa taumbayan, di nagpapakapariwara. Sa panahon ng kagutuman, na matagal nang kalagayan ng Pinoy, at lalo pang tumindi sa paghagupit ng Typhoon Gloria, dapat siguro uminom na lang kayo ng insecticide. Gawin n’yo ’yan at mapapawi kaagad ang kagutuman ng bayan.
Sa bandang huli, buti na rin lang at ginawa n’yo ’yung magpasasa sa P1 million dinner habang lupaypay ang bayan sa kagutuman—di lang sa kawalan ng pagkain kundi sa iba pang bagay—at pagdadalamhati sa yumaong Ina ng Bayan. Binigyan n’yo ng mukha ang katakawan. Katakawang walang kabusugan. Mukhang di nakita ng masa sa usaping NBN, mukhang di nakikita ng masa sa usaping SAL. Mukhang nakita lang ng masa dito sa ginawa n’yong ito. Sa pagpapabondat sa New York habang naghihinagpis ang bayan.
At buti na rin lang mayroon tayong sariling wika. Di sapat ang Inggles para iparamdam sa inyo ang suklam na nararamdaman namin sa inyo. Di sapat ang Inggles para ipakita sa inyo ang pagkamuhi na nararamdaman namin sa inyo. Di maarok ng Inggles ang lalim ng poot na nararamdaman namin sa inyo.
Isinusuka na kayo ng taumbayan, mahirap man sumuka ang gutom.
May araw din kayo."
©Copyright 2001-2009 INQUIRER.net, An Inquirer Company
There's The Rub, Columnist
Philippine Daily Inquirer
Posted date: August 17, 2009
"Tatagalugin ko na nang makuha n’yo. Kahit na lingwaheng kanto lang ang alam kong Tagalog.Tutal Buwan ng Wika naman ang Agosto. Baka sakali ’yung paboritong wika ni Balagtas ay makatulong sa pag-unawa n’yo dahil mukhang ’yung paboritong wika ni Shakespeare ay lampas sa IQ n’yo. Kung sa bagay, ang pinakamahirap gisingin ay ’yung nagtutulug-tulugan. Ang pinakamahirap padinggin ay ’yung nagbibingi-bingihan . Ang pinakamahirap paintindihin ay ’yung nagmamaangmaangan. Bueno, mahirap din paintindihin ’yung likas na tanga. Pero bahala na.
Sabi mo, Cerge Remonde, alangan naman pakanin ng hotdog ang amo mo. Bakit alangan? Hindi naman vegetarian ’yon. At public service nga ’yon, makakatulong dagdagan ng cholesterol at salitre ang dugong dumadaloy papuntang puso n’ya. Kung meron man s’yang dugo, kung meron man s’yang puso.
Bakit alangan? Malamang di ka nagbabasa ng balita, o di lang talaga nagbabasa, kung hindi ay nalaman mo ’yung ginawa ni Barack Obama at Joe Biden nitong nakaraang Mayo. Galing silang White House patungong Virginia nang magtakam sila pareho ng hamburger. Pina detour nila ang motorcade at tumuloy sa unang hamburgerang nakita nila. Ito ang Ray’s Hell Burger, isang maliit at independienteng hamburger joint.
Tumungo ang dalawa sa counter at sila mismo ang nag-order, hindi mga aides. Nagbayad sila ng cash na galing sa sariling bulsa at kagaya ng ibang customers ay pumila para sa turno nila.
Ito ay presidente at bise presidente ng pinakamakapangyarih ang bansa sa buong mundo. Kung sa bagay, ’yung amo n’yo ay hindi naman talaga presidente. Di lang makita ang pagkakaiba ni Garci kay God kaya nasabing “God put me here.” Pekeng presidente, pekeng asal presidente.
Sabi mo, Anthony Golez, maliit lang ang P1 million dinner kumpara sa bilyon-bilyong pisong dinala ng amo mo sa bansa.
Ay kayo lang naman ang nagsasabing may inambag ang amo n’yo na bilyong-bilyong piso sa kaban ng bayan. Ni anino noon wala kaming nakita. Ang nakita lang namin ay yung bilyon-bilyong piso—o borjer, ayon nga sa inyong dating kakosa na si Benjamin Abalos—na inaswang ng amo n’yo sa kaban ng bayan. Executive privilege daw ang hindi n’ya sagutin ito. Kailan pa naging pribilehiyo ng isang opisyal ang di managot sa taumbayan? Kailan pa naging pribilehiyo ng isang opisyal ang magnakaw?
Maliit lang pala ang P1 million, ay bakit hindi n’yo na lang ibigay sa nagugutom? O doon sa mga sundalo sa Mindanao? Tama si Archbishop Oscar Cruz. Isipin n’yo kung gaano karaming botas man lang ang mabibili ng P1 million at karagdagang P750,000 na nilamon ng amo n’yo at mga taga bitbit ng kanyang maleta sa isa pang restawran sa New York.
Maliit lang pala ang P1 million (at P750,000), bakit hindi n’yo na lang ibigay doon sa pamilya ng mga sundalong namatay sa Mindanao? Magkano ’yung gusto n’yong ibigay sa bawat isa? P20,000? Sa halagang iyan 50 sundalo na ang maaabuluyan n’yo sa $20,000. Pasalu-saludo pa ’yang amo n’yo sa mga namatay na kala mo ay talagang may malasakit. Bumenta na ’yang dramang ’yan. At pasabi-sabi pa ng “Annihilate the Abus!” Di ba noon pa n’ya ’yan pinangako? Mahilig lang talagang mangako ’yang amo n’yo.
Bukod pa d’yan, saan ba nanggaling ’yung limpak-limpak na salapi ng mga kongresista na pinansisindi nila ng tabako? Di ba sa amin din? Tanong n’yo muna kung ayos lang na i-blowout namin ng wine at caviar ang amo n’yo habang kami ay nagdidildil ng asin—’yung magaspang na klase ha, ’di yung iodized. Ang tindi n’yo, mga p’re.
At ikaw naman, Romulo Macalintal, tapang ng apog mo. Maiisip mo tuloy na sundin na lang ang mungkahi ni Dick the Butcher sa “Henry VI” ni Shakespeare: “First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” Pa ethics-ethics ka pa, pasalamat ka di nasunog ang bibig mo sa pagbigkas ng katagang ’yon.
Marami mang sugapa rin sa aming mga taga media, di naman kasing sugapa n’yo. At di naman kami sineswelduhan ng taumbayan. Wala naman kaming problemang sumakay sa PAL at kailangan pang bumili ng P1.2 billion jet. Anong sabi n’yo, kailangan ng amo n’yo sa pabyahe-byahe? E sino naman ang may sabing magbabyahe s’ya? Ngayon pang paalis na s’ya—malinaw na ayaw n’yang umalis. Bakit hindi na lang s’ya bumili ng Matchbox na eroplano? Kasya naman s’ya ro’n.
Lalo kayong nagpupumiglas, lalo lang kayong lumulubog sa kumunoy. Di n’yo malulusutan ang bulilyasong ginawa n’yo. Para n’yo na ring inagaw ang isinusubong kanin ng isang batang nagugutom. Tama si Obama at Biden: Sa panahon ng recession, kung saan nakalugmok ang mga Amerikano sa hirap, dapat makiramay ang mga pinuno sa taumbayan, di nagpapakapariwara. Sa panahon ng kagutuman, na matagal nang kalagayan ng Pinoy, at lalo pang tumindi sa paghagupit ng Typhoon Gloria, dapat siguro uminom na lang kayo ng insecticide. Gawin n’yo ’yan at mapapawi kaagad ang kagutuman ng bayan.
Sa bandang huli, buti na rin lang at ginawa n’yo ’yung magpasasa sa P1 million dinner habang lupaypay ang bayan sa kagutuman—di lang sa kawalan ng pagkain kundi sa iba pang bagay—at pagdadalamhati sa yumaong Ina ng Bayan. Binigyan n’yo ng mukha ang katakawan. Katakawang walang kabusugan. Mukhang di nakita ng masa sa usaping NBN, mukhang di nakikita ng masa sa usaping SAL. Mukhang nakita lang ng masa dito sa ginawa n’yong ito. Sa pagpapabondat sa New York habang naghihinagpis ang bayan.
At buti na rin lang mayroon tayong sariling wika. Di sapat ang Inggles para iparamdam sa inyo ang suklam na nararamdaman namin sa inyo. Di sapat ang Inggles para ipakita sa inyo ang pagkamuhi na nararamdaman namin sa inyo. Di maarok ng Inggles ang lalim ng poot na nararamdaman namin sa inyo.
Isinusuka na kayo ng taumbayan, mahirap man sumuka ang gutom.
May araw din kayo."
©Copyright 2001-2009 INQUIRER.net, An Inquirer Company
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Challenge Of History: Why, where and how we failed, and what will we do now
HINDSIGHT By F Sionil Jose Updated February 15, 2009 12:00 AM [Philstar original post, here.]
Last week, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts brought together more than a hundred writers from all over the archipelago to the UP and Ateneo campuses in Diliman for a three-day conference. The convener, the brilliant poet Ricardo M. de Ungria, asked me to speak at the conference opening. This is what I told them:
Given the nostalgic and magisterial inclination of the elderly, please don’t mind too much the grandiose title of this brief.
We are writers. What impact do we have on our history? We do not make the decisions that alter the nation’s destiny. And what can the solitary writer do now that will make a difference?
There will even be those who will insist that we have not failed. Those of you who are nearly as old as I am — look at the stunning skyline of Manila, there weren’t these many skyscrapers before, nor as many shiny cars in the streets and tony restaurants everywhere. Multitudes of Filipinos are traveling abroad — we have become a very cosmopolitan nation.
Indeed, the grass-roofed houses such as the one where I lived as a boy are nowhere to be seen. Almost all the houses all over the country are now roofed with tin.
I have also said again and yet again that behind our flamboyant fiestas, our bright smiles, deep within us is deep unhappiness. Just consider these: we are now 90 million and half of our people consider themselves poor, hunger stalks our land bountiful though it is with verdant plains. So many Filipinos now eat only once a day. An economist predicted that there will be 11 million Filipinos this year who will be jobless.
And the corruption! The businessman Vicente Paterno said recently only two cabinet officers in the Arroyo government are honest; the Secretary of the Department of Social Welfare, Esperanza I. Cabral, and the National Defense Secretary, Gilbert C. Teodoro. Jr. I have great respect for Mr. Paterno; of the many technocrats who backstopped Marcos, only he had the courage and humility to come out and say, Mea culpa.
Our courts are discredited, we have the highest drug addiction rate in Southeast Asia. Given these grim conditions, it is very possible that our country could implode — a failed state. What is our response to the coming deluge?
Our history tells in the last hundred years, three momentous events tested us as a people: the Revolution of 1896, the Japanese Occupation in 1942, and the declaration of Martial Law in 1972 by Ferdinand Marcos.
How did our writers respond to these watershed events? I will mention just a few: in 1896, Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, Apolinario Mabini, and yes, even Andres Bonifacio. Lest we forget,Bonifacio also wrote essays and poetry.
So much has been said about Rizal repudiating that revolution but his novels — by citing in them (primarily the Noli) the injustices of Spanish colonialism — argued for revolution. In writing the Noli, Rizal signed his own death warrant. He did not have to but he returned to Filipinas where the battle was to be fought; he could have easily stayed abroad and, being a medical doctor, he would not have starved like Marcelo H. del Pilar. Mabini provided the intellectual underpinning of that struggle. He also served the very poor. Exiled in Guam by the Americans, he decided to pledge allegiance to the United States so he could return home to die.
The other day, I was accompanied by Sylvia Roces, the daughter of Rafael Roces, Jr., writer, patriot and one of the founding members of the pre-war Civil Liberties Union. We visited the unimposing mausoleum in the Manila North cemetery where the bones of her father are interred with 27 others, including Manuel Arguilla whom we all know. Roces, Arguilla and the others were executed by the Japanese in August 1944for their guerrilla activities. I never got to meet Liling Roces but I did see Arguilla in the afternoons before World War II when I read at the National Library which was then in the basement of what is now the National Museum. Arguilla was easily recognizable because he had a big dark mole on his left cheek. In 1950, I went to Bauang in La Union where I met his father, a peasant like my grandfather, whose toes were splayed “like ginger.”
In the late ‘60s, Ferdinand Marcos was able to convince some of our best writers to work for him. Among them, OD Corpuz, Blas Ople, Adrian Cristobal, Francisco “Kit” Tatad. When he declared Martial Law in 1972, one young poet, Emmanuel Lacaba fought the regime, one of the few writers who really cared. I published his poetry in my journal Solidarity, shared his company, his conversation. I was stunned when I learned he joined the New People’s Army, and that he had died in Davao.
It is now a generation since Marcos has passed away but the stigma he left behind is much too indelible to be erased.
As for those who worked with him, those who are still alive, the challenge to them now is to tell us what they knew, show us why Marcos failed. They owe this not just to history, but to us.
And now, this global crisis that is battering our shores. For so many of us, time is just a simple sequence with no other meaning, except for those whose work is defined by either hours or the seasons. Punctuality is a virtue that has yet to be acquired by most Filipinos. Time is, of course, history — wherein events occur, wherein people live and die and act out their fates.
For so many people in our part of the world, ancestors are worshipped and remembered and a person’s lineage or that of a family or a clan is not only recorded but revered and held precious. Not so for so many of us, particularly those in the lower classes, where family members are now strewn all over the globe as the agrarian culture which promotes family closeness is shattered by the modernizing process; thus, time renders even more difficult the development of the community spirit, from where the sense of nation grows.
Without this sense of community/nation, memory fades and history is disregarded, or even rejected. So Filipinos do not remember the past, except that past which has affected them as individuals — the personal past, not the past which impacts on communities and people.
I bring this process of erosion to mind so we can locate ourselves, so we can perceive the necessity of how important it is for us to be contextual — not just in our writing but in our very lives, the way Rizal was, and Arguilla, and that young poet, Eman Lacaba.
But even contextuality is not enough; ethics also matters, perhaps more so than contextuality. Remember always: writers are also teachers.
If art and literature are moral, if literature is the noblest of the arts — it follows that writers should then be of noble bearing, capable of lofty deeds or, at the very least, living in a manner that enables us to look others straight in the eye. In these times of want, of cowardice and compromise, this requires of us not just courage but compassion.
But we also know that virtue can be punishment and thus knowledge is what drives us to seek refuge in the cave, in the eyrie of loneliness itself.
As writers, we know only too well this profound loneliness which torments us and also sustains us — this loneliness from which emanates the melancholy that suffuses the best, the loftiest of the arts. This loneliness is humankind’s fate, though not often recognized as such; it grows from the darkness of the womb, and we immerse deeper in it into a larger darkness of the soul. From this loneliness, we try to connect with other human beings, and in the process, we then form the coterie, the ethnic community, and hopefully, as it is with us today, the nation.
In striving to free ourselves from the loneliness of ourselves, we derive some strength and also some meaning by giving our struggle a definition, a purpose, an ideology, even, to which we can then subscribe, to which we can then gather around and be bonded with our kith and kin, our neighbors, our tribe and our race. This hankering for belonging, for an identity, is sometimes labeled as racism, or nationalism, and this nationalism never really dies although it has been corrupted, debased and condemned. It will persist because it is also one illustration — perhaps the only valid illustration — of how we banish our loneliness, how we triumph over it. For as Jean Paul Sartre said, “man is doomed to be free.”
This freedom, even though it be nurtured only in the mind, is elusive — not an illusion. As artists, we will always be alone. We are self-centered, narcissistic and hypersensitive. We are constantly at war with one another, envious of the success of others and forever finding fault with them, and the world even, and never with ourselves. We are whiners, building plots and myths about ourselves, dramatizing our failures and enlarging our little sorrows into mega tragedies. Suffering, particularly the emotional kind, is the ambrosia on which we feed.
We die early when we celebrate only ourselves.
It is those among us who can transcend the narrow compass of our egos, who can then elaborate on our virtues not just as singular individuals but as bonded people of a nation, who do not die young, who are also capable of realizing themselves, who know they have to strive always and do better every time.
It is they who can see also beyond themselves, who know what the larger truths in life that are not expressed should be — that they must always emphasize the obvious. This is not just function but duty, which we often do not recognize — those wrinkles in our faces and in the social fabric that we take for granted, the vile corruption, the inchoate evil that pervades the atmosphere.
For us, then, the challenge of the past, of our own history, is constant and unending, ever alive every moment of the day. All through time, while artists have persevered to achieve excellence and permanence, they have also tried to mirror their times, not just to express themselves but to locate themselves in the vortex of their societies.
For those of us who have grown old stirring the rubble around us, and aware of the frailty of our response, let us take comfort in our youth for, indeed, not just our people but our country as well are very young. The oldest document that validates our youth is that brass relic found in a Laguna riverbed some two decades ago — it is not more than 900 years old.
In the context of history, therefore, we are in the founding stage, the age of Honor, or Chaucer. As I sometimes tell young writers, we have no Confucius looking down over our shoulder, nor even Cervantes, but only Rizal and before him Balagtas, and for the Ilokanos, Pedro Bukaneg although, I suspect, he wasn’t that ancient.
What we are writing now, if excellent, will survive the severest critic of all — which is time. These will be the classics a few centuries hence although, of course, we will never know what the future will bring. And thank God for our youth because we are not crippled by tradition, by necrophilic bondage to the past.
We can be comforted, too, by our own history, brief though it be; of how we fought colonialism and its depredations upon us, and most of all, upon our minds.
No, colonialism is not dead! It hovers over us every day, right in this hall, in those of us who think that the imprimatur of recognition is to be published in the United States, in those of us who ape the literary pyrotechnics of the latest best sellers over there. Just think back, how many among us tried to imitate Gabriel Garcia Marquez when he first bloomed two decades ago. How many among our teachers to this very day still parrot the tenets of the New Criticism, when it died long ago in American academe where it started.
As I always say, write for our people and not for the Americans — if we are good, not just they, then the whole world will recognize us. But first we must be read by our own people and this, indeed, is very sad for we don’t even read one another.
Be that as it may, our history tells us with force and certitude that above the travail that we have gone through in these calamitous events that I have mentioned, although we did not prevail, we persevered.
That perseverance must now be channeled into a struggle versus a virus we often don’t recognize. For too long, we have regarded ourselves as victims of oppression, of oligarchic exploitation, and in us is the accretion of anger against injustice. We understand all these burdens, in many instances they are what fuel our striving, our sense of purpose. We must now go beyond this syndrome, this labeling of ourselves as victims, not to forget the condition as it has warped us but as the durable cocoon from which we must emerge into the freedom of a larger vision and effort, into thinking beyond our geography to recognize that the larger world outside is threatening us, engulfing us as with the economic crisis which we cannot escape.
We know that it is greed — untrammeled and wanton — which has caused so much grief not just on our shores but elsewhere. How to regulate this greed within and beyond us, how to help build the fragile institutions that will save us, show us how to morph this avarice into a more meaningful hunger for knowledge, for truth, for fulfillment.
Back to the solid, sordid reality of our times.
My generation failed; I pray that yours will not, must not — that in whatever language you write, wherever you will live, on native soil or in exile, nurture your roots with steadfast integrity, as did Rizal, Arguilla, Eman; you may not have read them, you may not even think of them, but like them; you will then build the marmoreal foundation for this nation.
All of us know that our country does not realize how important literature is, or the arts, for that matter. We know that we will never earn enough with our writing and we will be lucky if our families understand this for our greatest support comes from our loved ones. But even if we will not be appreciated or amply rewarded, we also know that we have to plod on, to write as best and as honestly as we can and we will do this not because we are masochists or because a munificent bonus awaits us in the afterlife. We must bear this duty, endure it, if we are to be true not just to the vocation we have chosen but to this land that sustains us, which gave us life and a reason to be.
Last week, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts brought together more than a hundred writers from all over the archipelago to the UP and Ateneo campuses in Diliman for a three-day conference. The convener, the brilliant poet Ricardo M. de Ungria, asked me to speak at the conference opening. This is what I told them:
Given the nostalgic and magisterial inclination of the elderly, please don’t mind too much the grandiose title of this brief.
We are writers. What impact do we have on our history? We do not make the decisions that alter the nation’s destiny. And what can the solitary writer do now that will make a difference?
There will even be those who will insist that we have not failed. Those of you who are nearly as old as I am — look at the stunning skyline of Manila, there weren’t these many skyscrapers before, nor as many shiny cars in the streets and tony restaurants everywhere. Multitudes of Filipinos are traveling abroad — we have become a very cosmopolitan nation.
Indeed, the grass-roofed houses such as the one where I lived as a boy are nowhere to be seen. Almost all the houses all over the country are now roofed with tin.
I have also said again and yet again that behind our flamboyant fiestas, our bright smiles, deep within us is deep unhappiness. Just consider these: we are now 90 million and half of our people consider themselves poor, hunger stalks our land bountiful though it is with verdant plains. So many Filipinos now eat only once a day. An economist predicted that there will be 11 million Filipinos this year who will be jobless.
And the corruption! The businessman Vicente Paterno said recently only two cabinet officers in the Arroyo government are honest; the Secretary of the Department of Social Welfare, Esperanza I. Cabral, and the National Defense Secretary, Gilbert C. Teodoro. Jr. I have great respect for Mr. Paterno; of the many technocrats who backstopped Marcos, only he had the courage and humility to come out and say, Mea culpa.
Our courts are discredited, we have the highest drug addiction rate in Southeast Asia. Given these grim conditions, it is very possible that our country could implode — a failed state. What is our response to the coming deluge?
Our history tells in the last hundred years, three momentous events tested us as a people: the Revolution of 1896, the Japanese Occupation in 1942, and the declaration of Martial Law in 1972 by Ferdinand Marcos.
How did our writers respond to these watershed events? I will mention just a few: in 1896, Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, Apolinario Mabini, and yes, even Andres Bonifacio. Lest we forget,Bonifacio also wrote essays and poetry.
So much has been said about Rizal repudiating that revolution but his novels — by citing in them (primarily the Noli) the injustices of Spanish colonialism — argued for revolution. In writing the Noli, Rizal signed his own death warrant. He did not have to but he returned to Filipinas where the battle was to be fought; he could have easily stayed abroad and, being a medical doctor, he would not have starved like Marcelo H. del Pilar. Mabini provided the intellectual underpinning of that struggle. He also served the very poor. Exiled in Guam by the Americans, he decided to pledge allegiance to the United States so he could return home to die.
The other day, I was accompanied by Sylvia Roces, the daughter of Rafael Roces, Jr., writer, patriot and one of the founding members of the pre-war Civil Liberties Union. We visited the unimposing mausoleum in the Manila North cemetery where the bones of her father are interred with 27 others, including Manuel Arguilla whom we all know. Roces, Arguilla and the others were executed by the Japanese in August 1944for their guerrilla activities. I never got to meet Liling Roces but I did see Arguilla in the afternoons before World War II when I read at the National Library which was then in the basement of what is now the National Museum. Arguilla was easily recognizable because he had a big dark mole on his left cheek. In 1950, I went to Bauang in La Union where I met his father, a peasant like my grandfather, whose toes were splayed “like ginger.”
In the late ‘60s, Ferdinand Marcos was able to convince some of our best writers to work for him. Among them, OD Corpuz, Blas Ople, Adrian Cristobal, Francisco “Kit” Tatad. When he declared Martial Law in 1972, one young poet, Emmanuel Lacaba fought the regime, one of the few writers who really cared. I published his poetry in my journal Solidarity, shared his company, his conversation. I was stunned when I learned he joined the New People’s Army, and that he had died in Davao.
It is now a generation since Marcos has passed away but the stigma he left behind is much too indelible to be erased.
As for those who worked with him, those who are still alive, the challenge to them now is to tell us what they knew, show us why Marcos failed. They owe this not just to history, but to us.
And now, this global crisis that is battering our shores. For so many of us, time is just a simple sequence with no other meaning, except for those whose work is defined by either hours or the seasons. Punctuality is a virtue that has yet to be acquired by most Filipinos. Time is, of course, history — wherein events occur, wherein people live and die and act out their fates.
For so many people in our part of the world, ancestors are worshipped and remembered and a person’s lineage or that of a family or a clan is not only recorded but revered and held precious. Not so for so many of us, particularly those in the lower classes, where family members are now strewn all over the globe as the agrarian culture which promotes family closeness is shattered by the modernizing process; thus, time renders even more difficult the development of the community spirit, from where the sense of nation grows.
Without this sense of community/nation, memory fades and history is disregarded, or even rejected. So Filipinos do not remember the past, except that past which has affected them as individuals — the personal past, not the past which impacts on communities and people.
I bring this process of erosion to mind so we can locate ourselves, so we can perceive the necessity of how important it is for us to be contextual — not just in our writing but in our very lives, the way Rizal was, and Arguilla, and that young poet, Eman Lacaba.
But even contextuality is not enough; ethics also matters, perhaps more so than contextuality. Remember always: writers are also teachers.
If art and literature are moral, if literature is the noblest of the arts — it follows that writers should then be of noble bearing, capable of lofty deeds or, at the very least, living in a manner that enables us to look others straight in the eye. In these times of want, of cowardice and compromise, this requires of us not just courage but compassion.
But we also know that virtue can be punishment and thus knowledge is what drives us to seek refuge in the cave, in the eyrie of loneliness itself.
As writers, we know only too well this profound loneliness which torments us and also sustains us — this loneliness from which emanates the melancholy that suffuses the best, the loftiest of the arts. This loneliness is humankind’s fate, though not often recognized as such; it grows from the darkness of the womb, and we immerse deeper in it into a larger darkness of the soul. From this loneliness, we try to connect with other human beings, and in the process, we then form the coterie, the ethnic community, and hopefully, as it is with us today, the nation.
In striving to free ourselves from the loneliness of ourselves, we derive some strength and also some meaning by giving our struggle a definition, a purpose, an ideology, even, to which we can then subscribe, to which we can then gather around and be bonded with our kith and kin, our neighbors, our tribe and our race. This hankering for belonging, for an identity, is sometimes labeled as racism, or nationalism, and this nationalism never really dies although it has been corrupted, debased and condemned. It will persist because it is also one illustration — perhaps the only valid illustration — of how we banish our loneliness, how we triumph over it. For as Jean Paul Sartre said, “man is doomed to be free.”
This freedom, even though it be nurtured only in the mind, is elusive — not an illusion. As artists, we will always be alone. We are self-centered, narcissistic and hypersensitive. We are constantly at war with one another, envious of the success of others and forever finding fault with them, and the world even, and never with ourselves. We are whiners, building plots and myths about ourselves, dramatizing our failures and enlarging our little sorrows into mega tragedies. Suffering, particularly the emotional kind, is the ambrosia on which we feed.
We die early when we celebrate only ourselves.
It is those among us who can transcend the narrow compass of our egos, who can then elaborate on our virtues not just as singular individuals but as bonded people of a nation, who do not die young, who are also capable of realizing themselves, who know they have to strive always and do better every time.
It is they who can see also beyond themselves, who know what the larger truths in life that are not expressed should be — that they must always emphasize the obvious. This is not just function but duty, which we often do not recognize — those wrinkles in our faces and in the social fabric that we take for granted, the vile corruption, the inchoate evil that pervades the atmosphere.
For us, then, the challenge of the past, of our own history, is constant and unending, ever alive every moment of the day. All through time, while artists have persevered to achieve excellence and permanence, they have also tried to mirror their times, not just to express themselves but to locate themselves in the vortex of their societies.
For those of us who have grown old stirring the rubble around us, and aware of the frailty of our response, let us take comfort in our youth for, indeed, not just our people but our country as well are very young. The oldest document that validates our youth is that brass relic found in a Laguna riverbed some two decades ago — it is not more than 900 years old.
In the context of history, therefore, we are in the founding stage, the age of Honor, or Chaucer. As I sometimes tell young writers, we have no Confucius looking down over our shoulder, nor even Cervantes, but only Rizal and before him Balagtas, and for the Ilokanos, Pedro Bukaneg although, I suspect, he wasn’t that ancient.
What we are writing now, if excellent, will survive the severest critic of all — which is time. These will be the classics a few centuries hence although, of course, we will never know what the future will bring. And thank God for our youth because we are not crippled by tradition, by necrophilic bondage to the past.
We can be comforted, too, by our own history, brief though it be; of how we fought colonialism and its depredations upon us, and most of all, upon our minds.
No, colonialism is not dead! It hovers over us every day, right in this hall, in those of us who think that the imprimatur of recognition is to be published in the United States, in those of us who ape the literary pyrotechnics of the latest best sellers over there. Just think back, how many among us tried to imitate Gabriel Garcia Marquez when he first bloomed two decades ago. How many among our teachers to this very day still parrot the tenets of the New Criticism, when it died long ago in American academe where it started.
As I always say, write for our people and not for the Americans — if we are good, not just they, then the whole world will recognize us. But first we must be read by our own people and this, indeed, is very sad for we don’t even read one another.
Be that as it may, our history tells us with force and certitude that above the travail that we have gone through in these calamitous events that I have mentioned, although we did not prevail, we persevered.
That perseverance must now be channeled into a struggle versus a virus we often don’t recognize. For too long, we have regarded ourselves as victims of oppression, of oligarchic exploitation, and in us is the accretion of anger against injustice. We understand all these burdens, in many instances they are what fuel our striving, our sense of purpose. We must now go beyond this syndrome, this labeling of ourselves as victims, not to forget the condition as it has warped us but as the durable cocoon from which we must emerge into the freedom of a larger vision and effort, into thinking beyond our geography to recognize that the larger world outside is threatening us, engulfing us as with the economic crisis which we cannot escape.
We know that it is greed — untrammeled and wanton — which has caused so much grief not just on our shores but elsewhere. How to regulate this greed within and beyond us, how to help build the fragile institutions that will save us, show us how to morph this avarice into a more meaningful hunger for knowledge, for truth, for fulfillment.
Back to the solid, sordid reality of our times.
My generation failed; I pray that yours will not, must not — that in whatever language you write, wherever you will live, on native soil or in exile, nurture your roots with steadfast integrity, as did Rizal, Arguilla, Eman; you may not have read them, you may not even think of them, but like them; you will then build the marmoreal foundation for this nation.
All of us know that our country does not realize how important literature is, or the arts, for that matter. We know that we will never earn enough with our writing and we will be lucky if our families understand this for our greatest support comes from our loved ones. But even if we will not be appreciated or amply rewarded, we also know that we have to plod on, to write as best and as honestly as we can and we will do this not because we are masochists or because a munificent bonus awaits us in the afterlife. We must bear this duty, endure it, if we are to be true not just to the vocation we have chosen but to this land that sustains us, which gave us life and a reason to be.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Looking Back: The execution of Bonifacio by Ambeth Ocampo
Reposted from the Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 02:02:00 05/15/2009
There are two death anniversaries falling this week that often go unnoticed. May 10 marks the death, in 1897, of Andres Bonifacio, and May 13 marks the death, in 1903, of Apolinario Mabini.
The Supremo of the Katipunan was executed somewhere in the Maragondon range, and his remains have never been found. Bones were exhumed there in 1918, but I believe those were fake.
The brains of the Revolution died of cholera in his brother´s home in Nagtahan which was recently relocated, we hope for the last time, to the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, Mabini campus in Manila by the banks of the Pasig River.
Our textbooks are understandably vague regarding the death of Bonifacio because it is very difficult to explain politics and power struggle to children who then grow up thinking Emilio Aguinaldo had Bonifacio killed.
In a nutshell, a revolutionary government was born from the Katipunan in what is known as the Tejeros Convention. Bonifacio did not agree, and so we had two governments. He was captured, tried for treason, found guilty and sentenced to death. Aguinaldo hesitated and considered commuting the sentence, but was convinced by one of Bonifacio´s men, Artemio Ricarte, to proceed with the execution. This is one of the problem areas of textbook history.
Unlike Rizal who was technically killed by "the enemy," Bonifacio was killed by fellow Filipinos. Like many in the French Revolution he read about, Bonifacio was a victim of the very revolution he started.
Discussion on this is endless, and it will fill many more May 10 columns in the future. Today I reproduce Lazaro Makapagal´s eyewitness account of the execution of the Bonifacio brothers published in the Dec. 1, 1928 issue of the Philippines Free Press. This is supposed to be an English translation of a Tagalog document then preserved in the archives of the Veteranos de la Revolucion.
"I received orders from General Mariano Noriel to take over Andres Bonifacio and Procopio Bonifacio, from the place where they were detained, and to conduct them to the hill of Tala in Maragondong, Cavite. General Noriel handed to me at the same time a sealed package with orders that it be not opened until we reached the place I mentioned. I was charged to follow to the letter, the instructions contained within the package.
"In compliance with these orders, I took with me the two brothers to the place mentioned, together with four soldiers under my command. On the road we conversed like friends. But I already had a presentiment of the order contained within the parcel.
"On reaching Tala hill in Maragondong, I opened the order, read it, and then let the brothers read it. It was an order for the execution of the brothers. The two brothers were terror stricken; Andres told me in Tagalog, `Patawarin ninyo ako, kapatid.´ (Brother, forgive me.) I answered that I was very sorry, but by military discipline I had to carry out the unhappy task.
"I conducted Procopio, who was stronger, to a wooded place, and on reaching the top of the hill, I ordered one of the soldiers to shoot him in the back. This done, I and the soldiers, using bayonets and bolos, dug a pit where we buried Procopio.
"When I approached the place where Andres was, he said, `Patay na kapatid ko.´ (My brother is dead.) And he added, `Patawarin ninyo ako, kapatid.´ I replied that I was sorry, but it was my military duty to follow the order.
"Andres Bonifacio tried to escape, but he could not go far because of the thick shrubbery around. One of the soldiers reached him, firing at him from behind and shooting him in the back. After digging one more grave with our bayonets and bolos, we buried Andres in it.
"Procopio and Andres were not taken to Tala hill bound but free. Andres had only one wound, in one of his arms. From the hill where Procopio was buried to the grave of Andres, on a hill slope facing a rivulet, there were only twenty-five steps, while from Andres´ grave to the brook the distance was about five brazas.
"The brothers were buried in the morning. This was before the fighting with the Spaniards took place, when they captured Maragondong.
"Andres wore a white camisa de chino on the day of his execution. The gun used was a Remington. The four soldiers who accompanied us were natives of Kawit, and they are all dead. I am the only survivor of the occurrence."
A year later, Makapagal gave a more detailed account of the execution in a letter to Jose P. Santos. This version states that Bonifacio begged for his life on his knees (which many people do not wish to accept then as now).
Ricarte, in his memoirs, made a mistake in giving the names of the executioners. He went on to suggest that Aguinaldo had the Bonifacio brothers executed because they were his rivals, conveniently leaving out the detail that it was he who had argued for their execution when Aguinaldo considered exile.
Most of the time history is difficult because of the lack of sources, but a greater challenge faces those who have to sift through and validate more than one, sometimes conflicting, sources. There is a landscaped shrine in the Maragondon execution site today, but until we have located Bonifacio´s remains and laid them to rest, we may never resolve the issue of his death.
---------------------
Related posts:
What did Bonifacio look like? Question stalls statue By Marlon Ramos
Inquirer First Posted 01:45:00 12/02/2007
Looking Back: Searching for Andres Bonifacio By Ambeth Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer First Posted 02:48:00 11/28/2008
Wish you were here: Monday, August 21, 2006
BONIFACIO AND THE CRY OF BALINTAWAK by Senor Enrique
Autobiography of Gregoria de Jesus Translated and Annotated by Leandro H. Fernandez
See Gregoria's account of the events prior to Andres Bonifacio's execution, appendix 6.
First Posted 02:02:00 05/15/2009
There are two death anniversaries falling this week that often go unnoticed. May 10 marks the death, in 1897, of Andres Bonifacio, and May 13 marks the death, in 1903, of Apolinario Mabini.
The Supremo of the Katipunan was executed somewhere in the Maragondon range, and his remains have never been found. Bones were exhumed there in 1918, but I believe those were fake.
The brains of the Revolution died of cholera in his brother´s home in Nagtahan which was recently relocated, we hope for the last time, to the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, Mabini campus in Manila by the banks of the Pasig River.
Our textbooks are understandably vague regarding the death of Bonifacio because it is very difficult to explain politics and power struggle to children who then grow up thinking Emilio Aguinaldo had Bonifacio killed.
In a nutshell, a revolutionary government was born from the Katipunan in what is known as the Tejeros Convention. Bonifacio did not agree, and so we had two governments. He was captured, tried for treason, found guilty and sentenced to death. Aguinaldo hesitated and considered commuting the sentence, but was convinced by one of Bonifacio´s men, Artemio Ricarte, to proceed with the execution. This is one of the problem areas of textbook history.
Unlike Rizal who was technically killed by "the enemy," Bonifacio was killed by fellow Filipinos. Like many in the French Revolution he read about, Bonifacio was a victim of the very revolution he started.
Discussion on this is endless, and it will fill many more May 10 columns in the future. Today I reproduce Lazaro Makapagal´s eyewitness account of the execution of the Bonifacio brothers published in the Dec. 1, 1928 issue of the Philippines Free Press. This is supposed to be an English translation of a Tagalog document then preserved in the archives of the Veteranos de la Revolucion.
"I received orders from General Mariano Noriel to take over Andres Bonifacio and Procopio Bonifacio, from the place where they were detained, and to conduct them to the hill of Tala in Maragondong, Cavite. General Noriel handed to me at the same time a sealed package with orders that it be not opened until we reached the place I mentioned. I was charged to follow to the letter, the instructions contained within the package.
"In compliance with these orders, I took with me the two brothers to the place mentioned, together with four soldiers under my command. On the road we conversed like friends. But I already had a presentiment of the order contained within the parcel.
"On reaching Tala hill in Maragondong, I opened the order, read it, and then let the brothers read it. It was an order for the execution of the brothers. The two brothers were terror stricken; Andres told me in Tagalog, `Patawarin ninyo ako, kapatid.´ (Brother, forgive me.) I answered that I was very sorry, but by military discipline I had to carry out the unhappy task.
"I conducted Procopio, who was stronger, to a wooded place, and on reaching the top of the hill, I ordered one of the soldiers to shoot him in the back. This done, I and the soldiers, using bayonets and bolos, dug a pit where we buried Procopio.
"When I approached the place where Andres was, he said, `Patay na kapatid ko.´ (My brother is dead.) And he added, `Patawarin ninyo ako, kapatid.´ I replied that I was sorry, but it was my military duty to follow the order.
"Andres Bonifacio tried to escape, but he could not go far because of the thick shrubbery around. One of the soldiers reached him, firing at him from behind and shooting him in the back. After digging one more grave with our bayonets and bolos, we buried Andres in it.
"Procopio and Andres were not taken to Tala hill bound but free. Andres had only one wound, in one of his arms. From the hill where Procopio was buried to the grave of Andres, on a hill slope facing a rivulet, there were only twenty-five steps, while from Andres´ grave to the brook the distance was about five brazas.
"The brothers were buried in the morning. This was before the fighting with the Spaniards took place, when they captured Maragondong.
"Andres wore a white camisa de chino on the day of his execution. The gun used was a Remington. The four soldiers who accompanied us were natives of Kawit, and they are all dead. I am the only survivor of the occurrence."
A year later, Makapagal gave a more detailed account of the execution in a letter to Jose P. Santos. This version states that Bonifacio begged for his life on his knees (which many people do not wish to accept then as now).
Ricarte, in his memoirs, made a mistake in giving the names of the executioners. He went on to suggest that Aguinaldo had the Bonifacio brothers executed because they were his rivals, conveniently leaving out the detail that it was he who had argued for their execution when Aguinaldo considered exile.
Most of the time history is difficult because of the lack of sources, but a greater challenge faces those who have to sift through and validate more than one, sometimes conflicting, sources. There is a landscaped shrine in the Maragondon execution site today, but until we have located Bonifacio´s remains and laid them to rest, we may never resolve the issue of his death.
---------------------
Related posts:
What did Bonifacio look like? Question stalls statue By Marlon Ramos
Inquirer First Posted 01:45:00 12/02/2007
Looking Back: Searching for Andres Bonifacio By Ambeth Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer First Posted 02:48:00 11/28/2008
Wish you were here: Monday, August 21, 2006
BONIFACIO AND THE CRY OF BALINTAWAK by Senor Enrique
Autobiography of Gregoria de Jesus Translated and Annotated by Leandro H. Fernandez
See Gregoria's account of the events prior to Andres Bonifacio's execution, appendix 6.
Friday, May 15, 2009
The Unoccupied Colony by Ben Kritz
Filipinos are very proud of their labor overseas. And in one small respect they should be, because they are good at it. They are a clever and hardworking people, and adapt easily to different cultures. But on the other hand, they are entirely missing the concept of how much harm they are doing themselves and their country by exporting their best and most abundant natural resource at bargain prices.
The people who fiercely champion the OFW invariably point out the well-known successes, the few who do make a mark in other parts of the world. Filipinos, they say, are respected for their talents in the medical field, they are world-class entertainers, and in recent years, no discussion of the subject can truly be complete without mention of what good boxers and pool players they are. But for every Filipino medical school graduate who becomes a respected doctor in another country, then are a thousand more who settle for being nurses or lab technicians. For every Lea Salonga, there are ten thousand wannabes who titillate horny middle-aged businessmen in bars from Tokyo to Toronto.
Filipinos are a race of servants, as even I can attest from my own former career in the automotive industry. In a dealership I worked in, the West Coast flagship for a major European manufacturer in the heart of downtown San Francisco, the longest-serving and most fiercely loyal employees were the Filipinos, including one man in my own department. He was a college graduate, as were most of his countrymen in that place. They were well-liked, they were appreciated, but not one of them was in charge of anything. Those positions were the exclusive province of us natives.
The Filipinos were like beloved dogs; cared for and treated as members of the family, but not entrusted with anything more important than fetching the paper or keeping the squirrels out of the yard, no matter what their education or experience might have entitled them to. The few Filipinos who do excel in professional pursuits overseas and attain positions of influence and importance are applauded and respected, even by their host countries. To their compatriots back home, they are applauded and respected because they are Filipino. But to the rest of the world, they are applauded and respected because they achieved something in spite of it.
Still, most Filipinos believe the potential indignities of being an OFW are more than worth it, if it means a better life for their families back home. So what happens to their hard-earned dollars or euros or pounds that they send back to their families? Here is an example:
A family that lives across the street from me consists of middle-aged mom, two sons in their 20's, a similarly-aged female cousin from the province who serves as a maid, an elementary-aged boy belonging to one of the sons, and an infant boy belonging to the other. Both young men have wives who are working as "domestic helpers" (the currently-acceptable PC euphemism for "servants") in Hong Kong, and whose incomes support the household. While their wives earn the keep for the entire family, the men leave child-rearing and domestic chores to mom and the maid, and spend their time and their spouses' money on customized scooters, the latest Filipinegro wardrobe must-haves, nightly gin sessions, and a string of girlfriends each. This goes on for about three weeks of each month, when the money runs out and life takes a decidedly spartan turn for a few days, until the next remittance arrives.
Ask them what they do for work, and the brothers, without a hint of shame, will explain that their wives work overseas. For all the patriarchal machismo of the culture they are a part of, there is no concept of responsibility. And the marketability of OFW's eliminates any incentive -- or short-term necessity -- for them to do anything other than what they are doing. Ask them what they will do when their wives come home, and they just shrug. After thinking about it for a while, one brother offers that he will probably buy a tricycle. How's that for hitching one's wagon to a star? More like hitching it to a mole.
Besides the disastrous effect the OFW phenomenon has on families, it has another even more calamitous economic impact that so far nobody here seems to grasp. The more foreign currency OFW's send to the Philippines, the more the value of the peso becomes inflated. In other words, the number of pesos exchanged for a dollar or a yen or a euro becomes less as the supply of foreign currency increases. Consumer prices change very little, if at all, to reflect the currency revaluation. A liter of milk that cost PhP 50 three years ago still costs PhP 50, but the peso in that time has gone from 56 to the dollar to 45, so in essence the price of the milk purchased with OFW remittances has gone up by about 22%. Even if the OFW, in the U.S. for example, receives an annual cost-of-living increase in his wages of 2 or 3%, which is a relatively common pattern, the Filipino families back home are still taking a double-digit pay cut. So it becomes harder to make ends meet from month-to-month, let alone save up for that entrepreneurial dream of a corner store or one's own jeepney.
The OFW phenomenon is already a social and economic disaster for the Philippines. How long it will take for it to be irreparably catastrophic will be determined by the will of the government to concentrate on initiatives and structures that use all this human raw material in a productive way at its source, rather than selling it overseas; and it will be determined by the people being made to understand that the easy way out of their economic misery is actually the easy way into an even deeper abyss. Filipinos, so proud of having thrown off the yoke of colonialism, have only succeeded in reinventing it, with that famous "Filipino ingenuity" they have -- now the colonists don't have to actually show up to pillage the country's resources, they can do it by mail order.
Reposted from Get Real Philippines, 23 Oct 2007
The people who fiercely champion the OFW invariably point out the well-known successes, the few who do make a mark in other parts of the world. Filipinos, they say, are respected for their talents in the medical field, they are world-class entertainers, and in recent years, no discussion of the subject can truly be complete without mention of what good boxers and pool players they are. But for every Filipino medical school graduate who becomes a respected doctor in another country, then are a thousand more who settle for being nurses or lab technicians. For every Lea Salonga, there are ten thousand wannabes who titillate horny middle-aged businessmen in bars from Tokyo to Toronto.
Filipinos are a race of servants, as even I can attest from my own former career in the automotive industry. In a dealership I worked in, the West Coast flagship for a major European manufacturer in the heart of downtown San Francisco, the longest-serving and most fiercely loyal employees were the Filipinos, including one man in my own department. He was a college graduate, as were most of his countrymen in that place. They were well-liked, they were appreciated, but not one of them was in charge of anything. Those positions were the exclusive province of us natives.
The Filipinos were like beloved dogs; cared for and treated as members of the family, but not entrusted with anything more important than fetching the paper or keeping the squirrels out of the yard, no matter what their education or experience might have entitled them to. The few Filipinos who do excel in professional pursuits overseas and attain positions of influence and importance are applauded and respected, even by their host countries. To their compatriots back home, they are applauded and respected because they are Filipino. But to the rest of the world, they are applauded and respected because they achieved something in spite of it.
Still, most Filipinos believe the potential indignities of being an OFW are more than worth it, if it means a better life for their families back home. So what happens to their hard-earned dollars or euros or pounds that they send back to their families? Here is an example:
A family that lives across the street from me consists of middle-aged mom, two sons in their 20's, a similarly-aged female cousin from the province who serves as a maid, an elementary-aged boy belonging to one of the sons, and an infant boy belonging to the other. Both young men have wives who are working as "domestic helpers" (the currently-acceptable PC euphemism for "servants") in Hong Kong, and whose incomes support the household. While their wives earn the keep for the entire family, the men leave child-rearing and domestic chores to mom and the maid, and spend their time and their spouses' money on customized scooters, the latest Filipinegro wardrobe must-haves, nightly gin sessions, and a string of girlfriends each. This goes on for about three weeks of each month, when the money runs out and life takes a decidedly spartan turn for a few days, until the next remittance arrives.
Ask them what they do for work, and the brothers, without a hint of shame, will explain that their wives work overseas. For all the patriarchal machismo of the culture they are a part of, there is no concept of responsibility. And the marketability of OFW's eliminates any incentive -- or short-term necessity -- for them to do anything other than what they are doing. Ask them what they will do when their wives come home, and they just shrug. After thinking about it for a while, one brother offers that he will probably buy a tricycle. How's that for hitching one's wagon to a star? More like hitching it to a mole.
Besides the disastrous effect the OFW phenomenon has on families, it has another even more calamitous economic impact that so far nobody here seems to grasp. The more foreign currency OFW's send to the Philippines, the more the value of the peso becomes inflated. In other words, the number of pesos exchanged for a dollar or a yen or a euro becomes less as the supply of foreign currency increases. Consumer prices change very little, if at all, to reflect the currency revaluation. A liter of milk that cost PhP 50 three years ago still costs PhP 50, but the peso in that time has gone from 56 to the dollar to 45, so in essence the price of the milk purchased with OFW remittances has gone up by about 22%. Even if the OFW, in the U.S. for example, receives an annual cost-of-living increase in his wages of 2 or 3%, which is a relatively common pattern, the Filipino families back home are still taking a double-digit pay cut. So it becomes harder to make ends meet from month-to-month, let alone save up for that entrepreneurial dream of a corner store or one's own jeepney.
The OFW phenomenon is already a social and economic disaster for the Philippines. How long it will take for it to be irreparably catastrophic will be determined by the will of the government to concentrate on initiatives and structures that use all this human raw material in a productive way at its source, rather than selling it overseas; and it will be determined by the people being made to understand that the easy way out of their economic misery is actually the easy way into an even deeper abyss. Filipinos, so proud of having thrown off the yoke of colonialism, have only succeeded in reinventing it, with that famous "Filipino ingenuity" they have -- now the colonists don't have to actually show up to pillage the country's resources, they can do it by mail order.
Reposted from Get Real Philippines, 23 Oct 2007
Friday, May 8, 2009
Alleged DepEd noodle scam stirs House to action
Friday, May 01, 2009
By Jomar Canlas, Reporter [Source: Manila Times on the net]
THE House Committee on Good Government was urged to investigate the alleged overpricing and anomalous purchase of instant noodles that the Department of Education distributed for its feeding program in schools.
Bayan Muna Rep. Teodoro Casiño authored House Resolution 1126, which directs the House body to probe the alleged irregularities in the procurement of instant noodles in line with DepEd’s feeding program.
Casiño said the DepEd recently awarded to Jeverps Manufacturing Corp. the contract for 19,418,880 packs of instant noodles costing P22.00 per pack as part of its “Malusog na Simula, Yaman ng Bansa” feeding program.
“It is ironic and deplorable that such a project intended to augment our public school children’s nutritional requirements is apparently feeding the greed of DepEd officials and their favored suppliers,” he said.
In 2008, the DepEd reportedly procured from Jeverps 15 million packs of instant noodles costing P284 million, where each pack of instant noodles was already allegedly overpriced at P18.00.
The party-list lawmaker said the apparent overpricing and the alleged non-conformity of Jeverps’ products to the package description specified by the DepEd casts serious doubt on its procurement procedures.
“The noodles scam shows tell-tale signs of graft and corruption and plunder implicating administration officials,” Casiño said.
Laboratory tests allegedly made by experts from Vietnam, Malaysia, Hong Kong and South Korea showed that the noodles had neither egg nor malunggay contents—contrary to Jeverps’ claim that the products contained both ingredients.
For its part, the DepEd on Thursday said that it is willing to review the controversial multi-million-peso purchase of “fortified noodles” for the school feeding program if there is such a need.
“We have nothing to hide,” said Education Secretary Jesli Lapus in Filipino.
Lapus stood his ground over the legality of the purchase, insisting that the project was above-board and had gone through the process required by the Government Procurement Act.
Lapus aired the statement a day after DepEd officials led by Undersecretary Teodosio Sangil Jr., and Assistant Secretary for Special projects, Thelma Santos, appeared before the Senate committees that are conducting an investigation on the issue.
Sangil was the chairman of the Bids and Awards Committee (BAC) that initiated the bidding won in February by Jeverps.
The DepEd officials stood by the department earlier position that their was no irregularity in the P427-million project despite the fact that Jeverps has won the contract in the last five years netting for the company some P750 million.
They also said that even if Jeverps was the lone bidder for the project, there was no irregularity when the BAC awarded the contract.
--With James Konstantin Galvez
------------------------
DepEd officials said they have nothing to hide and so should the House investigate any unaccounted wealth DepEd officials might have. If the House wanted to investigate and prosecute, it is easy enought to see the money trail, if any; and prosecute to the full extent of the law those government and private officials with a hand in this deplorable scam.
By Jomar Canlas, Reporter [Source: Manila Times on the net]
THE House Committee on Good Government was urged to investigate the alleged overpricing and anomalous purchase of instant noodles that the Department of Education distributed for its feeding program in schools.
Bayan Muna Rep. Teodoro Casiño authored House Resolution 1126, which directs the House body to probe the alleged irregularities in the procurement of instant noodles in line with DepEd’s feeding program.
Casiño said the DepEd recently awarded to Jeverps Manufacturing Corp. the contract for 19,418,880 packs of instant noodles costing P22.00 per pack as part of its “Malusog na Simula, Yaman ng Bansa” feeding program.
“It is ironic and deplorable that such a project intended to augment our public school children’s nutritional requirements is apparently feeding the greed of DepEd officials and their favored suppliers,” he said.
In 2008, the DepEd reportedly procured from Jeverps 15 million packs of instant noodles costing P284 million, where each pack of instant noodles was already allegedly overpriced at P18.00.
The party-list lawmaker said the apparent overpricing and the alleged non-conformity of Jeverps’ products to the package description specified by the DepEd casts serious doubt on its procurement procedures.
“The noodles scam shows tell-tale signs of graft and corruption and plunder implicating administration officials,” Casiño said.
Laboratory tests allegedly made by experts from Vietnam, Malaysia, Hong Kong and South Korea showed that the noodles had neither egg nor malunggay contents—contrary to Jeverps’ claim that the products contained both ingredients.
For its part, the DepEd on Thursday said that it is willing to review the controversial multi-million-peso purchase of “fortified noodles” for the school feeding program if there is such a need.
“We have nothing to hide,” said Education Secretary Jesli Lapus in Filipino.
Lapus stood his ground over the legality of the purchase, insisting that the project was above-board and had gone through the process required by the Government Procurement Act.
Lapus aired the statement a day after DepEd officials led by Undersecretary Teodosio Sangil Jr., and Assistant Secretary for Special projects, Thelma Santos, appeared before the Senate committees that are conducting an investigation on the issue.
Sangil was the chairman of the Bids and Awards Committee (BAC) that initiated the bidding won in February by Jeverps.
The DepEd officials stood by the department earlier position that their was no irregularity in the P427-million project despite the fact that Jeverps has won the contract in the last five years netting for the company some P750 million.
They also said that even if Jeverps was the lone bidder for the project, there was no irregularity when the BAC awarded the contract.
--With James Konstantin Galvez
------------------------
DepEd officials said they have nothing to hide and so should the House investigate any unaccounted wealth DepEd officials might have. If the House wanted to investigate and prosecute, it is easy enought to see the money trail, if any; and prosecute to the full extent of the law those government and private officials with a hand in this deplorable scam.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I have no doubt... by Ariel O Querubin
Col Ariel O Querubin, on right with Mr Gustav Joseph O. Bocek [green shirt] on a recent visit to Col Querubin at his detention at Camp Aguinaldo.I have no doubt in my mind that the Lord has all the while been preparing me for public service .
I was left for dead in 1989, and He allowed me to spring back to life.
I have been imprisoned as a soldier, but I fully regained the honor and right to wear a soldier´s uniform after having been awarded the Medal of Valor in 2001.
As my military career was very much back on track, I was again challenged to choose between right and wrong, between honor and injustice, between good and evil. Even as we all work for a vibrant and prosperous Philippines, my dream is for every Filipino to enjoy the essence of freedom from poverty, fear, and injustice; to feel the tangible benefits of good governance, and to live comfortably in a society that fosters the unity of the family, respects human rights, and upholds the dignity of all.
I have not had an easy life.
My life story has been replete with vivid encounters and painful experiences that have shaped this dream. I am fully aware that some people would insist that men in uniform should stay away from politics; that we would serve best our nation if we were fighting wars in Mindanao; that we have no business in meddling with the affairs of the state as we have been formed and trained in the rudiments of war, and not in the civil service, much less in politics.
I agree - but that assumes that the people who have been entrusted with the public trust have been sincere, honest, and have been true to their pledges. As a young soldier, armed with idealism and the fire of youth, I have offered my life to defend this country from ALL its enemies.
I have suffered long and hard for the principles that I hold dearly. Many of my loved ones have suffered with me - maybe not physically, but certainly have shared in the misery and hardships that I have endured. The fire of idealism still burns in me, but I have been wiser not to engage fire with fire.
I am running for the senate in 2010. I have no political pedigree. I have no political machinery. I have no financial resources. But I do have honor. I do have principles. I do have courage. I believe I am ready to take on this new role, with your support this dream is not too farfetched.
It takes the collective effort of every member of this society to make things improve for a country in disarray... a country that has been plundered... a country whose hope is running dry... All I can do, on my end, is to make the best effort possible to make society better, stand by my principles, and fight for what is right.
There is hope for this country and our people, all we have to do is believe. This I will do, if not for myself and our generation, then at least for my young children and their children.
Mabuhay ang Pilipinas!
ARIEL O QUERUBIN
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The quest for new leaders by Randy David
Filipinos know instinctively that the election season has started when the surveys pare down the presidential choices to about five frontrunners. The faces of the so-called “presidentiables” get front-page treatment. Strategists warn their principals against the peril of peaking too early, and dissuade potential candidates for lesser positions from making firm commitments prematurely. The analysts chime in with their assessments of alignments in flux. And the voices of politicians fill the airwaves, creating a sense of a nation taking on its collective tasks seriously.
But are we? Are we content with the current way we choose our leaders? Surveys fulfill a vital function in a democracy. Their radar screens capture the promise of light in the political firmament, but they cannot tell if it is the brightness of stars or merely of satellites. I suggest that we do not allow surveys to drive, preempt, or determine the process of leadership recruitment. To do so would be to place the nation’s future at the mercy of political financiers with no accountability, and of technicians who specialize in the fabrication and simulation of charisma.
In mature democracies, political parties prepare for elections by holding a series of caucuses with their constituencies. The aim of these meetings is to identify the key issues that must take center stage in the coming election. The issues that are expressed in these caucuses mirror the values of the party — for an issue becomes an issue precisely because there is a felt threat to fundamental values.
The identification of leaders is intimately linked to this process. It is not divorced from it. The leaders that emerge from this process not only reflect the party’s stand on the issues. More than that, they personify, at that precise moment, the urgent yearnings and aspirations of the party, if not of the whole nation. They are leaders because they stand for something that resonates with others. They are not leaders merely because they got it in their heads to stand for election.
There is great advantage, obviously, even in this system, to being a good speaker and having a charismatic personality. But here charisma has to be validated, and placed in the service of the party’s program. Barack Obama had to go through this grueling exercise, notwithstanding his immense charisma, and there were moments when he seemed close to losing the Democratic nomination to the more experienced Hillary Clinton. On the other hand, John McCain’s bland and uninspiring personality did not prevent the Republicans from choosing him as their standard-bearer. In our system, in contrast, it’s the other way around — mass appeal or celebrity status (or “winnability”) not only comes first, it is the main factor. The political program becomes no more than an afterthought, a catalogue of sound bites with no internal coherence.
When issues take the backseat — qualification, competence, political record, personal history, and political vision also become peripheral. The whole system gets fixated with popularity. As observational tools, surveys are generally indifferent to the basis of this popularity. They may alert us, as they sometimes do, to the state of the prevailing political consciousness — but they do not make it their business to fathom the depth or shallowness of voter preference.
Yet, to be fair, even Filipino politicians know that it is not enough to be merely popular. Not that they would demand of themselves that popularity must be paired with a vision, but simply that popularity has to be converted into votes. Given the weaknesses of our political system, what this means basically is that our politicians are expected to have enough money to ensure that their fans actually register to vote, that their supporters are not bought, that their votes are actually counted, and that they have adequate protection against all forms of vote padding and manipulation.
In general, these real practical concerns drive nearly every aspiring politician to turn for assistance to the various operators that inhabit the system. They exist at all levels of the political system — from the village level to the national level. They are the political entrepreneurs who keep the machinery of the patron-client system running. They fix, they facilitate, they organize events, and they bridge the gap between levels, acting as part-time agents for the politicians who take time to seek them out and give them importance. They are however not the real problem.
The most dangerous are the king-makers with the fabulous war chests. These masters of the rent-economy are the most vicious segment of the Filipino elite. It is they who think of politics as nothing more than an extension of the economy, and of government as merely a department in a business empire. When the politics of a country is captured by such king-makers, leadership is divorced from the national interest, and is created and traded just like any other commodity.
This is where we are today. We must beware of those who style themselves as alternative leaders, when they are no more than the new recruits of the same business blocs that have monopolized economic and political power in our country since independence. We need leaders who are cognizant of their roles as servants of the people and as builders of the nation. We must actively search for them in the bosom of our own communities, for their names will not figure in the surveys, nor will they be identified for us by the kingmakers.
Original article appeared on Prof Randy David's Philippine Daily Inquirer's column "Public Lives".
Photo credits: PCIJ photo.
------------------------
The systemic problems in our political system, as bared by Prof Randy David is a catch-22 situation for both politicians and voters.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Why ethics? By Ellen Tordesillas
For more articles by Ellen Tordesillas, click here.
Nograles replied, "Why ethics? Who is the complainant, who is complaining against him?"
For Nograles to ask "Why ethics" reveals the depth of moral degradation among government officials.
Zialcita’s cousin, Commissioner Jesus Martinez of the Securities and Exchange Commission, are in the same state of cluelessness. He saw nothing wrong in his son (although he was the one following up the payments) acquiring a P5 million house paid for by a Legacy firm, the regulation of which is his responsibility.
"If the Expedition was sold by my son to a rural bank... I don’t know how it will affect me because fist of all I had nothing to do with the rural bank. Secondly, I do not know if a favor was asked of me because there was no favor asked of me."
No favor asked of him? No wonder Celso de los Angeles was able to continue convincing parents to buy educational plans for their children even when his Legacy Plans was already on the brink of collapse and was unable to meet requirements of the SEC. They had a protector in the SEC.
It is no surprise also that Nograles is not enthusiastic about ethics. Because if Zialcita were to be investigated about his P100,000 a month consultancy with Legacy firms, he should also face the same committee for lobbying with Ric Tan, then the president of Philippine Deposit Insurance Corporation, to go soft on De los Angeles and his beleaguered banks.
In that meeting Nograles even mentioned that De los Angeles had helped a lot Vice President Noli de Castro. Tan didn’t accommodate Nograles. We are not sure if that was the reason he was replaced by Mike Osmeña who died. Nograles brother, Jose, is now PDIC president.
Nograles’ question, "Why ethics?" answers our lamentation why we have one corruption case after another and nobody gets punished.
Why ethics if you have a president who saw nothing wrong in calling a Comelec commissioner to ensure that she won by one million votes whether or not she was voted by the people.
The tragedy is becoming a comedy.
Gloria Arroyo ordered Martinez to go on leave. But the guy is retiring on Saturday, March 14!
------------------------
Ellen Says:
March 9th, 2009 at 5:15 pm
"The peace and unity that we are fighting for doesn’t mean closing our eyes and keeping silent to the anomalies that Gloria Arroyo [or any politician or person-Mod] is perpetrating in this country.
Because if we keep quiet to the lies that are being thrown our way, that means we agree to it. That means we support it."
Friday, January 30, 2009
There's The Rub : Marcelino for President
By Conrado de Quiros
Columnist, Philippine Daily Inquirer
Posted date: January 12, 2009
I REMEMBER reading a hilarious item in Traveler's Tales in the Far
Eastern Economic Review ages ago. It talked of a suit some traffic
cops in a small precinct in Bangkok filed against their superior.
For many years, the cops had been mulcting motorists and public
utility drivers over traffic infractions and had accumulated quite a
pile of loot. Alas, their chief hogged the money and would not share
it with them. Frustrated with efforts to persuade him to distribute
the spoils, and seeing themselves the victims of a terrible injustice,
the cops filed the suit.
The point of the story, a true one though quite an oddity, is that you
get used to malfeasance, you will no longer find anything wrong with
it. You will find the wrong elsewhere.
I remembered that story in light of Felisberto Verano saying there's
nothing wrong with writing the release order for the "Alabang boys" on
DOJ stationery and submitting it to Raul Gonzalez for signature.
Verano is astonishingly a lawyer for one of the accused and Gonzalez
is even more astonishingly the secretary of justice. The release order
is just a piece of paper, Verano says, it means nothing without
Gonzalez's signature. Now if he had forged Gonzalez's signature, that
would have been a crime.
The point of the story, a true one and no longer an oddity here, is
that you get used to malfeasance, you will no longer find anything
wrong with it. You will find the wrong elsewhere.
That applies not just to Verano but to Gonzalez. Gonzalez himself
found nothing wrong with the lawyer of one of the accused writing
things on DOJ paper. He took umbrage not with Verano but with
Ferdinand Marcelino who blew the whistle on state prosecutors dropping the case on the "Alabang boys" for a bountiful Christmas and a prosperous New Year. Gonzalez's beef was that Marcelino did not entrap the people who tried to bribe him too to be stricken blind.
The only explanation for it is that Gonzalez is used to seeing—and
signing—things written on DOJ paper for various purposes, from
ordering lunch from the canteen to springing the scions of rich kids
from jail. He'll always find the wrong elsewhere.
But thank God for Ferdinand Marcelino!
Thank God in the first place that he put Gonzalez in his place. Though
one is at pains to understand why he had to apologize afterward.
Everyone I know has the appropriate retort to Gonzalez's "Don't talk
to me like that!" None of it includes saying sorry.
Thank God in the second place that Marcelino's superiors in the PDEA and his "mistahs" in the AFP, including the retired generals, are backing him up full force. Even if I suspect many of them are doing so in the hope that his sheen of idealism will rub off on them, if not indeed blind the world by its dazzling brilliance to their own part in spreading the darkness. I completely endorse Rodolfo Biazon's plan for the Senate to commend Marcelino and for the AFP to award Marcelino the Distinguished Service Star, the highest non-combat award to a soldier.
The latter is not inferior to the combat award, it is superior to it.
I've always thought, and said, that moral courage was by far the
greater form of courage than the physical one. It is so much harder to
show.
At a time when perfidy and wrongdoing rule the day, proof daily being offered of the innocent being punished and the guilty rewarded, of the good being damned and the bad praised to high heavens, Marcelino's honesty shines through. Particularly as he showed it amid the greatest adversity, losing as he did a kin to cancer from destitution. He did not refuse the bribe because it would bring admiration from his peers; many of them probably thought him stupid for it. He did it, as he himself puts it simply, because it was the right thing to do.
I myself have a couple of recommendations.
One is to appoint Marcelino posthaste as Ombudsman. And have him
investigate Merceditas Gutierrez for all sorts of crimes and
misdemeanors. It's the only way that office will ever get to do the
job it is meant to do, Marcelino having shown he is one of the few
public officials who can do the job they are meant to do.
The second, completely seriously, is to put the Office of the
Ombudsman under the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency. The reason for this is simple. There is a drug that addles the brain more thoroughly than Ecstasy, Ecstasy only giving its user to feel the pangs of love or lust. There is a drug that sends people on longer and farther power trips than shabu, shabu only lasting a few days and rendering their users impotent afterward. There is a drug that is far more addictive than heroin, no amount of rehabilitation being able to cure it.
That drug is corruption.
Corruption is the most dangerous drug of all in this country. It gives
the user to feel not only the pangs of lust or love of money; it sends
the user to longer and farther power trips, making them feel like they
deserve to rule forever; it is the most addictive drug of all, and
one, quite unfortunately, that does not kill the user, only everyone
around him, or her.
It is no small irony—indeed it is a sublimely poetic one—that
Marcelino set out to take on drug pushers and users and ended up
taking on the justice department. They are one and the same. The
justice department is the biggest pusher of the most dangerous drug in this country, or the biggest supplier of it to its biggest user in the country, to be found in the Palace by the Pasig. At the very least, you can't have a brain more addled by drugs—in more ways than one—than Gonzalez's. And you can't have veins more addicted to constant injections of power than those of his boss.
What can I say? Never mind Ombudsman, Marcelino for president.
Columnist, Philippine Daily Inquirer
Posted date: January 12, 2009
I REMEMBER reading a hilarious item in Traveler's Tales in the Far
Eastern Economic Review ages ago. It talked of a suit some traffic
cops in a small precinct in Bangkok filed against their superior.
For many years, the cops had been mulcting motorists and public
utility drivers over traffic infractions and had accumulated quite a
pile of loot. Alas, their chief hogged the money and would not share
it with them. Frustrated with efforts to persuade him to distribute
the spoils, and seeing themselves the victims of a terrible injustice,
the cops filed the suit.
The point of the story, a true one though quite an oddity, is that you
get used to malfeasance, you will no longer find anything wrong with
it. You will find the wrong elsewhere.
I remembered that story in light of Felisberto Verano saying there's
nothing wrong with writing the release order for the "Alabang boys" on
DOJ stationery and submitting it to Raul Gonzalez for signature.
Verano is astonishingly a lawyer for one of the accused and Gonzalez
is even more astonishingly the secretary of justice. The release order
is just a piece of paper, Verano says, it means nothing without
Gonzalez's signature. Now if he had forged Gonzalez's signature, that
would have been a crime.
The point of the story, a true one and no longer an oddity here, is
that you get used to malfeasance, you will no longer find anything
wrong with it. You will find the wrong elsewhere.
That applies not just to Verano but to Gonzalez. Gonzalez himself
found nothing wrong with the lawyer of one of the accused writing
things on DOJ paper. He took umbrage not with Verano but with
Ferdinand Marcelino who blew the whistle on state prosecutors dropping the case on the "Alabang boys" for a bountiful Christmas and a prosperous New Year. Gonzalez's beef was that Marcelino did not entrap the people who tried to bribe him too to be stricken blind.
The only explanation for it is that Gonzalez is used to seeing—and
signing—things written on DOJ paper for various purposes, from
ordering lunch from the canteen to springing the scions of rich kids
from jail. He'll always find the wrong elsewhere.
But thank God for Ferdinand Marcelino!
Thank God in the first place that he put Gonzalez in his place. Though
one is at pains to understand why he had to apologize afterward.
Everyone I know has the appropriate retort to Gonzalez's "Don't talk
to me like that!" None of it includes saying sorry.
Thank God in the second place that Marcelino's superiors in the PDEA and his "mistahs" in the AFP, including the retired generals, are backing him up full force. Even if I suspect many of them are doing so in the hope that his sheen of idealism will rub off on them, if not indeed blind the world by its dazzling brilliance to their own part in spreading the darkness. I completely endorse Rodolfo Biazon's plan for the Senate to commend Marcelino and for the AFP to award Marcelino the Distinguished Service Star, the highest non-combat award to a soldier.
The latter is not inferior to the combat award, it is superior to it.
I've always thought, and said, that moral courage was by far the
greater form of courage than the physical one. It is so much harder to
show.
At a time when perfidy and wrongdoing rule the day, proof daily being offered of the innocent being punished and the guilty rewarded, of the good being damned and the bad praised to high heavens, Marcelino's honesty shines through. Particularly as he showed it amid the greatest adversity, losing as he did a kin to cancer from destitution. He did not refuse the bribe because it would bring admiration from his peers; many of them probably thought him stupid for it. He did it, as he himself puts it simply, because it was the right thing to do.
I myself have a couple of recommendations.
One is to appoint Marcelino posthaste as Ombudsman. And have him
investigate Merceditas Gutierrez for all sorts of crimes and
misdemeanors. It's the only way that office will ever get to do the
job it is meant to do, Marcelino having shown he is one of the few
public officials who can do the job they are meant to do.
The second, completely seriously, is to put the Office of the
Ombudsman under the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency. The reason for this is simple. There is a drug that addles the brain more thoroughly than Ecstasy, Ecstasy only giving its user to feel the pangs of love or lust. There is a drug that sends people on longer and farther power trips than shabu, shabu only lasting a few days and rendering their users impotent afterward. There is a drug that is far more addictive than heroin, no amount of rehabilitation being able to cure it.
That drug is corruption.
Corruption is the most dangerous drug of all in this country. It gives
the user to feel not only the pangs of lust or love of money; it sends
the user to longer and farther power trips, making them feel like they
deserve to rule forever; it is the most addictive drug of all, and
one, quite unfortunately, that does not kill the user, only everyone
around him, or her.
It is no small irony—indeed it is a sublimely poetic one—that
Marcelino set out to take on drug pushers and users and ended up
taking on the justice department. They are one and the same. The
justice department is the biggest pusher of the most dangerous drug in this country, or the biggest supplier of it to its biggest user in the country, to be found in the Palace by the Pasig. At the very least, you can't have a brain more addled by drugs—in more ways than one—than Gonzalez's. And you can't have veins more addicted to constant injections of power than those of his boss.
What can I say? Never mind Ombudsman, Marcelino for president.
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