By Atty. Marie Francesca Therese J. Yuvienco

Writers are always told: Show, don’t tell. So when I tell you that the wheels of justice in this country grind slowly, not only should I be hauled off to writer’s gaol for repeating a cliché, I should also be committed to solitary confinement for committing the cardinal vice of telling, not showing. But if I tell you that in a month’s time, 23 years will have elapsed since the gruesomely tortured bodies of labor leader Ka Lando Olalia and Leonor Alay-ay were found discarded in a secluded area in Antipolo without a single perpetrator having been brought to justice, will that satisfy the rule?

By any reckoning, a quarter-century is a long time. It was the night of November 12, 1986 when heavily armed men kidnapped Ka Lando and his driver Leonor, who had just come from a union meeting at Ajinomoto Philippines. It was suspected that the murderers were members of the Special Operations Group of the Department of National Defense but, of course, there was no proof of that. For twelve years, the case lay dormant. In that time, Ka Lando’s wife Nanay Feliciana raised her family of five children – four boys and a girl – on a midwife’s salary of P11,533.00 a month. Her family had long been used to making do: as chairman of the Kilusang Mayo Uno, Ka Lando was not exactly raking in millions, but the family was intact, which was the important thing. However, now that the primary breadwinner had been rubbed out, the years of providing for her family began to carve deep furrows onto Nanay Feliciana’s brow. It was the beginning of many nights of dining on chicken feet: Mondays were adobong paa ng manok; Tuesdays were mechadong paa ng manok; Wednesdays were afritadang paa ng manok, and so on. Sundays offered a respite of “mystery meat” which most likely featured gussied-up chicken feet, whatever Nanay Feliciana’s taxed creativity could come up with. (To this day, Ka Lando’s son Jong can cannot look at adidas, the colloquial name for street food that is grilled chicken feet, without wanting to hurl last night’s dinner.)

In 1998, the case broke wide open two witnesses came forward, Medardo Dumlao Barreto and Eduardo E. Bueno, former soldiers affiliated with the Reform the Armed Forces Movement (RAM); both executed affidavits recounting their involvement in the slaying of Ka Lando and Ka Leonor. Barreto and Bueno named Col. Eduardo E. Kapunan, Jr. and Oscar E. Legaspi, among others, as being in the thick of the preparation and execution of the plot. That, however, was only the beginning of what would become a quixotic quest for justice. Eleven years after Barreto and Bueno came forward, Kapunan and Legaspi are still to be arrested; they have not been arraigned and they have not been placed in detention. Twenty-three years after Ka Lando and Ka Leonor were killed, the crimes are still unpunished.

The reason is that to this day, Kapunan and Legaspi have, through legal machinations, defied every attempt to arrest them, even though the Supreme Court has ruled, with finality, that they are not entitled to the defense of amnesty and that a prima facie case for the double murder exists against them. They may have lost that battle, but it’s a war of attrition they are waging. The purpose of delay is to wear the enemy down; that or wait for the parties and their witnesses to die, in the meantime, avoid detention for a non-bailable offense.

I am devoting this issue’s column to Ka Lando and Ka Leonor because I am afraid. I am afraid that as time lurches on, people will begin forgetting who they are and what they fought for. Rolando Olalia and the assassinated Senator Benigno Aquino share one thing in common: both were gunned down for principles for which they were willing to lay down their lives. Where they differ is that Ka Lando did not have a wife who would later become President or a daughter with a genius for keeping her family’s surname foremost in the public’s mind. Ka Lando’s face isn’t stamped on any money bills and his name isn’t appended to an international airport; the only infrastructure dedicated to him is the road, known now as Olalia Drive, near where his body was recovered. He hasn’t achieved that iconic status that makes it cool for his likeness to be silkscreened onto t-shirts, like Che Guevarra, or an article of fashion to be inextricably linked with him, like Fidel Castro’s caps. His name will live on, certainly, but only in some dusty archives, rediscovered by a student required to do research, but still, only a name and a fuzzy image preserved on microfilm in a library, but his murder may still go unsolved, and that’s the danger.

Metaphors involving justice are usually unflattering. One, already mentioned, tells of wheels that grind slowly. Another is that of a woman blindfolded so that she can dispense justice without favoring anyone. But combining the two, we have the image of a blindfolded woman behind the wheel, so is it any wonder that justice proceeds like a hearse?
(Editor’s note: This was posted here with permission of the author.)

By Dodong Nemenzo

ALMOST 300 people were killed in the worst flood brought by Typhoon Ondoy (international name: Ketsana). Damage to agriculture and public and private infrastructures has been extensive. Now tens of thousands are homeless, living in packed temporary shelters, dependent on food donations, and with vague ideas of what their future would be, as two more typhoons threaten the Philippines.

Disasters of this magnitude call for a collective response, a demonstration of national solidarity. We in Laban ng Masa (Struggle of the Masses) therefore join the other organizations, schools, religious groups, government agencies, and concerned individuals in helping the survivors. Let us turn this colossal tragedy into an opportunity to unite and thus emerge a stronger nation.

But in the first place, this calamity would not have reached this enormity if the right social system were in place. There would be no shanties on river banks, there would be no housing subdivisions on natural catch basins. There would be adequate shelter for all, there would be comprehensive disaster response plans (given that we are on the path of tropical depressions and are within the so-called Ring of Fire prone to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions). There would be sufficient social protection to also encompass such natural tragedies, which the human-created social system made more tragic. Because even before this calamity, half of the 90 million Filipinos were already languishing below the poverty line. And the recent devastation is bound to worsen our economic situation.

As we bury our dead, repair the damage, rebuild our homes, pick up our lives, and prepare for the impending typhoons, we also express our deepest sympathy for the peoples of Vietnam, Indonesia, Samoa, and Tonga who have been similarly struck by natural calamities.

We are, of course, aware that these calamities are not entirely of natural causes. They are, to some extent, nature’s revenge against a social system that encourages greed, disrespects nature, and disregards people’s general welfare. Logging, urban congestion, discharge of industrial waste into rivers, clogging esteros, and brazen disregard of land-use plans by the so-called development companies have made Metro Manila and surrounding towns utterly vulnerable to typhoons and floods.

At the heart of it is a government unable to enforce environmental laws and regulate private enterprise. Despite our nation’s location and history with such natural calamities, the government has built no adequate institutional mechanisms for environmental protection and disaster response. President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo—and the system she represents—is obsessed with creating an attractive climate for investments while remaining insensitive to the basic needs of our people.

This tragedy should thus push all of us to seriously commit to the realization of a society that is just, equitable, and sustainable. A society that does not allow people to go without decent work or livelihood, without adequate food and shelter, and other social protection measures, especially in these earth-shaking times. A society where people live with dignity, disaster or no disaster.

By Ramil Digal Gulle

All I wanted to do on Saturday morning was to go to my doctor. After getting off the MRT station in Kamuning (about 10 am) I waded through ankle-deep floodwaters to accompany my wife to the TV station where she works. The rest of the day was already clear in my head: Go to the doctor, finish my business there by around lunchtime (there are usually quite a number of patients, and I wasn’t expecting to finish earlier than that), pick up my wife and we go home for some needed time with the kids.

I thought nothing of it when the doctor’s nurse texted me to say that the doctor’s clinic was already flooded. The clinic is in the low-lying Kamias area. Fine, I told myself, I’ll just go to Hi-Top and buy a bottle of wine and ingredients for dinner. My daughter had requested that I cook for dinner.

After Hi-Top, I proceeded to the TV station where my wife works. I was walking the whole time because of the rain. I felt no danger despite the rain. The rain wasn’t that strong by the time I left Hi-Top. Then I reached the corner of Panay Avenue and Sergeant Esguerra. Holy shit. The floodwaters were neck-deep in Esguerra!

I turned left on Panay, planning to take the train at the Quezon Avenue MRT then disembark at Kamuning station, so I could just walk towards the TV station. I reached Hen Lin (a Chinese fastfood) which is right under the MRT station. I was surprised to see that Edsa was flooded. The area in front of the McDonald’s outlet was waist-deep in flood.

There was a guy—he was soaked from head-to-foot—who was warning people getting off the Quezon Avenue MRT station. He was telling everyone who could hear him:

“O, wag na kayo dyan sa Esguerra. Hanggang leeg doon. Dito sa may Edsa hanggang baywang. Mamili na lang kayo kung saan niyo gustong magpakamatay.”

[Don’t go to Esguerra. The water there is neck-deep. Over there at Edsa it’s waist-deep. You guys choose which side you prefer. You choose where you want to kill yourself.]

The guy was trying to be funny. I went up the MRT station, boarded the train and got off at Kamuning. When I reached the TV station, my wife texted me that she won’t be going home. All TV news staff were required to stay because of widespread flooding.

I called the kids at home. Thank God there wasn’t too much rain in Cavite. Finally, I saw what was happening in Marikina and Rizal on the TV set at the visitor’s area. Shit. I won’t be able to go home. Then I also learned that the way to Cavite was impassable.

After talking to my 9-year-old daughter some more and assessing that Cavite would likely not be affected by the typhoon, I made up my mind to wait for my wife. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let her go home alone, with floodwaters rising in Quezon City.

People were coming to the TV station. Every single one was asking for help. They had loved ones trapped inside their house by floodwaters. There were loved ones already on rooftops. The floods were rising too fast in some areas. And so began my long day: filled with the weeping of women, worries about friends trapped in rooftops, worries about my kids (what if the typhoon turns and hits Cavite?), and a feeling of utter helplessness.

My wife worked till about midnight. We tried to get to Cavite but even before we reached the tollgate of the expressway leading to Bacoor, huge trucks were already turning back. We were in a cab. I decided not to risk whatever was ahead. There could have been floods, an accident, etc.

My daughter kept calling my mobile phone. She was crying. When were we going to get home? After getting assured that there was no flooding in Cavite, that our kids were not in danger of any flood, I told my wife we should just wait for morning. We turned back and stayed in a hotel—the hotel lobby to be exact. All the rooms were booked. It was already 2am. We couldn’t sleep. We simply waited till the sun was up.

When I finally got home today, the first thing I did was gather wife and kids for prayers. We prayed out of gratitude. We were all safe. Then we prayed for all those who were still trapped, who were still struggling to stay alive amid floodwaters. I was crying.

I find myself unable to sleep after being awake since 6 am yesterday morning. I’m still keyed up. My wife’s asleep, finally, after getting a massage. I want to sleep but each time I manage to doze off, I jerk awake at the slightest noise. So I’ll just write.

I can’t get the sound of weeping mothers out of my head. That’s how I spent the night while stranded in Quezon City. All these mothers kept talking about their kids. One mother, Lina, could not help but cry for her kids, who were trapped in the third storey of a neighbor’s house for out eight hours already by the time she spoke to me. Her husband was also trapped by floodwaters—he could not leave his office in Quezon City.

Here are some things I learned from the experience. I can write them down in the comfort of home with my wife and kids safely with me. I actually feel guilty that I’m in this situation. I feel guilty that I’m not out there on a rubber boat saving people.

So I’ll write some more and go to bed. After I get some sleep, I might have a saner perspective.

Our families are not prepared for climate change. Typhoon Ondoy was true to its name, which means “little boy”—it wasn’t a supertyphoon. And yet, we all failed in so many fronts.

In our own home, we don’t have an emergency kit. The flashlight is no longer where I always put it. Furthermore, I’m not aware of any evacuation plan in our community. Who do we call? Where do we evacuate when waters start rising? I have no idea. It’s the sort of ignorance that kills.

One friend of mine lost her possessions in the floods. Her husband and kids are safe. She had the quick and sensible thinking to have her family evacuate shortly after the water began seeping into their house and after the power was cut off. They left everything and booked themselves in a hotel. “I lost everything,” she told me over her mobile phone. I told her that the most important things in her life were saved.

Our government—both the national government and the LGUs–is not prepared for climate change. If people are safe now—relatively, for some, because it’s again starting to rain and many are still trapped on rooftops, awaiting rescue—it’s because of prayer. So many people were—are still—praying. It seems the prayers were heard because we all got a respite from the rain.

Filipinos have a saying, “Nasa Diyos ang awa, nasa tao ang gawa” (God dispenses mercy but man has to do the work). God has already dispensed his mercy. Will we do our part?

There’s no excuse for the lack of rubber boats, for example. We have floods every year. But every year, we are unprepared. The two rubber boats that began rescuing people in Marikina were a relief to know about, but why only two?

Philippine National Red Cross Chairman Dick Gordon tried to transport several more rubber boats but these had to come all the way from Olongapo. And with the traffic jams at the expressways, they could not get to Metro Manila in time.

The headquarters of the National Disaster Coordinating Council and the headquarters of the Armed Forces of the Philippines are both in Quezon City. And yet, for nearly 12 hours, Quezon City residents trapped in floods could not be rescued. The AFP, if I remember correctly, usually has the biggest slice of the national budget every year. But where were the choppers? Where were the rubber boats? Clearly something is very wrong.

Then we recall how General Carlos Garcia, former AFP comptroller, was caught (by US authorities, not by Philippine authorities) trying to bring in millions of pesos in cash to the US. It does not inspire faith in the military leadership.

We also recall a lot of things that are disquieting: government resources being used to secure a questionable telecoms deal with a Chinese firm; millions of pesos spent on Presidential dinners abroad; millions of pesos in campaign contributions unaccounted for; millions of pesos spent on a California mansion; billions of pesos spent on foreign trips; and a cancelled plan to buy a new Presidential jet.

How do you explain all that to kids trapped on their rooftop for nearly 24 hours—soaking wet, hungry, crying for their mothers and going insane with fear?

How do you explain the fact that the government can spend millions upon millions on so many other projects, but could only produce two rubber boats to rescue scores of residents trapped in a flooded Marikina village? How do you explain the President’s lobster and steak dinners to Rizal residents neck-deep in muddy floodwaters?

Every year, we get floods and typhoons. Every year, we give money to the AFP and the NDCC. And all that the Marikina residents get are two rubber boats?

And wasn’t Marikina always being trumpeted as some sort of “First World City in a Third World Country”? Clean and green Marikina. Disciplined Marikina, a jewel of law and order in the chaos of the Mega Manila.

The Marikina River floods every year. Every year. But when it really mattered, the City Government of Marikina did not have enough emergency equipment, did not have enough rubber boats. Or if it did, it did not have the capacity to deploy these resources in time. It seemed to have no plan for the evacuation of residents at Provident Village before floodwaters could reach it.

And former Marikina mayor Bayani Fernando wants to run the rest of the country the way he did Marikina—or at least, that’s the impression we get. We could be wrong.

To be fair, none of us expected something like Typhoon Ondoy. But the lack of rubber boats, the seeming lack of coordinated response, the empty promises made over the media—these are simply not acceptable. These do not inspire our confidence in government once the next super typhoon hits.

I mentioned Marikina only as an example. I’m not blaming Fernando or his wife (the present Marikina mayor). I’m just stating how things appear. The real story about the slow rescue, etc. might unfold in the next few days.

[Kris Aquino was talking on TV about Marikina rescue efforts. She said that according to one Marikina resident, there were rubber boats deployed by the Marikina government--but the river's currents were so strong that the rubber boats got overturned. It was also pointed out that Marikina Mayor Marites Fernando did everything she could but "nature's wrath" was just too powerful. In the interest of fairness I should point this out.]

What happened to Marikina can happen anywhere. The local governments of Bulacan, Pasig and Rizal fared no better. Are our local governments prepared for climate change? Are they prepared for typhoons like Ondoy, or much stronger ones? Your guess is as good as mine.

What would have happened if Ondoy didn’t leave the country in the hours following the massive flooding? What if it was a super typhoon that decided to stay for a few days?

The answer is so obvious that we’re scared to state it: Death and Chaos. So many people, so many children will die. Our loved ones will die. We will die.

The next few days, weeks and months will tell us whether the government cares to prevent this, or whether it wants to use climate change as a kind of population control.

The government’s priorities have been clear in the way it spends its money and allocates its resources. For example, the AFP budget keeps growing. But what about the budget for the national weather agency PAGASA (Philippine Atmospheric Geophysical and Astronomical Service Administration)? There were reports a few years back that the budget was actually slashed.

During a report on GMA-7 news last night, PAGASA OIC Nathaniel Cruz said that there was a piece of equipment that could help the agency estimate a typhoon’s potential amount of rainfall (very useful in the case of Ondoy, which poured a month’s worth of rainfall in about five hours)—a Doppler radar. Does PAGASA have this equipment?

No. The national weather agency, the only one that could warn us if we should evacuate because a typhoon will bring a deluge, does not have a Doppler radar. But it’s on its way, clarifies Cruz.

PAGASA, in Filipino, also means “Hope”. Based on how the government seems to prioritize PAGASA, the weather agency, do we have reason to hope?

It was drummed into my head a long time ago that when we use the term “government” in a democracy, we should really refer to ourselves. After all, in a democracy, governance must be by, of and for the people.

So it’s either we’re not really a democracy (because we always stand back and just let a bunch of evil yoyos run things for us) or we’re all just not getting this governance thing right. We’re not governing things the way we should.

It’s raining again. I hope we get our acts together soon.

By Senator Richard Gordon

The question remains, are we worthy? In this day and age, in spite of all the martyrdom of many of our heroes, it would appear that we have not learned our lessons.

Corruption is still upon us; our military die and rebels die in war; there seems to be untrammeled assassinations in our country; motorcycle assassins abound; many mayors, many journalists, many politicians have been killed; apparently, we all know how to talk about the problem but we can’t seem to fix it.

My own father was assassinated and there was never any closure, neither was there any closure on Senator Ninoy Aquino’s assassination. Up to now, we can only suspect who actually had him assassinated. The essential matters, the sense of it all—justice—we have not been able to secure.

We need to have an attitude change in this country once and for all. That attitude has to come out from the fact that we have to learn our history, the fight upon which all our martyrs, including Sen. Aquino, had died for.

We have to start thinking of the common good. We have to think of the national interest. Even if we stumble and fall, we should rise together as a nation and learn from our mistakes. Maybe then can we prove ourselves worthy of all these sacrifices.

By Veronica Uy

I could not understand my grief at the passing of President Corazon Aquino. As an arrogantly faithless teenager in 1986, I and fellow organized nat-dem youths had chosen to boycott the snap presidential elections. The choice seemed clear to many, but the idea of toppling a mighty dictatorship using the ballot seemed impossible, if not foolish.

What many called the rebirth of the nation had many fathers. So her administration, as even her husband predicted in the aftermath of 20 years of one-man rule, was constantly under threat, essentially from the weight its internal contradictions.

Under her rule, I wept at the Mendiola Massacre, the still-unsolved assassinations of my personal heroes Ka Lando Olalia and Lean Alejandro. I was stunned that she allowed her education secretary to fire aggrieved public school teachers whose allowances were stuck in the graft-inducing red tape. I lent my fist and angry chants against her campaign for the retention of the US bases.

Years after she left office, when her actions (like using her political capital to help oust Erap) seemed more in tune with mine (perhaps because they didn’t lend the power of officialdom), I would grudgingly acknowledge her contributions to nation-building, admit to the enormity of her job as post-Marcos president, and applaud her for her sacrifices. My grumblings about missed opportunities grew fainter. I came to appreciate her, especially in relation to her successors, mga adik sa poder.

And as I grew older in the job of reporting history as it happens, I understood her place in it and what she has come to stand for—courage and unity, representing our potential as a people. She did not love this country any less than other self-proclaimed patriots, only different; her sense of patriotism was defined by her own set of circumstances. She was history’s special child—an accidental hero, a reluctant leader, but by many accounts, a stubborn president.

In the weeks prior to her death, as we all waited for the inevitable, I remembered family and friends and other icons whose cancer tested their threshold for pain and suffering, and the limits of their faith. I remember my cancer-stricken an-kong, who made my daddy cry because he couldn’t stand the torture that the disease brought his father. I remember a friend’s dad, who insisted on bearing the pain, saying no to painkillers. I remember my aunt whose dying wishes were for sunshine, a home-cooked meal (but she kept throwing up small pieces of bread soaked in milk), and the ability to breathe on her own (she was attached to a respirator and other life-saving machines). I also remember a friend in pain who asked, “Why me?” I remember Francis M., who called on his kababayans to be proud of their identity.

In the end, President Aquino was simply a person who adored her kids and apos, who got sick, who expressed herself through art, who suffered pain, who continued to try to shape her country, who was true to who she was and to what she believed, who was mortal.

One with fellow Filipinos, I honor her life. And the L hand sign, which has lately degenerated into a taunt for the loser, once again stands for laban. Fight on. In her death, uso na ulit ang magmahal sa bayan.

By Cate de Leon

Tagline: Send comments to catgdeleon@ yahoo.com or drop the author a line at http://writer-cat.livejournal.com.

I RECENTLY attended an anthropological lecture on Philippine tribes by Prof. Cherubim Quizon at the UP College of Arts and Letters. But what interested me more was not the lecture itself, but the very first question posed by a woman in the audience, a professor in speech communication. Her words:

“While I honestly enjoyed learning about our ancient origins, I have to admit that I’ve always had a very colonial mindset. Because it seems that if we were to go back to our roots, the result would be entirely regressive. I don’t even know how to answer my students’ queries on nationality; because when they graduate, the only jobs waiting for them are those in call centers. So kindly help me out. Right now I can’t see the point in cultivating who we really are as Filipinos.”

It was a question I have also been asking myself—and I wondered if anybody in the room was capable of answering it objectively. And not with irrelevant passion and poetry, which was all being Filipino had become to me.

A man in the audience stood up and started his speech by clarifying that he was not a nationalist, but a humanist. He said he specialized in analyzing the structure and maximizing the potential of the human being.

Referring to Quizon’s lecture, he re-stated that three very important words in the Filipino psyche are ‘kamag-anak’ (kinship), ‘kasama’ (companionship), and ‘kakilala’ (acquaintanceship).

To more effectively explain the given terms, he gave both new and old examples, like how he once brought home a can of corned beef, knowing it was his family’s favorite. He returned a week after to find the can untouched. Why didn’t they eat it, he asked, and they explained that the neighbors might catch a whiff of the food as they cooked it, and then they’d feel obliged to share.

He also cited how hospital rooms in our country have to have two beds—one for the patient, and another for the bantay (caregiver). And if you plan on bringing a get-well-soon gift, it must be food so that the bantay can have some as well.

The fact that we like to eat in groups was also taken into consideration. Whether it’s lunch, dinner, or merienda at a fishball stand, we like to invite other people to eat along. And when we see a friend eating by himself, we ask why he is alone and if he’s alright, even offering him our company.

If you’ve ever thrown a party, you probably know the frustration when no one calls the R.S.V.P. number. Now the thing about R.S.V.P. is that you’re asking the person individually if he/she is coming to your party. But Filipinos don’t like the thought of showing up alone at social gatherings. As a result, all the days leading up to the party are spent asking around and waiting for confirmation from friends on whether or not they are going as well—because as guests we want to make sure we’ll have enough people to talk to (kausap) when we get there.

The speaker also gave examples highlighting our other traits, like how we prefer to have all the sauces and seasonings laid out before us so we can concoct our own dips, as opposed to how in restaurants abroad, people simply eat the food as it is served.

He added that even the recurring tendency among Filipinos to be late for everything, such as dates, classes, meetings, and appointments, is due to how we’ve always had a timeless concept of time. The terms “sharp” and “on the dot” most certainly didn’t come from us. In band rehearsals, for example, the processes of tuning up and making music often overlap; there is no definite end to the former and beginning to the latter.

Recall too how at the end of social gatherings, we linger in each other’s company. Even the goodbyes take forever. One moment we’re saying goodnight, the next we’re laughing and sharing a short anecdote, which for some reason we forgot to tell earlier when it was still time for exchanging stories.

The speaker summarized, “As a people, we’ve always been highly relational and participatory. We are not innately individualistic and authority-centered as the Americans are—as we’ve been trying to be. That’s why most of us don’t follow traffic rules, and we throw our trash where the sign says we shouldn’t—because we’re not used to simply being told what to do by some “other.” Instead, we’re geared towards co-creation and cooperation when setting goals and accomplishing tasks. But sadly, these qualities have not graduated into a civic consciousness. (Not to mention that) we have absolutely no national consciousness.”

Hearing him say these things, I began to understand that perhaps the real problem lies not in how we’ve been falling short of certain standards, but in how we still knock ourselves out trying to be something that we’re not.

For the most part of my life, I’ve been guilty of having (and denying) a colonial mindset. But I don’t blame myself for it because as a young and eager-to-learn student, it was all I was made to understand. The concept of being proudly Filipino was taught to us in abstract and vague terms. We never really knew what to be proud of.

Colonial mentality, however, was more concretely demonstrated to us. A perfect example was how popular I was with my high school teachers and classmates, just because I spoke fluent English. I highly doubt they would have looked up to me as much had I been just as skilled at speaking Tagalog. It was only in my college years at the University of the Philippines that patriotism started to make practical sense, and was no longer just a sentimental, moral obligation.

As music majors, though we studied the works of western classical composers, we were also educated on and constantly reminded to practice and cultivate our own music—especially if we were to go on international tours.

“So what if you can give them a perfect rendition of, say, Bach’s choral works?” one of my professors used to say. “They’ve heard such pieces countless of times before. And don’t you think it would be absurd to travel all the way to these faraway countries just to give them yet another taste of their own music?”

If you apply the same reasoning to how we look up to English-speaking people, you’d realize how pathetic and inferior it is for us to prize something that is so common to the British and Americans—which is why I have since ceased to be ignorantly cocky about being ingglisera (English-speaking).

Not that speaking foreign languages, flying to other countries, and learning from other people is a bad thing. It’s one of our biggest assets: how easily we can communicate, relate, and adapt to other cultures, especially since the advent of globalization.

But we’re also urgently in need of finding our true identity. And until we do, we’ll be perpetually stuck trying to fit into governmental and societal structures handed down to us by our colonial captors. Until we figure out a system of living that will truly work for us, especially in this modern age, our society will remain just as dysfunctional as it has been for the longest time, with most of our fresh and highly educated graduates trying hard to ease into fake, second-rate American accents in order to get by.

By Gigo Alampay

It could all begin with the fact that we are an archipelago, a collection of islands—some big, some small, some gone when the tide is up—separated from one another, and bound together only by legal fiction.

Similarly, as a people, we are more like a collection of tribes or regions or provinces. It is easier to talk about the traits, quirkiness, and stereotypes (fair and unfair) of Batanguenos or Ilocanos or Ilonggos or Muslims or the people from Imperial Manila, than it is to define what exactly it is to be a Filipino.

So ask the ordinary man or woman on the street what binds all these disparate folks together beyond an arguably common shared history, and we will get various, even conflicting, responses.

There are our traits. Are we condemned by crab mentality? Or are we uplifted by our sense of bayanihan?

Are we famously resilient because we can laugh at ourselves and our problems? Or are we hopelessly hampered by an inability to take things seriously, laughing even when there is nothing to laugh about?

Is our faith—and the Church—our saving grace, or our ironic cross?

Who is Juan? Who is Juana? Or maybe it is the name itself? Juan is a Spanish name, one that did not exist in these Islands before we were conquered. Do we reject “Juan” as a non-Filipino name? Or do we embrace it as an undeniable part of who we are today given our history?

It is easy to stereotype the OFW as a prototypical Filipino today. Counting OFWs and their friends and loved ones left behind, they comprise a huge majority of our population who share common experiences—the displaced sense of family, the heroic notion of sacrifice, the pasalubongs when one returns, the jeepney loads of relatives that accompany them to the airport when they leave, and of course, the remittances that collectively keep this country afloat.

And yet, we all know the Filipino is more than just the OFW. There are millions of farmers and fisherfolk, thousands of youthful call center agents and ICT workers, and dwindling numbers of indigenous peoples. They, too, are Filipinos.

So, what does it mean to be Filipino? What does it matter? Why does it matter?

The answer to this question is important, not least because the lack of a common and shared sense of identity could be one major reason why we cannot seem to get our acts together, and live up to our full potential as a nation.

This is a basic theme that we should explore and discuss, and most importantly, pose to anyone (especially the young) who might listen—if only so that they will not take their identity for granted.

Unfortunately, the question also often sounds hackneyed (gasgas na gasgas na) and, indeed, corny. Worse, many times even, the people calling for unity (many of them in government, the church, and the media) are only self-interested, and are those we would really rather ignore.

We need to ask the question, and to propose some answers—but in a manner that is not off-putting or intimidating, and in a way that allows people to seek and find the answers just for themselves without feeling awkward or forced.

The Center for Art, New Ventures and Sustainable Development’s (Canvas) Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Project—opening at the University of the Philippines’ Academic Oval on Independence Day (June 12, 2009)—is an attempt to provide that venue, that opportunity.

We asked dozens of artists, writers, musicians, and poets to provide—through their art, words and music—their answers to the question, What does it mean to be Filipino? Their responses were then transformed into art banners and will be displayed so that people can enjoy them as they walk, bike, or drive around a 2.2 kilometer oval under the magnificent acacia trees of the University of the People.

It is an engaging, and completely relaxed environment, especially on Sundays when the whole place is closed to traffic, and joggers jog, children play, and families come out to relax and just be with one another. It will be fun, and we hope to see you there.

And best of all, the answers (and sometimes even more questions) are given almost subliminally by artists, writers, poets and musicians who, by definition, are engaged in work and lifestyles that force them to think and express thoughts and things bigger than they are.

We also like to think that this show is even more special in that, collectively, it gives a snapshot of what some of the best young creative talents think when asked about what it means to be Filipino, at this particular point in our nation’s history.

In the end, of course, there is no single correct answer to the question, What does it mean to be Filipino?

Which is as it should be, because for many of the important issues confronting us today—as individuals and as a nation—understanding the questions is often more important than providing the answers.

(Canvas is a nonprofit organization dedicated to promoting greater awareness and appreciation for Philippine art, culture and the environment. For more information, visit the Canvas website at www.canvas.ph or its blog: www.lookingforjuan.com. You may also email info@canvas.ph.

The Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Exhibit will be on view from June 12 to July 11, 2009 around the University of the Philippines’ Academic Oval in Diliman, Quezon City.

At the end of its run, the banners will be converted into tote bags by two women’s communities in Antipolo and Laguna, and sold as original works of functional art. Proceeds from the sale will benefit Padyak, a UP Mountaineers-led movement to promote cycling and environmentalism as healthy lifestyles, as well as other Canvas efforts to promote greater awareness and appreciation for Philippine art, culture, and the environment.)

By OSCAR F. SANTOS

Coconut Industry Reform Movement (COIR)

FLAG day seeks to promote love of country. These days, everywhere, we see big flags emblazoned with the words, “Pilipinas Kong Mahal.”

But do we really love our country? Maybe so, but we certainly have a funny way of showing it.

The Philippines is blessed with an abundance of natural resources—forests, seas, rivers, lakes, and marine and wildlife. But what do we do?

We pollute the air we breathe, ravage our forests, defile our lakes and rivers, ruin our corals and poison our fish and aquatic life. We litter our streets and dump garbage on our waterways. We treat our natural resources as if they do not belong to us.

Many behave as if they have no pride in being Filipinos. Four out of 10 Filipinos want to leave the country and reside elsewhere. Many are even ashamed of being identified as Filipinos when they go abroad. Our so-called educated avoid speaking their native tongue. To speak with a pronounced native accent is considered “un-cool.” Many struggle to speak English, no matter how broken, because not to be able to is looked down upon.

We are unmindful of our responsibilities as citizens. We close our eyes to the corruption around us. We blatantly break the law, traffic rules most especially, every chance we get. We love to stress our individual rights, but we ignore other people’s. We clean our own backyards, but dump the trash on our neighbor’s side of the street.

We sell our votes and elect plunderers and nincompoops to the highest offices. We give known cheaters seats of honor. Our public officials behave like masters, forgetting that they are public servants. They abuse authority, take bribes, get involved in scandalous contracts, take liberties with public funds, and treat our institutions with utter disrespect.

James Fallows once said that we remain underdeveloped because of our “damaged culture,” having been under Spanish, American and Japanese rule for the last 500 years or so. Randy David puts it this way: “This trait goes by other names. It is the barbarism of mindless profit-seeking, of getting something for almost nothing, of doing brisk business on the despair of others. It is the culture of shabbiness, of mediocrity, of neglect, and of perpetual improvisation. It is the absolute contempt for the public.”

Why do we have no pride in being Filipino? We are so unlike our South Korean neighbors who, when their country was in dire straits, donated their jewels and precious possessions to help fund their government. We are so unlike our Japanese neighbors who care and hold sacred their hills and mountains. To them, the faintest suspicion of wrongdoing can make top officials jump off a cliff. To them, one’s honor comes first, and failing to do right by their country is unforgivable.

The flags we are displaying these days should remind us that we are no longer under foreign control. It is time for all of us to wake up and behave like true Filipinos who could truly say with pride and dignity, “Pilipinas Kong Mahal.”

By Walter Ang
Contributor

“What does it mean to be Filipino?” is a question contemplated by Gigo Alampay, executive director of the Center for Art, New Ventures, and Sustainable Development (Canvas).

Having lived abroad for a number of years, he said, “Without judgment, Americans find it easy to say who they are. Here in our country, it’s sometimes easier to answer ‘What is a Batangueño, or what is an Ilocano?’ than it is to answer ‘What is a Filipino?’ There may be some stereotypes for regional identities, but at least there are characteristic identifiers. However, as a nation, sometimes it’s not easy to figure out who we are.”

He added, “There’s a notion that our lack of national identity may be one of the reasons why some people feel the Philippines has not really lived up to its full potential.”

The center’s latest endeavor is the “Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Project,” an exhibition of artworks by some of the best contemporary Filipino artists who attempt to provide visual answers to the discussion.

“The project aims to collect at least a hundred artworks that will be reproduced as tarpaulin banners that will then be displayed in two highly accessible and pedestrian-friendly venues,” said Alampay.

“The Looking for Juan Outdoor Banner Project will showcase some of the country’s best creative talents. Artists, graphic designers and photographers have been asked to express their idea of the Filipino identity,” he said.

“The project is designed to engage visitors with its art-driven messaging about the Filipino identity. It will be a new kind of experience that allows visitors to view and appreciate great art as well as explore important social themes in a non-intimidating, relaxed, and creative environment.”

The first 40 to 50 original works that will be reproduced as banners were launched at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. The artworks will be on display until June 7. This original artwork exhibit will transfer to the Alab Art Space gallery (Intellectual Property Philippines Building along Buendia St., Makati) on June 8.

Meanwhile, the first outdoor banner exhibit will be at the end of May at the new Philippine Pacific Rim Friendship Park in Puerto Princesa City, Palawan. The second will be in June at the University of the Philippines’ Academic Oval in Diliman. “Just in time for opening of classes and Independence Day,” he added.

Canvas has been actively involved with The Pacific Rim Project to build a Friendship Park in Puerto Princesa. Architecture and art students from different countries like China, South Korea, the United States, Russia, and Mexico were flown in earlier this month to interact with counterpart Filipino students. These volunteers will design, present to the city government, and actually build the whole park under the artistic supervision of leading artists, architects, and urban planners in just 30 days.

After the park is completed, it is given as a gift to the citizens of the Pacific and to the host city. All parks are for the public and are directly connected to the Pacific Ocean. The park will then become part of a network of Friendship Parks ringing the Pacific. There are already four parks in US, Russia, China, and Mexico.

To date, participants in the Looking For Juan Outdoor Banner Exhibit include Buen Abrigo, Leonard Aguinaldo, Daniel Aligaen, Reynaldo Amido, Mark Arcamo, Moralde Arrogante, Anton Balao, Jeho Bitangcor, Plet Bolipata, Elmer Borlongan, Malyn Bonayog, Serj Bumatay, Michael Cacnio, Buen Calubayan, Jeff Carnay, Salvador Ching, Marika Constantino, Salvador Convocar, Dansoy Coquilla, Geronimo Cristobal, Jigger Cruz, Don Dalmacio, Kawayan de Guia, Anna de Leon, Crisanto de Leon, Maan de Loyola, Farley del Rosario, Robert Deniega, Anthony Fermin, Tina Fernandez, Karen Flores, Liza Flores, Emmanuel Garibay, Juan Sajid Imao, Agang Maganda, Lotsu Manes, Josue Mangrobang, Roel Obemio, Wilfredo Offemaria, Jr., Marcial Pontillas, Anthony Palo, Anthony Palomo, Jay Pacena II, Jucar Raquepo, Omi Reyes, Iggy Rodriguez, Tres Roman, Kirby Roxas, Mark Salvatus, Julius Samson, Andoi Solon, Aner Sebastian, Angelo Tabije, CJ Tanedo, Rex Tatlonghari, Palma Tayona, Jomike Tejido, Juanito Torres, Ian Valladarez, Wesley Vallenzuela, Migs Villanueva and Liv Vinluan.

Selected students from the UP College of Fine Arts, members of Ang Ilustrador ng Kabataan, various creative writers, as well as a number of graphic design and advertising studios, are also involved.

After the end of the outdoor banner exhibits, the banners will be recycled by two women’s communities in Antipolo and Laguna into tote bags and sold as original works of functional art. Proceeds from the sale of the tote bags will support Padyak, a UP Mountaineers-led movement to promote environmentalism and cycling as a healthy lifestyle.

(Editor’s note: INQUIRER.net found this item by lpgd in the blogosphere—at www.betterphilippines.com—interesting and tracked him down. lgpd agreed to post this item, originally entitled “Basic Respect and Communication,” on the INQUIRER.net blog, but asked that he keep his anonymity.)

By lpgd

The ABS-CBN News Channel (ANC) did a great job of giving the general public a chance to get to know more about some of our presidential hopefuls. The station provided real public service with that ANC Leadership Forum.

I wasn’t able to watch the live telecast—only the replay and just parts of it so I didn’t catch all that was said. However, I did hear enough to be able to form an opinion about the first batch of participants, namely Senators Richard Gordon, Mar Roxas, Francis Escudero, Defense Secretary Gilbert Teodoro, and Pampanga Governor Ed Panlilio.

Judging how they responded to the questions asked of them, I would rank the participants this way with 5 being the lowest.

1. Panlilio
2. Teodoro
3. Gordon
4. Roxas
5. Escudero

Without referring to the validity and political implications of their responses and just focusing on how they addressed the questions, I would say that Panlilio and Teodoro did well. I felt that Panlilio was the most candid. I also appreciated Gordon’s responses although I thought some of his answers were a little too wordy and circuitous. As far as these three are concerned, I’d say they did not disappoint at all, communication-wise.

On the other hand, I think Roxas and Escudero proved themselves to be bad communicators. Neither one of them provided any real substance with their responses. Roxas even thought it was appropriate to inject his “lalaban tayo (we will fight)” campaign slogan in his closing message. He did it in bad taste. Fortunately, for him, Escudero was even worse.

To most people, Escudero would probably sound like he is making real sense. But if you really listen hard to his statements, you will easily realize that there’s really nothing there. I’m sure the young senator has the brains, but unfortunately he chooses not to show it. Instead he wastes his and other people’s time—precious airtime included—with his oppositionist, motherhood crap.

Interestingly, Escudero got some of the biggest applause from the mostly young audience. This is a telling and troubling sign that Escudero’s worthless verbiage is working. It’s that or those who clapped for him were just gullible or plain dumb.

At this point, I would like to reiterate that this is not about the validity or the political implications of the statements made by Escudero and the other participants. My only focus here is whether or not they can communicate sincerely. In my book, Escudero failed miserably in this regard.

Why am I making an issue out of this? It’s simple. I equate sincerity with respect. A person who talks to you without any sincerity is basically disrespecting you. He is basically telling you that he doesn’t hold you in high regard; that he looks down on your intellect; and that he is convinced he can get away with giving you his bulls__t. It’s even more insulting if the person talking to you in such a manner is asking you to give him something as important as your vote.

I wonder about the forum audience present at the Leong Hall of the Ateneo de Manila University. They applauded Escudero’s crap. Were they not insulted at all by his manner?

I sincerely hope that come 2010, all Filipino voters will have already learned to demand respect from politicians.