By Veronica Uy

The colossal fight in the biggest city in the metro has taken an interesting turn. For some months now, Quezon City residents have come to accept the idea that long-time QC public servant Herbert “Bistek” Bautista is going to run for the top QC post.

And for some months too, it is said that uber-rich Congresswoman Annie Susano of the city’s second district would also be gunning for Quezon City mayorship. (Once, in one of the President’s controversial trips abroad which was criticized for the number of um, “congressional aides,” in the entourage, she told reporters asking her about it, “The government did not pay for my trip. I paid for my trip. I can afford it. I can even buy the plane that took me here.”)

Naturally, despite his years of service, the former Kaluskos Musmos star was said to be preparing himself mentally for a bruising battle that is sure to cost lots of moolah—something he doesn’t have a-plenty. He was said to be relying on his track record, performance, and his showbiz background (for the par-for-the-course glitzy endorsements required in Philippine politics).

But guess who is joining the fray now? Political watchers in the city were all agape when former Presidential go-to guy Michael Defensor allegedly stepped into the QC political ring, carrying a huge, heavy bayong (a big traditional Filipino bag usually used when going to the wet market).

By Vinia Datinguinoo-Mukherjee

1989, I was 16, a probee. He was, by campus journalism standards, a seasoned news reporter. The editors had assigned me to be his “buddy” for a story, the topic of which I will probably remember at another time. The afternoon of the deadline, on my way to the Kule (nickname of University of the Philippines’ Collegian) office and finding him perched on a ledge in front of the downstairs cafe with a couple of friends, I asked him when we could perhaps sit down and work on the story. Maybe he sensed the concern on my greenhorn face, as he said in Tagalog without budging one bit, “It’s alright, Vinia, we have time.” I was, of course, frazzled. But that was Alecks, and eventually I would find out, that Alecks and “chill” are synonymous. Years later, he would, in a characteristically self-deprecating manner, take the word Tamad and join it with a second word in honour of Bob Marley to come up with a monicker for himself, Rastamad.

But let that favorite nickname not delude you into thinking that he amounted to nothing. Sure, Alecks liked to take his time. But what he came up with, every time, was exemplary. He was a perfectionist, he broke paths with his knowledge in online journalism, he was dedicated to his profession, and without him, PCIJ would not have become what it now is.

Much, much more than any of that, Alecks was a dear friend. In the 12 years that I worked with him at PCIJ (Philiippine Center for Investigative Journalism), we had our differences. There were stretches of time when we would not speak to each other outside of what was required by our professional relationship. After a spell, however, we would both simply snap out of it and start anew. (Often, it was him cracking a joke that would break the ice. And that is a topic worth a thousand dissertations: Alecks’s singular sense of humour.) All those years, being friends with Alecks was a perpetual bonus in my life as a journalist in the Philippines.

Alecks, you will live on in my heart. As someone very dear told me when I lost my father, there is no forgetting our loved ones, only remembering. And I will have enough memories to remember you by. I could try to write them down but even my best effort will not suffice.

Where you are is an infinitely better place. Rest in eternal peace, Alecks.

To Mira, Marlee, and Kaya, may you be embraced by the thought that your Alecks was one fine man, a husband and father who will love you no end.

By Lira Dalangin-Fernandez

You know it’s election period by the campaign gimmicks that start cropping up. Take this one by Representative Matias Defensor of Quezon City’s third district; he chose an innovative device, one which would strike at the very heart of Filipinos’ favorite past time–singing.
 
Defensor now has five units of mobile videoke, which he lends for free to his constituents in the district during birthday parties, programs, or even weddings.
 
But here’s the catch.  Instead of the usual sexy ladies frolicking in the beach or couples strolling along the country’s tourist attractions, what one will see on screen along with the songs’ lyrics are videos and photographs of Defensor.
 
Thus, while singing Frank Sinatra’s “My Way,” one will catch sight of the congressman attending a ribbon-cutting ceremony, holding medical mission, or presiding over a meeting.
 
Defensor said it was his way of showing his accomplishments to his constituents.  And adding in jest he said, “Later on, you will also see the beach scene.”
 
The “Mat sing-along sa barangay” mobile videoke was also his way of helping his constituents, especially those who cannot afford to rent one during events.
 
“Lalo na iyong walang kaya, nagpa-party, wala man lang music, so para kumpleto,” he said in a phone interview Monday.
 
Defensor acknowledged his mobile videoke could also be used when he campaigns for reelection next year.
 
Defensor, a member of the administration Lakas-Kampi-Christian Muslim Democrats party, plans to seek a third term as Quezon City’s congressman for third district.
 
Defensor said one unit of the videoke machine costs between P60,000 and P80,000.
 
He brought one unit in the House of Representatives during the anniversary of the Ayes and Nays forum, a forum organized by the media, last month. Several reporters and Anakpawis party list Representative Rafael Mariano had no choice but to gaze at Defensor’s videos while belting out songs.

Since he got married, this congressman tells reporters, he has not been womanizing. “Not with my wife knowing,” he adds with a wink.

Clues: He’s high profile and well connected.

By Nikko Dizon

I almost lost my wallet today.

The day started quite normally. I covered a press conference at the Bayan office then had lunch with Nato and Tads. Afterwards, I went to a nearby bank to get some gas money.

I carry a huge bag, a birthday gift from friends last week. It’s a fantastically designed piece of work, my bag. Maraming security features. Ergonomic. Hindi mabigat kahit may dala akong laptop. Siga ang dating pero cute din naman. BUT that moment at the bank’s parking lot, I thought this bag failed me!

I couldn’t find my wallet!! I was starting to perspire as I rummaged through my huge bag. Where was my wallet?? I wasn’t worried about the money. I had barely P500 in it. I was freaking out over my IDs and cards– my driver’s license, company ID, credit card, ATM card, Medicard. And I had keepsakes in that wallet. Some I consider my lucky charm. My wallet itself, given by my cousin, was lucky. I never ran out of money with that wallet. I swear.

I drove back to the carinderia (which by the way served fabulous chicken curry!) to check if someone found my wallet. Nada. I decided to trace back my steps, back to where I had parked my car. Nothing.

I walked along Maaralin Street under the intense midday heat but my hands were getting cold and clammy. I needed to find my wallet. I asked some people at a sari-sari store if they saw a brown wallet on the street.

Someone said he saw another man in a white shirt with a plastic bag pick up something which looked like a wallet. The man had walked towards the rows of houses before disappearing into one of the gates.

The man didn’t reach the end of the street, I was told. He was somewhere in there, in one of the houses or apartments. I had to find him.

I went inside a row of apartments and knocked on each and every door. No, sorry, I was told. They hadn’t seen a man in a white shirt.

I was trying hard not to cry.

I received a text from Nato, pointing out some errors in my breaking news story (hehe). I called him up to tell him that I was looking for my wallet outside their office.

He came down right away to help me find it. Nato started to ask his neighbors and go around the area too.

Meantime, I reached this preschool with a white fence. The gate was open, leading towards a row of apartments at the back.

I rang the bell on two doors. An elderly woman said she didn’t see any man in a white shirt. A middle aged woman next door told me the same thing.

Finally, I reached the second to the last apartment door.

I peered through the screen. I saw a man in a white shirt, seated at the dining table, his back to me. My heart was racing.

“Hello po. Ako po si Nikko. Hinahanap ko po ang wallet ko, nahulog sa kalye kanina…”

The man turned around and gave me a big smile. He adjusted his eyeglasses. “Dizon? Taga-Inquirer?” His companions were smiling as well.

I couldn’t remember how I got to the dining table but I knew I gave him a hug!

He handed me my wallet as he told me he was about to call Inquirer so that I could be informed that he had found my wallet.

The man introduced himself as Ka Willy, deputy secgen of KMP (Kilusang Mambubukid ng Pilipinas). I’ve never covered KMP extensively so I’ve never really met Ka Willy or other KMP officials or members, except for Carl.

I was beside myself with joy and gratitude! I called up Nato to tell him I’m in KMP’s office!

Nato arrived in a few seconds and said he heard “Oh my God, Oh my God!” outside the gate (hindi naman niya sinabi kung parang si Kris Aquino yung narinig niya) and assumed I had found my wallet!

And imagine, who’d ever think that the man who found my wallet was a colleague of Nato’s?

To top it all off, KMP had just moved into their new office on Maaralin Street the week before!

What if KMP didn’t have their office there? Ka Willy wouldn’t have found my wallet. What if someone else found it, took the measly sum and threw my wallet away? In fact, Nato and I tried to look for it in a small basura site along the street, unmindful (?) of the stench.

Thank God to the kindness of people like Ka Willy, Nato, and the man who gave me clues that led me to Ka Willy, I now have this unassuming but very important piece of me back.

In the car, I inspected my bag again. How did my wallet slip out? I realized I forgot to zip close the part that was supposed to secure my belongings. Ahay. There was nothing wrong with my bag naman pala. Careless lang ako

PS: And why didn’t I notice that my wallet fell right beside my car? Kasi, I was making a mental note to ask my cousin kung ano ang magandang brand ng hair iron na bilhin. Hehe.

By John Nery

When I realized I was writing my 100th column, I was assailed by the temptation to say something about what it is we opinion journalists do; I’m afraid I readily gave in. I started with Rizal’s low opinion of the press. I ended (in a modest tribute to my colleagues, including those I’ve tagged) with a crucial distinction I hope even Rizal, that old ink-slinger, would approve.

In Rizal’s novels, as in the Harry Potter heptalogy, journalists get a bad press. About a hundred years before J. K. Rowling gave us the “enchantingly nasty” Rita Skeeter, Jose Rizal created the equally inventive Ben Zayb. Or, rather, he transcribed the character from real life, Tolstoy-like. A footnote in the Locsin translation of “Fili” introduces Ben Zayb: “A character based on several Spanish newspapermen who wrote in the Manila newspapers, among them J. F. del Pan, Francisco Cañamaque, M. Walls y Merino, and others.”

If like me you believe that “Noli” and “Fili” are a measure of our progress as a nation—if the indictments still sting, the reality hasn’t changed all that much—then the continuing resonance of Rizal’s low opinion of journalists is a matter of great concern. The Ben Zaybs of the profession continue to multiply, like mushrooms after a rain or tweets after a celebrity death.

Rizal, to be sure, wore a journalist’s hat, too—especially when he wrote those lead articles in La Solidaridad analyzing European political events. But between the writing of “Noli” (published in 1887) and the writing of “Fili” (published in 1891), his distaste for journalists of the Ben Zayb variety deepened.

At one juncture in “Noli,” he moves the narrative by reproducing the letter of an unnamed correspondent “from one of Manila’s serious and distinguished newspapers, venerated for its tone and true gravitas.” The letter praising the fiesta in San Diego town begins: “I have never before witnessed, nor did I ever expect to see, in the provinces, a religious festival as solemn, splendid, and moving as the one being celebrated in this town by the very reverend and virtuous Franciscan fathers.” (I am using the Penguin Classics edition.)

The reader of the novel knows, of course, that the reality (described before and after the chapter on correspondence) is just the opposite; impishly, the narrator calls on readers to “rectify any tiny but normal inexactitudes.” But in “Noli,” this fine specimen of colonial journalism merely cuts a ridiculous figure.

In “Fili,” Ben Zayb (the pen name the journalist uses, an anagram of his real name Ibañez) is almost a major character; he even gets an entire chapter all to himself. We first meet him as a passenger on the steamship “Tabo,” where he is described as a “prolific writer” who sees himself as the only real thinker in the entire colony. “Ben Zayb remained silent, half-smiling, perhaps out of respect or because he did not know what answer to give, despite his being the only thinking head in the Philippines!” (This and succeeding quotations are from the Locsin translation.)

But his real sins as a journalist become manifest only as the novel proceeds: he is always in the company of the powerful, he takes part in the manipulation of power—and he writes to sing the praises of or curry favor with the powers-that-be.

When the conspiracy to massacre the colonial administration at the wedding of Paulita Gomez and Juanito Pelaez is discovered, Ben Zayb rushes off to write what he is already thinking of as “the most sublime article that would ever be read under Philippine skies.” He systematically, ideologically, misreads details of the incident: “He interpreted Padre Irene’s [cowardly] act of placing himself under the table as an ‘impulse of innate valor which the vestments of a God of peace and meekness, worn throughout life, had not been able to dim.’” He ends his piece with a farewell to the governor-general, who was returning to Spain: “Go peacefully, brave warrior who with expert hand guided the destinies of this country in such calamitous epochs!” He reacts with practiced cynicism to the government’s decision to impose a news blackout on the incident, and thus on his story: “If only some other crime could be committed tomorrow or the day after.” And when some other crime does surface (a raid by tulisanes on a priests’ retreat), he imagines another epic story; when he is told, by the survivor, of the mundane details, he replies: “It cannot be! Keep quiet … You do not know what it is you say!”

In “Fili,” the journalist is no longer an object of ridicule, but of outright contempt.

We can guess the reason for the change: After the success of “Noli” and the launch of “Soli,” Rizal found himself in a war of attrition with the Ben Zaybs of real life.

They continue, even today, to occupy the strategic high ground: journalists who are players themselves. All journalists cultivate access, but journalist-players are members of the inner circle; all journalists seek the inside story, but journalist-players are insiders themselves; all journalists chase the facts, but journalist-players make the news and define the facts to be chased.

Rizal, in contrast: Can he be considered a real journalist? He wrote polemical novels, argued in print, served an overarching cause as a controversialist. He had “a point of view.” Doesn’t all that disqualify him?

In my view, much of Rizal’s work for “Soli” was in fact journalism: dedicated to the truth, concerned with public interest, verifiable and, above all, independent.

Not neutral, but independent. The distinction is crucial; otherwise there would be no such thing as opinion journalism. “Editorialists and opinion journalists,” we read in “The Elements of Journalism,” “are not neutral. Their credibility is rooted instead in the same dedication to accuracy, verification, the larger public interest, and a desire to inform that all other journalists subscribe to.” In other words, journalists need not be neutral, without a point of view. They only need to be independent of the people they cover.

They cannot, like Ben Zayb, play the game.

By Lira Dalangin-Fernandez

The entry of 32 new party-list congressmen in the House of Representatives has given Speaker Prospero Nograles and House Secretary General Marilyn Barua-Yap a headache on where to accommodate them and their staff.

Of course, the bigger problem is money, estimated by Nograles to reach about P200 million for the salaries and staff and daily operations of the new congressional offices, which he said was not in the House budget for 2009.

Each House member is also entitled to P70 million in pork barrel.

Nograles said he will talk with Budget Secretary Rolando Andaya Jr. to help him find a way out of this dilemma.

With the P700-million south wing annex building still being constructed and won’t be ready until the end of the year, Nograles has raised the idea of a room-sharing scheme among some of the lawmakers, a proposal greeted with cheers and jeers by House members.

Gabriela party-list Representative Liza Maza said she is willing to share her room with Mong Palatino of the Kabataan party list.

Rep. Risa Hontiveros of Akbayan party list said she has yet to receive word on her request for Professor Walden Bello, the other Akbayan congressman, to use the extension of either deputy speaker Raul Del Mar and Pablo Garcia as his office.

Pampanga Rep. Juan Miguel “Mikey” Arroyo said his office can accommodate temporarily another lawmaker, saying, “it would be an opportunity to learn from each other.”

Arroyo’s aunt, Lourdes, is coming in as the fourth Arroyo in the House representing the Kasangga party list.

Nueva Ecija Rep. Eduardo Nonato Joson said room-sharing “might be out of the question” since the rooms of lawmakers are already cramped. Instead, he proposed rental of office spaces near the Batasan complex for the 32 new members.

And in jest, he said, “Paano kung Ladlad iyong party list?” referring to the group of Filipino lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT).

By JOEL GUINTO

INQUIRER.net

THE birthday boy said he wanted to “hang loose,” with no to talk of politics, but his guests, which included power players from politics and high society, and even “Erap,” thought otherwise.

At the stroke of midnight on Saturday, they toasted Defense Secretary Gilberto Teodoro Jr. on his 45th birthday, and wished him success in his bid to become the country’s next president.

Several bars in the packed hall at Blue Leaf in The Fort, Taguig, churned out glass after glass of the night’s signature cocktail which was named after the birthday celebrant—“Gibo,” a sweet and fruity, but lethal mix.

The drink was green, which is shaping to be Teodoro’s campaign color. That night, he wore a white shirt with pale green stripes over blue jeans. His wife, Tarlac Representative Monica Prieto-Teodoro was in a pale gray off-shoulder number that tastefully displayed her fashion model form.

“It took us several tastings before we settled for this,” Teodoro said of his namesake drink.

In a speech after his birthday toast, Teodoro urged his guests to “hang loose because tomorrow is another hectic day.”

Bukidnon Governor Joe Zubiri then took to the stage and said: “I’m sorry, Gilbert. That’s how we are in my family. When we trust a candidate, we can trust only that candidate… You are the best at this time.”

“Northern Luzon will support you. Mindanao will support you. The Visayas will support you, Gilbert. You’re gonna be the next president of the Republic of the Philippines. Happy Birthday to the President,” Zubiri said as the crowd cheered.

Zubiri, father of Senator Juan Miguel Zubiri, said Teodoro shouldn’t pay attention to his dismal ratings in recent opinion surveys because people in the provinces have not heard of such studies.

The crowd then proceeded to dance to the “Limbo Rock” before they formed a conga line that went around the dance hall.

Executive Secretary Eduardo Ermita danced the swing with Mrs. Teodoro.

Other Cabinet Secretaries at the carnival-themed party were Presidential Management Staff Chief Hermogenes Esperon Jr. and Trade Secretary Peter Favila.

Military Chief General Victor Ibrado, whose Philippine Military Academy (PMA) class adopted Teodoro as an honorary “mistah” or classmate led the military top brass in greeting their defense secretary.

Also present were Navy Chief Vice Admiral Ferdinand Golez, Army Chief Lieutenant General Delfin Bangit, former military chief Alexander Yano, who was recently confirmed as Ambassador to Brunei, and former Air Force chief Pedrito Cadungog.

Stilt walkers welcomed guests to the Blue Leaf hall on McKinley Hill, which was decorated with brightly-colored ribbons and glittering masks.

A surprise guest, “Erap,” master impersonator Willie Nepomuceno as former president Joseph Estrada, also greeted the celebrant.

After a brief stand-up act, “Erap” raised Teodoro’s hand on stage as if they were at a campaign rally.

Throwing a party for no reason and inviting only the host

By Makati Rep. Teodoro L. Locsin Jr.

BECAUSE this is just a resolution, the House will vote by mere yells of yeas and nays. In the tumult, the public and the press may mistake who voted for and against it. Make no mistake RONNIE ZAMORA AND I are voting NO because we have kept our wits about us unlike the others who have lost all of theirs. For this resolution convenes only the Lower House of Congress as a constituent assembly to “consider,” as the Constitution puts it, constitutional amendments that no one has proposed, do not exist, and therefore cannot be considered.

This strictly House only resolution is like sending out an invitation to a party to which the host has invited only himself.

This is also like sending out an invitation to a party on no definite date for no stated occasion other than the host throwing a party for himself by himself. On top of which, the host—Rep. Luis Villafuerte—has cancelled the party and withdrawn the invitation though some—how shall we call them?—housebreakers, I suppose—have decided to go on with the party.

This is a resolution calling for the convening of the Lower House of Congress as a constituent assembly the day before it adjourns. This is like sending out an invitation to a party on no date, for no stated occasion, while announcing that the host is leaving for a long vacation abroad.

It is said that this invitation to a party inviting only the host is intended to provoke a reaction from those not invited.

Whoever came up with this idea of a party has no idea about throwing a party except what he might have learned from the videos of the parties that Hayden Kho threw where he was both host and sole party animal except for his unwitting partner. But Hayden Kho had an excuse. He was drugged. The question is under what kind of influence is this kind of party being thrown? In other words, nag-e-Ecstasy ba ang mga proponents of this House resolution and why are not they not sharing the joy?

It is said that we must do this because, unless we throw a party for no reason inviting only ourselves, we will never know for sure if such a party can be thrown?

But how will we know? We are sure to be ignored by those we did not invite even as we will be ignored by the social arbiter to which we are appealing on this score.

I submit that the Supreme Court and the country as a whole will ignore us—and then laugh at us all the way to the ignominious end of the 14th Congress. We shall be ignored as surely as we shall be laughed at.

For this is a resolution calling upon the members of Congress but naming only the members of the House to convene constituently for no stated purpose. And yet the Constitution specifies that Congress may convene as a constituent assembly only for the purpose of considering—considering—not introducing let alone just awaiting—proposals to amend or revise the Constitution upon a vote of 3/4 of all the members of Congress. This resolution puts the cart before the horse because, there being no amendments to consider, there is no purpose to convene Congress as a constituent assembly.

It is a blatant lie that this resolution reflected upon its introduction to the floor of the House a consensus of the House of a need to amend the Constitution because, aside from the Speaker of the House who filed his amendment to the economic provisions as a regular bill, no one has expressed any desire to change the Constitution or expressly specified in what particular respect.

As for the lawyers among us who say they want to litigate this question, they will be provoking the Supreme Court to render what it cannot and will not—to wit, an opinion in no concrete case and controversy. These lawyer-legislator should tread carefully for the Court is liable to strip them of their license for trifling with the Court and the processes of justice.

This resolution mocks the House and holds it up to ridicule. If anything, it is a fit subject not of a vote but an ethics investigation of the proponents of this measure for inviting the contempt of the nation upon our House.

This is a venture which can be described by only one word that politeness forbids me to say.