Living Abroad

There's no place like home

2010-10-20T07:23:28Z

By Frederick Arceo

Editor's note: The following Philippine Daily Inquirer article is one of the most shared articles on OFW sites and blogs. Written in Filipino, it has been tossed around so much that many sites don't even know who wrote it anymore. Some have edited it and put in their own remarks. It goes by different titles like, "Iba pa rin sa Pinas," "Ang OFW ay Tao Rin" or "Pagpupugay sa OFW," among others. It often comes with an introduction, like the one posted on qatarliving.com that says, "Here's something for those with spouses, siblings, children, or relatives who are OFWs and especially those who hope to work abroad one day. This may help you better understand what it means to be an OFW."

This is a translation of the original piece, published with the permission of its author, Saudi Arabia-based Filipino, Frederick Montilla Arceo.

Overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) are not rich. We have this notion that when someone is an OFW or based abroad, he or she is loaded. Not true. An OFW might earn from P50K-P300K a month, depending on the location. Those in Saudi Arabia or the United States might earn in the high range. But to say that they're "rich" is a fallacy (amen!).

Many Filipinos seek work abroad because their needs are great. They have so many mouths to feed. Often, 3/4 or half of their earnings go to paying school tuition fees for their children and keeping up with the family's household expenses.

It's hard being an OFW. You need to scrimp and save as much as you can. Yes, food can be good abroad but often you stick to paksiw or adobo or eggs in order to save money. Come the 15th or end of the month, the first thing you look up is the conversion rate of the peso to the dollar, rial, or euro. It's okay to make do with what little is left than let the family go hungry. Come leave time, you also have to have some money left because many relatives will be waiting at the airport or at home. You know how it is among Pinoys, word gets around that you are an OFW and it attracts a lot of kin.

If you don't bring pasalubong (a traditional homecoming gift) they may feel slighted and say bad things about you. Well, not all. But I'm sure some OFWs here have had that experience. Abroad, OFWs are also looked at differently. Very many have experienced not getting their due or being discriminated against in workplaces. You just take it, keep going, cry it out alone, because you think how miserable your family would be if you packed up and went home.

Besides, you really can't count on a job waiting for you back home. And prices of rice, milk, sardines, and apartment rentals are high. So you suffer on--even though you have to work with a lot of jerks (kahit maraming kupal sa trabaho), even though you are sick and have no one to take care of you, even though the food sucks and working conditions bad, even dangerous, and the job difficult. Then when you have remitted money home, everything seems okay again; you call, "hello! kumusta na kayo(how are you all doing)?"

OFWs are not unfeeling (Hindi bato ang OFW). You are human--not money or cash machines. You get tired, lonely (yes, often); you get sick, hungry; you stop and think, too. You, too, need support, if not physically, at least emotionally or spiritually.

OFWs also grow old. Those I have met and spoken to, many have receding hairlines or are balding. Most of them have signs and symptoms of hypertension, coronary artery disease, and arthritis. Yet, they continue to work thinking about the family they left behind. There are many abroad, after 20-30 years, that still have not put away a savings stash. No matter how hard they work, they can't seem to save enough. It's painful when you know that the family you support back home still can't make ends meet, that a child is a drug addict, a daughter, pregnant; and one's spouse is in a relationship with someone else. It recalls that popular old song "Napakasakit Kuya Eddie."

OFWs are heroes. That's true. I, for one, realized this only now, that OFWs really are heroes in so many ways. Not icons or household names like Nora Aunor or Flor Contemplacion but heroes in the truest sense of the word. They could surpass even Rizal or Bonifacio: They have braved more wars and conflicts in order to give their families a better life; they have battled more political intrigues just to keep their jobs in hostile environments; they have exhibited more patience than your usual congressman or senator in the Philippines--all because of the fear of losing that precious pay check.

OFWs are survivors. Pinoys are survivors (Matindi ang Pinoy). They are more tenacious than rats or cockroaches which are said to be able to survive cataclysms. Yet for all their sacrifices, they have yet to see solutions or results.

OFWs are unlucky--unlike politicians. They don't sign autographs or give interviews to media (unless they were kidnapped); they stay on the sidelines. When they leave the country, they are sad and on the verge of tears. When they come home, the lucky ones are welcomed by relatives at the airport. But if they come home without money, relatives are hard to find.

If only OFWs had a voice in Congress like politicians who are financed by the Filipino people and don't have to work under the hot sun, or get scalded by hot oil, or shouted at by foreign employers, or eat paksiw day in and day out to save money, or live in a compound with conditions less than favorable, and be forced to live with people with strange ways if only to be able to live. Politicians are lucky, really lucky.

OFWs are steadfast. Stronger and more steadfast than soldiers or other groups you might know. They are masters of reverse psychology, negotiations, and counter-attacks. Will the OFWs last? Most likely because we still don't know when change and progress will come to the Philippines. Will it come? Is there a chance?

Happiness is imagining yourself in the company of your loved ones every day, watching your children grow in a healthy and loving home. Happiness is eating sitaw, bagoong, lechon, inihaw na isda, taba ng talangka. Happiness is watching a Filipino movie, whether old reruns or new ones. There's still nothing like knowing your neighbors. There's still no place like the Philippines, being with other Pinoys (well, except those with crab mentalities). There's still nothing like being able to tell stories and know that others around you understand what you are saying. There's really nothing like the sound of "mahal kita!", "'day, ginahigugma tika," "Mingaw na ko nimo ba, kalagot!" "Inday, diin ka na subong haw? ganahan guid ko simo ba." There's really no place...like home.

Sige lang. Tiis lang. Saan ba't darating din ang pag-asa. So be it. just suck it in and keep going Somehow, you hope, things will work out.

What to do if detained in Arizona

2010-08-03T00:24:27Z

An immigration lawyer's advice
By Margarita Silva

EDITOR'S NOTE: In recent weeks, immigration lawyers in Arizona and other states have been flooded with questions from anxious residents about how to avoid getting detained by immigration authorities and what to do if they or a loved one does get caught. Here's some advice from Margarita Silva, an immigration lawyer in Phoenix affiliated with Los Abogados, a local Latino attorneys group.

What new information should the public know, now that some of the key provisions of SB 1070 have been blocked by a federal judge?

For the meantime, people who were afraid that they could be stopped and questioned about their immigration papers can breathe a sigh of relief. But I don't think that this is a great setback for the people who want to keep arresting immigrants. [Governor Jan Brewer] has called the judgment "a bump in the road." So I believe the [immigrant] community needs to be alert and follow [news developments] very carefully.

Do you feel that SB 1070 proponents will find alternate ways to enact some of the blocked provisions using other existing laws?

[Even before SB 1070, authorities] have already been using our employer sanction laws to arrest undocumented immigrants. The irony is that [employer sanction laws] were put in place to arrest the employers who are hiring illegal immigrants. But up to now, [authorities] have only been arresting undocumented workers for using false documents to work. Not a single employer has been arrested.

There are other provisions of SB 1070--including the charge of harboring an undocumented immigrant--that can be enforced starting July 29. How does this provision affect US citizens with undocumented spouses, or citizens living in an extended family with undocumented relatives?

There is no strict legal definition of what "harboring" means. In general, it refers to actively aiding someone to evade law enforcement officials. The impact on families with undocumented members depends on how strictly the law is interpreted. Sometimes, if a friend or colleague wants to stay with you temporarily, then you don't really ask for their immigration status. In that case, you are not "knowingly disregarding the facts."

What have you told people who ask what to do if they are stopped, either under SB 1070 or another law?

We tell them if you can validly show identification, that's fine--you should go ahead and do it. But you need to know that it's different depending on whether you are a passenger or the driver. For example, if you are a passenger, you are not required to engage with a police officer when they stop the driver for a traffic violation. Even if you are a driver, you can just answer questions about the violation you stopped for.

[Remember,] If you are accused of a crime, you have a 100 percent right to remain silent. I'd like to think people are aware of this. But knowing it in your head or seeing it on TV is different from sitting there with your children in the back seat while an officer with a badge and gun asks you questions. You can end up saying incriminating things.

What happens to your property if you are picked up?

If you are alone, your property might be impounded. If you are with someone you trust, you can hand over your personal possessions like your watch and wallet. Technically, your belongings should be returned to you upon release. But [Immigration and Customs Enforcement] does not like to take personal property into its possession. So things are often lost.

What about cars and houses?

I advise people to have a power of attorney ready for close friends or relatives who can take charge of your affairs.

Many families have been here for decades and might own car or house outright. You don't lose the right to your assets because of your conviction. You can hand over a power of attorney to someone to manage your affairs while you are away. It's the same as if you were living here legally and had to go away for a while. If you have someone who can drive your car to your home country, they could do that. It's still your car or house.

Even if you do not own the car or house outright, you still have rights to it. But if you cannot afford to pay for it, you might lose it to foreclosure.

You should know your property is not subject to civil forfeiture if you are arrested--as might happen if you were a drug dealer and arrested with a million dollars or a car that the government suspects was bought with drug money.

What advice do you have for people with children?

I tell them to create a power of attorney for tangible items and for your children. You need to have a US citizen who can take possession of children from the scene if, for example, you are picked up while driving your children to school. Otherwise they could end up going to foster care. Similarly, even if your children are in school [when you're picked up, school officials] won't let younger children go unless a trusted friend or family member is authorized to pick them up.

What should people tell their children about Arizona's crackdown?

I tell people to talk to their children without scaring them too much. Children have a tendency to answer questions you might not want them to. So if an officer gives you a speeding ticket and leans into your car and says by the way, where are you from, you don't want the child answering for you.

What advice are you giving people who are fearful about approaching law enforcement with other issues -- whether it's information about other crimes, or reporting domestic violence -- because they're afraid of being detained?

Human safety is first and foremost. If your life is in danger, don't hesitate to call for help. Better to be alive in your home country than dead in the US.

Second, know the policies and practices of your local police department. Not all police departments are the same. Some will inquire into immigration status and some will not. For some, it may depend on the type of crime being reported. I believe that all agencies make this information public and it should be easily obtainable. Most reputable agencies and officers will not inquire into the immigration status of a crime victim and you should not hesitate to call those agencies in the event of an emergency.

For those agencies that pride themselves on enforcing immigration laws, you may want to weigh the "benefits" versus the potential costs of calling for help. If you were the victim of a $15 theft and you know the agency that would respond will inquire into your status -- well, you decide if it's worth the call!

What about racial profiling? Are you advising people to watch out for that?

Our clients are average workers. They would not really know how to watch out for that. But that is something the lawyers would need to look out for. To say [that police] are not going to racially profile just because it's illegal is ridiculous.

But I do tell clients to be careful--watch your speed, make sure your license plate is current, and that you don't have a broken tailpipe, etc. Our sheriff [Maricopa County's Joe Arpaio] has made it quite clear that [his people] will pull you over if you have a cracked windshield or a missing rear-view mirror or things like that.

What kinds of resources are available to help anxious immigrants avoid being detained?

There are a lot of resources from local groups, nonprofits, churches about how to handle different situations. But no matter what you learn, it's different when you do get pulled over by an officer. And everything you learned goes out of the window.

Additional reporting by Poornima Weerasekara.

Philippine history lessons in Paris

2010-07-04T06:18:03Z

Can the country's new leaders help provide answers to Lhyanne's questions?

By Marilyn P. Rayray
Contributor

PARIS, France--I was behind our door ready to ring the bell when I heard my 10-year-old daughter asking her father to help her out with something. She sounded so excited. I heard her repeatedly saying, "Please, Papa..." I decided to eavesdrop for a while and find out what my daughter was up to.

In mixed French-English-Filipino words she said, "Tu peux m'aider (could you please help me), Papa? I have to do this exposition about the Philippines when I go back to school, but I cannot do it alone. It's not easy. Please, Papa..."

"Lhyanne, antayin mo si Mama at sigurado marami siyang alam (wait for your mother, I'm sure she knows a lot)," my husband replied.

"Pero Mama is toujours occupée (But mama is always busy)." Hearing this, I rang the bell. After kissing them, I asked about what was worrying her and assured her that my work schedule would not be so tight in the next two weeks since it was spring break. I would have time to help her out.

"May exposition ako about the Philippines, I have to present the geography, culture, history, commerce, etc. I have two weeks. I have to explain why Filipinos are called 'people of the sea,'" she added in French.

Out of nowhere, my son jokingly butted in: "Mga syokoy daw mga Pilipino, yun ang alam ng mga Pranses. Manood ka kasi ng TV Patrol (Filipinos have fish tails, that's what the French know about us. Just watch TV Patrol)."

My daughter flared up. "That's nonsense, Kuya. They're just scary stories...Fiction!"

It was time to meddle and calm her down before a quarrel erupted. I promised Lhyanne that night that we would work on her presentation together and that she would have the best exposition ever presented in her class.

My children weren't born here in France. I brought them here five years ago, (my daughter when she was five and my son when he was nine). Life is never easy when you're abroad, but it is not any easier when you are away from your children. So no matter how hard, my husband and I decided to have them with us here in Paris.

They spoke good Filipino when they had just arrived. We made sure that Filipino would be the language at home as they might forget it if we only speak French. Later on, I decided to integrate English as well because it is a necessity. My son is coping fairly well. My daughter, well, she has all the three languages mixed up. We don't worry about it and hope that she will sort them out in time just like my son. For sensitive issues, my husband and I talk in our native dialects--Ilocano and Pangasinense.

Love of country

For the entire spring break, my daughter and I worked head-to-head to come up with a well-presented exposition about our home country. My tiresome day would vanish as I listened to her enthusiastically retell what she had learned from Wikipedia.fr, enumerating our country's scenic spots (I knew them by heart when I was younger).

Her eyes would glow as she proudly recited the history of the Philippines, from Magellan's landing to President Arroyo. With our joint research, hers from the French website and mine from stock knowledge and informative Philippine tourism websites, we came up with a beautifully designed, well-sequenced--complete with photos--"Philippine exposition."

The last few days were spent training her for the oral presentation. "Mama, what if they ask me to sing the national hymn?" she suddenly asked in the middle of her presentation practice. "I surely would not be able to do it."

I printed out "Lupang Hinirang" and taught her how to sing it. This won't do, I thought. She barely understood the lyrics, how much more if she were asked to translate them. I foresaw a disaster. While singing the last lines, a familiar tune began humming in my ears: "Ako ay Pilipino, ang dugo'y maharlika..." I sang it out loud and started moving my hands to the beat, singing it with all my heart. My girl seemed enchanted. She listened closely and was startled to see tears falling from my eyes. I, myself, was surprised. I got carried away.

You see, I'd done that for years in my school days, leading the song at the flagpole area where everyone gathered for the flag ceremony every morning. "That's how we pay tribute to the Philippine flag and show our love for our country," I dreamily narrated to her.

"You are sad, Mama kasi nami-miss mo ang Philippine, no?" I answered her with a kiss on the forehead and we both continued to practice singing "Ako Ay Pilipino" until bedtime.

She slept with a smile on her face and it felt so great seeing her that way. When was the last time I put her to bed myself? I just could not recall. A realization came flooding in. For the past few years, I have been so preoccupied with how-to-survive concerns in this part of the world (I work 10 hours a day to keep up with the European pace of living). I have barely bonded with my children. I am even surprised to see how much they have grown.

This Philippine exposition awakened me to the fact that I am a mother of two. That despite the fact that we are living in the Western world--which is not so family-oriented--we are still a Filipino family, bound by love and need. I shook my head determined to make up for lost time. It was not too late.

Proud to be Pinoy

Late afternoon of May 3, I received a text message from my husband: "Hurry home, Lhyanne has a surprise." I came home to find my daughter waving her cahier de correspondence, a notebook where teachers and parents communicate through notes and messages. There was a message from her teacher saying how brilliantly she had presented her exposition and congratulating us, her parents, for having a smart daughter like Lhyanne.

My daughter was so proud that she monopolized the conversation over dinner about how her classmates were amazed by the islands and the historical places she presented; how they admired the beaches and the culture of the Philippines.

She really had delivered her presentation so well that her classmates had voiced out their plans of asking their parents about visiting the Philippines on their summer holiday.

Nothing can compare to the feeling parents have when they see their child so overjoyed. We knew it wouldn't end there. Knowing our daughter, we expected a series of happy stories about her exposition.

The next day, she spent hours browsing Philippine websites for local animals, pearls, and the islands. She had a pile of printed pictures she planned to distribute to her friends the next day. Before bedtime she remarked, "Philippines is really a paradise. I love the Philippines so much." I nodded in agreement and bade her goodnight.

Thursday night, I came home late from church. I expected my daughter to be sound asleep but she had waited to ask me a question: "Ma, I told the class the Philippines will have a new president because there is an election on May 10. My maître (male teacher) asked me how many presidential candidates there were."

"There are nine, anak. Go to sleep now, it's way past your bedtime."

On Fridays, I get off from my job early. It marks the start of my three-day cooking schedule which ends on Sunday night. I rang the doorbell a couple of times but nobody seemed to hear me. This is weird, I thought. Where's my daughter, who rushes every night to open the door for me? I kept pressing the ringer until I got tired and dialed our phone number instead. My son picked it up. "What's taking you so long," I complained.

Apparently, he was in the bathroom and expected his sister to open the door. I walked into our bedroom looking for my daughter. There she was on our bed, lying on her stomach, sobbing.

"What's the matter, anak? Are you sick?"

"Is it true, Mama?"

She sat up on our bed and gave me a look of disbelief. "Ma, my friends said what I said in the exposition about the Philippines was not true. Their parents said they don't want to visit the Philippines, kasi c'est dangereux daw. There are many crimes and terrorists. And my teacher said our government is corrupt, maybe that's why so many want to be president. This isn't true, huh Ma? I hate him," she said and burst into tears.

I held her tightly to my breast. I too was heartbroken. I couldn't say a word. I pacified her somehow because she stopped crying and her shoulders steadied. She rose and asked, "Why are we here, Mama?" She bombarded me with her whys. "Why did we leave our country? Bakit po, Ma? Ang Philippines ang pinaka-beautiful country, di ba? Why do we live here? Can we just go back and stay there, forever?"

I bit my lip. I closed my eyes; I didn't know how to answer. I pulled her back to my chest and kissed her head while caressing her hair gently whispering, "You'll understand in time, mahal ko."

Last June 30, I felt my daughter approaching while I was undoing the laces of my sneakers. "Ma, I watched Noynoy kanina," she said, referring to the televised inaugural address of President Benigno Aquino III.

I sat up straight and grabbed her two hands while examining her eyes. "So how was it? How did it go?"

She sat on my lap, her nose wrinkled. "He spoke Tagalog. Ma, I would like to understand everything that he said."

"Sure thing darling...Go turn on the computer and I'll follow after putting the groceries away."

Editor's note: The author is an English tutor and editorial assistant in Paris. Lhyanne, by the way, had another talk with her teacher and feels a little better. A sequel to this story, said Marilyn, will be posted next week on www.mnnetherlands.com.

My journey home

2010-06-28T01:10:56Z

By Philip C. Yan
pcyjourneyhome.blogspot.com

Editor's Note: Philip Angel Casado Yan, 62, died on December 24, 2009. This piece was among his last blog posts, dated September 19 and 20, 2009.

I came to the United States in 1987, 22 years ago. All this time, I celebrated my "Filipinohood," but never cherished it. I assimilated easily into the American lifestyle.

I enjoy cheeseburgers and apple pie. I watch every sport covered by a three-letter association or league--NBA, NFL, PGA, MLB, and sometimes, even WWF. I drive an automatic. Garden barbecues are not uncommon.

I watch July 4th fireworks every year. I visit San Francisco and San Diego and other vacation spots. I vote. I pay my taxes (sometimes, just in the nick of time).

I used to contribute to SSI and Medicare; now I draw Medicare. I maintain my health insurance plan. I pay my car registration and renew my license and passport on time.

I know how to use the Thomas Guide (lately replacing my Thomas Guidebook with a GPS). I know what to do when I hear a sig alert (traffic accident advisory). I know when the best shopping days are.

In short, I'm probably more American than some Americans.

Yet, after all this time, I feel incomplete. I have regrets I will never be able to shake. I have too much unfinished business to ever catch up. I have almost forgotten what it means to be Filipino: To suffer the stifling heat while riding in a jeepney, breathing in diesel-laden air that makes collars turn almost black along the edges; to walk along the edge of Manila Bay in Luneta at sunset; to tread my way up Session Road in Baguio, without getting tired; to enjoy a stick of pork barbecue in Baclaran's barbecue plaza; to buy and enjoy taho from an itinerant vendor.

To sit in a coffee shop the whole morning with nominal compadres, drinking cup after cup of coffee and smoking "blue seal" Winstons, talking politics and solving the country's problems; to call everyone "Pare" or "Mare."

Is Manila still home for me? Or is home for me where I now live and breathe?

That, I guess, is part of the journey--to know where my home is...because there I will find my heart.

This is a long journey I am starting. It will wind through thought and emotion, through the world around me. It will wake my senses because I must write down everything I sense, every thought, every impulse. It is only with a concentrated effort to open my mind and heart to everything around me, because amid the flowers and flotsam, I will find my way home.

Where is home?

Before I can really begin my journey home, I must ask myself: Where is home?

For 22 years I have lived here in the US. Like many Pinoys, I have taken a few trips back to Manila.

But why do many Filipinos ask--when talking about upcoming vacations--"Uuwi ka ba?" And why is the reply always "Uwi ako sa amin?"

Home is where the heart is. And I have learned, after all this time, that my heart is--and has always been--in the Philippines.

In my mind, I still go to Araneta Coliseum for the NCAA games. I still go to Aristocrat for pork barbecue, La Cibeles for chocolate y churros and Ferino's for bibingka. I still hear mass at the Ateneo College chapel in Loyola Heights and pray novenas at St. Jude's near Malacañang.

Kuh Ledesma, Sharon Cuneta, Martin Nievera and his father Bert, Rico J., Joey Albert--they and many others sang tunes that still ring in my ears. The mere thought of Dolphy makes me smile.

I still remember the row of stores in front of Stella Maris--Mercury Drug, Commander Drug, Ma Mon Luk, Robina rotisserie chicken, the Chinese-owned watch and jewelry store, and Aguinaldo's. I remember jeepney rides, but at that time there were two "sizes"--the ACs and the PUJs.

I remember JD, MD, and CAM transit--three bus lines owned by the same family and garaged on Aurora Boulevard close to the 15th Avenue corner. Remember City Cab--owned by the family of a school mate--which used Mercedes Benzes for their taxis?

And the theaters we frequented--State, Avenue, Galaxy, Universal, Cinerama. The hotels--Intercon in Makati, and Bayview, Holiday Inn, Hyatt Regency, and Manila Hotel among others along Roxas Boulevard. My favorite restaurants haunt my memory and my taste buds--Casa Marcos, Aristocrat, Wa Nam, Milky Way, Mingging's, Brown Derby, Savory, Max's, Cafe Esperanza.

And, of course the people--my people. Laughing, playing, crying, loving, and living with passion and zeal. With unbridled hope, and a never-ending belief that the best is yet to come.

As my days wind down, I think and wonder "Did I leave my paradise for whatever I now have? Was it worth it? Did I do right to leave?" Sometimes I wonder...oftentimes I feel pangs of regret.

Did I leave home?

Me and Mooplace

2010-06-15T05:57:12Z

I am a 48-year-old certified Internet junkie, and I click almost anything after a short scrutiny if the site is safe or suspiciously viral. I am attracted by colorful graphics and flowery worded texts. And that is how I got to know about Mooplace.

I was browsing over the INQUIRER.net and I happened to catch the words "New Zealand," "networking site," and "100% Filipino." Clicking on the link, I got caught even further when it mentioned a carabao as its logo. And I asked myself, "How Filipino can a site get?"

Signing up, I was welcomed by very friendly members, foremost of which was its creator, Bob Carpenter. It was from him that I learned about the interesting name of Mooplace and his reasons for putting it up. More interesting is how he became a Kiwinoy, courtesy of his marriage to a smart and hardworking Filipina--Edith from Pampanga.

Browsing through the members, I found familiar names that went with friendly faces. Everyone looked and sounded Filipino. I liked the things I could do with my page and the quiet it exuded and I immediately warmed to it. It simply felt HOME.

The most exciting that happened to me at Mooplace was the photo contest. At the time I was a member, it was already the second photo contest. I am not much of a joiner in competitions like this. For one, I don't consider myself a professional and I just do photography as a hobby when there's nothing else to do when the Net goes off. So, it didn't really matter if my entry won or not. At the back of my mind was also a question as to whether the contest was for real. Well, there were the past contest winners posted on the site. For whatever it was worth, and because I didn't want an empty space on my page, I searched for one of my favorite shots and entered it in the contest.

You can imagine my delight when my entry won third prize. Even more delightful when my prize was mailed to me so soon, I had to read my e-mail thrice before it finally dawned on me that the Mooplace sponsors are really down to earth. And what better use did my prize go, but a Sony Cybershot with which I am now using to shoot more photos to share at Mooplace.

The photo contest was an opportunity for everyone to have more friends as more friends meant having more to vote for your entry. For the site, it meant more members as the photo contestants invited more friends to join the site. Yes, the photo contest fulfilled its purpose for the site and its members. As far as I am concerned, it gained me Filipino friends from all over the world.

With the goodwill created by this experience, I knew that I will always be a Mooer. On the net, there is no home like Mooplace.

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What links Scots and Filipinos?

2010-03-11T04:26:31Z

By EU Ambassador to the Philippines Alistair MacDonald

Editors's Note: "Address by the Honorary Patron of the Manila St. Andrews Society, Ambassador Alistair MacDonald, on the occasion of the annual St. Andrews Ball, Manila Polo Club, 21 November 2009" is what the ambassador wanted for this blog's title.

Our Chieftain asked me to say a few words tonight, before we move on to more important things. I asked him if he wanted a 20-minute speech, a 30-minute speech, or something more substantial. He told me that about 2 minutes would be closer to the mark, because the haggis would be getting cold.

Nevertheless, within these constraints, I would like to say a word about the links between the Philippines, our host country, and Scotland, our native land. A couple of years back, Peter Beckingham* spoke at length (and for rather longer than 2 minutes) about Scots in the Philippines. I'd like to look at the other side of the coin--the growing number of Filipinos who have chosen to study or work in Scotland.

I did a quick Google on Scotland and the Philippines, Scotland and Filipinos, Scotland and Filipinas. And there were two main themes that I found there.

One was about fishermen--I hadn't realised myself that there were perhaps 500 Filipinos working on Scottish fishing vessels--enjoying the sun in Fraserburgh or Ullapool, and learning to send text-messages like "Fit like, mun?" I thought at first that this was a question of relative cost--and I was confirmed in that view by comments that the Filipino fishermen were earning the glorious sums of between £250 and £600 a month--not a lot, particularly if you think what the conditions are like on fishing-boats, out in the North Sea or the Minch. But I also found an article which suggested that salaries were a secondary consideration, and that the main attraction of employing Filipino fishermen was that they are simply good guys--they work hard, are easy to get on with, and as one skipper said, "They're great workers, but most of all ye can trust them. They dinna come home drunk or off their faces on drugs." Maybe this says more about Fraserburgh than it does about OFWs, but it was clear that the Filipino fishermen were generally very much welcomed by their hosts in the North-East.

The second main theme that I found in Google was about the desire of the growing number of Filipinos in Scotland to integrate with their host community. For example, I saw that the United Filipino Communities of Scotland, in Pollokshaws, was carrying out a search for Mrs. Philippines Scotland 2009. Perhaps more interestingly (particularly if one imagines all those beauties bundled up in their anoraks, scarves, and hot-water bottles), I also found an explanation for why the Filipinos prefer Scotland to England.

This was also from the United Filipino Communities of Scotland, where on their website I found a paper explaining that the first members of the Filipino community in the UK arrived in London in the late 1940's and early 50's and discovered the exotic pleasures of a ride on a double-decker bus, or a night of Latin rhythms with Edmundo Ros. But something was missing. And it wasn't until they went on to visit Scotland that they realised just what it was. London, they said, was missing any signs of ethnicity or roots. And in Scotland, we've got more ethnicity than you can shake a stick at.

There was even a suggestion that Filipinos and Scots must in fact, centuries or millenia back, share a common ancestry. The proof? Consider the strange similarity between Hoy, Ay Nako, and Och Aye the Noo. Consider also our joint preference, and I quote, "for strange songs and dances involving animal sounds and the possibility of severe personal injury." Not to mention our joint preference for truly appetising if unusual foodstuffs--balut, or haggis.

And with that mention of haggis (and of course of balut, though I don't think that this is on the menu tonight), I will leave you with the thought that Filipinos truly appreciate Scotland--just as Scots, and particularly those of us here tonight, very much appreciate our cheerful and generous hosts.

* Former British Ambassador to the Philippines Peter Beckingham.

Assessing potential change in Burma

2010-02-22T23:08:31Z

By Ko Ko Thett

Editor's note: Ko Ko Thett is a Burma analyst based in Helsinki. This article was initially available at http://www.irrawaddy.org/opinion_story.php?art_id=17863.

HELSINKI, Finland--For Burma politicians, policy advocates, activists, watchers, sympathizers, scholars, do-gooders, and donors, frustration is a fact of life since potential for change into a democratic society has eluded everyone for more than 20 years.

Mass movements and revolutions, informed and inspired by the 1988 overthrow of the Burma Socialist Program Party, have made no headway since 1988. While each failed mass movement has had tragic human costs to the lives of individuals involved in it, the regime's weathering of each storm seems to have prepared them better for the next.

The new Burmese capital of Naypyidaw is now conveniently located at least 300 kilometers from each of the most populous cities, Rangoon in the South and Mandalay in the North, so people power cannot come near the government's seat of power.

The country's economy in real terms has worsened for the bottom 50 million, and the increased polarization of wealth offers little hope for those who argue "economy precedes politics."

The hardship for the people was so great even the sangha, who are supposed to be above the mundane world, came out en masse in late 2007, in what would be known as the Saffron Revolution.

The recent series of sit-ins for higher wages by Rangoon garment industry workers, most of whom are ladies carrying for extensive families, is just another indication of the dire straits of the common people. In Burma, one employed person may be supporting five unemployed persons--social protection by the state is non-existent save a measly pension scheme for veterans and former government employees.

Whereas the Burmese regime has made the best of its geopolitics and regionalization vis-à-vis the Asean countries, China and India, globalization and all its purported glories have passed over the country. If anything the global thirst for energy and the global security paranoia have favored the Burmese generals. As such, other factors indicative of democracy, such as the emergence of an enlightened middle class, the existence of a strong and independent civil society, the rescue of the country by a disillusioned political leadership within the government remain far-fetched.

The staunch opposition led by Aung San Suu Kyi has been the "voice of hope" for the politically minded section of the society and their Western supporters, but they have not shaken the regime since government functionaries at large remain unaffected. It can be argued that the "unaffectedness" has been caused by the regime's systematic persecution that is designed to isolate charismatic dissidents from the people. Inevitably, the Burmese opposition, as well as their Western supporters, are handy scapegoats that the regime can blame for its own failures.

The entrenched and institutionalized conflict between the ethnic autonomy groups and the central regime has also served as a way for the Burmese military to justify its militarist expansionist policies. Even natural and man-made calamities of great magnitude, such as Cyclone Nargis and the famine in Chin State, which would have huge potential for change in other societies appear to have only hardened the regime's callousness toward the suffering of the people.

Make no mistake. The regime's initiative, the "Road Map to Democracy," does not offer a glimmer of hope. All institutions advocated by the author Robert Dahl as vital for any large-scale democracy: elected officials, free fair and frequent elections, freedom of expressions, alternative sources of information, associational autonomy, inclusive citizenship, are nowhere to be found on the Road Map, except for "elected officials" who are widely anticipated to be elected in a controlled, regime-friendly parliament. In addition, the threat of another military coup always lurks beneath the current Constitution. Another putsch means going back to the late 1980s, if not the early 1960s.

Yet no matter how well prepared the regime is, the 2010 elections, and all the elections thereafter, will not be foolproof. Inasmuch as the looming elections have cornered the opposition into a "double bind," the regime is also acutely aware that it is walking a tight rope holding a balancing pole they call the 2008 Constitution. The regime has to balance between two inherently contradictory quests: one for national and international legitimacy and the other for the top generals' need to remain as sole arbitrators of state power, which is essential for them to be able to avoid the fate of fallen dictators.

If the elections are free, fair, and inclusive, as the international community insists, the regime risks losing a bigger-than-expected slide of their power--even within the current constitutional context. If the elections are not free and fair, the regime will be met with continued international condemnation and local resistance, a continuation of the status quo.

It would not be surprising if the generals in Naypyidaw are as apprehensive about the 2010 elections as the opposition itself. Perhaps, the opposition should treat the 2010 elections as an opportunity for change, including much desired constitutional change.

If history is any guide, elections all over the world have undermined colonial and authoritarian systems, rather than entrenched them. Elections, even defined and sponsored by repressive regimes for their own sake, usually backfire since they tend to arouse political debate, increase political awareness, and promote people's participation in politics.

Dad writes to daughter about Valentine's

2010-02-10T03:25:52Z

Or The Audacity of Love

(Editor's note: Noel Bautista is Papa to Nicole, who is turning 17. Noel calls himself "an accidental migrant" in Wellington, New Zealand. This is his "love letter" to his daughter.)

Dearest Nicole,

Terminal, chronic presumptuousness is an ailment that is very hard to recover from, as the name of the condition implies, and especially as regards your unica hija.

I labor under the misimpression that you will heed the counsel of the years, my counsel, no matter how flawed it is, and that despite the many mistakes I have made in my life, you will find it worth your time to listen to your old man.

One caveat though: On the subject I am about to rant and rave, I am no expert, in fact I have stumbled, risen, and stumbled again, many times over. I have only the benefit of committing the same errors enough times to know that you learn only through your mistakes, and that the race goes not to the one who runs the fastest, but to the one who keeps on running.

** ** ** *

I cannot emphasize enough what I say here now: Love is a powerful thing, it's not just a romantic platitude to say that Love makes the world go round. It is a primeval, elemental force that all the wisest men in the world have not even begun to understand. It is like a potent talisman that unleashes tremendous power to a prudent user, but wreaks havoc to those who do not learn to harness its awesome strength.

Look anak, I'm not trying to be vague, pahocus-pocus sounding, or purposely trying to conjure obscure images of otherworldly powers. Love is very real, and very definitely life-changing. It literally creates and shapes destinies before our very eyes, so fundamentally that we take it for granted and are largely unaware of it.

By posing just three questions that have heretofore always remained at the back of your mind but which you've been itching to ask, I can show you how Love is related to almost all of them.

Probably the most obvious is: Despite the love that existed between your mother and me for many years, why did it not survive beyond your adolescence, for all its vaunted longevity and intensity?

The gift of love that has been generated and nurtured between two people is not enough to accept and allow its existence. To borrow from Peter Parker's Uncle Ben: With great love comes great responsibility. You have to recognize that--especially after the honeymoon phase of a relationship--you progress from the stage of being in love with to loving a person. I'm not saying your mother and I didn't do this, probably we just didn't do it long enough. For that I am truly sorry.

One good lesson though that we can cull from that is: Just because one and the other are destined to be together does not mean they will live happily ever after. In fact, a declaration (and affirmation) of love often signals the start of an adventure in dedicating one's life for your loved one.

I go to the second question you seem to have asked me in gestures and in phrases. Given his rather reckless adventures in romance, is your brother not loving too much, or too hard?

You may laugh at my response, but I think it may be the opposite. What he truly loves, he cannot possess. And to compensate for this, he turns to those companionships that will not reject him. Do you know what I mean? Rather than being rejected by what he considers pure, noble, and ideal, he prefers to dwell within the comfort zone of those who will accept him.

It sounds trite but it is often true. Men offer love for intimacy, while women provide intimacy in return for what they perceive is love. While women learn early enough not to extend expectations based on this reality, men take a little longer. But then again, for some reason, women, who I submit are smarter than men, seem to have a blind spot in matters of the heart. Both for your and my peace of mind, I sincerely hope you learn from the mistakes of your parents and heed the lessons of history.

On that note, you should probably just give your brother a little more time.

Which brings us to a third question, which you have asked in many forms: If it comes to such a point, do I follow my head or my heart, when I feel like falling in love with someone?

The only way I can answer such a query (which I hope doesn't translate to reality in the near future) is notwithstanding all the fear generated in me (and most probably your mother as well), I go so far as to say this: If you dare to love someone whom you feel in your heart of hearts deserves such love, you will not regret it. Scary words from a scared dad, but engraved in stone. Ironically, not all the purest and noblest intentions will assure that you will have made the right choice. For in matters of love, who can tell, until the day we die, whether or not we have made the right choice?

** ** ** **

What I'm trying to say, anak, I guess is that you should not deny yourself the discovery of Life that Love makes possible, but at the same time not be overwhelmed by the crests and troughs of the rollercoaster that is Love. It is one of the truly defining experiences of our existence, but it comes at a great price: Love consumes you, and if you allow it to do so, it overcomes you pitilessly, remorselessly, till you are but an empty shell.

If I sound too passionate about a subject, it is only because I know the time is soon coming when you will fall in love. At least, you can fall back on your father's feeble words.

Promise you'll tell me if and when you do fall in love, OK? I just want to see the guy. Grrr.

I'm very lucky to have such a wonderful daughter like you, I love you and I miss you always.

Please kiss sabay hug your bros for me OK? Happy Valentine's Day!

Papa

The math of putting an OFW in the Senate

2010-01-21T05:31:20Z

By Digno Dennis Durens

(Editor's note: Excerpted from a post in the e-group of Filipinos abroad who are batting for the senatorial candidacy of OFW Rudy Dianalan. The Commission on Elections is still deliberating his inclusion in the official list of senatorial candidates.)

There are 7 million overseas Filipino workers worldwide. Assuming 30 percent will be able to vote, that's about 2.1 million votes. Assuming an average family size of 4 (husband, wife, and two children of voting age), that's now 8.4 million votes. I am sure that we can convince our immediate family 100 percent to vote for a fellow-OFW. Assuming further that each of the 2.1 million OFWs with a chance to vote will target 15 other Filipinos from his/her circle of relatives (parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, nephews, nieces) and friends (barkada, kaklase, kapitbahay, kababata, etc), this is equivalent to 31.5 million votes. The total of 39.9 million (8.4 plus 31.5) votes is I think enough to send one "kabayan" to the Senate.

Now that we are able to see the numbers, we should realize that this is no longer wishful thinking, that we can do this. However, we must do our share in the whole scheme of things: 15 votes from your immediate circle of relatives and friends is not a huge task. I actually think we can even target 20 to 30.

Relatives are easy, friends--madami dyan nakakatikim lagi ng tsokolate, sabon, lotion at iba pa tuwing dadating ka, di pa kasali ang inuman at kainan at kunting pautang sa oras ng kagipitan. Now is the time to at least ask for a small return favor. Another positive factor: Communications today is very easy; e-mail, text, cheaper long distance calls. It really doesn't matter kung nasa abroad tayo, we can still do our share in the campaign.

Here is another helpful tip: Every voter will probably have 5 to 8 senators out of the 12 in their individual preferential list. Ang balance dyan ay panakip butas na lang, just to complete the 12 allowed votes. In my experience, kadalasan 1 or 2 votes for senators ay minadali na dahil wala ng oras. Kadalasan di mo na nga matandaan kung sino yung last 2 or 3 na napili mo. Given this, it will not be that hard to tell our friends or relatives, paki sali naman yung isang manok natin, kahit doon na lang sa panapon na boto nya, para di naman masayang ang vote nya.

I'm sure that after looking at the above scenarios, we can all feel positively na kaya natin to. We must do our share. The assigned task for each is so easy, sa isang oras na text lang or e-mail baka na-accomplish na natin ang share natin. Alam na natin that we need some representations at the highest level, yung taong kaisa natin, galing sa atin.

Now ikalat na natin ang mathematical calculation na to, na we can do it and it's really very easy.

We have been glamorized as modern day heroes, savior of the nation, redeemer in times of economic distress. Pero hindi natin maramdaman eto and individually as an OFW wala naman tayong nakikitang prestige or glamor.

The facts are pag nasa Pinas tayo, sinisigawan lang tayo ng isang sekyu sa airport at tinataboy ang ating mga mahal sa buhay na parang mga hayop na umalis na at madaliin ang pagpapa-alam.

Saan ba sila naghihintay pag dumadating ka? Sa isang higanteng hawla, kala mo pumunta ka sa Manila Zoo. Paghalik mo tuloy sa asawa mo at mga anak mo nahilamusan ka pa ng pawis nila.

Pag nasa POEA ka, doon sa basement ka kukuha ng OEC, at ganun din kabangis ang asal ng mga sekyu at workers doon. Pag nagipit ka, sino ba ang nalalapitan mo sa gobyerno, mayron naman dyan pero libo-libo kayong may problema, kaya wala kang priority. May programa ba tayong purely for OFWs? I think wala. Sa SSS at Pag-big at Medicare, singit lang tayo. Ang OWWA naman, aywan kung ano to, basta nagbayad tayo kasi kailangan ng OEC.

Nakita nyo ba sa TV yung mga depedents natin nag-aaway-away na sa pila sa OWWA para makahiram lang ng sampung libo dahil sa nakaraang bagyong Ondoy at Pepeng. Madami tayong hinaing, maraming problema ang supposed to be heroes na alam naman natin na "lip service" lang ang bansag sa atin na to. "Hero ka dyan."

Our impact on our country is gained from our collective efforts particularly yung suma total ng ating remittances. The key word or the operative word here is "collective." Individually, walang effect. Yung $1,000 na pinadala mo, walang effect. But the $1,000 na pinadala ng 5 milyong OFWs sa isang buwan is equivalent to $5 billion, yun ang may impact. Its about time para gamitin din natin ang ating collective power, we have this in our hands but not as individuals but as OFWs collectively, acting as one huge, gigantic force.

Let's start with this electoral exercise, iparamdam na natin kung sino tayo. Let's start doing things from the position of strength. Pakita natin na we are a force to reckon with, that we can indeed make or break our nation. One OFW in the Senate is not too much to ask for. Set aside natin ang president and vice president. I'm sure we have our own choices. Kaya natin to, look at the numbers and look at your share in the undertaking. Peanuts, no sweat. Let's not forget the operative word "collective." For once, let us start being one.

Copenhagen circus

2009-12-12T05:26:56Z

By Tony Oposa Jr.

(The author is an environmental lawyer and a 2009 Ramon Magsaysay Awardee. He serves as legal adviser and delegate of the Federated States of Micronesia to the Montreal Protocol and to the climate change negotiations.)

MANILA, Philippines--What shall we do with gold?

The highly vulnerable countries like the small-island states and the Philippines are now suffering irreversible damage and irreparable injury as a result of climate change.

The crumbs that the overconsuming countries (OCCs) are dangling before the highly vulnerable countries (HVCs) as possible adaptation funds are a form of legalized bribery to the leaders of these countries to silence them in international forums.

]]> Money poured into the HVCs, which often suffer from a lack of good governance systems, often simply find their way into wasteful projects, if not lining undesirable pockets.

Besides, what will small-island states do with all the gold in the world when they are sinking? Gold will only weigh them down, making the small islands and low-lying areas sink faster and deeper. Can the three billion people in mainland Asia who depend on the melting of the Tibetan-Himalayan ice sheets for their water drink or eat paper money?

The wise words of a native American leader more than a century ago comes to mind: "Only when we have cut down all the trees, poisoned all the rivers and killed all the fish will we suddenly realize that we cannot eat money."

Delegates' toxic emissions

The climate change negotiations in Copenhagen which will culminate for the year in the next six days is a circus. It is a case of too much talking and doing too little too late.

The islands are drowning, the rivers are fast drying up, and the soils are cracking from drought. Yet international negotiators talk and talk. By doing so, they increase methane emissions from their alimentary canals and the carbon dioxide emissions from the food they produce, the airplanes they take to and from Copenhagen, and all the heating and air-conditioning of their hotel rooms and conference venues.

And at the end of the conference, and after all is said and done, more is said than done. The OCCs refuse to change their overconsumptive lifestyles. They refuse to turn off the wasteful lighting that turn night into day, their heaters and air-conditioning units that run 24/7. They refuse to stop using their wasteful SUVs, or reduce their wasteful packaging and change their throw-away habits. They say they cannot do these because they do not want to disrupt their economies.

Clean Development Mechanism

Instead, they dangle a few million dollars before the low-consuming highly vulnerable countries and urge them not to copy their overconsuming lifestyles. They call it the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) which, before one even sees the first dollar, one must spend at least a hundred thousand dollars to pay for consultants and verifiers which all come from the OCCs. This is a perfect case of getting fried in our own lard.

The low-consuming HVCs, or at least some of their leaders, are only too eager to lick the crumbs from the hands of the OCCs. Worse, formerly low-consuming countries like China, India, the Philippines and the rest of the so-called developing countries all want to copy the lifestyle of the OCCs in order to develop.

A recent study showed that if every human being in the world were to copy the lifestyle of the average American, we would need five earths to satisfy our consumption needs. Since there is only one Earth, the lifestyle of America and the other OCCs is, therefore, not the way to go.

Return to balance

The OCCs--Britain, the United States, etc.--invented the technology to bring the world to the environmental crisis that we find ourselves in. It is their moral and legal duty to do all that is necessary to return the atmospheric balance into what it was before they fouled it up, to restore the carbon dioxide content in the air to where it was in preindustrial levels.

The OCCs will say that this is not possible. If so, then let them write this into the international documents that will come out of Copenhagen or in subsequent conventions, as a record for posterity. This record will come in handy 10, 50, a hundred years from now and many generations hereafter, when descendants of the countries that will run out of water or will sink into the oceans can point to this as their principal evidence. This will serve as excellent piece of evidence of the arrogance of the OCCs in a case to be filed in court filed by our descendants against theirs for the damage and deaths that we and the rest of the world will suffer.

Faltering negotiations

In the spectrum of state relations, negotiations come before legal action. But with the climate change negotiations now faltering and failing, and with the HVCs now suffering multibillion damage and multiple deaths, it is a matter of time, a very short period of time, before they resort to legal action.

In fact, some of the top international environmental litigators are already gearing up for this eventuality. The obvious targets will be the overconsuming countries and possibly, car manufacturers, cement factories, fossil-fuel producers and coal-fired power plants.

Yes, it is a matter of time.

The migrant condition

2009-11-08T17:32:22Z

By Walden Bello Member of the House of Representatives of the Philippines representing Akbayan

The migrant worker experience is one that is increasingly typical. Let's start with myself. I am now back in the Philippines, but I spent nearly 20 years as a political exile in the United States during the Marcos dictatorship. During that time I survived by working as a journalist, teaching, doing research, and taking on odd jobs in different American cities.

]]> Multiple sites, multiple identities

This experience of multiple sites of work during one's active years is not too different from that of the Palestinian engineer who returns to the West Bank or Gaza after working in Kuwait, Egypt, and the United States. Nor from that of the Mexican peasant who goes to the United States to work in a variety of jobs, returns to tend to his or her farm in Morelos for extended periods, then heads back to Chicago. Nor from that of the Keralan who alternates between tending a small shop back home built with savings from her overseas work and long stints serving as domestic help in the Gulf countries.

With multiple sites of work have come multiple identities. Over the years, in addition to our original identity, we begin to regard our country of work as our home, indeed even with some affection, even when that country is not hospitable to us. And beyond identities forged by nationality and residence, there is the identity of class--that becoming aware of a condition we share with so many others of different nationalities, that sense of being part of an international working class. Negative and positive realities

But let us not romanticize the lot of the globalized worker. Instability and lack of security is the condition of many. Capitalism in the neoliberal era destroys jobs at home and creates them elsewhere, forcing many into dangerous transborder journeys to find those jobs. Unregulated as it is today, capitalism is marked by periods of expansion and contraction. When contraction arrives, the lot of the migrant becomes a perilous one, as opportunistic politicians scapegoat him or her for the loss of jobs of workers from the dominant culture. This is the situation in the developed countries today, where discrimination, police repression, and deportation have become pervasive. In Europe, this is accompanied by cultural stigmatization, with migrants of Muslim origin being defined as the "Other."

But let us not be too negative either about our host societies. These are often democratic societies where there are rights and liberties that are institutionalized. Many migrants, of course, are deprived of a number of these rights and liberties, but in many respects, these polities provide a model of what is possible in our societies of origin, where rights and liberties are fragile if not non-existent and political corruption is pervasive. Women from many developing societies find in their host societies a level of respect and a state of formal equality with men that is sorely absent where they came from. Filipina women, for instance, are afforded in Europe and the United States the means to assert their reproductive rights via contraception which benighted forces make it difficult for them to obtain back home. They also have the right to divorce abusive or irresponsible partners, a course of action they are legally deprived of in the Philippines with its medieval code governing marriage. Crisis of the home economy

But when all is said and done, most migrant workers would probably prefer to stay and work in their countries of origin if they could find the jobs that would provide them with a decent living. This is why it is important for migrant advocates to understand the conditions which have made emigration from developing countries so pervasive over the last three decades.

Conditions of poverty and economic distress push people out of their societies, but these conditions are not natural. They are created. And in scores of developing countries since the late eighties the prime engine expanding poverty and economic distress has been structural adjustment programs pushed by the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank and trade liberalization promoted by the World Trade Organization (WTO) and trade agreements such as the North American Free Trade Agreement (Nafta).

Promoted under the guise of bringing about efficiency, these programs have destroyed agriculture and industry in country after country. In Mexico, severe cutbacks in state support for agriculture, efforts to roll back agrarian reform, and Nafta-imposed trade liberalization have made agriculture a losing proposition, forcing Mexico's peasantry, as the saying goes, to transfer en masse to the United States. In the Philippines, structural adjustment has destroyed the country's industrial base and with it, hundreds of thousands of industrial and manufacturing jobs, while WTO-imposed trade liberalization has made farming unattractive for peasants whose products cannot compete with the subsidized commodities being dumped by the US, Europe, and other countries. For many of these displaced farmers and their children, relocating to the urban metropolis is followed by emigration.

The remittance economy

So massive has been the unraveling of our industrial and agricultural base wrought by neoliberal policies that it is oftentimes only remittances from migrant workers that keep our home economies afloat--something that can be said without exaggeration of the Philippines. Remittances are critical and our migrant workers are to be complimented for their heroic role, but the remittance economy is no substitute for a vibrant domestic economy. Unfortunately, in the Philippines, our policymakers have made remittances a substitute for domestic production. Two-front war

Thus, to seriously address the problems they confront, migrants and migrant advocates cannot but be involved in a two-front war. On the one hand, we must struggle in our countries of origin to end the conditions of structural adjustment, trade liberalization, and other neoliberal policies that have eroded our industrial and agricultural base and destroyed millions of jobs. We must tell the US government and the European Union that we do not need aid; what we need is for you to stop imposing bilateral trade agreements and economic partnership agreements on us. What our countries demand is a halt to the structural adjustment programs still in effect in scores of countries in Africa and an end to further liberalization of trade under the WTO and bilateral and multilateral trade agreements. Of course, development has many other requirements, but stopping structural adjustment and trade liberalization is a sine qua non, a condition without which other indigenous development initiatives cannot prosper.

When it comes to the other front, in our host countries, the agenda is clear. We must aggressively assert what is the unvarnished truth: that migrants overwhelmingly make a positive contribution to the economy and culture of their host countries. We must frontally oppose state repression of migrants and confront the right-wing populist groups that scapegoat them. We must demand an end to the deportation of undocumented migrants, the rapid legalization and granting of full citizenship rights to those with papers and their children, and the facilitation of the achievement of legal status of those without papers.

Success in solving the dilemmas of migrants will necessitate progress in both these fronts. There is no guarantee of success in our advocacy, but unless we confront the challenges in both fronts, we are sure to fall short of our goals.

Tagline: Speech delivered at the People's Global Action Conference during the Global Forum for Migration and Development, Athens, Greece, November 1, 2009.

Blue passport blues

2009-06-24T01:12:15Z

By Ninotchka Rosca

DESPITE the admonition not to arrive before 7 a.m., 50 people were already lined up before the Brooklyn Courthouse reception. It was 7:05. I had flown to New York from Los Angeles the night before and was to fly back at 4:00 p.m. I was about to take my oath of citizenship. I'd considered postponing but all my Filipino friends screamed: TAKE THE OATH!

The decision to be a US citizen, made after months of angst almost four years ago, morphed into weirdness. First, along with the application for naturalization, one had to list all trips outside the US since becoming a permanent resident. Fortunately, I'd kept all seven of my Philippine passports; the list ran to three pages single-spaced.

]]> Then the questions: have you ever been a prostitute? Not yet. Have you ever been a member of the Communist Party or any of its affiliates? Come to think of it, I REALLY don't know.

Humor is not an option, a lawyer-friend said, write no. $400 filing fee; $300 for renewal of permanent residency; $70 for biometrics, $1,000 lawyer's fee.

Three months later I was told to submit to biometrics. Blood sample, DNA swab, lock of hair? Be there at 10:00 a.m. or your application will be considered abandoned. Resistance is futile. At 9:00 a.m., 45 men, women and children shrieking in the cold were lined up before the service center. Smug in what I thought was an appointment, I headed straight for the front door and was promptly sent back to the end of the line.

Biometrics

Biometrics, it turned out, meant fingerprints. Long line outside; long line inside. Read two sci-fi books. Suffered 32 attempts at digitalizing my prints. Then I was handed a tissue paper to wipe my fingers. Curious, I asked a clerk why I was made to stand in line when the INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service) gave me an appointment. His reply: "I don't know why they do that; it's always been first come, first served."

Almost a year later came another notice. You have to take the civics exam; questions and answers are online and in a booklet available at any INS office. I read 32 books on American history; took the online practice test 144 times, scoring 100 percent correct 140 times; memorized the Star-Spangled Banner; read the US Constitution and all the amendments thereto. Be there at 9 a.m., said the INS, or your application will be considered abandoned.

Old-fashioned bank teller windows lined one end of the humongous INS office. A tight-lipped woman took the note and said: take a seat; your name will be called. I was in the middle of my 2nd sci-fi book when I noticed that those with easy names were told to go to Door No. 1; those with "difficult" names like Abou Amadilatif were sent to Door No. 2. Hmmm. Then the thunder of my name came over the public address system with the dreadful words: Door No. 2!

I've been a New Yorker so long extreme anxiety turns me Jewish. Oich vech, I muttered, now the pogrom comes; why oh why did you agree to have a book with someone on the terrorist list; everyone else was diving under the table then... doomed!

Dossier

You come to me because I am the only one with the security clearance to access your file, said the agent when I asked why Door No. 2. He was white, seemed 11 feet tall, had a Clint Eastwood profile.

I have a dossier?

Yes. How many stars are there on the American flag?

50. Can I read my file?

No. In 1969, you founded the SDK [Samahan Demokratiko ng Kabataan - Ed.] which was intended to recruit members for the Communist Party of the Philippines.

1969? Lord, that's just nostalgia. And it's incorrect. Here, let me at it; I'll tell you what's true and not; I'll correct my dossier.

No. How many stripes are there in the US flag?

Thirteen. I'll even input the corrections into the computer. Take two minutes, I swear.

Younger girlfriend

It went that way for about 30 minutes. Somehow, we got to his girlfriend being younger than he was. "She's 14 years younger; hey, I didn't go after her; she came after me... I had worries, reservations, I told her I was too old for her... who's the father of USA?"

George Washington. What do her parents say?

Oh, they're cool with it. It's quite different. My girlfriends before--the age difference wasn't that much. What do the 13 stripes stand for?

The 13 original colonies which revolted against England.

Some would find something wrong with my having a younger girlfriend. I say they're fundamentalists. What do you think of fundamentalists?

I don't. What kind of fundamentalists?

We'll get them all. You know the US Constitution, right? What do you think of it? Me, I think it's one of the greatest documents the world has ever had--not that I've read all of it.

'Can't you tell?'

I lost my cool. "You haven't read the Constitution? I read it cover to cover; I read all the 20-plus Amendments. I can recite the entire Preamble, whole Articles, and Sections... You, you, YOU haven't read it?"

We stared at each other. The incongruity of the situation totally escaped him.

He who had power over my citizenship hadn't read the Constitution. I was nonplussed. Luckily, another agent appeared, saying: "Hey, you know Wang, the Chinese guy... I just told him an ethnic joke."

First agent sent me a sidelong glance. "Be careful; there are rules. Look at her; she's watching you."

Second agent. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to offend. What nationality are you?"

First agent: "She's Filipino, can't you tell?"

Second agent: "I'm so sorry. I can't tell you people apart!"

The boss

They cracked up. WHAT IS THIS? Another man walked in and from the two's reaction, he was the boss.

"What's happening?" Good; a tongue-lashing! They told him. He looked bemused. "I have a question--how many presidents weren't born in the US?"

Seven, I thought. "You got me there," said the first. "But that's not allowed under the Constitution."

Boss: "They were born before the Constitution..." He walked to a poster of US presidents. "Let's see how many..." He counted seven.

"We should include that in the exam," said first agent. "Like a trick question."

Dismal person that I was, I didn't protest. When the two visitors left, first agent turned sympathetic.

"I'm recommending approval. See I'm signing it. But you have no FBI clearance."

WHAT?

Smoking in subway

"It's nothing. They're slow; they're backlogged. Your fingerprints came back clean, except for getting fined for smoking in the subway."

Outside, I found I had a great need to touch reality. Did I enter the right building or did I walk into an insane asylum?

The biometrics notice came again after two years. Be there at 10:00 a.m. or your application will be considered abandoned. Okay.

Two months after came a notice for additional papers and interview; first agent would speak to me again. Bet he and his girlfriend broke up. "So you broke up?" was my greeting. He was surprised. "How'd you know that?" "I had a premonition..." He interrupted me with a peroration against Younger Girlfriend as selfish, self-centered, wouldn't return the bed he bought her; he didn't care about the other gifts but--yaddah-yaddah-yaddah. Forty minutes of it!

He'd interviewed a mother and daughter the previous week. "The mother was kinda cute; I was kind of flirting..."

'Woman with powers'

"Wait! Another premonition," I said. "It's common among Filipinos. You'll have a happy relationship except she's not here. You must look for her outside--in bars, theaters, shops, just not here. A long and happy romance but she's not here; she's out there."

I gave him a I'm-a-Woman-With-Powers, you-nut-head look. Perhaps I could save some non-citizen woman. How do I get into these situations?

Now when could I take the oath? He speared me with a diabolical look and said: "Another two years!" And laughed himself silly.

Fortunately, it only took six months: You must notify INS at once if you are unable to comply.

Resistance was futile.

Where's the judge?

So 7 a.m. in Brooklyn, dying from tedium as 300 were processed. We filled the mahogany pews, 10 in each row. An hour, two hours... the judge was nowhere. We were each given a newsletter and a voter registration form. My seat neighbor, an Asian woman, waved the form: "Sign?" She said, "Sign?" She barely spoke English. How did she pass her civics exam?

We lined up before a table with three seated clerks. "Has anything changed since your interview?" No. "Have you traveled outside the country?" Yes. Philippines, Canada, and Antarctica... She didn't bat an eye. The guy next to her erupted: "What do I do? She doesn't speak English!" He was processing my seat neighbor. I ran away.

'Repeat after me'

Almost noon. Someone read the newsletter over the microphone. Finally, the judge walked in; we had to stand-sit. He delivered a sermon about his immigrant parents. Then he made us rise and raise our right hands. "Repeat after me..."

People behind me were laughing. My seat neighbor had her hand up in a Heil-Hitler salute as she muttered in a guttural voice. To whom was she swearing allegiance?

One guy, waving a small US flag, said he was taking his wife out to celebrate. What about you? Nothing, I said; I'm going home, filing away my citizenship certificate. Nothing? "Life goes on," I said, "citizen or not."

Unbearable sadness

Three months later, as I was replacing, with my just arrived US passport, the green Philippine one in my worn python-leather wallet, I had a moment of unbearable sadness. Green and I had fought so many battles together. When an Italian consul insulted it, saying Filipinas loitered in Italy to marry Italian men; I told her I'd dumped an Italian boyfriend for being less than sexually competent. My green passport and I had been mistaken for a mail-order bride, a housekeeper, an illegal...

I'd been a foot soldier in its struggle for validity and respect. The blue one, the most prized passport in the world, I'd acquired through a process I could only charitably call half-demented. Reality disappoints, truly.