Portrait of a Filipino

I was one of several speakers whose topics ranged from how to register corporations with the SEC, the workings of the Philippine Stock Exchange, the current status of the BPO industry, etc. The audience was composed of potential foreign investors and I was assigned to talk about Philippine history, some kind of a Welcome-to-the-Philippines sort of talk. The intention was for them to have a better understanding of Philippine culture, our people.

Preparing the slides for my talk, it got me thinking, do we really know who we are?

I decided to start off with current events and I wondered what foreigners thought if they read about the countless acts of selflessness during and in the aftermath of Typhoon Yolanda, the Filipinos being the most resilient people in the world who always found reason to smile even in the face of such unimaginable tragedy, the images of village folks clutching religious icons against a desolate and gloomy background, of boys playing basketball surrounded by flattened homes, of Yolanda’s victims finding time to set aside their grief for a while to cheer on a fellow Filipino in the boxing ring in his quest to redeem himself.

What then would they think if after turning the page they see stories about how our congressmen and senators shamelessly pocketed hundreds of millions in people’s money, how that same boxer tried to get away with tax evasion, how our government officials focused much energy on pointing fingers when thousands of our countrymen remained without relief goods for weeks after the typhoon?

Which one one these paint a portrait of the Filipino?

I thought, they would not be entirely wrong if they believe that we are Manny Pacquiao, the poor boy from Gen. Santos down south who made it to the top of the international boxing scene, who believed that his talent for knocking people out made him qualified to craft laws that would uplift the lives of his countrymen. They would be right too to think we are Lea Salonga, international theater and music star. We could be Apl D Ap, the boy from Olongapo who migrated to the U.S. of A. and is now living the American dream. And we are also Flor Contemplacion, found guilty of murder, executed in a Singaporean prison, who was only truly guilty of being poor, helpless and desperate.

Hundreds of years as slaves to different colonial powers may have had something to do with the contradicting portraits of what a Filipino is all about, I thought. For three centuries, the Spaniards made sure that we believed that we are a people inferior to their kind – the fair skinned, high-nosed kind. That we don’t have the power in our own country and they do, and that power meant they can do anything they want with the land and its people. Friars can father children, evict farmers from the land they tilled and nurtured all their lives, and execute Gomburzas and Jose Rizals who dared expose their presence here as an unwelcome cancer.

The 1898 Treaty of Paris taught us that we didn't matter in charting the future of our own country, and that all of these 7,107 islands and everything on, in and below it, its history, its people, cost only 20 million dollars. Then the Americans made sure we understood that our freedom did not depend on the Aguinaldos or the Sakays of this country, but whether they, the Americans, waving the flag of Manifest Destiny, believed we already deserve to be free. They made us believe that in order to teach us how to govern ourselves, we must not be allowed to govern ourselves.

Then there’s Martial Law under Marcos, where we learned that a government that is not by, for and of the people can be just as bad or even worse an enemy as foreign aggressors.

And now that democracy is supposed to have been restored, we are made to believe that we, the people, have the power. Do we? Maybe. And what have we done with that power? We voted rapists, plunderers and incompetent movie stars into office.

And how about the Filipinos who are in power? Don’t expect much, for hundreds of years they were made to believe that being in power meant getting away with almost anything, like the friar who raped a mother, they too now believe they can rape a minor; like the guardia civil who beat up Rizal when he didn’t take off his hat in his presence, they too now believe they can arbitrarily abduct, imprison and even kill anyone and get away with it.



When will we learn that it’s not about power, that being up there is really about responsibility.

And now we are free, so we believe. But are we, truly, free? How can we claim that when we continue to use the same prejudices that our former colonial masters used against us against our very own people today? How can we say we’re free when we continue to try to comprehend who we are and what we’re all about by looking at ourselves through American or Spanish eyes? And as Rizal said, what need do we have for freedom when the slaves of today will be the tyrants of tomorrow?

After I speaking for close to half an hour, I don’t think I was able to paint a clear portrait of the Filipino for my audience, for I myself have no clear idea. I guess that portrait is and will always be a work in progress.

A walk in the park

“Mukhang wala ring epekto yung petition natin,” shared the coach as he watched his team, my daughter among them, make the most of the last few minutes of sun to complete the day’s training session. I really don’t know for sure, I told him, but the letter from city hall I received months ago did say that they’re abandoning the plan to put up gates around Burnham Park and the concreting of portions of the Melvin Jones grounds.

As the sun continued to set, he shouts to the team, “Lipat tayo dun sa may ilaw,” and everyone moves towards one of the few lamp posts in the area. The team has been training diligently almost everyday after school. Most of the players get off at around 4:00pm, it takes them about an hour to get to Burnham Park and change into their jerseys and warm-up. The sun sets quite early these days, so they usually have just an hour of sunlight to train.

With the onset of the dry season, it’s also football season in Baguio. It’s also park season and every afternoon, seeing several football teams training, a group of ultimate Frisbee enthusiasts playing a game, children running around while they parents lazed on the mats laid out on the ground, a few pairs of young lovers dreaming of their future under a tree, an old couple perhaps reliving the past as they walk around holding hands (this is where they could have met, this is where they could have spent afternoons as a young couple, this is where they could have brought their children on weekends…), I know that just like our family, they too would be going home with a sense of calm. That’s only one of the wonderful things that being in a wide, open space surrounded by towering trees and colourful blooms provides…

…along with a renewed sense of being wonderfully alive and being one with the earth with the smell of grass and the feel of the ground under the warm sun on your skin. And that little smile we give each other as we pass each other by walking around the park… that forges a sense of community way better than empty slogans on tarpaulins.

The sun sets, it’s time to go home. We get up and brush off the grass on our backs, gather our things and start walking out. We pass by Lake Drive where the few remaining children on bikes beg their parents for one more round on that trike and off they go, pedalling as hard as they can, with cold wind on their faces, ahhh the exhilaration, excitement, the happiness, they won’t be able to do as much of that when they close that portion of Lake Drive for a whole month to sell substandard products from China and food prepared under questionable sanitary conditions – is it worth depriving children of a wonderful experience for whatever amount they earn whenever they hold the Market Encounter during the Flower Festival… besides, what does a tiangge have to do with a festival that was originally meant to celebrate God’s beautiful creations that this beautiful city has been abundantly gifted with?

We'll make the most of the next thirty sunsets at the park without the unsightly sight of haphazardly set up stalls that ruin the very essence, the very soul of what a park should be.

Desiderata (salinwika sa Pilipino)

Noong 1995, nakatambay kami sa bahay ni Ronnie Lazaro, nagkakape, nakikinig sa radyo. May nilabas siyang isang libro, sabi niya, "makinig kayo." "Sa Daigdig ng Kontradiksyon" ni Pete Lacaba yung libro, at sa isang bahagi, isinalin niya sa Tagalog ang Desiderata. Binasa ni Ronnie.

Mahabang katahimikan pagkatapos, tapos sabi niya, hindi ba't mas magandang sabihin ang Bayang Ginigiliw? Oo nga naman... pangkasalukuyan ang dating, hindi natatapos, tuloy-tuloy. Alam niyo ang kailangang gawin sa bayan ngayon? Tanong niya sa'min. Linisin.

Doon nabuo ang proyektong "Bayang Ginigiliw," simbolikong paglilinis ng Pilipinas. Sa Luneta, doon sa mapa ng Pilipinas, nagboluntaryo kaming linisin ang buong lugar. At kahit yung mapa lang ng Pilipinas ang napagpasyahan naming linisin, na akala namin ay kaya naming gawin sa loob ng ilang oras, inabot kami ng halos isang linggo. Marami-rami rin kami sa simula, ngunit ng nagsilisan na ang mga mamamahayag, ang mga manunulat sa diyaryo, ang mga camera ng mga potograpo't istasyon ng telebisyon, unti-unti ring nabawasan ang bilang namin. Sa bandang huli, mabibilang mo sa mga daliri mo ang naiwan.

Sa bawat araw ng paglilinis, parang dasal, binibigkas namin ang Panatang Makabayan, tapos susundan ng pagbigkas ng Desiderata, salinwika ni Pete Lacaba...

Naging personal kong tradisyon na isulat sa aking bagong planner kada taon ang pagsasalin na'to. Parang paalala ba, paalalang bubukadkad sa'kin tuwing bubuksan ko ang planner na 'to...

Kaninang bago mag alas-sais, ginawa ko ulit ito...

Desiderata, salinwika ni Pete Lacaba

Lumakad ng mahinahon sa gitna ng ingay at pagkukumahog, alalahanin ang kapayapaang maaaring makuha sa katahimikan.

(Parang ngayong umaga, unang araw ng baong taon. Pagod ang karamihan, mahimbing pang natutulog)

Walang isusuko hanggang maaari, pakisamahan ng mabuti ang lahat ng tao.

Sabihin ang iyong katotohanan ng tahimik at malinaw, at makinig sa iba, kahit sa nakayayamot at mangmang, sila man ay may kasaysayan.

(Nitong nakaraang taon, ninanis kong isigaw ang ilang katotohanang sa aking palagay ay kailangang mapakinggan. Ilan siguro rito ay mas mainam na nailathala ng mas mahinahon, hindi nga lang ganoon kadali kung ang iyong pinagsasabihan ay nagbibingi-bingihan)

Iwasan ang mga taong mabunganga at palaaway, sail'y ikinaiinis ng kalooban. Kung ihahambing ang sarili sa iba, baka yumabang ka o maghinanakit sapagkat laging may lilitaw na mas mahusay o mas mahina sa'yo.

Ikalugod and iyong mga tagumpay at mga balak.

(Masaya ako na sa kabila ng lahat, pagkatapos ng lahat ng mga gabing pagpupuyat, mga hapon sa lansangan dala-dala ang placard na nagsusumamo sa mga may kapangyarihan na huwag patayin ang mga punongkahoy sa Luneta Hill, karamihan sa mga ito ay mananatili doon, buhay, at maaari pang paramihin... may iba mang gusto pang ipagpatuoy ang away, ang labanan, ang bangayan... sa akin, mahigit isang daang puno ang mabubuhay at ang sinsasabing nagmamay-ari ng lupa ay nakinig at maaaring patuloy na makikinig sa mga ganitong adhikain, ikinalulugod ko ito...)

Manatiling interesado sa iyong trabaho, gaano man kababa - ito'y tunay na kapangyarihan sa pabago-bagong kapalaran ng panahon.

Maging maingat sa negosyo sapagkat ang daigdig ay puno ng panlilinlang. Subalit huwag maging bulag sa kabutihang nakikita, maraming nagsisikap na makamit ang mga adhikain. Sa lahat ng dako, ang buhay ay puno ng kabayanihan.

(Salamat sa isang Dok Mark, na lingid sa kaalaman ng karamihan, lingid mula sa mga camera ng media, ay linggo-linggong nasa Rizal Elementary School, dala-dala ang ilang kaldero ng masustansyang merienda para sa mga batang kapus-palad at nangangailangan ng pagkalinga)

Maging tapat sa sarili, higit sa lahat, huwag magkunwari.

(Kung may mga paang natapakan ko sa aking paglalakad, pasensya na.... hindi ko kayang ipagkait sa aking sarili ang ilathala ang mga katotohanang dapat ilathala...)

Huwag ding libakin ang pag-ibig sapagkat sa harap ng kahungkagan at kawalang-pag-asa, ito'y lagi't-laging sumisibol tulad ng damo.

Tanggapin ang payo ng katandaan, buong giliw na isuko ang mga bagay ng kabataan.
Pagibayuhin ang lakas ng loob at nang magkaroon ka ng pananggalang sa lahat ng kasawian. Subalit huwag ikaligalig ang mga haka-haka, maraming pangamba ang likha ng pagod at pangungulila.

(Siguro nga... kaya sa mga taong nagkakalat ng mga haka-haka't kasinungalingan, siguro sa taong ito, itulog at ipahinga niyo na lang muna...)

Supling ng sandaigdigang tulad rin naman ng punongkahoy at bituin, may karapatan kang manatili rito. At malinaw man sa'yo o hindi, walang dudang ang sandaigdigan ay bumubukadkad na tulad ng nararapat. Kung gayon, pakisamahan ang Panginoon, anuman ang pananaw mo sa kanya, at anuman ang iyong pinagkakaabalahan o minimithi.

(Mabait ang Diyos, at hinding-hindi siya maninira, mangaalipusta ng kanyang mga nilikha... kaya kung ika'y nangangaral tungkol sa Diyos, huwag sana sa mapanglait na pamamaraan...)

Sa kabila ng pagkukunwari, kabagutan at gumuhong pangarap, maganda pa rin ang daigdig.

(At yan ang totoo...)

Mag-ingat, sikaping lumigaya.

(Oo...)

Maligayang bagong taon!

O Christmas Tree

I don’t know what Wikipedia says about it, but to me a Christmas tree must, first and foremost, inspire. Certain Western theories say that it is a symbol of hope – during winter, at a time when most trees are devoid of leaves, a verdant Christmas tree represents Christ, a saviour appearing in a world filled with strife. I agree with that too.

And give hope. That’s what our Christmas tree at home stirs in me, a sense of hope. That despite all the troubles of the year that’s about to end, a new beginning is on the horizon with its promises that tomorrow will be better and we’ll be happier.

I used to ask our good neighbor for permission to prune their cypress tree towards late November. The cuttings I used to cover a conical frame I usually fashion with wood and chicken wire. For a few years that was a tradition and the scent of cypress was a reminder that Christmas, the season of love, of joy and happiness, was just around the corner. Christmas was, and is, always the happiest time of the year at home.

My wife is at her happiest during Christmas, her favorite time of the year, that happiness springs from making the rest of the family happy. No matter what our financial situation is, everyone would have a few gifts to unwrap. She’s wonderful that way. Christmas is about that, making every single member of the family feel that they’re special.

Usually on Christmas Eve, we dress up and go to church hear mass, after which we would head straight back home for a late dinner. We'd tell stories about the year that was, triumphs and setbacks, and share lots and lots of laughter at the table, then go to bed with the children hardly able to stop themselves from sneaking under the Christmas tree of cypress needles and chicken wire to unwrap boxes with their names on it. All of them at one point obsessed about catching Santa red-handed. But we only had to remind them that Santa was paying extra attention right then for some last minute revisions in that list of children who deserved a special gift from him, and they would immediately forget about risking losing that one special gift from Santa.

We would wake up the next morning to the sound of our children’s shouts of joy upon discovering the gifts that Santa had left for them. There was that one Christmas when Santa actually left a trail of ashy footprints just next to the fireplace and towards the window. Whatever we, the parents, were able to get them for Christmas, Santa always gave the best gifts. And he never forgot to leave a note too for the children – reminders about how they’ve been the whole year and advise on how to be even better children in the coming New Year.

A few years ago, after moving quite far away from our neighbor with a cypress tree, we finally bought a Christmas tree with a steel frame covered with faux-pine needles made of plastic in green and silver. We still tried to spruce it up with some real cypress needles to make it appear thicker, and also because we know that we had to have those cypress leaves for that distinct sweet smell of Christmas.

We’ve been going through a rough patch lately, and when my wife put up the tree just a couple of nights ago, immediately the sense of despair, and anger, and hopelessness, and uncertainty vanished. It’s not an extravagant tree, with just the right amount of lights, and trinkets that tell the history of our young family. Cross-stitched pin cushions. A few Christmas balls in red, green and silver. Some figurines bought from garage sales and ukay-ukay stores. Some random object that a son or a daughter insisted on hanging on the tree. My wife turned on the lights, we all oohed and aahed, and said our goodnights.

I stayed up for a little while longer, staring at that tree. I went to bed with a sigh and knowing that everything’s going to be alright.

Rich man, poor man

The vehicle reduction ordinance, or the number coding scheme, has been suspended in Baguio for the duration of the on-going Fil-am Golf Tournament. “Why?” My son asked on our way to school today, a Friday, the day we’re not supposed to bring our car to town for our plate ends in 9. For the benefit of more than a thousand golfers and their families and friends who are here for the annual Fil-Am Golf Tournament, I answered.

What’s wrong with making it easy for visitors to our beautiful city to go around town without having to worry about getting their SUVs stopped for having that particular last digit on their license plate on a particular day? It actually makes sense and I am sure that it was easy for the mayor to make the decision.

You know, like how easy it was for them to think of a way to ease the traffic along General Luna Street during the morning rush hour - ban public utility jeeps from passing there. You know, just like it was easy for them to grant SM the permit to mow down a whole forest so they can make the biggest mall in Baguio even bigger, and earn more money in the process. Just like it was easy for them to surrender our streets to Jadewell before, and the market to Uniwide – so that these businesses can do more business and earn more money.

Those who have less in life must have more in law. That’s not the case in our city. Here, those who have more in life are given even more in law and everything else. They don’t see anything wrong in looking the other way when it comes to the concerns of the moneyed.

Thousands have been clamoring to pedestrianize Session Road to help clean the air in the city’s central business district and provide the masses a some relief from carbon monoxide, but since it faced stiff opposition from the business owners in the area, the idea has been shelved. The welfare of a few against that of the greater majority, and for the powers-that-be, the former’s always trumps the latter’s.

Jeepneys carrying two dozens of the city’s children from the eastern part of Baguio on their way to school in the morning must walk the extra couple of hundred meters or so because their ride’s not allowed to enter General Luna Street, so that those comfortably in their cars can be dropped off right at their school’s doorstep. If traffic was the main concern for the decision, then ban the private cars instead and allow the jeeps in, for they carry more people.

What I don’t understand, I shared with my son, is why they find it very easy to make decisions that would benefit those who already have more in life, more often at the expense of those who have less?

In the meantime, be careful when crossing Session Road for the duration of the Fil-Am Golf Tournament: they’ve neglected to paint the pedestrian lanes with stripes for people on foot, and a golfer’s SUV is on its way.

Ana’s bonfire (and her father’s portrait of Tacloban)

When she noticed that water was flowing ankle deep into their home, she told everyone in the room, her family, that it was time to leave. She made her way to the door and as she opened it, the water started rising and her along with it. She grabbed on to a branch to avoid getting swept away by the current. She recalled how painful the wind was on her face. She stayed floating for a few minutes, and as rapidly as it rose, it started receding. She didn’t let go of the branch and in just a matter of a couple of minutes, from being in danger of drowning in floodwaters, she realized that she was in danger of falling to her death from her perch on the topmost branch up a kaimito tree some thirty feet up. She looked around and was relieved to see most of her family members grabbing on to the branches of the same tree. But not everyone was there.

Soon after the Typhoon Yolanda left, Jun Fernandez received the news in Baguio – his wife, a daughter and two grandchildren who lived in Tacloban were missing, and were presumed dead, according to eyewitnesses who last saw them. There was no way they could have survived after being swept away by a series of storm surges that brought tree-high waves. His younger daughter was determined, she told her father that she will travel to Tacloban that same night to look for her mother, her Ate and the two children, aged six and four. There was news that the body of her Ate Eva has been found, and Ana wanted to see for herself if the news was true.

Ana would call her father in Baguio after seeing the body of the woman she was told could have been that of her sister. “It’s not her,” she told her father.

After hearing of the situation in Tacloban in the days that followed, and realizing that Ana herself could be putting herself in harm’s way by going there, Jun decided to follow. He has accepted the loss, but wanted to make sure that his daughter Ana was safe. He arrived in Tacloban four days after Ana did. As they prepared to cook some food that night, Ana, together with her aunt who was saved by that kaimito tree, told Jun that the last time they received some relief goods was on the day Ana arrived four days earlier, they have had to stretch that small amount of rice and couple of canned food for four days. A cousin was able to buy rice in between, at P100 per kilo and only after walking for kilometers for hours on end in search of food.

“It was unreal, unbelievable” was how Jun described the scene before him. The dead lay unclaimed, unattended, survivors were preoccupied trying to stay alive to bother with them. The memory of the sight of the bodies of three infants by the road would haunt him forever, he said. One of the infants had an arm missing, along with much of its face. Nobody could ever be prepared for what Jun shared with us, “what can you do? Dogs were trying to stay alive too.”

The story of how one Iglesia ni Cristo church was closed to non-members of this sect. A sister of Jun’s wife was one of those who tried to seek refuge inside one, and was turned away. But not all churches closed its doors, the other non-Iglesia ni Cristo places of worship provided shelter and saved thousands of lives. Even a softdrink warehouse was opened to the people who needed shelter.

“Did that church close its doors on evacuees too?” Jun wondered as he passed a church with its doors closed. He decided to go closer to try to take a look inside and regretted doing so. Peeping through the gap on the church doors, he saw the whole inside of the church filled with lifeless bodies, piled up to three bodies high. That church, filled with evacuees before the typhoon made landfall, turned out to have been inundated in the blink of an eye, drowning everyone inside.

Ninety percent of the population of Barangay 88, according to what Jun gathered on the ground, died. The death toll could very well breach the initial estimate of 10,000 which top government officials have been trying to deny.

For a time, Tacloban was hamleted – nobody in, nobody out. This was due to the alleged infiltration and looting by rebel forces. In one instance, according to news reports, a military convoy bearing relief goods was ambushed by rebels.

Contrary to the picture of inept and uncaring government personnel that the mainstream media have been forcing us to accept, according to Jun, from where he was, he witnessed heroism and selflessness and portraits of self-sacrifice – he saw soldiers, policemen, government workers, themselves exhausted, wounded, hungry, also grieving, who hardly ate or slept to do all they can to ease the suffering of the survivors. There was enough food to go around, that’s true, but there were not enough hands to get them to the victims fast enough. Soldiers would take a bite or two from their own food rations before passing this on to the nearest survivor begging for food. A brief lull in between carrying sacks and boxes of relief goods or people on their backs was an opportunity to close their eyes for a few minutes to rest. On a regular day, we already know how we don’t have enough policemen and soldiers in this country, how we don’t have enough doctors in every town, what more in times like this when many policemen, soldiers are themselves victims? They don’t need to hear every single day how inefficient they were, how badly or wrong they’re doing their jobs. Specially coming from people who saw nothing more than what Cooper or Sanchez or Failon or Enriquez or Tianco chose to show them, in the warmth and comfort of their own homes swiping on a computer screen or clicking on a mouse. What Tacloban needs are extra pairs of hands. 

Photo lifted from Jun Fernandez's Facebook page.

 
In your opinion, based on what you saw, what could’ve prevented this much destruction, or this many deaths? I asked Jun. Nothing except evacuating whole provinces, he said. There was almost no escape, even those living far inland away from the shores were tossed around by floodwaters and strong winds, overwhelmed by unbelievably strong rains. And Jun points to poverty and the resulting illiteracy of many of our countrymen as an added culprit. The warning they received from the local officials was for a typhoon with potential wind speeds of over “300 kph” and the possibility of “storm surges.” “Kung sinabi nilang parang tsunami, o kaya parang dalawang Ondoy, mas naintindihan siguro naming kung ano’ng klaseng bagyo ang parating,” said one survivor. Tsunami they’ve been hearing a lot on the radio and on television, a “storm surge” is a relatively new concept, if not a totally alien term, for most of them. “300 kph” is just a number. As Jun shared with us, we did not speak to them in a language they could have understood better.

Jun would break down in between telling his story, or would try letting a chuckle out after a rather funny anecdote, or forcing a smile – they were all painful to watch.

Ana wanted to stay longer, stand by the shores of Tacloban in the hope that her mother, her ate Eva and her two children would show up. It would take a long time for anybody who lost a loved one or two, or four, or everyone and everything they had, to accept what happened. Jun and Ana got on the next bus out of Tacloban, and decided to start their own journey towards acceptance and healing.

One particularly cold evening after the typhoon, Ana, gathered some damp wood and started a fire. The soldiers have been trying to get one going, in vain, everything around them was drenched. But Ana, a true Baguio girl who can start a bonfire with her eyes closed, soon had a nice, warm fire going. People started gathering around her bonfire, soldiers gathered more wood and placed them in Ana’s able hands.

For one evening, amidst the destruction, the deaths, the despair and feeling of hopelessness, Ana’s small bonfire lighted up her part of the world, and kept people warm, eased their pain, started the healing of broken hearts. And most importantly, let everyone around her know that they were not alone, that there are people who can help provide some light in this time of darkness, and keep that fire going until the sun rises again tomorrow.

Mabuhay tayong mga Pilipino

Every one of us is in search of a handle, something to hold on to, something that can help us comprehend what just happened. Every one of us, victims, acquaintances, friends and relatives of survivors, witnesses, we are all finding it difficult to make sense of what just happened. Typhoon Yolanda, the strongest storm in recent world history, stronger than this storm-ravaged country has ever encountered, left thousands dead, hundreds of thousands injured and homeless, countless communities in total ruins.

Yolanda has vanished, and we can’t direct our anger at something that has ceased to exist. So who do we blame for the misery, the despair, hopelessness, for all this? Armed with an idea of a fraction of the whole scenario, we start point fingers. A reporter, from where he was standing at a particular moment, saw that survivors were left to fend for themselves with no relief operations in sight, corpses lining the streets, survivors desperately trying to survive searching for a morsel to eat or a sip of water. And there we all were like a mob kicking, punching, cursing at all government officials. How can they be so heartless? Where were they? We have no idea and our already conditioned minds fill the gaps for us and conjure images of top government officials comfortable and dry in their warm beds. Or of soldiers sleeping on the job, uncaring. And how, indeed, can someone sleep at night or be so uncaring at a time like this?

But what the reporter didn’t tell us was that he has no idea what was going on beyond his limited field of view. That maybe just a block or two away from where he was standing were a group of weary, hungry, perhaps even injured government employees putting together and distributing food packs to whoever was within their reach at the moment. Or somewhere beyond the nearest rubble could be soldiers immersed in floodwaters carrying women, children and the elderly on their backs to get them to a safer place. They didn’t see that, and they didn’t tell us about that, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

And since this tragedy is so difficult to comprehend, to accept, we will find it hard to accept any answer to all our questions. If we were told that the government officials were there after all, much overwhelmed, yes, but there doing everything they can, we ask another question. How can they have not prepared for something like this?

But who can ever be prepared for something that nobody has ever experienced before? How can anyone prepare when nobody knew what was coming?

The country needs to rise from this tragedy, and it is hard for a weary, injured, heartbroken nation to do so when it continues to receive a beating just days after being at the receiving end of one of the strongest storms in world history. It’s like watching a parent hitting, pinching and screaming at a crying child for hurting himself while playing, being a child. The child certainly didn’t want to get hurt, and most probably the child had no idea that there was protruding rock in his path while he was running, he just didn’t see it coming. The child already suffered a nasty wound, it doesn't make sense to break his heart too.

Let’s stop seeing the government as something detached from ourselves, for we are the government. Like you, Mar too feels for every one of the victims. Like you, Dinky too has not been sleeping well at night, if at all, and would like be able to feed every single one of the victims. Like you, Noynoy too has cried several times in the last few days. Like you, the soldier too would like to be able to get every single one of the survivors out of harm’s way. The policeman from Tacloban would surely start helping everyone around him as soon as he buries his wife, or his child. The barangay captain too after he finds every single member of his missing family.

We are all wounded, some way more so than others, but wounded nonetheless. We all need a hug, a hand to hold, to be reassured that everything will be better tomorrow. And nobody else, not CNN, not the U.N., not Obama nor Her Royal Highness can make us feel better the way we ourselves can.

They need you, you need them, I need you, and you need me. Let’s not turn our backs on each other now. We need each other, let’s hold hands. Don't let go now.

Mabuhay tayong mga Pilipino.

Nature can, nature will and nature has

Other parts of the nation went to bed last night dreading the next day’s news about what Typhoon Yolanda, considered as one of the biggest storms ever to form in world history, will leave in her wake. As the sun was setting yesterday, Yolanda was making landfall in central Philippines, but her tremendous power can be felt hundreds of kilometers away up here in the Cordilleras. It was humbling – with all the illusions of power and greatness people surround themselves with, Yolanda’s presence reminded us that we’re but tiny members of one vast community living on nothing but a dot floating almost defenselessly in the universe.

I overheard this quip in an upscale restaurant a few days ago: I already followed it up with the person in charge, but don’t worry, if he doesn’t act on it, I will make sure you get your permission to cut those trees.

Is it progress when we significantly diminish the quality of life of a community, of human beings in a community, of all living beings in a community? Because that’s the reason they give for the rape of our natural environment – progress. In today’s society, the advocates of this so-called progress, the perpetrators of this rape are called leaders, and the people who call attention to the crime are labeled as troublemakers. The former get pats on the back, plaques of recognition, golf club memberships, fat bank accounts while the latter get smirks, scorn and contempt when the former get stuck in traffic during public demonstrations denouncing the crimes being perpetuated against our mother.

Nature can make the tiniest seed grow into a towering tree, taller than any other living being on this planet. Nature can, from the tiniest cell, create the most amazing and beautiful living beings – a brightly colored flower on the ground, an eagle floating in the air, a gentle giant quietly making its way in the ocean. Nature can inspire us with the most amazing sun rise, nourish us with a gentle rain, or cleanse the air that we breathe.

Nature can, nature will and nature has.

And nature can make the slightest movement deep underground that can result in lives lost and so much destruction and cause ocean waves to rise to unbelievable levels. Nature can cause so much earth to come rushing down a mountainside burying everything and everyone in its path. And now, nature showed us that it can gather enough power from thin air and turn it into what we call a storm, a super typhoon named Yolanda, and all the concrete monuments to crass capitalism, the parking buildings for your SUVs, the expensive high-rise condominiums mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Nature can, nature will and nature has.

She lets us take from her, but expects us to leave enough, give back enough, to maintain that delicate balance between what we need to live our lives and what she needs to continue providing for us. All she asks of each one of us is to do what we can to help keep that balance. After all, she is us, we are nature, as trees are, and birds, and turtles and fish, and butterflies, too. The real community we belong to is the one that made our existence possible at all, nature, and not the artificial, “progress”-driven one that we’ve created where life is easily bartered for 13 pieces of silver, where a life-giving tree is a mere obstacle to a bigger mall, where a home for birds and other tiny living beings are never part of the blueprint.

I choose to live my life belonging to, and defending and enhancing the community that made my existence possible at all.

Living room

*my column in the Nov. 3, 2013  issue of Cordillera Today 

The birds are singing, and the sun’s rays are trying to make their way through the clouds. A slight drizzle falls and the crows on the wire fly to a nearby tree to stay dry. It is almost six in the morning on the 2nd of November, 2013, and the city is waking up and I just know that it’s going to be a beautiful day in Baguio. Let me tell you about our home.

We moved to this house in June, the start of the monsoon season. Under this roof we’ve stayed warm and dry through the countless storms that came our way this year, including the latest one which left the country last night.

I wish this column came with pictures, as I want to share with you, dear reader, one of the reasons we chose this house over the other ones we were considering – there was one somewhere in Kennon Road, an apartment on the third floor that offered a magnificent view of Mt. Sto. Tomas and another one, rustic, wooden and lived in which was just a short walk from the center of town. But both of those didn’t have this one thing that this house had – earth space.

The recent rainfall showed me and my son, who has been helping me prepare the soil in one corner of the yard for a vegetable garden, which canal needed further digging and shovelling to make it easy for the water to flow out to the drainage and prevent the beds from being flooded. A variety of seeds have been sowed, and the beds are waiting for them to be ready for transplanting.

And this house has three guava trees, one pear tree, a blue pine tree surrounded by a hedge of bamboo. There’s enough space for a nursery, and we thought we could try to propagate pine seedlings for planting in every available space here and elsewhere.

Earth space – living space. On the driveway there are still traces of chalk drawings – lines for “patintero” and “sikking,” there’s a drawing of the sun, a child’s plea for sunshine. Here we get to spend some time away from LCD monitors and out in the yard. We’ve spun tops, played with marbles, climbed this one guava tree that grew much taller than the others, played fetch with Zeus, our dog, ran around, biked around. We are, indeed, living in this house.

This is our sanctuary, every part of this home is a living room. And in a city that’s fast going down the road of urbanization, a path where money is seen as the source of true happiness, where the scent of pine is indiscriminately bartered for the stench of diesel fumes, a forest replaced with a parking lot, botanical and rose gardens and wide open fields are cemented over, parks are fenced in and gated, where monuments to crass commercialism and a myopic view of beauty are erected with arrogance and conceited belief that they can do better than the magnificent natural beauty that the Creator blessed this city with, it’s nice to have a small corner, a living room you can retreat to.

There are less and less living rooms and more and more lifeless spaces in Baguio, how can the powerful, the influential, the leaders who made this happen expect people to be able to live a life in a lifeless city?

Hold on, I won’t allow what they have done to Baguio ruin this beautiful morning. I see that the slight drizzle made the leaves of the trees and the flowers in the garden glisten, the branches sway to the gentle, cold November breeze, and I see the first batch of vegetable seeds have started to sprout.

Ahh, and there's the answer - if we want more living rooms in Baguio, all we have to do is plant the seeds and make sure they grow.

Commending Domogan

This might come as a surprise to some people, but I do want to commend our mayor for a job well done at the public market, which has always been my favorite place to visit in Baguio City. I have been away for most of the last couple of months and couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I went to market the other day.

First stop, the fish and meat section and I was surprised to see the road going down towards the Baguio City Market Superintendent’s Office completely cleared of illegal vendors. Market goers walked around easily, not having to squeeze themselves in between Divisoria wares and ­ukay-ukay garments spread on the pavement.

From there, I walked up towards Hilltop, usually stopping briefly at that side-street on the left, the only place where I can get salmon. My children dread entering that street when they come with me to the market – aside from salmon, that’s also where one can find meats that perhaps not even a seasoned chef would be able to identify. I always thought that perhaps after the choice cuts are delivered to the meat section, all the other parts go to this area. And while I did miss the out-of-this-world tableau worthy of a scene in a macabre film or novel, having so much breathing space and clean walkways blew me away. Even the passageway at the ukay-ukay alley had much more space now.

I turn towards the new blocks on the block – were those blocks 3 and 4? – which were really nicely laid out and organized. Plus I discovered a new place where one can stop for a quick bite or even a full meal that looked really clean and the sight of igado, dinardaraan and dinakdakan almost made me forget that I had to get home in time to cook dinner. I walked on down towards the hangar market to get my fresh highland produce, reminding myself to return for that pickaxe I saw at the tools section, I need that for the garden.

Not much salad leaves at the hangar the other day, and the ones available didn’t look very good and were very expensive. Still, I got a handful each of ice lettuce, lollo rosso and romaine. Stocked up on garlic, onions and tomatoes too and got a bit of fresh basil and some coriander.

We still had coffee, so I walked past my suki to get some chicken for pinikpikan, and after that, a coconut for gata and unsweetened peanut butter for kare-kare. And with my bayong full of ice cream containers that I use to put meats and fish, reusable bags for the vegetables, I walked up the pedestrian overpass to cross towards Malcolm Square to wait for my jeep home.

With that, I have to give it to the man in City Hall, Mayor Mauricio Domogan, for doing a good job of cleaning and clearing up the market. I surely hope that we can keep the market this way. See, Sir, I simply write about what I see around me – bad or good. This time, it was something really good, and you deserve to be congratulated.

It took me more than an hour to get a ride home, so now I hope that instituting positive reforms in the city’s public transportation system is also in the mayor’s plans. Let’s talk about that next week.

Katarungan para sa mga kababaihan

Nagkataong mayroong press conference nung nakaraang biyernes sa Luisa’s Café sa Session Road habang naroon ako. Panauhin si Monique Wilson, kilalang artista sa entablado at masugid na tagapagtaguyod ng karapatang pangkababaihan at LGBT. Si Monique din ang punong tagapagsalita ng One Billion Rising, o ang malawakang kilusan para sa pagsulong ng mga karapatang pangkababaihan.

Ang pangunahing paksa ng press conference ay hustisya para sa mga kababaihang naging biktima ng karahasang tulad ng pangaabuso sa kamay ng kani-kanilang mga asawa at panggagahasa. Nakakapanlumo ang kwento ng mga tagapagsalita sa press conference, na kinabilangan din ni Mila Singson, ang Secretary-General ng Innabuyog-Gabriela, alyansa ng mga organisasyong pangkababaihan sa Cordilera.

Palala ng palala ang mga insidente ng panggagahasa sa Cordillera. At ang masaklap pa dito, dahil na rin sa kahirapan, madalas na nalulusutan ng mga maysala ang kanilang krimen sa pamamagitan lamang ng pagaalok ng maliit na halaga sa mga biktima. Hindi rin natin masisisi ang mga biktima sa pagtanggap ng mga alok na ito – dahil sa kabulukang umiiral sa ating sistemang panghustisya, karamihan sa kanila ay tuluyan ng nawalan ng tiwala sa ating mga hukom, at dala na rin ng kahirapan, marami ang napipilitang tanggapin ang alok na kabayaran.

Sa hukuman, madalas tayong makarinig ng mga kwento tungkol sa mga biktimang muling nabibiktima ng pambabastos at pangaalipusta sa kamay ng mga hukom at mga abogado. Sino nga namang biktima ang hahayaang muling yurakan ang kanilang dangal at pagkatao habang dinidinig ang kanilang kaso?

One Billion Rising for Justice – pagaaklas ng isang bilyon para sa hustisya, ito ang kampanya ng kilusan para sa darating na February 14. Ngunit makamit man ang pagbabagong hinahangad sa ating sistemang panghustisya, malayo pa rin ang paglalakbay upang makamit n gating mga kababaihan ang tunay na kalayaan mula sa karahasan. At mahalaga ang papel nating mga kalalakihan para tulungan silang makamit ito. Ilang beses mo na bang narinig ang birong “pambayad utang” ang isang anak na babae? Ilang ulit mo na bang narinig, o binigkas, ang mga katagang “kababaeng tao pa naman?” Parang ang isang pagkakamali ay mas malala kung babae ang gumawa. Ilan lang ito sa mga halimbawang nagpapakita ng ating baluktot at maling pagtingin sa mga kababaihan.

Sa ating bansa, malawak pa rin ang pananaw na ang mga babae ay parang bagay lamang na pagaari ng mga lalaki – mapa-ama o tiyuhin, asawa o kasintahan. At dahil sila ang “nagmamay-ari,” maaari nilang gawin sa mga babae anumang gustuhin nila. Ang isang lalaking nakipagtalik sa isang babae ay pilyo, naka-iskor, o macho. Samantalang ang babaeng nakipagtalik sa isang lalaki ay “nagpagamit.” Ang ganitong maling pananaw ang nagbibigay lakas-loob sa mga tarantadong kalalakihan na abusuhin at lapastanganin ang mga kababaihan.

Hindi lang pagbibigay kapangyarihan sa mga kababihan ang kailangan, mahalaga ring baguhin ang kamalayan ng mga kalalakihan dahil mkamit man natin ang repormang hinahangad sa sistemang panghustisya sa ating bansa, magpapatuloy pa rin ang mga abuso’t iba pang uri ng karahasan habang naririyan ang mga tradisyunal na pananaw na matagal nang dapat nabuwag.

Tinanong ako kung ano para sa akin ang ibig-sabihin ng tunay na hustisya para sa mga kababaihan. Medyo nahirapan akong pag-isipan ang sagot. Ano nga kaya ang kailangan upang makamit ito?

Tunay na pagkakapantay-pantay.