Far From Neutral Notions - Philippine politics, culture and stuff

Reports from, well, everywhere, really, would seem to indicate that Malu Fernandez has resigned from both the Manila Standard and People Asia. Everywhere, that is, except from Manila Standard or People Asia. One thing that stood out among the many reasons she supposedly gave is that she’s been the target of death threats.

I don’t particularly care what she does anymore; I’ve let off steam and said my piece. By all means, fade into obscurity. But really, death threats?

There’s a distinct difference between getting a death threat and having people wish you dead. So enough with the drama and back to our regularly scheduled programming. Which reminds me: I rode the elevator with that girl today. Yay!

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Much has been said, and even more mud has been tossed, regarding the acerbic wit of Malu Fernandez and her detractors. I’ve presented my one peso (roughly 2 cents) on the matter. Others, weighing in, have taken the high road, a path that I, not unlike Robert Frost, often wax romantic about but very seldom take. Like a certain captain of a certain 03-K64 Firefly-class mid-bulk transport with a standard radion accelerator core, I’m a fan of all seven sins, but most often, I’m partial to wrath. And in one of my rare moments of introspection, I actually bothered asking myself “why”. Could it be, as some may have suggested, mob mentality? Did I — and many others — lose track of the original issue, merely jumping on the bandwagon?

That observation has merit, of course. I’m not an OFW, and I do not have many close relatives or friends who are. In the past I have been critical of people who leave this, my country, for a hodgepodge of personal reasons, not the least of which is my disdain for the arrogance and near-instantaneous cultural amnesia most Fil-Ams I know possess. But then, I’m lucky enough to have never needed to leave (yet). I’m this way because, so far, I can still afford to be. I don’t know how it is to actually need to work abroad. I may not be directly in the same demographic that Malu Fernandez mocks, but I’m likely in the general area. By all rights, I shouldn’t be this angry, I shouldn’t have taken it personally, and neither should a lot of other people.

So why, then, the outrage?

I am neither joining the bandwagon, nor am I all of a sudden part of a mob and their mentality. I do not speak for the others, nor do they for me. That I have joined the fray does not speak for itself. I have my reasons, that I will try to make clear. I am this angry precisely because it’s a luxury that I can, but still only just barely. It rankles me to no end that people like Malu Fernandez can take that luxury for granted, when so much more can’t afford to care. It pisses me off that they’re in a position to make a difference and make lives better, yet they waste their time nitpicking about designer clothes. I hate the fact that, save for an enlightened few, being aware and concerned about what’s going on in this country is not a matter of course, but a matter of finance. I resent the decadence and haughtiness of the elite because there are many that have to resort to leaving everything they love behind just to put food on the table. I rage because they have the temerity to laugh about it, when we have to bleed for it.

The economic divide in this country is as large as it is oppressive, but that does not make that status quo right, nor correct. And it is the height of arrogance to rub it in. I took it personally because it is personal. I can’t eat my indignation and concern, and as much as I’d want to, I wouldn’t be able to say what I need to say or care about my country the way I do if I didn’t have a job or have food on the table. What luxuries I have came from my parents’ hard work, and to some small extent, mine. They toiled for years to give me what they can, to provide for me and my brother so that we can grow into our own. I developed my sense of nationalism and self-worth, self-actualization, without fear of going hungry thanks to them, and that means the world to me. What Malu Fernandez wrote is a spit in the face of all that. Because she never had that problem. She’s probably set for life.

So I do identify with the OFWs and their families. To take lightly what they go through and to belittle their simple joys is to take me lightly and to belittle my simple joys, and I will have none of that.

Your moment of Zen:

Well I woke up this morning
On the wrong side of the bed
And how I got to thinkin’
About all the things you said
About ordinary people
And how they make you sick
And if callin’ names kicks back on you
Then I hope this does the trick

‘Cause I’m sick of your complainin’
About how many bills
And I’m sick of all your bitchin’
‘Bout your poodles and your pills
And I just can’t see no humor
About your way of life
And I think I can do more for you
With this here fork and knife

(Chorus)
Eat The Rich
There’s only one thing that they are good for
Eat The Rich
Take one bite now - come back for more
Eat The Rich
I gotta get this off my chest
Eat The Rich
Take one bite now - spit out the rest

Believe in all the good things
That money just can’t buy
Then you won’t get no bellyache
From eatin’ humble pie
I believe in rags to riches
Your inheritance won’t last
So take your Gray poupon my friend
And shove it up your ass

Aerosmith, Eat the Rich

Popularity: 11% [?]

Late to the fray again — playing gigs as much as I can before I bid Manila adieu — but as I’ve always maintained, there can be no statute of limitations on outrage. So after finally catching up on my RSS reader, I came across this little tidbit about an article published in People Asia by a certain Malu Fernandez, who also writes for Manila Standard. The salient points:

However I forgot that the hub was in Dubai and the majority of the OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) were stationed there. The duty-free shop was overrun with Filipino workers selling cell phones and perfume. Meanwhile, I wanted to slash my wrist at the thought of being trapped in a plane with all of them.

While I was on the plane (where the seats were so small I had bruises on my legs), my only consolation was the entertainment on the small flat screen in front of me. But it was busted, so I heaved a sigh, popped my sleeping pills and dozed off to the sounds of gum chewing and endless yelling of “HOY! Kumusta ka na? At taga san ka? Domestic helper ka rin ba?” Translation: “Hey there? Where are you from? Are you a domestic helper as well?” I thought I had died and God had sent me to my very own private hell.

On my way back, I had to bravely take the economy flight once more. This time I had already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with all these OFWs smelling of AXE and Charlie cologne while Jo Malone evaporated into thin air.

There’s more to it, amazingly enough. There’s even an “apology” — the term half-assed doesn’t really do it justice — that’s as toxic as the hemlock she should be made to drink. Repeatedly. To wit:

The bottom line was just that I had offended the reader’s socioeconomic background. If any of these people actually read anything thicker then a magazine they would find it very funny. Most people don’t get the fact that they need bitches like me to shake up their world, otherwise their lives would be boring and mediocre.

Although it may sound elitist to you the fact is this country is built on the foundation of haves, have-nots and wannabes. One group will never get the culture of the other. Although I could mention that it is easier to understand someone who has a lower socioeconomic background that would entail a whole other page and frankly I don’t want to be someone to bridge the gap between socioeconomic classes.

Allow me to channel Al Pacino for a moment, and present Miz Fernandez with my acerbic wit. A few disclaimers: I’ll be quoting some words by that stellar actor that you might find offensive. Take solace in the fact that you are not the object of this tirade. Or leave, if it’s not your cup of tea. I’m not an OFW, and don’t have relatives who are, but I’m around the same demographic of the families that they leave behind. In the past, I have even been critical of people migrating to other countries if they don’t need to. My friends know me as being harsh with Fil-Ams, because most that I’ve met have been incredibly overbearing and boorish. I still personally find swearing allegiance to another country unacceptable, but as I’ve come to realize, patriotism is an expensive luxury. That said, anytime you’re ready: Read the rest of this entry »

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There is a sublime pleasure involved in letting acrid smoke pass through my nostrils, down to my lungs, holding it in for a moment, and exhaling, with the lingering hint of menthol around my inner cheeks as I down a glass of ice-cold cola. I’ve abused my share of (legal, wink wink) substances, but nothing comes close to this, the sweet combination of cigarettes and caffeine. It is a rush — albeit psychological — that is unparalleled. It is also bad for the health: mine, and yours, if you’re around me. For that, I apologize.

Friends, officemates and even brief acquaintances know me for one of several things: my music, my art, my concerns, my uncharacteristic interest in sports, or, in rare circumstances, this blog. But for those that have met me personally, there’s one characteristic that is universally known: I smoke. Like a chimney.

It’s like a crutch, really. I can’t do much of anything without a puff or six, but the boost it gives is epiphanic, to say the least. I can waste several nicotine-less hours thinking about something that I can conceptualize after five minutes spent smoking. I’m weak and addicted, but I’m young-ish enough to not care, yet.

Coupled with the boost of caffeine that only Coke can give me, well, let’s just say that some of my most memorable conversations wouldn’t have happened without their help. My friend Allan calls them the 3 C’s: Coke, cigarettes and conversation, with Coke interchangeable with coffee.

That said, I somewhat support the anti-smoking initiatives of the cities of Makati, Pasig and the like, although I believe it’s a fairly futile and inutile solution. But then, their campaign is politically driven, and that’s a fatal flaw to any endeavor, well-meaning or otherwise. Because the trick really isn’t in legislation. I’d still find a way to smoke in Makati, in Pasig. It’s not that hard, even inside buildings.

The trick is in realizing that smokers like myself need help, and a pretty good reason, to quit. The trick is not to treat us as vagabonds and ne’r-do-wells, but as, well, victims. You can’t make me stop by yelling at me, but you can help me help myself.

Case in point, the head of security at the building I work at talked to me one time about my habit of smoking in the indoor parking area, which is a non-smoking zone. I’ve been in that situation before, and I thought I knew what to expect. He surprised me, though, because he talked to me. Not yelled, not admonished, just talked. I listened. It worked, too. I still smoke, but as a result, I haven’t smoked inside the building in months, and every day I’m that much closer to making my mind up and quitting. For good. Honest.

I leave you with this moment of Zen:

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

Rudyard Kipling

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As if it was ever in doubt, the latest media frenzy over Mike Arroyo’s health finally puts to rest the issue of whether or not he is a public personality. Gripped as I was over his ordeal — yes, that’s 3 parts sarcasm right there — I can only conclude that the First Gentleman is as much a public figure as Kris Aquino ever was. And even less entertaining.

Seems he’s well on his way to a full recovery, which brings up talk of “masamang damo” but that’s just in really poor taste, isn’t it? Then again, if ever there’s a bastion of poor taste, I’m it. Kicking a man when he’s down isn’t just despicable; it’s easy. I mean, I hate to do it, he’s right there, on the ground, right beside my foot. Sometimes resisting the temptation is all I can bear.

But my, they’ve spun this one quite well, haven’t they? Ermita must be grinning from ear to ear with all the sympathy and well-wishes headed GMA’s way. Even hard-core oppositionists are “praying” for Jose Pidal’s — err Mike Arroyo’s — speedy recovery. After all, there’s nothing enlightened or praiseworthy about being an asshole, and Alan Peter and Ping can afford to be gallant.

I can’t, though. I couldn’t care less what happens to the First Gentleman, and I’d be a hypocrite if I said I wish him well. You see, several things keep coming back to me that get in the way of me going all humanitarian. Araw ng Kagitingan just came and went, albeit a victim of the long holiday apathy for some. But for me, it is a yearly reminder — righly so — of our veteran’s heroism and sacrifice. And of the shoddy way the government has treated them. I had a grandfather who died of an aneurysm. He was a veteran. So no, I can’t really sympathize with Mike Arroyo. Color me illogical, but add a dash of I-don’t-give-a-flying-shag too.

So there.

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Interesting discussion over at MLQ3’s blog, about party list hopeful Ang Ladlad, the National Organization of Filipino Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals and Transgenders. Apparently, the Comelec, in a resolution dated Feb. 27, 2007, signed by Presiding Commissioner Florentino A. Tuason Jr. and Commissioners Rene V. Sarmiento and Nicodemo T. Ferrer, alleged that Ang Ladlad lied about its national membership, saying “Contrary to petitioner’s allegation in its petition that its membership is national in scope, reports from our field offices reveal that it doesn’t exist in most regions of the country.”
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Yesterday was the first anniversary of the Wowowee stampede that ended in the deaths over 70 people, trampled while lining up for the noontime show’s promise of instant wealth. And I didn’t realize it until I saw a small photo on today’s Inquirer: it’s on the bottom half of the flap, with a caption noting the mass being held to remember the departed. All of a sudden this PCIJ blog post is all too prophetic:

The news cycle as far as disasters go is predictable: First the story breaks, followed by heartbreaking scenes from the disaster zone, an estimate of the casualty count and then reports on the government’s and citizens’ response. The next phase of the news cycle will likely be the blame-throwing, the attack and the defense. After about a week or 10 days, the story will likely slide out of top of the newscast and the front pages. The media will move on to the next headline-grabber and the tragedy will be recalled maybe a year after, on its first anniversary, or will merit a one-liner the next time a similar event occurs. Such is life. Such is news.

I don’t know which is the greater insult to this injury: that it’s been relegated footnote status, or that Wowowee’s still on the air. That it’s not such a big deal a year after isn’t really a surprise; PCIJ notes correctly that the news media is about headlines. But that Willie Revillame still has a job is what astounds me to no end. The guy’s a perv and an alleged wife beater, and his asinine response to the event (the show must go on) is as callous as it is condescending. Not to mention that the show, along with most every other show in local TV, is still complete and utter garbage.

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Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
~Psalms, 23:4

“Why should they be afraid to come out?”

So asks military chief, Gen. Hermogenes Esperon Jr., when asked about the safety of witnesses — not that there are any, yet — who could or would testify against soldiers implicated in the political killings and suppression that has become commonplace in the regime of GMA. This comes in the wake of the Melo Commission - headed by retired Supreme Court Justice Jose Melo - tagging retired Maj. General Jovito Palparan as responsible, via the doctrine of command responsibility, for a fair share of the atrocities.

Really now, sir. You have to ask?

When the “president” is more than willing to suppress basic freedoms, ruthlessly squash political opposition and grip the Executive Branch with an iron fist, you have to ask? When the government looks the other way when its constituents are abused by a foreign power, you have to ask? When the military came down hard and fast on Maj. Gen. Renato Miranda and Brig. Gen. Danilo Lim, the Batasan 5 and many others for trumped up rebellion charges, while Palparan retired in glory despite having long been accused of ordering the political killings, you have to ask?

Really? I know military intelligence has long been an oxymoron, but honestly, General, what do you take us for?

What witnesses there may be should be afraid to come out - this is no time for the summer soldier, the sunshine patriot. This is a government that we should be afraid of, because it is filled with people who, having lusted after power and getting it, will stop at nothing to keep it.

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In a recent entry in his blog, Davao Councilor Peter Lavina correctly (IMHO) points out that the internet (in this case blogging) has the potential to affect politics; however Dr. Ronald Meinardus (et al) put forth some interesting reasons why politicians don’t blog, namely:

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“Men love their country, not because it is great, but because it is their own.” — Seneca

Are we truly independent? Did the sacrifice of our forefathers get us anywhere? Are we free?

It’s a series of questions (and their variants) that’s been asked to death - from High School classrooms to beauty pageants - with the former setting sometimes providing geniuinely truthful insight, and the latter often providing further reason why it’s called a “beauty contest” and not a quiz bee.

It’s also a series of questions that aren’t relevant anymore. Nobody makes a claim for being independent with a straight face in this day and age. It doesn’t provoke the kind of fiery rhetoric that it should, that it did half a century ago. We are hostage to the IMF, the World Bank, the US, Japan, China, and whichever country has the cash to spare. Global trade hasn’t opened the world to our markets, it has opened ours to theirs. Our domestic courts are often interfered with. Our laws are often made to suit the needs of Unka Sam. The present administration even goes so far as to hire foreign lobbyists and advisers. We are not independent - and it often seems we never were.

The question we should be asking ourselves is: do we even want to be independent? We talk a great deal about independence, how it ought to be important, how proud we (sometimes) are about being Filipinos when Pacquiao slugs it out with some Mexican. What does it even mean to be independent, in this day and age when patriotism and nationalism aren’t words that are used to sing you praises but are taken to mean that you are backward-thinking and behind the times? What value has independence now, when “don’t rock the boat” is the national mantra? Why people have tuned out the cries for GMA to resign, pretending to be all sorts of deaf blind and dumb to the reality of her illegitimacy?

And so, more than a hundred years after the Aguinaldo declaration in Cavite-Viejo, we’re stuck wondering if this is really what we wanted. All of a sudden the whole “I’d rather have the country run like hell by Filipinos” bit by Quezon isn’t looking too appealing now that it is being run like hell by a Filipino.

Does it still mean anything to you, to be a Filipino? It does to me, but I can’t see myself as anything else. Somebody light a candle, I’m stuck cursing the darkness.

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