Ka-Blog!

Rambo, first dog

Take a look at this photo and never again wonder why dogs are considered our best friends-especially when we’ve had so-called human "friends" who acted like animals.

This picture shows how Rambo (yes, that’s the dog's name given by the guy inside the coffin) was to our family. He was given to us as a pup more than 15 years ago by relatives when his mom-the bitch-gave birth to her first litter. The bitch originally came from us. Rambo was a mongrel, although we suspect he was mestizo Labrador. He was bigger than the usual askal and had big feet and "otter" tail.

For more than ten years, Rambo was the most punctual living thing that entered the gates of Auitan Elementary School. I just didn’t know with this dog-he loved going to school and sleep in my mother’s classroom all day. Even when my mom was absent, he would still go to school and inspect every classroom until he was sure his human wasn’t there. He was the only tolerated dog in the school-being well-behaved, good-smelling and all. (When I was in Grade 6 my teacher also had such a dog except that son-of-a-bitch stunk!) The entire faculty would talk to him like a pupil. Being spayed, he was also chubby and so was very popular with the kids.

After school, Rambo would shift his dogged attention to my father playing chess (and drinking) at the corner store. They would later walk home together.

He was the most visible and most popular dog in town. If Rambo ran for "dog mayor" of San Pablo, he would have won hands down.

At home, he loved to be by our feet, not minding that we like to use him as a furry ottoman. When he was young, he had a deep booming bark, enough to scare the beejesus out of anyone. If left by his lonesome at our home in Isabela, the entire neighborhood took care of him. He might have been the first dog in San Pablo to have been dressed with shirts when it was cold, long before Michael de Mesa and Paris Hilton began selling their ugly yet expensive doggy dresses.

Rambo also liked to be driven around. He would know when we were about to leave and he always tried to beat everyone to the car. He did not mind long drives from Manila to Isabela or vice-versa. Our only problem was, he farted a lot and no car freshener could neutralize his bad wind! While navigating Dalton Pass one time, he took a crap at the back seat. When Pom turned around to see where the stink was coming from, Rambo’s pile was there right in the middle of the back seat-as fresh and warm as they come.

One time, when my father’s bus conked out somewhere in the wilderness of Diadi, Nueva Vizcaya in the dead of the night, Rambo might have thought we’ve arrived already. He rushed out the doors and started running in the dark. I have to run after him, shouting my lungs out or I get chopped to pieces by Mama for losing her dog. (Nueva Vizcaya is Ilocano country and they sooooo love dogs there, especially fat ones like him.) I found him lying on a clearing many long minutes later after perhaps realizing he’s nowhere home. Later that day, he got electrocuted at the garage when he stepped on an exposed wire while the mechanic was welding something. (There was also one time when he got electrocuted in my aunt’s house when someone threw a switch on while he was tethered to an iron swing where bare wires were looped.)

But Rambo is remembered most when he never left my father’s coffin during his long wake-except to eat and do his thing. Several times, I caught him looking up where my father was lying. Despite his arthritic bones, failing eyesight and old age, he walked all the way to the cemetery to see my father off for the final time, his tounge almost touching ground.

We tried our best to make Rambo’s final days comfortable. I even asked my mom to allow the town vet to euthenize him, but she refused. Yesterday morning, Rambo died and was promptly buried where he used to dig his dirt holes. I wish I was there to bury him myself-the least I could do for a most loyal albeit farty friend.

To draw joyful tears

You know you have done something right by a person when you make him or her shed tears of joy.

In our tribute to retired Navy Captain Danilo Poblete Vizmanos last May 5, this was never truer.  Before he was settled in on the special reclining chair bused in especially for him, he already started crying.

He said it most aptly.  He said that in his two years of incarceration in Martial Law detention centers, he never allowed guards to see him shed a tear.  On this particular afternoon, his tears flowed freely.

If I may say so, and I’m saying so, “Apostasy: Ang Paglalayag ni Navy Captain Danilo P. Vizmanos” is another outstanding Kodao production.  It’s not only because I co-wrote it.  (Besides, the video was mostly Teresa Lorena A. Jopson's.)  Grab a copy.  You will not be disappointed.

Kodao has been doing quite a number of tribute video-documentaries.  We started with Antonio Zumel: He Never Wrote ‘30’.  Then Medardo Roda (Ang Ruta ni Ka Roda).  Then United Nations ad litem Judge Romeo T. Capulong (Abogado ng Sambayanan).  We should have produced another one about Rep. Crispin Beltran but May Day Productions already had a fairly recent one.  The common denominator to all these titles is the historicity of the lives of our subjects and the gravity of their sacrifices for the Filipino people.  These ensure viewers will be genuinely touched. Which is already half of everything.  Had we been featuring upstarts who already think they are better than these people all the skills in the world can not produce a passable video.

Producing a video documentary requires a lot of sacrifice and discipline.  In our case, this is work that takes a lot out from us.  I have had easier political work than this one.  I don’t know how could some people think it is easy or that it can be learned in a year or two.  One may have a PhD on filmmaking or creative writing or even journalism but it is not an assurance of effectiveness.  Ika nga ni NVM Gonzales, either you know how to tell a story or you don’t. 

Because we dive deep into the lives of our subjects, we are in a unique position to appreciate that what we do for them is not even a small slice of what they deserve.  And when they and their families say they are happy with what we come up with, we feel content.  We even forgive ourselves our shortcomings in producing the videos.

Now back to the tribute.  There were moments in the program I will never forget. 

First was when Ka Dan’s grandchildren sang him songs.  I know the feeling of trying to sing while you throat is constricted with emotions.  The kids were very brave.  They finished their songs through their tears.  I never thought these kids can show the depth of their respect and love to Ka Dan when I witnessed first hand how they almost drove him insane with their “kakulitan” when we were filming in Cavite.  Again, grab a copy of the video.  You will understand me more.

Second was when people crowded around him to express their gratitude, admiration and love.  Jun Lozada was there.  But he did not compare with Ka Dan, and rightly so.  This was Ka Dan’s moment.  I was so happy for Ka Dan’s kith and kin.  They witnessed how people embrace a genuine hero.

Another was when Kodao presented him with VCD and DVD copies of “Apostasy”.  Ka Dan asked for me.  “Nasaan si Raymund?” he asked.  Here was a great man and he asked for me.  And all I did was to drive him around a few times and swapped a few stories with him.  When he saw me he grabbed my hand and squeezed it hard.  Ka Dan can no longer sit up but his handshake was firm as only joy and gratitude can generate.

Ito naman ang sarap sa trabaho namin sa Kodao.  When we make someone shed tears of joy we know we did something worthwhile—like having authored a book, , planted a tree, published a poem. 

Lastly, I heard mistress of ceremony Rita Baua say Ka Dan was the “New People’s Navy’s first officer” twice. 

Itong si Rita talaga. 

Nes Jacinto: How immortality is earned

I often hear old activists say “the Movement attracts the best and the brightest.”  The masa would confirm this by saying “Kaya ‘yan naging aktibista kasi sumobra sa talino.” 

            Let me write about a kind of genius the Movement is so privileged to have been served.

            I first heard the name Nes Jacinto from NNB’s main anchor Sonia Capio.  Sonia always greeted Kodao people at the end of each show.  I knew all of them but Nes.  I co-anchored the show for more than three years but I have not met him.

            I worked in a human rights monitoring office from mid-2004.  At the end of that year, what I suspected all along was confirmed—I wasn’t a good-enough layout artist.  The office head then told me, “Kailangan na natin si Bulag.”

            I don’t know if my boss then was criticizing me quite harshly, saying a blind man would come out with better designs.  It turned it she was just telling it as it was.

            I then met Nes when I visited his cramped room where he lived and worked.  Then I realized what the boss meant about Nes’ blindness.  He wore impossibly thick glasses which he stuck no more than an inch in front of the computer monitor when working.  We then called him “Beautiful Eyes,” not to make fun of him but to acknowledge his eye for beauty, mostly his own creations.  I have yet to hear of anyone say he produced a bad work—even from people I know to be nearly impossible to please.

            From my stint at that office, I went to work full time for Kodao.  Then I learned more about Nes.  While Kodao’s early video productions may not be as good as those that we have now, it can never be said our CD covers are not works of art.

            Then I also learned that many of the Movement’s logos, books, posters, brochures, and many others were designed by this legally-blind guy.  To my activist-friends, look around you.  Chances are the flag you are holding or seeing may have some Nes Jacinto on it.

             Nes was conceived during the Second World War.  “Ang hirap noong giyera.  Puro kamote lang ang pagkain,” narrates his older brother.  Those extraordinary circumstances may be the reason why he was born with a blind right eye.  Despite this, Nes became a photographer who was among those who captured on film the Diliman Commune struggles and the First Quarter Storm.  He then became a cinematographer and film editor, which may be the reason for his near-total blindness.  When he can no longer edit films, he turned to digital designs and became one of the best in the business.  The world was blessed by a deaf composer who lifted our souls with his music; the Movement is blessed by a blind artist who lifts our tools of protest and struggle to art.

            He designed CERV’s logo, by the way. Pro bono.

            Nes and I connected even more when we talked about photography.  While paying him a visit one time, he mentioned the name of his favorite B&W photographer which he said should be my mentor from hereon.  I don’t know about this foreign photog, but Nes is already mine.  The last nugget he gave me as I was saying goodbye was, “Raymund, the tighter, the better.”  He talked about composition, by the way.

            Kodao had its annual board meeting last January where National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera was unanimously elected to stay as board chairperson.  Nes was unanimously elected to remain as board treasurer.  Already, I noticed Nes was pale and has lost weight.  Shortly after, we learned he was checked in at the UST hospital about suspected tuberculosis.  A battery of tests later revealed he has lung cancer—stage 4.

            Kodao recently launched a video on Justice Romeo T. Capulong and we are about to launch a video on retired navy captain Danilo P. Vizmanos on Monday, May 5.  On his sickbed, and his eyesight even dimmer, Nes asked to be given work. Wanting to give him time to rest, we attempted to do the covers ourselves.  When we took them to him for approval, we realized how deficient we are in skills.  But with his guidance, his “Sis” Risa Jopson nailed both covers in time.

            Yesterday, an odd dozen of us from several offices came to pay a little tribute to Nes at the UST hospital.  A letter from abroad was read to him, thanking him for his help on many occasions.  Comrades spoke about Nes’ contributions and friendship.  We sang songs—badly but passionately.  There was “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole, then “Martsa ng Pagkakaisa” where Nes raised his hand in salute to the Movement who took him in as a young man and is bidding goodbye at his deathbed nearly four decades later.  When we sang “The Internationale”, Nes tried to sing it with us, mouthing the words, eyes closed in exhaustion.  Jola had to raise his hand at the last stanza but he clapped on his own at the end while the room was fighting back tears.

            Let me borrow a good line from Ron Papag to end this: We are giving birth to Nes Jacinto’s immortality at this moment.  Nes is sure to leave us soon enough.  But we will make sure younger comrades will know the name of the person who designed logos, books, flags, CD covers, posters, and many other works of art that are tools of our protest and struggle.

            Indeed, the Movement is blessed by many of society’s best and brightest.  Nes is one.

= = = =

Nes died at 6:30 in the morning of May 6 at the UST Hospital.  He was 63 years old.

          His remains were cremated on May 7.  That afternoon, Upsilon Sigma Phi Fraternity and its sister sorority paid him a tribute at the Church of the Risen Lord in UP.

          On the morning of May 8, Kodao staged a mini-exhibit of some of Nes' works.  That afternoon, another tribute was held for him by progressive groups, led by Kodao.  "The Internationale" was again sung.  Later his ashes were taken home to Malolos, Bulacan.

          Nes was a widower.  He is survived by his sons Mark and Sancho.

Gods and gamblers

I just came back from a two-day caravan to Baguio to petition the Supreme Court to overturn its ruling favoring Romulo Neri’s petition to remain silent on three questions that may prove damning to gloria.  There were more than a hundred of us cramped in eight vehicles.

            We began the trip while Manila was rainy—a much needed break from the wilting summer heat.  We spent the night at Dagupan City, hosted by the outspoken Archbishop Cruz.  Tuesday morning, we pushed on to Baguio which was pleasantly cool.  I only wish I was as happy with its state of traffic, which was hopelessly gridlocked with hordes of vacationers from the lowlands.

            We held two short rallies, the first before the Supreme Court compound where the magistrates were in session, the second at the People’s Park where the vacationers are having their own session of sorts.

            The caravan was successful as the High Court did not perfunctorily and peremptorily dismiss the Senate Motion for Reconsideration.  You see, the SC is known to throw MRs straight to the trash bin, ever unlikely to overturn itself. 

            But surprises abound when we have crusading Chief Justices like Puno and Tehankee long before him.

= = = =

After a few misses, we’ve finally nailed some video shoots of Jun Lozada.  We got wind that he is holding a press conference before his scheduled forum at the St Louis University.

            Contrary to what people in government hope, J. Lo is still popular.  People came in droves to hear him speak.

            I was a bit disappointed with him, though.  Hearing him speak, it seems everything is a metaphor with him.  In the press conference, he talked about betting in the lottery and how the gods may be able to help gamblers.  He said that if only half-percent of all Filipinos would rise up against the corruption in government, then the gods may smile on us and oust gloria.

            First, the metaphor is inappropriate.  Lozada and his family are being given sanctuary by nuns—more consistent enemies of all forms of gambling than their male brethren in the Catholic Church.  Second, speaking up (moreso against gloria) is not a gamble, it is a duty.

            By saying that he is gambling his and his family’s life by speaking out, it seems he is not a hundred percent sure about the wisdom of his recent actions.  Sure, their lives are being put in jeopardy.  But what he is doing, coming out clean about the corruption in government, should never be a choice but a sacred duty.

            Then again, I am not in his shoes.  I shouldn’t be too judgmental on him.  He has sacrificed so much, after all.

            But, and this is a big but, what has he got to lose?  His life in government is already ruined.  The earlier he speaks clearly, the sooner he extols for an uprising against the evil family, the sooner we rid of them.  Then he can start rebuilding his life.

Friends, inaanaks and tyanaks

Long-lost friends always have the habit of popping up just when you are so pressed for time you hardly have space to meet them for even a cup of coffee.  But this is really my fault.  If only I lead a normal life…

            An elementary and high school classmate arrived with her family for a fortnight’s visit to these blighted shores of her birth from the happening Dubai where she and her family are now based.  Some of our friends were able to see her last week but I failed to show up.  They’re supposed to go to Subic to par-tay! today, a delightful event I again can not join.  No, I’m not trying to renege on my regalo duties to her firstborn.  It’s just that my wife has already booked me for something else today.

            A month back, this same group met for an all-nighter at a comedy bar.  It was a fun-filled time, albeit a bit subdued because one of the girls brought along her husband.  It would have been riotous had she not.  Still, the night passed so delightfully we decided to do it again.

            Because one of the girls could not go home that night, I invited her and another friend to wait for morning to creep in at the CERV dorm.  We were inebriated enough so there was no more alcohol in our nightcap.  But the stories we swapped were very interesting.

            Among other tidbits, I learned of some things told about me.  For example, someone thought I haven’t graduated from college and made public (in a conspirational tone, I was told) this gross misinformation.  The blabbermouth is someone who still owes me money and who prostitutes himself just to have money to keep up appearances he is the best among us. 

            Well, I wasn’t terribly shocked about the revelation.  The person wronged so many others, and much more terribly, that his badmouthing is the least of his offenses.  It’s probably just his way of compensating for feeling so abandoned all his life.

            For the record, I attended three of the best schools in the country.  I can’t be attending all three while dimwitted, can I?  (The fool, on the other hand, attended a university whose only distinction is not having one.)

            While we are on the subject, I think the best among the graduates of Batch ’88 is this classmate who worked so hard for his education.  His mom worked as a domestic while he worked as a factory worker just to pay his tuition.  Now, he teaches in two large universities and writes for the biggest media network in the country.  He was one of the poorest among us and now is one of the most successful.  And he did not have to sell his soul nor resort to backstabbing to do it.  That’s real success, folks!

            

= = = =

Some weeks back, a former student of mine called me up to ask if I could be one of his wedding sponsors.

            Now, I think I am too young and poor to be a wedding sponsor.  But this is one of the things you don’t decline—ever!  So I said yes.

            So there I was, in my seldom-used barong and feeling so ill-at-ease.  A couple of my other former students also turned up—one looked spiffy befitting the successful entrepreneur he is; one arrived typically late and already typically plastered.

            It was the first time to meet the bride, who turned out to be a doktora.  I say, the bridegroom is tsumamba.  Hahahaha!  (Walanghiya akong ninong!)

            Now, in keeping with how I treat my friends, I’m going to share an anecdote about the bridegroom.  I have had no chance to talk to my new inaanak yet, the doktora, and this is my chance.  She is a new friend anyway and I hope she reads this:

            I was her husband’s short story writing teacher.  I don’t know if it was indicative of how bad I was as a teacher but he submitted a plagiarized story as his own.  The story was my favorite Chinese story, “The Old Fool and the Ugly Mountain” which became more popular as “The Old Fool and the Three Mountains” under Chairman Mao.  I was floored!  How many times have I read that story and discussed it with so many comrades?  So I talked to him and asked him to submit a new story the very next day—a product of his pen and not anybody else’s—and also told him he should expect no higher than a pasang-awa.  To his credit, he did.  And so I passed him—barely.

            Now, Aileen, doktora, inaanak, this is not a smackdown.  It is just my circuitous way of telling you that Nat is sure to commit mistakes in your marriage and family life.  But just give him a day or two, tell him in no uncertain terms what you want to happen, and he just might surprise you and do the right thing.

            Heartfelt congratulations from your ninong. 

Usapang kanin

The first stirrings of panic about a gut issue is gripping the country—rising prices of rice and insecure rice supply.  Despite an aggressive media campaign a few days back, agriculture secretary Arthur Yap finally admitted there may be a problem.  He went as far as asking restaurants to make it an option to serve half-cups to customers who ask.  (What about the millions who could no longer afford rice, Mr Secretary, sir?  Shouldn’t you be asking this question instead of issuing pea-brained suggestions?)

            This morning, the fucking fake president issued a directive to government agencies to make this a priority.  No effort should be spared to avert this impending calamity, she said.  Does she mean that, until now, some efforts were indeed spared to make our all-too-important rice supply stable and that our staple is affordable to all Pinoys?

            I’m just kidding, of course.  Our rice supply has not been stable in more than a decade and more and more families could no longer afford rice.  What many Filipinos now eat is rice that, only a few decades ago, were just patuka to the backyard chicken.  I caught one lady on TV who admitted that she mixes NFA rice with better varieties just to make them palatable.

            “What is happening to our country, general?”

            How we find ourselves in this unthinkable situation started about 14 years ago.  In 1994, a certain pandak senator acted as a treaty’s main sponsor to make the Philippines a World Trade Organization member.  It passed, of course.  This good-for-nothing government thereafter allowed rice importation in greedy quantities that effectively killed the livelihood of the tens of millions of Filipino rice farmers and endangered our rice sustainability.  To make pasikat to all the other WTO members, the Philippine government tore down all import duties and taxes while discontinuing what little subsidies were given to the farmers in record time.  The madayang imperialist countries (US, Europe, Japan), to this day, still have to stop subsidizing their farmers. To make matters worse, local rice farms were “converted” to “agro-industrial estates” also contributing to the decrease in rice production.  The unpredictable weather conditions brought about by global warming are not helping either.

            Suma total, we have become a rice-importing and dependent country from a rice-exporting country just a few years ago.

            And yet our magaling na pamahalaan is not being forthright about the real reasons why we’ve reached this low point.  Instead, it is content with issuing directives and offering suggestions, such as the half-cup policy.

            But should we be surprised?  The pandak senator who sponsored the WTO treaty is now the pandak fake president leading us all to destruction.

Pasalubongs and collections

Pom recently arrived from a raket (a short, income-earning stint) in India and from a quick visit to her sister Emma and Emma’s family in Nepal.  She traveled with another sister Emily, Gabriela’s international relations officer.  In that trip she made two stopovers in Bangkok (from and going back to Manila) electing to stay overnight each time.

            Being income-less for the first time in decades, I wasn’t able to give her pocket and shopping monies.  I then expected her to save all of her modest talent fee for the expected rougher times ahead.  But my wife is all woman—someone who can’t resist a good bargain and someone who can’t take it if she does not bring home something for the (handsome) husband left behind.  So she spent nearly half of what she earned on me.

            In her first trip to Nepal about two and a half years back, she brought home for me an authentic gorkha knife, winter jacket and gloves, and dried meat.  This time around she only brought one—one big bag of goodies, that is.

            No, my wife did not bring home chocolates, de lata, and shirts.  She has more imagination and higher taste than most (her choice of husband being a very good example).  As the woman who completed my airsofting BDU, my wife buys for me my collection of toy cars and buys the pirated DVDs I am too cheap to buy myself.  Hence, more creativity is always to be expected of her.  This time around, she just substantially increased my collection of rare imported beers and my Jeffrey Archer and Kurt Vonnegut books.

        Let’s start with the last.  Vonnegut’s books are so hard to find in the Philippines.  I know of some bookstores that have them but I am so poor to be shelling hundreds of pesos for a copy—even previously-owned ones.  A second-hand Vonnegut paperback could be as expensive as 500 pesos here.  That’s just too much for someone who is growing old buying dog-eared books at less than 100 pesos.

            Anyway, we now have Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle”, “Slapstick”, “Hocus Pocus”, “God Bless You, Mr Rosewater”, “Mother Night” and “Jailbird” to add to the two other books we have of him.

            Speaking of jailbirds, Pom was able to buy two Archer books we still do not have in our collection.  (This is the trouble with collecting still-active and living authors.  Until they kick the bucket, chances are, you are still incomplete.)  We now also have “To Make a Long Story Short” and “False Impression.”

            AND! Che Guevarra’s “Motorcycle Diaries” on paperback.

            And these are just books for me.  She of course bought books for herself.

            It looks like this summer would be a reading one.

            And we are not lending.  NO!  Maraming hindi marunong magsoli! (Minsan, ako rin naman.)

            Now, to the beers.

            I have in my now growing collection the following:

1.  Tui, the East India Pale Ale, brewed in Aukland and Timanu, New Zealand;

2.  Beez Neez Hand-Crafted Honey Wheat Beer by Matilda Bay, Freemantle, Australia;

3. Kirin Tanrei of Japan;

4. Everest Lager, a special limited edition bottle and a 50^th anniversary commemoration bottle from Nepal;

5.  Lowenbrau, a 600-year old and original Oktoberfest brand—from Germany, of course;

6.  Oranjeboom Premium, a Dutch beer;

7.  Gorkha Premium, Nepali;

8.  Tuborg Gold and Tuborg Royal De Luxe;

9.  Carlsberg All Malt Premium 2008 UEFA edition and Carlsberg Chill;

10. Asahi Dry of Japan;

11. Foster’s, the famous Australian;

12. San Miguel Premium Lager (mine’s brewed in Nepal, although SMB is of course Filipino.  I am collecting SMBs brewed elsewhere.);

13. Lhasa Tibetan Beer—the most expensive of the lot, which could pay for all the others combined.  It is also quite difficult to obtain.

           I do not want to sound disloyal here but my favorite is Coor’s Light.  It is, to me, better than San Mig Light.  Plus it’s got a cool gimmick.  A white decal of the Rockies on its amber bottle turns blue when it is ideally-chilled.  I’ve consumed boxes of this brew these past months, but only because I collect its “stay-cold” glasses.

          Now, I am not turning alcoholic.  And this humble collection is nowhere near as impressive as I like it to be.  I’ve been asking our volunteers to bring me more but only a few a biting—just three so far.  But I must say I have rare bottles here.

          But, as with all collections and libations, they are only most enjoyed with the right company, people who are as passionate or, at least, people who understand this most childish of passions—like my wife, for instance. 

Nasaan na ba ang itak ni Andres?

It’s the worst crime a government can commit—a crime that makes the ZTE broadband network scam seems peanuts in comparison.  The arroyo government practically surrendered our patrimony and sovereignty over a huge portion of our national territory to foreign powers.  gloria is giving away territory paid for with blood by Bonifacio and the millions of Filipino patriots and martyrs.  (Btw, some of our patriotic battles were waged against Chinese pirates such as Limahong!)

Well, all our presidents were guilty of this.  They all allowed the US military to use parts of our territory as its bases, playground, nuclear arms repositories, and training sites.  (How many “wild boars” have the bastards killed again who turned out to be Filipinos?)

            True to form, gloria arroyo is topping all our traitorous former presidents on this one.  She allowed the fucking Chinese and Vietnamese governments to conduct oil exploration activities on twenty thousand square kilometers of Philippine territory.  And she kept it a secret!

What’s more, a Filipino diplomat in China took it upon herself to speak in behalf of the Chinese government over its alarm about a congressional bill that tries to clearly define our boundaries.  And newly-minted House Speaker Prospero Nograles is leading the gang in thwarthing the bill.  Well, in this time of Lent, Judasses abound, don’t they?

The Spratlys/Kalayaan group of islands is without question Philippine territory.  It is well inside 200 miles from our easternmost province, as specified in international laws on the seas and territories.  We have the strongest claim to them, stronger than Vietnam’s, Malaysia’s and Indonesia’s.  China, including Taiwan, is included in this claimants’ list, reportedly by virtue of a historical claim.  (South China Sea, get it?)  But any idiot who has consulted a map can conclude that China is a bigger idiot in believing so.  It is hundreds of kilometers away from the northernmost of the islands.  And they were not the first ones to ply these waters.  Our Polynesian ancestors were when they discovered these islands starting from 750 thousand years ago.  During that time, the Chinese were probably still busy shaking the sands of Gobi Desert from their ears.

         At the turn of this millennium, the Chinese bullies started building military structures on some atolls and islets in the Kalayaan Group and the Scarborough Shoal near Pangasinan.  It is proof of the weakness of their harebrained claim that they chose not to build on the bigger islands as we did.  Yet they are already there shooting down US spy planes taking pictures and Uncle Sam just kept quiet about it.  (Hey! cowards! we thought you’d defend us when we’re in trouble in the manner that we bled and died for you in your imperialistic wars in Korea, Vietnam and Iraq.)

            The way I see it, this is like allowing distant neighbors, one a proven thief, to see if there is a Yamashita gold cache in our backyard.  What if there are indeed treasures under our house?  Do we expect the neighborhood bully to just let it go at that?  By his nature, isn’t it expected that he will camp in and later lay claim to our property? 

            The thing is the treasure isn’t the arroyo syndicate’s personal property.  It belongs to younger generations of Filipinos to be represented by future governments—hopefully led by a legitimate president very unlike the impostor we now have in the palace.

            Three years the arroyo syndicate and the Chinese and Vietnamese capitalist railroaders have been doing this and we only come to know of it now?  For what?  For scandalous kickbacks from scams like the ZTE broadband network? 

Traitors! Thieves!  May Bonifacio’s bolo chop you all into tiny, unidentifiable pieces!

Ano na ngayon, aber?

In times such as these I love to talk to all the people who’ve told me that our current system of “democracy” is the best we could ever hope for.

            I would love to talk to former Comelec chair Christian Monsod who said that our electoral democracy is a success story and something that we must defend with our lives.

            I would love to talk to his wife, professor Winnie Monsod who never tires in lecturing that our open economy is most beneficial to the people.

            I would love to talk to Ricky Carandang who once challenged me that unless I vote for someone that I am not really doing my part for democracy.  (Well, Ricky was just making salsal the discussion to make his program more interesting.  That guesting was fun!)

            I would love to talk to Alex Magno who writes tirelessly that gloria is the best president in all of the universe.

            I would love to talk to Belinda Cunanan who apparently believes there is no better calling in life than to defend the regime.

             I would love to talk to Ramon Jacinto, Carmen Ignacio and the other nincompoops in that network who espouse the same filth that comes from Magno’s pen.

            I would love to talk to former comrades like Poe Gratela (idol ko to dati e) and ask them how could they stomach staying in government.

            I would love to talk to all those who heckled us activists who belittled us from the start.

            I would love to ask them all, NASAAN NA ANG BANSA NATIN NGAYON?  NASAAN NA KAYO NGAYON? ANDIYAN PA BA KAYO?

Here I am and gloria is my country’s sitting president

I have been an activist for 15 years already.  Since I’ve been concienticized and politicized I felt this increasing fury at the abject state of my country.  But never under two previous administrations have I felt the kind of rage I now have against the arroyo regime.  I never thought I’d be confronted with the horrors older activists suffered under martial law.  But here I am and gloria is my country’s sitting president.

            The more I learn about how arroyo is “at the center of this ecosystem of corruption” the more I hate her and her minions.  Yes, Romulo Neri, “She is evil.”  So come clean, you sonofagun!

            My dark mood is not helped by other players in this zarzuela. 

For example, I am terribly disappointed with senator Joker Arroyo.  Tumatanda ng paurong!  After his stellar role as a human rights defender during martial law, how could he bring himself to defend arroyo?  This boggles my mind no end.  This is a complete turning of the leaf.

Some people now embrace former speaker Jose De Venecia and son Joey as “victims” if not fucking heroes.  I don’t know.  I’ve lost count on how many times JDV had saved gloria’s hide.  If he “faced the light” earlier, there would have been less corruption, poll cheating, killings and enforced disappearances.  If Joey was given his share of the ZTE commissions, we might not have heard from both of them at all.

            Also, many Filipinos still put their faith on the Roman Catholic Church leadership in the Philippines.  Sure, many bishops are now calling for a “people power of a new kind”--whatever the heck that means.  Well, how many times in the past have we asked the church to be more categorical in its pronouncements?  Were they for or against truth and justice?  If they called for gloria’s ouster some years back, more activists, lawyers, doctors, churchpeople, human rights workers might be alive today.

          Still, I have relatives saying that the only thing missing to force gma to step down is a stronger response from the military.  Believe it or not, I think that to let the military lead this course of action would be worse than letting the “evil” woman stay until 2010.  At best, I may be amenable to let them follow the people’s lead on this one and not for them to take the driver’s seat.  They’ll just be killing more more activists, lawyers, doctors, churchpeople, human rights workers, and ordinary folks when they come to power.  And I know they are as corrupt as the fake president we are trying to kick out of office.

            What saddens me more is that I know we need the likes of de Venecia, the bishops, and key members of the military for another uprising to work. But I can never agree to them being in power after this is accomplished.  They should stay the hell back to give this country a genuine chance to reform. 

When that happens, the people’s genuine interests should be at the forefront and no one else’s.