blame my gun

(O huwag mo kalabitin ang aking gatilyo)

"The lesson today is how to die..."
Which Strange Little Girl would you be?
You have a strong sense of justice, and believe that ultimately people should pay for their crimes.

Mga magsasaka at ang muntikang pagbawi sa Mendiola

Hindi pa tuluyang nawawala ang sakit ng ulo ko sa maghapong pagco-cover sa kilos-protesta kanina sa Mendiola nang bumungad sa telebisyon ang pagbaba ni Gloria Arroyo sa Don Chino Roces Bridge upang mamahagi ng mga medalya para sa mga miyembro ng pulisya na nasugatan sa kanilang tungkuling ipagtanggol ang ilehitimong pangulo. Bagaman dumoble ang kirot na nararamdaman ko sa sentido, bigla ring nagliwanag ang aking isip sa tanawin ng isang tila nababaliw nang presidente na ipinamumukha pa sa harap ng kamera ang kanyang pagka-pasista. Pabagsak na ang rehimeng ito, iyan ang totoo. Kanina, ilang metro na lamang kung saan nakatindig kapwa ang libu-libong mga mamamayang sumugod mula sa Timog at Hilagang Luzon, at ang trak-trak na pulsiyang inangkat pa sa mga karatig-probinsya para lang kumapal ang reaksiyunaryong hanay, mukhang war zone ang Mendiola na takot na takot mapasok ni GMA. Nakahalang ang pink fences ng MMDA, road blocks, barbed wire, at maging police tape na may tatak na do not cross. At sa loob nitong barikada namumugad ang daan-daan pang pulisya, militar, at PSG na naka-full battle gear, at mas malapit pa sa tarangkahan ng Malakanyang, ang mga six by six at container vans.

Mukhang pinaghandaan ni GMA ang araw na ito. Tulad ng paghahanda ng mga magsasaka na tiniis ang isang linggong paglalakad, oo, paglalakad, ng kilo-kilometrong layo ng Malakanyang mula sa kanilang mga bukid at tahanan kung saan nararamdaman nila ang hagupit ng kahirapan at pandarahas sa ilalim ng rehimeng Arroyo. Oktubre ang Buwan ng mga Pesante, mga magigiting na pesanteng kalakhan ng mga mamamayan, at hindi nila hinayaang hadlangan ng calibrated preemptive response ang kanilang karapatang idaing ang kawalang hustiya ng kanilang pangaraw-araw na buhay. Saludo ako sa mga magsasaka na hindi nagsasawang dalhin ang alingasaw ng protesta ng kanayunan sa umano'y Imperial Manila.

Sa kahabaan na lamang ng Recto, kung saan mabilis na nagmaniobra ang mga raliyista upang makalapit sa Mendiola (akala ng pulisya sa Liwasang Bonifacio didiretso ang bulto, hahaha), mainit ang pagtanggap ng mga ordinaryong mamamayan na umangat mula sa pagiging tagamasid lamang nang magtapon sila ng confetti upang salubungin ang kilos-protesta.

Malinaw na nabigo ang pananakot ng AFP na papasukin ng mga NPA ang mga ralyista. Sa kabaligtaran, mga ahente ng militar ang natuklasan ng mga ralyista kaya't nabigo ang plano ng gobyerno na maghasik ng gulo at ibunton ang sisi sa "the usual suspects," na ang mga pangalan ay kanila pang ipininta nang pula sa mga pader sa kahabaan ng Recto. Malinaw na ang Mabuhay CPP-NPA-NDF, Ibagsak ang gobyerno, at Viva Joma na islogan ay kagagawan ng militar at hindi ng mga subersibo, na nagsasagawa lamang ng ganoong OP (operation pinta) kapag anibersaryo ng mga naturang underground na organisasyon. Talk about literal red-baiting.

Dahil sa pagkaka-OA ni GMA hindi nabigyan ng karampatang atensyon ng media ang mga nasugatan na ralyista kumpara sa mga nasugatang pulisya (na kung hindi man maliit na galos sa braso ay gatla sa ulo, na batay sa hitsura, ay maaring nagmula sa pagkakabangga sa shield na bakal at hindi sa mga kahoy na istik ng mga ralyista). Gayunpaman, sulit na sulit na para sa mga mamamayang nagprotesta ang kanilang paglaban, kahit na sa ngayon ay hindi pa "nababawi" ang Mendiola. Yanig na yanig na ang Malakanyang. At maging si dating pangulong Fidel Ramos na noo'y timbulan ni Arroyo ang ngayo'y nananawagan, sa madaling salita, na bumaba na siya mula sa desperadong pagkakakapit sa kapangyarihan.

Pabagsak na ang rehimeng Arroyo at unti-unti nang nawawala ang sakit ng ulo ko.

Photo credit: Kenneth Guda, Pinoy Weekly

posted by: ilangq at 12:14 | link | comments |
political chuvachuva

The problem with making counter-terrorism entertaining

Recently, my boyfriend and I became obssessed with finishing as quickly as possible a whole season of this television series called 24, in a DVD set bought cheaply in Quiapo. We watched the series' 4th season in a week, cramming it in the wee hours of the morning, wasting time that should have been more wisely spent resting. We couldn't help it. The whole season took place in the 24 hours, with each episode 1 hour long, supposedly in "real time." Therefore watching show after show became something as urgent as ending a stomach-churning rollercoaster ride.

24 chronicles an action-packed, suspense-filled day of a fictional counter-terrorism unit (CTU) in Los Angeles surviving fictional terrorist attacks. I initially agreed to watch it only upon the word of my boyfriend, who is an ardent 24 fan, that the show doesn't promote stereotypes used to justify America's equally fictional and abhorrent "war on terror." Unfortunately, as the show progressed, it became evident that it does promote such stereotypes and much more. 24 is counter-terrorism at its most brilliant and efficient, and therefore dangerously faulty, being an antithesis of the reality of counter-terrorism in the country and in the world.

The show's hero is Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland), who often gets himself into trouble because of his daring and authority-defying moves on the field. Nevertheless, since he always turns out to be correct, he is CTU's best agent, responsible for saving lives of high-ranking government officials and millions of American citizens. 24, first of all, brandished how high-tech US government surveillance and technology can be. Chloe O'Brian (my favorite character, played by the brilliant actress  Mary Lynn Rajskub), is a computer analyst that can draw up satellite images or detonate nuclear warheads in a snap.

However, it also portrays the equally efficient tools used by terrorists to plan mass destruction, terrorists who, in this season at least, are every inch what Bush et al. want us to think they are. Read: Arabs. (My boyfriend protests that in the last season, the terrorist was an American CIA agent). Arabs that are willing to kill themselves, and their own sons and wives, for the cause. But tiring as the Arab-labeling was, that's not what really got to me.

What really got to me was how every single violation of the international humanitarian law committed by CTU was virtually dismissed, pardoned, and justified by the eventual revelation that such acts contributed to stopping the terrorist attacks just in time. And that anyone, including the president, who hesitates to such "necessary" means, is deemed to be weak and unfit.

For example, when President Logan (or rather, the VP who was forced to assume the presidency when the elected president was injured by the attack on Air Force One) bungled a CTU operation because of his qualms over torturing an American who had "no record," he was forced to seek the help of former president David Palmer. Palmer (Dennis Haysbert), on the other hand, authorized covert operations, including the kidnapping of a Chinese national. It was under Palmer's command that the nuclear attack was prevented. In effect, leaders who uncannily resemble Bush's ways, emerge the savior, unpopular and controversial as they may be.

President Palmer and Jack's actions and decisions are undoubtedly made to appear as "difficult," but ones that had to be made for lack of options, and more importantly, lack of time. 24 is counter-terrorism in an extreme hurry, with the sound of the clock ticking made so palpable, the threat of attack and immeasurable loss so imminent, such that anything becomes acceptable-- including warrantless arrests, illegal detention, and torture. These violations of human rights are packaged so differently in shows like 24 such that they hardly seem like the same horrors that civil libertarians are fighting against.

Of course, the legitimate issue of human rights are used to serve the story's interesting plot. The Defense minister's son, an anti-war activist, refuses to talk by invoking his "right to privacy" but in the end was discovered to have withheld vital information, plus, he turned out to be gay.

As sheer entertainment, 24 is near-perfect. The actors are good, the plot is terribly exciting, and there is rich character development (For example, the struggle between the professional and the mother in CTU head Erin Driscoll--Alberta Watson---was given full play with her schizophrenic daughter staying and eventually committing suicide in CTU headquarters). Romance is present but controlled, making the series complete (the heart-wrenching tragedy of Jack's lovelife is juxtaposed with his lover-colleagues dramatic reunion).

However, as we see the Anti-Terrorism Bill being fasttracked in Congress, one cannot help but wonder at the purpose of such counter-terrorism shows (The 3rd season of 24, by the way, is being shown on ABS-CBN every Friday night). Are we being made to believe that the same ram-it-down-the-throat tactics used by the fictional CTU can be used by the Arroyo government and will end up saving millions of people? It is certainly seems to be what Bush intended the American public to believe in pushing its own repressive "counter-terrorism" agenda.

The problem with making counter-terrorism entertaining is that in real life, it is not. An inaccurate, black-and-white public perception of terrorism is right now costing lives in a sovereign nation called Iraq. It is currently endangering the little that is left of Philippine democracy.

As much as I enjoyed 24, I honestly cannnot recommed it to anyone who haven't at least watched Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 or at least have an inkling of the truth behind America's imperialist and most terrorist war.

posted by: ilangq at 16:59 | link | comments (1) |
popcult madness

Ang sinungaling ay kapatid ng magnanakaw ay kapatid ng mamamatay-tao

The Commission on Appointments is a horrid joke.

That is last Tuesday's really revolting news that never made it to newscasts or headlines. It was the confirmation hearing of Maj. Gen. Jovito Palparan, the "butcher of Mindoro" turned "butcher of Samar" and now the "butcher of Central Luzon." As he sat there calmly explaining to Congress that what he meant by "neutralizing" civilians who are suspected sympathizers of the communist insurgency is innocuous dilagoue and nothing else, another activist was gunned down under his command. A fesh countdown of deaths in CL has begun (nine since Palparan was assigned to Fort Magsaysay last September 1). And the chairman of the CA committee on defense, Rep. Jesus Jardin Romulado, has the gall to say to reporters after the hearing: "IILAN LANG NAMAN ANG PINAPATAY EH."

A mist of disbelief glazed over my eyes. The veins on my neck stiffened. I looked at Romualdo's obscene bulging belly and felt the urge to stab it with my ballpen. And as he went on, saying that he believed that those people Palparan had ordered killed were actually armed and dangerous and that human rights was an old and tired issue, I choked for words that would make for excellent rebuttal questions. But words failed me. I stood there, silent and livid.

In the end I finally managed to ask his take on what the members of the committee were asking for--comparative data on human rights violations before and after Palparan's deployment in a region/province. (Marie Hilao-Enriquez of Karapatan, fuming, told me that such data HAS been submitted to the committee, the members are just refusing to acknowledge it.) And Romulado replied that even with such data on hand, he would still be inclined to confirm Palparan's promotion based on his "excellent" track record.

Upon hearing this, I backed away in a faint.

Later, in the press room, reporters, including ABS-CBN's Lynda Jumilla, were loudly jesting on the horror of Romualdo's remarks. I know for a fact that Lynda did make such a report, but it wasn't on TV Patrol. Inquirer's TJ Burgonio also wrote a story on it, and was in fact asking my help in establishing the background. But his report didn't land either.

The Arroyo government is letting a murderer go scott-free, giving him the freedom to commit more of the same gruesome crimes, and is pinning medals of valor on his shirt. Ang sinungaling ay kapatid ng magnanakaw ay kapatid ng mamamatay-tao.

But unless it comes from the mouth of Susan Roces, fat chance that that's gonna be deemed newsworthy.

posted by: ilangq at 07:16 | link | comments (1) |
peryodismo

Sa daan patungong Mendiola

Sa daan patungong Mendiola,

umaangal pa rin ang mga sasakyan

pero wala ni bulong na maririnig.

Kakaibang katahimikan ang pansing

nananaig: panahon ng asidong ulan

pero hindi umaahon ang alimuom ng kalsada.

Hindi nakapagtataka, sapagkat

nagmamatiyag ang sigang petrol pump.

Nakaantabay ang mga batutang

alitaptap na lumiligid sa korona.

May firetruck para sa pasensyang natutupok.

At may teargas para palabuin ang daan,

maging maanghang na ulap na di-matuntungan

maliban ng mga drayber,

estudyante, tindero't pobre

lulong sa sariling eskapo

namamahay sa mga lansangan

papunta sa Malakanyang.

Oo, bantay-sarado ang Palasyo.

Ulol ang guwardiyang aso ng nagigibang trono.

May sanlibong kalasag ang reyna,

anupa't hindi inilulukob ang bayan

sa daluyong ng pagtaas

ng presyo ng langis,

matrikula, puhunan, at

basahang pinampupunas

sa sapatos ng iba.

Pero sumisinghal sa pagitan

ng busina ng mga sasakyan

ang sentido komun na umaagos sa pusalian,

ang burak na katotohanang isinuka

ng mga itinaboy na suki ng Mendiola.

Ilang araw pa at sila rin ay sasali.

Ilang araw pa at wala nang makapagtitimpi.

Ilang araw pa at lalantad ang magkakampi,

susugod at sama-sama gaganti.

posted by: ilangq at 18:12 | link | comments |
malikhaing pagpanggap

Resurrecting Orwellian truths

At about the same time the "Pinoy ako" theme song of that blasted ABS-CBN show has begun to infectiously catch on me, I finished a good book by the creator of the "Big Brother" concept himself, George Orwell. Mr. Orwell would have laughed his head off or else blown it to bits had he been alive to witness his brainchild degenerate into this commercial package, which, according to my boyfriend (who nevertheless enjoys watching those girls bounce about in their skimpy bikinis, I must loathe to admit), "annihilates all critical thinking."

I am not even going to attempt trying to do a decent review on that sorry excuse for entertainment (the Big Brother show, not my boyfriend, haha). Not when I can't seem to finish an episode without screaming in rage at the inanity of the whole thing, then turning despondent and gloomy at the thought of the enormous amount of work it would take to make society matter to such people (the next generation, no less).

No, this post I shall dedicate to Mr. Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris and London," a really amusing and truthful look at the lives of workers and vagrants in the two great cities of Europe . One could not have told that it was a work of fiction (and perhaps half of it was based on his own experience), his writing made it all so palpably real. Even the absurd turn of events under  conditions of extreme poverty made didn’t seem like artificial story plots at all, at least not to me, who had just recently seen a naked greasy man stretched out in the steel pillars of Quiapo bridge (one couldn’t honestly tell if he were dead or alive). Though I had read 1984 years ago I had half forgotten it, only to be reminded as I read this book what an “Orwellian truth” means. It means an observation made more than half a century ago that eerily remains true up to now.

Take, for instance, his thoughts on the treatment of beggars (such direct comments, however, make up only a few paragraphs of the whole book—most of it really consist of sad enlightening adventures of overworked, underfed, starving, and penniless characters):

“…If one looks closely one sees that there is no essential difference between a beggar’s livelihood and that of numberless respectable people. Beggars do not work, it is said; but, then, what is work? A navvy works by swinging a pick. An accountant works by adding up figures. A beggar works by standing out of doors in all weathers and getting varicose veins, chronic bronchitis, etc. It is a trade like any other; quite useless, of course—but, then, many reputable trades are quite useless. And as a social type a beggar compares well with scores of others. He is honest compared with the sellers of most patent medicines, high-minded compared with a Sunday newspaper proprietor, amiable compared with a hire-purchase tout—in short, a parasite, but a fairly harmless parasite. He seldom extracts more than a bare living from the community, and, what should justify him according to our ethical ideas, he pays for it over and over in suffering. I do not think there is anything about a beggar that sets him in a different class from other people, or gives most modern men the right to despise him.”

Or, his perception of why workers go on performing back-breaking brainless tasks mostly for the luxury of others (more specifically, as a plongeur or staff in fancy French hotels with hellish kitchens underground):

“I believe that this instinct to perpetuate useless work is, at bottom, simply fear of the mob. The mob (the thought runs) are such low animals that they would be dangerous if they had leisure; it is safer to keep them too busy to think. A rich man who happens to be intellectually honest, if he is questioned about the improvement of working conditions, usually says something like this:

“We know that poverty is unpleasant; in fact, since it is so remote, we rather enjoy harrowing ourselves with the thought of its unpleasantness. But don’t expect us to do anything about it. We are sorry for you lower classes, just as we are sorry for a cat with the mange, but we will fight like devils against any improvement of your condition. We feel that you are much safer as you are. The present state of affairs suit us, and we are not going to take the risk of setting you free, even by an extra hour a day. So, dear brothers, since evidently you must sweat to pay for our trips to , sweat and be damned to you.”

I wonder how Mr. Orwell, who wrote in this book about how tramps would lovingly collect used cigarette butts from the pavement to serve as their hoard of tobacco, feel about watching a full-grown man practically bawl on television when told by “Big Brother” that he could not smoke for one day.

Mr. Orwell’s Big Brother theory, if I remember correctly, was that of a paranoid, iron-first state perpetually watching out for the existence of subversives. In today’s “Big Brother,” we hear only a giant network’s voice issuing ridiculous ratings-driven directives, and complacent young adults running around, subverting each day the relevance of their own existence.

posted by: ilangq at 17:31 | link | comments (1) |
popcult madness

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