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.

Nostalgia

Jules and I were only too happy to be invited as speakers in the College Editors Guild of the Philippines' 66th National Congress and 33rd National Press Convention. It has been five years since both of us had been at a CEGP national event, back when I was still a delegate and he a secretariat member. It was then, amidst the crashing of waves in the pristine shoreline of Panglao Island where we headed to after the Congress, that we officially became a couple. (Up to now I still can't shake the feeling that the perfect beach atmosphere was solely responsible for my dazedly being swayed by the rather quick turn of events that led to the start of this relationship-- which includes chasing barefoot after our friends aboard a jeepney who decided to leave us after an hour of searching for us in vain, hehe). In other words, much has happened since our last CEGP Congress so it feels so exciting and terribly nostalgic to be invited back. This time, I was there not as a wide-eyed, happy-go-lucky delegate for whom everything sounds so new and bold and inspiring. This time, I was there as a resource person, presumably among those who are tasked to say things that would sound new and bold and inspiring to campus writers. It was a daunting task I couldn't dare judge how I had performed, though I must say I did the best I could. I always teach for various localized CEGP events and other campus publications, but the CEGP Congress is different because it brings together a powerhouse cast of well-known journalists and writers both mainstream and alternative (mostly ex-Guilders) in a feat to hone the awareness, viewpoint and skills of a seething mass of young writers from across the country. The media bigwigs who graced this year's Congress were Malou Mangahas and Isagani Yambot. Politicians who likewise showed up included the town's mayor, former DILG secretary Joey Lina (keynote speaker), and Rep. Edcel Lagman (a shameless gatecrasher who vainly tried to promote Cha-Cha, I must say). But my personal sense of being honored did not come from being in the same speakers league as these personalities, but of those writers whom i truly admire and some of whom were the same speakers that helped my political awakening five years ago.

There's Richard Gappi, the former Phil. Collegian editor from Angono, Rizal known for his humor and pure devotion to the craft (despite whatever maladies that may be weakening his already thin body or whatever sad fate the local paper that he is working for meets). Taking a peek at his handout on poetry basics, I realized that I had forgotten half of them and had been lazily free-forming my poems away in utter disregard of the elegant workings of Filipino rhyme and meter.

There's the legendary Prof. Gelacio Guillermo of UP, puffing away on cigarettes, white hair tied to his nape with a rubberband, delivering his lecture on short story writing as a simple afternoon chat, like veteran writers are wont to. Remembering how I once acted when a particular discussion has so enthralled me as to throw my world off-balance, I smiled as I saw one student conversing deeply with Tsong after the session has ended.

And there are many others that I am proud of having been in the company of, including my old friends (cheesy as it may sound to them) like Carl Marc Ramota of Kabataan party-list, Philip Paraan of Council for Health and Development, Rowena Carranza-Paraan of NUJP, Sarah Maramag of Anakbayan and Sinag de Jesus from the multimedia group Sipat, Palanca awardee Ferdinand Jarin; and newfound friends like John Torralba, "Bonggay" (I honestly forget her real name she was simply so, well, bonggay), both DLSU professors, and writer and gay rights advocate Danton Remoto (who threatens to topple Bayan Muna in the next elections by forming Bakla Muna, hehe--his party-list is actually called Ang Ladlad).

Then there were these year's recipients of the Gawad Marcelo H. Del Pilar an award of distinction given to CEGP alumni who had made significant contributions to society. One was the 28-year old Jerry Badayos, a student writer turned NPA from Cebu who was killed in an encounter last March. With tears in her eyes, his courageous mother Nene, a volunteer for a human rights group, received the award. The other award was given to veteran activist and UP Prof. Judy Taguiwalo, whom I met for the first time and to my delight turned out to be such a cool woman who cracks loud jokes, it was hard to reconcile it with the serious image her imposing name previously invoked in me.

Jules and I couldn't stop marvelling at how young the delegates looked, realizing that we, indeed, have grown old (or at least, he has, hehe). Though I might still be in the same age group as some of these students, I can see how far I've gone from being an eager campus writer. But more importantly, it struck me how far I have yet to go, how much I have yet to do. I see the wonderful process of teaching and learning and realize that there is still so much to learn, still so much to teach, so many ways to discover how to best do both.

Speaking of delegates, I must make mention of the talented cartoonists from Bicol who organized themselves into a CEGP visual artists collective. They offered to do these beautiful sketches of people P35 pesos apiece. Their business was such a hit that most of the artists didn't get to sleep at all. For some reason, the artist Nikko had some difficulty doing mine and had to revise his sketch several times, sneaking surreptitious glances at me where I was sitting and asking Sarah, "Nakikilala mo ba ito?" The end result was a rather cute one with me and Jules wearing native clothes amidst a Mt. Mayon backdrop. I didn't have much time to get to know the other delegates better, except for some of the students whom I taught investigative journalism, and for these two good-looking guys from Aquinas University who were in the short story writing class that I sat in. One of them was actually flirting but as Jules was only several meters away, I had to restrain myself. (Haha!)

While Jules, Philip and I were eating at a fastfood restaurant right before we were to board the bus home, Jules asked us, "Do you ever have separation syndrome?" He meant that feeling of sadness when you are about to leave an event, knowing that you'll never be able to meet again many of the people you had known there. "Yung iba, mamamatay," he even said, probably thinking of Beng Hernandez whom we last saw in Bohol. I know that feeling well, having taken part in many such happy, memorable events not just here but abroad. It's a very brief bittersweet spell that becomes nostalgia over time, something powerful that can  wash over you again and again and provoke such feelings of excitement  that we carried with us when we first came.

posted by: ilangq at 03:32 | link | comments (2) |
okasyon

Mas mayaman pa ako kaysa kay Ka Paeng

Natutuwa akong mabalitaan na pawang pinakamahirap na miyembro ng Kongreso si Anakpawis Rep. Rafael "Ka Paeng" Mariano. Si Ka Paeng, isa sa tinaguriang Batasan 5 na patuloy na ginigipit ng gobyerno Arroyo, ay may kabuuang assets na P18,537.12. Kung ikukumpara ang halagang ito sa naipon ko sa ilang mga taon (hindi man sa pagdi-diyaryo kundi sa marangal din namang uri ng pangraraket), lumalabas na mas mayaman pa ako ng bahagya kaysa kay Ka Paeng. (Hoy, walang magtatangkang mangutang sa akin ha sabi ko bahagya lang naman at gagamitin ko ito sa pagpapamilya in the future, so hush!)

Kung tutuusin, tama lang na mas mayaman ako kay Ka Paeng. Tutal, ako ay isang peti-burges na hindi kinailangang magbanat ng buto hangga't sa makuha ang aking college diploma; at siya nama'y isang magsasaka na kinailangang tumigil sa pag-aaral para tulungan ang kanyang mga magulang sa bukid. Bagaman siya ngayo'y isa nang mambabatas, maliit lang naman talaga ang suweldo ng kongresista buwan-buwan. Malinaw, naroon si Ka Paeng sa Kongreso upang maging kinatawan ng mga mahihirap o "marginalized," sa lengguwahe ng sistemang party-list. At paano pinaka-epektibong maisasatinig at maipaglalaban ang adhikain ng uring anakpawis kundi ang mailuwal nito at manatiling napapabilang dito kahit matapos ng dalawang taon sa loob ng isa sa pinaka-korapt na institusyon ng gobyerno?

Sa kabilang banda, tumataginting ang milyun-milyong assets ng mga kasamahan ni Ka Paeng sa Kongreso. Kung sa bagay, nagmula ang kalakhan ng mga kongresista sa mga mayayaman at maiimpluwensiyang angkan (kaya nga sila nailuklok sa Kongreso). Pero dahil lalo pang lumalaki at lumalawak ang dati nang mga lupain at negosyo, siguro'y hindi na mapangahas isipin na may kinalaman ito sa kanilang hinahawakang makakapangyarihang posisyon, kahit hindi kabilang sa kanilang tungkulin at sa malimit ay tahasang krimen pa nga ang magpayaman. (Gusto ko sanang sabihin, ang kapal ng apog nilang magkunwari na sila'y maka-mahihirap, pero na-realize ko na karamihan sa kanila ni wala nang pagpapanggap pa sa kung ano ang tunay na ginagawa nila sa Kongreso).

Katulad ni Anakpawis Rep. Crispin Beltran (may assets na halagang P85,000) na dati namang taxi drayber, hindi nasanay sa materyal na yaman si Ka Paeng. Ngunit ang mas kahanga-hanga, hindi siya naghahangad nito. Isang katangian ng rebelde? Isang katangian ng taong marangal at taos pusong lingkod ng mga naghalal sa kanya. Sa loob man o sa labas ng Kongreso. May pork barrel man o wala.

Alam ito ng gobyerno Arroyo, alam nilang hindi nila kayang suhulan at sa anumang paraan kabigin sa bulok na sistema ang mga progresibong kongresista kaya't gagawin nila ang lahat para ietsa-puwera at durugin ang mga ito. Sa madaling salita, gagawin ng gobyerno ang lahat para patahimikin ang atungal ng mga mamamayang busabos sa loob ng Kongreso at panatilihin itong exclusive club ng mga asyendero at kapitalista mapayapang nahihiga sa kanilang nakaw na yaman (literally, mula sa kaban ng bayan, at figuratively, mula sa mga inaalipin nilang manggagawa at magsasaka) at ipinambibili lang siguro ng isang pares ng sapatos ang P18,537.12 halaga ng kabuuang assets ni Ka Paeng.

posted by: ilangq at 20:49 | link | comments |
political chuvachuva

The moon and the mountain

In a Maalaala Mo Kaya drama special I recently watched, Vilma Santos, playing Daisy Hernandez who lost her daughter to epilepsy, uttered the following lines: "Kapag namatayan ka ng asawa, ang tawag sa'yo biyuda o biyudo o balo. Kapag namatayan ka ng magulang, ang tawag sa'yo ulila. Pero kapag namatayan ka ng anak, anong tawag dun? Wala, kasing walang salita para sa sakit na nararamdaman ng isang ina na namatayan ng kanyang anak."

It is easy to understand that given kind of deep, unfathomable pain of mothers who have lost their children. That is why I am overwhelmed by this one strong and inspirational mother who let go of her daughter so beautifully, in a manner that befits one whose child has lived and died as a most beloved martyr. Read Girl leaves mother to be ‘child of our times' here. I had waited for this article with bated breath. And now that her story is out there for all the world to know, I am happy. This is for you, Erika, and for unforgettable others like you.

* * *

They call you moonface. This is because your face is white and round and full and is everywhere. You smile so generously, heaping light onto whoever it is that looks at and talks to you. And though you are of the earth and of the common people (in their presence you are your most remarkable), somehow I sense that you have always been above us all, too pure to last too long. Yes, I remember you as the silver plate that embellishes every dark night preceding the raging sunrise. Humbly, I bask beneath the energy of your selflessness and purpose. For you were human in a way that most of us have yet to learn how to be. Your flesh tore like any other but you bore all your sufferings so lightly and maintained this effervescent glow such that your comrades can only blink with awe. Now we all cry with grief. A month has passed, yet farmers and their children that you played with still call out your name. They refuse to be comforted with a memory. They act with resolve to renew your spirit. The moon shines undying, a revolution, on their faces. I know that you are there.

* * *

I remember you, perhaps, like a mountain I had once journeyed to and loved. Unlike her, I cannot stare at you wholly, even in memory. Instead, I remember you in exciting parts: your chin like an awesome crag; your eyes like a clear, cool, intoxicating spring; your nose like an old sturdy tree; your hands like a running river; your smile like a suprise vista from a hill. I remember the millions of palpitations my heart suffered because of you, because I dared climb you though in the end, you proved to be far too majestic. Yet you joined me in the lowly shade where I rested and told me stories of bravery, in such child-like simplicity it was hard to believe you were near forty. You showed how never to age in battle. Now your name rests legendary on people's lips. Your mother listens with pride as many speak highly of you and yes, laugh at your one-of-a-kind antics, trying to momentarily reconstruct what you had been: something far too precious to forget. For me you are that cherished mountain I will journey many times over and love no end.

* * *

If I am all right now, if I am somehow able to put my memory of them into these neat little words, I know it is because I did not know them the way their comrades and the masses that they served and were with everyday did. I couldn't help but wish that I had been with them as intimately and as necessarily, even if in exchange it meant handling a loss far, far greater. In some warped way, I envy those tears that come from a well of knowing, needing, and loving deeper and richer than I have been able to create for them. Still, I am very thankful that I have been one of those countless people forever touched by them, looking for them everywhere, missing them always, only finding solace and joy in the moon and the mountain and the people who make both sing.

posted by: ilangq at 07:30 | link | comments (2) |
tao sa buhay ko

Candles for slain journalists

According to Malacañang, it is unfair to compare the state of the press in the Philippines to Iraq because the latter is a war zone.

PRECISELY. And yet for the second consecutive year, our country is the world's 2nd most dangerous place for journalists (next to Iraq). Following Malacañang's logic, there are no bombs falling all over the place and rebel attacks in public places every other day, so there is no reason for journalists to be killed. And yet they are.

Yesterday, I joined the candle-lighting ceremony held in front of the National Press Club to commemorate World Press Freedom Day. I felt a chill go down my spine as each of the names of the 77 journalists who were killed since 1986 were read out loud. It is insightful to know that 40 of them or more than half were killed under the Arroyo regime, making GMA the murderous equivalent of four presidents, including a dictator. One of the journalists slain--not just under, but by the Arroyo government--was Benjaline Hernandez of the College Editors Guild of the Philippines, a very close friend of friends of mine.

Last week, I interviewed the children of the slain journalists who were recently awarded scholarships by the National Union of Journalists in the Philippines. Some of them were even witnesses to the brazen murders of their own parents. During the interview they tried to adopt a brave manner that I highly respect. They claimed that they are on the road to recovery, but their wan smiles and misty eyes told me otherwise. Their young souls thirst for justice and none can yet be found in this world that had brandished its fangs and clamped down on their lives too early, too soon. They were beautiful, they were tragic. Read my Pinoy Weekly article on the children of slain journalists here.

There is no conventional war like that of Iraq's here in the Philippines, but the flourishing insurgent "people's war" in the countryside, among others, is a testament of how bad the conditions of "corruption, poverty, and fear" are in this country. The Philippines is a war zone in a sense that the struggle between the powerful and the weak, the rich and the poor, has become so severe that anybody who so much as lifts a finger for the oppressed, even to just write about the who, what, where, when, why, and how, is silenced.

 A candle for the dead burns silently, but it burns.

posted by: ilangq at 16:03 | link | comments |

Mayo Uno 2006

MASO. Dagdag-sahod ang matagal nang ipinaglalaban ng mga obrero (hindi kung anu-anong "non-wage benefits" na hindi naman nakakabuhay).

TAKBO. Isang kulturang pagtatanghal na nagsasalarawan sa panggigipit at pandarahas sa mga mamamayan sa ilalim ng rehimeng Arroyo.

ITANONG MO SA MGA BATA. Ipinagdiwang ng mga manggagawa ang Araw ng Paggawa sa piling ng kanilang mga pamilya na pangunahing apektado sa pang-ekonomiya at pampulitikang krisis sa bansa.

PATRIYOTIKO. Walang sawang nagpapamalas ng pakikiisa sa mga nakikibakang mamamayan si dating bise-presidente Teofisto Guingona.

TIGIL-PASADA. Isang drayber ang matamang nakikinig sa talumpati ng pinuno ng PISTON (Pinagkaisang Samahan ng Tsuper at Operator Nationwide) na binabatikos ang walang ampat na pagtaas ng presyo ng langis.

MARTSA. Nag-aasam ang mga manggagawa na makatuntong sa Mendiola.

AYAN NA. Sa lilim ng LRT, pinanonood ng maralitang magkakapatid ang paparating na bulto ng mga nagpoprotestang mamamayan.

SUGOD. Isang babae ang naghihikayat sa mga kasamahan na umabante patungo sa hanay ng mga naghihintay na anti-riot police.

INTERNATIONALE. Suklam din kay Arroyo ang mga obrero mula sa ibang bansa na dumating para imbestigahan ang dumaraming kaso ng pagpaslang sa mga aktibista.

posted by: ilangq at 19:21 | link | comments |

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