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.

In Geneva

Except on the late night of my arrival, I never actually looked up at a dark sky over my head in Geneva. It was summer, and disconcertingly enough for someone like me who had never known a day cycle other than our typical 12-hour, the sun there doesn't set until at least 10 pm at this time of the year. It rises just a little past 5 am, giving you approximately 16 hours of daylight. Which was just perfect for a semi-tourist. 

I say semi-tourist because in my immigration card I checked business, not pleasure, as the purpose of my travel. But that didn't stop me at all, from, ahem, pleasuring myself. For Europe was lovely as usual, and I had about 2 and a half days free for roaming around this city at the western tip of Switzerland. Just seeing once again those distinctively European buildings and getting on and off those orderly tram lines immediately had a calming and most thrilling effect. It made me recall places I visited two years ago in Netherlands, France, and Italy, in the world's most beautiful cities I really just breezed by (given my dwindling euros and limited number of days). Though Geneva cannot equal Paris, Rome, or Amsterdam in cultural grandeur, it was filled with enough sights to marvel at. 

At this point I would actually rather post pictures on my other blog to show the Jet D'eau (the world's tallest fountain pumping water from Lac Leman 460 feet into the air); Temple de Saint-Pierre (a former Catholic church that was converted into a Reformist church by Jean Calvin) and the chapel where John Knox preached; the Reformation Wall (a monument of Calvin, Knox, and two other leaders of the said movement); Place Neuve containing the Opera House, Music Conservatory, and statue of Red Cross founder Henry DuFour; Brunswick Monument (the extravagant tomb of some rich duke); Maison Tavel (the oldest house in Geneva) and other of the city's historical places mostly located at the Old Town or Vieille Ville (the equivalent of our Intramuros). 

I visited around 3 public (read: free) museums--the Museum of Arts and History, Rath Museum, and Museum of the History of Science. (I also went to the interesting-sounding Clock and Watch Museum but it was closed for renovation until 2009.) I liked most two exhibitions devoted entirely to the works of Le Corbusier, a Swiss painter, sculptor and architect, whose Purist art--"product of precise, rigorous technique"-- were really breathtaking to behold and grows more exhilarating upong scrutiny. A lot of his paintings was also devoted to the female form. I won't pretend to know a lot about visual art, only that I found his work highly provocative and so now I have a favorite Swiss artist, to add to my modest list of venerated European artists (Van Gogh, Vermeer, Rembrandt, da Vinci, Picasso). It's rather an effort not to get too absorbed in museums, to not contemplate too long on interesting works of art. It was a good thing Geneva does not really have immense musems like the Louvre (which I once tried to cram into a half-day of viewing--until now those unexplored treasures in countless rooms that were beyond the limits of my exhaustion and time still haunt me). 

It was also satisfying to be able to visit the headquarters of the World Trade Organization and have my picture taken doing the thumbs-down or "junk" sign in front of it. That was unfortunately the only form of protest I could do without getting arrested. I had initially planned to bring Boycott Nestle stickers with me but the multinational's head office is in Zurich, maybe, and yeah, I will in all probability get caught and get penalized for vandalism.  

Of course I went inside the United Nations headquarters, as my host was an employee there and I had a temporary UN ID for the conference I was attending. Just wandered around peeping into assembly halls that looked just like in the movie The Interpreter (the main assembly hall was unfortunately being used so we couldn't get through), and took pictures with the famous globe, flagposts of all the UN member countries, and prisoners of war sculpture. Here's trivia: the wealthy bloke (I forgot his name) who donated the land to the UN had set 3 conditions for it: 1) that peacocks be allowed to roam freely; 2) that sheep be allowed to graze; and 3) that it be open to the public. Saw no peacock nor sheep anyhow, just grass, long corridors, and security guards. 

Anyway, enough of these so-called tourist spots, as I said, I'd rather that pictures speak for themselves (But I'd probably be able to post them in a week's time because I'm going away again). What I really want to talk about is this certain wonderful weekend. It was sheer luck that I had timed my visit to coincide with that of one of Geneva's biggest yearly festivals--Fete de la Musique!!! So yes, I had been to a genuine, true-blue Fete de la Musique (did I mention that Switzerland's official language is French?). It featured artists of every conceivable music genre and the atmosphere it generated was unbelievable. All types of people-- rowdy teeners, tanning ladies, relaxing professionals, excited tourists, sweet-faced grandparents, even balloon-contented kids-- from different races and nationalities-- Swiss, French, Italian, African, Chinese, Spanish, American, Arabian, etc.-- converging, wandering, sitting, standing, yelling, chatting, ogling, eating, drinking, laughing, silent, but above all, listening to the music. Giddily I hopped from one stage to another (there were more than 50 scattered around the city), listened and clapped and listened and clapped and listened and finally hooted along with the rest of the ecstatic crowd. 

There was jazz, there was opera, there was pop, there was rock, there was gospel choir, there was reggae, there was indigenous music, there was classic symphony, there was trip-hop, there was a lot of music I couldn't even place. For example, there was this performance of two guys sitting beside each other, each wearing only a black brief and one black boot that they used to tap beats on the wooden floor. I was so amazed I forgot to take a snapshot before their number was over. 

There were also wonderful smells continuously wafting from stalls that sell international food, and I never regretted my well-chosen lunches for those two days, though they were the most expensive kebab and paella I ever ate (costing SF10 or P400 each).  

I even ended up buying a self-recorded CD of this local band called SAJ, whose beautiful red-haired lead singer had a Portishead-like voice. I liked their melancholy sound and the fact that their CD cost the same as my kebab.  

And may I just say that the men who roamed round the Fete were hot, hot, hot. I swear absolute gorgeousness walked by at the rate of one per five seconds. I think I now desire European men and the smell of their aftershave (for without it I'm afraid that they do have this unpleasant Caucasian odor).

Geneva was a really manageable city to explore. With a trusty map in hand, I mostly just walked from one attraction to another. Sometimes I even bump into them unexpectedly while strolling. 

I personally love walking on the bridges over the River Rhone or watching the Jet D'eau along the quays and photographing the activities of swans and ducks. 

I enjoyed tasting fresh cherry and peach, fruits that I only previously encountered canned.

Since it was summer, no sight of the Swiss alps, unfortunately. It was also a bit hot, which was frustrating for me since I was dressed rather inappropraitely (I brought nothing but long-sleeved shirts) and didn't get to use at all the nice jacket that I bought in ukay-ukay.

I also got to know a lot of interesting people in my travels. My benchmate at the park, an Arabian peacekeeper who hates Bush and wishes to live in another planet if there was one. My hospitable host and my parent's college friend, a  mother of eight, who makes the most simple household concerns sound like fascinating life-or-death tales and who actually publishes a newsletter about their family life. My seatmate in the airplane, a 22-year old Filipina who has a sixty plus-year old Italian boyfriend that never allows her out of the house for fear that she might meet someone younger.

* * *

Of course the other half of my trip (and the main purpose, actually) was spent in participation of this workshop sponsored by the UN on this certain international chemicals management agreement that involves the so-called partnership of government, industry, and civil society. Let me share some personal thoughts (note: doesn't reflect the opinion of my org).

It was an important and ambitious agreement, one that my father and other health and environmental advocates like him have worked hard to hammer out despite many obstacles. Now that its done and recognized worldwide, the inter-governmental organizations spearheading the implementation of the agreement are trying to settle the question of how it's going to be done.

But I really find a major glitch in the assumption that government, industry, and civil society are on a level playing field. In truth, and more glaringly so in our country, industry and government are god. (Or rather, industry is god and the government is its faithful servant). So yes, a formal and working partnership on sound chemical management is good when it can be achieved, but can it be achieved? In the conference, no representative from the Philippine government came. I really rather kind of envy those other Third World countries from Africa who at least had some middle-ranking officers from their environment ministry interested in the agreement sent. From the industry came just a handful of representatives from some medium-sized company, a consultative agency, and a coalition of chemical companies whose main jobs I feel are to do PR and are not really at the capacity to make relevant decisions. No Monsanto, no Syngenta, no DuPont, none of the giant agro-chemical companies whose promotion of chemical-intensive agriculture has caused death, pain, and poverty of millions around the world.

And of course there was the non-confrontational and non-political nature of UN itself, which drowns glaring contraditions and concrete problems into words like "capacity-building" and "synergies" and "opportunities." I am sure that there is a lot of space left for the kind of partnership the UN envisions, but I am too learned to see that in our country at least, where oppression is too blatant and suffering too extreme, such space is too small to make a significant impact.

All the time I was vacillating between these pessimistic thoughts and struggling to make our stand be heard. When I pointed out at one workshop the problem regarding the collusion of industry and regulatory agencies, the UN facilitator furrowed his brows and asked: "So, how do we solve it?" I wanted to reply "people's vigilance" at least (I dare not enunciate here what I really thought), but of course, given the UN framework, I just quite honestly said: "I don't know." Then his colleague exclaimed something like: "A more effective partnership! That could somewhat lessen the occurence of the problem." Er, right.

I guess I'm just too used to the expose and oppose, arouse-organize-mobilize framework for societal change to appreciate these kind of UN processes. But then again, chemical management is really a marginalized issue even among farmer, health and environmental groups that have potential for affecting some kind of change in chemical awareness and use on the ground, so I guess it really needs support mechanisms like the said agreement and so being part of workshops like these are important.

Even if it means that I have to play nice to this macho-feeling representative from this reactionary labor union in the Philippines (nagsalita pa sa panel, akala mo naman may ginagawa talaga yung org niya). Only consolation is that my organization was part of this broad and active international network that has done recognized good work and we had lots of experiences to share, unlike his, hah! 

Being the youngest and female in such an international workshop, I had expected patronizing attitudes towards me, and did experience it (Men asking me, are you are okay? Did you get that?) But I must say, I showed them all, was active in workshop discussions and was able to deliver a report in plenary as calmly as if I had recited in class.

Next time, though, I would really rather leave such UN meetings to my father, and instead stick to PAN meetings, which I'm more familiar with and happy with the framework (more progressive and people-oriented) and where I get to meet farmers and agricultural workers who really are the reason for this advocacy.

posted by: ilangq at 09:04 | link | comments (1) |
paglalakbay

Last minute rants

For the next two weeks I'd be out of the country. So my subsequest blog entries (if I would have the time to make them) would most likely contain impressions of foreign lands I get excited just thinking about (for anything new is terribly exciting to me).

But before I get carried away by these soon-to-be novel experiences, before I cast my last looks upon the hazy brown patches of earth that this country becomes right after take-off, I'd like to register the following rants, in no particular order of importance:

1. I knew it. I knew that the Department of Environment and Natural Resources would let the Australian-owned Lafayette Mining Corporation continue its operations in Rapu-Rapu, Albay despite being "environmentally uncompliant" for years. Mining companies who make dazzling amounts of money by destroying livelihoods, poisoning lands and seas, and endangering lives, really have nothing to fear from this government. They have absolutely nothing to be anxious as long as there is a President who practically cries "Go, go, go!" while the country's mineral-rich mountains are being raped by foreigners. In a Senate hearing last Tuesday, environmental groups, members of the academe, and even the Environment Committee chair Sen. Pia Cayetano herself questioned the National Economic Development Authority's boast of $840 billion profit to be culled from all-out mining in 24 priority areas in the country. Profit by whom? Certainly not by the government, which only gets marginal taxes (2 percent in the case of Mineral Production Sharing Agreements) and which practically gives away billions of pesos in revenues (from our own natural wealth, no less!) by bestowing an average of 6 to eight years of tax holidays upon foreign mining companies.

2. It gave me a start to watch on the news relatives of Marcus Bangit sobbing over his lifeless body. Bangit, an indigenous community leader from Cordillera, was shot by the now familiar "motorcycle-riding men" in Isabela. He was the 679th activist to be killed under the Arroyo regime. I was jolted because I knew the man. Not well, but when I heard his name I instantly remembered that I interviewed him last year while covering the Cordillera day celebration in Abra. As secretary-general of the Binodngan People's Organization, an organization of tribal peace pact holders, he was also the one who arranged my interviews with those elders who serve as vanguards of tribal unity. It was through him that I realized how challenging yet exhilarating it is to organize among indigenous communities, who on the one hand are vulnerable to feudal traditions and government manipulations that wreck their unity, but on the other rests upon a long tradition of militancy and are easily bonded in struggle against issues that confront them collectively such as mining, landgrabbing, and militarization. Now he's dead, martyred. Like Tirso Cruz, union leader of Hacienda Luisita, whose words I also once put down in a story.

Funny. Thought that that was going to be a longer list but I just realized that I'm sweating like a pig in front of the computer and that I can't wait to set my sights on the Swiss alps. But really, leaving here is always strange for me. Though I'm always looking forward to do so (and I am aware how lucky I am to be born into a family that goes on vacations abroad and to a dad who has a NGO that goes on UN-sponsored trips wherein  am asked to stand in for him--and I know that opportunities like this don't last forever), I somehow end up missing the country even before I'm gone.

posted by: ilangq at 13:26 | link | comments |
political chuvachuva

Photoblog: This camera is a curse

I just realized. Photography is an entirely different pursuit from writing. Thus, rambling words and stark images should not compete for attention in one blog.

So I put up a new blog consisting entirely of photos. Please visit http://cameracurse.blogspot.com. Consider it as my photoblog. I plan to update it as often as this blog.

As patikim, here is what happened at Mendiola during the rally held there today. The rest of the images can be found at, yes, my photoblog.

So now my two identities have officially been established, at least to myself. Nobody has to believe in either, but i blog anyway.

posted by: ilangq at 10:46 | link | comments (1) |
samut sari

Too many happy occasions, so many infuriating things

Lately, I've been preoccupied with too many happy occasions that I've been slightly thrown off my usual orbit of political absorption. My close friend from high school got married. Before the wedding, there was this bacholerette party of sorts. My grandmother celebrated her 80th birthday. Before the grand family reunion which brought relatives as far away as Camiguin Island to Kowloon House in Quezon City (the nearest to a hotel atmosphere we could afford), there was this rehearsal for an ambitious salsa ang cha-cha dance number we performed for lola, and after that, an outing to Batangas. Tomorrow, we would be touring our cousins (and ourselves too) to the newly opened Mall of Asia.

In the meantime, so many infuriating things have happened. More activists, such as Southern Tagalog peasant leader Noli Capulong, have been slain. Noble lives snuffed out in such appallingly brazen manner, in such cold, methodical succession. I honestly want to tear my eyes out everytime the news tell of another political killing. And the NERVE of the AFP to try to pin the murders on communist purges. Such an affront to the memory of all those who sacrificed their lives to the national democratic struggle. All evidence point otherwise, all reasoning shows that all these is happening at a state-orchestrated level and is US-inspired. (Click here to read Pinoy Weekly's report on Oplan Bantay Laya, the government's anti-insurgency program whose targets include civilians from legal mass organizations). Often have I pondered on the gravity of the sheer loss of so many precious and wonderful people who spent their lives serving the poor and oppressed. Does the public even realize just how good and heroic these persons are who are dropping like flies under the brutal Arroyo regime? And you have notorious politicians like Batangas Gov. Arman Sanchez surviving a freaking car bomb. If that's not enough crazed reality to drive you mad.

Then you hear that the highest official in the land has arrogantly scolded an education official who simply told the truth about the country's dismal classroom shortage. Arroyo, obviously in a delirious fit, has declared a 100:1 pupil-classroom ratio as the standard. It's back-to-school, and everyone is in despair over unaffordable tuition fees, the advent of other school-related expenses, lack of decent school facilities, etc. No thanks to the lunatic in Malacanang who seems to think children learn best packed like pigs in a pen, with their teacher's 1/100th attention.

The Makati RTC judge handling Rep. Crispin Beltran's rebellion case has decided that vague "testimonies" handed by the oh-so-credible DOJ as evidence has more weight than official House of Representatives records that show Beltran was not where the AFP alleges he was, participating in what the government now fondly calls the Right-Left conspiracy. An absolute idiotic ruling that when you think about it, it is consistent with the absolute idiotic leadership of the justice department (the word "justice" has never sounded more farcical).

And then I read that "Nicole" had to sit through four hours of being in the same room as her rapists (I refuse to put the word alleged here as I have personally made up my mind), forced to hear the defense lawyers' lousy attempts to subvert the issue by destroying her character, and constrained to pull of extravagant stunts (successful with the help of Gabriela) in order to protect her identity from the glaring media eye. In short, raped all over again. Painful, painful. Can't imagine how that must feel.

So even if I had been reveling in several merry events these past couple of weeks with friends and family, I've been seething all the while. I've been crying all the while. I've been anxious all the while. A string of happy occasions has done a lot to refresh me, but I'm glad they're almost over for now. I simply can't take shadows that lurk at the corner of my sight.

posted by: ilangq at 18:49 | link | comments |
political chuvachuva

Sayang

Dahil masaya ang anumang pulutong ng mga bata na naliligo sa dagat, dahil kaakit-akit ang kanilang mga ngiti habang naghaharutan, dahil makukulay ang kanilang mga damit na tumitingkad kapag hapit sa kanilang mga sunog na katawan, kumuha ako ng mga litrato.

Maya-maya, napansin kong isang lalaki ang matamang nagmamasid sa akin habang ginagawa ko ito. "Miss, ano yan, para sa eksibit?" magiliw niyang itinanong.

"Ah, hindi, para sa akin lang," sagot ko. Nagpatuloy ako sa pagkuha ng mga litrato.

Nang magsawa ang mga bata sa ka-po-posing, nang magsawa ako sa pagnanakaw ng kanilang mga inosenteng sandali, nang naalintana ko ang init ng sikat ng araw at nagnais nang bumalik sa resort na aking tinutuluyan, naroroon pa rin ang lalaki, nakatambay sa aking ligid.

Nagsimula siyang magkuwento. Aniya, dati siyang potograpo at ang mga litrato niya'y dating tinatanghal sa mga eksibit sa Albay. Sabi niya, pinakamagandang kumuha ng mga litrato sa mga unang sandali ng bukang-liwayway at sa dapithapon habang nilalasap ng araw ang mga huling sulyap sa mundo. Sabi niya, maayos din ang kita sa paglilitrato, lalo na kapag may okasyon katulad ng kasalan. Kaya nga lang, nang ipahiram niya ang kanyang kamera sa isang kaibigan, nasira ito. Wala siyang sapat na pera para ipagawa ito o makabili ng bago. Dito nagtapos ang kanyang kabuhayan bilang potograpo. Ngayon, namamasada na lamang siya ng isang traysikel.

"Sayang," himutok ko.

Ngumiti siya na parang namuo na ang salitang ito sa kanyang lalamunan. "Oo nga eh."

Doon din, gusto ko na sanang ibigay sa kanya yung hawak kong kamera. Nang sa gayo'y hindi humampas at lumampas lamang na parang hangin habang siya'y nagmamaneho ang mga imahe na marunong niyang naibibihag sa isang litrato, isang obra. Nakakalungkot na hindi nakapagpatuloy ang kanyang sining at siya'y nauwi sa pagiging karaniwang alipin ng lakas-paggawa.

posted by: ilangq at 23:14 | link | comments |
oda sa pangkaraniwan

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