Wearing a red hunting hat

This is my column today.

I have a confession to make. More than two decades ago when the Internet was still incomprehensible to most people, when geeks and nerds still had absolute dominion over cyberspace, and when access to the net still meant having a telephone and a dial-up connection, I spent inordinate amounts of time lurking in Internet chat rooms.

My initial handle or nick was Salinger, after Jerome David Salinger, the novelist. Back then, no one asked about who Salinger was and why it was my handle; which was probably a reflection of the demographic profile of the people who lurked in chat rooms then—people who knew JD Salinger and what he represented to those belonging to a certain generation.

I tried logging on to a chat room the other weekend using Salinger as my nick. Most of the chatters didn’t have the faintest idea what my nick represented despite the fact that news about the death JD Salinger was one of the top stories in the net. It’s either of two things: Kids today really don’t read books anymore or their notion of what is “cool” and “hip” is completely different from what it was during my youth. I read somewhere that in a survey conducted among today’s young, the few who have read Catcher In The Rye found the plot simplistic and Holden Caulfield, the main character in the novel, “whiny.”

At no other time has the generation gap become more real to me. Reading JD Salinger was a rite of passage for my generation; everyone I knew in college had read Catcher in the Rye. It was almost inconceivable for anyone to have gone through college without at least knowing who Holden Caulfield was. How could kids today not know who JD Salinger is? And how could kids today find Catcher simplistic and Caulfield shallow?

Catcher In The Rye was the book people carried around during my college days like it was the ultimate badge of coolness in much the same way classmates in high school lugged around copies of The Little Prince like it was a barometer of intellectual prowess. No, I didn’t think people fancied themselves as brown Marc David Chapmans who shot John Lennon supposedly to draw attention to Catcher In The Rye; we simply identified with the teenage angst and sense of alienation. (As an irrelevant digression, I should also point out that certain male members of my class, for reasons I cannot go into in this piece, also lugged around Harold Robbins and those pronoun books—He, She, You, They, Him, Her—that listed Anonymous as author).

The death of JD Salinger the other week represented the passing of an era for me and for my friends. We felt like having our own memorial for the reclusive novelist. I finally understood why a favorite professor in college took the day off when Ayn Rand died. (I also read Ayn Rand but didn’t feel any connection probably because I read Atlas Shrugged first before I read The Fountainhead. Atlas Shrugged just didn’t sit well with my political sensibilities at that time).

I am not sure if JD Salinger is still required reading in literature courses today the way it was during my college days. You know how it is when something is forced upon you—you tend to look at the material with some measure of disdain regardless of all the praised heaped upon it. It didn’t help that the professor who made it required reading had plunged deep in my estimation after she encouraged me to read Sidney Sheldon’s Rage of Angels, all the time raving about how it was supposedly the best novel ever written (not!). I procrastinated on reading Catcher In The Rye and settled down to read the darn thing only when the deadline for the paper was almost up. I finished it in one sitting and quickly lapped up all the other JD Salinger books available, which, unfortunately one could count with the fingers in one hand.

Salinger’s portfolio is rather slim. Aside from Catcher, he published only three other books: Nine Stories, Franny and Zooey, and Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction. However, there is absolutely no doubt that those four books achieved so much more in terms of influencing a generation and in provoking spirited discussion and analysis.

My fascination with JD Salinger has not just been on account of the fact that he wrote great books or that he published only a few of them. I’ve always been in awe of what he represented as a writer.

He debunked many paradigms about what makes a great writer. He proved that one does not need to have a large body of work to prove one’s mettle. He exemplified what I’ve always thought was extreme dedication or devotion to writing as a craft. And he wrote mainly for himself.

Salinger’s reclusiveness and his manic obsession with privacy may have served as fodder for the gossip mill but they also sparked philosophical discussions on writing, publishing, and the job description of writers and authors in general.

Most writers aspire to be published. The prevailing paradigm is that someone can only claim full-fledged status as a writer if one has published his or her work or works. Moreover, one’s worth as a writer is largely measured by how prolific one is. In fact, the rather thin canon of noted Filipino writer Jose Garcia Villa is seen as the major reason why he has not been bestowed the title of National Artist despite his brilliance.

Salinger, however, shunned public recognition and looked at being published as a major invasion of one’s privacy. Salinger thus prompted the philosophical, perhaps even existential questions that writers wrestle with: Is public recognition relevant in determining writing talent? Does one need to be published for him or her to be considered a writer? Should a writer write for others or should a writer write mainly for one’s self? Are writers defined mainly by their writing?

By isolating himself from the rest of the world and by refusing to be published, Salinger showcased an alternative point of view; perhaps one that is unpopular or unconventional. But when we come to think about it, writing is a creative process that is intensely personal and the demands and pressures we place on writers are often unfair. I often cringe when I come across people who complain that Ninotchka Rosca or Mo Yan do not produce as many books as say, John Grisham or Jeffrey Archer. We often expect writers to be spokespersons for this and that cause, to be the mouthpiece of our innermost thoughts, to be the voice of the everyday man. We forget that the choice—what to or not to say publicly—is primarily that of the writer’s and nobody else’s.

And oh, in case you haven’t read Catcher In The Rye and are therefore unable to see what the title of this piece has to do with the rest of it, Holden Caulfield’s red hunting hat is one of the symbols that appear frequently in the book. It represents his need for individuality and security, while also representing a lot of mixed emotions.

Like betting on prizefighters

This is my column today.

The question that everyone inevitably gets asked at social occasions nowadays, whether surreptitiously as if it were a matter of national security or blatantly as if it were one’s obligation to announce it to all and sundry, is this: Who is your candidate for President?

It is possible of course—although I highly doubt it—that the social circles I move in do not typify Philippine society. Based on my observation, most people who are asked the question are still unsure about who they are voting for. Of course there are those who have already made up their minds and proudly proclaim their choices but they represent a minority.

But most people I know give non-committal answers—they often provide two names. “I’m choosing between this and that candidate.” Some provide stronger indicators by saying “I am strongly leaning towards this candidate.” But the sense I am getting is that people are still deciding; most people haven’t really made up their minds. In fact, I have this sneaking suspicion that many people are not being truthful when they answer because they don’t want to be judged.

Unfortunately, although I have the feeling that it is waning now, there is this strong moral judgment against people who pick candidates who are not aligned with certain supposed moral precepts.

Who then are these people that comprise the respondents of all these various surveys?

I am aware that they qualify the survey questions with the statement “if elections were to be held tomorrow.” But surely, the people doing the surveys detect the hesitation and the uncertainty in the faces and responses of the respondents.

I am not knocking down surveys in general. I certainly find it hypocritical when certain political groups proudly proclaim the results of surveys when it benefits them and then shoot surveys down when the results do not suit them.

I believe that surveys play an important role in the electoral process and in a democracy. At the very least, they provide a strong indicator of the pulse of the people. But as the admonition goes, statistics are like lampposts. They should be used the way a sober man does which uses them to guide his way home. The problem is that most use statistics the way a drunk uses lampposts in a stupor—as a crutch or support to prevent him from falling down.

Thus, I join the chorus of people demanding for more responsible treatment of the results of surveys. I am concerned that survey results are being used indiscriminately as if the statistics are already a substitute for actual elections. In fact, I am alarmed that surveys are now being used deliberately and rather unethically to create a strong bandwagon effect. I am aware that certain groups are now capitalizing on results of surveys and tailor-fitting their campaign strategies to harness the results of these surveys.

When I expressed this concern at a forum recently, I was told that a professor from the University of the Philippines is spearheading a similar advocacy armed with empirical data and a more methodical approach. I wish more people would take up the advocacy, particularly those who are in a position to influence more people. We need to explain the results of surveys better. We need to enlighten people that an election is not about voting for the most popular candidate but about voting for a candidate one believes in.

The immediate consequence of the bandwagon effect being propped up and pushed strongly—unethically, I must stress—by certain political parties is that the electorate seems intent now on choosing candidates very much similar to the way people bet on prizefighters. There is now this whole preoccupation with choosing candidates who, in their minds, are sure winners, or at least have the strongest possibility of winning. People seem intent on casting their luck on front runners as if voting for a losing candidate is now anathema.

We will have to pay dearly in the future if this phenomenon is allowed to continue.

Just last week I attended a family affair where the dinner conversation naturally meandered towards politics. It was just a matter of time of course and when the inevitable question finally got asked, I noted that most people in our table were still undecided. When I said that I was leaning towards a certain senator who is not faring well in surveys, most people agreed with me that it was a good choice but cautioned me that my vote will get “wasted” because my candidate is not going to win based on the results of surveys. I argued my case, of course.

Votes will get “wasted” if they are not cast in favor of candidates who are sure to win based on surveys? I have never heard a more preposterous idea!

The elections are still a good three months away and anything can still happen. In fact the campaign season has not even officially started yet. As it is we’re already seeing shifts in the popularity ratings of certain front runners. Senator Noynoy Aquino, for instance, does not come across as invincible today as he did a few months ago, does he? It’s not fair and certainly not wise to count out candidates who are not rating well in surveys.

And it’s not as if surveys are 100 percent predictive. They are snapshots of the political landscape at a given time; such landscape may change everyday. This is not just wishful thinking. It has been known to happen many times.

But over and above anything else, we must remind people that elections are not about picking the most popular people. They are about voting for the candidates that one thinks and believes are best for the job. This could mean the most competent, the most qualified, the people we strongly identify with.

Otherwise, we might as well cancel elections and let Pulse Asia, Social Weather Stations, and the rest of the companies who are in the business of conducting surveys decide among themselves who should sit in Malacañang, the Senate, the House of Representatives, and in various provincial and local government offices.

Sick and sickening

As I write, I am watching The Bottomline with Boy Abunda. He has Marlene Aguilar as guest. I am totally blown away - thrown off the wall - by the sheer lunacy of it all.

The experience of watching Marlene Aguilar regurgitate what she thinks is wisdom and brilliance is akin to watching a circus freak show. It's riveting but it is also surreal. It's just so totally unreal.

What amazes me is that there are actually people who can't see through her; people who still cling to the notion that she is doing all of these things out of maternal love. She is doing it for herself. She is doing it because she cannot help herself.

She is sticking to this fantastic yarn about how America is behind her son's supposed persecution. She insists that all of these things - even the Maguindanao massacre, believe it or not - happened because of the supposed subversive content of her book.

I've read parts of her books (they can be downloaded from the net) and believe me, the woman is taking too much credit. The accusations she makes in her books are actually very tame.

I realize though that by writing about her I am contributing to her notoriety. But this has to be said: Marlene Aguilar needs a psychiatrist.

Crab mentality

Like many others, I am also concerned about the way candidates, specially those running for national posts, are spending money on television ads like there's no tomorrow.

However, I find it extremely hypocritical when certain politicians and their lackeys begin criticizing other candidates for spending billions on ads and then announce that they will do the same. Okay, let's be more specific.

I think Senator Noynoy Aquino's handlers are being hypocritical when they complain about Senator Manny Villar's TV ads because they (Aquino's camp) are obviously out to produce more ads and give Villar stiff competition as one of the country's top advertisers. It's like the kettle calling the pot black.

I am not saying we shouldn't rant about things we believe are wrong. All I am saying is that when we do so, let's make sure we can't be accused of exactly the same thing.

www.bongaustero.com

In case you haven't noticed, my blog now has its own domain name although it is still on blogger platform. The change has been courtesy of a former student of mine (Allan) who has been egging me since he was in my class (three or four years ago) to harness the potentials of this blog. I never really meant this blog to be anything else other than a space for self expression so I never really give his suggestion serious thought. I must admit though that there were times when I wish I had the time in the world to make more posts, respond more to comments, make this blog more interactive. Unfortunately, there's just 24 hours in a day.

But sometimes things just happen when you least expect them. Allan called me yesterday to inquire if I was still writing. We did shop talk for a while. And then he called me again after 30 minutes to tell me he was able to get bongaustero.com for me. Just like that. I was in the middle of a meeting so I never did get the chance to thank him for going out on a limb for me.

I guess this is a sign for me to pump more life into this blog. I will try.

Thanks again, Allan! I really appreciate the nice gesture. Salamat!

No to plastic bags

There was a news report published in the inside pages of this paper last week, which was sadly largely ignored by other media networks.

The Muntinlupa City Council has enacted an ordinance banning and regulating the use of plastic bags, Styrofoam and styropor materials in business establishments in the city. The ordinance was signed by Mayor Aldrin San Pedro and will officially take effect next year. The one-year reprieve is meant to ensure that business establishments and the citizenry are prepared to implement the ordinance.

What this means is that effective next year Jollibee and McDonald stores in Muntinlupa will no longer be serving spaghetti in styropor containers and softdrinks in plastic glasses. Stores in Alabang will no longer be using plastic bags.

Finally, some concrete action to protect the environment! I commend the city council of Muntinlupa for manifesting political will. It’s really about time we stop using plastic and styropor materials in urban centers, particularly Metro Manila. Plastic is non-biodegradable and takes a long, long time to disintegrate. It’s one of the major reasons why we have polluted creeks, rivers, and bays.

Metro Manila produces tons of plastic garbage every day. All our fastfood chains use plastic and styropor for food packaging—from the coffee cups and glasses, to the forks and spoons, to plates and takeout bags. All our vendors—from the major retailers in the Makati Commercial Center, to the hawkers in Divisoria, down to the neighborhood sari sari store, to the guys selling pirated DVDs, and the manongs hawking boiled corn and peanuts in the our streets—they all use plastic bags. Most of the stuff does not even get recycled. They go straight to waste baskets and consequently end up as landfill that won’t get absorbed by the soil for thousands of years, as materials that clog our waterways and cause flooding, or as toxic material that kills many creatures such as sea turtles and dolphins that unwittingly ingest them.

The really tragic thing is that the use of plastic bags or styropor can be avoided and is often unnecessary. Most of us simply use them out of habit. The problem is that many establishments don’t train their employees on how to reduce the use of plastic when wrapping merchandise.

For example, I have always been amazed that National Bookstore uses two types of plastic to bag purchases of their customers. They first wrap the books, pens and other purchases in their standard red plastic bag with their store logo and then place the whole thing in another bag—a transparent white bag with handles on them. I can understand the need for bags with handles; customers need to be able to carry their purchases with a little more ease. What I don’t understand is the need to wrap purchases first in separate red plastic bags before placing them in the white transparent bag with handles.

To be fair to National Bookstore, it did launch a unique promo a few years back. The promo encouraged their customers to buy red environment-friendly recyclable cloth bags, which, if customers used every time they buy from the store entitled the customer to a rebate. The problem was that the bags were hideous (in red!) and to be frank about it, the store seemed to have given up on the promo because it just stopped it. In addition, Powerbooks, which is National Bookstore’s sister company, does use biodegradable paper bags. I wonder why National Bookstore does not use paper bags as well.

Every time I would buy from tiangges or even from other retailers, I would suggest to the cashier to just put my new purchases into the plastic bags I was already carrying so that we would be using less plastic. Some would show appreciation but most would actually look at me with a curious expression on their face as if wondering if something was wrong with me. I am told most people actually want to leave the store with more plastic bags probably because they want to show off their purchasing power or because they use the plastic as trash bags at home.

There have been times when I was actually told by store cashiers that they weren’t allowed not to wrap purchases in their standard store packaging because that served as their security control mechanism. Apparently one can be suspected of having filched merchandise or of being a shoplifter if one walks out of the store with goods not wrapped in the store’s standard plastic bag.

The key is to encourage people to use recyclable bags. There was a time, not very long ago although I think, when there were groups that produced these bags and gave them away. These recyclable bags were such a big thing that they were standard giveaways at Christmas and special occasions. The problem with these recyclable bags was that they were often shamelessly tacky in design or were walking advertisements of some products or political ambitions no one would want to be caught dead carrying them. Ironically, what happened was that these bags ended up as trash themselves.

Some establishments did come up with stylish environment-friendly bags. SM even commissioned artist Manuel Baldemor to do the artwork for their green bags. The problem was that these bags didn’t come cheap. Unfortunately, not very many people were willing to pay the price. For many people, paying money when plastic bags were available for free just didn’t make sense.

We should follow the example of many countries in Europe where business establishments do not provide plastic bags automatically. The first time I was in Berlin, Germany in the early nineties, I was at a loss when I discovered at the checkout counter that stores didn’t provide plastic bags to customers. Since I wasn’t carrying my own bag, I was directed to go to the customer service counter where I had to ask for a plastic bag from a rather stern-looking German employee who gave me a short lecture on caring for the environment.

My feeling is that people can be weaned from using plastic when forced to do so. Business establishments can be encouraged to be more environment-friendly if required to do so.

This is why I truly welcome the move of the City Council of Muntinlupa to ban plastic bags, Styrofoam and styropor materials from the city. It’s definitely a step in the right direction. I hope the other city councils in Metro Manila follow Muntinlupa’s example.

HIV/AIDS in the workplace

This is my column today.

We’ve known about it for quite sometime now but most of us have not gone to town with the information because many among us felt that there were better ways to “announce” it. Don’t get me wrong. I also share the belief that people need to know that there has been a marked increase in HIV infections among young professionals. I’ve written about the dramatic increase in HIV infections in this column recently.

I believed that people in the call center industry needed to be informed that according to recent data from the Department of Health, there had been an alarming increase in the number of HIV infections among call center agents. However, I felt that this kind of information needed to be explained well. Better still, this kind of information needed to be supported by a concrete program of action so that people didn’t have to go into the default reaction mode—shock and denial. I would have wanted government and the community of non-government organizations working on HIV/AIDS prevention to engage the call center industry in a more proactive and productive dialogue instead of shocking them with the information through media.

But it seems newly appointed Secretary of Health Esperanza Cabral had other ideas. She went public with the information recently. And as can be expected, media sensationalized it. ABS-CBN even did a series of stories on it for a week. HIV/AIDS is once again a favorite topic although I have a sneaking suspicion that the attention won’t last very long—at least not long enough to actually impel people to push more and better HIV/AIDS prevention programs.

This has actually happened many times in the past already. I am not saying Secretary Cabral may be simply paying lip service to the HIV/AIDS issue. As an HIV/AIDS activist who has been working on HIV/AIDS prevention since the eighties, I am fervently hoping and praying that Cabral is serious and sincere in pursuing a more comprehensive, more focused, and more intensive HIV/AIDS prevention program and control program.

My cynicism has basis. All newly appointed Health Secretaries have always used HIV/AIDS to call attention to themselves. There’s really nothing quite like HIV/AIDS as an issue. It is a medical issue, yes. But it is also an explosive social issue as it inevitably encompasses discussions about sexual practices, vulnerable communities, and consequently, discrimination and stigmatization. It is a development issue because HIV/AIDS comes with a great cost and a third-world country such as the Philippines cannot really afford the economic cost of an HIV/AIDS epidemic. It is an economic issue because it affects individuals who are at the prime of their lives—people who are productive and who can contribute the most to their families and to society.

Unfortunately, the country’s HIV/AIDS prevention programs have obviously been a total failure after Juan Flavier’s and Carmencita Reodica’s terms as health secretary. How else do we explain the fact that infection rates have officially doubled last year? We used to be a best-practice showcase in terms of HIV/AIDS prevention and the world looked to the Philippines for lessons in effective HIV/AIDS prevention and control. Today, most non-government organizations working on HIV/AIDS prevention are dead. The very few who are left are gasping for dear breath. There’s hardly any money for HIV/AIDS prevention programs. In fact, there is actually no new money in the system for HIV/AIDS prevention. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Because of the renewed media attention, I received a couple of calls from friends in the call center industry who inquired about the veracity of the Health Secretary’s information. I assured them that Secretary Cabral’s information is founded on empirical data. Data about HIV/AIDS infections in this country are actually very public information and can be accessed online easily. But as in the past, my friends were in full defense mode citing all kinds of possible explanations for the supposed glitch in the statistics. They cited several possible gaps that account for the reported high infection rates among call center agents. Denial is a common reaction when faced with alarming information, particularly about something like HIV/AIDS.

My friends wanted to know if there was a possibility that more call agents tested positive for HIV because the call center industry happened to be the industry with the most number of employees whose demographic profile fit the global profile of those most vulnerable for HIV infection: Young (between the ages of 15-39), sexually active, productive (i.e., with money to spend), etc. This is possible, of course.

My friends also theorized that the call center industry’s liberal recruitment and hiring policies—unlike, say, banks that would supposedly have more stringent hiring requirements in terms of lifestyles and values—probably account for the high incidence of HIV infections among call center agents. Call centers are supposedly more open to hiring candidates who are more outgoing, more sexually active, more open- minded and prone to experimentation. In short, my friends were saying that the phenomenon is not really borne out of factors that are inherent in the call center industry—it’s just that the industry hosts people who are probably more vulnerable to HIV infection. I agreed with them on this score too; all of these are highly feasible.

It is unfortunate that it seems the call center industry seems to have been singled out as breeding ground for HIV/AIDS infection. I don’t think this was really the intent. And I think people should really stop making a causal relationship between the call center industry and HIV/AIDS infections. The last thing we need is for some sanctimonious group or people to being attacking the industry for promoting immorality, and worse, to begin advocating for stringent controls for the industry.

But like I said, this is the nature of the HIV/AIDS issue—there is inherent stigma and discrimination attached to people living with HIV/AIDS or towards people suspected of being susceptible to it. This is why the natural reaction for most people who have been exposed to HIV is to go into denial or to go underground. Which is why HIV information, prevention and education programs need to be empowering to begin with rather than threatening and fear-inducing.

At any rate, the challenge now is putting in place effective HIV/AIDS prevention and education programs. This includes HIV/AIDS in the workplace programs because whether we like it or not, we’ll have to start learning how to manage a workplace that has become a little more challenging than ever before. Whether we like it or not we’ll have to begin putting in place programs that address the distinct needs of people living with HIV/AIDS at work.

Being true to one's self

This is my column today.

Nice guys finish last. I have always found this admonition objectionable and I have always gone out of my way to point out to people that being nice is not necessarily a curse. As I always tell my kids, my students, my nephews and nieces and everyone else within my circle of influence: It is okay to be nice.

Being civilized is still and should still be the norm in society regardless of what our leaders say or do.

Apparently, being nice is not only a disadvantage today. It is also considered tantamount to being phony and insincere. Being nice and by extension, being considerate, holding one’s temper and biting one’s tongue in the face of extreme provocation, and generally being tolerant of other people’s shortcomings is now considered the height of hypocrisy. The common expression being used by people today to refer to those who are trying to be nice is “di nagpapakatotoo” (loosely, not being true to one’s self). Others indulge in simple generalizations and label others as “plastic,” meaning fake.

Corollary to this alarming development is the general notion that people who are earnest, take their jobs or their aspirations seriously, or have squeaky clean images are also fake, or “hindi nagpapakatotoo.” It seems we expect everyone to have a dark side and that giving in to this “dark side” is the ultimate measure of authenticity. I beg to disagree.

Two incidents that happened last week got me thinking about this topic. The first one was the whole hullabaloo around the challenges that the housemates in Pinoy Big Brother, the local television version of the Big Brother franchise, were made to go through last week. The second happened over the weekend in Cebu City as an offshoot of the Presidential Forum held at the Cebu International Convention Center last Friday, which was the hot topic of discussion in various Cebu media until yesterday.

In case you are a certified Kapuso, the type who doesn’t give a flying fig about the goings on in local television, or someone who has tuned off from the current season of PBB early on, what follows is a quick summary of what Big Brother made the housemates in that glass house go through last week. Former housemates (those who were already evicted by the people through text voting) were asked to come back to the house to torment the remaining housemates. The title of the challenge given to the former housemates said it all: Resbak Attack (loosely, retaliatory attack of the avengers). The former housemates were allowed to do anything and everything to torment the remaining housemates including taunting and vilifying them in public, even physically accosting them hoping to provoke them into retaliating physically.

The result was a few days worth of drama as the remaining housemates valiantly tried to keep their emotions in check while trying to put up with the physical and verbal abuse that was heaped on them continuously. What the housemates didn’t know was that the abuse, euphemistically known as a challenge, was supposedly designed to make “who they really were” surface. The whole point was supposedly to unmask the real personality of each of the remaining housemates.

I have no problems with challenges designed to encourage people into displaying competencies, behavioral patterns, values, attitudes, etc. Business organizations regularly conduct such interventions in team building activities, management training, and even in manpower selection. There are, however, ethical considerations that need to be taken into account. First, the people conducting the interventions need to have the necessary skills. Second, the intervention needs to be an empowering experience, which means that there cannot be room for negative or abusive challenges. Third, that sufficient processing of the intervention including the possibility of coaching is conducted immediately after. It remains dubious if these considerations were addressed by PBB.

The ethical considerations notwithstanding, what I really found disheartening were the efforts to deliberately provoke the housemates to break down—as in make them boiling mad, cuss publicly, cry or go into hysterics, even get physical and dirty—for them to be judged as finally being true to themselves. According to the PBB people, one can only qualify as being true to one’s self—one can only aspire to be labeled as totoo (real) and nagpapakatotoo (sincere, honest, truthful) if one allows himself to give in to his or her emotions. What the people behind PBB seemed to be saying was that having good coping mechanisms, showing fortitude and determination, being generally nice and unwilling to play rough and dirty—well, all these are not in keeping with who we really are or should be.

Well, excuse me, Big Brother, but I object. Being nice, patient and having the will and moral courage to behave in a civilized and mature way on public television despite extreme provocation is actually the more important facet of one’s personality; it should be what counts. It’s when people are able to do to rise above their shortcomings rather than wallow in these when maturity happens. Of course these behaviors don’t create the emotional fireworks that bring in the ratings so I can understand PBB’s skewed logical deductions. The thing is that they should stop trying to pass off what they do as lessons in human development.

I was in Cebu for the weekend, site of the most recent forum featuring the 2010 presidential candidates. The buzz everywhere in Cebu was about how the so-called presidentiables performed. As can be expected, what ensued after were comparative analyses about the strengths and weaknesses of the candidates and the inevitable attempts to salvage or conversely, boost the image of the candidates.

Everywhere I went (I was in far too many taxicabs, all of which were also tuned in to various talk shows) the discussion centered on who among these three candidates performed better: Noynoy Aquino, Gibo Teodoro, or Dick Gordon. Erap Estrada figured in the discussions but only as comic relief. Strangely, there was hardly any discussion about Manny Villar—it’s as if he didn’t register in the radar at all.

I am not going to go into whom the Cebuanos thought performed better and why—that would be another column. What struck me, however, was that in many of the discussions the notion of who was “being true to himself” inevitably cropped up. For example, the consensus I kept getting was that Erap Estrada virtually made a fool of himself in the Cebu Forum but many people thought he was just “nagpapakatotoo.”

In the same light, attempts to analyze the candidates’ performance during the forum inevitably zeroed in on who was more authentic than the others—again, notions of who was “nagpapakatotoo” and who wasn’t. Unfortunately, many shortcomings—such as inarticulateness, braggadocio, seeming incompetence or ignorance—also somehow got lumped and justified under the heading of “nagpapakatotoo lang.”

Unsweetened truth

This is my column today.

As someone who firmly believes that dessert is the whole point of any meal—I am one of those who see the main course as just a prelude to dessert—I am concerned that the price of sugar has spiraled seemingly out of control since Christmas. As of last week, a kilo of white sugar was retailing between 50 to 60 pesos in certain public markets, quite a big leap from where it was during the holiday season, which was at 40 pesos.

We are told the runaway price of sugar is temporary, caused by an artificial shortage. Someone actually said on public television that the shortage was caused by the supposedly high demand for sugar during the last holiday season. Yeah, blame the people for pigging out on leche flan and brazo de Mercedes.

Government, as can be expected, has tried to diffuse adverse reaction to the situation by insisting that there is no shortage. Yet in the same vein, Agriculture Secretary Yap has announced that the government is importing tons of sugar and that the shipment is expected to arrive in May. Talk about mixed messages!

The reality, however, is that the sugar shortage is a phenomenon that is not unique to the Philippines. Major corporations in the United States sounded the alarm August last year, even going to the extent of threatening mass layoffs if government didn’t address the impending shortage more effectively. In countries such as Pakistan, the sugar shortage has reached alarming levels —an article I read in an international magazine reported that a kilo of sugar could only be bought in the black market at a cost equivalent to a full day’s wage.

The global shortage of sugar is caused by many factors. Climate change affected sugarcane plantations in many countries. Also, most sugarcane harvests in major sugar producing countries such as Brazil have been diverted to the production of the bio-fuel known as ethanol. Most experts believe that the global shortage will last until end of 2010. Around that time, I suppose authorities would have learned to manage the global supply, people would have been weaned from their sugar addiction or would have gotten used to artificial sweeteners.

All these are distressing to sugar addicts like me. Of course it is possible that I represent a minority. Perhaps there are very few people like me who suffer from severe withdrawal syndrome if they don’t get to visit a pastry shop or who goes into panic mode upon discovery that they have just wolfed down the last chocolate candy bar in their refrigerator. Perhaps most Filipinos don’t really care if the price of sugar hits 100 pesos per kilo. We’re certainly not seeing people protesting in the streets despite the fact that prices have almost doubled in barely a month’s time. We are not seeing politicians scrambling all over themselves to register their opinions in the public’s consciousness.

The seeming apathy is understandable. Sugar does not rank high up there in the list of commodities because we don’t consume a proportionate amount of it compared to, say, rice or pork or chicken. But then again, sugar is actually an indispensable part of our lives—I actually know quite a number of people who can’t function normally unless they have had their coffee and sugar fix. Most of our merienda fare is actually sugar-based and most Filipino kids are actually fueled by sugar. I am sure things will get dicey if the price of sugar continues to rise and the shortage begins to impact on the cost of certain staple food such as banana cue and ice candy.

Of the many reactions to the impending sugar crisis, the one I liked the most was that of Vice President Noli de Castro. Responding to a question posed by a television reporter who obviously was angling for a provocative statement by the way she asked the question, the Vice President retorted nonchalantly “People should use less sugar then.” The advantage of someone who is not running for an elective post is that he can speak with candor and sincerity, as he does not have to pander to populist notions or try to please as many stakeholders as possible.

Of course, the government should make sure that there is healthy balance between supply and demand of most commodities. That’s its job. We should ensure that there is ample supply of sugar for those who are dependent on the stuff.

But perhaps the shortage can also be used as a great opportunity to strongly remind people (like me, I must add) of the harmful effects of sugar. I know. Sugar consumption has become a social issue such that some people actually think their ability to turn up their noses on the stuff is a reflection of how virtuous they are. But there is no denying the fact that excessive indulgence in sugar accounts for many of the major health problems plaguing the world today. There’s obesity, diabetes, hypertension, even hyperactivity among children.

I don’t recall the actual statistics now but most experts have predicted that a certain percentage of our kids today will be diabetic by the time they reach a certain age. When we consider the enormous amount of sugar we feed them everyday—from candies to softdrinks and juices, even to sweet spaghetti, the prediction makes sense.

I am aware that are there studies now that point out that sugar is actually the healthier alternative compared to synthetic sweeteners; that the negative consequences of ingesting the real thing made from sugarcane is actually less toxic. For a while there, rumors about how certain artificial sweeteners were carcinogenic persisted. Companies have since come up with better, supposedly healthier sweeteners as options although there’s a whole group of consumers out there who insist that the supposed safety of these sweeteners are not 100 percent guaranteed—nobody really knows the long-term harmful effects of these artificial products.

So when we come to think about it, it’s ironic that our choices have been narrowed down to which one is the lesser evil. A friend told me that this is the sad fact about life in this millennium—most of our choices boil down to which evil we can live with. It’s a choice between a lifestyle devoid of sweet things or longer life. Between diabetes and crankiness. For people like me who are desperately trying to get weaned from a sugar addiction, this is a dilemma that we face every minute of our existence.

A mother's love

This is my column today.

A riveting sidebar story to the whole Jason Ivler caper involved Marlene Aguilar, the fugitive’s mother. Up until last Monday, Aguilar projected the image of a grieving mother, the stereotypical Mater Dolorosa who shed copious tears on public television, at turns appealing to her son to surrender to the authorities and blaming everyone else for her son’s tragedy from Uncle Sam to allegedly overzealous government authorities. It was easy to empathize with her and I know many did.

Everyone can relate to a mother’s grief; after all, everyone has a mother and mothers by nature are supposed to be nurturing, fiercely protective of, and are supposed to have unconditional love for their children.

In the interest of transparency, I will disclose that I am not exactly an objective and disinterested party in this case. I have written in this space about my close relationship with Renato Victor Ebarle, the victim of Ivler’s uncontrollable rage. I am one of those who want Ivler and his accomplices brought to the bar of justice. But most of all, I am of the firm belief that Ivler poses serious risks to the life and liberty of many other citizens and should not be allowed to roam our streets. The fact that he harmed two members of his arresting party last Monday more than proves this point.

Just like others, I had doubts about Aguilar’s sincerity particularly when she started making a sales pitch for her book “Warriors of Heaven.” If we are to believe Aguilar, Ivler’s woes were mainly caused by her supposed unflinching criticism of United States government policies as contained in her book. To be fair to her, I haven’t read the book. I did pick the book up and scanned through it many months ago, long before Ivler murdered Victor Ebarle in cold blood (as many witnesses attested to) and I remembered feeling a little queasy over the rather graphic artwork. The book featured a nude Aguilar on the back cover. I am not saying that a book’s artwork is enough indictment or confirmation of its literary or commercial worth but I have this thing against overt efforts to sell a book through gimmickry such as the use of shocking or prurient images masquerading as art.

At any rate, I had my doubts and was suspicious of Aguilar’s complicity to her son’s cloak-and-dagger operations. However, like most everyone else, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I think that most people in this country have so much affection for mothers in general that we’re all willing to go the extra mile to accommodate, tolerate, even forgive a mother’s eccentricities. God knows I too have a mother who probably is capable of exhibiting the same flair for dramatics and the same level of obstinacy.

Last Monday’s dramatic capture of Ivler at Aguilar’s house has thrown a proverbial wrench into the discussion. Aguilar has been catapulted from being a mere sidebar to being the main issue. Her actuations are now the subject of intense debate and there’s now this whole discussion over the breadth and scope and the morality and ethics around a mother’s love.

The footages taken prior, during, and after the shootout that eventually resulted in the capture of a wounded Ivler (whose overall appearance and demeanor during the shootout was likened to that of movie icon Rambo) cannot dispute Aguilar’s complicity. She tried to mislead authorities. She harbored a fugitive. She tried to obstruct justice.

I didn’t get to watch footages of the dramatic encounter until the truncated version shown during the evening newscast but a friend who works at a media network relayed his description of Aguilar’s behavior. According to my friend, Aguilar displayed a whole range of emotions and behaviors associated with mothers fiercely protecting an offspring. My friend likened Aguilar’s behaviors with that of other members of the female species of the animal kingdom—from being a hen hysterically protecting her clutch of chicks by screaming and posturing indignantly like an aggrieved victim, to being a tigress ferociously blocking the way to her kitten’s den, to being, in the end, like a forlorn and dejected sloth who had lost a bitter battle to protect an offspring. The footages I got to watch during the newscast showed only snippets of Aguilar’s various transformations as a mother but they were enough to elicit mixed emotions and reactions from viewers.

The question that is foremost in people’s minds is: Were Aguilar’s actions justifiable in the context of a mother protecting her own son?

There are those who have admitted, albeit apologetically, that given a similar situation, they probably would have done the same thing Aguilar did. There are those who have put her to task for failing to do what they say is the ultimate test of a mother’s love: Teaching her child on what is right or wrong and instructing him, perhaps by example, to be responsible and accountable for his actions. There are those, of course, who insist that a mother who tolerates the criminal activities of her children is a criminal herself. Somewhere in between are those who said that they probably would have helped Ivler escape or would have offered continuous assistance such as money or other kinds of resources to keep him alive or safe but would not go as far as directly offer him sanctuary in their own houses.

Quite a number were taken aback by the seeming brazenness of Aguilar as manifested by her decision to actually keep Ivler in her house despite the major manhunt launched by the police to capture him dead or alive. The act seems like a direct insult on the capabilities of the police as if the family was openly taunting the ineptness of our law enforcers. There are unconfirmed rumors that she may have done so not purely out of maternal affection but simply because she had no choice. According to scuttlebutt, Ivler has major emotional issues (his overall demeanor seems to confirm this) and may have posed more harm to other people outside of his mother’s house.

I suspect that the discussion over Aguilar’s behaviors and the social, cultural, even legal and ethical implications of these will be a hot topic of conversation in the next few weeks. I doubt if there will be a consensus. Motherhood is a particularly emotional issue for most of us and I doubt if there is a standard job description for mothers. Aguilar’s behaviors certainly run counter to those of another famous celebrity mother who recently went on public television to castigate her celebrity daughter even going to the extent of saying that her daughter’s cancer was probably God’s way of reminding the daughter of the way she dishonored her mother. Ouch.

Those who think Aguilar’s behaviors are justifiable on account of the fact that she was just being a mother and therefore deserves empathy are best reminded that there is another mother in the equation—Renato Victor Ebarle’s mother. She lost her only son in a senseless, tragic, and brutal way. She also deserves our empathy and support.

At any rate, Aguilar now has all the time and opportunity in the world to shower her beloved son with all the maternal affection she can muster—while he rots in jail.

How politics is killing Tacloban

This is my column today.

I was recently in Tacloban City where I inevitably found myself immersed in pre-election concerns and had a whiff of the stink of local politics.

An unusual spectacle is unfolding in the electoral contest in the city. The incumbent mayor, Alfred Romualdez, is running for re-election. There’s really nothing wrong with his quest for re-election because he has not yet exceeded his term limit. However, his slate includes his father, Bejo Romualdez, who is running for vice mayor. If both win, Tacloban will have a father and son sitting as Mayor and Vice Mayor, respectively.

I know. This situation is not really unusual in this country. Various permutations of political dynasty exist in this country such as husband-and-wife teams sitting as mayor and congressman or father and son sitting as mayor and chairman head of the Sangguniang Kabataan. But I think not very many families have the audacity to actually want to corner both the posts of mayor and vice mayor of the same city.

What adds to the unusual situation is the fact that Bejo Romualdez is the immediate past City Mayor of Tacloban City and he bequeathed the post to his son, the incumbent. In short, he is settling for a lower position in the 2010 elections. The even more twisted thing is that the older Romualdez has been reportedly telling people in campaign sorties that the situation bodes well for Tacloban because this means that the mayor cannot misbehave since he—the father—is watching him.

That’s not it, yet. It gets even more outrageous. Former sexy actress Cristina Romualdez—Alfred’s wife—is also running for re-election as councilor and has made it known that she wants to win as first councilor of the city.

The electorate has irreverently dubbed the trio the Holy Trinity of Tacloban—the son, the father, and the wife. In a rather twisted turn of events, the Romualdezes have latched on to the joke by using the same as some kind of justification for the anomalous situation. The incumbent mayor has been publicly saying that if Catholics don’t have questions about the validity of the concept of the Holy Trinity, then they shouldn’t question Tacloban’s holy trinity. In Alfred’s words: “If there is a Holy Trinity in the Bible, then Tacloban City has its own trinity. Dynasties have existed since the time of Jesus Christ.”

I almost choked on the scallops I was eating when friends and relatives narrated the above to me. There were more reasons for consternation. Everyone had something juicy to contribute to the discussion about how the political situation in Tacloban City has degenerated to absurd levels.

There are 10 slots available for councilor of the city. There are 40 candidates who filed their certificates of candidacies. It stands to reason that anyone running for the post of mayor would field a complete slate. The Romualdez slate, however, is composed of 15 candidates for councilor. The Romualdezes want to convey the impression that they are so loved in Tacloban there’s a long list of people jumping all over themselves to be associated with them. Fielding 15 candidates for the 10 slots increases the chances of cornering majority of the seats of the City council—a highly contentious battleground in the last three years for the incumbent mayor on account of a very strong opposition—but it also smacks of cheap opportunism. What kind of a leader willingly encourages members of his team to openly fight amongst themselves while he watches benevolently waiting to raise the hands of the victors?

Putting up a brave fight against the Romualdezes is media man Bob Abellanosa; the man who for many years read the evening news for the local television channel. Abellanosa is not exactly the first choice among those at the dinner table but most of them were willing to cast their lot behind the guy firmly believing in the mantra “anybody but the Romualdezes.”

The political situation in Tacloban—something that has bordered on the absurd and the comical—has been simmering under the surface for quite some time now. The Romualdezes have only recently returned to power since they were thrown out with the Marcoses after the first Edsa revolution.

All over the city are tarpaulins of the handsome first couple of the city supposedly proclaiming the achievements they have made for the city. The joke among the citizenry is that whatever achievements are printed in the tarpaulins is unreadable as most of the space has been taken up by the huge picture of the very handsome couple. Some critics gleefully proclaim that that’s exactly the major achievements of the couple—they’ve prettified themselves.

The Romualdezes have been at odds with the Petillas for many years now. The Petillas have held sway over the provincial capitol since the matriarch Remedios Matin Petilla became governor a few years after the Romualdezes’ fall from grace. Petilla went on to become congressman and later on as deputy chairman of the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corporation. The current governor of Leyte is her son Jericho Petilla.

The conflict between the Petillas and the Romualdezes has resulted in competition that has reached almost farcical levels— whatever programs for the common people initiated by the provincial government has been replicated by the city government and vice versa. For example, the province has a singing contest designed to discover singing talents. The city government has its own contest, held just a block away from the venue of the provincial contest. Even the backdrops of the two competitions seem to compete amongst themselves in terms of size. The provincial and city governments also compete in terms of who has the better morning exercise sessions.

The city folk have come to see the competition as akin to the kapuso vs kapamilya contest not only because it has become entertaining but more because it has become quite shallow although most concede that the competition has also somehow resulted in more services being offered to citizens.

The problem is that the competition had become dysfunctional in many occasions such as during the most recent city fiesta when the provincial government and the city government hosted their own festivals. Reports have it that the street dancing related to one festival was rudely interrupted because activities related to the other festival cut through the street dancing venue. During the recent Palarong Pambansa, which was hosted by the provincial government, the city government reportedly refused to allow the use of certain facilities owned by the city.

The result of all these is that there is now a seeming exodus to relocate most businesses to the nearby town of Palo, which already hosts most government regional offices. SM is reportedly building its first mall in the region in Palo and the Petilla matriarch, Remedios Petilla, is now running for the post of mayor of the town. There is also the plan to move the provincial capitol to Palo eventually. If all these happen, Tacloban will most like degenerate into a shell of what it used to be and what it could have become. No wonder “have mercy on Tacloban City” is an oft-repeated plea that’s being whispered around by concerned citizens.

Very showbiz

This is my column today.

Being “showbiz” has come to mean being pretentious, hypocritical, or fake. Thus, to be labeled “showbiz na showbiz” is definitely not a compliment. This is probably the reason why most people try to convey the impression that they don’t give a hoot about the latest skirmishes involving our local celebrities or the latest gossip from the local show business industry. Of course it is possible that they also secretly relish and devour every tiny morsel of salacious rumor about, say, the real reason behind Claudine Barretto’s transfer to the GMA Network or about Paolo Bediones’ motivation for transferring to ABC 5.

The truth is that there are many issues involving local show business that are just as important and deserving of our attention. Television is a powerful all-pervasive medium and many people today spend more time in front of a television than anywhere else. Many children are reared by local celebrities - they wake up and eat breakfast with the hosts of Umagang Kay Ganda or Unang Hirit, they go about their playtime with the various hosts, guests, and performers of the various morning shows. Many people have lunch with the people of Eat Bulaga or Wowowee.

What is happening in show business is an important part of our national life. Some issues may sound trivial and inconsequential to the rich and powerful but they often have far-reaching implications on the lives of the larger population of Filipinos.

Take for instance the raging issue of the day involving the suspension of ABS-CBN’s morning show “Its’ Showtime.” The show is broadcast at around 10:30 in the morning as pre-programming for the noontime variety show so not many people who work out of their homes get to watch the show. But I was on leave last week so I was able to catch some episodes of the show. In fact I was actually watching the show when Rosanna Roces made those controversial statements that got the show in trouble with the Movie and Television Review Classification Board.

In case you have living under the rock in the last few days, what follows is the gist of the controversy.

The format of Showtime, which is really a dance contest, requires the show’s weekly judges to review the performance of the contestants in ways designed to provoke audience reaction. You see, the fate of the judges—whether they stay on as judges or get booted out of the show—is decided on by the viewers through text voting. In the particular episode that got the MTRCB’s attention, the irrepressible Rosanna Roces spewed quite a mouthful about how students should not believe everything teachers say.

The group that had just finished performing was from Calamba, Laguna and the group made such a big to-do with the fact that they were representing the hometown of Jose Rizal, the national hero. Roces then questioned them why Rizal’s full name was Jose Protacio Rizal when his mother’s maiden name was Alonzo. The group was unable to answer. Thereupon Roces shared that she also asked the same question of a teacher when she was young and the particular teacher didn’t give an answer. Roces then delivered a harangue about how teachers are merely “repeaters” (that’s the exact word she used) of information that is found in books. She said she cursed her teacher when she was young and admonished students not to believe everything their teachers said. She gave a lecture about the need for students to do their own research, trawl the net, go to Wikipedia, etc.

Perhaps in an effort to preempt sanctions from the MTRCB, ABS-CBN exercised what they referred to as “self-regulation” by suspending Roces from the show. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it because the MTRCB issued a suspension order on the show. Showtime is now off the air temporarily.

I must admit that I was also taken aback by Roces’s tirade against teachers in general; however, I felt that what was necessary was to put her statements in context. To begin with, Roces’s arguments were actually quite feeble; a lot of what she said could have been disputed easily. I felt that the appropriate action in this particular issue was to refute or rebut Roces’s statements and correct whatever misimpression was made; or to be brutally frank about it, teach her and everyone else not necessary a lesson, but the correct information. Unfortunately, this is not the way we operate in this country. Our natural tendency is to react emotionally rather than rationally. Instead of solving problems in a constructive way, we often opt for punitive measures, which really don’t do anything other than bury the issue and create resentment.

ABS-CBN is now protesting loudly about the supposed lack of due process around the MTRCB’s decision to suspend the show, which is really ironic and hypocritical because it is using the same justification that it failed to practice when it suspended Roces from the show unilaterally, to begin with.

I am against MTRCB’s decision to suspend the show because I don’t think there is anything to be gained from silencing people for saying provocative statements. Pray tell, what is there to be gained from suspending a whole show aside from merely flaunting one’s coercive power to do so? Does it teach people anything? By suspending Showtime, did the MTRCB succeed in correcting the wrong information and faulty reasoning used by Roces?

But I also think ABS-CBN should stop being sanctimonious about the whole thing. The truth is that the way they have formatted the show— including the choice of judges—has been designed precisely to attract this kind of controversy. What did they expect when they invited the likes of Joey Pepe Smith and Rosanna Roces to sit side by side and gave them license to spew opinions and judgments?

And while we are at it, Showtime has actually been courting this kind of action from the MTRCB by giving its head judge Vice Ganda free reign to sexually harass contestants on the show. I am not a prude and consider myself very, very liberal minded. However, in case no one has noticed yet, the sexual innuendos and the teasing that happens in the show— very often involving minors—really constitute sexual harassment.

I wanted to talk about other raging controversies in local showbiz, but as I am running out of space, I would have to reserve them for some other time.

Piety

This was my column yesterday.

I‘ve always wondered what it is that that impels people to plunge headlong into a veritable stampede of a shoving, jostling, swirling barefooted throng of humanity—risking life and limb in the process—just to be able to see, touch or kiss a religious image.

Is it really faith—the absolute, unquestioning kind—that propels them to throw logic and caution to the wind for the sake of sustaining a religious ritual?

Paradoxically, given the millions of Filipinos that converge in Manila January 9 of every year and who submit themselves to the unique rituals around the Black Nazarene of Quiapo—most of which border on blind fanaticism —can we say that we are people with strong faith? Is the increasing number of devotees who continue to perpetuate the same rituals despite advances in information technology and the preponderance of more scientific data that offer divergent perspectives evidence of the power of religion? Or is this one more proof of the growing level of desperation among Filipinos today?

These were some of the questions that were top of mind when I joined the procession of the Feast of the Black Nazarene last Saturday. The feast of the Black Nazarene is the biggest singular religious event in the country. It’s when millions of devotees - mostly men, although the last decade has seen an increasing number of women and children among them - converge in the area around Quiapo to indulge in the frenzy of religious fervor.

I’m not really a devotee of the suffering Christ—I am more partial to empowering images such as Christ in the manger or the Risen Christ. However, I’ve long wanted to experience first-hand, witness with my own two eyes, smell, touch and taste the piety that is palpable in the footages of the procession that we see on television and in various photographs that inevitably gets front page treatment in all national dailies the day after. I also went for some deeply personal reasons, which I can’t go into in this piece.

Most everyone I talked to had the same advice for me when I told them of my plan to join the procession this year: Be careful, be very, very careful. I assured them I had no intention of clambering up the carriage that carries the image of the Black Nazarene nor had I grand illusions of being physically fit enough to compete with tens of thousands of able-bodied people fighting tooth and nail for the “privilege” of holding the rope that pulls the carriage. I simply wanted to be there and witness the procession live instead of watching it on television.

The first thing I realized was that the procession involved not one but thousands of images of the Black Nazarene. Apparently, devotees —individuals and groups—bring their personal images of the Black Nazarene to join the procession. It was overwhelming to watch a long, very, very long procession of Black Nazarene images in varying stages and degrees of suffering. There were images of the suffering Christ lying down, sitting down on a throne, kneeling down, etc. There were images aboard bicycles, pick up trucks, aboard specially-crafted and decorated carozas, and even more images carried in the arms and shoulders of individual devotees. Each of these images received their fair share of attention from devotees who threw towels to be wiped on the faces of the images.

Another feature of the feast that isn’t given justice by media coverage is the extent to which Filipino culture is showcased and celebrated. It is after all still a fiesta so the usual fixtures of a traditional fiesta were still there from food, games, marching bands, etc. I even saw, strangely enough, Chinese dragon and lion dancers going around the various stores of the Quiapo district. As can be expected, the horde of enterprising people hawking all kinds of merchandise from T-shirts, towels, hankies, food, trinkets, etc, were all there as well.

The procession left the Quirino Grandstand early morning. It reached the area around the Liwasang Bonifacio at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The image of the Black Nazarene was pulled inch by painstaking inch by the horde of devotees, slowly meandering through the very narrow streets of the district of Quiapo, finally reaching Quiapo Church at around 11:00 pm, taking about 16 hours to traverse a route a mere five kilometers long. This year’s crowd was estimated at three million, the largest turnout so far. Many pundits attribute the high turnout to the many calamities that struck the country this year.

People who witness the procession on television only see bedlam and anarchy. What is not seen on television is the proverbial method to the madness. There are a whole lot of traditions and rituals that surround the feast and the procession of the Black Nazarene and these traditions and rituals come with their own norms and procedures. Most of the devotees are regulars—people who make it a point to return every year—and these are the same people who collectively bring order to the whole mess. I saw the many ways in which the carriage carrying the Black Nazarene was made to surge forward, the ways to clamber up and “fall” from the carriage, even how to get out alive when trapped in the middle of the stampede.

One veteran I got to talk to expressed annoyance that a lot of first-timers plunge into the thick of things without bothering to learn basic techniques in joining the procession. He said the new devotees are the ones that imperil the safety of many others and cause the mix-ups that delay the procession unnecessarily because they don’t bother to learn about the norms.

The procession was supposed to pass through a predetermined route. As in the previous year, this route was not followed for unexplained reasons. The automatic presumption was that residents of other streets not included in the route set for this year hijacked the carriage in effect forcing a rerouting scheme that would have the procession pass through their streets. Being along the route of the procession is supposed to bring good fortune to business establishments and residents. Who says politics, power, and piety don’t mix?

The procession of the Black Nazarene is a perfect metaphor for the way things are in this country. The whole procession—which has all the ingredients for a recipe called Disaster of Mammoth Proportions —precipitously teeters on the edge of utter chaos and pandemonium. What it is really is a stampede that is constantly threatening to spiral out of control. Yet surprisingly, it never does. The amazing thing is that the whole thing works. That, to my mind, is a miracle.

In the name of faith

I've always wanted to experience first hand the Feast of the Black Nazarene. Up until last Saturday, I never really had the opportunity to do so. I was warned not to bring valuables. I was also told there would be lots of people so bringing a camera was out of the question.

I brought my cellphone and used it to take pictures.

First realization: The procession actually involves hundreds of Black Nazarene images. Apparently devotees bring their personal images of the Black Nazarene to the procession. These images also receive their fair share of attention from the other devotees who also pass on towelettes and hankies (to children hoisted on top of the carozas) to be wiped on the faces of the images. These towelettes are supposed to have healing powers.

I took the LRT going to Quiapo. While inside the train I saw the procession still inching its way along Taft Avenue and realized it was going to take hours before the procession would reach Escolta. I had hours to kill so I decided to spend the time going around the Quiapo area.

Most people think that devotees join the procession all the way from its point of origin up to the time it comes to an end. Actually, most devotees simply wait for the procession at

strategic points along the route. While waiting for the procession, they take the opportunity to rest. Some unfurl mats; others bring out food. It's still a fiesta, after all.

Fortunately, there was lots of food being peddled by very enterprising people. I didn't get to take pictures of many of the various kakanin that were available. There was this man who was selling sandwiches - he had a basket of bread and various fillings spread out before him. Buyers could pick what went into their sandwiches. An old woman was selling Thai tamarind.

As can be expected, politicians couldn't help themselves. I saw many wearing t-shirts with political messages written at the back. Here were some of them.

Mediocre harvest (part 2)

This was my column yesterday. Just got back from Tacloban City today.

As I wrote in this space last Monday, I watched the three films in the ongoing Metro Manila Film Festival that received some “critical” acclaim. I wrote about I Love You Goodbye two days ago; today I am writing about Ang Panday, the top grosser and Best Picture in the film festival and Mano Po 6: A Mother’s Love, recipient of the Gatpuno Villegas Cultural Award, Most Gender-Sensitive Film, and Best Actress for the megastar Sharon Cuneta.

Ang Panday passes off as mythology for some Filipinos, particularly those who grew up reading Pinoy comic books for leisure. Many Filipinos latched on to the epic story of the blacksmith Flavio who fashioned a powerful sword out of a meteorite and in the process saved the world from the clutches of the evil Lizardo. Written by Carlo Caparas, Ang Panday had previously been given life in the big screen by the King of Filipino Movies, the late Fernando Poe Jr. This year’s version has Senator Ramon Revilla Jr. in the lead. A lot of good intent went into the production of the movie and it shows. Revilla said many times on public television that this latest reincarnation of Ang Panday was a tribute to FPJ.

The producers wanted to do something grand, something spectacular. They wanted something like the Lord of the Rings—in fact, they copied lots of scenes from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. They tried to replicate Sauron’s headquarters in Mordor and made it the realm of Lizardo, complete with an active volcano spewing lava in the background. They even patterned the character of Geoff Eigenmann from Legolas, and fitted him with bows and arrows.

They also wanted something like the Harry Potter and also copied heavily from the series. They introduced the concept of a prophecy and repeatedly hit viewers on the head with it. It was evident that Philip Salvador tried to fashion his interpretation of Lizardo from Ralph Fiennes’ Voldemort; not that he succeeds. They even had dragons and a giant basilisk.

This is the problem with Ang Panday—it is a movie that is saddled with the sheer weight of its grand intentions that it fails to take off at all. Previous version of the franchise had less technological wizardry but they were so much more fun and more importantly, they had heart. This latest reincarnation was so pretentious everyone in the movie—except probably child star Robert Villar and Rhian Ramos—looked like cardboard characters. Revilla looked constipated all throughout the film. Why he won as Best Actor probably deserves a Senate investigation. How Philip Salvador won as Best Supporting Actor is an even bigger question. The only thing more absurd than an actor who cannot act is an actor who thinks he is such a great actor. In this movie, Salvador acts up a storm it is so obvious he wanted to do a caricature of the character. He fails dismally.

The biggest question, of course, is how this movie ended up the Best Picture in the festival. It turns out it did so only because box-office receipts made up 50 percent of the criteria. A movie was crowned as the best because it made more money—now there’s another source of embarrassment.

Ang Panday does not only have aspirations of grandeur. It requires that you not only suspend disbelief, you also needed to check in your mental faculties at the door. The plot has gaps more glaring that Ben Abalos’ version of the ZTE controversy. The movie doesn’t have a sense of perspective—for something so huge, it is supposed to even have an active volcano behind it, the main characters had to search far and wide for Lizardo’s headquarters. The sets are so cramped one feels claustrophobic just watching the movie. And the costumes! This is clearly an aspect of filmmaking that Filipinos still need to pay close attention to.

The supporters of the movie made such a big to-do with the advances in computer-generated imaging employed in the movie. To be fair, Ang Panday did push the frontiers in movie-making technology and succeeds in some aspects. The flying scenes no longer look like the characters were cut and pasted and the explosions look more authentic. But we’re forgetting that technological wizardry does not a movie make. Special effects cannot be a substitute for the thinking process.

Just like Ang Panday, Mano Po 6 also caves in to attempts at being “big.” The movie goes to town with a surfeit of everything—it’s a veritable exercise in excesses. I hate being mean and I truly think that people’s body size should not be used as reason to discriminate against anyone—but it really was difficult to empathize with Sharon Cuneta’s character’s travails in the movie because the megastar just looked so healthy and prosperous. It looked like they had to make the character suffer so much degradation to make her look more believable.

Mano Po 6 is a blown-up soap opera with too much of everything in it, the only thing lacking was the suggestion of incest. The struggle of Cuneta’s character to recover her children was dramatized to the hilt—it became almost like a farce.

She even staged a dramatic picket outside the residences of her antagonists, complete with placards and streamers. She gets incarcerated in a mental institution. There is so much crying in the movie my friends and I felt we finally stumbled on the reason behind the unexplained Ondoy flood. And when Cuneta’s and Zsa Zsa Padilla’s character finally meet to settle the scores, there is the obligatory slapping done not once, not twice, but thrice, capped with a straight jab a la Pacquiao. Someone behind me in the theater couldn’t help but mutter out loud: “Overrrr!”

The in-laws in the film (led by Padilla’s character) are so stereotypically evil and their motivations weren’t explained adequately to diffuse negative perception of the Chinese. How could this film have won the Gatpuno Cultural Award if it perpetuated negative stereotypes of Chinese Filipinos?

The Mano Po series was supposed to celebrate the culture, contributions, uniqueness, etc. of the Chinese Filipinos. The truth is that there is nothing in the film that is distinctly Chinese Filipino. The premise of the story could be transported to any setting; there are no distinct Chinese Filipino traditions, customs, or norms celebrated in the movie. The characters try to speak Chinese, there are some Chinese dances featured in a school program, the characters visit China and walk through the Great Wall. But all these could have been done with and were not really integral to the story.

Mano Po 6 is not really a bad movie; it’s just not among our best.

Mediocre harvest (Part 1)

This is my column today.

Are we really helping the Philippine movie industry by patronizing the annual Metro Manila Film Festival?

It seems the annual festival has become nothing but a money-making venture, an opportunity for movie producers to rake in profits. There’s nothing inherently wrong with making money, of course; producing movies, after all, is still a business venture. But the festival is also supposed to be a showcase of Filipino talent and is intended to advance the cause of Philippine filmmaking. The movie industry was supposed to come out with quality movies as some kind of Christmas offering to the Filipino movie-going public who, in turn, were supposed to show their appreciation by patronizing more Filipino movies. It was supposed to be a mutually beneficial relationship.

However, the overall quality of the movies featured in the annual festival has been on a steady decline over the years. This year’s harvest is particularly dismal: Not a single film among the seven entries that make this year’s crop stands out as an example of fine cinema. This wasn’t fair to the many Filipinos who still patronize the festival. Box-office receipts on Christmas day alone reached around P80 million; the top three movies in terms of box-office receipts (Ang Panday, Ang Darling Kong Aswang, and Shake, Rattle and Roll) raked in at least P16 million each in one day.

It seems that by patronizing the MMFF, we are encouraging the production of mediocre films and contributing to the overall decline of the Philippine movie industry. Even worse, it seems we’re encouraging producers from ripping off Filipino moviegoers of their hard-earned money.

One justification being forwarded is that it is only during the festival when Filipino movie producers are guaranteed profit—so we are supposed to just grin and bear it. We’re supposed to just bend over so that Mother Lily Monteverde, the Lopezes, and the rest of the producers can make money? There are many things wrong with this scenario. First, it negates the very essence of what filmmaking is supposed to be about, which is that it is also supposed to be an art form. Second, such a protectionist stance is defeatist in the long term as mediocrity kills patronage; it’s like killing the proverbial goose that lays the golden egg. Third, we’re forgetting that box office returns are not the only ways in which producers make money from their films.

The reviews—particularly word of mouth —of the movies that comprised this year’s festival were generally lukewarm; even those that tried to say nice things about the films sounded somehow conciliatory. Nevertheless, many among us still trooped to theaters like we needed to see for ourselves just how bad they were. Like I said, the MMFF has become an annual tradition for many; I actually know people who have made going to theaters on Christmas day a hallowed tradition. How else do we explain this insane predilection for sequels? Shake, Rattle and Roll is now on its 11th installment. We’re seeing the sixth reincarnation of Mano Po. Enteng Kabisote may have taken a break this year but the genre is alive and well in Ang Darling Kong Aswang. Even top grosser and Best Film of the festival, Ang Panday is a sequel of sorts.

Given generally bad reviews, I went to the theaters with very low expectations. I still left the theaters feeling ripped off. And to think I watched the three films that were —according to the judges—supposed to have been the best among the crop. If Mano Po 6: A Mother’s Love, Ang Panday, and I Love You Goodbye were the better entries, how awful could the other movies be?

Two words explained why we prioritized I Love You Goodbye over all the other entries to this year’s festival: Laurice Guillen. Guillen is a director known for artistic integrity. Guillen’s track record as director has been consistent as well— she’s only made a few movies and each one of them was a critical success. Surely, directing another love story would be a walk in the park for the director who gave us the incomparable Salome, probably one of the best Filipino movies ever made.

The production values of the film were okay in the sense that we didn’t see underexposed shots or cats and dogs straying into the scenes. I Love You Goodbye coasted along steadily for the whole duration of the playing time; the heartbeat monitor in the operating room where Gabby Concepcion’s character supposedly does his thing as a cardiologist-surgeon showed more activity. Nothing much really happens throughout the film.

To be fair to Guillen, I Love You Goodbye had a storyline that was pitifully threadbare to begin with; there was hardly any complication in the plot with the slightest potential to create fireworks. It seemed they realized too late that the movie was so bland they decided to do a whodunit at the last 10 minutes; which, of course didn’t do anything to the movie other than bring it to an end.

I Love You Goodbye had the kind of story that won’t even make the cut for Maalala Mo Kaya so it’s truly a surprise that Star Cinema turned it into a movie, much more, an entry to the festival. Some emotional wrench was thrown into the plotline by Kim Chiu’s character as the bratty daughter and by Liza Lorena as the snotty and domineering mother, but both characters were so stereotypical and one-dimensional. Besides, they were onscreen less than 10 percent of the movie’s running time. Roughly 80 percent of the movie had Angelica Panganiban on the screen which ordinarily should not have been such a bad thing—she registers quite well and is a fine actress. But there’s only so much of a pretty face we can take.

To a certain extent, I Love You Goodbye reminded me very strongly of Kasal?, Guillen’s first directorial job, which I watched when I was in college but whose images still remain indelible in the recesses of memory. Both movies are love stories bookended with the same premise—a couple on their way to happily-ever-after as soon as they are able to settle unresolved issued with exes and domineering parents. Kasal?, however, had better psychology and thus offered complications one could empathize with. I Love You Goodbye’s only real complication involved Panganiban’s ex (acted out by real-life partner Derek Ramsey). The subplot about a malpractice lawsuit was so benign and inconsequential because everybody saw there was no basis for it.

Only Panganiban’s character was fleshed out—we get a glimpse of why she seemed overly clingy and needy. The rest were left unexplained: why Concepcion’s character seemed distant and conflicted (we presumed the mood swings were caused by some psychological reason instead of bad acting), why Chiu’s character was rude and cruel and what accounted for her sudden change of heart towards the end, etc.

Concepcion’s character is supposed to be madly, unconditionally in love with Panganiban character but we don’t really get a sense of that in the movie—in fact, it looks the other way around. Concepcion’s character comes across as bland and cold and sterile and it’s Panganiban’s character that smolders with passion and affection although it can be said that this is also a reflection of how gifted Panganiban is as an actress. She was probably robbed of the Best Actress trophy this year. Ramsey shows some promise but he is no match to Panganiban’s intensity. Chiu is lucky to have such a pretty face.

I Love You Goodbye proved that a movie needed to have a good story; that there’s only so much a director can do with bad material. On Wednesday: Ang Panday and Mano Po 6.

Tribute to a personal hero and mentor

This is my column today.

I am a human resource management person by profession, a teacher by calling, and a writer by accident.

I never really thought of myself as a writer—I actually still don’t to this day. Writing was just something I could do when I was growing up. Until I started cobbling pieces for this column, being a writer wasn’t something that defined who I was. And even despite the fact that I have been writing this column for almost four years now, I still do not self-identify as a writer because I feel that it is something that I haven’t really given as much devotion to compared to, say, teaching or my HRM career.

The way I see it, writing is a craft that requires a certain degree of commitment—a commitment to perfection or at least the quest for it—something that I just don’t have the time or the temperament for. Unlike some friends who can truly lay claim to the title “writer,” I don’t agonize over a misplaced preposition or spend sleepless night searching for the right metaphor to express something. This is not to say though that I don’t value the craft because I do.

At any rate, one question that I am often asked is: How did I get into writing? This question is always mystifying to me because I always get the impression that people actually think that the ability to write is something one is born with. I get the feeling people who ask that question expect me to provide an inventory of the chromosomes I got from my ancestors. Sure I was a co-opted into joining—and becoming editor—of my high school and college papers but the truth is that by no means of the imagination can what I did then be classified as writing. I am aware that there’s not a single “writer” in this world who does not cringe or is tempted to commit self-annihilation when confronted with the stuff one wrote in high school or college. I assure you I am not being facetious and I am being truthful when I say that I produced hideous stuff back then.

There’s actually a story behind how I got into writing; a story that needs to be told now because the man at whose feet I learned the rudiments of real—or serious—writing, the man who inspired me to try to be good at it, the man who took pains to mentor me, even teach me to unlearn bad writing habits, is now gone.

Agustin Gus Arnaiz Sr., the crusading provincial journalist who valiantly championed press freedom in Leyte and Samar for many decades passed away Saturday evening in his hometown of Maasin, Southern Leyte. He was 85.

I was a college sophomore when a couple of my friends and I walked into the offices of The Reporter, a weekly newspaper in Tacloban City to gather some data for a term paper we had to produce for school. At that time, Gus Arnaiz, publisher of The Reporter, was already quite a “legend” in the region. He had just come close to winning a seat in Congress against the powerful Romualdezes, who, incidentally also put him behind bars for writing about rumors around then First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos. All throughout the Marcos regime he was incarcerated four times and arrested a grand total of 19 times. The Reporter was then the lone beacon of freedom and fearless writing in the whole of Region VIII. In the eyes of a then-neophyte activist, Arnaiz was a giant.

Arnaiz granted our group an interview. To this day, I still do not know what he saw in me or what possessed him to do it but he offered me a job on the spot as associate editor of the weekly paper. I learned later on that the post had been vacant for quite sometime simply because Arnaiz didn’t find anyone he liked well enough. It dawned on me many years later that he wasn’t really looking for an employee—he was on the lookout for someone he could mentor like a son. He paid me full wages for a job that was really part-time as I was still studying then. As if to make up for the hours I was in school, I would accompany him some nights and during some weekends in the long drives he made around Tacloban and the Leyte-Samar area. He was always visiting friends and colleagues who were always more than too happy to host him. Arnaiz was a genius at making conversations. I later on learned this was how he got the various “exclusive” stories that he wrote for the weekly paper. It was from these long nights that I learned how to listen, really listen.

It was on those long, very long drives —sometimes we would be driving for hours, even whole days—that I learned so much about writing and life in general. Arnaiz loved to talk—he was conversant about almost anything— from history to politics, from business to current events—despite the fact that he didn’t finish school. He had to drop out from high school due to poverty. I guess telling stories came naturally for a man who lived a very exciting and fulfilling life. Arnaiz was the classic example of a self-made man. He was a war veteran (he finally received his war veteran benefit from the United States government last November). It was from the man that I learned how to weave stories and tell them.

Arnaiz coaxed me out of my shell. He even maneuvered to put me in the board of the regional association of media people where, at 17 years old, I sat as the youngest director for one term. He taught me how to use a typewriter, edited my work right in front of me, and alas, also taught me how to smoke and drink.

I had to quit working for the weekly paper when I was in senior college to yield to paternal pressure to get a diploma. But my relationship with Arnaiz continued, shifting from mentor-mentee to friends. For many years in the late eighties I continued to write pieces for the weekly paper, stuff that I had to send by snail mail every week from Manila where I was already working.

From him I learned how to write letters. Arnaiz was a man who wrote real letters—he typed even social and personal letters using a formal format and with carbon copies too.

The Reporter eventually folded up last year. Although his children tried to sustain the paper with the same fervor and spirit that Arnaiz breathed into it, I guess some things in this world are just never the same without the moving force driving it.

We all have personal heroes that we look up to; people to whom we owe what we’ve become. It had been ages since I last talked to the man but the years have not diminished the affection and respect I keep for the man who taught me how to write.

Farewell, Gus. Thank you for the many valuable gifts you so selflessly shared with me.