EDSA didn't fail us, we failed EDSA

The whole thing has been brewing for a few days already, and my mother has been in and out of the house. Been hearing about the goings on from adult conversations in the house and the rest of the neighborhood. Marcos cheated in the recently concluded snap elections. The minister of defense and the chief of the armed forces  have resigned. People are gathering at EDSA to protect them, Cardinal Sin has called for more warm bodies.

That morning, my mother was talking to several grown-ups in the neighborhood (I was 12) - she was renting a jeepney to ferry whoever wanted to join her at EDSA. Next thing I knew, everyone was getting ready to go. I wanted to go with them, but this time my mother told me I couldn't for things could get ugly. Odd, for I have been to countless rallies with her - several times not only as a participant but also as a performer along with my friends who belonged to my mother's community theater group, the Workshop for Creative Survival.

When one Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, I was turning 10 the following month at the time, I remember being at all these rallies all over Metro Manila - I remember Mendiola, Liwasang Bonifacio, Plaza Miranda, I remember WOMB (Women for the Ouster of  Marcos and Boycott), Inang Laya, the smoke-filled (mostly courtesy of my mother's cigarettes) Hiraya Gallery mezzanine office where the cool people hung out (and where I was a child would alternately try to pick something from the conversations or just be amused by the animated characters around the table). That was where I, while doodling on Tito Bobi's desk overheard a story about a woman who was captured by the military, her vagina was carved out with a hunting knife by the same soldiers who gang-raped her earlier. The story was told by a photo journalist.

Back to February 25, 1986 - not this time, I watched that jeep full of Road 7, Project 6 residents leave with a heavy heart. Whatever was happening in EDSA, it was huge, I thought, and I wanted so much to be part of it.

It wasn't as easy to follow goings-on then as it is today. There were only five TV channels available - 2. 4, 7, 9 and 13. Broadcast was erratic. The radio was on too and almost everyone in the neighborhood was tuned in to Radio Veritas.

I remember getting scolded several years earlier for toying around with our stereo. After playing my Voltes V 45 vinyl a hundred times, I got bored and thought I'd put on whatever I could get my hands on in our collection of records. I picked out one with an interesting cover and put it on in full volume. Turned out to be one of those subversive recordings - it was Martial Law, and people have been arrested or made to disappear or killed for less. My grandmother immediately turned the stereo off.

I remember wondering about who Carpio was, and why every teenager in the neighborhood was afraid of him. "Pasok na tayo, Carpio na..." I would hear the "tambays" in the neighborhood say. Ahh, curfew.

Suddenly, there it was: Marcos Flees. It's over, and the real winner of that election, Corazon Aquino, would now sit as the first ever woman president of the Republic of the Philippines. I remember - I could literally feel the country's collective sigh of relief, a nation's victory over tyranny - I could now play that Inang Laya or any other album in our collection.

And my grandmother, along with myself and the rest of the family, could now sleep better at night not having to worry if my mother will make it back home after a rally or a play or whatever other activity she may be involved in that, during the Martial Law years, could be considered subversive.

Fast forward 30 years later, and Bongbong Marcos, unrepentant son of the tyrant that EDSA rid us of, is threatening to make it a step closer to being back in Malacanang. There are young people clamoring for the return to the "Golden Years" of Martial Law. Duterte proclaims without batting an eyelash: I am a dictator, so what? And a lot of us applauded him.

These days, Cory's being lambasted for her supposed lackluster performance as the first post-martial law president. Try hurdling six coup attempts while running a transition government.

The prevailing sentiment is this: EDSA, the People Power Revolution, did nothing to uplift the lives of Filipinos, that it failed us.

But, no, EDSA didn't fail us. It gave us what it was supposed to give us - freedom. It's what we did with that freedom that failed us. And if the current trends remain 'til election day this May, we're just about to fail ourselves again.






     

VANI: a better fighter, pound-for-pound, than Manny Pacquiao

Just like any other kid, he's made some bad decisions here and there. But like a man, so to speak, he owned up to them, learned from them, moved on and came out a better person every time.

I can't imagine him running for public office, taking an oath to serve his country, but showing up only for a few days while receiving a salary for three years. That would be wrong, and he won't do something like that.

He steps onto the ring not knowing who his opponent will be motivated only by his conviction that all men are created equal and all men must have equal rights, regardless of the color of their skin or their sexual orientation.

And these fights he fought not because he stood to earn millions in prize money, pay-per-view buys, endorsements, etc. Nah, he fights to defend his rights as a human being, he steps onto the ring not only to fight his fight but to fight for the rights of others like him. Now there's a real fighter.

And for that, Vani, my gay son, is a much better fighter, pound-for-pound, than Manny Pacquiao.

Related articles: 
Are you gay? 
Father and his gay son
Be and let be

I want to ride my bicycle (but the Mayor won't let me)

Just like many others, I too do double takes when a flashy coupe zooms by, yield to imposing "get-out-of-my-way-or-I'll-run-you-over" SUVs and once in a while find myself daydreaming of driving one of those.

I personally drive a 25-year old mini van. A Toyota Liteace which just came out of a car hospital - for just like its owner, its joints needed some lubricating, get its bearings... repacked, re-greased, replaced. While in there, I thought it might as well get an oil change. It's running so well now and i'm very happy. it breezed through this morning's emission test. But in those daydreams, I find myself wanting to sell the van, add to it to get a car that's at least a few years younger, with an engine that's a bit bigger, stronger.

A prospect presented itself - a Chevrolet Trailblazer, just about a decade old, reasonably priced. Sell the van, then scrounge up more to cover the cost. What usually bursts the bubble for me is this - how much gas would that V6 engine eat up for every engine start, uphill climb, occasional trips to San Juan, La Union or Manila, and would our family's carbon footprint be justified?

I don't think so. See, it's not like the van's 1800-or-so cc cannot provide for our needs, or even my need as an artist who often does location shoots from way up north to a bit down south on various, often unforgiving terrain. The Liteace has taken us to highest point in our country's highway system, up to Sagada and Besao and even over that treacherous under-repair road to Batad, Ifugao last year. Sure the van came back home to Baguio with a few added "sound effects": more squeaks and thuds, but nothing the Manong down the road can't fix with an adjustable wrench, WD40 and few taps here and there.  

An 1800, even with some 6 or 7 passengers on board, runs comfortably at 100 kph along the sleep-inducing TPLEX. That V6 can surely go much faster, but who needs 120, 130, eeeek, 160(!) when the country's superhighways pegs the limit at 100 kph anyway?

Besides, I can hardly afford to keep the van gassed up - which brings me closer to the title of this article (pardon the long intro and the digression/s)...

...see, climate change is upon us, believe it or not. Excessive man-caused carbon emissions at the top of the suspects list. And while the van sevices the whole family, a lot of times I find myself driving that van alone. Yes, that van that's designed to accommodate as many as 9-passengers, okay, maybe 7 more comfortably. Sometimes on long drives to the lowlands, more often to downtown Baguio. I cringe a little when I get caught, nay, WHENEVER I HELP CAUSE TRAFFIC in the city's Central Business District and realize how much space that van is taking up and how much carbon is spewed out onto the atmosphere to bring me, one person, to my destination. Destinations that, while may be quite physically challenging for my middle-aged knees to walk, are easily accessible by bicycle.

So the past few weeks, my SUV daydreams have been replaced by ones with me wearing a helmet pedaling to town. That's certainly more affordable than an SUV with a V6 engine, and I wouldn't have to sell the van. And in a city battling with worsening vehicular traffic and air pollution, a bike makes sense.

But the city government of Baguio, under the leadership of the Hon. Mauricio Domogan, Mayor of Baguio City, is the bubble-burster his time - bikes have just been banned not only along Session Road, but in the whole Central Business District.

While other cities have been doing all they can to accommodate and encourage cyclists to help mitigate vehicular traffic and lessen emissions, Baguio once again takes a step backward with this ban. Just like it does whenever the city condones environmental destruction in the name of development (read: commerce, and that isn't always equals development).

Ahhh, to borrow lines from Freddie - I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike... but Domogan won't let me.

Photo lifted from the comment of Jp Leung on a post on my page

Kung handa ka nga sa Rehimeng Duterte

Ayun, matapos ang ilang beses na paroo't parito, tatakbo si Rodrigo Duterte, Mayor ng Davao na kilala bilang tigasin, matapang, walang-takot na amining handa siyang pumatay ng ganun-ganun lang, nang hindi napapatunayan ng korte, "beyond reasonable doubt," kung ang isang tao nga'y nagkasala basta't sa mata ni Duterte ay dapat na nga siyang itumba.

Ang daming masaya sa deklarasyong ito, mga naniniwalang siya nga ang magsasalba sa bayan mula sa katiwalian, sa korupsyon, sa kriminalidad, sa kahirapan at iba pang sakit ng lipunang Pilipino.

Ang sarap nga namang panoorin sa TV, nakakaaliw, kung ang presidente ng isang bansa ay nagmumura, bumubuga ng mga katagang pang action movie na walang sinabi sina Julio Valiente, Leon Guerrero, Asiong Salonga atbp. sa bagsik ng mga salita.

Handa ka nga ba sa isang Rehimeng Duterte?

Ingat ka sa lansangan, lalo na siguro kung lalaki kang mahaba ang buhok, gulanit ang maong - alam mo yun, yung sa mata ng karamihan e kung hindi man tulak e gumagamit ng droga. Baka kasi mapagkamalan kang yun na nga, tulak, o baka may kamukha kang wanted na kriminal dahil isang bala ka lang. Pwedeng-pwede mangyari yan pre sa ilalim ni Duterte - sa iyo o sa kahit sino. 'Di ba't yun ang nagustuhan mo sa kanya, kung paano niya diumano nilinis ang Davao?

Teka, siya nga ba mismo ang pumisil sa gatilyong kumitil sa buhay ng ilang "suspected criminals" sa Davao? Hindi naman siguro. Ilang taong nabigyan ng baril, ng kapangyarihang kumitil ng buhay - paano kaya naiseguro na yung iniwan nilang bangkay sa bangketa e tunay ngang nagkasala? At kung nagkasala man, buhay nga ang dapat nilang bayad sa pagkakamaling iyon? Meron din kayang mga nagkaatraso lang sa isa sa mga tauhang ito?

At dahil labag sa batas hindi lamang ng Pilipinas kundi ng kahit saang sibilisadong lipunan ang ganyang uri ng hustisya, handa ka rin bang ibasura ang konstitusyon, ang batas? Dahil kung payag kang gawin ito sa Davao, payag kang gawin ito sa buong bansa, at malamang ay payag ka ring balewalain ng Rehimeng Duterte ang iba pang mga batas kung sa tingin niya ay hadlang ang mga ito sa kanyang uri ng hustisya.

Ingat ka rin sa pagpuna sa isang tulad ni Duterte, sakaling mahalal nga siya (salamat sa boto mo), kung hindi man siya, ay baka masamain ito ng mga taong bibigyan niya ng mga baril at kapangyarihang mamaril.

Handa ka nga bang sabihin na karahasan ang paraan para ibangon ang ating bayan?

Ako kasi, hindi e.

The coming out of Henry Sy and his empire

After all that has transpired, I must admit that deep inside me I still believed that they, Henry Sy and his family, still possessed a bit of sense of decency. Until Banco de Oro, a Sy-owned bank, came up with these:

Somebody up there in the Sy empire thought of this, somebody up there gave the go-signal to the advertising agency to go ahead and explore this idea, somebody up there must really believe in what these ads stood for: a self-centered, uncaring, apathetic existence is the ideal, and caring for things other than one's self and own interests is laughable and indeed must be mocked. Shame on all of you: from the Sys to the advertising professional prostitutes who must have swallowed their own sense of morality for that fat BDO paycheck. 

Despite all these...

1. SM City Baguio's attempt to destroy a forest for a parking building and the questionable and immoral way in which they gave this attempt a semblance of legality and morality
2. The way SM City Baguio corrupted several government institutions, several government personnel, journalists, people from the community, et al to advance their selfish interests
3. The way SM City Baguio made a mockery of our legal institutions when they defied a court order (a Temporary Environmental Protection Order) and killed decades-old full-grown trees and having their battery of highly-paid lawyers justify the act by twisting the facts, the law and common sense
4.  The way SM City Baguio, through its henchman Bien Mateo, shrewdly and deceptively pretended to listen to the clamor, the plea of the people to set aside their selfish interest in Baguio and save as much of one of the city's fast disappearing remaining forest covers for the benefit of its people, its children, its future by presenting a re-designed plan that would save all of the remaining trees on Luneta Hill, only to once again mock the trust that the convenors of the protest movement sincerely offered and went ahead with the killing of the practically all of the remaining trees in the area
5. Etc., etc., etc.

... Still, I hoped, believed that they somehow, yes, like most human beings do, that they still had some sense of decency, of compassion, or responsibility and that one day Henry Sy, or Hans, or Teresita, or this Bien Mateo or one Jansenn Pe will wake up and realize the immorality of their expansion plan and stand up for the good of the community, the rights of Baguio's people and her children to a healthy and safe environment - that they will realize that it can't always be just about money, something they already have so much of to last for as long as they live and for many generations to come.

But no. With the above ads, SM and its minions and henchmen just outed themselves: they are indeed the epitome of greed, of what is wrong in the world today, of bad, and yes, of evil.

And as long as there are Sys lording it over this country, and as long as we continue to empower them to do so, there is no hope for this country.

Henry Sy doesn't care, SM doesn't care and BDO will always find ways to make money, even at the expense of others.

Shame on you, shame on you!

#BoycottSM
#BoycottBDO
#BoycottEverythingSY

#16 Road 7, Project 6, Quezon City

That yellow structure on the right side of the frame, directly behind the basketball hoop, that's where I grew up - #16 Road 7, Project 6, Quezon City. That entire row of houses running the length of the basketball court - plus a few more meters on both sides, all of that's #55, actually. But my grandmother didn't like that number, so she just decided on her own that our house would be #16.

The house wasn't always like that. Back then, it was wooden, elevated high enough to avoid getting flooded during the rainy season. A creek behind the house rises dramatically during downpours. We had a "silong," under the house, which eventually was turned into three small apartments. When the "silong"was first walled off, an uncle, a bachelor at the time, used it as a pad. That's where I spied one morning that he had a girl with him. They would marry eventually and live in one of the "apartments."

Road 7 wasn't concreted back then - the asphalt surface was where I learned to ride a bike, skinned my knee countless times, drew a sun on when clouds threatened rain...

Road 7 had a unique light. Sunrise came from the rice fields across the creek, it would enter the window of the kitchen, the grills making a nice pattern on the floor. I took that light with my breakfast of diluted Blend 45 cup of coffee, into which I dipped my pandesal with Dairy Creme.

With the harsher late morning light that gets harsher towards noon comes Kulot, the taho vendor. Pre-lunch snack. If mom was in the country, Kulot would usually get a mouthful for shouting too loud and waking her up. She's up, I'll ask for some change for my taho. The puto vendor usually comes soon after Kulot leaves.

At the two in the afternoon, most of #55 (and #16, too) would be asleep, siesta time while the rest of the neighborhood would either be idling at any one of the few sari-sari stores, reading the week's comics (Hilaga, Holiday, Funny), or playing bingo near the row of houses near the balon (where that group of #55 houses in that area get their water) surrounded by kangkong and talbos ng kamote. For me and my gang of friends, that meant getting out our panungkit and net bags and off we would go to explore the rest of Project 6 and nearby barangays (Pag-asa, Vasra, Sanville, Carmel, etc.) for generous homeowners with fruit tree in their front yards. Depends what time of the year it was, the loot would either be or a combination of mabolo, santol, makopa, kaimito, duhat, avocado... 

If we're not in the mood for fruits, then off to Alley 11 we'd go to buy fish hooks and nylon strings and the panungkit becomes a fishing pole. There's always dalag to be caught in that creek behind our house. If we're not too lazy to just sit at the banks, we'll chop down banana trunks, skewer them together with bamboo and the resulting raft can take us all the way to the public market area downstream.

The basketball court wasn't always a basketball court. We called it the "playground," the space wasn't cemented and that's where we ran around to our hearts' delight - all morning, all afternoon, in the evening we took over the street when there were less cars passing. There were monkey bars there when I was little, rusty, missing a joint here and there which was a castle, a fort, a car, a space ship, a house or anything our imagination wanted it to be.

One day, the main road where the jeeps passed, Road 3 underwent major repairs. The asphalt surface was removed in preparation for its concreting. It took a while for the cement trucks to come, and while the workers prepared Road 3 for concreting, #55 Road 7 (along with the lone #16 house) prepared areas of the house that may need concreting. And after weeks of digging, removing, grading, and whatever else needed to be done before concreting, the trucks came - and Road 7 was ready. It didn't matter what time it was that they poured concrete, we were there, the whole neighborhood each one with their own bucket to catch the excess cement that was pushed to the side when they leveled the surface.

If you wanted your kitchen or bathroom floor concreted, you caught a bucket-load, ran as fast as you can to pour that at your own construction project at home, and ran back to get more.

The concreting of Road 3 took a while, but by the end of it, a lot of the homes had concrete walls, floors, the pathways from the road side to maze of homes in the area were cemented too, and the playground... that was the time it was tuned into a concreted basketball court.

We were one of the first to have a television set in the neighborhood, and prime time TV meant having heads at our window in the evening. If my banig wasn't set up yet for the night, then I'd sometimes let some of the neighbors inside the house to watch a Friday special, Piling-piling Pelikula. At the end of whatever it was we watched, everyone would spill out onto the street to talk about it. Us kids would reenact some of the notable scenes such as the zombies in Panday running after Bentot Jr. We'll take turns playing Bentot Jr. 

There was Mang Rudy, the handyman whom you called for anything from dog bites to changing the fuse to fixing a leaking pipe.

There was Mang Frank and his taxicab, Kuya Dan and his well-maintained owner-type jeep.

There was Mang Inggo and his vegetable garden.

There was Mang Ipe and his sari-sari store and Pool Table (or pul, chips instead of billiard balls on a square table with holes at the corners where you shoot the chips in).

There are more memories, I can actually leave this blog entry open and just keep on adding as they come, and I wouldn't be able to really say, "that's it, all 14-15 years' worth, give or take a few months after we moved to a new house in 1988 whenever I'd run back to #16 Road 7 whenever life makes an unexpected turn.

Our house, where I swear I saw elves climbing the sink, out the kitchen window and down the creek, was sold some time in the nineties. And the new owners tore it down and built that concrete multi-storey structure.

I believe that's when I stopped visiting Road 7, Project 6, Quezon City.

It's hard to see what the picture above actually shows - the dull gray of the road all, the imposing roof over the basketball court, and the walls. All I see is my wonderful childhood.    





 

Duterte, Marcos, genocide and why I'm very, very afraid

Someone I know has already admitted to slowly falling for the rhetoric, she adds though - "Ng slight." She's not alone, and that scares me.

Duterte had no problem saying in public that he's more likely to be jailed for murder and genocide than plunder. I will not steal, but I will send people to their death, maybe even entire groups of people. Why should he worry? Hardly anybody thought there was anything wrong with that. 

Although he did also say that if elected to a higher office (read: the presidency), he will do all he can to restore the death penalty. So I'm not sure if the murder/genocide will be State-sanctioned under his presidency, or if it will take the character of the infamous/famous Davao Death Squad, which sent criminals, both petty and hardened, ALLEGEDLY, to their graves. The youngest victim of this vigilante group was said to be 14 years old.  

It scares me to think that by next year, the most powerful man in this country has no problem having a person who has not been proven without reasonable doubt to have committed a crime... killed, and that a lot of us are applauding that. Are we ready to believe that to turn things around in this country, the people need to be afraid, not empowered, but very, very afraid? Are we really ready to just cheer to have a president who promises genocide? 

And here comes Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos, Jr. with, "what am I to apologize for?" when asked about his father's regime. The regime that caused the disappearance or death of thousands, that suppressed our freedom, the regime that made a whole nation live in fear while those in power and their cronies plundered, murdered with impunity. 

Every day, social media is filled with "Buti pa noong panahon ni Marcos" posts, memes, videos, etc., a brazen Orwellian attempt to erase the horrors of Martial Law from our collective memory 

Marcos is being touted as a possible Duterte running mate. It's gaining ground. And I'm afraid, very very afraid.