The race is on

TODAY the official campaign period for the 2010 elections starts.

Days before, campaign posters started to sprout along major streets and avenues around the country. Ironically, among the early violators are former MMDA chairman Bayani Fernando and some party-list organizations.

Mudslinging also intensified. Leftist lawmaker and senatorial candidate Satur Ocampo claimed that the military made moves to disqualify him before the Commission on Elections.

Administration standard bearer Gibo Teodoro said he has been a target of a politically-motivated villification campaign.

Senator Loren Legarda had to issue a statement belying reports that she filed a bill seeking to reduce the salary of public school teachers and soldiers.

Liberal Party candidate Noynoy Aquino and Nacionalista Party’s Manny Villar were also on the receiving end of various attacks from political operators of their rivals.

There will be more complaints and more violations. But as they say, these will all be just politics. Nothing new. Exciting times are here again.

What can we, ordinary mortals, expect in the coming days?

There will be a lot of singing and dancing in town plazas. More posters will decorate our walls, trees will bear not fruits but colorful campaign materials, and television and radio programs will take on a more political color.

As Election Day nears, money (both fake and genuine) will be offered. In past elections, a vote can cost from P300 to P1,500 each.

There will be more threats and killings. While some people would disappear, some dead souls are expected to rise again to cast their votes.

The race is on, and like any other race, the runners will be doing their best to make it to the finish and beat the competition by all means, be it through thick and thin, for better or for worse, for the selfish interest of it all.

So let’s enjoy the game. And if you have no stake in it, better stay on the sideline because it would be painful to be overran by the rampaging mad bulls who will one day insist on becoming our ring masters.

The race is on and there is no stopping it. And it’s not only just a race for some. It’s war. And in some conflicts, they take no casualties. So let’s better be careful in dipping our fingers on something that might be too hot for us to handle.

Rest assured, however, that we will not back down from any challenge when push becomes shove. We will continue digging into the dirt of this coming political exercise and we will entertain all of us.

For what are races all about? Even in ancient Rome, it’s all for fun, and the more blood and death, the more exciting it would be for us on the galleries.

So let the games begin!

The stories of our lives

ANOTHER week is over. There were not much surprises. There were only stories. Congress ended its sessions. Some laws were passed, some were forgotten. Cases were heard in courts. The accused denied the allegations, the complainants shed tears. It’s part of the plot.

These were some of the stories we encountered, the same stories we heard before. Nothing seems new, except for some of the characters and the latest twists. We expect more in the coming weeks, of course.

Life has always been about stories. It’s always about weaving our own or listening to others, stories we ourselves write and stories we share on our bedside, some invented — sad, funny, tragic. With the elections nearing, expect more stories coming.

We’ve heard about people who start poor and end up getting rich. There are those who are born poor and die poor, while others are rich and continue getting rich. All the same, the plot is always about doing good and dreaming about the best. It’s all about stories.

So, what’s your story?

A very close friend of mine for 20 years shared over a bottle of beer that he was found to have HIV. He just learned about it a few hours earlier. It was courageous for him to tell us. He assured those around the table that life goes on. He even plans to buy a new car.

Another jobless friend dreams about building a house. Where he would get the money for it, he still doesn’t know. One thing he is sure of is his dream to have something to leave behind when it’s time for him to go.

A 29-year-old colleague said she’s getting married come hell or high water. So does a former classmate who’s now nearing 50. So is Inday who is waiting for that childhood boyfriend who’s circumnavigating the world on board a cargo ship. Whatever happens, they are getting married, they assured me.

There’s no shortage of dreams and wishes in this world. As long as we have the capacity to dream, life will continue and our stories will weave itself, for better or for worse. That is the beauty of living. That’s the beauty of life.

Let us enjoy then the stories of politicians and candidates that we will encounter as the elections near. Let these color our lives, as long as we do not forget that we too have our own stories that must be heard. Ours are more important than theirs. It’s about living. It’s about survival to be able to continue to dream.

How much does it take to fill up the space on this page. What it takes is imagination and the stories we heard around us. What does it take to be heard? It takes more than the shouting and the slogans in the streets. It takes some doing on our part. It takes pain and some working on those dreams.

No political dynasty in Mindanao

THERE in the far south, politics is more interesting. Politicians don’t tarnish each other’s refutation. They just kill each other. Well, not all the time, but most of the time the threats are real.

Journalists who are seen to be bias for or against a candidate are not summoned for lunch or dinner. They are threatened. Well, sometimes they are paid to keep their silence or to withdraw their stories.

In the far south, there in Mindanao, there is no political dynasty, which is defined as “a sequence of rulers from the same family, stock, or group,” the Ming dynasty, for instance, in the old China.

An aspiring lawmaker, who belongs to a family whose members are running in at least three provinces in the coming elections, said does not belong to a dynasty because his parents and siblings are seeking to rule not only one area but several areas.

There in Mindanao definitions are relative. Elections too are more efficient than in other areas. Results of the political exercise usually come out a day before the voting.

What the Ampatuans did was a mistake. They should have not killed the journalists. The killing of the Mangudadatu clan members would have only become a clan war. It would have not become a national issue.

Political families (not dynasties, they say) in Mindanao are furious. Their guns might be confiscated and their arsenals emptied by authorities, who, by the way, may also belong to some other clan or family.

If there’s one politician who has the courage to call a spade a spade and a deal a deal, it’s former president Erap Estrada. “Weather, weather lang yan,” he supposedly said. Those in power always call the shots, or impose their definitions of words. They are the only ones who have the ammunition and the cash to buy dictionaries.

What better place to live than Mindanao these days. It’s more peaceful there. There will be no more political killings in the cities and towns, especially in regions where political dynasties are non-existent, only families whose members love to serve their constituents in perpetuity.

We therefore wonder why many of us left the island and suffer in Manila, Australia, Chicago, Canada and even Nigeria to work as caregivers, nurses, dancers, singers and, yes, writers. There are already malls in our hometowns and family entertainment centers that can rival Disneyland.

One of these days, our local leaders might follow us where we are and run for public office here in Manila, Australia, Chicago, Canada and Nigeria only to be able to serve us, their beloved constituents.

That’s why, in the spirit of human goodness not to inflict our madness on others, we call on Mindanaoans around the world to go back home and vote for our beloved politicians. There, in our beautiful land, in the backwaters of this archipelago, we don’t insult our fellowmen, like what our senators do, we just kill them.

Insertions too are not insults in the far south. It’s a fact of life.

Monday musings

THERE was too much vehicular traffic over the weekend. In Quezon City, thousands of people flocked to a mall that offered up to 70 percent discount on their items. Road construction and repairs are all over too. Water companies are digging sidewalks and replacing old pipes. Buildings are sprouting all over like mushrooms after the rain.

Friends are inviting us to inaugurations of new businesses, house blessings and birthday parties held at restaurants. In our weekly drinking sprees, we talk about the latest gadgets, laptop computers, downloads, bicycles, cars, toys, trips to Boracay, Hong Kong, Macau, Bangkok, etc.

We spend what little amount we earn from 15 days of hard labor on something we dream of having — a bike, a book, a toothbrush, a brand of instant noodle, a movie. We spend hard-earned cash on the latest concoctions offered on billboards by almost-naked girls.

That’s how we are. We spend our fortunes in an instant, leaving us nothing the next day but our imagination and dreams, the headache and the new problems that must be faced in the coming days. That’s how we are, ordinary mortals. We start a new month with more of the same, the same dreams, the same ambitions and wishes.

We dream about that long-delayed repair of that leaking roof; we imagine having that new refrigerator we cannot afford with the small income we have; we wish for a replacement of that plastic chair we use while writing a column; and someday we have to get that new table where we can put that old laptop beside the leftover head of tilapia that is feasted upon by read ants.

Our politicians will also be doing much of the same, planning new projects that would cost millions so that their share of the loot would be enough to buy a condominium unit in Tagaytay or Bataan. And if they’re running for office this May, the start of the new month would be another opportunity. There’s the Chinese New Year and Valentine’s Day to be taken advantage of.

Why do we care? To each his or her dreams. Yeah, right, except for that traffic jam, the naked girls on the billboards, the cheating politicians, the headaches, the hangovers and the dreams that seem to be too slippery for us who idly sit in our corner of this world. And of course, the lack of cash to buy that dream.

Today, let us start the week and the month with our complaints. Aside from dreams, that’s one thing we can afford, to complain. It’s free and nobody can prohibit us from doing it. Let us complain about our poor lives, let us complain about the injustices around us, the human rights abuses, the inequality, the corruption, the environmental destruction and all the things we can complain about.

What better way to start the week than to be grouchy.

Violent politics

THERE are just too many killings these past days. Over the weekend, at least four councilors — two in Mindanao, two in Northern Luzon — were killed. In the past weeks there were more deaths reported and threats continue to circulate, especially in rural areas.

Troops are already hunting suspected members of private armed groups in Masbate. In Mindanao, least 200 residents of an island village fled their homes over the weekend after armed men threatened to kill those who would not sign a document supporting a mayoral candidate.

Despite the still-uncertain poll automation in May, old-style politics still rules in the cities and in the countryside. While money rules in urban centers, guns and goons lord it over in rural areas. It looks like that there is no end to the cycle of violence.

There will be more of the same in the coming elections despite the checkpoints and the deployment of uniformed officers in so-called areas of concern. No assassin or gun-for-hire in his right mind who would pass through a checkpoint with his or her gun.

It is hard to blame the Philippine National Police and the Armed Forces for this vicious cycle. We all know that most of them are just doing their jobs. Many of us are just as helpless as most of us ordinary mortals. Many of them are hostages too of the kind of politics so entrenched in our midst.

Many have said it before, and we will be saying it again: It is time for the Commission on Elections to get serious about its job. It is high time for the poll body to hit violators of election laws hard, real hard. The people are tired of all the talk. It is time to act.

Let us make it simple for our Comelec officials. Look at all the campaign posters sprouting all over Metro Manila. Faces of politicians are being plastered on our walls, campaign posters of party-list groups adorn our sidewalks. Can’t people in Comelec do something about it?

Informants and sources are talking about bribes for groups and candidates to be accredited for the coming elections. Was there an investigation done? Were moves made to at least look into the allegations?

What have poll officials done to assure the public that they are serious about what they are doing. Aside from the statements Comelec spokesmen issue about their expectations for a peaceful and orderly election, violators of election-related cases are yet to be jailed.

By the way, what happened to all those arrested for violating the election gun ban? Hundreds were already arrested, the police reported. But where are these people detained? The public should be appraised whether cases were already filed in court.

Without proof that our authorities are serious about what they are doing, there would be no reason for us to believe in the integrity of whatever political exercise we will have in the coming months. We will always be a country that pretends to be democratic while living under a culture of violence and corruption.

Kristie Kenney should go

KRISTIE KENNEY, the former US ambassador to the Philippines who left the country last Monday, has become so popular and friendly to Filipinos that she should leave. Of course her three-year tour of duty is over.

Some quarters said it’s time for Kenney to leave because her popularity and friendliness is not doing good to the interest of the United States in the Philippines, especially with the elections coming.

There’s no question how Filipinos love Kenny. She went to the mountains and visited a rebel camp, watched basketball with the masses, played with children and posed for photographs with politicians, actors and actresses, journalists, and whoever has a camera handy every time she passed by.

She has somehow rekindled the image of America as the Philippines’ savior during the World War II era. She’s Douglas MacArthur landing in Leyte with warm smiles, chocolates in hand and military might on the background.

Her sincerity and charm were genuine. There was no question about it. But still she was a soldier who follows orders. Her heart was her weapon to win many of us into loving America again. One can’t just fool around with the smiling lady or the aircraft carriers off the coast of Manila would pulverize us to high heavens.

Kenny won even some activists. She defeated many of us with her smile and tears. Her farewell message over radio DZBB was cliche but we know she was sincere and it really came from the bottom of her heart. But again, Kenny is a soldier and she must follow orders.

With the elections nearing, the United States cannot afford to just use charm to make its favorite lapdog in the Far East tow the line. The next Philippine president should understand that beyond friendship, America is also the master who protects and expects something in return. It’s not just Kenny’s line to demand. That’s why she has to go.

The next US ambassador is a no-nonsense guy. Harry K. Thomas Jr. will be the first African-American to become US Ambassador to the Philippines. He is a career member of the Senior Foreign Service and served as director-general of the Foreign Service and Director of Human Resources under the State Department.

He previously served as a special assistant to the Secretary and Executive Secretary of the Department. He earlier served as ambassador to Bangladesh and had postings in New Delhi, India; Harare, Zimbabwe; Kaduna, Nigeria; and Lima, Peru — an assignment for tough guys.

Thomas served at the White House as Director for South Asia at the National Security Council from 2001 to 2002; Senior Watch Officer, Deputy Director, and Director of the State Department Operations Center; Special Assistant to the Undersecretary for Political Affairs; and staff assistant to the Assistant Secretary for African Affairs.

Thomas is indeed the most qualified to serve as the next ambassador to the country after Kenney’s charm diplomacy. It would be interesting to watch out for the difference. We’re just wondering if our friends at the embassy would give us the chance to have a crack at a first interview.

Talkin’ about God

THERE will be a lot of talk about God, country and people this week.

The Catholic church will be holding its Clergy congress in Manila while the Muslims are holding what could be the largest gathering of their religious leaders in Davao City.

The Catholic priests will be talking and reflecting about their role in the changing times, especially with the coming national elections.

The ulama and the aleemat (women religious leaders) will discuss the “wider and more participative role of the ulama” in the “transformation or reformation process” of society.

These are exciting times and it is high time that religious groups should make their voices heard, not to intervene in the affairs of the state, but inspire and influence individuals, the politicians and the masses included, to do something.

There was once a time in the not so distant past that religious leaders played key roles in transforming society, either for better or for worst. Those were exciting times too.

Progressive Catholic and protestant church people, for instance, established the Christians for National Liberation, the liberals organized their own groups, and the reactionaries, for fear of being overwhelmed, signed statements with words like “critical collaboration” with the government.

We know from our history that it is not healthy for religion to get mixed up with politics. We are not for such an arrangement. But history also taught us that profound issues and discussions usually emanate from people who have more time for reflections compared to politicians.

We thus challenge the clergy and our ulama and allemat not to fail us in a time when people need most your prophetic wisdom. Even kings and monarchs of ages past had their advisers who consult oracles and the high heavens for wisdom.

Now is the time for our religious leaders to prove themselves to again earn the faith of our people, to guide us into a society that can have a semblance of heaven, where there will be no dictators, no killers, no traitors, and only peace and justice reign.

A more difficult challenge is being faced by our Muslim compatriots in Mindanao. Despite numbering in the thousands, the aleem (singular for ulama) has never really been organized into a religious collective similar to the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, or the National Council of Churches in the Philippines. Some ulama might have been enlisted in peace-building efforts, but these are mostly through government-sponsored peace initiatives.

The Catholic clergy, too, should look into itself and do something about not only the spiritual renewal of priests but also their intellectual readiness in the face of the modernizing world. There are just too many priests around us who seem to have closed their eyes and ears to what’s going on in society, preferring the traditional Mass-confession-blessing of the dead formula.

It’s high time to talk about God and there is no right time than these days. It is high time to talk about God and there is no better way understanding the almighty than talking about the situation of His people.

We never learn

WHAT to do during the first few days of the new year? Count the casualties. It has become an annual ritual for many of us.

Reports said the holiday celebrations in 2009 was not as safe as the previous year. At least three were reported killed due to firecracker-related injuries, while 848 were wounded.

The Health department said a total of 807 people were injured by firecrackers, 118 of them sustaining eye injuries; 69 had limbs amputated, mostly fingers; and the rest suffering from blast burns.

We usually end the year counting the dead. Counting tragedies seemed to have become a favorite topic for “yearenders.” Counting holiday injuries have become an annual ritual to welcome a new year.

What else can we do? There seems to be a craving for gore and violence in this country. Hopefully in the coming elections we will be counting votes not dead people.

After the new year celebrations we will next mark the feast of the Black Nazarene, then Valentines Day, then the Holy Week, then after that, the May elections.

There is no end to celebrations in this country. There is no end too of tragedies. There is no end of tragic stories in the middle of the merrymaking.

It seems really difficult for us to learn from our past. We never learn. This is tragedy.

The worst tragedy, however, that is waiting to happen is the coming elections – if we continue to sell our votes, if we continue to elect the same people for reasons that many of us refuse to admit as wrong, if we continue to only think of what would benefit us, not others.

The pain we will experience will be worst than the pain of those who lost their lives or their limbs in the two weeks of merrymaking. We will not only lose our lives, we will surely lose the next three years of this country’s future.

What to do in the first few weeks of the new year? Count the casualties and make sure that we will not make mistakes, as in write 2009 instead of 2010 on forms that we fill up.

What other mistakes can simple people like us commit?

What mistakes indeed can we do if we do not allow ourselves to stand up for something different, like going to Quiapo church on an ordinary day instead of making it there during the day of the procession.

What lessons can we learn from our experiences? Why celebrate love only on Valentine’s Day when one can share it every waking and sleeping hour every day?

Why call on God and be sorry for our sins only on Good Friday? Why stand for country only during elections when one can do it every day of our lives.

Indeed, many of us never learn. Many of us refuse to learn.

Dream on

THE start of another year always brings excitement. Like the start of the school year, the New Year means an end to chopping coconut tree trunks for firewood, an end to gathering wild kangkong from the cemetery at the back of our hut, an end to all the household chores. It’s the end of vacation.

It also means an end to the adventures in the mountains, the ricefields, the beach, the nearby river. It means an end to all the trips to the barrios to watch the “bayle” and the parties and caroling and gift-giving that me and my siblings loved.

The New Year means looking forward to hand-me-down shirts from older cousins, a new one maybe from our parish priest in exchange for cleaning the sacristy and the altar, some food donated by some rich relative or neighbor.

After the New Year, when classes resume, my mother would be back to her usual ritual: wake us up – a brood of five – early in the morning and march us out of the hut to the deep well where we take our bath with a Perla soap.

After the bath, we would sit together around a small table beside what we consider our hearth. Breakfast usually is two boiled eggs the five of us share, corn and “coffee” from roasted corn.

We recite a prayer our parents required us to memorize before going out of the house. Our father would be waiting for us outside, ask each one of us to open our mouth, put some grass in and tell us not to spit it. “Chew it and swallow,” he would tell us. It’s an annual ritual. Until now my father refused to reveal what kind of grass was it.

We would then walk a few kilometers to school. Pure luck. It’s how we survived. That’s why every New Year’s eve, I jumped high to thank God for all the luck he gave us. We love new beginnings.

I later came to Manila to study only to realize later that I learned nothing and that life is an endless struggle to learn. My sister, the one next to me, went to a nearby city for college. She married a distant cousin a few days after getting her diploma. They now have four children.

My other sister went to another city, got her diploma, went back to our place to serve in the barrio as a social worker, went back to the university a few years later, got another degree, then went back to the barrio to live with the people.

A brother went to one of the best private schools in the country, studied economics, got honors, was invited by several banks to work, decided to go back to our hometown to work as a clerk in city hall, marry one of the most beautiful girls in town, had beautiful daughters, and continue to enjoy life after building a hut in the middle of a ricefield near the beach.

Our youngest brother was sent to another city. I don’t know what he studied. He did not finish, was hunted by some “pirates,” escaped to another city, chased women, was chased by women, loved a woman, fooled by a woman, got broken-hearted and cried his life away.

What have we learned from our past? A lot. But the best lesson was dreaming. Yes, I used to daydream a lot. Dreams can happen. It’s up to the individual to make it happen. And this New Year, I will continue dreaming for more luck.

Si Rizal, idol (One more time)

DAHIL Rizal Day, magsusulat ako ngayon sa Pilipino. Sabi kasi ng “idol” ko, dapat hindi tayo mag-amoy bilasang isda. Ang sabi niya ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika ay higit pa sa hayop at mabahong isda.

Sa aming bayan, doon sa Dapitan, kung saan ang lahat na daan ay nakapangalan sa mga tauhan ng mga nobela ni Rizal o mga sinulat niya (Mi Ultimo Adios Street ang daan papuntang sementeryo, Mi Retiro Street ang daan papasok sa sementeryo, at Maria Clara Street naman ang daan kung saan naninirahan ang maraming matandang dalaga), ang mamang taga-Laguna ay naging idolo naming mga batang naging tao noong panahon ng martial law.

Ipinanganak at tinuli ako sa Rizal Memorial Hospital, nag-aral sa Rizal Memorial Institute, nakaranas ng unang halik sa loob ng simbahan sa tabi ng marker na nagsasabing doon si Rizal tumatayo kapag nagsisimba sa araw ng Linggo, nakaunang yakap sa iniirog sa loob ng replica ng clinic ni Rizal sa Rizal Shrine, at nakaunang halik sa labi ng sinta sa “foot trails” ng Rizal Park.

Matindi ang tama ni Rizal sa buhay naming mga taga-Dapitan. At kahit na nagtitinda lang ako noon ng kangkong at nag-sasakristan sa simbahan, pinangarap kong sa University of Santo Tomas mag-aral para masundan ang yapak ng bayani. Pinagtawanan lang ako noon ng tatay ko.

Nakapag-aral nga ako sa unibersidad sa Espanya, Manila. Nang makuha ko ang “second prize” ng annual literary contest sa unibersidad, tuwang-tuwa ako. “Second prize” din lang si Rizal noong sumali siya. Nadaya raw kasi. Baka nga ako gano’n din.

Noong bagong salta pa lang akong Maynila, Fort Santiago at Luneta agad ang gustong kong puntahan. Doon nakulong at pinatay si idol e. ‘Di ko rin pinalampas ang pagkakataon noon na madalaw ang bahay ni Rizal sa Laguna. Gusto ko pa nga sanang hanapin ang tsinelas na itinapon niya sa ilog nang minsang lumuwas sila ng Kuya Paciano niya sa Maynila.

At kahit na namulat na ang aking isipan sa buhay ng ibang mga bayani tulad nila Bonifacio, Del Pilar, Mabini, at iba pa, bumabalik pa rin ang mga aral na nakuha ko sa mga sinulat ni Rizal. Habang maraming aktibista ang nagsasabing si Bonifacio ang dapat maging idolo ng mga nakikibaka, si Rizal pa rin ang kumikiliti sa isipan ko.

Naging bahagi si Rizal sa aking paglaki. Siguro kong tinuli ako sa Bonifacio Memorial Hospital o kaya’y kasing laki ng bolo ni Bonifacio ang ipinang-tuli sa akin, baka si Boni ang aking maging idolo. Kahit nga ‘pag nagsindi ako ng lamparilla sa gitna ng gabi para dumumi, si Rizal pa rin ang nakikita ko – sa posporo.

Noong nasa ibang bansa naman ako nakipagsapalaran, naiisip ko pa rin si Rizal. Sa Europa, kung saan naranasan ko ang lamig at napasyalan ang magagandang hardin, naalaala ko an gating bida. kapag nakakakita ako ng mala-manika at matatangkad na mga dalaga, naitatanong ko sa sarili paano kaya nang-tsiks ang ating bida, e punggok naman siya.