The Bohol Earthquake: A Test of Leadership

 

One could not be blamed for imagining that, amid all the world’s advancements in science, volcanology would have figured out a way to foresee when earthquakes happen with as ample an amount of time as we now have before hurricanes and typhoons come to us, given how ubiquitous these tremors are in the ring of fire that is home to Japan, one of the world’s forerunners in scientific innovation and research. Alas, it has not. And, unfortunately for Boholanos, nobody could have seen the quake coming ten years ago.

The 13^th of October 2013 should have been an uneventful day for most people living in Bohol. Plotted on the national calendar as a legal holiday, it was one that was meant to be celebrated by different groups of people for different reasons. Foremost, for the Muslim community, it was to be the year’s largest and most important holiday – the Eid al-Adha, the Feast of the Sacrifice, a day of celebration in remembrance of the obedient devotion of Abraham to God. For the rest of us, it meant either no school for students, no work for government staff, or a nice day at the workplace for private sector employees knowing they were getting double the amount of a day’s standard wages. Whatever you believed in, it was a day to look forward to.

As fate had it, however, what was supposed to be a welcome day for all was flipped into utter chaos. Just a few dreadful seconds and it all came crashing down – literally – into what would forever be etched into the collective memory of Boholanos as one of the island province’s most harrowing days. For nearly half a minute, it felt as though a primordial entity living underground was clamoring for a way out. To say the Earth shook would be a dire understatement. It was felt for miles all over the archipelago, but here where it happened, it was a horror film come to life. Buildings crumbled to pieces, bridges fell into rivers, the ground cracked open, and centuries-old edifices that have come to define Boholano cultural heritage were reduced to nothing but sad agglomerations of cubed limestone and coral dust within a few blinks of an eye.

It was a strange and unfamiliar catastrophe – one that no living Boholano had ever experienced on the island, especially not its then chief executive, Edgar Chatto. First-hand sources claim that without wasting a second, at the end of the main tremor, the governor rushed to kickstart emergency response and damage assessment at the command center of TaRSIER 117. The latter unit, named after Bohol’s most prominent primates, was barely in its infancy stage at this point, but along with everything that the provincial government could muster, it had to be put to work in what was described by staff members as nothing short of a baptism by fire.

That very same morning, the governor gave no second thought to pulling key people out of their lawful day off to form a team that created and consequently activated a comprehensive response plan, mobilizing every available resource to ensure people’s basic needs were met. By nightfall, the team had been able to pool volunteers for needs relief operations. The Bohol Cultural Centre, with its wall cracks and fallen ceiling boards, was transformed into a hub where food was packed before being darted off into the homes of those that needed them, especially in the areas that were now made inaccessible by the destruction of infrastructure. Such was the scene that prevailed for days and days, while the nitty-gritty of rehabilitation work proceeded backstage, so to speak.

Edgar Chatto, at this point, had just begun his second term as governor after emerging victorious from what could be described as one of Bohol’s most vicious gubernatorial races. He was no stranger to hard work. In fact, his personal slogan leading up to his very first term a few years prior was “to hit the ground running.” However, it was ultimately his choice to toil tirelessly. In the latter case, he did not have a choice. Nobody did. This was a true test to his capabilities and he made sure that all options were explored, all helping hands tapped, and all friends given a ring. Not least of which was the president himself, Benigno Aquino III, who discreetly flew into the province bringing help and much-needed supplies, and it was perhaps the first time in our republic’s rich history that the head of state was billeted to spend the night in a lowly tent despite being in one of the country’s most prominent tourist destinations. But neither the president nor the governor cared about quality of accommodation nearly as much as they did about the well-being of the Boholano people. This was a challenge to the leadership of the president as much as it was to the governor and any other leader who cared.

Leaders – the true ones – are a special kind of people, in my view. Always ready, never tired. Facing challenges head-on and dragging inspiring others around them to step up. It is a special kind of talent – a kind of superpower, if you will – that not everyone possesses and to this day I am not convinced that it is something that can be learned from scratch. I’m not sure if true leaders are born or made or either or both. Because while many of them put themselves out there to be called upon by those they serve, there are others who emerge only when they are truly needed. As if summoned by a divine force, several such leaders manifested themselves during the earthquake’s aftermath in the fashion of a collective of comic book superbeings who had come in a moment of dire need to face a very powerful common adversary. Everyone was there for us and with us – local and national government agencies, international organizations, foreign governmental cooperation agencies, non-government groups, the military, law enforcement, the scouts, the private sector, civil society, as well as faith communities including but not limited to the leadership of the Catholic Church.

For the most part, people crossed party lines, put aside their personal and political differences, and momentarily suspended their hostilities as they worked toward their common goals – first survival then sustainable rehabilitation. In school, Filipiniana and values education teaches us about the spirit of Bayanihan, illustrated by a village lifting a hut presumably belonging to people who wish to move somewhere. I had seen this at work many times, but only ever on small scales, like how the concept was introduced in school. So, for a long time I wondered if this could happen on a large scale. The earthquake of 2013 answered this question in one of the most inspiring ways possible. No act of service was too small for a person with a sincere heart and no challenge was too big a leader.

Ten years on and this is where we are today, thanks to the team effort of the people of Bohol and our leaders, big-time or small-time, known or unknown, who played a role in the long and grueling process of healing and rebuilding, starting with the spirits that had been broken. Now, our roads have been repaved; our bridges have been rebuilt; and our centuries-old heritage churches and cultural treasures have risen again as though they never fell. Tourism has bounced back time and time again following a multitude of challenges and our local economy is doing fairly well considering the kind of battery it has been subjected to over the years since then.

Quite a few more harrowing episodes have followed since the 2013 earthquake and we as a people have proven over and over that not only are we resilient, we are also a very strong and capable lot, full of leaders who are ready to step up to the challenges hurled at us. The tremor might not have been the worst thing to happen thus far but it was certainly a strong wake-up call and it allowed us to learn to gird our loins, armor up and hone our skills to be able to face every single one that comes our way, supporting and learning from one another and emerging as better people and better leaders each time. As Edgar Chatto always says, “Leadership is a gift from God for man to develop and share with others.”

On Being a Privileged Left-Leaner

This is a response to someone who told me I didn't have any credibility to talk critically about big-corp capitalism and supply-side economics because I went to private school and drive a car. Yes, it's a rant.

Of course I'm aware of my privilege. I'm aware that it has given me so much leverage in life that others who do not have it would otherwise have starved to death eleven years ago. I am angry. Not because I didn't suffer. Who the f* wants to suffer? I'm angry that there are countless people who work sixteen times harder than I do and yet don't even have one-sixteenth of the comforts I enjoy or were ever afforded any of the opportunities I've received and subsequently flushed down the drain.

Yes, I admit I am privileged but should I really be treated dismissively in a conversation about social justice simply because you saw me driving a car? Do I not have the right to be angry about social inequity just because I went to private school?

You may be tan but check your bum in the mirror! It's probably so white you couldn't even tell the difference if someone shone a torch on it. Your genetic lottery draw is privilege in itself. And, oh, the fact that you, a foreigner, are even here, on an Island in Southeast Asia, 6,000 nautical miles from home: Privilege. Unless you can prove you rowed yourself through the Pacific Ocean all the way from California on a dingy you built yourself using timber you felled from from a hostile jungle, you are definitely privileged. So don't be dissy telling me I can't be genuinely on-board with the green cause just because of my ride and my level of education.

And, by the way, not to denigrate him in any way, but your hero Karl Marx was born to wealthy wine producers and went to private school. Smoke on your pipe and put that in!

No Joke: A few thoughts on 'Joker'

After seeing Heath Ledger's Joker in Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight, I still had to take time to re-watch 1989's Batman directed by Tim Burton where Jack Nicholson played DC's iconic evil clown. While Heath was certainly much better than Jack, the question took a review and a mental list of pros and cons to gain an answer. Joaquin's performance, however, did not even warrant a question. The 44-year-old vegan Puertorriqueño definitely takes the clown crown. This set of thoughts, however, doesn’t center on his performance. We already know he is going to bag that Academy Award, anyway. This set of musings is a verbal representation of the film itself and the things it has done to my head.

Initially, it almost felt like another revisionist re-imagining of a villain but it was not. In a myriad of distorting spectacles and lenses, Joker offers a microscope, an x-ray and a sonogram all at the same time, giving us a deep view into the abysmal psyche of the DC Multiverse’s most complex, twisted and violent characters. It made the monkey-mutilating, bird-ripping, old-lady-murdering green-skinned witch Elphaba from Gregory Maguire’s Wicked suddenly seem even amiable.

Joker did not play around with positivity. It did not pander to the “other side” perspective presented in revisionist trends that try to put the good spotlight on characters that were otherwise villains in their original incarnations (e.g. Maleficent, Wicked, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister). Joker does not provide a romantic explanation for the character’s behaviour and neither does it attempt to exonerate him. It shows us exactly why he is the way he is. It shows how our vicious socio-economic environment is the perfect breeding ground for a violent cycle of oppression and retaliation. It also shows how utterly important it is to address mental health issues at their budding stages because, as many may refuse to accept in today’s age of medical advancement, there really does exist a point of no f'ng return that not even the teachings and prescribed methods of history’s most influential scientists, sages and prophets could reverse — at least not in one lifetime.

Joker is a masterpiece in cinematography, screenplay, acting and direction. Yes, it’s a masterpiece of a film, but I have beef with it. It hits very sensitive visceral spots and yet does not attempt to draw out a specific response from its wanting audience. It rather encourages ambivalence which can be deeply unsettling for those of us who have known the character for quite a while and had made the decision to despise him long ago. It would have been easier, too, to decide to love the Joker if that were the film's intention. But, no. Unlike revisionist films and literature where there is a clear courting of audience sympathy, and unlike plain origin story prequels like Hannibal Rising where the tone employed is matter-of-fact, Joker is a hybrid where the viewer is left to vacillate whether they would sympathise, empathise or subdue their emotional responses in favour of a logical and rational conclusion — a decision to say something along the lines “the film shows us how terrorists are made; the Joker is a terrorist; and while there is a backstory to the violent proclivities of every terrorist, it is not an excuse.”

And yet even with the response choices the film presents to us, there is no clear line that separates them. It’s like blots of ink on a plate. They begin as distinct colours and gradually mix on the fringes. Move the plate too much and you end up with a single hue. A combination of sympathy, empathy and the logical rejection of any excuse for violence, maybe? Perhaps this is the kind of response it has drawn from me — a person suffering from clinical mental issues — but I’m not entirely certain yet. The colours have not fully decided what they are and what single hue they ultimately want to reveal themselves as.

Murder

Plastic rubbish picked from the coast of Danao, Panglao, Bohol, Philippines

Here's a thought. Killing humans is against the law, right? We're the most heavily protected species on this planet. The reason why international civil aviation law has made it a criminal offence to remove life vests from aircrafts is because in doing so one is potentially depriving a human being of the possibility of survival. Basically, stealing a life vest is an indirect act of murder. It's a criminal offence as a preventive measure and it makes perfect sense that violators get heavily fined or jailed.

In the same line of thinking, littering non-biodegradable rubbish is also an act of murder towards protected species -- especially marine animals. This has been proven time and time again. Many beached dead rays, sharks, cetaceans and turtles have been found to have died from plastic ingestion. So the indiscriminate disposal of plastic waste is essentially as much an act of murder towards these protected creatures as taking that yellow packet from under your seat is towards H.sapiens. Why don't we then make littering a serious criminal offence?

Legislative efforts to ban single-use disposable plastic bags, straws, stirrers and cutlery could be coupled with laws increasing the criminal weight of the indiscriminate littering of plastics, no matter how big or small -- whether it's a restaurant allowing a fallen dumpster to lay unattended, a hospital dumping used syringes onto a parking lot near the coast, a factory using a nearby ravine as an open bin for disposable hair nets or an individual chucking a cigarette onto a sewer vent. We could even go punitive on corporations, too. Fine Coca Cola for every Dasani bottle on the street. Fine Nestle for every Nescafe sachet retrieved from the ocean.

We can't just wait for corporations (and consumers) to make changes to their game. We have to make the field very, very difficult to play on.

On Proliferating the Plant-Based Lifestyle as a Way to Taper the Climate Crisis

In a vegan forum on Facebook that I am part of, a question was recently raised on the best way to proliferate the fact that veganism is a very effective way to mitigate the effects climate change and potentially halt the ongoing severe environmental degradation. My response is that one should strive to be a vocal and visible advocate and example without resorting to violence of any kind (including verbal). In my experience, a sanctimonious evangelical behaviour really pushes people away and causes them to become defensive rather than give them a space to ponder on their choices. This, I've found to be true in advocating for veganism as a viable solution to global quandaries as much as in organised religion. My alternative is to hold conversations with people and present scientific facts from reputable and reliable research sources. As a rule of thumb, I cite real academic publications over health buff and holistic wellness blogs and sites like IFLScience.

When I am asked to speak publicly, I dedicate a large chunk of it to present the vegan lifestyle as one of the best options people can take if they really want to be serious about tapering climate change and I talk about it with joy. I don't want people to think "Oh, here's another vegan a**hole." I do it with kindness because I aim to illicit a warm response. I even share photos of food and easy recipes. Heck, sometimes I even bring food. I lay on the table ideas of consumption reduction with the foresight of paving the way to an eventual transition to a vegan life. I also do not open the discussion with the word "vegan" as I know that it is taboo for a lot of people. I've done lectures where people walked out upon hearing it and I don't like that. I usually use that word towards the end of my talks.

I know that the reason many people find it difficult to make a change is because it's a gargantuan challenge to detach one's self from the familiar. Food is associated with identity, culture and the comfort of family. That's why I don't attack these things. Veganism at present is, unfortunately, associated with an upper middle class lifestyle and social deviance, so I also try to debunk this. For me, everything is about kindly presenting facts and offering solutions to the current deplorable state of things. If I insult people, then I'm almost sure that I've lost the chance to convince them. I think of foul-mouthed evangelical religious people that tell me I am going to hell because of this and that. I don't see a huge difference between them and someone who is pointing a finger at me and telling me that I am responsible for destroying the Earth because of my choices. I know my process is slow but there just is no shortcut.

Maldita, Estricta

Heav'n has no rage, like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorned.

For millennia, the most feared beings in traditionally patriarchal societies all over the world have been strong angry women. I take as an example the character of Zara, the Moorish queen in the Mourning Bride, a tragedy play written by William Congreve in 1697, about whom the lines of poetry above were written. We might be more familiar with the shortened version, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” a usual quip when talking about wives taking vengeful measures against cheating husbands. Perhaps these famous lines were written at the time as an homage to vengeful female characters in a plethora of pieces of literature that preceded it -- mostly written by the conventionally dominant half of the human population: men.

In the mythology of the ancient Greeks, there was the vengeful consort of Zeus, Hera, whom historians painted as a character whose life’s sole mission was to exterminate the humans her husband hobnobbed with. In the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament), there was Queen Jezebel, who made it her life’s mission to propagate her religion among the people of Israel. In the Christian Bible (New Testament), there was Herodias, who conspired to behead John the Baptist for repeatedly questioning the morality of her marriage to King Herod. In medieval literature, there are those that fall under the wicked stepmother archetype. Many of which are portrayed in classic Disney princess films. For example: the Queen in Snow White who was consumed by her aspirations to become the world’s most beautiful and Cinderella’s stepmother who would stop at nothing to give her daughters an opportunity at social advancement. Then, beginning in April 2019, we will be seeing more of Game of Thrones’ Queen Cersei who only wants the absolute best for her family.

Are their actions justifiable? The way they were written, it certainly doesn’t seem so. However, it is important to understand that, perhaps with the exception of an illuminated few like George R.R. Martin and the revisionist Gregory Maguire, most authors write with absolute biases, including those who chronicled the texts upon which the world’s most dominant religions are based. It is just sad to note that when it comes to strong female characters, their vitriol is more forceful than usual and the romanticism of evil is of a loftier level than what is normally painted of a male antagonist. Either that or the consequent social perception of female villains is just extra hostile. Perhaps both? I suggest when you are introduced to a relatively well-written antagonist character to look at their motives and ask yourself whether or not you have the proclivity to take similar measures if you were put in their position. If I weren’t a pacifist Quaker and someone who purports to be the messenger of God repeatedly came to my house to admonish me about the moral legitimacy of my marriage -- to a King nonetheless -- I don’t know if I would be adverse to the idea of decapitation.

Let us now take a look at present realities and the heavily patriarchal social construct that sadly still exists. Let us take some examples of how, in the 21st century, the world still bears strong disdain for women. The United States of America elected a foul-mouthed racist with a track record of sexual misconduct over a person who sent a few shady emails. Saudi Arabia jailed an advocate for the abolition of the Kingdom’s law on male guardianship. Israel detained a child for slapping a soldier who barged into her home unwelcome. The Philippines jailed the most vocal critic of its president’s deadly war on the poor. The views on the veracity of their claim to righteousness are vastly divided, but one thing they share in common is a vagina. And this world, as it is, seems to be deathly afraid of that.

In this article’s title are two Spanish loanwords very commonly used in the colloquial form of the Cebuano language to refer to strong women who refuse to be steered around by the whims of the male-dominated society they live in. Maldita, estricta. Whether they are homemakers, teachers, corporate workers, civil servants, entrepreneurs, politicians, single, married or what-have-you, one will more often than not hear a woman described as such if she doesn’t fit the mold of demureness and subservience that society’s box has set for her. It has been used countless times to refer to women in my maternal family, which is dominated by strong women. Case in point: my mother, Liza Migriño Quirog, a brilliant civil servant, has been nicknamed “the Dragon” for her resolute firmness in ensuring that things are done correctly under her watch. She is unwavering and determined -- qualities that are normally seen as admirable in men, even if they do not have amiable personalities. And yet because my mother is of the opposite gender, she is called maldita, estricta.

Of late, mama has come to embrace the dragon title, perhaps reinforced by her admiration for Game of Thrones’ Daenerys Targaryen, and she is no longer bothered by the idea that, behind her back, she is not always positively spoken about. She puts a premium on doing things right rather than people’s opinion of her, with the acknowledgement that she has built a credible name for herself in her line of work. She is a titanium wall to be reckoned with and she does not operate at the mercy of those who do not know any better. She is lucky in that sense, I suppose.

Others are not as fortunate. While many women in public service have taken it upon themselves to adjust to social expectations of agreeability even if it pains them, I know a lot who, like my mother, simply refuse to be fake. They have a strong passion to serve but they refuse to develop a false facade of geniality and it has very sadly proven to be a threat to their work. Pureza Veloso Chatto, a talented public official, the mayor of the Municipality of Balilihan who has, for the last three and a half years, served the town faithfully and ably, has recently become the recipient of a myriad of attacks. Most of them are false accusations on her abilities as a leader, but a large chunk is an assault on her refusal to conform to the norm of being perpetually smiley and nice. Again, a litany which can be summarised as maldita, estricta. While the president of the country enjoys an enduringly forgiving cult-like posse of people who laugh at his foul jokes, ignore his tyranny, and turn a blind eye on his absolutely despicable public behaviour and proven inability to keep his campaign promises, even as the nation’s head of state, this simple and very able town mayor draws flak simply for refusing to smile on a hot day. And yet people say they admire Duterte for being real. What a tragic irony.

My two cents’ worth: Being maldita, estricta, as long as it does not constitute violence, should be embraced if they serve as effective step-ladders for women on their way to carving names for themselves in a heavily patriarchal society. Forget the critics. Kindness is important, but being nice against one’s own will is self-destructive. As long as one operates with decency, dignity and honesty, forced niceties are nothing but frills. You do you, girls!

Happy International Women’s Day to all the maldita, estricta women all over the world who are doing the best to succeed in this unkind and unforgiving world unfairly run by men. I salute you.

The Missing Ingredient

A well-respected family friend shared on her Facebook timeline an article in the Himalayan Times that posits how culture is the missing ingredient in healing cities after disasters. It cites, as an example, how the deadly earthquake in 2015 in Nepal became a sort of unifying force that brought people together to work towards rebuilding what was near and dear. Because what had been damaged were of value not only as structures but as cultural heritage, as marks of identity and as things that were alive.

As a resident of Kathmandu, I can fully attest to this. The city's temples and public squares are true communal social spaces as much as they are places of worship and subjects of awe for wide-eyed foreigners. They don't preserve a temple for the sake of preservation just because it's thousands of years old; they actually use their temples. That's how their sacred edifices remain alive to this day and that's why they rose up fast after they crumbled in the earthquake four years ago. If someone wants to touch an idol, people won't object just because it's over 2,500 years old. If someone wants to wash clothes in the water temple, they're free to do so. If a young couple wants to have an intimate time on the covered steps of the temple of Shiva and Parvati, away from parental scrutiny, the priests might even give their blessing.

A common problem I've noticed in a lot of European, South American, Middle-Eastern and (of course) Filipino "sacred" and "heritage" places is that they like to put what they consider holy inside glass boxes, accessible only to a privileged few. This way, the culture that might once have been built around an icon dies a slow death because people feel removed from it. And it isn't their fault. If it were me, I wouldn't repeatedly impose on myself to be in a place where I couldn't fully express my reverence because I'm not clean enough to touch something.

In Nepal, the story is different. A temple is a place for community even if religion is not strictly organised here as it is in a place like the Philippines. Take the Monkey Temple (Swayambhunath) as an example. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a Tibetan Buddhist temple where monks and practising lay adherents to the faith revolve around a large stupa in meditation. However, it isn't limited to that. Religious Hindus also go there to maintain the structures, sell food and souvenirs, and feed monkeys. Couples go on dates there. Fitness enthusiasts climb its 400+ steep steps in the morning (just like my 80-year-old grandmother did when she came to visit). Astronomy/astrology fans go up there to stargaze on clear sky mid-nights. That's why when part of it was downed during the 2015 earthquake and there was a looming threat that UNESCO, who offered to fix it, would pry it open, the ordinary people of Kathmandu gave a big firm 'no' and decided to pool resources to fix it themselves. It was among the first places of worship in Nepal to recover after falling because the community came together. Because it's something part of them. Because it's an extension of what they know to be home, even if it does not directly represent the faith that they subscribe to.

In other news...

How does one weigh one injustice against another and how does one decide which one to talk loudly about or take action against? It's easy for those of us who are not directly affected to say that the more people suffer, the more grave it is and, therefore, the more attention it requires. But what about those of us who need only cross a border or open a gate? What about those of us whose neighbours -- in a sense a little more literal than the word's Biblical meaning -- actually suffer injustice? Do we continue to take the general perspective of many outsiders who base gravity on numbers and statistics? Perhaps we don't. Perhaps what we can sense most clearly is what we think of as the worst.

The media is a whole different story. Outside the miracle that is Al Jazeera, relevance is based primarily on economic considerations. It seems as though the basic question they ask themselves when they feature disasters or reports on injustice is "Is it in North America or Western Europe?" if not "Is it something directly consequential to North America and Western Europe?" It seems like there is a wealth bias. If you're not rich enough or if what's happening to you doesn't affect the rich, you only get half a drop of attention, if any--no matter how dire your situation may be.

How many times have citizens of Iraq, Yemen, Lebanon and Syria been victims of extremist attacks since the beginning of the year? How many times have South Asia and Southeast Asia experienced cataclysmic events? How many Rohingya men, women and children have fled Myanmar's government-sanctioned violence to seek refuge in Bangladesh in the last couple of weeks? How many died on the way? Why does it seem like the world is blinkered like racetrack horses to be fixated almost solely on the movement of refugees fleeing West Asia into Europe? Why are there digital blinders training us to see only the flood in Texas when more than 1,200 people have died across India, Bangladesh and Nepal in the worst flooding brought on by monsoon rainfall to strike South Asia in years?

I understand that social commentators and journalists in mainstream media outlets have niches. I suppose each of them has a personal choice. However, I think the blatant bias for global economic relevance is wrong. It breaks my heart every single time I hear my region's issues relegated to words after "In other news" after hours and hours of talking about North America and Western Europe. This should change across the board and I thank Al Jazeera for standing firm amidst the senseless bullying it has had to suffer from its stupid neighbours.

H5N6 - Humans Just Never Learn

Sure, perhaps as long as it's cooked well enough and it's not at all bloody or pink on the inside, you're good to go, but you should know that humans in the earlier stops of your precious fried chicken's journey from farm to plate may be at risk. And you're totally OK with that as long as you're not? For now, the health department says it's totally fine for us Homo sapiens. There are zero cases of fowl-to-human transmission. For now. But if you care to take a brief glance at the history of avian flu in Asia, you'll know it's bound to happen at some point. And WHEN it does happen, will you really be OK with taking a bite at your juicy piece of Jollibee Chickenjoy knowing that perhaps the man who handled that bird when it was alive may be in a hospital ward struggling to breathe because the H5N6 influenza strain is causing his immune system to make his lungs produce an insane amount of mucus? Think about that for a second. I won't guilt trip you about dead birds because you probably don't care. But these are humans. Oh, wait. No. You probably don't care either because you probably comfort yourself with the idea that maybe--just maybe--that ill chicken handler was involved in drugs, so it's totally OK for him to die. Right? RIGHT??????

One might argue that a collective refusal to buy and eat fowl meat in the Philippines would kill small-time poultry farmers and farm workers, anyway, because then that would cause a significant dent in their income. Gosh, I don't even know how to finish this rant. I guess all there is to do is to see how this all plays out.

May all beings be happy.

A Culture of Violence and Impunity

Sometimes I induce laughter whenever a new friend adds me on Facebook and I say, "I'm the black guy. As in, my profile photo is plain black." When asked why, I say because I've found that there's always something to mourn about these days--my country, the world, idiots running and ruining the government, greed, etc. But last week, after a good break from my ongoing bout with a certain black dog that refused to stop following me around for weeks on end, I finally considered posting a real photo of myself.

Why not, right? Celebrate life one awesome Facebook profile photo at a time.

Alas, it's not going to happen anytime soon. While the murder of more than 7,000 other people (for various reasons) over the last 7 months does anger me, nothing quite fuels the fire like something not just close to home but is, in fact, home.

Two days ago, one of Bohol's most able and prolific human rights and women's rights defenders was shot. A close family friend. A lawyer. A mother. She was in her car with her children after picking them up from school when two men on a motorbike gunned her down. Her eldest daughter was hugging her while her body took several bullets. She was taken to hospital but she did not survive. My whole family is shaken. My friends who also knew her are shaken. One of my aunts who is a judge, one of her best friends and her contemporary in law school, rushed to the hospital to see her but she was too late. Her wounds were too severe. She succumbed to death quickly. With very little suffering, we hope.

This makes us feel so goddamn defeated and devastated not just because of the fact that we lost a good human being but because this has become the new norm for my country. This is the new Philippines. A place where a blatant culture of retribution has grown stronger and stronger over the last half a year.

This culture of violence--this reliance on the perceived gifts of impunity--must end. We, as a nation, have revelled in it--basked in it--for too long and we seriously need to stop. And SHAME on those who suggest that the same fate must befall the perpetrators of this heinous crime. Have you not learned that an eye for an eye would only make the whole world blind?

Collateral Damage

A cousin posted this on Facebook...

Just a passing thought:  I wonder if I die as collateral casualty, will my family and friends say that it was inevitable because some people are really bound to have it for the greater good of the country? "Anyway, the number of criminals killed are way more compared to the innocent that got caught up in the fire. Their statistics is insignificant compared to the progress this war is leading." Or is it really? Will my death be worth the sacrifice?

My response, roughly:

This is really not something I want to think about at an ungodly hour in the morning, but I know people contend with this as part of their reality. Heck, I've asked this question myself, just like others do. And I know, for some, it can only remain a hypothetical question for too long. It actually happens.

Here's the thing, though: Criminals shouldn't even be murdered in the first place. What don't people understand about the fact that each person has the right to live? There is no clarification clause in that statement that says "except criminals" or "except drug-abusers" or "except people I don't agree with" or "except poor people." People who believe solely in retributive "justice" (as opposed to real rehabilitative justice) and in the idea of a culling as a means to an end shouldn't be allowed to hold power or have a say in anything at all. And the obscene thing is that they consider themselves men of God. They invoke God so much, it's sickening. What God??? Christians, my ass! People of God, my ass! Hypocrites, this country is full of!

Truthfully speaking, if anything at all happens to anyone I love, I will probably lose it completely. I may even become the very kind of murderous monster I so strongly speak out against. Or perhaps not. Let's just hope for the best. Let's hope nothing happens to anyone we love and let's hope this all stops. If we have anything at all right now, it is hope. Mine is incredibly slim and fading fast, but it is still there. I cannot lose it. While it may be easy for me to remove myself from this country to try to find a more ideal situation, I am in no position to whisk away everyone I love and care about, so I must have hope. We all must. Let's be steadfast in being advocates for good. Let's be faithful that the people of this (almost) goodnessforsaken country will take another glimpse at their moral compass.

Education, Education, Education

Sharks in a basin at a food market in Xiamen, Fujian, China

A lot of Filipino householders burn plastic along with the dried leaves and twigs on their 4 o' clock habit pile.

A lot of fisherfolk unapologetically yank sharks, rays and whales out of the water. Many even use dynamites and cyanide.

They persist even though they are perfectly aware that it's illegal. They end up being fined or thrown in jail if they are caught. If you ask them why they did it, the answer always has something to do with either lack of awareness or necessity.

"Why did you incinerate those plastic bags?"
"Well, why not?"
"It causes harm to the environment."
"Why should I care? (Sus, tuo man ka!)"

"Why did you yank up that shark/stingray/dolphin?"
"There's not much tamarong this season. Also, these things cost more than the average fish and I have eight children to feed."

It's not that people are innately evil, it's that a lot of people lack education. And I'm not talking about elementary and high school rudiments on environmental concerns; I'm talking about real education--making people aware of how each small action is consequential to every other thing that happens on Earth. Bringing to their attention that the reasons behind the hardships they are going through is because people started doing what they are doing in the first place. We need to make people come to terms with the fact that everything has consequences that extend beyond the walls of their homes. And we need to find a way to really make them feel it.

AND WE NEED TO STOP LAYING BLAME SOLELY ON THE THINGS THAT ARE IMMEDIATELY VISIBLE TO US.

Educate the rich as much as the poor. They need it, too. If they are smug enough to say they don't need to be told again, then that just means they don't know shit. We are only able to take photos of violators who emerge from fishing trips directly onto beach shores. These are small-time fishermen. The bigger moguls commit much larger atrocities but we can't take photos of the wrong things they do because they have developed ways to shield themselves from us. They have dedicated ports, freezers in their boats and such.

We need to stop laying all the blame on the poor and start scrutinising higher up the echelons if we are to change things. And we need to stop relying on punitive measures to get things done. "Make a law. Pass an ordinance. Ban this. Make that illegal." It seems preventive on the surface but it always ends up being punitive. For most people, the implementation of a law entails policing and arresting violators rather than to allow people to understand why laws are in place in the first goddamn place.

We need to stop the notion that we have to cause people more suffering to effect change. It doesn't work. It never works. We need, instead, to start finding ways to effect change by making people realise that they are already suffering by their own deeds. We need to instill values in people rather than create more prison cells or instigate a culling.

When has a society run by fear and anger ever been considered effective?

Sharks fished off the coast of Panglao, Bohol, Philippines
Photo:  Holger W. Horn (Facebook)

Is the Filipino truly worth dying for?

One of the things that bother me about Miriam Defensor-Santiago is her proclivity to pander to ideas of intellectual elitism and the innate superiority of the intelligentsia over the rest of the population. According to her, a vote by an uneducated person must not be regarded as equal to the vote of a university graduate.

In a democratic country such as ours that is trying (at least on paper) to gear itself towards becoming a fully egalitarian society, this idea does not sit well. Supposedly, each citizen's voice is equal to every other's. However, with the results of our most recent national elections where we elected Manny Pacquiao, an athlete (and current congressman who knows close to zero about legislation or constituency representation), into the senate and we almost elected the son of a brutal dictator as vice-president, one almost gets pushed to reconsider one's stance on the whole "every vote is equal" rhetoric.

I'm aware that the solution is not to reduce anybody's right to choose leaders but instead to fulfill each person's right to an education. But are we actually capable, as a nation, of doing it properly? A lot of defenders of the Marcos regime are actually educated. A lot of them have bachelor's degrees, while a number have master's degrees and doctorates. Heck, my own grandmother, a retired judge, even voted for Bongbong because, allegedly, his father did the country a lot of good. I had an argument with her over breakfast yesterday, from which I had to restrain myself before I got too passionate. Was she genuinely blind to the plight of the underprivileged during his hegemony? Was she willing to dismiss every evidence of his evil doings as fabrications in favour of the pretty picture she has in her head just because she and her husband benefited from his rule?

In an age when Holocaust denialists among extremist groups in Germany are a pathetic minority ridiculed for their refusal to acknowledge overwhelming evidence debunking their cause, the Philippines has over 34% of its voting population either saying the Marcos regime was A-OK or that the atrocities that the brutal dictator committed, for which there is overwhelming evidence, didn't happen at all. And how can you blame people? What did the government do when the Marcoses returned from their time in exile? Did it put them behind bars? Did it hold them accountable for the billions of dollars they stole from the country's treasury? No! The government allowed them to continue living luxurious lives.

What's worse: The government allowed the Marcoses to get back in power and slowly make their way to the top again. What the hell? I've asked this countless times before and I'm asking this again: Why is Imelda Marcos not in prison? Why is she in the Philippine Congress?

Seeing this, a lot of people today who never lived through Martial Law might be led to believe that because there have been zero repercussions against the Marcoses for what a lot of people--scholars, historians and ordinary citizens alike--vehemently insist were two decades of sheer brutality, they must be alright. Everyone else must be misinformed and the Marcoses are just misunderstood well-meaning, good-natured people. This notion is so strong and so prevalent that what used to be two words that meant complete terror is now simply worth describing as nothing more than some sort of "thingy" that a lot of people just have a fixation for. "That Martial Law thingy," as one Twitter user put.

Ugh! I don't know, Philippines. Fuck this! Fuck everything!

Anyway, while all these weighty disappointments about the Philippine citizenry won't cause me to let go of the principles of social egalitarianism that I hold very dear, I am instead led to ask the question: IS THE FILIPINO TRULY WORTH DYING FOR?

Embracing the Red Sea

When Miriam Defensor-Santiago announced that she was running again, I thought I would end up voting for her. She is a feisty and intelligent woman with quite a track record. Sure, she isn't perfect, but who is? Right?

I didn't really find anything hugely despicable about Noynoy Aquino; I just genuinely thought this woman would be a good alternative because of her intellect and her extensive experience in public service. Sure, she has done some rather horrid things (case in point: playing crony to both Estrada and Arroyo), but she has hilarious pick-up lines and she was one of the most active proponents of the Magna Carta of Women. She may have a foul mouth and a patronising attitude, but she championed the Reproductive Health Bill. See my dilemma there?

I was contemplating, for once, jumping off the political mini-bandwagon of the family and the party it supported. For the sake of being true to myself, I thought. I even pondered on coming out as a Miriam-supporter a day after elections. It would have been my second coming out.

And then she chose Bongbong Marcos as her running mate. I was shattered. For years within the period of Ferdinand Marcos' Martial Law, when they were in university, my parents risked their lives to raise public awareness on the atrocities he had committed. They took to the streets and participated in demonstrations against his violent regime. And now, here's this woman, for whom I had great admiration, peddling the son of a criminal. Here she was presenting Ferdinand Marcos Jr--who indubitably benefited from the wealth his parents amassed by pillaging the country's treasury--as her choice for the country's second highest position. Here she was putting a virtual pedestal below the feet of a man with an indomitable will to deny that his father ever committed any crime against the Philippines and its people.

To add insult to injury, she had this to say: “If I die before I finish my 6-year term, Senator Ferdinand Marcos Jr will be able to fit that blank.” I was fuming for days. I was not angry at Miriam but at myself. I was angry at how I was less than three centimetres away from voting for the wrong person. It certainly doesn't help remedy the occasional bouts I have with my propensity for self-slapping that Bongbong Marcos is a front-runner for the vice presidency.

I was at a loss. At the time, I was brainwashed by the rhetoric that Mar Roxas was worth flipping off due to his alleged incompetence at handling the responsibilities of the DILG (Department of the Interior and Local Government) concerning the relief efforts for victims of Typhoon Haiyan. Binay is corrupt; Poe is inexperienced; and Duterte is a mass murderer. I gave serious thought to abstention. I filled my idle hours with beautiful daydreams about Leni Robredo becoming president with Risa Hontiveros as vice.

Then I asked, "Why would a person as noble as Leni Robredo consent to becoming Mar Roxas' running mate if she didn't genuinely believe in him?" And before you insinuate that I am on a weak bandwagon of people who only think Leni is clean because of public perception, I'll tell you that I actually have very strong connections with people who have known her personally for a long time. Vicente R. Hao-Chin Jr, a good personal friend and spiritual mentor of mine, a philanthropist, former president of the Theosophical Society in the Philippines--of which I am a member, co-founder of the transformative school called Golden Link College, and a person whose friends and acquaintances regard as one of the holiest and most noble people in the Philippines, is a first cousin of Jesse Robredo, Leni's late husband who died in a plane crash in 2012. He has known Leni for years and can attest to her genuine kindness and integrity.

I decided to actually do some reading and discovered that the accusations against Mar are largely baseless. On the issue about fund misuse, audit reports prove that the 4 billion pesos that passed through his office has been completely disseminated to local governments whose approved rehabilitation projects are now over 90% complete. And if you know me, you know I can be monstrous when I read so you can bet that I didn't cheat myself. Believe me, I even took time to read loads of articles slamming Roxas. Still, none of the accusations of corruption checked out. They all proved to be baseless and, if not deliberate fabrications for the sake of ruining his name (because I'd like to think the best of people), simply misinformed.

Still, though, he is not the most charismatic of leaders. He does not seem to me like the kind of man capable of rallying a crowd towards a common goal. Add these, too: He still thinks there's a chance that clean coal might exist; he maintains a capitalist mindset that supports some of the big corporations that I find absolutely abhorrent; he was born into privilege and is largely detached from the conditions that poor Filipinos experience on a day-to-day basis. I was only just getting to know him, so it would take a stronger push for me to actually declare (even to myself) that I would be voting for him. It was different with Miriam because she has been an object of fascination for me since I was a child. Mar Roxas, on the other hand, lacked the force of personality to even warrant an effort to type his name on a Google search bar. I only ever looked him up once when he ran for the vice presidency in 2010. I read one article, watched one YouTube video and then chose to ignore him in favour of Loren Legarda.

This time, I do not have the luxury to be complacent or to abstain. Running for the same position is a mass murderer who has gained a following whose chest voids his false messages of hope have filled instead of allowing them to regain their hearts. They ooze with fanaticism, praising and justifying every single thing he says and does like they have been possessed, banking on the possibility that maybe the country can be molded into a large version of the orderly Davao City. Nevermind that it may only be achieved through the death of hundreds of people and the trauma and insanity of thousands more. Nevermind that we might, for six years, live in fear of the unchecked power of institutions supposedly charged with our protection.

I was now vacillating between abstention and pragmatism. Should I declare that nobody deserved my vote or should I go for a lacklustre candidate that I didn't know enough about to trust with the job of serving as the country's commander-in-chief for the next six years? On Christmas eve last year, my answer manifested itself. With my mother and grandmother, I visited a Mosque in Sabah, Malaysia and sat silently for about ten minutes mentally chanting "Abstain or Roxas?" And then I said to myself, almost as if prompted by an external force, "Come on, who are you kidding? You know you're voting for Mar." The night of the 25th of December, a foreign friend asked me whom I was voting for and I found myself saying "Roxas" with absolutely zero hesitation. It was then that I truly knew he was getting my vote.

In spite of my mother and father's strong words of encouragement early on that I pick Manuel Roxas III, I still took days and days to ponder long and hard. Any other election without this much pressure and I would probably abstain, having learned my lesson from back in 2010 when I voted for Gibo Teodoro who turned out to be an Arroyo crony that opposed the RH Bill. My consolation was that he lost but I can't help but pound on my noggin a bit for picking him without knowing much about him, just because my maternal family prescribed it. This Sunday, it's a different story. It's not that I strongly want Mar Roxas as the next president; it's that I dread the idea of Rodrigo Duterte rising to power. I have visited places where murder is an everyday occurrence. I have been to countries where living in fear of the military and police is the norm. I don't want the Philippines to be that way. Not this year, not ever!

For a moment, let's disregard the fact that his real name is Manuel and pretend it's just Mar. In Spanish, "mar" means "sea" and "roxas" is an ancient spelling of "rojas," the feminine form of "rojos," plural for "rojo," which means "red." I am voting for a man whose name means "Red Sea," not thinking of a bloodbath, but a body of water that I, a drudge, must traverse to reach the promised land and be freed from vassalage, just as the Hebrews did thousands of years ago when they left Egypt. He isn't the promised land. He will merely help us but we don't have Moses so we're going to have to do our part. We must row or swim as hard as we can if we are to get what we want. This man has neither messianic promises nor deluded predictions. All he said was he would help and he would do it in a civil and decent way. And we know it won't be easy. But at least, instead of perishing over a few rectifiable mistakes, the vast majority of us have hope of being alive to see whatever fruits our labour might bear.

We Need a Doctor, Not an Executioner

Edmundo lee, a friend of mine, wrote about a woman who was recently killed for having robbed several houses in a neighbourhood in Catarman, Samar, Philippines. He then proceeded to ask:

Does championing change have to mean death for wrongdoers who could be rehabilitated? What warrants death, and why do we take it upon ourselves to decide who dies? Who the fuck do we think we are?

It is malcontent that drives people to clamour for extreme measures. They are tired of the social system in place and the sluggish speed at which justice is served if due process is to be followed. People draw inspiration from divergent societies that elect to take justice into their own hands rather than rely on the courts and spend what probably feels like an agonising eternity of waiting for a decision to be arrived at. From a sociological point of view, they are doing this because they feel that they are in an extreme situation.

Let's examine historical cases of extremes:

When Poland left the clutches of the Soviet hegemony that imposed a violent Leninist and Stalinist brand of purely materialistic communism, they gradually took an acute shift into what it is today--a very right-wing nation that has removed the right of a woman to make decisions for her own body and has a Foreign Affairs Minister, Witold Waszczykowski, who dismisses vegetarianism and the usage of bicycles as socialist habits! They struggled to rise from the fire but have ended up causing themselves to freeze half to death. This is still happening right now.

As a result of Spain's long and violent struggle against its monarchy, they ended up with a totalitarian dictatorship under General Francisco Franco. Guess how well that turned out. The violence only ended with the return of the monarchy where the new ruling king took it upon himself to overhaul the country--seeking the people's help in turning it into a constitutional monarchy with an elected parliament.

The Buddha left a life of wealth and luxury when he felt that it was not giving him true happiness. He shifted to one of severe austerity and allowed himself to be reduced to an emaciated mendicant, which nearly killed him. He left this life, too and later learned where the balance was. There, he found happiness.

If history teaches us anything, it's that jumping from one extreme to another only tips the scale the other way. It does not create balance at all. So, yes, the people clamouring for such extreme changes to the way our society works have their reasons, but their experiences do not, in any way, justify slaying our democracy and refusing to honour each person's basic human right to live. Retribution and violence are means to an end. True. But they are NOT ways to bring about justice. They are lazy short-term solutions that will not cure our social illnesses. Our country needs a doctor, not an executioner.

Remember:  One does not stop a disease outbreak by killing the afflicted.

So I Should Be Killed for Thinking Differently?

A few days ago, I was sitting alone at a coffee shop when I spotted an old acquaintance who was, for years, a vehement opponent of the Philippine Reproductive Health Bill before it became a law. Her reason? She feared that it would become a precursor to the legalisation of abortion in the country and, to her, that was unacceptable because she said she honoured the sanctity of human life. I then noticed she was wearing a Duterte wristband. See the irony there?

I approached her with a greeting and after less than a minute of pleasantries, she said, "Duterte ta ha? (Let's go with Duterte, ok?)" I hummed a deep note and smiled. She then went on a three-minute speech about how she admires the fact that her choice for a president has "eliminated the scum off the streets of Davao City" and it would make her happy to see the same thing happen on a nation-wide scale. "Kinahanglan hinlo-an na ni'ng Pilipinas kay hugaw na kaayo. Angay na pamatyon ni'ng mga kriminal. Ang di mobotar ni Duterte, angay apilon! (The Philippines needs to be cleansed because it has become too dirty. These criminals should be killed off already. Those who don't vote for Duterte should be killed, too!)" In response, I nodded slowly and gave her a sarcastic giggle. I asked who her choice was for the vice-presidency, to which she quickly responded, "Aw, Marcos jud. Wa na'y lai'ng puede. (Marcos, of course. No one else will do.)"

Every single thing that came out of her mouth made my skin crawl in utter disgust that I had to excuse myself. I stood up, cleaned my side of the table and picked my bag up. But just before I walked away, I asked her, "Hey, weren't you against the RH Bill a few years ago because you said you honoured the sanctity of human life?" Her mouth opened, presumably to respond, but there were no words. A faint "ha" sound came out, punctuated by a glottal stop, a clearing of the throat and a gulp. She could not answer me. She clenched her jaw and furrowed her eyebrows as her breaths got audibly deeper. Still nothing but disdainful and bitter silence. I gave her another smile and left.

I am pro-choice--a staunch supporter of the recognition of a woman's right to make decisions for her own body--so that disqualifies me from carrying the label "pro-life," as it is conventionally understood. With the Reproductive Health (RH) Bill being a hot national issue some years ago, I made lots of enemies--mostly from evangelical Christian and conservative Roman Catholic circles. In 2012, I embarked on an "unfriending spree" for people who were against the RH Bill. I regarded everyone who didn't support it as stupid. I ended my spree, however, when I realised that too many people close to my heart didn't share my views. If I had chosen to continue it, I would have lost lots of friends, so I decided that these people were misinformed, at best, and left them alone. Then again, if I had gone on, that woman I bumped into at Bo's Coffee Club would have been kicked out of my social media sphere sooner. Thankfully, what was supposed to happen four years ago eventually caught up and our association has finally been severed. The evening thereafter, she unfriended me on Facebook. Good riddance!

Again, I respect people's choices, but to insinuate that I should be killed just because my opinions differ from yours? Honey, you don't deserve me in your life and I certainly don't deserve you in mine.

Elections and Friendships

BINISAYA:

Pinili-ay og Panaghigala

Nag-anam-anam na og kaduol ang adlaw sa pinili-ay.
Daghan na kaayo'ng mga panaghigala
Ang nabungkag tungod sa kalainan sa baruganan
Ug mga kandidato'ng gidapigan.

Ang kadaugan sa atong mga manok,
Labaw pa ba g'yud og bili sa panagsu-on
Nga pila na ka-tuig gi-amumahan?

Masayon-sayon ra diay og gubâ
Pinaagi sa bulok sa atong mga baklaw
Ug sa mga hulagway nga gipatapot
Sa likod sa atong mga sakyanan?

Dili ba diay malungtaron
Ang gugma sa matuod nga higala?

Nangabuang na ta'ng tanan?
Mangligid sâ uroy ta sa Banat-i
Ug magpapaak og iring!



ENGLISH:

Elections and Friendships

The day of elections is drawing nearer and nearer.
Too many friendships
Have been shattered by differences in principles
And candidates we support.

Are the victories of our chickens
Of greater value than the bonds
That we have spent years to nurture?

Can they so easily be destroyed
By the colours of our bracelets
And the faces on bumper stickers
On the back of our cars?

Is it not resilient,
The love of a true friend?

Have we all become fools?
Let's roll down Banat-i Hill
And have cats bite us!

On Blaming and Putting Down Millennials

I wonder what today's non-millennial grown-ups were called back when they were younger and were considered the ultimate cause of their days' social problems. I wonder if some older people are thankful for the evanescence of youth and are being consciously vindictive towards millennials because of the hangups they have from the past. I wonder if they are telling their parents, "See this, ma/pa? You thought I was the problem? Get a load of today's generation of youngsters!"

It's funny how lots of older grown-ups constantly rely on the proverbial rhetoric,"You are the future," and yet enjoy laying so much blame on us for things like the purported slackening of society's moral fabric, whatever that means. When has this so-called "moral fabric" ever been stiff and impervious, anyway? Isn't the point of calling it a fabric because it's permeable and adaptable? Didn't mores develop over time rather than spring up out of nowhere? Even the Tanakh, the Bible, the Qur'an, the Pali Canon and the Vedas were written. Divinely-inspired (yeah, ok) but written, nonetheless.

Why are we so uptight about preserving what's familiar and normal to us? Why are we so keen to label divergence from social conventions as wrong or evil? Did you know that polyphonic music was banned from the Roman Catholic Church in 1322 for being too innovative? Did you know that before 1600, Roman clerics appealed to ban coffee? Yes, that's right. In the 14th century, what today is considered the music of the culturally refined was deemed impious and lascivious. In the late 1500's, coffee was almost dogmatically forbidden from consumption by Christians as it was regarded as a Muslim drink. What if the church had persisted in their crusades against these wonderful things? Claudio Monteverdi's Vesperis in Festis Beata Mariae Vergine would have never been composed. Cappuccino would have never been invented and that Starbucks two blocks away from your flat wouldn't even exist.

Remember that normalcy is an illusion. As Morticia Addams once said, "What's normal to the spider is a calamity to the fly." I'm well aware that there are certain limits to what we can change or keep, but cut us some slack; we're all just trying to find our place in this world, just like you (older grown-ups) probably were when you were our age--back when you were the ones ripping society's moral fabric to pieces and giving adults massive headaches.

Call a Spade a Spade but FCKH8

Call a spade a spade. Call an act of evil what it is and condemn it. Don't condemn the person. The person may just be a blind and ignorant victim of circumstances. I'm not going to condemn and hate Duterte for his misogynistic jokes (about rape, nonetheless) and sheer acts of violence. Maybe his parents didn't raise him very well. Maybe he didn't grow up in an ideal environment. Maybe he had bad teachers. Maybe he was exposed to several negative influencing factors throughout his life. Who knows? But I'm done with hate; it doesn't help. It only turns me into the object of my abhorrence. It makes me weak, emotional, illogical and irrational.

With all that said, though, even if I don't hate Duterte, he is not getting my vote. Elections are an exercise of people's personal choices and I'm absolutely and vehemently certain that Rodrigo Duterte is not my choice for the highest political position in the Republic of the Philippines. If he's yours, so be it. That's your right and it's not my place to tell you what to do. I may judge you for it and maybe our friendship will deminish to a certain extent if you're heavily and fanatically into him, but, ultimately, I have no right to interfere with your decisions. You have your reasons and I have mine, so don't tell me what to do either.

May peace prevail in the Philippines.

May peace prevail on Earth.

Bohol Climate Walk: 100 Kilometers and Beyond

At Plaza Rizal after reading our call, before hitting the road--before any injuries

At around 2AM on Saturday, November 28^th, 2015, I crawled into my sleeping bag, pulled the mosquito net over my head, closed my eyes and lulled myself to sleep with images of a bright morning and an energetic me, all while chanting the mantra “Goodness, please take this pain away” and unknowingly muttering “mama” every five seconds or so.

Earlier that day, 11 of us embarked on a 100-kilometer walk from Tagbilaran to Anda to show solidarity with the People’s Pilgrimage from Rome to Paris, helping raise awareness on efforts to uphold global climate justice. We were joined by two pilgrims along the way and lost one who had to attend to fatherly duties. About 20 kilometers, over 7 hours and a litany of prayers and expletives later, 12 of us made it to a hut in a mangrove forest in Loay, Bohol, the first of two evening stops for the Bohol Climate Walk.

I made the commitment to write about this experience but I’ve ended up postponing it over and over again because I’m stumped about where to begin. I don’t want to turn this into a long blow-by-blow about what happened from Friday through Monday as that’s just not how I write. This morning, though, as I was about to take my thought-filled shower, seconds after getting up from bed, I was greeted by a throbbing feeling in my calf. It was an electric sort of pain that felt so damn fresh—just as it felt when I woke up in Anda last Monday, merely hours after completing the walk. It was a lightbulb moment that made me decide I’m going to start by writing about pain.

This didn’t only happen today. I had a similar episode yesterday and all the mornings since and during the walk, but today it was exceptionally strong. I guess it’s because I went back to Anda yesterday to go swimming—remedying the frustration I had from last Monday when we had to leave too early and I only spent less than ten minutes in the water. Nevertheless, this series of daily pangs has, on more than one occasion, led me to worry that this might be permanent. A friend and fellow climate walker from Negros Island, April, has pains from badly sprained and wounded feet. She Couchsurfed in my home for a few days, and nearly every morning since returning to the city, she said something like, “What if this pain never goes away?” I thought, “Perhaps this is the universe’s way of reminding us that the work towards achieving global climate justice is far from over.” You know how they say it’s an honor when a friend shares their pain with you and how we should consider ourselves lucky for the ability to empathize? Is this pain a sign that the Earth is sharing her pain with me? Should I feel honored about waking up each morning knowing I’ll be walking everywhere with this perpetual cramp-like feeling because I’m doing the Earth some sort of favor? Well, that sounds rather pompous, doesn’t it?

Single file moving out of Dimiao, full from lunch

A few weeks ago, while the walk was still being organized and I was whining to myself about how I hadn’t taken measures to make myself physically fit for it, I remembered something I read several years ago entitled “Steps Toward Inner Peace.”  It was a transcript of a conversation between a Los Angeles-based radio show and an elderly woman called Peace Pilgrim, who abandoned all her earthly belongings, changed her name, and walked across the United States of America for 28 years to call attention to the need for peace and global reconciliation. She began walking at the age of 45. “Surely,” I thought, “If she walked over 40,000 kilometers for 28 years, I could manage a meager hundred over three days.” While I couldn’t commit my whole life to walking as Peace Pilgrim did, perhaps making a bit of noise with 18 other walkers was a decent attempt at drawing attention to the concerns we all have for our common home. It’s also a way to show the world that a few people are capable of emerging from their chairs and doing something beyond sharing and liking—not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Over the course of three days, water, mefenamic acid, stick-on pain relievers (Salonpas), word games, and expletives became our best friends. You see, if you walk under the scorching sun with a ground temperature of about 30 Degrees Celsius for days on end, while carrying a huge backpack, it doesn’t matter how passionate you are about a cause, there will be profanity—in huge bulks at a time—especially when you feel like you’ve been walking 30 kilometers and the next yellow marker says it’s only been 17. Throw in some existential questions here and there, and it’s a proper party. On our second day of walking, from our lunch stop in Dimiao to our second evening stop in Garcia Hernandez, while I was quietly chanting “Forces of the Earth, help me,” I heard someone ask “Why are we really here?” To which someone promptly responded, “For climate justice.” She retorted, “No, I mean why are we really alive?” An eerie silence followed, paving the way for some deep contemplation. That wasn’t the only question thrown around. There were others like, “Who am I doing all I’m doing for?” and “What else is there to life but pain and suffering?”

By the third day, the last and longest stretch in the entire walk, a few of us had gotten bored with taking our word games seriously that we found solace in mocking them. Any prudish sensitivities on day one had been completely destroyed by then and every expletive we could think of was blurted out. This wonderfully proved, at least for me and the small bunch of people I walked with on the first half of day three, that the research by Keele University on the hypoalgesic effect of swearing is true beyond reasonable doubt. I can’t count the number of times I heard people say “F*ck climate change!” And I agree with it. Not the climate justice movement, of course, but the things that are causing climate change to happen and its subsequent effects. What sort of human being appreciates global hunger, mass extinction of species, and frequent category 5 tropical cyclones?

I’m sure none of us could have made it through that long and painful walk without holding on to anything dear or feeling connected to something bigger than ourselves. For all of us, it was the need to raise awareness that our common home—our only home—is being threatened and we need to protect it. And yet, for some of us who needed an extra push or a spike to our water, the thought of walking in solidarity with refugees helped a great deal. One walker named Dexter helped us visualize, while we were in an almost pitch-black road stretch with no houses or street lights, the plight of the people fleeing Syria in search of a new home, towing babies and belongings crossing countries and encountering unnecessary hostility along the way. How utterly convenient were our circumstances compared to theirs? At least we had a choice. We could have said “no more” at any time. We could have just flagged a yellow bus and headed back to the city with nothing but a mildly bruised ego. What's that compared to the imminent death refugees would face if they were to cut their stride midway? I felt I owed it to myself to allow my body to taste a tiny bit of what they continue to go through to this day—the Syrians, Iraquis, Rohingya, Eritreans and others. They leave their homes to look for other places on Earth that might be more welcoming. And at least today there are still real patches of green and oases here and there. Let us not await the day that these things will be nothing but metaphors and memories. Let us not await the day the Earth will cease to welcome us.

Buko break by the Loay-Lila border

Hitting the white sands of Anda’s Quinale Beach at 1:22AM, the eight of us who walked the last stretch were high as kites from the natural painkillers our bodies had released for us. My legs were so badly beaten that they were almost completely numb. I knew my calves were forty steps away from bursting into bloody bits of tenderized lean muscle but I somehow felt fine. After the obligatory fits of screaming and swearing, we officially ended the 3-day walk with a small interfaith circle where we held each other’s hands and savored a moment of silence to celebrate our feat and to hold our cause in our thoughts. While there were sighs of relief that we had finally finished our self-imposed ordeal, I felt that there was a collective acknowledgement that this was not the end. The real climate walk had only just begun.

As I write this, the pain continues to throb. Since I sat down to hammer on my keyboard, I have stood up thrice to stretch my legs and keep them from becoming difficult to walk with. Nobody was spared. Some have sprains; some have cuts; some have blistered feet; and some even have chafed bikini lines. People ask, “was it worth it?” Of course it was! And having to live several more days with this pain as a reminder of what I did is a reward compared to what I would experience if I continue to remain blind to Earth’s plight. I know (and hope) this pain will go away sooner or later but our work isn’t over until the justice we seek is achieved—until humanity comes to terms with the fact that we don’t have another Earth and we are doing things that are causing it to kill us.

I had a conversation with April long before the Bohol Climate Walk was cooked up and we both agreed that the Earth could kick humanity out if it wants to. Moreover, it will always find a way to heal itself no matter how irreparably damaged and barren it may look like. We don’t say we must take care of the Earth so baobab trees can live through the next three millennia in their towering majesty or so that Mt. Fuji will remain pretty. We say we need to take care of the Earth because we want it to be livable for future generations of humans to come. We're doing this for us. It is we who need saving because our survival as a species is at stake in all this.

By getting hurt during the walk, I was reminded of where the pain would end up if humanity continues to allow irresponsible capitalism and greed to reign. When the body gets infected by a virus, its immune system does things to deactivate or eliminate it. Right now we are collectively behaving like a virus and our planet is trying to cure itself by killing us. And, make no mistake about it: if we don't change for the better, we will perish. But it's not too late. We can still make a full U-turn and start contributing to an alternative solution that doesn't involve the extinction of the Homo sapiens.

Let us not wait for another Haiyan or Ebola pandemic. The time to act is now. Make some noise. Lobby your legislative body to adopt ethical and environment-friendly measures. Say no to coal and nuclear, and say yes only to renewable energy sources. Refuse single-use plastics in favor of reusable ones. Put that candy wrapper in your pocket. Big or small, each voice and each action taken contributes to the global effort. One day, your great, great, great granddaughter will celebrate her seventh birthday in a rich meadow with fresh air and butterflies dancing in the breeze. She will have a smile on her face, free from fear and hate. Such a wonderful thought, right? It can only happen if we stand up now to restore justice for the Earth and all living beings.  L

Thanks galore:  To the Bohol Outdoor Adventure Team (BOAT) for the planning, prep, and walk support. To Bohol Goodwill Volunteers, Inc. for some of the meals. To Mr. Marjune Placencia and Ms. Beryl Lupot for helping us cope with our injuries. To Mr. James Mahinay and family for arranging our dinner and stay in Loay. To Mayor Rina Salazar for the rescue in Lila. To Mr. Joel Dahiroc and Mrs. Cherry Dahiroc for opening your doors to us in Dimiao and for the awesome lunch. To Dr. Edna Villaruel and Mrs. Aleth Jeanjaquet for welcoming us, feeding us with a wonderful dinner, and giving us cozy beds to rest on before our final stretch—also to Mr. Richard “Yahman” Jeanjaquet for arranging our stay and meal at such short notice. To Dr. Joanne Flores and Ms. Rain Calimbayan for the refreshments. To Mr. Robin Gurney of Coco Loco Café in Anda for the wonderful breakfast after our walk. To Ms. Kim Lim-Adams of Dapdap Beach for welcoming us in Anda and cheering on us throughout the walk. To Ms. Jhacky Curambao for the beautiful little post-walk tokens. To everyone who supported us.

The walk finishers shortly after reaching Anda at 1:22 AM on Monday, 30 November 2015
L-R: Jammy, Kins, Ludwig, April, Sherwin, Liza, Yahman, Weng

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Most of this entry's text appears as it is published on the December 6, 2015 issue of Lifestyle Bohol of the Bohol Chronicle.