In her Rappler.com piece, Chay Hofileña writes that media has the responsibility to “connect the dots.”  Hofileña claims that the journalist, in the quest to arrive at the truth, develops some form of expertise on the matter; that a journalist’s role, facing a “lethargic public, too tired or lazy to do the math, or simply apathetic,” is to rouse and mobilize the masses.  That, as “shapers of informed public discourse, if not facilitators of discussion and debate in the name of truth,” the ultimate check of the media is that “informed public exposed to a marketplace of ideas” would “be in the best position to judge whether what is being fed them is hogwash or scraps.”

Not to be disrespectful or anything, but let’s turn that argument on its head.  What if the public is fed hogwash or scraps?  If the symptoms of public discourse include lethargy, fatigue, laziness, and desensitization, wouldn’t those characteristics be a consequence of what is presented to them by the media?  Isn’t the situation, for that matter, symptomatic and characteristic of the quality of information we have, courtesy of the media?

Enlightening a befuddled public is, indeed, the task of journalism, or for that matter, citizen journalism. Yet we must also remember that (ideally) the formation of opinion – public opinion, at that – occurs after the news, when the remains of the day settle. In other words, public opinion is shaped by the facts fed to the public.

True, the media’s role is beyond the presentation of facts. But connecting the dots matters only if those dots are plotted in the right place by news desks, presenters, anchors, producers, and reporters. The quality of news and information, as it seems, suffers under the sheer quantity of items produced. To paraphrase Lazarsfeld, this proverbial flood of information doesn’t necessarily make us “informed” or “knowledgeable,” but being inundated with so much information has the unintended consequence of making us apathetic to it. It stops, rather unfortunately, at being informed. Add to that the quality of information available from media, and… well, you get the picture. But knowing is half the battle, and in a society where there’s so much information and so little time, half the battle is enough. Lazarsfeld termed it in a most compelling way: “narcotizing dysfunction.”

This sets an interesting position for media going beyond setting information, but setting agenda. Because media sets it so, opinion will be so; ultimately rendering public opinion as a function of media and media alone because the truth is the business of the media. The play on power, at that, is never neutral, just as is the truth that is represented by some approximation. That makes Hofileña’s claim for journalism as more than just a claim of responsibilities, but a claim of how much power media – as an institution and as an apparatus of very public talk – really has.

To invoke C. Wright Mills, the media can – as illustrated in the Rappler.com essay – function as a power elite: it is an intricate network of small connections and groups that share and talk about decisions with a far-reaching consequence beyond national borders. In saying that the media are “shapers” of public opinion, Hofileña goes beyond investigation and reporting in a timely and prompt manner as a function of journalism. Rather, she underscores the inequality of information: that, as it seems, in a society characterized by delivering the most amount of information in the shortest amount of time, only the journalist – the institution and the apparatus of public talk – has the monopoly on truth.

This is not, of course, an attack on journalists and journalism and the good done by Rappler.com. It is, though, that sullen reflection on the state of public discourse in a so-called “Age of Information,” where the condition is never “democratic,” and the inundation of information a public perceived as “passive” (by journalists, of all people) is never emancipatory. Does this underscore the need for quality reporting from the media and insightful analysis from commentators? Not necessarily. The game isn’t played on information, but the use of it.

As the role of media shifts, apparently, to check on the government more, the consumers of media must check on the media more. That while we tout comments and feedback and citizen journalism as a great check-and-balance for the status quo, the challenge is more than to fulfill those means. Yes, but the need is more than that: the quality of the information available to us must make us think more than the need for us to feel. And thinking – and acting – on the information available to us is the best way to do so. That while Chay Hofileña would probably appropriate the search for truth as the business of journalism, acting on the truth is the business of citizenship.

The press can hold its magnifying glass up to our problems, bringing them into focus, illuminating issues heretofore unseen. Or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire, and then perhaps host a week of shows on the sudden, unexpected, dangerous flaming ant epidemic. If we amplify everything, we hear nothing.

- Jon Stewart, October 30, 2010

I don’t want to chalk it up – yet – to an increasingly cynical Filipino, or for that matter a point of view that perpetuates and fosters cynicism. After all, one is free to criticize, and one is free to disagree. Yet it also pays, I believe, to criticize and disagree with the right things, and to lend perspective in the right way.

For a government agency whose troubles with everything from budget to copyright have been well within the field of vision of the public eye, it’s hard to pull off anything without some degree of criticism. And it goes without saying that it should be: as far as tourism goes, we should get it right. But part of getting it right means making it work. The exercise of making the national tourism slogan is not a matter of advertising alone, but a matter of pulling together to stand by one national idea. Getting it right, and making it work.

It’s easy to see why people don’t like the new tourism slogan. It’s wordy, it’s a bit too long, the word “fun” is a bit arbitrary. Our notion of the “national slogan” has been steeped in the idea of “Wow, Philippines” for too long that indeed, we do well to resist that change. “It’s more fun in the Philippines” is a leap from that: it’s different. What’s “hardworking” for some may be “overworked” for others. Some of us nitpick over details like colors or fonts or messaging, or that a 1951 ad from Switzerland looks all too familiar.

I say, though, let’s get it right. And as a people, let’s make it work.

We’re faced here with a slogan and a hashtag: not a strategy, not a plan, but a short boost in social media that for now, from what’s visible, represents a hypothesis for what can be campaigned and what possibilities can arise. We can – and we should – fault people for that. But to say that the plan does not exist, or that a greater strategy is absent in this matter, is a sweeping generalization that does nothing but doom this project from the start. Surely the end result is not just a slogan and a template for banners and posters, but an entire project for Philippine tourism.

And that, I think, is what we should be concerned of, and where we should be raging and defending from: the big picture, the complete proposal, the totality of every strategy and execution that makes this campaign what it is. True, we should be concerned about the slogan for the fact that it is what is available for the moment, but to treat that as the be-all end-all of the entire exercise is to be as short-sighted as the logo is claimed to be. Yes, let’s take the slogan, but we should clash it against the other cogs in the wheel. What’s the long-term project for purism in the country? How will it impact our economy? What are our key indicators, milestones, metrics, and other scores that would justify this campaign to be called a success? What is the slogan’s role in all of that, and what are the roles of those milestones in determining the truth for the slogan?

Those are questions that cannot be answered by the slogan alone. And perhaps the Department and its representing creative agency should answer to that, and present that complete work. Or show – not tell – that the work-in-progress reaches goals that are attainable.

I’m pretty sure that if, on the very first step, we’ll allow ourselves to be hindered by the notion that we don’t have it right, or that if we go out of our way to not make it work, it will never be right and it will never work. It doesn’t mean that we should only have good things to say about a slogan that we may not agree with, but it also doesn’t mean that the whole effort should just be what it is for the moment.

Do I like the DOT slogan? I wish there were fewer words. I find it hardworking, but I have yet to see the components of strategy and execution that would make it work. Do I support it? Let’s wait and see until we can assess the totality of the work in a more complete way with deference and respect for the work done and still to be done.

And after all that is said and done it is up to us to get it right and make it work, because we’re all in this together not just as taxpayers and as tourists, but the best tour guides and ambassadors for the project of Philippine tourism. And yes, while this is an idea, and while great minds do discuss ideas, there is a bigger idea in play: a strategy and plan for Philippine tourism that, for now, is seen through one slogan.

To elevate the discourse beyond that cog in the wheel is something that remains to be seen. Sooner, I hope, before all the fun is taken away from it.

Former Rep. Teddy Boy Locsin – who recently gained some measure of infamy for his “Teditorial” on NAIA, branding bloggers who criticized the airport as “homeless gays” with a not-so-subtle dig with “kneepads in restrooms” – is at it again.

This time, Mr. Locsin calls Inquirer’s tribute to the victims of the Ampatuan Massacre “just plain baduy.”  Without the homophobic innuendo, Locsin rambles on with contrarian pontifications criticizing the pictures of the columnists: kesyo the columnists who closed their eyes are in the act of forgetting, kesyo the columnists should open their eyes, kesyo the stunt was baduy, etc.  It’s as if Mr. Locsin held the monopoly of knowledge in meaning, in semiotics, in expression – whether artistic or journalistic – and that the schoolyard pejorative should make for a good summation.

While we’re no strangers to editorial segments in newscasts – the late Frankie Evangelista excelled at that – I guess we can all agree that editorializing has its functions as well as its limits.  For the lack of a disclaimer, as well as a lack of prudence in editing the talking-head piece, the caricature of Locsin has not only painted itself as an ultra-conservative elitist who does not hesitate to betray deep-seated homophobia, but now it also paints a caricature of a cantankerous nitpicker who forgets the importance and relevance of symbols and metaphors.

This, a week after the commemoration of the second year of the Ampatuan Massacre.  The other, a few days shy of Pride Day.

Again, while we’re no strangers to editorials, we should know by now that while an editorial will offend people at one point or another – especially those in positions of power – that is not its primary purpose.  The editorial should enlighten, should make sense of the news, or at the very least present an opinion of the paper outside of what it is reporting.  This is not to say that papers or news organizations should be devoid of opinion, but knowing that Locsin’s opinion takes center stage in a nightly newscast – without the benefit of a disclaimer or a knowledge of why it’s there in the first place – is a bit unsettling.

Which brings us to the problem: if Teddy Locsin is the “chief commentator” (for lack of a better term) of ANC, do his opinions represent ANC, The World Tonight, and ABS-CBN in general?  I don’t think so: not with the homophobia and elitism and self-aggrandizement present in his previous “Teditorials.”  I don’t think he should, either, as should his own pieces and commentaries be edited prudently by the organization (in this case, the newsroom) to prevent them from being offensive.  Or at least having a clear disclaimer.

What difference does it make if you’re rich or poor, gay or straight, to have a properly functioning airport?  Are those remarks and innuendos necessary to make a point against current plans for rehabilitating NAIA?  So what if Inquirer chooses to pay tribute to their murdered colleagues in the media?  Baduy as it may be to Locsin, walang basagan ng trip holds as much – if not more – weight.  And more than that, what do these innuendos and remarks do to elevate discourse and conversation about the NAIA mess and the Ampatuan Massacre?  Yes, it’s important to “read between the lines” and all that, but if between those lines are the unnecessary and uncalled-for remarks of a talking-head on television, then the lines should be raised and, more importantly, drawn.

J. William Fulbright writes, “When public men indulge themselves in abuse, when they deny others a fair trial, when they resort to innuendo and insinuation, to libel, scandal, and suspicion, then our democratic society is outraged, and democracy is baffled.”  In the case of Teddy Locsin, it is more than just outrageous and baffling: it is, for a segment in a much-watched telecast, unacceptable.

We remember not because of the gruesome details or that because it can happen to us.  We remember because it is right and proper and bold for us to remember.  We remember because two years later, no one has paid the price.  We remember because of so many people fighting for justice in a world filled with news items covering murdered celebrities and murdered innuendoes.  We remember because as far as the pursuit of justice is concerned, we have yet to be there.

Today is Blog Action Day to remember the Ampatuan Massacre.

Before all of this is forgotten let it be known that Ampatuan Massacre is the most cruel and poignant example of the many unresolved killings of civilians, government officials, activists, and journalists in the Philippines.  It’s a very gruesome tale that would find a special place in our history books, but what makes it more grotesque is the pace of the trial.  If justice represents our freedom from impunity then its pace and delivery must be swift and purposeful: every day that passes where we do not reach a definite resolution to the Ampatuan Massacre is a step that the killers and perpetrators take to get away with their crimes.  Not only against journalists and the innocent victims of that most gruesome and grotesque crime, but it is a crime against a society in dire need of justice and closure.

Before all of this is forgotten, let it be known that the pace of the trial speaks a lot about the quality of justice in this country.  Something so cruel and vile and sadistic – this butchery of living human beings – takes so much time to be resolved in a court of law.  An assault on essential freedom granted in a democratic state – suffrage and free expression – is terminated and censored by the barrel of a gun should be treated as a lifelong insult not only by citizens, but by the government that’s supposed to stand for it.  Lest we forget, the Ampatuan Massacre should reverberate in us as the extreme example of impunity many of us encounter on a daily basis: powerful acts that impinge upon our lives and freedoms just because the powerful can do so.

Before all of this is forgotten we must remember that we, as a nation, have come to that point where extrajudicial killings become a norm, a fact of life, and secondary to celebrity gossip and the latest hashtags on Twitter.  The massive scale of the events of November 23, 2009 were enough to shake us to the very marrow of our bones, that such a crime can be within the capabilities of human beings.  We should not forget that, and the reason for that: that some people are willing to stifle the freedoms we enjoy at any cost.

Before all of this is forgotten we must remember that today, only 93 of the 196 accused of the crime have been arrested, only two Ampatuans have been arraigned.  To add to that scale, Joker Arroyo once remarked that this case may take 200 years to be presented and resolved.  All the more we need to do it now, as swift as humanly possible.  If not for the memory of the dead, we must do so in deference and with respect to the living: most of them children.  It’s not because it’s publicized or it’s beneficial for publicity, but because it’s time for justice to be served.

Before all of this is forgotten we might think that this is a simple case of sending the perpetrators to jail, or that Blog Action Day is a simple case in remembering.  Yet the reason why – two years later – this case hasn’t been solved isn’t simple at all.  It is a complicated machine of impunity, of the delaying of justice, of the denial of justice.  When something like the Ampatuan Massacre happens – and when something like the very slow pace of justice is allowed to happen – we inflict and infect wounds upon the body of society that takes more than blog posts to recover.  In the end it’s the sutures of vigilance – not the scabs of time – that heals the wound, that gives it closure.  And that’s what we demand today: justice.

When a murder – a massacre – of the sort that took place in Ampatuan, Maguindanao 2 years ago happens, we do not forget.  We remain vigilant because it is just, and we pursue justice because it is right.

Isabel Allende once wrote, “What I fear most is power with impunity. I fear abuse of power, and the power to abuse.”  That’s exactly what happened two years ago: abuse with murder, mutilation, punctuated by empty ammo shells and backhoes.  That’s exactly what’s happening two years later, in the midst of an excruciatingly slow pace of the Ampatuan Massacre trial.  Time, when used to delay justice, is the accomplice of impunity: we may forget.  No crime is worse than that.

“There be dragons,” proclaims Bobit Avila in his latest column for The Philippine STAR, railing at the pro-RH crowd and the Communists among us, calling us back into the fold of the Catholic Church, and cites a laundry list of somewhat inappropriate examples of holy punishment to guide the lost sheep back to the shepherd.  Similes, metaphors, and correlations which, for lack of a better term, are made in heaven.  Surely the wages of sin find their own fires in Hell, for Franco and Mussolini and Hitler and the Communists he so hates, but the Earth is surely not one of them.  And maybe column spaces may be too limited to note that, among others:

• The economic crisis in Spain is caused by property bubbles, unemployment, and long-term credit deficits and loan crises, not a reproductive health law;
• Spain is not a Communist country, it is a Constitutional monarchy, and;
• There’s a really huge difference and disconnect in the metaphorical device of “the new Herods,” since the Massacre of the Innocents was anything but a public health measure enacted in Judea.

I really don’t mean any disrespect to deeply religious believers when I take up an affirmative position on the RH Bill, but it’s discussions like these (and “RH Bill will be a source of corruption” – so since roads and schools are a major source of corruption let’s stop building them, too, and that every other public good that can be grafted from should be eliminated altogether… more on that when I feel like it) that become very grating points.

The problem with the overly-religious opposition to RH is that it turns an issue of policy into an issue of ontology and physical issues of being: reproductive health is part of a menu of public health services offered by the state to the people.  Now whether or not it is prescribed by some reading of the word of God is another question altogether.

Yet back to Mr. Avila: for one, to say that pro-RH senators “…unabashedly defend the women’s right to do whatever she wants with her body… even use contraceptives that we all know can kill the unborn” is to trivialize the struggle for a woman’s right to self-determination.  Human equality is founded precisely on the fact that we can do whatever we want with ourselves for as long as we do it with the freedom of others in mind.  For two, to say that the Communists do not want peace to reign is to take a very black-and-white view of their own ideological standpoint and to trivialize their own struggle.  If they have dragged us into the road to perdition then surely Communism and its related ideologies have set us all up to the road to convenience: for example, sick leaves, equitable working days, and adequate health care across the board are contributions of Communism to capitalism on their own right.

For three, there’s the extremely toxic, divisive view taken by Mr. Avila: the “if-you’re-not-with-us-you’re-against-us” mentality that allows him free rein to misappropriate the teachings of Josemaria Escriva to fit his own, to use Franco’s Spain as an analogue to the Philippines, and forcing a similarity where there is none for P-Noy’s government and the Weimar Republic.  Surely there are more things that define and situate our own practice and belief in Christianity and democracy than whether or not we believe that a reproductive health bill is a step in the right direction for us.

Like I said earlier, the wages of sin should find their own fires in Hell.  In matters of policy, though, we need more fact and rigor, where the good columnist was caught with his pants down thrice.  While there are many ways to read into a subject we can only come to an understanding and approval or disavowal of it if we do so with an open mind, and save the vitriol and name-calling for battles bigger than the state and its condoms.

Yet things that delve into the personal will have consequences that are personal, and they should be echoed in spaces that are personal.  That they’re on national newspapers, however, is another thing.  That if we’re going to talk – which all of this is – we should talk the right way: between free speech and freeing speech.

Are their dragons in our midst?  I would say yes indeed and without question, but should Mr. Avila and his friends and followers find the wisdom to sheath the sword in the presence of a windmill, then we would find bigger, better things to tilt at.

If anything, our experience with satire (and by “our,” I mean that fraction of the population actively engaged in the online experience: 75% of the total Filipino population would probably not know what we’re talking about) is not a pleasant one.  The latest duping: GMANews.TV reports that the “Anti-Angry Birds Bill” published on SoWhatsNews is satire.  While many people would grin and bear it, some people are actually outraged that an “Internet blog site” would actually resort to such tomfoolery.

Of course, this is not the first time this happened.  At the height of the Chip Tsao hullaballoo and Adam Carolla brouhaha, I harped on how satire has the tendency – if not the intention – to hit a raw nerve.  Of course, there’s a failure of reading – it doesn’t take too much reading between the lines to see that the author of the offending article was satirizing a Congressman’s penchant for filing laws against planking – but it’s not without subtext or context.  While it explains us, it somehow also indicts us.

Now before we start accusing one another of being gullible, the lot of us would probably understand and appreciate satire if it was given enough emphasis in our educational system.  I’m not saying that we should have a subject devoted to the works of Aristophanes and Juvenal, but a deeper appreciation for our satirical tradition is just one aspect of rediscovering and reclaiming our complex and beautiful identity.  We have a great tradition in performed satire: the Moriones festivals and the moro-moros and the zarzuelas all have the message and undercurrents of satire.

Yet before this whole thing becomes a validation of the “Filipinos are shallow” thesis, allow me to get back to our earlier experiences of satire online.  We have deeply-seated, deeply-rooted sentiments against government officials enough for us to deal with them with more than enough cynicism and distrust.  Of course, no politician in his right mind will ban Angry Birds, but the many dubious laws and resolutions passed through Congress – everything from renaming streets to National Mango Day to emergency powers at a time of non-emergencies – somehow happen enough that it may not be surprising for a Congressman to file a ban on a very specific, harmless video game.  We’re faced with institutions in dire need of reform and rebuilding, if not for the sentiment that we’re screwed over on a daily basis by inept, selfish officials.  Our outrage over a fake news item is a manifestation of greater outrages: we feel that we can’t trust our public officials.

But what more for real things?  On the other hand, it’s quite saddening to note that we rage over fake news, but somehow accept other more outrageous things as normal and not worth our vitriol.  Everyday occurrences and truths of corruption, ineptitude, and ignorance somehow fly by as anomalies in the banality of the absurd and/or the routine, but we swear hellfire and brimstone when stuff like this happens.  We latch on, guided by the blinding flash of rage and anger, and forget that we’re screwed in worse ways.  It’s not being shallow, at that, but because we seem to not have our priorities straight.  It seems that we have more affinity with Angry Birds than, say, the Reproductive Health Bill.  Or workers with their backs to the wall.  Or daily occurrences of starvation and disease.  Or blights in the Cordillera uplands.

The daily affronts and assaults to our dignity and self-respect go beyond what is satirized, and I’m sure that’s what the author intended.  But one thing about katuwaan: it ceases to become funny when all compass points are not considered.  What we find humorous and funny may not evoke the same feelings to another person for many different reasons.  It can’t be stressed enough: satire must be written so well to avoid unintended consequences.  Forget the “death of the author” or the technicalities of differance: one must strive really hard to make the intention match the consequence, managing that perception as something is written.  Which is why satire is very, very, difficult to write.

Then again, this is just 25% of our people talking. The satirical leanings of Marcelo H. del Pilar or even Jose Rizal, for that matter, were meant to hurt the raw nerves of the prayle, the Guardia Civil, and the oppressive usurpers of the Filipino people.  Caiigat Cayo, the bastardizations of prayer, Noli and Fili were carefully crafted to piss off the mighty few and empower the great many.  That, in effect, is what satire should be: it should offend the powerful.  That satire is only permissible, valid, and can be called such when aimed, locked, loaded, and shot at the very heart of those higher up in the social ladder.  When it offends – and most of all, not understood – by those below, it’s hard to play the satire card.

That more than for katuwaan‘s sake, social satire is obliged to make society a better place.  More than just for expression and impression, the task of writing is in emancipation and liberation… which is something our 25% should do.

But that’s another story.