Sensibilities, particularly those where Church and State are involved, are easy to offend.

On the one hand, you can’t consider a battered Nissan Pathfinder or a Mitsubishi L-300 to be a “luxury car.”  Compared to the vehicles some of our “public servants” are driving, the vehicles attributed to – and returned by – the embattled monsignors of the CBCP are austere, and not exactly in top condition.  Who are we to deny them vehicles like these if their functions in their missions depend on them?

On the other hand, in a religion founded on the humility of charity, bishops don’t ask for sports-utility vehicles as birthday gifts in return for unwavering support.  Bishop Pueblos’ “lapse in judgment” may be well-intentioned, but the road to Hell is paved by precisely those things.  What we have here is a case of a lack of discretion that erodes people’s faith in their religious organizations.

On the one hand, you would need more than a jeepney to traverse the terrain of far-flung missions.  Let’s face it: an expensive SUV can get the job done better than an old utility vehicle.  It’s not even a necessary evil: cars of that build and quality are necessary for transporting medicines and goods and supplies to the poor and indigent.

On the other hand, money made from fund-raising, Church properties, and collection plates all over the country should be more than enough to purchase vehicles for that purpose.  One can imagine that the generosity of the faithful, the donations solicited from churchgoers, and the enterprises of the diocese would be enough to meet the ends of a vehicle without having to curry favor from the State, or contradict teachings of taking things from gambling money.

On the one hand, the PCSO is, based on the hearings we see every day on TV, is damaged before the public.  It is, by and large, mismanaged, in need of an overhaul, and based on Senator Miriam Santiago’s statement, it may even need to be repealed.  After all, there were no Pajeros returned anyway, and the benefits to the Bishop and the Diocese are incidental.

On the other hand, it’s not the business of government to donate public money to the Church.  The difference is that while the benefits are incidental, the intentions may be different.  The basic purposes, as they stand, meant that this favor was granted (with apparent admission) only to the Catholic Church, which attacks the basic purpose, the establishment clause, and makes it unconstitutional anyway.

On the one hand, the Church already apologized.  The basic acts of forgiveness and contrition have already been done.  The bishops have, apparently, prostrated themselves before the people and asked for understanding and forgiveness.

On the other hand, returning the vehicles doesn’t strike the act out from the record.  That while we may forgive and insist that the bishops keep the vehicles (which they should), this is a black eye that can’t be healed with a simple “Sorry.”

Again: sensibilities, particularly those where Church and State are involved, are easy to offend.  Not because they stand contrary to each other (they, in fact, don’t), but because this whole fiasco attacks the sensibilities of the faithful in the way they see government and the Church.

I’d like to begin this “commentary” on Sara Duterte’s flurry of punches with this question: is it okay to punch somebody?

Let’s get some things out of the way first: Sara Duterte demonstrated a great grasp of authority beyond her years in her ability to make the rioting protesters drop their weapons and making the police officers stand down.  The demolition, from the looks of things, was bungled; in our long history with informal settlers, we seem to not have learned much from the many violent encounters in shantytowns.  Yet the focus of much argument – with many people surprisingly (or rather, not surprisingly) for it – is Mayor Inday punching the sheriff in the head.

Is it okay to punch somebody?  No.

To say that Sara Duterte was “exercising political will” and “flexing political muscle” by throwing a punch is to lower and debase our expectations of how public officials should behave, and to some extent to lower and debase our expectations of what is reasonable behavior.  The Mayor could have completely dressed down the informal settlers and police officers with the most acerbic words necessary to delay the demolition, or get the end result she deemed appropriate.  After all, that is all that is necessary to settle the problem.

Sara Duterte could have pulled aside the sheriff, negotiated terms (knowing that the sheriff was by no means answerable to, or subordinate to, the Mayor’s Office), and worked out a solution.  Yet the moment she beckoned to the officer of the court and threw a flurry of punches, the dialogue stopped.  The results were not fruitful.  In the end, the much-revered Mayor took a leave of absence without the problem – the informal settlers – resolved in a reasonable manner.

We cannot, and should not, use her compassion for her poorer constituents as a justification for her act of violence (no matter how momentary).  We cannot, and should not, interpret her willingness to face the consequences of her actions as one that carries more weight than evidence of assault.  We cannot, and should not, unfairly drag her surname into play and use it as an expectation of how she rules and governs.  We cannot, and should not, unfairly use her gender to invoke “Girl Power.”  We cannot, and should not, reduce things into context and reading too much in between the lines to create aporia, which when done too often, can be used as a justification that the punch did not exist.

The ability to dialogue, and for those talks to have fruitful results, is a very good demonstration of leadership.  (If it’s any indication, some of our best leaders are not pugilists.)  In a political setting where leaders are asked to do what is necessary, we require prudent judgments and actions from our leaders.  Punches from mayors to officers of the law may be applicable to the despotic and the tyrranical, but they have no room in a democratic society.  (Still, the praise from many of those in some strata of our society who support Sara Duterte’s actions is symptomatic of how confidence in leadership has decayed, but that’s another story.)

Beyond the intricacies of modernity, elites, and class there are simpler but no less important tenets that create civilization, and the leadership that sustains and fosters it: good manners, right conduct, respect, and temperance.  What we can all agree on was that there were many ways to fix the problem beyond the fit of rage that Sara Duterte committed.  It was a questionable demonstration of leadership on that particular moment.  It does not indict Sara Duterte as a lousy leader, but it lays into question how she leads under pressure, and the prudence she has as a leader.

Leadership is more about weighing options and making judgments with one’s hands, than to clench them into fists and punch people in a state of anger.

There’s something revolting about the discussions of the RH Bill, if not that the subject for some is enough cause for revulsion.  It seems that the ticklish subject more than just ruffles feathers: it pisses people off.

I usually surmise that something as sensitive and personal as reproduction can – and should – elicit the most personal and emotional responses from people.  Whether it’s from the die-hard Catholics who see the bill as a violation of their faith to the die-hard supporters who see the Church as an obstacle to human freedom, there’s no stopping the jeering and the insulting from both sides of the fence.

What turns me off (but really, in the whole mess of things what I think does not matter) about the whole RH Bill brouhaha is the seeming lack of respect that each side has for the other.  The arguments from either side or from the sidelines don’t set the proper environment for debate.  The RH debate, as it stands, is disrespectful discussion; it’s one that doesn’t seek to enlighten, but to entice spite and to dwell – and dwell – on animosities and differences of opinion that can only be resolved through name-calling.

It doesn’t have value either to those who need RH education the most: the poor, the vulnerable, and those who would benefit the most from some avenue of population control in the Philippines.  If anything, it is they who should be at the center of these conversations and not at the sidelines, not merely as those who reap the consequences of the jeering and heckling sowed on Twitter.  The more we heckle, the more we turn this debate out of their reach and understanding.

I’m for the passage of the RH Bill myself, albeit on nuances that drive more towards the center than towards the extremes of “yes” or “no.”  I believe that having provisions for reproductive health in the Philippines provide people with the options necessary to make informed choices for themselves.  I am for birth control, but not for the forcible enforcement of it.  I am for condoms, but not for the public funding of it.  The classroom can more or less be a place for respectful agreements or disagreements on RH, where the premises of discussion are taught to open minds for them to make free and open choices.

I respect the religious position against the RH Bill, but that comes with the caveat that they respect my position enough not to condemn my living soul to some concept of Hell.  I respect civil society’s position for the RH Bill, but that comes with the caveat that I do not condone the interruption of something as deeply personal as a Mass.  I am for the RH Bill for so long as such a measure becomes an avenue for a more long-term project of the even and equitable distribution of resources, and bridge the gap of the rich and the poor.  It should not just a stopgap measure to address crowding and overpopulation.  RH is not just about condoms and religious belief, but should be framed in things like education, nutrition, and the empowerment of the public.

Indeed, I believe the RH Bill’s morality should be framed in that larger context: that reproductive health is a long-term project.  Reproductive health should not be a social sacrifice, much less a silver bullet, but an avenue to help society prioritize its needs.  Reproductive health should be part of a greater part of choices made available to everyone not just for managing our population against our resources, but of social justice.

RH should definitely be a choice in a free and just society, but that should not come with putting other non-debatable needs – like education, nutrition, and public healthcare – at the back seat with everything else.  The RH debates should go on, but with respect and prudence in the discussions.

On May 2, much of the Twitterverse – and the free world – went abuzz and agog over the apparent death of Osama Bin Laden.  Save for the occasional reflexive online press releases on how social media had something to do with it, there was a somewhat glowing tinge of triumph, that the death of Osama meant a new dawn, a milestone, a very important moment that the “free world” (emphasis on the quotes) should celebrate.

There’s one less bad guy in the world, as the author Nicholas Sparks wrote on his Twitter account.  We can now be free from the clutches of a man who, in many ways, had the single most murderous and twisted interpretation and implementation of a sick and sadistic ideology that he can rightfully claim to be his own.  The war is over… or so we think.

There’s celebration in Washington, as there is co-celebration here in Manila.  It may “matter less” here, yet our familiarity with the pain and toll of terrorism should justify a reaction from these shores.  But there’s something unsettling about rejoicing about the death of enemies or even terrorists: not the earnest self-reflection that comes with the reality that Osama’s death isn’t “victory,” but a cold, hard reality of a protracted war.

Not that terrorists shouldn’t die in a War on Terror – this is, after all, a global purge against them – but it somehow reinforces the idea of “one man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter.”  There’s a sort of obvious juxtaposition: those who dance because Osama died do so at the expense of his supporters, who mourn for the death of an ideologue.  And the seeds of terrorism often grow from the nourishment brought on by emotions.

For all its military might, the United States can learn a lot from us here in the Philippines.  We’ve killed many terrorists of many different sorts in these islands: international terrorists, community terrorists, so-called terrorists.  Yet there was never a feeling of closure when a terrorist passes on, for terror – and the ideology that perpetuates terror – outlives guns, bombs, and terrorists.  Sure, there’s one less bad guy in the world, but that never meant having one less bad idea.

In his 25-minute long tirade on national television, Willie Revillame somehow claimed a monopoly of practice in helping the poor.  Nina Terol-Zialcita rightly says that it is a diversionary tactic to shift the issue from abuse to class war, but at the same time, Ina Stuart-Santiago rightly says that in our criticism, we reveal our class.

Much has been said about the tasteless, vomit-inducing behavior of Willie, but I’d like to take up Willie’s gauntlet on class war.

Class distinctions may be easy to invoke, but the argument is extremely powerful.  The captive audience of Willing Willie is that segment of the Filipino population in dire need of emancipation from poverty.  But more than being denied of wealth – as Willie would trot, highlight, and underscore over and over again – they are denied of opportunity.

BRB, busy, kthx