It was raining hard a couple of days ago, when I had to get a package my mom delivered via waybill at the Victory Liner terminal in Cubao.  I was late going into Philcoa, where the jeepneys bound for UP Diliman were about to ferry its last passengers for the night.  The paper gift bag contained new socks, the official one-of-a-kind t-shirt for The Marocharim Experiment, and two big apples.  I suppose my mom bought those apples for better reasons than to make the delivery worth its weight.

Philcoa is a most depressing place for me, because of all the street children who roam around Citimall selling sampaguita, or begging for loose change or a bite to eat.  I guess it’s never a feeling I’ll get used to, knowing that a jeepney ride away, you’ll see spoiled brats at SM walking around with big robots or giant stuffed dolls.  Or that another jeepney ride the other way round will take you to a University where problems like these are addressed on a daily basis.  I kind of lingered about, wondering if there’s any sense in selling sampaguita strands at 10:30 in the evening, and when it’s raining a bit too hard for children to wander about.

Two little girls were selling – or at least attempted to sell – the sampaguita at the doors of McDonald’s.  I don’t know if they were there to sell the flowers, or if they were there to take a whiff of French fries and burgers.  I figured that I’d rather give them the apples; I don’t eat fruit anyway.  Besides, maybe giving these two kids the apples may lift up my spirits and stop my irrational depression over the normal, no-surprises poverty of the Philippines.  Besides, if I do want to buy fruit, I can afford it even with my measly salary.
Then I saw faint smiles and tears in the girls’ eyes, and I ended up even more depressed.

*    *    *

Poverty (or child labor, for that matter) is never something solved with a couple of apples.  You can give the poor children of this country all the apples they can possibly want in life, and they’ll still be poor.  There will always be that call for a more comprehensive, systemic solution to poverty, but we have to realize that the poor will always be there.  The poor need our help.  Charity is not a virtue; rather, it is a need.

Charity is often lost in our lives these days, where a premium is placed on hard work and being industrious.  Yet it is not without an in-your-face reality that some of us are blind to.  The irony – no, the sarcasm – of it is that you’ll never find a harder worker than a kid who sells flowers in the middle of the night, where there’s no need for them because the churches are closed.  The paradox – no, the oxymoron – of it is that while we think hard work will have its just and fair rewards, the hardest workers among us end up working for chump change.  The doubt – no, the hypocrisy – in it is that those who rant and rave about “work ethic” are those who don’t have jobs to begin with.  The sad thing – no, the disgusting thing – about it is that those who speak a lot about “charity” are often those who can give the most, but give the least.

Yet giving two apples to two children will never solve anything.  I’m just one guy.  I know I’m more than capable of giving two kids two apples, but that’s all I could do for the day.  Apple-giving is not my responsibility: The State is tasked with caring for and looking after the health and well-being of everyone, not the least of which the children of its taxpayers.  Yet no one will take responsibility for it: not their parents, not their teachers, not those who treat them as invisible nuisances on the way out of a fast-food joint.  No one cares anymore; no one will find the oddity, the absurdity, and the injustice of sampaguita-vending and apple-giving in a stormy evening at a strip mall.  It’s always about the big things, the “macro-perspective,” The System.

*    *    *

Then again, maybe I’m depressing myself too much.  Maybe I’m allowing myself to be so affected by something that has nothing to do with me, and I have nothing to do with.  It never makes me feel any better anyway, knowing that I may very well be condemned to the depression and pity that come with makeshift homes, with street children, and with the unsolvable problems of a nation.  Maybe we’re all better off just ranting about what should be done, when in fact there’s little that can be done, and little that is done.

The next day I told my mom I was able to pick up the package, but I had to make up a little lie that I did taste the imported apples.  The truth was, I gave the apples whole.  I wonder what those apples tasted like, but I can console myself that two kids who never had apples before had one big apple each… and a few small strands of sampaguita are freshening up my room.

It’s my sixth month in Manila, and I’ve become extremely depressed.

The route home from WordCamp was a depressing one.  I had some time to look around what lies beyond - in this case, just next door - to the chaotic train system in Metro Manila.  I never get used to it: girls selling sampaguita, boys asking you for spare change for heaven-knows-what, and the tragic disgust you get from seeing the elderly ask for money for medicine.  I don’t know how much of it is feigned; truth be told, I could care less.

It doesn’t need a little getting used to.  It takes the collective balls - and gall - of an entire population to keep these things ignored, at the background, and relegated to the ordinary.

Taken at Doroteo Jose-Recto crossway, Sta. Cruz, Manila

A family lives in that shanty.  There’s a kid’s plastic bicycle, probably bought years ago when Ever was still doing good business in selling cheap stuff.  Those pieces of corrugated iron were never new, as much as they were already salvaged to begin with.  You can imagine if there’s any “shelter” to speak of from the elements, much less if there’s any peace of mind to be found in this place.

I’ve seen pigsties larger than this house.

Maybe I’m overreacting, that I’m getting too emotional or too caught-up over a completely normal, ordinary, everyday fact of life in the Philippines.  The truth is, it doesn’t have to be this way.  We often whine and moan - yes, even bitch - about how “pathetic” things are, when “pathetic” is usually right in your face, when it’s an everyday occurence, when it’s so normal and ordinary.  When these things are supposed to be the first that should be changed.  Yet they can’t; they’re so normal, so everyday, so ordinary.  After all, it’s far easier to change a President than to provide families a decent roof above their heads.

OK, let’s find solutions… no, we can’t, actually.  If there was a solution to the indignity of living in the “lungga,” we won’t be seeing one.  It’s not that there is no solution, it’s more like it’s doomed to shrugs and the onomatopoeia of indifference.  Every solution will be a band-aid one; every solution will have a hundred reasons to disprove it.

You want to tell off the father of this family to work his ass off, but I doubt you’ll be hired if you didn’t finish school.  You want to tell the mother of this family to stop having children, but I doubt you’ll stop having children if you have nothing to do but lay in that cardboard box and do your wifely duty.  You tell anything to the children, and they’ll be off begging for money or having meals at the soup kitchens of Paco or Quiapo.  You tell the Government to do something about it, and you’re going to expect more scams.

You ask me, I don’t know.  I’m just a writer; I don’t have a lot of money, and I don’t have the faintest idea of how I could do something about the biggest pile of bullshit to ever affect me in such a profound way.

A few blocks away is my favorite drinking spot, and I’ll down a few beers just to clear the weekly depression of work and the lungga’s of Sta. Cruz on top of it.  Some kid will ask me for spare change later on, and I’ll just shake my head and say that there’s no spare change on me right now.

Then I’m going to go home, lie down, get some sleep, and make a promise never to pass by that crossway again.

A friend of mine showed me an online project called “iamninoy,” which makes available merchandise (t-shirts, buttons, glasses, stickers, and so on) that aim to boost the awareness of the youth for one of the Philippines’ most famous (if not infamous) heroes.  To me, the trigger was almost automatic: I’m betting that at least one person out there believes that this is the “commercialization of Ninoy Aquino.”

I’m not a historian or a historical critic, so I won’t delve or dwell into whether or not Ninoy’s assassination – and its precedents – constitutes heroism.  For all intents and purposes, let’s just assume that Ninoy is a hero.  Which begs the question: if someone out there sells Ninoy t-shirts, is it commercialization?  Are we commercializing the image of Ninoy if we wear the retro glasses?

“Commercialization,” like many words, is easy to use; however, the meaning of commercialization is often lost in context.  Everything has its price, and everything with a price can be sold.

Let’s take corned beef for example.  A can of corned beef is not free: it either costs P22.00, a serious natural disaster, participating in a political rally, or pitiful circumstances.  Any which way, there is value in that can of corned beef, which gives it value and a place in the market.  Whatever we can exchange and place in any sort of marketplace is to give it a commercial potential.  Commerce and trade is the backbone of economics; everything is, in effect, commercialized.

I know it’s shallow, and I know that people my age prefer complicated and overwrought explanations to something as mundane as the image of a guy in a T-shirt.  For purposes of complicating things, the image of Ninoy is a simulacrum: a representation of a representation (Baudrillard for the masses).  What makes it all the more mundane and absurd is that within that context, there is nothing beyond it.  We all have to be smartasses, in one way or another, to think that there is something more to that image, that the act itself is inherently the negative connotation of commercialization.  Yet there’s nothing inherent about symbols: language is arbitrary.

In other words, it means nothing.

Yet since nobody I know would subscribe to such a nihilist, com si, com sa affect toward symbols, let me put it this way.  If it takes the image of a hero to have a hope that we become heroes in our own right when the time comes, then that itself is worse than “commercialization.”  It is often the case that those who speak out against “commercialization” are those who allow themselves to be victimized by it.  It’s not because everyone’s a victim, but because of a lack of perspective.  We are all duty-bound to do at least one heroic thing for this country, and yet the bulk of us even balk at being half the hero that we label Ninoy.

If there’s any poignant meaning that can be derived from “iamninoy,” it’s the fact that it sometimes takes a t-shirt and a pair of retro glasses to remind us that there was a time that one guy stood up for what’s right, no matter how wrong he seemed.

And died for it.

Allow me to dwell on the word “moron” for a bit: when you cede sovereign territory to violent insurgents that you don’t trust, realize an error in judgment and take back the agreement, and then expect that these insurgents will go back to the negotiating table ready to break bread and make peace… well, you get the picture.

That, at least to me, is a perfectly good definition of the word “moron.”

Let me dwell again: when you’re invited by a moron to break bread and make peace, you instead choose to go on a bloodthirsty rampage at a rural hamlet, literally hacking away at the lives of innocent civilians, and then say you’re innocent of the atrocities and say you have nothing to do with it… again, you get the picture.

That, at least to me, is another perfectly good definition of the word “moron.”

So let’s clarify: only morons would give up inalienable possessions and territories, and only morons will take the lives of people who have nothing to do with moronic events.  In effect, the atrocities and offensives – the war – down south, is caused by morons.

Moronic; definition: an unconstitutional memorandum of agreement passed and taken back by the Government to the MILF.

The sad state of affairs is that a moron would not take responsibilities for an act he or she caused, because you really can’t pin the blame on morons.  Morons, being devoid of conscience, act on impulse.  If the Memorandum of Agreement was not an impulsive action, if the dozens of victims in Lanao were not hacked to death out of impulse, then the negotiating panel from both sides must be geniuses.

After all, it’s nothing short of genius to compromise something as basic as the lives of people, isn’t it?

*    *    *

I have to disagree with Cocoy’s comment on an opinion piece I made for Filipino Voices, that war is the crucible by which our relationship with the Bangsamoro peoples and/or the MILF insurgents will be tested.  The crucible was supposed to be the peace talks: when you have peace talks, war becomes the last remote possible option to resolve the conflict once and for all.  You have peace talks to avoid every possibility and suggestion of war.

Protracted as it may seem, the MILF peace talks were supposed to be that avenue for the peace process; if, after years of conflict and struggle, we can come to a win-win solution:

• One, the peace talks were supposed to serve the imperative of preserving Philippine sovereignty.
• Two, the peace talks were supposed to serve the imperative of granting Muslim Mindanao the right to self-determination.
• Three, the peace talks were supposed to serve the imperative for peace in conflict-torn Mindanao.

This sounds weird, but I have to agree with Maguindanao Rep. Didagen Dilangalen (yes, that very Digs who shrieked, “Shut up, freedom of expression, Your Honor!” back in the Estrada impeachment trials) when he said that suspending the peace talks spells danger for Mindanao.  It’s not that anyone is begging for a bloodless solution – the rationale behind peace talks is to stem bloodshed, not prevent it – but people were begging for a long-term, permanent compromise - a win-win solution - to this matter.

Yes, it’s definitely a pipe dream.  It could have been done if nobody drafted that MOA and took it back.

Yet you can’t do much about the consequences of morons: I cannot blame the Senate if they vote to suspend the Mindanao peace talks indefinitely, because there’s really nothing much you could do about the seething frustrations of a moronic band of terrorists who were baited with an unconstitutional MoA by morons in the GRP negotiating panel.

War is definitely not a crucible here, but an unintended consequence, an oversight that could have easily been avoided if only each side of the negotiating table possessed an iota of intelligence, a modicum of sincerity, and a smidgen of competence.

Yet an iota, a modicum, and a smidgen are too much to ask for, especially when you’re dealing with, well, morons.

From a Green perspective, there’s something wrong with all the yellow ribbons tied all over Metro Manila.  You can only imagine how many strips of plastic and yards of rope will circulate through the metropolis (who says garbage is thrown away here?) come tomorrow, when August 21 will be - yet again - forgotten.

Today happens to be the 25th death anniversary death of a rather controversial figure in Philippine history: Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino III.  Today, I suppose, begs a time to reflect.

When I was younger, my perspective on the man who graces a coveted P500 bill was an exercise in humanizing a hero.  You would respect Jose Rizal for being the national hero, and you would not question why Sergio Osmeña is on the P50 bill if you don’t know a lot about his contributions to Filipino independence.  My parents - my dad, most especially - had this critical view of Ninoy, who apparently became “heroic” not for what he did, but for what happened to him.  I think it’s a sorry feeling to be immortalized in bronze where you don’t look like you died from a gunshot, but because you slipped.

Back in college, the discussion was even more critical; for a person who was perceived by many to be a saint of democracy, Ninoy pretty much personified the antithesis.  He was the archetypal trapo. Ninoy was the scion of an affluent clan, born into privilege, with very little bonds and commonalities with the common Filipino.  Ninoy was pretty much the grand-scale version of what Ferdinand Marcos wanted to be: powerful, rich, landed, and carried a name that literally reeked of prestige and wealth.  Four years ago, at an immersion trip to Hacienda Luisita in San Miguel, Tarlac, the older tenant farmers I talked to did not hold Ninoy in a very high regard.  He was, like the clan his wife and future President Cory Aquino belonged to, the Oppressor.

Yet Ninoy was the enemy Marcos cannot defeat.  His eloquent passion was drumming up patriotic feelings, if not feelings of unbridled resentment, against the Marcos dictatorship.  Ninoy told the Philippines and the world of the excesses of the Marcos regime, from corruption to political manipulation to extrajudicial policy-making, and even the P50-million Cultural Center of the Philippines commissioned by Imelda, which he called a “Pantheon” of the regime and a “monument of shame.”  From the hallowed halls of the Senate, Ninoy’s words resonated with the anger of a people who were sick, tired, and disgusted with the rule of Marcos.

Twenty-five years ago, Ninoy announced that after three years of self-exile, he was coming back home.  Eighty-two seconds after he alighted from the plane, he got shot.  Three years later, the indignation of the Filipino people reached the critical point.  People started that long march to EDSA, and that long march to freedom.  The man who made the “willing sacrifice of the innocent” became the icon of the freedom of a people who stood against tanks and armed soldiers.  Ninoy, the inspiration and the reminder of the People Power Revolution, did not get to live to see that moment.

Yet at that very moment when he got shot, the Filipino was - and still is - worth dying for.

*     *     *

I was planning to write today about some personal stuff, some self-promoting personal epiphany, a mundane realization that I don’t have a girlfriend yet, or some odd memory brought about by quarter-life crisis.  At least for today, I arrived at one of them; something bigger than myself.

I realized that many people today tend to forget the lessons of history; that yellow ribbons might as well be breaks in the pink-and-blue color scheme of Manila’s major roads.  Or a bad reference to bad karaoke hits that feature Perry Como singles.

Come to think of it, we who grew up after Ninoy’s era tend to forget the lessons of a man who, no matter how imperfect a hero or a money décor he made, made a selfless sacrifice in the name of something bigger and far more important than himself.  We have but vague memories of Ninoy, save for those social studies lessons where we learned that this man was more than what you can buy with a P500 bill.  Or the semiotics of Ninoy’s dour, perhaps even depressed, demeanor.

Mainly because it’s one thing to reap the fruits of one man’s sacrifice; it’s another thing to help till the soil and sow the seeds of democracy.

Maybe this generation needs a Ninoy; a person to look up to.  We who will inherit the shaky (if not broken) foundations of this country’s democracy need a role model, someone who will lead us to what is right and show us what is wrong.  Yet we need not look to other people more than ourselves, from the lessons we learned from one man’s sacrifice.  We need not rely on what other people think of a hero, or on the minute details of something so extraordinary, something bigger than the inane things we exchange amongst ourselves in moments of angst and self-loathing.

There are a lot of things to loathe about today: the escalating conflict down south, the sorry state of the economy, the legitimacy of the President, the quality of education, a lost sense of nationalism… so much so that it sometimes - just sometimes - a Filipino is worth killing more than worth dying for.  Those are the same things that years before we were born, Ninoy Aquino fought against, and made the ultimate sacrifice for.

There is - and should be - a Ninoy in all of us, no matter how imperfect we are as people.  We are part of things bigger than ourselves.  Our ideals, our principles, our sovereignty, our right to a quality life, our Constitutionally guaranteed rights, our identity, our country… those are all things that are worth more than us, and as such we should be prepared make sacrifices for.

Twenty-five years after one of Philippine history’s most controversial heroes was killed, it still holds true:

The Filipino is worth dying for.

Updated at 6:30 PM

I have two years to prepare myself to eat my own foot, but I think and feel that this will be how things will turn out in the 2010 national elections…

The Presidency

It’s tough to float names, but I think the following people will rise up as contenders for the Presidency in 2010:

• Manny Villar
• Mar Roxas
• Bayani Fernando
• Ping Lacson
• Ely “Spike” Pamatong

I would personally campaign for Spike Boy for my own personal amusement, but it will be a cut-throat race between Mr. Palengke (Roxas) and Mr. Sipag at Tiyaga (Villar). I’m betting on Roxas; no, not because we met, but because so far, he has the youth on his side. Villar is just too trapo for most people I know. Not that he deserves the epithet, but I don’t know if his rags-to-riches story will work too well with the public.

Some side-notes on BF: I think that he’s the dark horse of the 2010 Presidential campaign.  As much as I don’t like Bayani, I have the gut feeling that if anyone will pull a surprise (if not a victory) in 2010, it definitely has to be him.  The challenge to BF is to expand the vote outside Metro Manila… although in an election where the Manila vote counts for a lot, don’t be surprised if BF lives up to the hype.

Ping has always been a strong contender for the Presidency, but he simply can’t translate votes for the Executive.  He’s always up in the running for the Presidency, but he just doesn’t win.  I don’t really know why.

If there’s anything that list would show, it’s that 2010 wouldn’t be a referendum on Arroyo.  More on that next time.

The Vice-Presidency

Again, it’s tough to float names, but I think the following will rise up as contenders for the second-highest post of the land:

• Loren Legarda
• Alan Peter Cayetano
• Chiz Escudero
• Jamby Madrigal
• Kiko Pangilinan

I’d be lying if I didn’t bet on a victory for Chiz, setting this scenario.  The “automatic” choice would be Loren, but I doubt if the public perception of her is still the same positive one she had in droves before.  Chiz, for all intents and purposes, is the Barack Obama of the Philippines; he has charisma points and kind of positions himself on the “audacity of hope” agenda that is something from Barack’s playbook.

I personally would like to see Chiz and Alan duke it out for the Vice-Presidency of the land.  Say what you will about Alan, but you can only imagine the youth vote taking center stage here.  As for Jamby… well, if you make waves, then you have to have ambitions.

I should add Jinggoy Estrada or Bong Revilla in this list, but I don’t think “Erap Magic” or star power will make them strong contenders for the post.  I think that both these guys do stand a chance, but we all have to wait for that one good reason why they’re worth it.

And then there’s the dark horse: Kiko Pangilinan.  Kiko blends star power with political magic, and I can honestly say that if Chiz loses (there’s a good chance he will), Kiko will be the next Vice-President of the Philippines.

Senators

And here we go… time to do some foot-eating in the future.  Here are just a few of who I’m thinking of right now:

• Romy Macalintal. I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling that the election lawyer will seek election.  Macalintal has this talent of coming into the public consciousness come election season.  Besides, if we’re talking about implicit candidacies, Macalintal has a billboard for that joint-pain thing.
• Prospero Pichay. I’m not saying that Pichay will win, all I’m saying here is that Pichay will run, and have a strong showing.  What intrigues me the most about Pichay is that unlike the other members of the previous administrative ticket, he wasn’t really an “embarrassment;” he actually drew votes on the basis of a novelty campaign that involved a sucky catchphrase and bok choy. Here’s to hoping that I can be proven wrong by the former Congressman.
• Joey de Venecia/Jun Lozada. I don’t know, I don’t want to know, but I have the feeling.  JoeyDV can be the heir-apparent to JDV.  Lozada… well, only time will tell.  I personally shudder at the thought, but that’s another story.
• Willie Revillame/Joey de Leon. Figures.  If either one of them wins… heaven knows what I’m going to do.  Expect privilege speeches that will involve “sinungaling at mandaraya” and rants about ratings.  Forget about eating my foot, I will think about making a promise to immolate myself in front of Batasan.
• Danton Remoto. I may disagree with Danton (his blog here) on more than a few occasions, but now that I know that he’s in the running for the Senate, I think that the LGBT agenda will have a strong showing knowing that Danton is representing the group at the legislative level.  So for all you haters who think that Marocharim should be cruicified for being a “homophobe,” there you go: I support Danton Remoto’s bid.
• Jarius Bondoc. The guy was once backed by Jovito Salonga.  Another journalist in the Senate?  Loren Legarda 2.0?  I hope not, although if you’re asking me if I’d support the man’s bid… hmmm… I guess I would.
• Winston Garcia. This short list would not be complete without the mention of a guy who has positioned himself well enough to jettison (?) himself to a Senate seat.  Winston Garcia positioned himself very well within the public eye with the Meralco feud.  I rue the day it happens, but never say never.

Well, so much for a positive outlook.  I’ll be 25 come 2010, so you have to wait 10 years.

Cubao is a place you either love to hate, or hate to love.

There are a lot of things I like about Cubao.  As much as I hate malls, I really like Gateway.  Cubao is also a great place to do ukay, provided you have the patience and a lot of haggling skills.  Being the transport hub of the Metropolis, you can get to any point in the NCR just by being at Cubao, provided you know train routes, bus routes, jeepney routes, and have enough courage to walk Aurora Boulevard alone.  Aurora is also home to great mami, if you’re too late or too lazy to head on over to Binondo.  On the other hand, I hate Cubao for having a place called “Session Road” that stinks to high heavens with the mingling odors of diesel, urine, and fish.  There’s no place in Cubao where you can whip out your cellphone with confidence.  And the fact that it’s a transport hub, which means that it can get crowded and rowdy at times.

In the 13 stations of the MRT, there are four choke-points.  North Avenue, being the first station, takes the passengers from the CAMANAVA area and Novaliches.  Cubao is a major choke-point because it is the main transport hub of Metro Manila.  Ayala Station is dead-center of the Makati CBD, so it can be chaotic at times.  Taft Avenue, being the last station, takes up the passengers of everyone coming from Pasay City and everyone else south of it.

For a regular MRT commuter, Cubao is akin to the allegories of Dante, the muckraking of Upton Sinclair, and the “Huh?” moments you get watching “The World’s Biggest Gang Bang.”  Most trains already get to full capacity when they depart from the first station at North Avenue, then load up at Quezon Avenue and GMA-Kamuning.  Cubao is where push comes to shove.

Morning south-bound routes tend to be a test of patience, and to a certain extent, common sense.  For example, if you ride the MRT every day, it makes no sense to buy single-journey tickets every day.  Or if you know that the train is already loaded up, you wouldn’t try to pack the commuters already inside the train just so that you can afford yourself an extra few inches of space.  Of course, there’s that other alternative: wake up early and catch the first train to wherever you’re working, and spare yourself the hassle of the crowd.  Although some friends of mine swear by the “quicker” commuting solution to get to Makati from Cubao: ride LRT-2 from Cubao to Recto, and board the LRT-2 from Doroteo Jose to Gil Puyat.  It kind of makes sense, but who would believe in the sensibility of riding two trains and get to your destination quickly, instead of waiting for 30 minutes for space at one train?

I find it inconvenient to board the MRT at night whenever I go home from work, because I’m not actually in a hurry.  Whenever I go home, I take the bus.  (The other alternative would be to ride a jeepney that plys the Ortigas-Libis-Cubao route, ride a jeep bound for Lagro at Cubao, stop at Philcoa, and take another ride to UP Campus.  It’s expensive and impractical, but it sure as hell is faster than a bus by five precious minutes.)  That itself is not without its disadvantages and consequences…

Air-conditioned buses may be a nice way to get somewhere in Metro Manila, but it can get expensive (not to mention overloaded).  The choke-point is, of course, my least-favorite mall in Manila: Farmer’s Plaza.  What makes this place so dangerous and so irritating for bus commutes is that queuing is optional; it’s all a matter of getting to a bus door.

The irritated commuters in Cubao generally are people who would overlook personal discipline and blame things on the more mundane non-problems of the bus system.  Every bus is bound to have a problem, not the least of which is the complaint of a man who shouted that there aren’t “enough” doors on the bus, that’s why they can’t board.  It’s hard to reason with old men; I think there are more legitimate, perfectly understandable reasons for the failings of the bus operators than bus design.

So what does this tell us?  I have absolutely no idea, knowing that all the hectoring and preaching about “discipline” and “order” only results to justifying a lack of it – or its absence, even – in terms of your standing in the economy, or the failings of those richer than you.  As much as I hate to admit it, the Filipino consciousness has been so corrupted with convenience, with being “first” “in” “a line,” and just about everything else.

It’s a lot like Cubao: you either love to hate the justification, or you hate to love it.

Allow me to indulge in some self-promotion, ego massage, and to a certain extent, ass-kissing.

Last night, with an invitation from Mr. Carlo Ople, a few bloggers (myself included) had a casual dinner meeting with Senator Mar Roxas, more commonly known as “Mister Palengke.”  Now before you start to accuse me (again) of being a “sellout,” this is not an endorsement for Mar Roxas in 2010.  After all, I just may be crazy enough to run for the Presidency myself.  By then, I’ll be 25 and people will take me seriously.

The shindig was held at Annabel’s Tomas Morato where, over french fries, crackers, and a fantabulous dinner (for free… and hey, it was Annabel’s), the following bloggers and myself met with Sen. Roxas:

• Toots Ople
• Noemi Dado
• Lester Cavestany
• The Jester-in-Exile
• Arbet Bernardo
• Juned Sonido
• Sonnie Santos
• Abe Olandres
• Paolo Florenda
• Ding Gagelonia
• Gail Villanueva
• Marc Villanueva
• Ellen Tordesillas
• Manolo Quezon
• Ricky Carandang

Mr. Gagelonia writes a cool summary of the meeting at his entry at Filipino Voices, so please do check it out there.  It was also the launch of VirtualRally.net, which is a virtual form of EDSA where you can speak your mind about issues like VAT.

I’m not a very political blogger (and if that was a lie, let lightning strike me), and I sort of got confused with all that had to do with my question about E-VAT.  My theory is that a lot of politicians can answer a VAT question unfazed.  So I decided to ask the Senator a “cute” question (as Ma’am Noemi puts it)…

Sir, you watched The Dark Knight, right?  Who would you want to have dinner with: Joker, Two-Face, or Batman?

Now let me just say that this is not a profound philosophical question, I just wanted to know his answer…

I’d really like to talk to Two-Face and ask… “What happened to you?”

I leave you to make up your minds about it.

Anyway, here’s a picture of me and the Senator… I told you this was a shameless post!

Again, I’m not photogenic.  My camera phone sucks.  I had a fever.  I was chewing on gum.  And I don’t use glutathione.

I must say that I’m very impressed with the Senator’s geniality and attention to detail, although I was waiting for that one phrase when we discussed VAT: “taxation without representation.”  Didn’t happen, but oh well.  Another impression was that he was very articulate, and had a keen attention to detail (the guy takes down notes).

Is Mar Roxas Presidential timber?  Let’s wait and see.  How about Marocharim?  He’s dictator material.  Do you actually want to see my face in posters at EDSA?

*     *     *

Side notes: I am suffering from flu.  Note to self: no more tequila shots on fever.

This will be long.

I could - if I wanted to, so I will - write a stretched and overwrought “semiotic analysis” of the McDonald’s “pa-cheeseburger ka naman” meme.  In “The McDonaldization of Society,” the sociologist George Ritzer outlines four elements in the McDonald’s model that permeate modern capitalist society:

• Efficiency: the optimal method of finishing a task, translated to the fastest possible route to accomplishing it.
• Calculability: or simply put, “quantity above quality.”  Think of “Go Bigtime” meals that aren’t really big, but are “big” nonetheless.
• Predictability: it can also be put as “standardization.”  To use a cliché, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
• Control: everything becomes automatic, dehumanizing, and standardized.  If you work in outsourcing, you know this all too well.

On the one hand, you can stretch the semiotic to its extreme by saying that cheeseburgers placate Filipino society: no omnivorous Filipino will ever say no to a free cheeseburger.  “Cheeseburger” is the social version of Noni Juice (I don’t know where that thing went, either).  I don’t care if you’re on a diet, or if you’re for worker’s rights at McDo, you won’t pass up a chance at a free cheeseburger.  The process of making, eating, distributing, and meme-ficating a McDonald’s cheeseburger is efficient, calculable, predictable, and controlled.

Do I hate being asked for a cheeseburger for some absurd reason?  Yes.  Do I hate the cheeseburger itself?  No.  As a matter of fact, the lowly cheeseburger is one of my favorite food-like objects at McDo.  The real ingredients of the patty, much less the cheese, are best left to theory and speculation.  The consequence is much more strange, profound, and even irritating.  Upset stomachs, anyone?

Like I wrote earlier, cheeseburgers - metaphorical or real - placate Filipino society.  There are many examples of “cheeseburgers” in Filipino society.  Take the MRT: never mind treating your fellow person with respect by not invading his or her personal space by forming a queue, you would just cram yourself in with the same efficient, calculable, predictable, and controlled pace of cramming yourself into the train.  Or there’s my favorite “cheeseburger” of them all: not caring at all.

*     *     *

The SONA has come and gone, and there have been a lot of ranting all over the World Wide Internet on the matter of this strange, profound, irritating… efficient… calculable… predictable… controlled… line:

Before you start complaining and criticizing the government, you should first criticize yourself.  You always jump to conclusions.  Why not support the President?  You do nothing but criticize and criticize but you do nothing for this country.

That’s a précis, a paraphrase, and a summary of a lot of comments I’ve been reading for the past 30 minutes.

I admit that yes, there’s a lot of inconvenience in people like myself who challenged a (for all intents and purposes) McDonaldized society and Government.  To be honest, I don’t have to write about politics and what I think is wrong with This Government.  I don’t have to do anything, either.  All I’m doing, much less forcing myself to do (which is a tragedy in itself), is when I live up to the basic demands of being a citizen:

• The moment I buy something, I automatically am a taxpayer.
• The moment I first raised my hand to recite Panatang Makabayan, I automatically pledged my allegiance to this country “sa isip, sa salita, at sa gawa.”
• The moment I write “Filipino” on any - and I mean any - given form that requires me to write down my citizenship, I automatically affirm my being a Filipino.

If there’s any self-criticism to be done, it is by those who don’t act and do their share as citizens with rights guaranteed by the Constitution.  I bet a cheeseburger you can’t even criticize yourself since you’re so apathetic, so I guess I’ll do it for you.

There’s a little about “self-criticism” that I learned back in the day, and that’s you criticize yourself because you acknowledge that you, an individual, are part of a whole.  You criticize yourself because you’re part of something bigger than yourself.  There are a lot of things that happen to be your business as a taxpayer, as a citizen with guaranteed rights, as a Filipino, and not the least of which is the faults of The Government you put into power anyway.  Sure, the day-to-day affairs of The Government are “none of my business,” but the day-to-day things that bring about things like Garci tapes and NBN-ZTE happen to affect me, my taxes, and my flag.  So yes, they happen to be my business, your business, and certainly everybody’s business.

I’m not going to apologize for what follows next.

When you try to step on a cockroach, it will retaliate.  A protist, when disturbed from its peaceful state, will deliberately destroy its host.  A virus, when programmed with enough bullshit, will infect a living cell and wreak havoc.  It is only an apathetic, uncaring human being with absolutely no sense of civic duty that will do nothing.

It’s a tragedy when things like “citizenship” and “civic duty” become so alien and strange to us, but we do understand a cheeseburger meme.  If there’s anything worth giving cheeseburgers for nowadays, it’s not for the hatak crowd in whatever rally there is; it’s for people who actually do something, like stand up for their rights when they’re stepped on, and demand a bit of accountability and transparency from The Government.  Yes, you - Apathetic Filipino-By-Technicality - are lower in the evolutionary scale than a common roach and a flagellated protist, and viruses are better than you.

Kaya… pa-burger ka naman!

Philippine Mainstream Media has this rather absurd habit of reporting about the State of the Nation Address, in that they count the number of times the President is applauded during a speech.  I like to think of blinking “Applause” signs hanging under the rafters of Batasang Pambansa, where on cue, the audience will clap.  I think of it as a rather Pavlovian reaction: the gallery applauds the lies and incompetence of the President’s nationwide PowerPoint presentation.

There’s nothing about a SONA that (to use a favorite phrase) strikes me as strange.  In an ideal world, the SONA is supposed to be a truthful, transparent presentation of the ills and the problems of the Philippines, and what The Present Government is doing about it.  A SONA by Gloria Arroyo, surprisingly, does not depart too much from that ideal: a SONA is a truthful, transparent presentation of the ills and the problems caused by The Government that’s running the Philippines, and what The Present Government is not doing about it.

Truthful… by virtue of implication.

I have to disagree that the SONA is the rhetorical device used by the incumbent Regime to placate the Filipino people; that distinction goes to relief goods and crisp P500 bills you get at Landbank as a “subsidy” if you’re poor.  The SONA is a forum where, once a year, we celebrate lies with the intent to dupe the Filipino people into thinking that we have a functional government and a “Strong Republic,” that we feel the progress.  We don’t have to experience or acknowledge progress, ladies and gentlemen: we only need to feel it.  Besides, rhetoric requires that you know what’s going on.

I’ll be counting applause.