Word Stack or A Pile of Thoughts

I don’t usually blog about mushy-gushy personal reflection shit.  But for several days now, its been a running theme in the tangled lives of my friends, both here in the Philippines and in places yonder beyond the blue horizon.  I have my own opinions about all this, and I would like to dispense with these opinions for whoever to react to… even though right now i’m just thinking about Cecille Hoffman’s comments about the e-generation’s disregard for privacy.  Maybe later.  Anywho, here goes:

On Relationships
Instead of seeing relationships as deep and lasting, I view
them as temporal and fleeting. At first,
this philosophy may seem troubling and defeatist. However, that’s if we were to view “temporal
and fleeting” as meaning that human relationships are not worth investing
in. Rather, I see this nature of
“temporal and fleeting” as an impetus to make the most out of the relationship
while it lasts. What lasts after the goodbyes, tears and plane tickets are
memories; I want to make sure that the memories are good. Additionally, when I am not attached to the
relationships of the past, I can look forward to the next day and the new
people I’m going to meet. I want to look
at my old photographs and smile, and think about how great it was, and know
that today will be just as good. 

Romantic engagements are subject to this. People talk about how the true romance lasts,
and weathers and endures. However, this
is only if true romance is found. Love
is supposed to work both ways, and because of this, a real lasting kind of bond just happens. The right kind of love supercedes
self-interest. One do not stay with
someone just because that person suits one’s own particular needs; one stays with
someone because that’s just how it is. If it isn’t, then one shouldn’t push for it to be otherwise, because
people end up getting hurt. Most of my
friends have heard that if I had a girlfriend, it would because I just wanted to have
someone to be around and hang-out with in a special kind of way. In other words, a person who can share
moments on a much deeper and intimate level then my
friends. Someone told me that this was
selfish. I’ll admit, that it’s most
functionlist of me to take this viewpoint of what would commonly be considered
to be a romantic relationship. But you
see, I’m not thinking about romance; because its just supposed to happen to two
people when they see that they want to relate to the other person in the
context of love and commitment, and they have reached the point in their
relationship that love and commitment aren’t obligations, or duties, or
contractual by any nature, but rather as the result of their own desire for
freedom and release. Loving someone
should be a freeing experience, not a burden to any party. But until that happens, I want to simply
enjoy the mutually exclusive company of another human being. If love results from this, great and kudos to
the both of us, and best wishes on our journey together. If not, and we find that each other’s company
isn’t quite going to well, then its time to move on. I think that when people are open to other
people’s decisions, that’s ideal (and when I say “ideal” I don’t want to imply
that its impossible). Perhaps the
biggest mistake people make when they are supposedly in love is that they
objectify the person they love and start making demands on that person, in an
attempt to hold them close and maintain intimacy. But looking at the way my parents have worked
together and held on to each other… they took a very unintuitive approach. They never held each other down. Sacrifice was not asked, it was agreed upon,
or else offered. Both mom and dad gave,
because they saw each other as a team. And very important in this concept of team was that they both had their
own lives. Neither tied the other
down. Dad didn’t expect mom to conform
to his own particular expectations; neither did mom. Both of them continued on their career paths,
making decisions to ensure that the welfare of the team as a whole would be
forwarded. Even my sister and her
husband are doing the same thing. Miharu
works hard, and hardly comes home. Bart
doesn’t see her much. But when they are
with each other, there is no love lost, because neither of them are placing
pressure on the other. That’s how love
is supposed to work. Love sets people
free.

In the mind of so many people around the world, the coup in Thailand presents a step backwards.  Observers write about how dangerous the situation is, how long it will take for Sonthi Boonyaratglin to hand the power "back to the people".  From this perspective, we see the military take-over as a circumvention of proper democratic process; we see the generals as enforcing their own governance at the end of a machinegun.  We lament the fact that one of Asia’s most dynamic and progressive democracies was over-turned by a gun slinging cowboy like Gen. Sonthi. 

But all the criticism comes from outside the borders of Thailand.  Headlines like "Sonthi Gags the Media" (Philippine Star), and "Dark Days for Democracy" (TIME), paint a picture of a country in the grips of tyrannical and despotic rule. 

Within Thailand itself, the media companies all agree that the coup has been welcomed by the people.  This means that the Thai doesn’t necessarily agree with the assessment of the coup as an upset of democracy. 

Why is there a difference in perspective? 

Democracy: Form and Essence
When we examine the democracy, we have to keep in mind that the idea of "democracy" is that of a model for social dynamics.  This model is based on the idea that sovereignty lies in the will of the people; ultimately, it is not for a ruler or group of rulers to enforce their interests upon the people.  Let’s also be reminded that democracy is not necessarily a form of government.  Why do I say this?  Democracy is a social dynamic; governance is the mechanism by which is model is achieved.  "Small-Town Democracy" is the most straightforward example: the people in a community gather in the town square or meeting hall to all discuss and vote.  However, in large societies, this type of democracy is not feasible (however, I would like to think that technological advances may enable us to apply the "Small-Town Democracy" model to larger populations…think internet).  In larger societies, a different form of governance evolved, called Representative Democracy.  This means that the people elect leaders to represent their interests.  Leaders are simply conduits of the voter’s interests.  The nuances between Parliamentary systems, Congressional systems, Prime Minister or President… they all boil down to the basic idea that the will of the people must be represented, as the value of the public interest supercedes all other values if a democratic society is to be achieved. 

The essence of democracy is the articulation and execution of the will of the people; the form of democracy refers to the mechanisms through which the essence of democracy is achieved.

The mistake so many people make is that they equate form with essence, rather then one following from the other.  This mistake is expressed when people point to the mechanisms of government as the indicator of a democratic society.  In other words, if a country has free elections, a working legislative branch, a functioning non-government controlled media, and government with checks and balances– we can call it a democracy. 

But the problem arises when a government uses the form and calls itself "democratic", even if the essence of democracy is unfulfilled.

Southeast Asian Pseudo-democracies
The term "pseudo-democracy" refers to the idea of oligarchial or despotic regimes masquerading as democracies.  This means that the government conforms in democratic form, while actually hijacking its own mechanisms so that the interests of those in government take premium over the interests of the people.  Our own government is being accused of this kind of behaviour.  Whether its true or not, we don’t know, because the government is also preventing any kind of proper investigation into its activities.  Thailand was also in the same situation.

Thaksin Shinwatra, for the past months, had side-stepped the repeated calls for him to step down.  He was accused of rigging the elections.  He has accused of corruption.  He never faced the music, and continued to betray the people of Thailand.  For the past few years, Thaksin had claimed the democratic form, but undermined its essence.

Did the people of Thailand sanction Gen. Sonthi’s move to take the government?  For many Thai’s, the coup was welcomed; this is a clue that the coup itself was democratic in essence, though not in form.  Another vital factor of the success and democratic nature of the coup is the support given by His Majesty the King.  The integrity of His Majesty makes him the most respected and revered monarch in the world today.  The people follow the words of the King without question, not out of fear, but out of respect.  Is this contrary to western democratic form which grants no title of nobility to anyone?  Of course.  But this is the political culture of Thailand, and this is how the people function.  If the His Majesty supports the coup, then all is well for the people.  Lastly, the military of Thailand does not serve the government; it serves the people.  From this perspective, the people do not view the military as a force to be feared, but as a weapon to be wielded.  It is a different paradigm from the mindset of western-style governance.

Gen. Sonthi’s move was not undemocratic.  It was actually the triumph of democracy over the blindfolds that Thaksin was using to decieve the people.  It was the essence of democracy overturning a broken form.  Rather then being "dark days", I see the Thai coup as a light in the darkness. 

He was dreaming.  In his dream, a hundred blades rose into the air, floating above a field of grass beneath a sky of fire.  In his dream, the blades rose, higher and higher, around him, above him, cold steel flashing in the orange light.  And a single edge appeared before him, a sliver of cold light, and in his hand, he held a sword, its steel covered in rime, its soul speaking to his heart, stabbing his very being until in his mind’s eye he beheld himself the blade.

Karl lay awake, his frail chest rising and falling in the shadows of his darkned room.  He didn’t want to go back to sleep.  Something told him that he must not go back to sleep. 

The young man turned his head, looking out the window, at the moon, shining in full glow above the city.  It’s a sight fit for kings, he thought to himself.  Only, it wasn’t silk that passed for a curtain to keep the night wind from blowing into his home; it was a dirty rag scrounged from the bottom of a garbage pile.  No ornaments decorated this tiny chamber, this abandoned tower; only bones and rats and the refuse of a outcast living at the edge of a glittering city.

He coughed, and pulled his blankets about him tighter.  You must not fall asleep, the thought passed his mind, and Karl forced his tired eyes open.  He looked up, at the large hole in the roof of the abandoned tower, and looked at the stars, lonely in the dark sky.  Far above him, the stars twinkled.

"They do not twinkle because they are dancing, you know," Karl whispered to himself.  Somehow, the sound of his own voice comforted him.
"Then why do they twinkle in the way they do?"
"They twinkle because they are shivering, shivering because they are cold, cold because they are alone."
Karl shivered, and pulled the blankets closer around him.  Slowly, he felt warmth.  His nest of rags felt soft, and then Perhaps even a king hasn’t a bed as warm and soft as mine, and he smelled the mildew growing on the rags.  His eyes closed, a rat’s feet pattered over old boards, and he fell asleep.  Why had he been staying awake?

The armor of the warrior was spattered with blood and gore, her body steaming in the winter air.  The furs she wore were matted and revolting.  He felt her hand grasp him, and her desire flow through him.  He saw her eyes, pools of darkness beneath her helm, her black hair flowing beneath the steel and leather.  She wanted victory.  He wanted her.  A flash of light, and warmth, spreading over him, a thrust, a twist, and he gave her what she wanted.  He felt himself sliding through flesh, urged onward by her will.  And when his task was finished, she smiled, and raised him, steel towards the burning sky.

And in his dreams, Karl was not alone.

PCGG execs: Why not abolish Senate?   
            
            By Alcuin      Papa, Veronica       Uy
            Inquirer, INQ7.net
            Last updated 10:49pm (Mla time) 09/20/2006

(UPDATE) INSTEAD of the Presidential Commission on Good Government, why not abolish the Senate instead?

This was the reaction of PCGG Commissioners Ricardo Abcede and
Nicacio Conti to opposition Senator Aquilino Pimentel’s move to revive
a bill proposing the abolition of the commission that was formed to
recover the ill-gotten wealth of the late dictator Ferdinand Marcos,
his family and his cronies.

“It’s really up to Congress. I don’t want to cling to any position.
But let us compare our records. Maybe it is the Senate that should be
abolished, not the PCGG,” Abcede said.

Conti pointed out that since it was established in 1986, the PCGG has remitted around 60 billion pesos to the National Treasury.

He said that during the term of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo,
the PCGG recovered 35 billion pesos, or more than half of the total
amount recovered since 1986, outperforming all previous administrations
in ill-gotten wealth recovery.

The PCGG also won a string of vital cases against the Marcoses and
their cronies, including those on the Swiss accounts, the coconut levy
fund, and the disputed shares of the Philippine Long Distance Telephone
Co. which will generate around 25 billion pesos for the government, he
said.

Conti said the commission has also handed over several thousands of
hectares of agricultural lands to the Department of Agrarian Reform for
distribution to landless farmers as beneficiaries.

By comparison, Abcede said that out of 2,200 bills filed by the present Senate, only nine have been passed into law.

“How dismal can you get? There are endless investigations supposedly
in aid of legislation instead of meaningful legislation to uplift our
country,” he said.

He also cited a statement of Senator Edgardo Angara that the present Senate was “the least productive in the last 20 years.”

The PCGG performs a vital task “going against powerful and even
dangerous people. We are small and simple public servants doing what is
right,” Abcede said.

He pointed out that it has a long list of accomplishments achieved
with a meager budget, “smaller than the pork barrel of any legislator.”
With a report from Christine Avendaño

This is all very encouraging.  The kind of discourse that characterizes Philippine politics is clearly exemplified above, where everyone complains about everyone.  No wonder people are so jaded with our government.  It’s a load of crap to say that the PCGG is absconded of accountability from the Senate.  Yet, at the same time, it’s the painful truth that the Senate is full of buwaya as well, who drive Ford Expeditions around a country where 70% of the population live on less then P50.00 a day. 
No one in the government has the moral high ground to call someone else in the government corrupt.  Corruption is institutionalized, it’s SOP; everyone has their slimy hands in the cookie jar of crime and public betrayal. 

What then is the solution?  I find the solution of revolution, at least in the Marxist/Socialist sense, or even in the French Revolution sense, to be simplistic at this point.  That’s not the kind of world we live in anymore– to say that we need to drag the trapos out into the streets and shoot them or behead them is barbaric…and revolutions always boil down to the mob, which has no mind.  Read Jean-Paul Marat’s words, as the people in the streets cried for their bread and asked Marat where their revolution had gone.  And yet, all Marat could do was simply hang his head and sigh to himself, as the fire in his body consumed him. "They do not understand," he says.  A mob never understands anything.  And when demagogues or ideologues stand before the people and cry for vengeance, all they will get is blood, pain, and lost reforms.

There has to be a better way to change society, without the pain and suffering and bloodshed.  Don’t talk to me about "In order to make the omelette, you have to crack the eggs".  Bad analogy.

Education is where it must start.  Slow, without immediate results, without overnight coups or shots in the dark– that’s where i’ll put my money.  Educate the people, teach them to think and to think well.  Do not let the population be swayed or swindled.  Teach every person to think on their own.  Outlook, appreciation, ideas and articulation… all have to be improved.  The basis of stable democracy is an educated public.  That’s a prerequisite the Filipino people haven’t acquired yet.  And as long as we keep looking for the quick fix, we’re going to stuck with on and off governance and pseudo-democracy.

I discovered her in a whisper, cast over endless railroad tracks and snow.  I discovered her in a mug of coffee and a morning smile, and a slender strand of light between the pillow and blankets.  I discovered her between the raindrops, on the blades of young grass, on the leaf that falls on a noonday breeze.  I found her secret garden, her secret garden, in the shadows of her mind, in the wild places of her body.  And there I, deep within her, I found myself.

Five years after the September 11 attacks. 

Five years ago, it was a Wednesday morning in Stafford, Virginia.  A mist clung to the woods around our home in the American suburb, and my breath put out steady puffs as I crunched my way to the bus stop. It was a typical autumn morning in Virginia. 

The bus came at exactly 6:53, as scheduled and on time.  I found my way to my usual seat, and I stared out at the morning, passing by quiet houses. Discarded bicycles and some kid’s toys lay strewn across a few lawns; a woman hurried to start her cold sedan, a steaming spill-free coffee mug in her hand. I thought to myself about how ordinary this day would be.  If there’s anything I remember with clarity about that day, it was thinking about how ordinary the day would be, and I enumerated all the classes I would be attending and trudging through before I’d collapse on my bed, and wait for another boring day to come.

The school was a press of students, jackets, bookbags, linoleum floors and bright lights.  The slow beeps of the bell annoucing classes, and the hairstyles and perfume moving through the halls.  The slamming of lockers.  The hurried see-you-later’s and i-forgot-something’s said before the classrooms closed, and another day in Brooke Point High began.

That was how September 11, 2001 began for me.

I remember the eyes, staring with horror at the television screen.  The smoke and flames.  The silence as the world slammed into our hearts.  Always, I will remember the silence. 

Jeff Davis, now probably an officer in the US Marine Corps, responded immediately to the news of the attack on the Pentagon.  He hugged his girlfriend, and left to make a dreaded phone call.  Jeff’s father was part of the Marine Corps staff at the Pentagon, and was working that day.  His father wouldn’t come home for the next two weeks. 

School let out early, and very few people spoke on the bus home.  Our worlds had changed. Osama Bin Ladin, Al-Qaida, terrorism, the DC sniper, islamic fundamentalism, John Walker, Ogrish, Syriana, Saudi Arabia, Michael Moore, Homeland Security, Coalition, imbedded reporters, Fallujah, Basra, Abu Al-Zarqawi, Bali, Jemayah Islamiyah… remember the steady, march of tragedy and horror since that day in September.

Just because you play Dungeons and Dragons doesn’t mean you’re a geek, a nerd, a twenty-five year old outcast of society living in his mother’s basement surrounded by stale Pringles chips and empty Mountain Dew  bottles.  Playing Dungeons and Dragons doesn’t mean losing yourself in a world that doesn’t exist, completely disregarding the demands and existence of the real world.  It doesn’t mean that you dress up in cloaks and cardboard armor and swing sticks at imaginary monsters.  It doesn’t mean that you are a loser with no girlfriend, doomed to a negative social status, unable to associate with normal human beings. I happen to be a Dungeons and Dragons player.  In fact, I’m the referee
in the game, which we play every Saturday evening.  Does this mean I’m
a fat, anti-social loser whose nose is permanently stuck in a
rule-book?  Do I have to conform to the common image of the dork
without a life?

Oh, gamers just don’t get it.  These days, every gamer wants to be nerd.

Skip Williams (one of the authors of the D&D rulebooks) explained that the game is about allowing the players to make choices.  This can range from something as simple as letting the players decide if their characters take the left tunnel or the right, to something as complicated as helping another character even if it means sacrificing treasure.  In the same way, players are allowed a choice: To be a nerd or not.  To lose themselves in an escapist fantasy; or use the game as an intellectual and creative social exercise as a way to pass time with a bunch of friends (without getting drunk or high). 

There is so much bad stigma attached to words like "fantasy", "role-playing", and "dungeons & dragons".  This is thanks to all the losers out there who couldn’t handle puberty. 

I’m rather proud of my gaming group; we have mountain bikers, skim boarders, archers, student leaders, a Dj from a local radio station, a writer for the school paper, debaters, singers and body builders.  When we get together on saturday evenings, its not just about the game; its about hanging out and catching up because we’re all so busy during the week. When we play Dungeon’s and Dragons, its an excuse to hang-out and just have plain good fun.

    I think Dumaguete knows what kind of content characterises a lot of local newspapers.  Some would call it maka-masa journalism—writing geared towards the majority demographic of the population.  This kind of writing assumes the readers to have no more then a high school education, while earning at the lower end of the income curve.  The resulting content in the newspaper is often sensationalist and shallow: instead of finding social relevance and seeking to convey to the reader a sense of deeper analysis, local papers try to play up the gory details.  The news writers use quotes that have a particular emotion in order to appeal to the reader’s senses, rather then intellect.  The font-size of the letters are conspicously enlarged, probably either to fill in space or to make the letters easier to read for people who are assumed to not read much. 
This practice is not limited to Dumaguete papers alone.  Across the country, metropolitan as well as provincial newspapers go for the sensational/shallow formula. 

    There are reasons for this, but the basic idea is that newspapers (or any other media for that matter) must reflect the audience they are writing for.  The theory is that communication must be understandable to the one being communicated to, so the message is clear.  This theory of communication has been the basis for the sensational/shallow formula in newspapers, as well as the programs shown on Filipino television, and the movies that end up in our theaters.
If we examine the model of communication stated above, it seems to be sensible; how can an idea be successfully communicated if the audience can’t understand the idea?  The theory makes sense.  However, in the application, a problem arises: the newspapers continue to lower their standards, without raising the level of discourse of the society.  In other words, the newspapers merely reflect the masa, rather then creating it.

    What is this idea of creating a masa?  Let me use a swimming pool to illustrate this idea.  If a child learns to swim in a shallow pool, and never progresses to a deeper pool, the child will never know how to swim in deeper water.  The parents who let the child swim in the shallow pool cater to the lowest standards of what they believe the child is capable of.  But the child can never become a great swimmer if she stays where she is; her parents have to let her go to deeper water, and develop into a better swimmer.  For as long as the child remains in the shallow water, that child will always be a shallow swimmer.

    In the same way, if the newspapers and other media continue to assume that the majority of the Filipino people are simpletons and unappreciative of sophisticated thinking, then there can be no improvement in the way the thinking and discussion of the people who read their papers.  We want to reverse this kind of communication; instead of the papers catering to the level of thinking that characterises the people, the papers instead start raising their own standards.  This creates an atmosphere of growth, where people start to match their thinking to what they read.  Instead of the papers reflecting the people, the people start reflecting the papers. 

    It wouldn’t be reasonable to expect local newspapers to become little versions of the New York Times or The Economist.  But what should be expected is a little more analysis, a little more social relevance, a little more research.  For example, the reporting on the rape of a teenager in Dumaguete City.  The newspapers sensationalized it and showed blurred images of the victim and the man who allegedly committed the crime.  The papers focused on the outraged public and the bereaved parents.  The story was treated as a drama, unfolding before the people’s eye, with all the emotion, blood and tears of in-your-face reality.  That’s great sensationalism.  But the problem was that the newspapers only stopped there; they didn’t go deeper.
What about statistics of crime in the city, and the noticeable rise of criminal activity over the past three years?  What about criticizing the barangay for not policing its citizens?  What about the reasons why the crime was committed?  Was the man on drugs?  Were there prior indicators to warn the neighbors, the co-workers and family that the man may have been acting in an abnormal manner?  What steps is the city taking to make it safe for students to go home at night?  Are the recent crimes somehow connected with the harsher enforcement of laws in other cities in the region, forcing criminals to go to places where vigilantes and the government aren’t so active in policing the populace?  These are just a few questions that were lost in a story that, instead of raising the discussion to a new level, contented itself with merely being a paper-version of reality tv.

The Croc Hunter died today, killed by a stingray’s barb off the coast of northern Australia, while making an underwater documentary.  This is the first time I feel the death of a celebrity as a personal tragedy.  Steve Irwin was 44 and in his life, he had accomplished so much for the campaign for wildlife conservation.  I consider him to be one of the heroes of our generation, like Bono, Steve Jobs, or Koffi Annan.  I remember watching Irwin clamber over crocodiles and jump on top of snapping turtles and think "This guy is nuts! He’s gonna get hurt, he’s just asking for it!" But the truth was, he didn’t get hurt, and even if he did, he loved the animals around him. 

In a way, it seems a fitting end, a death worthy of the man who risked it all to bring the animals to our televisions and into our hearts and consciousness.  I haven’t heard of too many people killed by a stingray barb through the chest.  I believe that for us, the Croc Hunter-philes, its necessary to continue what Steve Irwin started, to fight for the conservation of our wildlife, to preserve our planet for our children.  We need to appreciate and love what God’s given to us, and live with as much enthusiasm and gusto as Steve Irwin did. 

Crikey!

The dusty ceiling fan makes barely a whisper of breath in the heavy classroom air, and the drone of the professor’s voice creates a thick soup of muddled ideas, a brain-haze, a mind fog.  I glance, and a beam pierces my blurred thoughts, stabbing into my eyes the vision of a portal of angel-light, a delicate hand and a strand of black hair.  She holds her pen, and spins it upon her slender fingers, and raises it to her lips, chewing, playing, her face contorted as she tries to concentrate on a lesson lost in oblivion. She glances back, and I look away, back to the chalk on the blackboard.