why not?: notes on tedx fort bonifacio

Yesterday's TEDx at Fort Bonifacio was, in keeping with TED tradition, a celebration of ideas. Not of the abstract kind, but of the practical kind. Ideas that inspire, challenge, and make one think.

First off, Ana Arce posed a challenge: make the world a little more Deaf-(with a capital "D" as opposed to "deaf") friendly. Have closed captioning and subtitles in movies. Or better yet, have sign language interpreters. For more about Ana's talk, read this.

Dr. Lourdes Cruz, who has worked extensively with the Ayta community in Morong, Bataan, presented the 4-helix model for S&T-based economic development. It's a mouthful, but it basically means giving the community a say in their development. It's a doable alternative to the usual development model, which relies on a 3-way interface between government, the academe, and business.

The inventions of the prolific Dr. David Manalo were actually very simple solutions to common and simple problems. As he said in this talk, "Why complicate the solution when the problem is simple?" His inventions had been awarded grants from the World Bank, no less. An audience favorite was the carabao decoy: kept outside the house, mosquitoes are supposed to flock to it, effectively sparing the people inside the house from mosquito bites. A simple solution, indeed -- but no awards or grants for that one.

Young photojournalist VJ Villafranca showed the audience a different way of seeing the world -- through the lens of a digital camera. From this vantage point, he explored the grit and grime of BASECO, an urban poor community in Manila. Each photo is a story in black and white, framed in stark contrast and harsh reality.

The husband-and-wife team of Drs. Chris and Marivic Bernido ended TEDx with a presentation on the sorry state of science education in the country -- and what they have done to turn it around. The figures are certainly impressive: 1% of high school seniors performing excellently in the sciences, and higher percentages getting average and above-average scores. At an estimated 700,000 high school seniors, 1% is 7,000 students. Wow.

TEDx organizer Gene Battung introduces the next speaker while Veronica Perez, dean of the De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde School of Deaf Education and Applied Studies, signs for the Deaf community.

In the end, what defined my TEDx experience was the fact that the ideas presented in the talks entered not only the broad realm of possibility, but more importantly, of doability.

So why not have more sign language interpreters? Why not involve communities in rural development? Why not use water to generate electricity for communities in the mountains? Why not use photos to tell stories and document life? Why not improve students' performance in the sciences? It's possible after all. So why not?

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I'm a TED fan, so it was only natural that, when I heard about TEDx happening at the Fort, I wanted to go.

But just to be clear, this wasn't the first TEDx talk in Manila. And hopefully not the last.

vote for efren peñaflorida

If I could choose a beat, good news would be it -- stories about people like Efren Peñaflorida, Jr., people who make a difference.

More than 10 years ago, Peñaflorida and his friends founded an organization called Dynamic Teen Company, which has taken great strides in helping less fortunate children. He and his friends were in high school at the time. Since then, this young man has worked untiringly for the children under his organization's care.

Vote for Peñaflorida as CNN Hero of the Year.

To learn more, click here or watch the video below.

an "ondoy" survival story

What makes survivors out of ordinary people? Is it luck? Being at the right place at the right time? Will and determination? The Forces That Be?

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I was waiting in line at the supermarket the other day and a lady at the other counter was telling the guy beside her the story of how a child miraculously survived the floods caused by tropical storm "Ondoy" while its mother, beside her, perished. "For some, it was their time -- but not for this child," I heard the lady saying in Pilipino.

Doubtless, everyone has a story to tell about "Ondoy," whether it's his/her own or someone else's, or something heard or witnessed. These stories will be told over and over to anyone who will care to listen, passed on to those who were not there, and remembered for the lessons they contain. For these are survival stories -- stories that inspire us, move us, and give us hope; stories that strengthen us and validate who we are and more importantly, who we can be in the face of even the most devastating appearances.

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The following was part of an email written by Nadj B., an underwater hockey player and triathlete. With her permission, I am posting it here as a first-person account of the floods caused by "Ondoy." Like thousands of Filipinos living in Marikina, Cainta, and other parts of Metro Manila hardest hit by the storm, Nadj and Chari O., also an underwater hockey player and triathlete, had to climb onto roofs and wait until either the waters subsided or help came.

This is their story.

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I was having lunch with Chari in her house when it struck. We were supposed to ride that morning with FF in Alabang and/or do endurance training for underwater hockey that afternoon. All of which thankfully didn't push through, else her elderly parents would've been alone in the house with one frightened helper and five terrified dogs -- three of which are now missing.

I don't even know where to begin telling the story. Pretty much how we all felt when we went back to the house and saw the ruin. The floor was covered in foot-deep mud, the ceiling looked like it was going to fall any minute; heavy cabinets, pots and pans, electronic system, tables, sofas, beds... eveything was either floating or just on top one another stuck in mud. There was a dining chair on top of their gate, a barking dog atop their perimeter wall, cars on top of each other outside. You've seen the news. But it's much much different when you're actually there and seeing all the shambles; much much different when you actually have to wade through rising flood in grounded water (most terrifiying for me); much much different when it's your story to tell. Chari and I cut our feet in attempts to reach loved ones who were yelling for help in other parts of the house; Chari cut her wrist when she broke the glass door in our desperate attempt to save all her dear dogs. Her parents were wet and shivering on top of the roof. Everything played out like it was in the movies only this time it was (really) real.

On the rooftop, you could see other people madly scrambling to get to the top. People hanging on to branches of trees yelling for help; a lola (grandmother) who was hanging on for dear life while she literally hung like a butiki (gecko) on the bottom side of their rooftop. We helped everyone up. We helped comfort those who needed comforting. Sometimes, a gentle talk and just a little encouragement were all they needed to bravely get from one point to another. We helped people cross roofs and make paths where people rapelled and pets were guided from one roof to the balcony of another. We managed to reach the 3rd floor of a neighbor's house where it was safe and dry.

There, the experience was altogether surrreal. Everyone had a story to tell. A woman was crying her eyes out as she told the stoy of all her dogs being trapped in a closed room. A woman from the other roof was having a seizure. After everything had somehow settled, Chari and I tended to our wounds. Luckily, we were able to ask for some betadine and cotton before the 2nd floor rooms became inaccessible. The adrenaline was going down and we were both starting to feel the pain. Chari's cuts on her right foot and right hand were all much much deeper than mine. We wrapped our bandaged wounds in torn grocery platic bags just to keep them dry.

We were dry, safe; we ate hot food, and we had toilet and water. Other people on other roofs were not as lucky as they sat wet and cold huddled under flimsy umbrellas. They stayed that way for more than 12 hours. I couldn't help but feel guilty for all the "comfort" we had. If only there was something more we could do other than try to survive the night.

At around 10am we were walking through the filthiest water we've ever been in: dead dogs, dead rodents, dead cats, garbage, feces... it was the longest, dreariest 500m. But again, we were still lucky. Other people were dead in other areas.

Afterward we proceeded to the hospital to get tetanus shots. The doctors didn't stitch Chari as her wounds were already more than 24 hours.

Thank you to all our friends who kept us in their prayers. I'm sure that it was your loving and sincere thoughts that kept us safe and serendipitously sent RY our way yesterday.

More stories to tell but we'll probably just tell you in person.

help for victims of typhoon ondoy ('ketsana')

posted on YouTube by user mcfly1151985

For donations and/or inquiries:

1. ABS-CBN Sagip Kapamilya Hotline: +632 4132667 / +632 4160387 / +632 4163641
2. Bureau of Fire Protection Region III (Central Luzon) Hotline: +6345 9634376)
3. Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD): +632 9517119 / +63918 4217890
4. GMA Kapuso Foundation: +632 9289351 / +632 9284299
5. Marikina City Rescue: +632 6462436 / +632 6462423 / +63920 9072902
6. Metro Manila Development Authority (MMDA): 136 / 16220 / 16211 / +63917 5592884
7. National Capital Regional Police Office (NCRPO) Hotline: +632 8333203 / +632 8383354
8. National Disaster Coordinating Council (NDCC) : +632 9125668 / +632 9111406 / +632 9115061 / +632 9122665
9. NDCC Help hotlines: +632 7342118 / +632 7342120 / ndcchelpdesk@gmail.com
10. Pasig Rescue Emergency Number: +632 6310099
11. Philippine Coast Guard: +632 5276136
12. Philippine National Red Cross: 143 / +632 5270000
13. Philippine National Red Cross Rizal Chapter operations center hotline: +632 6350922 / +632 6347824
14. Quezon City Rescue: 161
15. San Juan City Hall Command Post: +632 4681697

posted on YouTube by user bongvideos

typhoon "ondoy" (re)told through social media

26 September 2009. The day will go down in history as the day the skies opened and released the most rainfall in a single day that the nation had seen since 1967 -- 455 millimeters, as compared to 344 millimeters on 7 June of that year. That's more than what "Katrina" dumped on Louisiana a few years ago, according to this story. In fact, as much rain fell in just six hours as in a month.

It wasn't so much that it rained hard as that it rained continuously. And with this record rainfall came the worst flood the nation had ever experienced. Even at storm signal #1, which was what PAGASA said it was, Metro Manila streets were flooded in no time. One can only guess what the final estimates of damage to life, property, and infrastructure will be.

Nobody saw it coming. Nobody could have.

mobile technology + social networking

Many Metro Manila residents, unmindful that "the great flood" was coming, went about their usual business. Some remained unmindful as it was happening and were alerted later on.

It was only through their trusty mobile phones that most who were stranded sent SOS's to tell loved ones and friends of their situation. Cristine Reyes, for example, stranded on the roof of their Provident Village, Marikina home, was interviewed on TV via mobile phone patch.

By Saturday afternoon, my sister's Facebook account was showing a number of photos and videos of flooded areas -- most shot with mobile phones from windows of tall buildings. They were forwarded by friends who also received them on Facebook or on their mobile phones, or found on YouTube.

Later in the day, calls for help circulated via SMS -- a friend whose husband and young children were stranded on a flooded street, a family stuck on the roof of their house, among others.

= communicating in emergency situations

Communicating in emergency situations has come a long way since the days when one had to go to a radio or TV station to air a panawagan (roughly, a public service request or call for attention). In the rural areas, radio or TV may still rule -- but there, as in Metro Manila, the mobile phone is ubiquitous.

Add to this the popularity of social networking sites such as Facebook, and you have probably the best way to exchange information and communication, especially among Metro Manila residents.

This doesn't necessarily spell the end for traditional mass media, but with more and more people relying on SMS and social networking sites, we should certainly think about harnessing these media to benefit all.

After this experience, I wonder: If weather/flood alerts or such notices from PAGASA and other government agencies were to be disseminated via SMS or Facebook, would they reach more people faster?

Would we be more prepared for a situation like this?

Perhaps only while mobile phone batteries and Internet connections last.

notes on cotabato city

Fact: Cotabato City is not located in North nor in South Cotabato. It used to be the capital of Cotabato Province, which used to be the largest province in the entire country. The province has since been divided into North Cotabato, South Cotabato, Maguindanao, and Sultan Kudarat. 

Fact: Cotabato City is found within the borders of the province of Maguindanao, but is not considered part of that province. (It used to be, though.)

Fact: Cotabato City is "the regional center of the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao," but it is not part of the ARMM. It is actually part of Region XII or SOCCSKARGEN.

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The members of the Cotabato City Tourism Council were very accommodating and patient in answering all our questions. More than this, one could sense their genuine pride in sharing with us various facets of their collective story as Cotabateños -- from the Palasyo ng Masa (People's Palace) to the etymology of the name "Cotabato," from the uses of inaul to the "lost wax" brass making process, from the finer points of eating durian to the hows of preparing agar-agar (seaweed) and the different delicacies of the area.  

It was an experience I don't think I'll ever forget, and I do hope to return there someday.

an ifugao child

What will life be like for this Ifugao child?

Everyday, this child will wake to cheerful birdsongs and glorious sunrises. At night, she will be lulled to sleep by cool mountain breezes and the rhythmic calls of the crickets.

In time, she will learn the ways of her elders, and wear the colors of her tribe with pride. She will walk with the grace and dignity of her people, sure footed on even the steepest and most winding mountain trails. She will learn to work closely with Nature, knowing when the grains of rice will be ready for harvest, relying on the sun and the stars for the time, and the clouds for the weather.

And yet, this child will grow up differently.

As the times change, so will her future.

Another path is opening up to children like her. She will have more opportunities than those before her. The world will be at her feet.

She will have the best of both
tradition and modernity. She will retain the wisdom of her people, yet learn to harness technology for her needs.

She will stand tall beside people of other cultures, sure of her own identity. She will defend her rights -- as a woman, as an Ifugao, and as a person, above all -- and stand up for the rights of others.

Her spirit will soar, free and unfettered, even as she stays grounded in her reality. She will live with purpose, claiming all that is hers, and giving back all that she can.

With the grace of God, the love and support of her family, the blessings of Nature, and the benefit of a good education, this child will be all she can be.

electricity in pula: good or bad?

Sitio Pula in the mountains of Asipulo, Ifugao*, which has gone without electricity for years, will reportedly have electricity in a few months.

The news has been met with different reactions. There is anticipation, if not relief, and maybe even eagerness from the residents. This opens up a whole new world for them -- of lights, more appliances, and radio and television programs. Already, one of the women we spoke with is certain that early bedtimes will become a thing of the past for her family, as they will most likely spend their nights watching TV.

On the other side of the spectrum, those who have visited or lived in Pula think that electricity may not necessarily be a good thing for the community.

"It will take away some of the charm," a volunteer said.

"You'll see the effects of electricity -- good and bad. I guarantee it," said another.

Now no one ever talks about the dangers of owning and running electrical lights, refrigerators, or even carpentry equipment. So quite obviously, the concern stems from the perceived negative effects of television and radio on the quiet little community.

media consumption
According to the National Statistics Office 2003 Functional Literacy, Education and Mass Media Survey (FLEMMS), the Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR), of which Ifugao Province is a part, has a functional literacy rate (able to read, write, compute, and comprehend) of 85.4%. CAR also has a high proportion of population vis-a-vis college education, second only to the National Capital Region (NCR).

Despite the encouraging figures, Pula is not teeming with newspapers and magazines; the nearest place to buy a newspaper is the capital town of Lagawe or even Kiangan, both about an hour away. In the 2003 FLEMMS, CAR showed one of the lowest rates of frequency of newspaper reading. Only 51.1% of the population in CAR relied on newspapers for knowledge and information. Radio was the most popular medium at 69.9% -- the highest number of radio listeners anywhere in the country -- while television registered only 53.3% -- not surprisingly, the lowest.

If the literacy rate in CAR is so high, why are the people listening to radio and watching TV more than reading newspapers? Their media preference might be a result of media infrastructure more than anything. Limited accessibility -- especially of Asipulo -- makes newspaper delivery difficult. On the other hand, the region as a whole has the advantage of geographic height, making it able to receive radio signals clearly.

an electrified pula
With electricity, the stillness that envelopes Pula will most likely be punctured by blaring stereo, radio, and TV sets.

Media exposure will undoubtedly continue to be heavily slanted towards radio and TV. This means faster availability and more effective delivery of news and information, which are so important to remote communities.

But -- and especially for TV -- this also means exposure to imported telenovelas, noontime variety shows, showbiz gossip, and programs with violence and sex.

These programs do nothing to support the Ifugao way of life or reinforce traditional values and ideals. In fact, it would be accurate to say that, with media's tendency to be Manila-centric, the Ifugao are underrepresented in TV and radio.

Would this be the end of a way of life? Only the people of Pula can say.

Without electricity, Pula has stayed disconnected from the rest of the country for years. It has kept their way of life intact, and their culture pure. But no one has the right to impose that this community community without electricity and its conveniences forever.

Exposure to TV and even radio programs may very well be an imposition of non-Ifugao culture on Pula. But for Pula residents, having electricity means being connected through TV and radio to life outside Asipulo and Ifugao. Good or bad, it is something that can't be avoided.

All we can do is hope that Ifugao culture and traditions are strong enough to withstand the introduction and intrusion of media and Manila-centric culture.

* I first wrote about Asipulo, Ifugao here.

a national identity

In this age of globalization and the resulting homogenization of culture, does a Filipino identity stand any chance of surviving and prospering? Even without external influences, are our lifeways too diverse, the differences too pronounced, to produce a unified culture?

Section 3 of Republic Act 7356 discusses national identity this way:

Culture reflects and shapes values and beliefs and emulates the aspirations of the people’s cultural wisdom, thereby defining a people’s national identity. A Filipino national culture that mirrors Philippine economic, social, and political life shall be evolved, promoted and conserved.

Republic Act 7356, also known as "The Law Creating the National Commission for Culture and the Arts," defines culture as "a human right" in Section 2, as follows:

Culture is a manifestation of the freedom of belief and of expression, and is a human right to be accorded due respect and allowed to flourish.

Is it too naive or pretentious to think that the culture of the lowlands is as important as that of the seaside or the mountains? In Manila, a veritable melting pot, culture seems to be absent -- but this absence, of course, is in itself a culture. The farther away from Manila, the more evident the culture, it seems. Can one residing in a remote mountain barrio really embrace the culture of another on the opposite side of the country as being "Filipino?"

It is no big surprise that those living outside Manila strive to preserve their way of life. Take Filipino communities in other countries, for example. They seem more bent on celebrating, if not preserving, their Filipino-ness than the average Manileño.

Section 7 of the same law emphasizes the importance of preserving Filipino heritage:

It is the duty of every citizen to preserve and conserve the Filipino historical and cultural heritage and resources.

The reality is, no one can claim a monopoly on being Filipino or on living a Filipino life. Being Filipino is not just one particular characteristic or set or characteristics. Nor is it one dialect, one dress, one dish. One's duty to preserve and conserve is, simply, one's duty to be a Filipino.

fr. honti's 'pananagutan'

"Walang sinuman ang nabubuhay para sa sarili lamang, walang sinuman ang namamatay para sa sarili lamang (No one lives for himself alone, no one dies for himself alone)."

These simple words, plus an equally simple melody, make up the song Pananagutan. I remember learning this and other Catholic Mass songs as a second grader in a school run by nuns. The songs were all very easy to learn, and very "hummable," especially for me and my classmates. At the time, of course, I had no idea that the songs were a result of Vatican II -- and that they in turn would inspire other composers like Fr. Manoling Francisco, SJ, known for Hindi Kita Malilimutan (I will Never Forget You) and Tanging Yaman (One Treasure), and Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ, of the Lauds series of CDs and tapes.

Neither did I know that I would one day get to meet the man who composed Pananagutan and the first Filipino mass songs -- Fr. Eduardo Hontiveros, SJ, better known as Fr. Honti. I had the opportunity to work with him for his CD entitled "Pananagutan" -- a tribute to him by his younger Jesuit brothers in the music ministry, known collectively as Himig Heswita. By then, he had had a couple of strokes or maybe more. He kept his arm at his side, his hand in a fist.

He could hardly speak but he tried to communicate in other ways. When asked to describe his songs, he bent over and laid his hand, palm down, at knee-level. It was a simple gesture, but it said a lot. He composed simple songs so that the common man, the masa -- anybody -- could sing them, and not just the trained singer or church choir member. In a Catholic world experiencing change after Vatican II, and striving to remain relevant, Fr. Honti was part of that change and part of that relevance. His songs were his pananagutan (responsibility) to all of us as both priest and composer.

Fr. Honti passed away a few days ago. But his songs have made their mark in the Philippine Catholic community. He has helped mold a generation of Filipino liturgical music composers, not to mention a Filipino mass culture. From the humblest chapel to the grandest cathedral, his songs have taken flight. They may not be as well known now as the newer mass songs, but he was the composer who started it all. His legacy lives on. Because of this, Fr. Honti will be remembered as "the father of Philippine liturgical music."

mariannet's story

When the news about the suicide of 12-year-old Mariannet Amper first broke out, it seemed to be an open-and-shut case. After all, she came from a poor family; that's why she took her own life. She lived with her parents and brother in a tiny house without electricity and water. Her parents took odd jobs: Magdalena earned Php50 (less than $1.25) a day working part-time in a factory and washed other people's clothes on the side, while Isabelo did construction work. So poor were they that other kids in their community in Davao reportedly would not even play with her and her brother.

If not for Mariannet's diary -- a class project -- and an unsent letter to the television program "Wish Ko Lang" (How I Wish), the world would probably never have known what life was like for this little girl. Her dreams were simple -- jobs for her parents and an education for herself. Yet, for want of transportation money, she was unable to go to school; nor did she have a bag and shoes to use. 

So on 2 November -- All Souls' Day -- Mariannet took some nylon rope and hanged herself. End of story. End of life.

Or so everyone thought. Yesterday, the newspapers reported that Mariannet had been raped. And this most likely contributed in a big way to her taking her own life. 

But suicide is never a simple case. Especially if it is committed by a 12-year-old, whose life at that age is really just beginning. After all the finger pointing, the preaching, and the hype Mariannet's suicide has generated, how will the media now report the case? Poverty is not uncommon  in this country. Nor is it something you can hide. You can see it wherever you go. What about the sexual molestation of young -- and poor -- girls, often by people they know and trust? It's not uncommon either. The only difference is that the latter is a more delicate issue. It speaks of a deeper malaise. No one wants to talk about it. 

Mariannet's story has become darker, more sinister, yet no less common -- that of innocence lost and hopes dashed. How many Mariannets are out there, still hoping for a better life? Will their stories even be told?

rituals and remembrances

It's not even All Souls' Day yet, but already the police are on heightened security, maintaining a presence at bus terminals and at the bigger cemeteries in Metro Manila where crowds have descended and are expected to continue to do so. Meanwhile, the news on TV earlier showed cars at a standstill on the expressway as Filipinos head for the provinces to remember the dead. The fact that this is a long weekend, on the heels of last weekend -- last Monday was a holiday, and so are tomorrow and Friday -- contributes to the traffic situation greatly.

It is interesting how deeply rooted in our culture the ritual of remembering those who have gone before is. It has a Christian origin, as the Church encourages the faithful to pray for the departed, especially those who are in purgatory. In fact, commemorating All Souls' Day with prayers and special rituals, after All Saints' Day on November 1, was begun by monastic orders. And with Christians comprising more than 80% of our population, the whole country is on a national holiday to observe All Souls' Day.

But I would think that even before the introduction of Christianity into our culture, the early Filipinos were already practising some sort of remembrance, as Asians. Ancestor worship is important to the Buddhists and the Taoists, and with the strong Chinese undertones in Filipino culture, I would say that our rituals of remembrance leans more towards this practice.

I'm not sure about early or indigenous Filipino practices of remembering the dead, nor about the practices of other faiths in the country (the Islamic community, for one). Definitely, we Filipinos have made these rituals of the East and West our very own -- and then some. We flock to the cemeteries with not just candles and flowers, or incense and offerings, as is applicable -- but also with tents, playing cards, mah jong sets, and karaoke machines. Our version of All Souls' Day has turned out to be not just a day to remember and honor the departed, but more so, an occasion to celebrate being alive, in true Pinoy fashion. I have no doubt that those going out of town are making the most of the trip, by visiting relatives. Or maybe even stopping by the beach.

Those in Manila who are unable to visit their loved ones' tombs in the provinces will have their own little rituals, lighting candles at home and offering prayers for their souls. In all this, we see how much of a melting pot the Philippines is. As with many things, we have integrated two influences -- the Christian practice of the West of remembering our departed loved ones, and the older Asian practice of ancestor worship. This makes us part of a larger community, the rituals of which continue to find expression in our culture.

pinoy, and proud

This is the winning entry in the Proudly Pinoy competition.

I had forgotten all about this until today. Reviewing the entries, it was interesting how the concepts of being Pinoy (Filipino) and of pride were translated as badges.

What makes a Filipino proud? What makes one proud to be a Filipino?

To all the participants, thank you for reminding us of our being Pinoy.

And to the organizers of the competition, thank you for the badge.

pinoys on the web

My "Proudly Pinoy Blog" badge (to the right of the screen) will soon get a replacement.

A competition to design a "Proudly Pinoy" logo to be used without charge on Filipino-owned web sites and blogs was recently launched.

The organizers of this competition, which ends on 11 July, no doubt realize the importance of establishing a distinct Pinoy identity on the web.

Displaying this badge on your site or blog is the virtual equivalent of planting the country's flag atop a mountain. But more than being a symbol of Pinoy pride, the badge identifies you as a member of the community of online Filipinos.

How many Filipinos own web sites? How many are bloggers? The number can't be that big, considering that as of last year, there were only a little over seven million Internet users in the Philippines. That's about nine percent of our total population.

But consider this: for such a small nation, we are on the Internet map. Pinoys are on the Internet and not just as consumers, but more importantly, as producers -- whether as web designers outsourced by foreign companies, or as bloggers whose hits come from all over the world.

So a "Proudly Pinoy" badge makes sense.

The winning designer will get P10,000 (a little more than $200). As of this post, 71 entries have been submitted and can be seen on the site.

belonging

Today, I went to school and waited for my turn to have some papers processed. I was one of only three graduate students in the waiting area, apparent not only by our dress, but also by the fact that we three were the only ones unaccompanied by friends -- and therefore, the only ones who were quiet. Most interesting was the conversation going on around us during that wait. Everyone was speaking in English. If anyone spoke in Pilipino, it was with a distinct non-Filipino accent, or it was actually Taglish.

One guy was engaged in a particularly loud and annimated conversation with another guy. His speech was peppered with four-letter words:

...and then, you know, this guy was beating the **** out of him! He was really like... wow, man... **** talaga!

Sitting there, I felt a bit out of place, not just because of the difference in age -- I'm almost sure these kids would call me "ma'am" or say "po" when talking to me -- but because of the difference in language.

I got the same feeling not long ago, before a recent trip up north (part of which I blogged about here). Standing in line to get a ticket at the bus station, I felt as if I were no longer in Manila. The dispatcher and everyone in line ahead of me were transacting business in Ilocano. One could tell that this bus was bound for the north, where Ilocano is spoken; in fact, this bus company made trips only to that part of the country.

Again, the language was a hindrance. I could understand snatches of conversation, but on the whole, it was a different culture altogether. Similarly, though the teenagers in the first incident were speaking in a language I understood very well, the difference in how we used this language was the key.

These experiences represent two different communities -- that of the undergraduate students of that particular university, and that of the Ilocano speakers. A community assumes many things. A shared language is one of them. With close to 200 dialects spoken in the Philippines, is it any wonder that regionalism exists? A given locality can speak more than one dialect or language, in fact, and this makes it all the more challenging.

More than a shared language, a community also involves shared ideas and the shaping of a common world view. In particular, I refer to a discourse community -- one in which participation means the use of jargon or terms and, at the very least, familiarity with the written and spoken train of thought unique to the community. The world view of that male teenager who spoke English as an American his age might, for instance, would be entirely different from that of the bus company dispatcher who spoke Ilocano and perhaps very little Tagalog or even Pilipino. Even if they lived in the same locality, their very perceptions of that locality would be different.

What language could the Philippines lay claim to as a national language? What world view would this language produce and represent? In my experience, when some residents of Asipulo wanted to communicate with me, they did so in English. This may represent the hopes and aspirations of many Filipinos, but certainly not their daily experience.

If there are as many world views as there are tribes and dialects in our country, what is to define our sense of belonging? When national events unfold and are represented and reported in media in a language that a great many people cannot relate to or worse, do not understand, belongingness must be found in other forms, through other commonalities.

mabuhay!

I'm posting this video of Lupang Hinirang as a reminder that Philippine society is far from perfect.

Not all our presidents were great. Not all our heroes were selfless. Not all our athletes bring home the gold. Not all our public servants are noble. Not all our families are happy and intact. And not all our babies are healthy and well cared for.

It will take some time before we are rid of all our ills and become the people we want to be.

In the meantime, we are free. And while we are free, there is hope.

Mabuhay!

a real community

In his book Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, anthropologist Benedict Anderson defines a nation as "an imagined political community":

It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion.... (A)ll communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact (and perhaps even these) are imagined. Communities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined....

The nation is imagined as limited because even the largest of them encompassing perhaps a billion living human beings, has finite, if elastic boundaries, beyond which lie other nations. No nation imagines itself coterminous with mankind. The most messianic nationalists do not dream of a day when all the members of the human race will join their nation in the way that it was possible, in certain epochs, for, say, Christians to dream of a wholly Christian planet....

Finally, it is imagined as a community, because, regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship. Ultimately it is this fraternity that makes it possible, over the past two centuries, for so many millions of people, not so much to kill, as willingly to die for such limited imaginings.

I remembered this a few days ago as I looked out over the mountains of Ifugao Province, en route by tricycle to the municipality of Asipulo from Kiangan. The trip was nearly an hour over roads that were thankfully concrete in some places, rough and bumpy in most, and generally winding up and down through some of the prettiest views I had ever seen in my life.

The farmers who hosted our stay in Sitio Pula and the locals who guided us through the thick mountain forest -- what did I have in common with them? Not geographic location, nor way of life, nor language. The place I've called home for most of my life seems a world away from here; the dialect I speak (Tagalog) is foreign to these people. The mountain trail that took me a painful hour to traverse (and not without their help and patience, I might add), they breeze through in half or even a quarter of that time. Indeed, we measure time differently -- they, by seasons of planting and harvest, and I, by semesters and projects.

They would probably never understand what I do -- how I can spend up to hours in front of a computer in my little room, my dependence on an unseen yet powerful thing called the Internet that travels through cables and allows me to reach out to other members of a community not only imagined but also perhaps previously unheard of. In the same way, try as I might, I would probably never fully grasp what life on a mountain is really like -- how to read the signs of the sky and the earth, how to live in harmony with Nature and with other beings who make the mountain their home.

But in our minds, did "the image of our communion" already exist even before we met? Did we each imagine that hundreds and thousands of kilometers away from our homes were people who led lives the polar opposite of our own? They, Ifugao, and I, Manileña -- did we see ourselves as actually sharing a nationality, a Filipino-ness? Did the fact that we are both Filipino -- a term that signifies membership in this imagined community -- compel us to appreciate each other before we had even met? And having met, did we find that we shared more than what we had ever imagined?

In Asipulo, I was in a totally different place from where I live, in a situation I would not quite have imagined myself to be, amid people who were strangers to me. Yet, I felt I belonged, perhaps because this place was part of my nation -- imagined or not -- but more importantly, because the people recognized in me a co-member in a very real community called mankind.

And recognizing me as such, the people of Asipulo reached out to me, as I did to them, shared their food and their homes, offered me a glimpse into their lives -- and simply made me feel welcome.