somewhere i have never traveled. . .

Of Ships and Stars - Reflections on Graduation Day

2012-05-24T10:30:00.000-04:00

In reflecting upon the significance of this year at Harvard Law School, an image returned to me from my very first week at Cambridge. As part of our LL.M. orientation, we went on the now-familiar Boston Duck Tour. The amphibious bus took us around the city, and eventually, drove right into Boston Harbor. Above the din of the engine of that bus-turned-boat, we watched as the U.S.S. Constitution came into view, with colorful flags flying on that fine sunny day. It was a magnificent ship, one that Oliver Wendel Holmes, Sr., father of the great American jurist, called “the eagle of the sea.” I imagined it gliding into Boston Harbor, sails billowing, majestic against the sky.

Not more than nine months ago, my classmates and I set sail from every corner of the globe, across oceans and continents, most of us already “eagles of the sea.” Yet finding ourselves in this most tranquil of ports, we were awed and overwhelmed at the breadth of what Harvard Law School had to offer. The intellectual journey was clear enough: our classes spanned the spectrum of law as we knew it, from Indigenous Peoples Rights, to Comparative Constitutional Law, to Mergers & Acquisitions, to International Finance. We discussed and debated with giants in these fields, and our work even brought us to far away places, like Ghana, Thailand, Libya, and Brazil. And throughout these experiences, there was a silent yet perceptible feeling of gratitude and privilege for having been chosen, in place of thousands of others, to participate in this unique journey. Indeed, in the last months, I have heard the statement said over and over again: “Only at Harvard. Only here at Harvard Law School.”

But this journey was not confined to the lofty intellectual perches of the classroom or Langdel Hall. Realizing very early the truth behind the old adage, in vino veritas, we lost no time in organizing socials, dinners, and gatherings, both big and small, to mark every stage of this shared journey. And throughout the laughter and the gaiety, there emerged a comfortable camaraderie and an awareness of, and sensitivity towards, the cultures and concerns that marked the countries from whence we all came. Indeed, we shared food and drink, but we also shared stories of the grave inequality between the rich and poor in Brazil, of the seemingly insurmountable struggle against corruption in the Philippines, of the fight for an independent Supreme Court in Pakistan, of the hopes, fears and frustrations of the Greek people with the inauguration of a new government and the continuing instability in the European economies.

Through these many encounters, shared in a spirit of friendship and openness, we understood an entirely new face of the law— law beyond our own parochial understandings; law beyond “my country,” and “my system.” But what is more remarkable is the almost universal realization that no matter how diverse our experiences, no matter how alien and seemingly contrasting our origins, we were actually bound by the same basic hopes and motivations, the same anxieties and fears.

No doubt, we live in a world of great political and economic challenges. From re-stabilizing the Middle East after the glorious yet tumultuous Arab Spring, to re-stabilizing world markets following the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, solutions will require not only creativity but also great courage. I would like to believe that we, who choose to participate in this struggle, will not be overwhelmed by the task, confident as we are, not only with the knowledge that we have gained here, but also with the insight that we are not alone in our efforts. We will be encouraged by the reality that colleagues and friends, not so different from us, are toiling away in distant lands, working for the same ideals, facing the same frustrations, and ultimately, sharing the same shared joys and triumphs.

This is how the law school has marked us. It has made us appreciate more keenly the complexities and sinews of the law, yes, but it has also provided us, through our contact we so many other people from so many other cultures and backgrounds, a broader context against which this complexity is to be understood and ultimately applied. In the end, the time here at the law school has made us understand a little bit more of what “being in the world” and of “being in the world with others” truly means. Dean Minow often speaks of Living Well in the Law. If that be the measure of our experience, then we have indeed lived well in the law here at Harvard, and we have lived it well with others.

Allow me to end, therefore, with another image, one more recent in the class’ collective memory. Not too long ago, many of us stood at the roof deck of the Harvard Science Center, gawking in the half darkness in our jackets and scarves, as we stood overlooking the lovely Cambridge skyline, gazing up at the night sky. We went stargazing. And while we may not have seen many stars that night, it was, I think a worthwhile symbol of what we ultimately found here at the law school. For that evening at least, we were not lawyers buried in our books or rushing our papers. We were lawyers looking up.

As we prepare to set sail for broader horizons and more treacherous seas, may we, as sons and daughters of Harvard, always remember to look up, especially in moments when we are lost and dishearted, to search for that ever fixed mark to which every lawyer aspires: Non sub homine sed sub Deo et Lege. Not under man but under God and Law. Let this ideal be our guiding star, our purpose and vision that directs our work and our passions. President Faust reminded us this morning that with our efforts here at the law school, “[we] are ready to aid in the shaping and application of those wise restraints that make men free.” Let us strive, therefore, as we go forth hence, to be true “to the greatest of all sciences, the science of justice, and the greatest of all arts, the art of adjusting the rights of men.”

Remembering Lola Mommy

2012-03-04T19:47:00.005-05:00

Aleph mulierem fortem quis invenient procul

et de ultimis finibus pretium eius

[Who shall find a valiant woman?

Far, and from the uttermost coasts is the price for her.]

Proverbs 31:10

The reality of Lola Mommy’s passing has yet to fully sink in for me. Being so far away from home, and learning of the events in Manila only by cellphone and Skype, it is difficult for me to fully internalize the reality that Lola has indeed gone away. The last time I saw her, of course, was before leaving for the United States, on 21 August 2011, when I visited her to say good bye. It was evening then, and she was resting in her room. She said that she was proud that I was leaving for Harvard, and that I should continually pray for her even if I would be so far away – it is a request that I shamefully have not been able to diligently keep, but one which I do now, as we remember a life much filled with passion and strength.

Of all her nine grandchildren, I am perhaps the longest who had stayed in her care. With Lolo Ped, Lola Mommy was my daily companion until I was a good six years old, when my family finally left 12th Street in 1986. Together with Ate Lala, therefore, I am often called Lola Mommy’s alaga, and I remember sitting by her bedside on long idle afternoons watching her complete cross-stitch after cross-stitch, while the music of Nat King Cole floated in the background. On other days, I remember accompanying Lola Mommy to loud, boisterous gatherings with her siblings at Lolo Papa’s house, where she would hold court and talk about the latest tsismis and family kwento.

She was, to me, therefore, larger than life. In a sense, she reminded me of Imelda Marcos, with her flair and flamboyance— aside, of course, from their actual physical resemblance, especially at parties, when Lola would wear her big hair. Like Imelda, we all know of her affection for Ferragamo shoes. On one family trip to Hong Kong, Lola Mommy entered a boutique rather shabbily dressed, so that none of the salesladies paid her any attention. Impatient at the shoddy service, she called them all together and, with much fanfare said, “How much? I want, I buy, I get.” Syempre, nagkagulo ang mga saleslady. She ended up going home with three pairs. Indeed, it is not difficult to think of Lola Mommy this way, because, as I am sure you will agree, Lola Mommy, like Imelda, is quite a character on her own. And as perhaps similar to Imelda as well, what Lola Mommy said was law, everybody else be damned.

As I grew older, and from her own stories and recollections of the past, I had learned a little bit more of the life that Lola Mommy lived, especially with Lolo Ped. I think it would be fair to say that her life can rival even the most popular of Korean telenovella, with its share of tragedy, joy, hardship and challenge. Marrying a poor man from Bulacan, she had no choice but to support her family through odd jobs, including raising pigs. By dint of hardwork (and the support of relatives like Lola Luming), she, with Lolo Ped, sent five children through college, business school, and medical school.

Hers, therefore, was not an easy or charmed life.

It is no wonder, then, that Lola Mommy had raised her children sternly. Because life was hard, she, too, had to be hard. Because life was difficult, she had to fight for what seemed, at the time, so difficult for her and for her family to achieve: respect, stability, comfort, and acceptance. Her love, therefore, was a tough love, because she lived a tough life. She is mulier fortis— “with the fruit of her hands she has planted a vineyard.” [Proverbs 31:16].

Indeed, even in her twilight years, when she had achieved some measure of comfort, she was still true to what she had struggled with all her life. She still scrimped and saved, and continued to actively manage her affairs. All this, according to my Dad, really flowed from an innate desire to “save” more for her family. Indeed, if she had appeared too conscious of material security, it was only because she had very little of it to begin with, so that whatever she had, she knew she had fought for, and she did only what she knew she had to do. This is why, I think, later in life, she struggled very hard to let go of this “fighter’s disposition,” this battle to gain respect, stability, comfort, and acceptance. And so, sometimes she was difficult and stubborn— and it drove everybody crazy! But her stubbornness did not dimish the fact that she was always, always proud— of what she had made of herself, yes, but prouder still, of what she had made of her children. My dad would often say that were it not for the hardship that they had gone through growing up, and Lola Mommy’s disiplinarian ways, he and his siblings would probably not have striven so mightily to make for themselves a better life. And for this, and many other things, we have to be thankful.

Now that the telenovella has sadly ended, I am left with fond memories of that passionate and strong-willed woman that was my Lola Mommy. And as we know, she loved to recite this particular spanish poem, which she learned, line by line, from her father, Lolo Papa. At a drop of a hat, she would, with all flare and bravura, take center stage, and, with gestures and intonation (much like Madamme Imelda herself), recite from memory, the lines which tell of the youthfulness of a woman long grown old. It is fittingly entitled, “La Abuela,” “The Grandmother,” and for us, this evening, it our mind’s eye, let us listen to her once more, as she fittingly tells us of how, in spite of her age, her soul continues to soar to the heavens, sin prisa y sin miedo a las flores, al sol y al viento: without haste, without fear, to the flowers, to the sun, and to the winds.

La Abuela

Me dijeron un día vieja y me miré al espejo.
Vi arrugas en mi cara y blanco mi cabello.
Miré mis pies caminando cansados, lentos,
pero con risa burlona también le dije al espejo:
- ¿Qué me importa que mis pies no caminen ya ligeros,
que haya arrugas en mi frente y nieve en mis cabellos,
si mi corazón está como pájaro en su vuelo
y quiere subir muy alto llegando hasta los luceros?
¿Qué me importa que la vida
y sus huellas con zarpazos
me dejaron marcado todo mi cuerpo,
si en mi alma todavía hay voces
de canciones e ilusiones de niña
que aún palpitan en mi pecho?
Quiero como la alondra cantar
y contar sin prisa y sin miedo a las flores,
al sol y al viento y,
¡como no!, a la escuela como regalo del cielo.
No digáis que ya soy vieja
aunque los años hicieron huella en mi cuerpo
porque en mi corazón de niña la primavera
no ha muerto.

The last lines are particularly beautiful and appropriate:

No digáis que ya soy vieja
aunque los años hicieron huella en mi cuerpo
porque en mi corazón de niña la primavera
no ha muerto.

“Do not tell me that I am old,
Although the years have made their marks upon my body,
Because in my heart still filled with youth,
Spring has never died.”

I am saddened that I am not there with the rest of you, dear family and friends, to mourn the passing of this feisty fighter of a woman. In the cold of this Cambridge winter, though, I am comforted to know that I am not alone in these rememberings, as many of you have come to share with us the life Lola Mommy that can only be described, to my mind, and fittingly enough, as trully and gloriously epic.

Langdell Hall, Harvard Law School
Cambridge, Massachusetts
14 February 2012

Thoughts on the New Year

2011-12-31T20:11:00.008-05:00

January is named after the Roman god Janus, who is depicted in antiquity as having two faces, one looking back, and another looking forward. From his name is also drawn the Latin word ianua, which means door or doorway, a passage from one place to another, from one stage to the next. Both images are useful for us today, who are commemorating the passing of yet another year – looking back at the year that had passed, and looking ahead to the one that still lay ahead; passing through the threshold of 2011 and stepping into the promise of 2012.

I was standing last night outside Hastings Hall with Clemens, after midnight, shooting the breeze, while his and Dominique’s wildly successful New Year’s Eve party was going on in his flat upstairs. The conversation turned a bit somber, and in a moment that certainly rivals the great German philosopherswhose wisdom, I am sure, runs in his veins (aside from alcohol, of course), he told me, quite honestly, “It is good for us to be here.” And by here, I understood to mean, at Harvard, together, at the turn of 2012, celebrating as friends.

It was indeed a difficult year for many around the world. The continuing financial crunch in Europe and the United States, theearthquake in Japan, the conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan, the floods in the Philippines, and the challenging birth of democracy in the Middle East, only to name a few. Amidst these crises, we arrived in August, from every corner of the world, bringing with us an abundance of hope and expectant anxiety at what still lay ahead.

We are now half way through our shared journey (Imagine that!). And looking back, I am amazed and gladdened at how we have all become friends and shared so much of our lives with each other. For some of us, it was a year of leaving home for the first time, of living in a foreign country away from things familiar, and realizing that there are many things that we can actually do without: like cars or televisions or even telephones; but also reaffirming the reality that there are things that must always be there, no matter what: like family, and friends, and good conversation, andlaughter. For others, it was a year they found love – quietly or passionately, in many shared conversations (and a couple of engagements!), against the backdrop of the wonderful cities of Cambridge and Boston. For others, well, they are still waiting. . . . and waiting. . . .. but hopeful that 2012 will be the year, not only of ski trips and classes and more alcohol, but of falling in love as well.

For me, personally, it was a time of quiet epiphanies, prime among which is the value of, and gratitude for, my parents. Not that I particularly missed them over the time that I have been away – I am content to know that I am where I am supposed to be at this point in my life – but that, mixed with the realization of one's independence, is the acute sense of gratitude for those to whom I had been so dependent for so long. And coupled with this is the knowledge that they won't be around forever. And so, as sage advice goes, “Get to know your parents, you don't know how long they will be around.” Have we thanked them enough?

And that is the thought andthe sentiment that I would like to carry today, and for the rest of this year 2012, and one which I would like to share with you, my dear friends: that of thankfulness and gratitude – for actually being here, where we are, doing what we are doing; for the friends that we’ve met, the challenges that we’ve faced, and those that will still come our way - challenges which we will certainly surpass with determination, moments of panic and good humor; for the families, friends and loves we’ve left behind, but who always think of us, and to whom we can always come home to, in the cold of the Cambridge winter, if only in our hearts and minds.

I therefore end with my New Year’s musings with a quote from one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman:

“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books andkiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the nextyear, you surprise yourself.”

Happy New Year!

I Dare You to Move

2011-07-15T00:51:00.004-04:00

“When you leave you will close the door behind you. Don’t we always? But time will make amends, to old friends.”

* * *

“Aware that my days . . . are winding down, I am encouraged by lines from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, that go, ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.’ That tide, I am afraid, has now come for me, and I have chosen to take it ‘at the flood.’ I can only hope that with this new adventure in search of good fortune, I, like Odysseus setting sail for the fabled city of Troy, may one day— some time soon and God-willing— find myself back home to my beloved Ithaka.”

* * *

Looking out his office window, gazing towards the dull grey horizon that was Manila Bay, he wondered, what does the future have in store for me? What new things await me beyond that horizon?

He knew that there was no turning back now. He made sure that he was leaving nothing behind, not that he had very many things to hold on to. He was afraid, but he was hopeful. He knew that he was never coming back.

* * *

“… Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’

I’ve been thinking about that poem a lot lately. And I think what it says is that, while it’s tempting to play it safe, the more we’re willing to risk, the more alive we are. In the end, what we regret most are the chances we never took. And I hope that explains, at least a little, this journey on which I am about to embark. I have loved every minute with my KACL family, and all of you. For eleven years you've heard me say, ‘I’m listening.’ Well, you were listening, too. And for that I am eternally grateful. Goodnight, Seattle.”

Comfort in Your Strangeness

2011-06-30T18:26:00.010-04:00

And I wish you Sunrays and Saturdays
Perfect starry nights
Sweet dreams and moonbeams
And a love that's warm and bright
Sunrays and Saturdays
Friendship strong and true
Oceans of blue and a room with a view
To live the life you choose
"Sunrays and Saturdays," Vertical Horizon

It still creeps up on me sometimes— in the middle of doing the most mundane of tasks, like signing documents, or collating papers— that we had once promised ourselves forever. And that now, in spite of this, we are all but practially strangers. The thought confuses and amuses me: was it that we did not mean what we said, or that we just did not know what we were saying? Indeed, how fragile are the bonds that keep us connected; how ephemeral the links that keep us committed. It is as though we never really happened, like all of it was a dream, a movie, a figment of the imagination, a cruel joke.

Shaking off the feeling, though, I know, I know, that all of it was true. All of it. And all that is left now is some vague regret and half-forgotten memory of that magical, distant summer, when you were mine, and I was yours. No doubt, you made me happy (a tall order, indeed, considering the person I am). And in spite of all this strangeness, this is, perhaps for me— and perhaps for now— a comfort that is enough.

Seasons

2011-05-15T07:14:00.002-04:00

He sat in that coffee shop, near the second floor window overlooking a rotunda of trees, as the sun was setting. It was then the middle of summer, and while the shadows began to lengthen on the street below, the warmth of the afternoon still lingered in the air.

He was alone, naturally – this was his place of refuge from the bustle of the universe. The anonymity did him good, and the distance as well, as he looked down on the world below – couples taking their walks, children running after dogs, cars rounding the curve, approaching, leaving, approaching again. There was something hypnotic about it, reassuring almost, and for a moment, everything seemed to be unfolding as it should, in rhythms, in circles, in ups and in downs. He took comfort in this — in this vague yet necessary promise that life processed in cycles and seasons, and that all that was required to get on with living was some patience and perseverance to survive till the next fall.

The Advantages of Closing a Few Doors

2011-03-18T01:56:00.007-04:00

John Tierny, New York Times

The next time you’re juggling options — which friend to see, which house to buy, which career to pursue — try asking yourself this question: What would Xiang Yu do?

Xiang Yu was a Chinese general in the third century B.C. who took his troops across the Yangtze River into enemy territory and performed an experiment in decision making. He crushed his troops’ cooking pots and burned their ships.

He explained this was to focus them on moving forward — a motivational speech that was not appreciated by many of the soldiers watching their retreat option go up in flames. But General Xiang Yu would be vindicated, both on the battlefield and in the annals of social science research.

He is one of the role models in Dan Ariely’s new book, “Predictably Irrational,” an entertaining look at human foibles like the penchant for keeping too many options open. General Xiang Yu was a rare exception to the norm, a warrior who conquered by being unpredictably rational.

Most people can’t make such a painful choice, not even the students at a bastion of rationality like the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where Dr. Ariely is a professor of behavioral economics. In a series of experiments, hundreds of students could not bear to let their options vanish, even though it was obviously a dumb strategy (and they weren’t even asked to burn anything).

The experiments involved a game that eliminated the excuses we usually have for refusing to let go. In the real world, we can always tell ourselves that it’s good to keep options open.

You don’t even know how a camera’s burst-mode flash works, but you persuade yourself to pay for the extra feature just in case. You no longer have anything in common with someone who keeps calling you, but you hate to just zap the relationship.

Your child is exhausted from after-school soccer, ballet and Chinese lessons, but you won’t let her drop the piano lessons. They could come in handy! And who knows? Maybe they will.

In the M.I.T. experiments, the students should have known better. They played a computer game that paid real cash to look for money behind three doors on the screen. (You can play it yourself, without pay, at tierneylab.blogs.nytimes.com.) After they opened a door by clicking on it, each subsequent click earned a little money, with the sum varying each time.

As each player went through the 100 allotted clicks, he could switch rooms to search for higher payoffs, but each switch used up a click to open the new door. The best strategy was to quickly check out the three rooms and settle in the one with the highest rewards.

Even after students got the hang of the game by practicing it, they were flummoxed when a new visual feature was introduced. If they stayed out of any room, its door would start shrinking and eventually disappear.

They should have ignored those disappearing doors, but the students couldn’t. They wasted so many clicks rushing back to reopen doors that their earnings dropped 15 percent. Even when the penalties for switching grew stiffer — besides losing a click, the players had to pay a cash fee — the students kept losing money by frantically keeping all their doors open.

Why were they so attached to those doors? The players, like the parents of that overscheduled piano student, would probably say they were just trying to keep future options open. But that’s not the real reason, according to Dr. Ariely and his collaborator in the experiments, Jiwoong Shin, an economist who is now at Yale.

They plumbed the players’ motivations by introducing yet another twist. This time, even if a door vanished from the screen, players could make it reappear whenever they wanted. But even when they knew it would not cost anything to make the door reappear, they still kept frantically trying to prevent doors from vanishing.

Apparently they did not care so much about maintaining flexibility in the future. What really motivated them was the desire to avoid the immediate pain of watching a door close.

“Closing a door on an option is experienced as a loss, and people are willing to pay a price to avoid the emotion of loss,” Dr. Ariely says. In the experiment, the price was easy to measure in lost cash. In life, the costs are less obvious — wasted time, missed opportunities. If you are afraid to drop any project at the office, you pay for it at home.

“We may work more hours at our jobs,” Dr. Ariely writes in his book, “without realizing that the childhood of our sons and daughters is slipping away. Sometimes these doors close too slowly for us to see them vanishing.”

Dr. Ariely, one of the most prolific authors in his field, does not pretend that he is above this problem himself. When he was trying to decide between job offers from M.I.T. and Stanford, he recalls, within a week or two it was clear that he and his family would be more or less equally happy in either place. But he dragged out the process for months because he became so obsessed with weighing the options.

“I’m just as workaholic and prone to errors as anyone else,” he says. “I have way too many projects, and it would probably be better for me and the academic community if I focused my efforts. But every time I have an idea or someone offers me a chance to collaborate, I hate to give it up.”

So what can be done? One answer, Dr. Ariely said, is to develop more social checks on overbooking. He points to marriage as an example: “In marriage, we create a situation where we promise ourselves not to keep options open. We close doors and announce to others we’ve closed doors.”

Or we can just try to do it on our own. Since conducting the door experiments, Dr. Ariely says, he has made a conscious effort to cancel projects and give away his ideas to colleagues. He urges the rest of us to resign from committees, prune holiday card lists, rethink hobbies and remember the lessons of door closers like Xiang Yu.

If the general’s tactics seem too crude, Dr. Ariely recommends another role model, Rhett Butler, for his supreme moment of unpredictable rationality at the end of his marriage. Scarlett, like the rest of us, can’t bear the pain of giving up an option, but Rhett recognizes the marriage’s futility and closes the door with astonishing elan. Frankly, he doesn’t give a damn.

En El Aeropuerto de Kuala Lumpur

2010-09-18T20:24:00.002-04:00

Sé que ya no debería, pero te echo de menos. Te echo de menos en los aeropuertos al azar, y grandes viajes a ciudades distantes. Echo de menos despertar a tu lado en lugares desconocidos, y sentado a tu lado mirando puestas de sol extranjeros. Echo de menos la alegría en sus ojos mientras caminamos en pequeños restaurantes escondidos y probamos la comida exótica. Y entre todos estos, y mucho más, echo de menos tu risa, y echo de menos agarrando su mano.

Sé que ya no debería, pero te echo de menos. Terriblemente. Y cada vez, estoy dividida entre “Es un error,” y “Este es el mejor.” No es ningún consuelo, y no hay respuesta, sólo este dolor sordo y la memoria de ti. Y creo que, ya que mi vuelo se llama por el anunciador:

Demasiados cuartos en demasiados espacios,
Demasiadas memorias en demasiados sitios.
Pero el mundo es amplio, y el mundo es ancho.
Hay siempre lugar que puede esconder de uno.

Algún día, voy a encontrar la salvación.

Giving Automated Elections a Chance

2009-11-30T00:52:00.002-05:00

Is the upcoming 2010 national elections another leap of faith
For the Filipino people?

When Juan dela Cruz visits his local polling precinct this May 10, 2010, he will be confronted not only with the usual chaos of election-day politics, but also with the novelty of participating in the first-ever fully automated national election in Philippine history.

17 years and over P11.2 Billion in the making, the full automation of the May 10, 2010 elections has been hailed by the government as a watershed event in our troubled democracy, as the use of Precinct-Count Optical Scan (PCOS) machines are expected to provide prompt and accurate election results while at the same time minimizing the opportunities for election fraud, including the dagdag-bawas schemes of the past. In the words of Commission on Elections (COMELEC) Chairman and former Supreme Court justice Jose A.R. Melo, “let us go onward to 2010 and God help us in this elections, because this will be our last chance to have an honest, clean and credible elections.”

The full automation of the 2010 polls, therefore, is an innovation long-coming, considering especially the antiquated voting system which has changed very little from the first general election held in the Philippines in 1907. True, refinements and safeguards have been put in place through various electoral exercises and three Constitutions. But at its core, the existing process remains, on the whole, tedious, time-consuming, and prone to fraud and manipulation. This is because the election process in the Philippines, from the casting of votes, to the canvassing of ballots, to the proclamation of winners, is essentially done by hand.

The Existing Electoral System

Voters everywhere are, of course, familiar with the procedure. After identification in official voter’s lists at designated voting precincts throughout the Philippines, the voter is given an official ballot on which to manually write the names of their chosen candidates. This often involves recalling at least twenty names, from the position of President, Vice-President, Senator, Mayor, Vice Mayor, members of the Sanggunian, congressman and party-list representative.

At the close of the voting day, all ballots in the local precincts are counted by what is known as the Board of Election Inspectors (BEI), a group of 3 public school teachers designated by law as “front-line election officers” tasked with the voting and counting of votes in their respective precincts. Counting is done by reading the individual votes aloud, with other election officials recording these votes on what is known as an Election Return (ER). When the BEI finally completes the counting of ballots, the ER, together with the ballot boxes, are sent to the city or municipal Board of Canvassers where they are manually canvassed or totaled together with the ERs from other local precincts. The results of this canvass are stated in what is known as a Certificate of Canvass (COC).

Upon completion of the municipal or city canvass, the municipal or city Board of Canvassers proclaims the winning municipal or city candidates, which include the positions for Mayor and Vice Mayor. At the same time, they transmit the completed city or municipal COCs to the provincial Board of Canvassers, for canvassing of the various canvassed votes from the municipalities and cities within the province. The provincial Board of Canvassers, in turn, prepares another COC from the municipal or city tally, but this time, for the positions of President, Vice-President, Senator, Congressmen, and other elective provincial officials.

After completing the provincial canvass, the provincial Board of Canvassers proclaims the winning candidates for positions of Congressman, Governor, Vice Governor, and other elective provincial officials, and transmits the completed provincial COC to the COMELEC and to Congress, which separately serve as the national Board of Canvassers for the positions of Senator, and President and Vice President, respectively. The COMELEC and Congress then conduct their own separate canvasses for these positions, and proclaim the winning candidates accordingly.

The Road to Automation

With this system, it is not difficult to see how election results, particularly for the positions of President and Vice President, would not only take weeks, if not months to complete, but would also be susceptible to manipulation through ER or COC substitution and dagdag-bawas. It has been observed, in fact, that while election fraud already takes place in the precinct level before the BEIs through the misreading or outright omission of votes, it is at the municipal, provincial and national canvasses where the whole-sale and drastic manipulation of election results take place. This is because it is at this level that cheating, if successfully done, would provide the most effective and certain results. This situation is compounded further by the inordinate delay between voting and proclamation, as returns are transmitted from one canvass level to the next, all by hand. This delay is precisely what some point to as the main contributing factor to election fraud.

Faced with this antiquated and fraud-ridden process, the COMELEC, under the leadership of Christian Monsod, embarked in 1992 on a program to modernize and automate Philippine elections. The COMELEC began its efforts with a survey of foreign electoral systems and proceeded with consultations with international election experts, through which it identified specific components necessary to successfully institutionalize a fully automated election framework. Among these components included the need to update existing technology and the systemization of the method of voter registration.

The COMELEC’s efforts were given legislative approval in 1995 when Congress enacted Republic Act No. 8046 which allowed the COMELEC to pilot-test an Automated Election System (AES) during the scheduled March 1996 elections in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). While COMELEC was given wide latitude to determine the details and particulars of this AES, its discretion was circumscribed within well-defined parameters which Congress required, first among which was the use of a stand alone machine that required minimum human intervention and which could generate immediate results using tangible ballots. By most standards, the pilot-testing of the AES adopted by the COMELEC for the 1996 ARMM Elections was considered by many, including the National Movement for Free Elections (NAMFREL) and the Parish Pastoral Council for Responsible Voting (PPCRV), as a success.

Buoyed by the inroads made during this election, the COMELEC sought permission from Congress to fully automate the 1998 national polls. Congress responded with Republic Act No. 8346, which, while notable, was passed in the latter part of 1997, barely six months before the 1998 polls, because of Congressional in-fighting and lobbying from vested interets. Late though the law was, it granted the COMELEC’s modernization campaign a broader scope by authorizing the automation of not only the 1998 elections, but all subsequent national and local elections thereafter. For this purpose, the law mandated the COMELEC to purchase acceptable automated counting machines.

Because of the delayed passage of the law, however, COMELEC did not have sufficient time to prepare for the nationwide use of the automated system for the 1998 polls and even the 2001 mid-term elections.

It was not until 2003, following allegations of fraud in the bidding out of the contract for the computerization of voters’registration and voters’ list, that the COMELEC pursued automation for the 2004 elections. Armed with funds from the Office of the President, the COMELEC entered into a poll automation contract with a consortium led by Mega Pacific eSolutions, Inc. The Supreme Court eventually voided this agreement on the ground that the joint-venture company formed by Mega Pacific did not have the requisite juridical personality. The Court also found that the contract itself was grossly disadvantageous to the government, since the machines offered by Mega Pacific failed to meet the required accuracy standards, and are therefore unfit for use in any electoral exercise.

In a stinging criticism of the COMELEC, the Court said that the award of the automation contract to Mega Pacific by the COMELEC, “cast serious doubts upon the poll body’s ability and capacity to conduct automated elections.” The Court even went to the extraordinary step of prompting the office of the Ombudsman to determine whether any criminal wrongdoing was committed by government officials, including officials from the COMELEC, in the execution of the fatally defective agreement. Curiously, however, no government official or private individual was held to task for the fiasco, notwithstanding the fact that government had already paid Mega Pacific the contract price of P11.2Billion for the purchase of the machines.

Because of the mistrust generated by the whole Mega Pacific incident, nationwide poll automation was seriously placed in jeopardy. This was further aggravated by the involvement of some of the same COMELEC officials in the $329 Million National Broadband Network (NBN) project with the Chinese firm ZTE, and in the Hello Garci controversy. It was clear that COMELEC needed a serious cleaning of house, one which the government hoped would begin with the appointment of former Supreme Court Justice Jose A.R. Melo as COMELEC chairman.

Still, and notwithstanding these election scandals, Congress forged forward with Republic Act No. 9369, which amended the original automation law passed in 1995 by specifying either a paper-based optical mark reader (OMR) or a direct recording electronic (DRE) system as the designated mode of election automation. The amendatory law also required the use of the chosen automation system in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao during the mid-term elections of 2007, ahead of the mandated national automation during the elections of May 2010.

Notwithstanding the amendatory law, however, COMELEC was again unable to implement any automation during the May 2007 polls, citing the now familiar lack of time and absence of sufficient funds. The COMELEC, however, was able to automate the ARMM Elections in August 2008, using both modes of election automation required by the law. Eventually, the COMELEC selected the use of the paper-based OMR system for the 2010 national elections. This paper-based system, while computerized, nonetheless uses actual paper ballots, unlike the DRE system, which dispenses with actual ballots altogether and relies instead on touch-screen technology to record the voter’s choice.

The PCOS Automated System

The PCOS machines for use in the 2010 polls are actually a species of the paper-based OMR system that functions by reading and counting the markings made by voters on paper-ballots after they are fed into the machine. Voters will no longer have to individually write the names of their chosen candidates, as requied in the present system, since voting is done by darkening spaces opposite the names of chosen candidates. The PCOS machine then stores the scanned information until, and only at the end of the specified polling period.

Upon a specific command from the BEI, results in the particular precinct are then automatically tallied by the PCOS machine, which prints out copies of the ER that reflect the names of candidates and the number of votes garnered by each. When copies of the ER are physically distributed to the legally-designated recepients, such as the COMELEC and the NAMFREL, the BEI then digitally signs and encrypts the electronic copy of the ER using a password or private key, which allow for the transmittal of the ER over wireless public network lines to the corresponding city or municipal Board of Canvassers, as well as to the COMELEC central back-up server, among others. A separate automated canvassing system collates these ERs at the municipal, city, provincial and national level, and generates corresponding COCs, similar to the existing system. What is notable, however, is that throughout the canvassing process, human intervention is brought to a minimum, and accuracy is ideally increased because of the absence of human error.

Continued Skepticism and the Optimism of the Supreme Court

Some quarters, however, remain skeptical about the technology and over-all canvassing system chosen by the COMELEC for the 2010 elections. These skeptics, whose ranks include lawyers and IT professionals, point out that the PCOS machines approved for use by the COMELEC not only lack transparency in the recording, canvassing and transmittal of votes but are also susceptible to software attacks, glitches, and other technical problems.

One of the most obvious vulnerabilities underscored by detractors is the choice of the PCOS system itself, which requires the voter to shade spaces beside candidate names, which are, in turn, scanned, tabulated, and saved by the machine. Pointing to experience abroad, some IT professionals say that this scanning system is prone to errors and inaccurate reporting.

Some critics also point to the unreliable access controls built into the PCOS system, so that election cheats need only find a way to hack into the system and manipulate votes. Because of the electronic nature of the canvas, the results would not show any badge of fraud or any indication that they were actually tampered with. The machines, therefore, would actually facilitate rather than thwart widespread cheating during the elections. Some have even suggested that the PCOS machines themselves could already come rigged on election day, and none of us would be the wiser.

Still others paint a more chilling doomsday scenario and point to the possibility of a wholesale breakdown in the machines themselves or in the electronic canvassing of the ballots, resulting in a massive failure of elections. Already, malicious minds have implied that some entrenched interests are preparing to use widespread blackouts on election day to manufacture a failure of elections scenario on May 10, 2010.

In defense of the PCOS machines, however, Atty. Ferdinand Rafanan, COMELEC Law Department chief, said that the COMELEC’s chosen automation system still provides for adequate security features to safeguard the sanctity of the ballot. He points to multi-layer security mechanisms such as 128-bit encryption smart keys and passwords which are needed to start-up and operate the PCOS machines and to transmit results once the elections are completed. He also cites the print-out of unalterable audit log reports which can supposedly detect any fraudulent use or operation of the machines. In any event, because of the existence of paper-based ballots, Rafanan points out that the COMELEC will always have a failsafe alternative to refer to, should the PCOS machines fail on election day.

Still, these security features are not enough, at least to the minds of lawyer Harry Roque and his Concerned Citizens Movement (CCM). On July 9, 2009, Roque filed a petition before the Supreme Court seeking to enjoin the COMELEC from signing the poll automation contract with Smartmatic TIM Corporation, the joint-venture company considered the best complying bidder. Roque argued that under Republic Act No. 9369, any automated election must first undergo “pilot testing” in specified areas in the Philippines before full-blown automation can be conducted. That COMELEC failed to hold such pilot testing or did not require it in its automation contract shows that it abused its discretion in awarding the contract to Smartmatic TIM Corporation. Roque also said that the PCOS machines themselves do not satisfy the minimum system capabilities required by Republic Act No. 9369 to safeguard the integrity of the ballot. In particular, the petition cites the failure of the PCOS machines to “assure accuracy in the recording and reading of votes, as well as in the tabulation, consolidation/canvassing, electronic transmission, storage results and accurate ballot counting.”

In a 7-3 Decision handed down on September 10, 2009, however, the Supreme Court denied Roque’s petition and ruled that “pilot testing” is not required for the upcoming May 10, 2010 elections. Noting that the language of the law did require automation ”in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao” during the May 9, 2007 elections, the Court said that the COMELEC’s failure to automate at that time did not mean that it could not fully automate in subsequent electoral exercises. In the Court’s judgment, the intention of Congress in passing Republic Act No. 9369 was to fully automate all elections after the 2007 polls, regardless of whether automation was actually done in 2007.

In addition, the Court also ruled that the PCOS machines themselves met the minimum capability standard required by Republic Act No. 9369. The Court pointed to the COMELEC-prescribed 26-item checklist criteria which the PCOS machines passed with an accuracy rating of at least 99.995%. Finding no legal infirmity in the automation contract with Smartmatic TIM Corporation, therefore, the Court confidently said that “even though the [automated election system] has its flaws, COMELEC and Smartmatic have seen to it that the system is well-protected with sufficient security measures in order to ensure honest elections.” This conclusion was echoed by no less than the Chief Justice, Raynato Puno, in a separate concurring opinion, where he said: “Absent any capricious and whimsical exercise judgment on the part of the COMELEC, its determination of the appropriate election technology, as well as the procedure for its procurement, should be respected. The fear of automation failure should not overwhelm us.”

The practical effect of the Supreme Court’s September 10, 2009 Decision, of course, is to remove all legal roadblocks to the full automation of the 2010 elections. In the coming months, therefore, COMELEC is expected to conduct personnel training for about 160,000 personnel who will be operating the PCOS machines, and is also scheduled to release an initial 5% tranche of the P7.2 Billion contract to Smartmatic TIM Corporation.

But the Supreme Court’s confidence in the automated system, in stark contrast to its findings in the Mega Pacific decision of 2004, provides little comfort to nay-sayers who continue to prophesy gloom and doom on May 10, 2010. Indeed, the Supreme Court may be many things, but varied may its competencies be under the law, it cannot yet predict the future, much less, guaranty the success of the 2010 elections. Beyond this seemingly alarmist attitude, however, what is obvious is the public’s basic and persistent distrust towards both the government and the COMELEC tasked with implementing automation.

Few, if any, dispute the need for automation. But implicit in this need for automation is the honesty and integrity of the persons and institutions tasked to implement it. This is especially true with the upcoming elections, as fraud, now imbued with an electronic, and therefore, intangible character, will be much more difficult to detect, prove and correct. With what we have thus far seen, heard and known of the COMELEC, is it worthy of the Filipino people’s trust? And while we may certainly adopt the COMELEC’s “give it a try” stance now affirmed by no less than the Supreme Court, many are led to ask whether our democracy is that resilient that it will be able to adopt to such a drastic leap forward. The cliché holds true, therefore, now, more than ever: indeed, only time can really tell.

Having Faith

2009-11-24T08:07:00.009-05:00

St. Paul he tells us that faith is the substance of things hoped for; it is the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).

The Greek word used by St. Paul to describe faith in this passage is telling: uπόστασις (hupostasis), which, literally means, “to stand under; to support.”

For St. Paul, therefore, faith is, or should be, the basis, the foundation, the substance of everything we hope for, everything we look forward to, everything that is uncertain in tomorrow. It is the bedrock upon which we anchor our days.

But we are corporeal beings; we are afraid and anxious of what we cannot see. Just as the future frightens us, the faith upon which we are asked to anchor our future is itself elusive and unseen. What is it then that we must believe in? What is the assurance that our faith is not for naught?

By ourselves, therefore, by our limited human reason, we cannot believe. It is in this sense that we are told that faith is gift.

Grant us, therefore, this gift of faith, that we may be able to look with the future in hope and expectation. Reassure us, dear Lord, of what we, on our own, cannot reassure ourselves: that all shall indeed be well.

We pray this through the intercession of St. Teresa of Avila, who, by her life, showed us how it is to live with that “substance,” that faith, which makes living truly a work of hope:

Nada te turbe
Nada te espante
Todo se pasa, Dios no se muda
La paciencia todo lo alcanza
Quien a Dios tiene nada le falta
Solo Dios basta

Amen.

Inertia

2009-10-18T22:15:00.001-04:00

A body persists in its state of rest or of uniform motion
unless acted upon by an external unbalanced force.
- Newton’s First Law of Motion

As sure as science, she fell, hard and irresistibly, towards his center of gravity. It was not that she intended to, or had any deliberate intention of being caught hopelessly in orbit around him. But as imperceptible as the laws of attraction go, she found herself drawn to him and his laughter, suddenly and inexplicably, the way gravity draws a river inexorably to the sea.

Things began innocently enough: group lunches with fellow workmates, innocuous chats during breaktime, unexpected connections. The romantics among them called it latent magnetism, a textbook example of opposites attract. Whatever it was, howewver,— magnetism, gravity, insanity— one thing was certain: she was not like any of the other girls that he had once upon a time dated; because what many thought to be that which was irresistible about him was not what she herself had fallen in love with. She was not overwhelmed by his presence or attracted by his celebrity; neither was it the idea of having been chosen over other oogling girls that made their hand-holding sweeter, or more meaningful. No. It was his vulnerability and his passion that made her a true believer. It was his willingness to damn the world for his art, and for his art alone, that defined for her the meaning of integrity. She even bought curtains for him, gaddamit. And she knew that she was in love.

But when all was said and done, as work and life and making a living made wider their shared universe, it became apparent that he eventually had to choose. And when the conflict between his heart and his art had led him to decide, he decided for his art, but wanted his heart as well. She was willing to give it, truth be told— to let him have his cake and eat it too. But he decided for both of them: It was for the best, because I don’t want to hurt you.

And before she knew it, that orbit which both of them had found so comfortable and endearing, had, for her, turned into a vortex of emotions and questions, sucking her ever downward and ever inward, into a spiral of self-doubt. Was I not good enough? Will I ever find anyone like him again?

She knew, of course, that their parting was really for the best— for he was who he was, after all, and in the end. It was too much to expect him to change.

It was just a matter of time.

So in moments of weakness, when vortices of longing threatened yet again to draw her into him, she knew that all it was, was the momentum of the past, the forward circular motion that formerly fixed her way, and nothing more. Soon, soon, even this motion would cease, all energy would be spent, and she would, if not already, break free, chart a different course, set a different motion, move to a different heartbeat: finally, that of her own.

First Friday Food Club: Lemuria

2009-10-16T11:46:00.014-04:00

The traffic leading to San Juan was unusually bad that Friday evening; or it was probably because I had to make a necessary detour to the Ateneo Law School campus in Rockwell to photocopy cases for next semester’s classes in Constitutional Law— whatever it was, by the time Yang and I picked up Awee in Loyola Heights, I had already made two phone calls to Lemuria asking that they hold our table even after our reservation time of 7:30PM. I was determined not to lose our table.

Tucked away in a corner of Horseshow Village in San Juan, I had many times noticed the sign along Horseshoe Drive while on my way to work in the morning: Lemuria and the Wine Cellar. Having already heard some bits and pieces from other foodies in the past, I decided that, for this month’s First Friday Food Club—already postponed one week because of Yang’s busy, busy schedule— we were all to trek to Quezon City for our monthly gastronomical feast. We would not be disappointed.

We arrived at around 8:10PM, and were greeted by a uniformed guard at the gate, asking for our reservation. “Ay, sa wakas, dumating na kayo, Attorney,” he said, radioing in our arrival. We were led down a lighted driveway towards a Mediterranean style house at the end. To our left was a private residence, which we figured belonged to the restaurant owner. We ascended, and were welcomed by a bevy of waiters with earpieces and radios, and a handful of patrons, numbering no more than ten.

We were led to the far table, laden with tall goblets, plates and silverware, and we felt instantly awkward—as though we had arrived late at a small, exclusive dinner party, and we were the only guests left unserved. We all gave each other amused looks as we sat down, knowing that our conversation, boisterous as we often were during these monthly reunions, would surely destroy the ambience. We knew, therefore, that we barbarians from Makati would have to be on our best behavior, if only to prove that we were somewhat cultured and deserved to sit in a restaurant such as Lemuria without having to deal with annoyed glances from other more discriminating patrons.

But the initial awkwardness subsided quickly, as we got lost in the coziness of our surroundings. It was a little too close and friendly, in fact, that no sooner had we been seated at our table that we began to eavesdrop on the conversation of the couple in the next table.

The menus having been handed out, I scanned the selection which boasted of an extensive list of appretizers and entrées. I had wanted to start with the seared foie gras, braised cabbage and fig glaze, but found that it was too expensive for my taste (it was around P880 a plate!), so I just settled for a garden salad with balsamic vinegar which Yang, Awee and I would share. For good measure, I ordered asparagus soup, which the waiter said was the soup of the day.

For our main course, Yang and Awee chose the risotto of New Zealand mussels, prawn and sweet pimiento while I, wanting to be a little healthy for a change, initially decided on the halibut, which the menu described to be baked in vine leaves with spices and aromatics. Disappointed that I would not eat foie gras, however, Yang suggested that I try the grilled wagyu steak, which the waiter affirmed as the restaurant’s best seller. The moment of hesitation passed quickly, and I asked that the steak be cooked rare.

On the wine, however, we struggled a little, as Lemuria had quite an extensive wine list to choose from. (Apparently, the owners of the restaurant also owned Brumms, a company which marketed foreign wines locally). We eventually settled on a 2007 California Pinot Noir, which was affordable yet proved to be perfect for the evening’s entrée picks.

After ordering, we were served bread which we ate with tasty tomato and pate spread, and an amuse-bouche of salami and eggplant quiche. My asparagus soup, which I unfortunately found a little too tasteless, came shortly thereafter. Awee, ever the envious one, did not want to be outdone, and asked for an additional order of mushroom and gruyere soup. We both ended up swapping our appetizers, however, as Awee fancied my tasteless asparagus soup, while I enjoyed her mushroom and gruyere.

But the highlight of my evening, of course, was my grilled wagyu steak, which was served with salad, mashed potatos and mushroom sauce. It was, bar none, the softest steak that I have ever tasted. My dinnermates, therefore, had to endure occassional and prolonged pleasured grunts and groans as I savored the meat which, quite literally, melted in my mouth. So much did I enjoy this steak that I am officially including the Lemuria wagyu as among the very best steaks I have ever had, right alongside Antonio’s and Gaudi’s.

We ended with conversations over Neuchatel Cheesecake—sweet yet sedate, a perfect counterpoint to the evening. We left at around 10:30PM, the last party to leave Lemuria that night. We were a little over budget, although with the food and the privacy, it was something to be expected. While the prices were quite limiting, therefore, our Lemuria experience was certainly pleasant and worth the occassional expense.

5 Julieta Circle, Horseshoe Village, Quezon City
Tel. No.: +632.724.5211
http://www.lemuria.com.ph
http://www.brumms.com.ph

For Whom the Bell Tolls

2009-10-04T11:18:00.011-04:00

“. . . never send to know from whom the bell tolls,
it tolls for thee . . .”
John Dunne

I had first noticed the shortness of breath only about a month ago, while going around the office during my usual afternoon stroll. While I had complained for some months now of an on-again, off-again dull pain on the left side of my chest, doctor friends told me that it was probably more of a muscle issue than anything else. I knew, of course, that I was out of shape, and navigating a flight of stairs had usually left me short-winded. But I figured that these symptoms were merely the manifestation of the need to get some physical exercise. And so, I decided to resume my former gym regimen, and I managed to get through around thirty minutes on the treadmill, and another thirty minutes with weight training, four times a week for the last three weeks. While I did feel tired and uncomfortable after each session, I thought hat this was just the usual aches and pains common with resuming physical activity after a long period of sedentariness.

Last week, however, on one particularly hectic afternoon, I found myself dizzy and severely short of breath after having to climb a flight of stairs to a conference room. Luckily, the company physician was on-call, and I had myself diagnosed immediately after the meeting. He said that while it did not seem particularly serious, he had observed, through his stethoscope, that I had an irregular heartbeat, and therefore suggested that I see a cardiologist and undergo ECG testing at the soonest possible time.

I got particularly scared for a couple of minutes after that diagnosis. The hypochondriac in me started to calculate the worst-case scenarios. Considering that I had been experiencing the symptoms for about three weeks now, and coupled with that dull chest pain from months and months ago, I convinced myself that I had some serious medical condition which would soon cause my death. I certainly did not want to go to bed that night, and suddenly not wake up the next day.

For my own peace of mind, therefore, I drove myself after work to the emergency room of the Cardinal Santos Medical Center, in San Juan, and complained of my shortness of breath and dizziness. I told them of the company doctor’s earlier diagnosis of an irregular heartbeat, and how he had suggested that I should get an ECG in short order. They ushered me into a gurney at the corner of the emergency room, drew the cloth partition, and connected my finger to a contraption that measured my blood oxygen level. The nurse, as she wheeled a printer-like machine right beside the gurney, asked me to take off my shirt and remove all metallic objects from my body. She then began attaching wires to my chest which were fastened with what looked like suction cups. It was an ECG machine. Moments later, I watched as scribbles emerge, much like a fax machine produced a telephone message-- the electrical impulses from my heart. The nurse took the read-out and said that I should wait for the doctor on duty to interpret the findings.

The verdict: Blood oxygen level, normal. ECG results, normal. But what of my dizziness and shortness of breath, I asked. It could be many things, the doctor said. It could even be psychosomatic. So he suggested further tests to be sure. But he reassured me that whatever it was, it did not seem at all life threatening, at least from what the instruments told him.

I was relieved, of course, as I drove home from the hospital. But I still did not know what was wrong with me, if ever there was even anything wrong with me at all. I knew that I was (and still am) experiencing episodes of dizziness and shortness of breath, even after the most sedate of physical activities. So I asked our family cardiologist to prescribe a series of tests that I should take, if only to rule things out, or generate baseline findings against which subsequent tests or check ups can be compared.

What was terrifying about this whole experience was the fact that I was worrying about this now, at age thirty. Was I not too young, I thought.

But reflecting on it more deeply, I realized that while I was not exactly old, neither can I call myself relatively young. Unfortunate as it may seem, I realized that I am no longer invincible. And coupled with this realization is a nascent yet acute knowledge that one day, sometime soon, the movement of body and quickness of feet will not be as it used to. In short, I was confronted with the truth of my mortality. In short, I was reminded that I was actually going to die.

What was it that Homer wrote in the Iliad about death—

As the generation of leaves, so the generations of men.
For the wind pours the leaves out on the ground,
But the wood blooms and grows and begets in the season of spring.
So too the generations of men: now they bloom, now they pass away.

Too often, I suppose, with the hopes and plans and dreams of day to day living, I have gotten caught up in the belief that everything is a possibility, and life somehow goes on forever. Or at least, that there will still always be a tomorrow, or a chance to start again. It is an easy enough delusion to accept, so that it sometimes comes as an uncomfortable intrusion, these occasional reminders of mortality that nonetheless are just as true as the possibility of tomorrow. I am, after all, as that ubiquitous philosopher of death, Martin Heidegger, put it: Sein-zum-tode, a being-unto-death.

It was not because Heidegger was being nihilistic (or even morose) when he described man as a being directed towards dying. On the contrary, Heidegger points out that it is because of this fact-- that all men will ultimately die-- that man’s existence finds meaning. He believes that death is not an external “event” that happens to man at the end of his life. Instead, death is inbuilt into man’s very essence, and every moment of his life is actually in anticipation of it, whether consciously or unconsciously. It is the canvass against which human life is lived. “As soon as man comes to life,” he says, “he is at once old enough to die.” Therefore, the awareness and acceptance of death, while difficult or uncomfortable, is a requirement for authentic existence. Death makes life authentic.

The challenge, therefore, is to go on with life, knowing that one day, there is death. Indeed, it is a knowing that should not be fearful or fatalistic, but an acceptance that death— or, in my case, getting older— is just really just a part of life. I suppose the key is not to worry too much, to be cautious where caution is needed, but, by and large, to live, nonetheless. After all, to borrow the words of Sara Teasdale, “Time is a kind friend. He will make us old.”

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold.
Let it be forgotten forever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long-forgotten snow.

Nĭ hăo: In Praise of Language

2009-09-21T11:16:00.002-04:00

I am now on my sixth week of learning Mandarin at the Confucius Institute at the Ateneo, and apart from the usual struggles of learning an entirely different and unnatural system of pronunciation, memorizing basic vocabulary, and actually finding the time to study, it has been a very fruitful and enriching experience.

The decision to enroll at the Confucius Institute came quite suddenly, when, after visiting a friend at the Department of European Studies at the new Leong Hall of the University, I chanced upon a poster advertising basic Mandarin classes. After having been exposed to a number of European languages in the past, I thought that it was time to try out a new Asian language. Finding my Saturday afternoons free, therefore, I decided to take the opportunity by availing of my faculty discount, while, at the same time, bullying my friend to join me in the class as well.

I would later on learn that two other friends from the law school had also enrolled in the same basic Chinese course, but at the Ateneo’s Makati campus. Since then, all four of us have been occasionally engaged in random conversations of Nĭ hăo ma, Wŏ yào hē kĕlè and Nĭ xĭhuān wŏ nán péngyou.

They say, of course, that apart from the obvious difficulty of learning Chinese characters (a matter to be taught in subsequent Chinese classes but not in this basic course), conversational Mandarin is much easier to master than conversational English. And from what I have observed thus far, the language does seem to dispense with the use of definite or indefinite articles. Neither does it have any tenses or conjugation in the strict sense.

But while there may be areas where the language lacks complexity, there are also aspects that challenge non-native speakers like me: particularly, in the fact that Chinese is a hopelessly tonal language. This means that the meaning of a word is differentiated by the tones accompanying the pronunciation of that particular word, as opposed to the pronunciation of the words themselves. In Chinese, for example, the word for mother and the word for horse is “ma,” and the distinction between the two is the way the word “ma” is intoned. It would not be unlikely, therefore, for an English-speaker like me, not at all sensitive to the nuances of tone and pronunciation, to mistakenly describe my mother as a horse!

At this point, however, I am quite content with dropping polite Chinese phrases when talking to my Chinese-speaking co-workers who are, no doubt, amused to no end at my attempt to speak Mandarin while butchering the language in the process.

* * *

Perhaps my fascination with language began in my Philosophy of Language classes with the late Fr. Thomas Greene, S.J. in my undergraduate days at the Ateneo. At that time, I was already fluent in English and Filipino, and had taken two semesters of Spanish with Señora Heidi Aquino. But it was not until Fr. Green’s class that I truly appreciated the nature of language qua language as more than a mere tool for communication, but as a characteristically unique human activity— a reflection of his innate nature to make meaning.

It is believed that as human beings, we have an innate ability to learn language. It is built into the very fiber of our being. In fact, there is a theory advanced by linguistic theorist Noam Chomsky called the Theory of Universal Grammar which posits the existence of a certain built-in language competence in man— a universal or core grammar capacity existing as a deep mental structure— that gives rise to all the different grammars of the different languages of the world. Indeed, nowhere can this natural affinity for language be most clearly demonstrated than in children who have been observed to possess the unique ability to “absorb” language, particularly at a very young age.

Formally defined, of course, language is an organized system of conventional signs that allows us to communicate something about the world in a meaningful way. It is conventional, first of all, because it is based upon a social convention. Language, after all, is a social phenomenon. If we did not have other people to communicate with, it is unlikely that language would have developed at all. Thus, persons using the same language have come to an “agreement” that a particular combination of sounds will refer to a particular and designated meaning which, in turn, corresponds to a “thing” in the world.

When an English speaker says the word “dog,” for example, listeners who understand the English language will understand the word to mean the four-legged animal that barks. The designation, however, is purely arbitrary, so that persons speaking French can say chien, while Germans can say hund, while Spaniards can say perro, with all such words referring to the same four-legged animal that barks.

More than being conventional, however, language is also said to be metaphorical; it points to something beyond or outside itself— it communicates a “fact” about the world. It is in this realm that language takes on a decidedly metaphysical character. As Martin Heidegger famously said in his Letter on Humanism, “Language is the house of Being.” Through language, reality is revealed. Thus, if classical metaphysics posits that all being, if it is being, is co-natural, i.e., that it is capable of being known by the human mind, such knowing is always filtered and mediated through the medium of language. People’s sense of reality, therefore, is embedded and embodied in the language in which they speak and are immersed. Filipinos, for example, have many words for rice such as kanin, palay and bigas and the Inuit are said to have fifty different words referring to ice and snow. Germans, meanwhile, even have a word to describe the empty space between two objects— zwischenraum. Indeed, to borrow a classic phrase from Wittgenstein, each culture and each people has its own unique language game, spectacles through which they experience the world.

With this recognition of the centrality of language in thought and philosophy— the so-called, linguistic turn— some thinkers have taken the position to the extreme: they believe that the study of language alone could result in the only objective philosophy. These thinkers rejected the whole notion of metaphysics since this could not be objectively or empirically proven. For them, the true and genuine task of philosophy, therefore, is to clarify the meanings of basic concepts and assertions (especially those of science), through an analysis of language, and not to attempt to answer unanswerable questions such as those regarding the nature of ultimate reality or of the Absolute.

Wittgenstein, in his later philosophy and exemplified in his Philosophical Investigations, tried to temper and reign in these tendencies by espousing what was later on to be called Ordinary Language Philosophy. While not exactly veering away from the empiricism which characterized his earlier thought, Wittgenstein said that the proper approach to the study of language is to understand how it is used in everyday life. Through such an understanding, Wittgenstein believed that we will be able to “dissolve” the appearances of philosophical problems which are, in any event, rooted in a misunderstanding of what words actually mean, which, in turn, leadis the philosopher to take words in abstraction and out of context. The point of Wittgenstein, I suspect, is to understand language as it is, and not to place them artificially within a philosophical petri-dish, removed from reality.

This method of analyzing language as it is used has led philosophers to recognize that language is littered with dead metaphors. While language is itself metaphorical in that it relates to a fact in reality, once that connection has been established, language has a tendency of fossilizing these connections into rigid concepts as they are used and passed on from one speaker to the next. As explained by Guy Deutscher in the book, The Unfolding of Language, language is actually formed from an edifice of dead metaphors:

“…tracing a stream of metaphors that runs right through language and flows from the concrete to the abstract. In this constant surge, the simplest and sturdiest of words are swept along, one after another, and carried toward abstract meanings. As these words drift downstream, they are bleached of their original vitality and turn into pale lifeless terms for abstract concepts— the substance from which the structure of language is formed. And when at last the river sinks into the sea, these spent metaphors are deposited, layer after layer, and so the structure of language grows, as a reef of dead metaphors.”

We need only look at the English language to find an abundance of such dead metaphors. The word sarcophagus, for example, comes from the ancient Greek words σαρξ (sarx) which means flesh, and φαγειν (phagein) which is the Greek verb, to eat. When the Greeks attempted to describe a stone coffin, therefore, they described it as λιθος σαρκοφάγος (lithos sacophagos), or flesh-eating stone. Another example is the word nostalgia, which is defined as the psychological condition of longing for the past. In describing this feeling, a medical student coined the phrase in 1688 by using the ancient Greek words νόστος (nostos) or “homecoming” and άλγος (algos) which means “pain” or “longing.” Nostalgia, therefore, and quite literally, is the longing or pain for home.

Because of the tendency of language to fossilize into dead metaphors, philosophers have constantly emphasized the need to return to the original experience of being, to that point when the initial encounter or “surprise” of existence gives rise to new meanings and words. The whole point, therefore, is to always return to being, to that primordial experience when existence is said to have revealed itself to consciousness, thereby giving rise to the true essence of language. This was the point of Fredrick Nietzsche in his essay, Truth and Falsity in an Extra-moral Sense, where he says that our use of language, either in telling the truth, or in telling lies, should not be judged by their moral content, but by the creativity of their utterance. Through this creativity, we are actually reviving these dead metaphors and revitalizing our use of language. As C.S. Lewis noted in Bluspels and Flalansferes, “when the metaphor becomes fossilized, our ‘thinking’ is not thinking at all, but mere sound or mere incipient movements in the larynx.”

This is one of the reasons, I suspect, why philosophers like Fr. Roque Ferriols, S.J., himself a fluent speaker of no less than 8 languages including Latin and ancient Greek, chose to philosophize in Filipino. Because language mediates being, it is important to use that particular language which best and most naturally mediates being to us Filipinos. For Fr. Ferriols, this language is Filipino (or, in his words, Northern Sampalokese). Immersed in this language, therefore, we, who also speak this language, are able to make first contact with the world, and our experience of being becomes more pristine and alive. Thus, for Fr. Ferriols, the term “being” cannot simply be translated into his Filipino term, “meron,” since the Filipino experience of meron is quite different from the Western experience of being. Maraming pagkakapareho, he would say. Ngunit marami ring pagkakaiba.

Filipino, however, being a language like any other, is also susceptible to the fossilization of metaphor. In these situations, Fr. Ferriols’ commitment to being is clear: we must always be vigilant and turn towards that initial taste and experience for existence, never to be complacent and trapped in static concepts— Danasin mo. Tumingin ka. Lundagin mo, beybe!

Understood in this way, and beyond its obvious practical benefits, the learning of foreign languages, and even of those no longer used today such as Latin, takes on an existential dimension— for just as one’s native tongue captures his people’s primordial meeting of consciousness with being, so does the native tongue of foreign and ancient peoples capture their own primordial meeting. Learning these languages, therefore, opens the learner to a whole milieu of experience not otherwise available to him through his native tongue, and one which ultimately enriches his understanding and appreciation for the complexity of being itself.

Zipping (through Life)

2009-09-20T10:44:00.003-04:00

It was not the falling that frightened me.
It was the sudden stop, at the end,
That was truly terrifying.

One Place

2009-09-16T01:14:00.005-04:00

In the end, if you take care
You can be happy or unhappy anywhere.
"One Place," Everything but the Girl

His third hotel room in so many weeks, 2,500 kilometers cross-crossing the Philippines and Asia: he sat now on his bed typing, with only the television to keep him company, and the whir of the air conditioning to lull him to sleep. He found consolation in this anonymity.

Being alone in a city that did not know him, around people he would never see again, there was a feeling that the past did not matter anymore, and that he could be anyone he wanted to be, at least for the meantime. He walked the streets not knowing where he was, but always with a feeling that a surprise was just waiting around the corner.

Why is it that places and pasts are always so inextricably linked? he wondered. Why is it that history and existence always happen in a particular milieu, a particular setting, with a particular set of people and a particular set of truths, which cannot really be chosen or undone? He was dasein, thrust into reality, condemned to choose (as the philosopher tells us), condemned to be free.

But all that was unimportant now. It was enough that he was in a new place, traveling, moving around. He knew he could not outrun the past, of course, and not that he wanted to—futile exercise that it was. But here, he could, for the meantime, in this one place, in this one city, choose the promise of a now and of a future. Perhaps that was what it was all about, anyway: change, living with what is given, but choosing the now and the future nonetheless, where ever he may be. He knew that with this hope in his heart, no matter where his travels or his tribulations took him, he would always still somehow find his way home.

Where Were You When the World Changed?

2009-09-11T11:59:00.001-04:00

There are few dates in a generation that serve to locate an era or an epoch— dates which divide days and years into the old and the new, the before and the after.

I was having dinner at a function room at the Rockwell Club in Makati celebrating the birthday of a law school classmate when news that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center was sent to me through my cell phone. It was September 11, 2001.

Upon hearing the news, I at first thought that it was the World Trade Center in Roxas Boulevard, in Manila, that was the site of the unfortunate accident. It was only when one of my classmates directed me to the television in the adjacent room that I realized from CNN that it was the World Trade Center in New York City that that had just been struck by what seemed to be a wayward airplane. The North Tower was then already belching thick black smoke, and commentaries at that time were all still confirming the nature of the crash.

Initial reports suggested that it was merely an unfortunate accident, but recalling the earlier bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993, a terrorist attack was not beyond the realm of possibility. All the speculation was confirmed moments later, when a second plane slammed into the World Trade Center’s South Tower. I watched in disbelief as an explosion mushroomed from the top of that second building. I remember the news anchors’ stunned silence as the screen showed a bright red, a blurry shadow of an aircraft crashing into the structure only moments earlier. There was no doubt now that we were witnessing a terrorist attack. It was 9:03 pm, Manila Time.

I got home at around 11PM later that evening to catch the CNN video of the twin towers’ eventual almost simultaneous collapse. Standing in front of the television screen, I recalled that summer in 1995 when I had the chance to visit the World Trade Center up close. Looking towards the sky that crisp April day, I recall having been swept up by the immensity and permanence of the Twin Towers; to my young and naïve mind, they were the grandest man-made structures I had then ever seen. I even climbed to the observation deck at the 110th Floor of the South Tower, more than 1,300 feet above New York City, and I recall with vivid wonder the magnificent views of downtown Manhattan, the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Hudson River and the Statue of Liberty, even New Jersey, for almost 55 miles. Now, those same magnificent and seemingly permanent structures were burning before my eyes. It was indeed an awesome and terrifying sight: watching such gigantic buildings fall so spectacularly, in a think plume of grey-black smoke, and with a suddenness that was difficult to comprehend.

* * *

The view that September day was quite different for Marlyn Bautista. An officer at the accounts payable department, Marlyn worked at the 94th Floor of the North Tower, in the insurance company of Marsh & McLennan.

Her husband, Rameses Bautista, shares that Marlyn liked to wake up early for work, in order to avoid rush hour traffic. The Bautistas lived in Iselin, New Jersey and Marlyn would take the Metro Park Loop bus every morning on her way to the train station which would take her to Manhattan, and eventually, the Twin Towers. She often stopped at a downtown church to pray. But on September 11, 2001, she went straight to her office, at the 94th Floor.

At 8:46 that morning, American Airlines Flight 11 crashed directly into Marlyn’s office. Marlyn’s sister, who also worked in the building but arrived in the area a little later than Marlyn, found smoke pouring out of the top of the North Tower. She rushed to their usual church hoping to find Marlyn there, as had been her routine, before proceeding to work. But Marlyn wasn’t there. And almost without thinking, Marlyn’s sister rushed to the Trade Center Complex, only to witness the building itself come crashing to the ground.

Marlyn never made it down from the 93rd Floor of the North Tower. She, like countless others, died in the terrible carnage of fuel and flames that would later on, and forever be remembered as 9/11. We remember them today as the first victims of a war that until then, offered no face or nationality. Days later, the attackers would be given a name, and a network of financed terror that would later on strike Bali, Madrid and London was laid bare to all the world. Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden became household names. And the world would never be the same.

* * *

Hannah Arendt was a German philosopher who lived through the horrors of the Second World War. Arendt, herself a Jew, asks how man, a species unique in its reason and intellect, could instead embrace irrationality, unreality, and evil. She situates these reflections against an analysis of totalitarianism, that unique and terrible political ideology that emerged in Europe during that era, and wondered whether in the face of all this atrocity and death, “[i]s rational reflection even possible?”

Arendt, of course, answered this in the affirmative. Unlike other post-war philosophers that took a nihilistic view of reason and man, proclaiming even, that “man is a useless passion,” Arendt remained committed to the centrality of reason in human conduct. Arendt rejected the twin views that this festering totalitarianism was beyond rational explanation, and that reason was itself a fantasy. In her quest to understand this radically novel political form, Arendt remained steadfastly committed to reason and its demands. Her observations are quite telling: evil does not appear to be borne from innate human weakness or wickedness, but from a tendency to abandon rationality. Man simply forgets to think, to apply what she calls to be common sense. Thus—

Some years ago, reporting the trial of Eichmann in Jerusalem, I spoke of “the banality of evil” and meant with this no theory or doctrine but something quite factual, the phenomenon of evil deeds, committed on a gigantic scale, which could not be traced to any particularity of wickedness, pathology, or ideological conviction in the doer, whose only personal distinction was a perhaps extraordinary shallowness. However monstrous the deeds were, the doer was neither monstrous nor demonic, and the only specific characteristic one could detect in his past as well as in his behavior during the trial and the preceding police examination was something entirely negative: it was not stupidity, but a curious, quite authentic inability to think. [Hannah Arendt, “Thinking and Moral Considerations: A Lecture,” in Moral Matters and Considerations, A Textbook for Foundations of Moral Value, ed. Nemesio S. Que, S.J., New Manila, 2000.]

One of the central characteristics of this totalitarianism, Arendt notes, is a persistent substitution of fantasy for reality which eventually erodes the social sphere or common world that disallows the fantasized assimilation of the other. According to Arendt, the essential characteristic of totalitarianism is its desire to dominate the human being as a means to effect the greater and perhaps more fantastic of its goals: total world domination through the subjugation of races. Indeed, it is an objective that, when placed within the context of reason and common sense, certainly reeks of irrationality and fantastic impossibility. Yet with the breakdown of the common world, the fantastic takes on the character of the real, and this irrationality, a semblance of reasonability. The totalitarian world is a world turned up-side-down.

Nothing captures this tendency towards fantasy in totalitarianism than the concentration camps of Nazi Germany which Arendt considers as the consummate illustration of the totalitarian condition. Here, all elements of the totalitarian project are achieved, resulting in the total domination of the human person. In the death camps littered across Poland and Germany, all reason seemed to breakdown: the impossible become possible, and reality seemed to stand on its head. Thus, even in the face of incontrovertible testimonial evidence by survivors of these death camps, their accounts, even as they became more and more authentic, become less and less believable. As Arendt herself observes:

None of these reports inspires those passions of outrage and sympathy through which men have always been mobilized for justice. On the contrary, anyone speaking or writing about concentration camps is still regarded as suspect; and if the speaker has resolutely returned to the world of the living, he himself is often assailed by doubts with regard to his own truthfulness, as though he had mistaken a nightmare for reality. [Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, p. 439]

It is for this reason that Arendt describes the death camps as dream-like, unreal, and nightmarish. All the conditions that made the world real were absent in this place of death: there were no consequences connected to actions, no recognition of individuality, no intelligible meaning to events— in a word, nothing made sense because there was no world that could be shared.

Elie Wiesel, Nobel Prize-winning author, recounts an eloquent example of this arbitrariness and unintelligibility:

We continued our march. We were gradually drawing closer to the ditch from which an infernal heat was rising. Still twenty steps to go. If I wanted to bring about my own death, this was the moment. Our line had now only fifteen paces to cover. I bit my lips so that my father would not hear my teeth chattering. Ten steps still. Eight. Seven. We marched slowly on, as though following a hearse at our own funeral. Four steps more. Three steps. There it was now, right in front of us, the pit and its flames. I gathered all that was left of my strength, so that I could break from the ranks and throw myself upon the barbed wire. In the depths of my heart, I bade farewell to my father, to the whole universe; and, in spite of myself, the words formed themselves and issued in a whisper from my lips: Yitgadal veyitkadach shme rada. . . May His name be blessed and magnified. . . My heart was bursting. The moment had come. I was face to face with the Angel of Death. . .

No. Two steps from the pit we were ordered to turn to the left and made to go into the barracks. [Elie Wiesel, Night (New York: Bantam Book, 1960), p. 31]

In the face of seeming death, Elie Wiesel did not die. But his mother and sister did, for no apparent reason whatsoever. “Men to the left. Women to the right”— who knew why this person had to be sent to the gas chambers, and the next person spared? Who understood why mother and son had to be separated? Everything appeared to be a matter of chance: the paralyzing effect of uncertainty deprived the individual of all desire to act, to live in community, to become. Reason itself seemed to have been gassed and burned in the death camps of Poland and Germany, together with the innocents of the Jewish people.

These accounts, and many others, Arendt uses to demonstrate not only the unrealities of the Nazi Death Camps but the seeming incomprehensibility of totalitarianism and how it confounds the limits of accepted categories of political thought and norms of moral conduct. In the face of this historical fact, all reason appears to break down: do not try to understand, as expressed by a camp survivor. Yet Arendt’s commitment to reason is undiminished. In the face of this incomprehensibility, she strives to find explanations and categories for this new and threatening totalitarianism; for to accept this facticity as impenetrable even to human reason would be to negate not only the survivors’ sacrifice, but man’s very humanity as well.

Having thus penetrated through this mist of incomprehensibility, Arendt suggests that the only way to regain this sense of reality, this to return to a common world of shared ideas, is through forgiveness. Arendt recognizes that human relationships are fragile, ethereal, and even unpredictable, and that totalitarian assimilation and alienation is an ever-present reality. Thus, it is imperative that individuals and societies be willing to make and to accept reparations. Indeed, as Arendt observes, without the possibility of forgiveness, man cannot be released from the clutches of the past, from the mistakes of totalitarianism, as man’s capacity to act would, as it were, be confined to one single deed from which he could never recover; man would be a victim of its consequences forever.

But because of the innate unpredictability of human relationships, Arendt believes that forgiveness is not enough; restoring the common world requires man to be able to make and keep promises, to affirm the possibility of maintaining a stable future.

Forgiveness and promise, therefore, are two sides of the same coin— for as forgiveness serves to undo the deeds of the past, promises serve to create, in an ocean of uncertainty, islands of security for the future without which community would not be possible in the relationships between men. Arendt believes, in fact, that forgiveness and promise are the highest manifestation of community in the shared space; for indeed, no one can forgive himself and no one can feel bound by a promise made only to himself. Forgiveness and promise, therefore, necessarily involve the other, and are guarantees to the perpetuation of a shared community. Where there is forgiveness and promise, community exists.

* * *

While on the surface, the terror attacks of 9/11 partake of a religious, fanatical preoccupation, many of its characteristics hew closely to Arendt’s conception of man’s tendency towards totalitarianism. It may be true that the techniques have changed from the death camps of Nazi Germany— commercial jets crashing into skyscrapers, bombs planted in trucks, and death-powder enclosed in envelopes— yet the objective remains the same: the domination of the other. Indeed, like the classic unreality of totalitarianism, the fantastic has intruded into the real: hundred-story towers crumbling into dust together with hundreds of innocent people, airlines turning into sinister projectiles through the sky, bombs falling upon near deserted mountains to flush out maniacal religious fanatics out to destroy the capitalist world.

As one author, reflecting upon the events of 9/11 points out, the “world” of the World Trade Center with thousands of people from different nationalities under America’s aegis has been “shattered” by scores of people from “another world” shut off from the world of commerce and prosperity by thousands of grievances rooted in ethnic, ideological, or religious complaints about perceived American arrogance. Here, the peace of Arendt’s shared world has disintegrated, and in its place, a veritable “clash of civilizations” has emerged, complete with its fantasy and unreality.

Yet ironically, some say that the United States itself, the bastion of liberty, freedom and enlightened government, appears to have itself subtly subscribed to the totalitarianism of earlier days. With the breakdown of the shared world, the United States had initially closed all attempts at communication and dialogue and opted to take its stand by force, dragging the innocent Afghan people to ruin in the search of a single man. The descent into the totalitarian, therefore, is not anymore difficult to imagine. What was rooted in the old realities up to 9/11 now has found fresh visage in new geopolitical realities. Indeed, the divisions have been drawn once again, and the world is forced to take sides. The “us” and the “them” emerge in a frighteningly world-wide scale.

This is the reason Arendt’s call to forgiveness and promise take on an added significance. The redemption and escape from the spiral of totalitarianism lies in the ability to rebuild again the common world that has been fragmented by the apparent and seeming incompatibilities of American capitalism and the Islamic faith. Building a future not on forgiveness but on past wrongs does not create a foundation of pluralism that is at the heart of tolerance and religious tranquility.

This is not to say, of course, that the actions of Al Qaeda can be justified as an expression of faith. The actions of Osama Bin Laden cannot be tolerated. But to endanger the lives of thousands of innocent people to achieve the end-goal of American vindictiveness is too steep a price to pay for a fragile peace and security. Indeed, another fundamentalist could take Bin Laden’s place, and the killing continues, in this vicious cycle of fantasy begetting fantasy, ad nauseam ad infinitum.

The key, therefore, is forgiveness and promise: when two peoples embrace again the shared world of common meanings can the darkness of isolation and assimilation be banished and the cycle of vengeance and violence be broken. Indeed, the words of Arendt ring true then as it does so now: Without the possibility of forgiveness, man cannot be released from the clutches of the past, from the mistakes of totalitarianism and terrorism, as man’s capacity to act would, as it were, be confined to one single deed from which he could never recover; man would be a victim of its consequences forever.

First Friday Food Club: Dinelli’s

2009-09-04T09:31:00.001-04:00

At the inaugural dinner of the First Friday Food Club, Awee, Yang and I found ourselves in a quiet part of The Fort after having been turned away at another restaurant for lack of room and reservation. We had initially chosen to relocate to Je Suis Gourmand for the evening, but on the way to the NetOne Building, Awee chanced upon a small delicatessen called Dinelli’s at One McKinley Place which was not only well-lit but also did not appear to be crowded.

Not knowing what exactly to order, we found ourselves floating towards the deli displays which presented a wide array of sausages, steaks, and chesses, mostly from Australia. I had already settled into my chair and had been going through their ala carte menu when Yang, ever the meat-eater, suggested that we get a raw steak from the display and ask that it be cooked on site for our meal. It was an inspired idea.

Yang quickly chose the Australian prime rib which I similarly, although somewhat reluctantly, requested. Awee, not feeling carnivorous that evening, opted for linguini with mushrooms in red sauce, with a side-order of spicy Italian sausages and cauliflower soup. (When asked by the waiter what she wanted from the deli displays, Awee insistently said, Basta, ang gusto ko lang, sausage.)

For our part, Yang and I started with the French onion soup, and together, got a bottle of Australian shiraz to wash down the red meat. (Their selection of wines was unfortunately quite limited.)

Needless to say, and to my surprise, the steaks, cooked right from the displays, were tender and well-seasoned. Yang agreed. While the steaks were certainly not of the Antonio’s caliber (which, to my mind, are the tastiest steaks I’ve ever eaten), the quality of the meat and more importantly, the preparation and the cooking, made for a more than satisfactory steak experience. The onion soups were also similarly tasty (made with four kinds of cheese!), and I particularly liked Awee’s cauliflower cream soup, so much so that I ended up finishing her share. We finished the meal with a slice of cheesecake.

But what capped off the string of pleasant surprises was the price at which the meal had set us all back—with steaks, pasta, soup, dessert and a bottle of wine, the entire evening only cost us about P700.00 per person. None of us could argue with that.

We left Dinelli’s at about 11 o’clock, red from the wine, and full from the meat. Indeed, it was an auspicious start to the First Friday Food Club.

Dinelli’s first opened along Timog Avenue, in Quezon City, and branched out to its One McKinley location in March 2009.

G/F One Mckinley Place, 5th Avenue
Bonifacio Global City, Taguig
Tel No.: +632.703.4282 / 8560498

Dying of a Broken Heart

2009-08-27T09:26:00.004-04:00

I know that I've told many of you, over and over again, that you have to be strong following a break-up-- after all, no one has ever died of a broken heart.

Some of you believed this advice, owing, perhaps, to the logic and to the self-evidence of the statement. But I guess there is a reason why lawyers were never meant to dispense medical diagnoses, because apparently, one can die of a broken heart. And the disease has been fittingly called “broken heart syndrome.”

The affliction appears to have been first diagnosed in Japan in 1991, after a woman complained of what doctors first believed to be a heart attack. When examined more closely, the woman’s ECG was found to be uncharacteristic of a true cardiac episode, and the cardiac enzyme test that was supposed to confirm a heart attack was not found to be elevated. It was also discovered that the apex of the woman’s left ventricle had “ballooned” outward in an unusual fashion. The Japanese cardiologists thought that it resembled a Japanese octopus trap (a tako tsubo), hence called the condition takotsubo cardiomyopathy.

Studies later on showed that the syndrome was more prevalent across the globe than first believed. The studies confirmed that profound psychological stress such as grief, fear, anger, and shock could cause the acute but reversible dysfunction that occurred in the hearts of older, postmenopausal women. Patients (mostly women) suffering from the affliction were found to initially suffer from severe heart failure, and required aggressive and intensive medical care. The good news was that with appropriate care, not only did most patients survive, but that their hearts usually returned to normal functions within a few days or weeks. While the exact cause of the syndrome is not known, it is generally thought that the “ballooning” of the heart is a usual response to stress hormones produced following a severely stressful or emotional trauma.

Those of us, therefore, who have just lived through a broken heart should remember to not only be wary of medical advice dispensed by (know-it-all) lawyers, but more importantly, to be vigilant on the onslaught of a possible and quite serious medical affliction. The soundest medical suggestion, of course, is to avoid heart ache where it is even at all possible-- after all, an ounce of prevention with worth a pound of cure. But with life and living the way it is, I suppose that heart ache is inevitable, and when immanent or already present, the next best thing to do is to not only help ourselves (by perhaps keeping things in perspective), but to be kind to ourselves, as well. Indeed, if any thing, broken heart syndrome is a reminder that emotional stress and trauma can and will result in real and sometimes debilitating physical pain.

Prayer on a Sunday Night

2009-08-17T08:15:00.006-04:00

Heavenly Father,

In the oppressive silence of this evening,
as anger wells unbidden from places unvisited by grace,
teach me to forgive.

Take unsifted the memories of confusion and abandonment
that have haunted me, unrestrained,
and take them into Your eternal safekeeping,
that I may have the courage to look again at life
in hope and not in bitterness, in peace and not in hate.

Grant me, then, dear Father,
the freedom that comes with forgiveness.
Remind me always that with every vengeful thought
I nurture in my heart,
I serve only to strengthen the shackles
that bind me to the prisons of yesterday's fury--
a prison where neither hope nor light nor joy nor peace abides.

Finally, dear Father, as I pray for the courage to forgive,
and the freedom gained from forgiving,
I ask that You be present as I struggle in this journey--
For I know that I cannot forgive without Your grace,
and I cannot be free without Your love.

In the name of Him whose life has taught us to forgive,
and whose death has set us free.

Amen.

Reconnecting (Peeking Out)

2008-04-05T11:30:00.009-04:00

We took the world as given.
Cigarettes were twenty-several cents a pack,
And gas as much per gallon. Sex came wrapped in rubber
And veiled in supernatural scruples—
Call them chivalry . . . .

Psychology was in the mind; abstract
things grabbed us where we lived; the only life
worth living was the private life, and— last,
Worst scandal in this characterization—
We did not know we were a generation.

John Updike

I know that I’ve been away for a while, stuck in the daily grind of finding a life and making a living, and it’s been hard just standing still. Perhaps this really is a sign of my generation: nearing thirty, coming into our own, constantly being on the move. Almost every day, I get news of people changing jobs, getting married, moving abroad. Very few of us, in fact, are still in our first jobs out of law school. Some have even given up lawyering altogether. Others have even chosen to stake their fortunes in foreign lands. It is an unnerving experience, I think, to realize that one’s life is completely and inexorably in one’s hands.

Here’s a brief run-down of what I have since done with mine:

1. I’ve changed law offices. From the litigation firm of Poblador Bautista & Reyes, I am now an associate at R omulo Mabanta Buenaventura Sayoc & de los Angeles Law Office, one of largest law offices in the country. The firm is known for its securities, arbitration and capital markets transactions, but, strangely enough, much of my work remains in to be in litigation. I am though, fortunately, doing a number of deals, transactions and arbitrations. Needless to say, I still feel that I really don’t know anything— I get by only by the grace of God.

2. I just presently finished a semester teaching Obligations and Contracts to freshmen at the Ateneo Law School. I will also be beginning my second semester of teaching Land Titles at the FEU-La Salle MBA-JD Program in May. I also taught Transportation Law for a semester to a total of six students at the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Pasay, all of whom were at least five years older than me and members of the Philippine National Police.

Balancing my responsibilities at the law office, where I often have to do sixteen hour days, and finding time to prepare for my classes, has been quite a challenge. And quite frankly, there are days when I feel that I am tremendously short-changing my students. Without my teaching, however, I honestly think that I would have gone nuts a long time ago. It has been quite an enjoyable experience, however (although I am sure, my students will describe my teaching as anything but enjoyable!)

3. I am now a certified Open Water Diver. I got my diver’s certification in April 2007, at Dive and Trek, in Anilao, Batangas, and since then, I have been fortunate enough to be able to dive the waters of El Nido, Palawan, Balicasag Island in Bohol, and Cebu. I can think of very few times where I can honestly say that I am entirely and completely in the moment. Being sixty feet under water, sounds muffled, moving in slow motion, it is an experience both soothing and exhilarating at the same time. Unfortunately, I have not been able to go on dives recently, owing to my very busy schedule. But the possibility of going underwater soon is a prospect that I thoroughly look forward to.

4. I’ve also had the chance to travel to quite a number of places over the past months, among them: Ankor Wat, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Hong Kong, Beijing, Puerto Galera, Boracay and Cebu City.

Through changes and travels and learnings, though, I think I’m still the same person. I little bit more jaded, perhaps, a lot more grown-up. But still the same person. It is with this thought that I am (hopefully) signing back on, and emerging (for occasional peeks) from this veritable cave of mine. Here we go. . . .

The Problem with Us

2008-04-04T11:28:00.001-04:00

I wonder if what you told me tonight was true: that the problem with people like us is that we really don’t know how to be loved. Or perhaps that we are afraid to be happy.

After all, the mutual alone-ness by which we have marked our recent days have not been for a lack of people who have tried to love us— crazily so, even when we have tried to push away. And this is perhaps our greatest consolation: that in spite of all, we are still, somehow, lovable. And so, it appears that the reason for our loneliness is actually our own doing, and the key to our happiness is actually our own choosing.

Why, then, do we still push away? Is it because we fear being too vulnerable, too close, too familiar? Is it borne out of a fear that, with proximity, they will eventually realize that all that glitters is actually not gold? Or is it because, having settled into comfortable routines, there is always that nagging possibility that there must be something more, something far better yet beyond the horizon?

You did not give me an answer, only a silence borne pregnant by what I knew we both felt. It was not hopelessness, really, but a regret and nostalgia for opportunities lost, and possibilities preempted. But there was no use sulking over the past, we both agreed. So we looked to the future, armed with what we already knew: that it was okay to be loved, and it was okay to be happy. All we needed now was our salvation: the grace of a second chance.

With Arms Outflung: Dr. Onofre R. Pagsanghan (A Brief Biography)

2008-01-06T12:48:00.001-05:00

In the face of cynicism, hopelessness, poverty and despair, and even the hard reality of failure, Mr. Onofre Pagsanghan has managed to go on and prove the world that yes, dreams really can come true. Mr. Pagsi, as he is affectionately known, has, through persistence and faith, built many beautiful things in his life, havens of light and inspiration in a world where beauty and goodness seem to be on the brink of being choked off by darkness and despair. For, in addition to his being a teacher, writer, poet and director, a man of the arts, he has always been a dreamer.

He was born on June 12, 1927, to Hipolito and Vicenta Pagsanghan. Despite their poverty, the Pagsanghans lived a happy life. He managed to enter the Ateneo High School through the kindness of their parish priest, who wrote a letter to a friend, the Rector of the Ateneo of 1941, in Padre Faura.

It was during his fourth year as a high school student that he pioneered the organization that would later be known as the Knights of the Sacred Heart. Fr. Raymond Gauff, S.J., his homeroom advisor at the time, invited him to teach Christmas carols in a boys’ club in the slums of the Holy Trinity Parish in Balic-Balic, Sampaloc.

Every Sunday, Mr. Pagsi went, teaching songs and catechism to barefoot boys in torn and dirty short pants, the sons of labanderas, carpenters, and jeepney drivers. He tirelessly made this weekly journey for the next four years, at the same time working for a degree in Education at the Ateneo College. The Knights soon became a major part of his life, so much so that even after he graduated fro college and landed a teaching position at the Ateneo High School, Mr. Pagsi stayed on as its adviser. Not long after, the Knights of the Sacred Heart would evolve from a Sunday catechism class into a parish organization that met everyday and where, aside from catechism, English grammar, composition, literature and public speaking were taught. And gradually, the Knights of the Sacred Heart grew from a handful of brawling boys into a closely knit Christian community.

Many attribute this growth to Mr. Pagsi’s extraordinary charisma, and his talent to transform even the most mundane lessons into “moments of grace.” He attributes it to the uncanny ability of work to bond people together, to unite them in the purpose of reaching a single goal. And the Knights certainly did a lot of work, from making parols to caroling all night and then rising to sing for the Misa de Gallo in the morning.

To raise funds for those boys who wished to enter the priesthood but could not because of poverty, Mr. Pagsi hit upon the idea of producing annual plays to supplement the earnings from their caroling. It was then that he began to transplant several well-known plays into Filipino, because it was the language the people of Balic-Balic were most comfortable with. The idea met with great success, with the plays being performed to a full house, or rather, a full street.

The grace that Mr. Pagsi has so often spoken of and spread for most of his life was clearly at work in the transformation of the Knights. To this date, eight boys from the Knights are ordained priests, and many more of those who began as barefoot and dirty boys brawling in the streets have made names for themselves in the world, and can now send their children off to private schooling without financial aid. Even after fifty years, the Knights still continue to form young and hopeless boys in Mr. Pagsi’s tradition of reckless, “crazy” idealism.

In 1960, Mr. Pagsi left the Knights of the Sacred Heart, closing one chapter in his life and opening the way to an entirely new dream. By this time he had been teaching for over ten years, and because of his long experience with theater, had been appointed director of the Ateneo High School Dramatics Society. Between 1956 and1964, the Society produced plays exclusively in English. The desire to change the generally apathetic attitude of people to Filipino led Mr. Pagsi and his group to start experimenting with plays in Filipino. The first of these were Julian Balmaceda’s “Sino ba Kayo?” and Soc Rodrigo’s “Paa ng Kuwago,” presented along with Who Ride on White Horses, a play on the life of Blessed Edmund Campion. With the advent of Filipino plays, the group gave itself a Filipino name: Dulaang Sibol. An old ticket gives the date of the change: April 2, 1966.

Mr. Pagsi had made real another dream, and through the realization of this dream came the outpouring of even more. Through Dulaang Sibol, Mr. Pagsi contributed much to the mainstream of Filipino culture, even revolutionizing it with his experiments with Filipino plays. Yet to the Sibolistas, those who have worked with him through the years, Dulaang Sibol and Mr. Pagsi have meant so much more. As grace transformed the Knights of the Sacred Heart, so grace transformed Sibol from a mere theater group into a family, a brotherhood. For more than a theater, Sibol has been a home and more than simply a Managing-Director, Mr. Pagsi has been a father to the many students who have come and gone over the forty-odd years the company has been in existence.

The reckless and “crazy” idealism of Mr. Pagsi gave to the Knights of the Sacred Heart he brought to Dulaang Sibol. Here, an almost insane counterculture exists, one that fully encourages and even fuels the drive of the youth to dream, to strive, for the ideal, though it may be beyond reach. Here, he teaches the power of prayer, the virtue of trust in God, and the gift of Christ’s friendship. Through his faith and persistence, this old dream merchant has sold many dreams and taught many young men to reach for the stars.

Later on, Mr. Pagsi set up a tutorial school for the underprivileged, and named it Sibol-Hesus, for it would be an extension of Dulaang Sibol, and “sprung from Christ.” Staffed by Sibol alumni who teach without salary, it provides tutorials in English and Mathematics free of charge. Crazy? Perhaps, but a happy sort of crazy, a Christ-like sort of crazy, nonetheless.

In 1966, he founded Dulaang Sibol at the Ateneo and has been its Managing-Director since. His work in Dulaang Sibol has attracted national recognition. It is high school theater with, as critic and National Artist Leonor Orosa Goquingco put it, “professional polish.” For Dulaang Sibol, he has translated Jean Annouilh’s Antigone into Filipino. He has likewise adapted Thornton Wilder’s Our Town into Doon Po sa Amin, and J.M. Barrie’s Dear Brutus into Wala sa Ating mga Bituwin. With his students he co-authored Adarna and Sa Kaharian ng Araw. Sinta!, his transplantation of Tom Jones’s The Fantasticks, with its more than 130 performances to date, is one of the longest running plays in Filipino theater history.

Under his vision and guidance, the high school students have written plays in Filipino, which critic Alfred Roces of the Manila Times called “the first important breakthrough for the national language.” Significant among these are Paul Dumol’s “Puting Timamanukin” and “Ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio,” perhaps the most frequently performed Filipino one-act play; and Tony Perez’s “Hoy, Boyet. . . .”

Among his former students are Nonon Padilla, Batch Saludo, Johnny Manahan, Jim Paredes, Noel Trinidad, Subas Herrero, Dindo Angeles, Leo Martinez, and Jun Urbano.

He has likewise pioneered in incorporating musical competition in the study of Filipino to stimulate greater creativity in and love for the national language. The now nationally famous “Hindi Kita Malilimutan” is the musical composition of a First Year student of his, Manoling Fransicco; the lyrics of the song are the fruit of a collaboration of Mr. Pagsi and his First Year class.

He has lectured extensively throughout the Philippines, literally from Aparri to Jolo, on education topics, specifically on “Teaching as a Vocation.”

Words are indeed too small and feeble to fully capture the great spirit of this great man. Yet he will never accept accolades of glory. He often quotes his one driving desire: “God’s Will. . . nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.” And for many of our youth, he has poured out with all his might everything he has, everything he is, everything he hopes to be, with an almost holy recklessness, for his God. In his teaching, in his writing, in his speaking, in his directing are his offerings to Christ. His faith has been nothing less than inspiring, to those he has taught.

In a world where the seeds of dreams and idealism are all too often choked off by the weeds of cynicism and despair, Mr. Pagsi has grown a veritable Eden of dreams. And, by his example, he has taught us all that yes, one can dream one’s impossible dreams, and reach one’s unreachable stars, if one has the faith and vision to see it through.

The Dangers of Partnership

2007-09-22T00:33:00.002-04:00

It was while he was preparing for one of his classes, on that dreary Saturday morning alone at the office, that he realized that what had been bothering him for the last couple of days was the fact that, somewhere, halfway around the world, she was happy.

Not that he didn’t want her to be. He, of all people, knew that she deserved it.

But what bothered him, really, was that her happiness did not include him at all. And that while she was happy wherever she was, he was all alone, here, miserable with the life that he had been living.

How did that song go, he thought: I'm the one who left you, and you're the one who's fine without me. "Was happiness really a choice?" he thought. Or did she, too, wake up each morning, and tell herself, at the beginning of each day: be brave, the best is yet to come.

Perhaps he will never know.

And then he went back to preparing for his class.

Time is the widest ocean

2007-03-18T10:03:00.000-04:00

Time is the widest ocean.

Here, standing on the shore
where I find myself stranded,
carried by waves and drifting on currents,
gazing now across the violent waters
to a past I can now almost barely see,
but only long for,
I look towards the distance:
to where we had been,
the distance we had traveled,
to what we had done to bring us where we are.

It is a nostalgia
for a place no longer there.

But time is like your leaving, too, my dear,
to the other side of world,
where shores are no strangers
to muted partings and
physical distances do not apply.

For though you may be where you are,
And I may be where I am,
We are separated by more than this ocean.

Between us and time, there is no returning.
Nor is there safe harbor to welcome me home.