Recalling Martial Law

Nightmares are not worth recalling.  That may be true if they occur in the privacy of our rooms, wrap in the eerie silence of the night.

But political nightmares deserved to be reminisced, debated upon, and reflected on, if we have to move forward as a nation.  A nation that has no common historical memory is just a hodge-podge of tribes without national identity.

On a personal level, I did not want to recall life under martial law.  The experiences were bad enough, and defying risks that went with the rallies were chilling to repeat.

But the innocent question of my ever precocious eight-year old boy changed the temper of yesterday’s 37^th martial law anniversary.

He asked:  “What is martial law? “  The lawyer in me wanted to parrot the constitutional basis of martial law, and the decisions rendered by the Supreme Court on the issue.  Of course, I would not have to discuss with my boy in a grandiose manner.  That would be Latin for him.

As I was about to tell my son what happened during the Marcos era, my fourteen-year old daughter proudly volunteered that according to the textbook, martial law was declared by then President Ferdinand Marcos on September 21, 1972.

That saved me from the cross-examination type questions of my boy.  He has the innocent knack of firing questions until you are left without answer.

But the incident led me to realize that while I, having experienced the horrors of martial law, could relate with increasing pulse rates and sweaty hands the dark years of Marcos dictatorship, the generation next to me, my daughter, has nothing but facts and statistics of the era, enough for her to win any quiz bee contest.

If only for my kids, I need to write this, to recall the events I personally experienced and the insights I learned under martial law in the hope that next time around, it is not only the facts but the full range of the tragic drama that was Marcos, must like the portrayal of the Greek dramas played out in the greater drama called life, that the succeeding generations could recount.

I was still seven years old and thirteen days when martial was declared.  There was no cable news, no newspapers in our barrio. There were only one or two transistor radios where the folks huddled to listen to the declaration of martial law.

Despite the innocence, I knew then there was some big news that day.  My father who kept a rifle hurriedly buried it somewhere.  Other folks did bury theirs too. Days after, soldiers inspected all the houses.  When they arrived in the house, I cowered in fear. I only glimpsed at the uniformed men, but I could hear the thuds of their boots, like the sound of the hooves of horsemen.

The beauty of pure innocence is that despite the horrors martial law wrought upon the people, I had carefree frolics with my friends in the pristine river, and the mountain treks in the then virginal forest, unmindful of the terror that gripped the people.

The burden with knowledge is the loss of innocence, and living in a gay abandon eludes forever.  Innocence is replaced with the angst for not acting on the dictates of what is right.

The high school years at the old Ateneo school just right there at the heartland of the city were spent reading books, and learning so many things from all fields.  The Jesuit-run school inspired critical thinking, the ability to see the issue in the broader perspective, as it were, in an eagle’s view.

Despite the adventures and misadventures of puberty though, the incarceration of the mayor of Cagayan de Oro Nene Pimentel in 1981 fired-up the protests of the already opposition-inclined people.  That too echoed in the corners of our classrooms.  Without political acumen or organization, we did have boycotts from our classes.  The reasons for our boycotts may have varied, but it reflected the over-all sentiment of the Cagayanons whose mayor was placed behind bars.

The horror of martial law was not anymore in somebody’s doorsteps but right there in the City Hall, the last citadel of democracy. It was an affront to the proud Cagayanons whose political pedigree came from the local heroes who fought many wars in the past.

Different folks have different ways of protesting. In the stage where the opposition was not yet so organized, the protesters were like sticks hoping to form a broom so they could have concerted and effective actions.  Meanwhile that the protest movement was still disorganized, opposition to martial law took different shapes, colors, and hues.  But the seed of revolution was unmistakably there already ready to explode in the most opportune time.

The martial law terror was unabated.  There was Elma, a relative who was shot on mere suspicion of being a sympathizer of the communists.

A good friend, the editor of the student publication of Ateneo de Davao was abducted, and no one knew what happened.  Just like other students  who were missing, she was another statistics of the martial law terror.

Killing fields were not only popular in North Vietnam.  We also shared the infamy.

The guns were blazing too in areas like Claveria, Salay, Lantad, Taglimao, and almost everywhere. In all these areas, human rights abuses were the norm rather than the exception.

Power is intoxicating. It can be delusional. After having wielded power without accountability, the powers-that-be are emboldened, and regard themselves as invincible, that they could commit abuses with impunity.

When the rulers do not see anymore the limits to their powers their doom begins.

Right before the glare of national and international opinion, Ninoy Aquino was martyred on August 21, 1983 as he deplaned from his exile in the US. That was stupid thing to do.  But drank with power, the rulers did not see it coming the start of their defeat with the mortal shot at Ninoy’s body. The mortal body died, but the immutable ideals came to life.

That was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

Suddenly, the disorganized protests had a common voice, a rallying point from which to launch their battle against the government, a battle plan drawn-out within the framework of the ideals of democracy.

I found myself co-founding a student political party at Xavier Universit.  The student party was founded on the precept that the students cannot live in the ivory tower of the academe but must lead the people in the struggle against the dictatorship.

There were rallies, civil disobedience, and other forms of protest.  And just like all other student leaders who dared challenged the dictatorship, the “red tag” was written in my forehead by the military, a tag that meant I could be “salvaged”, misnomer for assassination.

It was most unfortunate.  I knew of students who abhorred communism as much as they deplored Marcos dictatorship.  But in a war-like situation, the protagonists become color-blind.  Infiltration of the ranks of the students by the military and the reds were rampant.  Many were killed on mere suspicions.

I just laughed off the “red tag”, the communist label.  I have thoroughly studied Marxism in its primary sources and read the history of communism.  The flaws of the communist ideology are just glaring to ignore.  Embracing communism would be prostituting knowledge for expediency.

Expediency, I knew so many brilliant students who joined the communist’s movement for that reason. They joined the communist movement because it offered them concrete plans with which they could topple the dictator.  But I did not judge the folly or brilliance of their decisions. Instead of judging, there were tactical alliances of students from different colors in the political spectrum joining hands just to oust the dictator.

The students have the time, the mental prowess, and the fire in the belly to mount concerted actions against the dictator.  Organizing the students in Cagayan de Oro was the most logical thing to do and our group, composed of leaders from the left to the center, did manage to awaken the students.

The streets of Cagayan de Oro saw mass actions, protest marches, prayer rallies, and the famous “Welga Ng Bayan”. Xavier University students joined with students from Don Mariano, Cagayan de Oro College, Liceo de Cagayan and Lourdes College.

Activism was mainstream. The rising tide of dissent could not be doused anymore.

Ninoy was not the only martyr.  The casualties were many.  Several of the student leaders were gone, either they went underground, or they were invited by the military henchmen and never to return again.  Those were brilliant students whose whereabouts I have not heard of since.

For my daughter, my missing friends would just be mere statistics.  But after she reads this piece, hopefully, she may feel the pulse of life, and the tears of pain Martial Law has shed in the Philippine landscape.

Honoring Tita Cory

Appropriating the prefix “Tita” before Cory does not necessarily connote blood relation. Cory is virtually “Tita” to all Filipinos.  She is part of our respective families.  So when she died last August 1, 2009, a part of us died too.

Cory’s death though does not end her legacy.  Her legacy continues in the hearts of men.  Her body will turn to dust, as we all as heirs of the Original Sin will succumb, but her spirit lives on in us.

She was an icon of democracy and the embodiment of what a true leader should be.

Before Ninoy Aquino died on August 21, 1983, Cory played the perfect role of a wife, and mother. In the glaring lights of national stage, she was just there in the house while her husband took center stage.

The fractious opposition had no leader who could unify the entire nation against the draconian Marcos-led dictatorship.  She would have opted to stay at the back stage but the nation called for her selfless service.

When the survival of the nation depended on her, she did not balk.  Instead of cooking chicken liver pate which was her favorite dish, she was right there in the glare of the limelight, challenging a powerful dictator.

Ferdinand Marcos, with his academic credentials, the military, and all the vast resources of the government at his disposal, arrogantly exclaimed: “A mere housewife will challenge me?”

A housewife indeed challenged a dictator.  But without Marcos knowing it, he was up against a housewife who may not have the physical strength to match his but who had fortitude in spirit that was unbreakable, a spirit that suffered in silence when Ninoy was jailed, and finally, killed. She was at the receiving end of martial law. Pain and suffering, these two make the spirit stronger. If Cory were steel, hers was life borne out of the furnace.

Once she decided to fight, there was no retreat.  She campaigned like hell throughout the countryside. She led the protest actions, prayer rallies, and civil disobedience. She unsheathed the steel of courage when she was cheated in the polls.  She braved with grace the seven coup attempts the once spoiled military staged during her term.

When she took her oath as president at the Club Filipino, her physique was visibly thin.  But the hope and euphoria that swept across the archipelago loomed large above all. In a land desolate for two decades of martial law, Cory and the ideals she represented was the guiding torch of the Filipinos and the world.

At no other moment in history was the Filipino prouder than the magic Cory weaved. For once, we held our heads high and proud to be truly Filipinos.  Cory received spontaneous standing ovations when she spoke before the US Congress. More than that, Cory led a revolution which was emulated in the breaking down of the Berlin wall that divided Germany, and thereafter, in freeing the rest of Eastern Europe in bloodless revolutions.  We bowed our heads when we saw her in the cover of TIME Magazine as the woman of the year.

The celebration of Cory’s life unconsciously, is the celebration of the life of the nation as well.  Subjugated by Spain for 300 years, by Americans for 45 years, and briefly but no less violently by Japan, the Filipinos’ heads were bowed. Cory too, a housewife, suffered under the shadows of paternalistic society that bequeathed to the woman, the household chores.

Cory’s triumph in life is a victory of the dream that the nation has been aspiring: That yes, the Filipino is worth dying for! EDSA I was not only liberation of the nation from dictatorship.  It was also a rebirth of the aspirations of a race that once landscaped our archipelago before the conquistadores arrived in our shores.

She set out to re-establish the democratic institutions that were systematically mangled by then Pres. Marcos. The press breathed the new air of freedom. The Congress ceased to be a rubber stamp.  The Supreme Court regained its lost prestige when Imelda Marcos once made its chief justice her umbrella boy.

Instead of being intoxicated in power, Cory, in her last SONA bid farewell to the people.  She stepped down in office without overtures of clinging to it.

Yet, she knows that the life of the nation did not end in EDSA I; in fact, it was its rebirth.  As the nation marches on, it will be buffeted by winds of corruption, treason and treachery, and the affliction of the weak in spirit – arrogance of power.

Before she died, and even when she was diagnosed with cancer, she urged us to fight these winds.  She was like a Don Quixote.  Now that she is dead, we can only show our gratitude to her by continuing her ideals, which are our nation’s too.

The Encarta Dictionary simply defines the word as “supreme authority especially over a state”.  Without this authority, the state has no reason for its being.

The 1987 Philippine Constitution declared that “sovereignty resides in the people and all government authority emanate from them.” The Filipinos are supreme over their government, and yes, even the state known as Philippines.  The people, as the repository of all powers within the state can even choose to rename the state, change the government, impeach high official, and recall elected officials.  The 1987 Constitution even has a special provision on initiative and referendum, a political process which recognizes people’s power to directly legislate laws.

In a republican state, the people do not directly exercise government powers.  Otherwise, chaos will ensue. The authority is delegated through the governmental bodies, such as the executive, legislative, and judiciary.

There is however a chasm between the ideal and the actual, between theory and praxis, to borrow the language of dialectics.

The apparatuses of the state are mostly concentrated in one office, that is, in the Office of the President.  President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is the Commander-in-Chief over the armed forces.  She therefore wields the sword, so to speak. 

The purse is supposedly in the hands of Congress too.  But the power to appropriate is more fiction than reality.  While the Congress approves the budget, the President can veto budgetary provisions.  If the budget indeed is approved, still the actually disbursement of funds could be released only by the President through her alter-ego, the Department of Budget and Management.  That is why legislators in the opposing camp end up fat in budget but hungry in actual cash.  They have to line up for ration in the Department of Budget And Management.

In the scheme of things, impeachment of the president is a long shot, except when the people, and not the tongressmen err congressmen, wash the corridors of power with the avalanche of protests, as what happened to Erap Estrada.

The final arbiter of constitutional issues, and the proper exercise of delegated sovereign powers reside in the Supreme Court.

Recent history reveals that the Supreme Court has not been consistent in upholding the majesty of the law.  During the martial law regime, then Chief Justice Enrique Fernando, despite the literary flourish of his decisions, but not necessarily the substance, gave imprimatur to the edicts issued by then President Ferdinand Marcos. He even stooped to his lowest low when he used to carry umbrella for Imelda Marcos.

There were shining exemplars though of what is it to be truly a magistrate, just like the blind-folded goddess of justice.  There was Chief Justice Jose Abad Santos who penned landmark decisions which have been the guide in the adjudication of rights. There was Chief Justice Claudio who had a direct, brief style of penning decisions, but what he lacked in literary flourish, he compensated it with what truly matters, substance, that is, fearless and proper interpretation of government powers and their limitations, despite the spectre of a prison cell or worse, a firing squad in a martial law regime.

But a truly independent judiciary cannot depend on the sterling character, or the lack of it, of the magistrates.  The system must create for an independent judiciary.  At present, the Judicial and Bar Council nominates at least three applicants and submit the list to the President, who in turn can choose any of the three nominees.  Here lies the clincher.  The President can easily play Mephistopheles and the new appointee, Faust. With the present Supreme Court set-up, the majority has been appointees of GMA, and God knows, how many of them made the Faustian pact already.

The sovereign will of the people can easily be muted, when the three estates – the executive, legislative, and judiciary – conspire, either by active participation or acquiescence, specially, when the pockets are full. In this case, the people’s sovereign voice can only be articulated through the media – the fourth estate.

At all cost, the freedom of expression must be respected.  When this right is restrained, all other rights become empty rhetoric. It is the media that crystallize the issues.  Remember that, each citizen is a particle of sovereignty.  It is easy for one voice to say that he is the voice of God; and still another voice, that of Allah.  But the discourse in the marketplace of ideas will filter the dross from the gold, and the true consensus of the many particles of sovereignty take form, and later on, translate into action, either by  impeachment, recall election, or even, revolution.

Last year, when the recall election of Governor Eddie Panlilio was initiated, the fourth estate became the only outlet by which the sovereign voices could articulate their disgust at the hands of power  that were behind the move to oust a truly dedicated and incorruptible official, a diamond in the political pit.  To parry the surging protests, the Comelec, by a stroke of pen, salvaged the situation by declaring that all recall elections are suspended due to budgetary constraints.  When the Panlilio brouhaha simmered down, the suspension of the recall election was lifted.

Indeed, the recall process should not be suspended, not even due to budgetary constraints.  There is no price tag for sovereignty.  The life and health of the state depend on the proper exercise of sovereignty.

Otherwise, we may have to redefine sovereignty.

changing views

Fr. Montero, S.J., our professor in metaphysics, used to tell us before the start of the class: “Quid quid recipitur, recipitur secundum mudum recipiende”. Translated, “Everything is received according to the capacity of the receiver.” By way of an analogy, the one-liter bottle can never hold more than its capacity.

Then, Fr. Montero would proceed: “This is an immutable law of nature.” If you are dumb, you are bound to me one. If your I.Q. is that of a moron, then don’t aspire for post graduate studies.

May his soul rest, I indeed kept his maxim to the heart. No one from the class challenged his view. How can indeed a one-liter bottle hold two liters of water? From the classroom discussion, this seeming truism influence the way we relate to people. This child, given his I.Q., cannot take up law; that employee can never do this task.

Whilst science owes its framework from philosophy, the latter too has to bow to the superiority of the empirically demonstrated fact. The flat earth theory was a Mesopotamian thought that prevailed for many centuries, percolating in science, politics, and religion. Until Ferdinand Magellan circumnavigated the earth, the earth was then held not round. The whole system of knowledge had to be overhauled.

Then lately, contemporary medical findings have it that the neural networks that wire man’s brain can actually be stimulated by engaging the mind in both creative and analytical activities so the neurons multiply and create more linkages. The more linkages of the neurons, the more wired the brain is, and hence, the better I.Q and even E.Q a person have.

Science too may later on develop a bottle that even if it is designed to hold one liter of water, it may contain more compared to the present design because in the future, perhaps, even in between the molecules of the glass bottle, there may be nano particles that can hold up water. Now, you don’t measure intelligence by I.Q. The generally accepted norm today is multi-intelligences. The brightest of your kid, or employee, or you friend, may not necessarily be the best for the organization. The entire person is the package.

Are there really immutable laws of nature? The answer cannot be had in the near future. Philosophical theories are constantly being redefined by science, and the latter’s direction is being moulded by the contemporary thought.

Rigidity. Fundamentalism. Absolutism. These are anathema of the unfolding of human knowledge. Given the context, the right attitude is not dogmatism nor relativism. Dogmatism stifles the search for knowledge, and adaptation to something new. Relativism however leads to chaos. For sure, concepts and ideas may not be necessarily existentially true because one believes it to be so. The taking of soma plant during the Kali yoga ritual is not necessarily sound because they experience the 7^th heaven in their hallucinatory flight. There are certain universal virtues, not necessarily immutable truths that still keep humanity intact for millenniums now.

The attitude should be openness, the capacity to learn, listen, experiment, and adapt to new concepts. One does not have to die for a view which overtime have been proven false by verifiable phenomena. When the Oil Deregulation Law in the Philippines was enacted, consumers’ blood pressure shot up because that would mean pillage by the oil cartel in the Philippines comprising of Shell, Caltex, and Petron. That was in 1998. Ten years after, and after two months drinking with the top executives of the new oil player in the market, the new opinion has to be formed: the Oil Deregulation Law is good for the Philippine economy. The cartel of the Big Three is being slowly torn asunder by the many new players which roll back the pump prices ahead of the former. The hour per hour monitoring of the pump prices by this new player, JETTI Oil, is evidenced enough of the cut-throat competition going on. This is good for the consumers.

In human relations, openness is the key. One or two events do not a person make. Prejudgement, discrimination, bias, these three have no place in contemporary history that keeps on changing, and evolving. While as a human race, we evolve in knowledge; as a person, we are still in the life long search for identity, and in the process, revealing shades of the evolving persona.

How one wish Fr. Montero, S.J. is still alive, to tell him that his dictum does not hold now. But then he was a product of his time and place. No one should judge a person without judging the historical context he was in. And who are we to judge the historical context of the past which eventually, we the present, trace the long thread of the past, live the present, and project the future?

Had Fr. Montero been still alive today, the bet is for him to open up to the knowledge of the present, and adapt it. May be, even as he was still schooled in metaphysics and immutable truths, by now, he would live blogging his ideas into the virtual world.

Openness. How can you argue against?

menacing the ricefields: the golden “kuhol” story

It was in 1982, right after graduation in high school that I visited the school where I spent my primary education.  Right within the school playground was a small fishpond. I was curious why earth must be opened to give way  to fish, so I thought. Alas, what was cultured was not fish but a snail – apple snail which is locally known as golden “kuhol”.

Golden “kuhol”, scientifically known as pomacea canaliculata, was introduced  in the Philippines by no less than then First Lady Imelda Marcos, she who was tasked by the other half of the conjugal dictatorship, Ferdinand Marcos, to promote livelihood programs throughout the countryside.  The meat of the snail was reputed to be high in protein content which the impoverished Filipinos badly needed.

That was in 1982.  Even with much media hype, the snail did not find its way in the plates of the Filipinos. Poverty normally does not discriminate food on the basis of the palate. But not this one.  Hunger had to be suppressed than ingesting the slimy creature.  Poverty dehumanized people;  but even among the poor, there is still dignity left, a kind of self-respect that can choose death over eating the snail.

The golden “kuhol” remained a media hype, the project of Imelda Marcos that never was.

December of last year,  a sack of rice was within the P1,000.00 tag or around US$20.  The price of rice today has more than doubled.  Many have been queueing in market stalls just to buy cheap rice supplied by the government. Not only a few collapsed waiting for the long queues  to purchase five kilos of rice.

The Philippine government, to augment local supply, has to import rice from countries like Vietnam, Malaysia and Thailand.  There is nothing really wrong with importation. In the now shrinking global village, exchange of goods is rapidly increasing. The international market is readily available.  

The storyline does not end here.  

Way back in the early 70′s, the International Rice Research Center (IRRI) was established in the Philippines, specifically in the University of the Philippines- Los Banos. Then, Philippines was second largest economy, in Asia and a net rice exporter.  The students from around Asia trooped to IRRI to learn modern techniques in rice production.

If  Filipinos taught the Asian neighbors the ways of rice farming, then it may be asked: Why then are we importing rice from these countries?  Is it the case of a novice learning more than the master?  This frankly boggles the mind.

Then, one day, my father-in-law asked me to buy pesticide.  That is insignificant request considering that every month, he supplies us with one sack of rice.  Abide I did.  To my surprise though, the pesticide he asked me to buy was precisely to kill golden “kuhol”.  When I held the bottle of pesticide, I was gripped with recollection of that time I saw the fishpond of golden “kuhol”.  The golden “kuhol” which was introduced to nourish the poor turned-out  to be the menace that stifled rice farming.

A single  golden “kuhol” can eat 7 to 24 seedlings a day and can consume one lettuce in one night.  With its peculiar rapid reproduction capacity, you can have millions of snails in your ricefield in varying stages of growth,  and even with the pesticides, the snails keep on reproducing.  This means I have to buy pesticides every planting season. But the severity of the problem is reflected when my father-in-law told me that more often than not, his expenses for rice farming exceed the value of the harvest considering the menace the golden “kuhol” has wrought.

Now I wonder if Imelda Marcos did take a bite of the snail when she launched the project. But that is a trivial matter.  On a serious note, we are actually having a peek of how not to govern.

soul for sell

During Martial Law, former Philippine Vice-President Emmanuel Pelaez, exclaimed: “What is happening to our country general?” He was of course referring to the spate of killings and the failed attempt at his life. With the massive vote-buying during the October 29, 2007 barangay elections, one cannot help but join in the refrain. Indeed, what is happening to the country.

Democracy is based on the precept that a state is formed among free men. Republicanism in turn is a democratic government that allows the free people to choose the leaders who shall run the state. Take out freedom, and democracy becomes a farce.

A friend texted me that the candidate he supported lost due to vote-buying. The eventual winner gave P500.00 to the voters, and even the leaders of the opposing candidate were bought. On the eve of the elections, the leaders deserted their candidate after being given money by the opponent. Of course, their were idealists who run but lost miserably due to lack of funds.

It his hard to imagine why a candidate has to spend P300,000.00 to win a seat which compensates him only P60,000.00 annually or P180,000.00 for the three-year term. The only way to recoup the election expenses is to steal government coffers. One politician would even tell his constituents that they should not expect help after all the votes were bought, and they have to wait until the next elections.

Vote-buying, and the other side of the coin, vote-selling, make a mockery out of elections. In this situation, the elite who has the economic power simply consolidates its grip over the people by having political power. The status quo makes it difficult for the poor to run while making it easier for the rich to plunder the treasury with impunity. After all, money wins elections. And the more these leaders plunder the state, the poor becomes poorer, and the more they become vulnerable to vote buying, and the politicians’ grip over the poor getting stronger. Karl Marx, in this sense is right: The economic superstructure determines consciousness, including politics.

Ask a voter why he sells his vote, more often the reason ranges from simple need to purchase rice to utter cynicism in the system. A day before the election, the ball boys in our tennis club were absent; they were there lining up in the gate of a candidate to receive the price for their votes. For them, the P200.00 they receive would translate to two days food on the table. When you argue against hunger, don’t expect to win, unless with your argument, you offer them food. For them, the issue is not about the ideals of democracy and good governance; rather, it is surviving today, and let tomorrow worry itself.

 

Why this piece is titled soul for sell? The freedom to choose is the most valuable freedom in a democracy. If you take out this freedom the state is bereft with a moral authority for governance. The people in turn have no right to expect good governance. Like Faust, the people have sold their souls to the devil, err politician. So they should not expect heaven for a government. And why should they sell their soul? In a situation when your life is threatened with hunger, there is no sense talking about tomorrow, good governance, and even the afterlife. The need is here and now. Only the would-be-saints can talk about paradise in the face of gnawing hunger.

But perhaps, we have to be saints if we want to get out from this vicious cycle of vote-buying, and plunder by the politicians for them to buy votes, economic debacle, and the poor becoming more vulnerable to sell their votes. The country needs martyrs and saints in us. This act of martyrdom is simply refusing to sell the vote in the face of wrenching hunger. This way, we may redeem our souls, and our nationhood.

how to cheat in the election

Don’t get me wrong. I am not writing this to encourage you to cheat election in the Philippines. Two days before the May 14, 2007 election, I was commissioned by the Liberal Party , a dominant opposition party, to lecture its poll watchers. The poll watchers were partisans so I focused on how to counter cheating, and how else can you counter it if you do not know the schemes.

My lecture was a combination of the Omnibus Election Law and the experiences I have had. Here how it went.

1. SLEEPERS LOSE - He who wakes up late will lose. The law says that the Board of Election Inspector (BEI) may convene at 6:00 o’clock in the morning and may open the ballot box to prepare the election paraphernalia at 6:15 a.m. The precinct is open to the voters at 7:00 o’clock in the morning. The opening and closing of the ballot box at this time is crucial. If the poll watcher for a political party is not around, it is easy to put filled-up ballots in the compartment of the ballot box for the valid votes. A watcher who arrives late will only legitimize the voting in that precinct when in fact cheating has been done.

So what time a watcher should go to the polling place? Five o’clock in the morning. I heard an uproar from my listeners. That is too early. Actually, it is not. Note that the official time for the polling place is the time determined by the chairman of the BEI. The chairman can adjust the watch in advance so that the time when the ballot box may be opened and closed will be earlier than the standard time. If you arrive at 6:00 a.m., the watch of the chairman may be already 6:15 a.m. So the ballot box has been opened and closed. The watcher’s job is now fiat accompli.

Based on my monitoring, the army of the poll watchers I lectured arrived at the polling places around 5:00 o’clock in the morning.

2. THE DAYTIME CHEATERS – There are four cheating schemes that may be done during the voting time from 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

a. THE OPEN BALLOT – a voter who has sold his ballot will vote in tandem with another voter who will check each other’s ballot. The law says that filling-up of the ballot must be done within the secrecy folder. A voter may not show his ballot to another. The poll watcher should see to it that the voter will not show his ballot to another inside the polling place nor should the voter be allowed to roam around nor go out of the voting area.

b. THE CARBON PAPER AND CAMERA - the voter who has been bought must show proof that he has voted for the candidate-buyer. When he fills-up his ballot, there is a carbon paper which will show the names he voted for. Or, if he goes high-tech, he can take a picture of his filled-up ballot using the cell phone with camera.

c. THE FLYING VOTER - I have reviewed the masterlist of voters of the Comelec, at least in my area, and found out that there are still registered voters who have been long dead, or have been out of town. Using the names of these voters, an impostor may vote in behalf of the dead. A watcher, if he is not sure of the identity of the voter, may challenge the voter, and the BEI is obligated to ask for identification card from the voter. But the identification card is easy to secure. You execute an affidavit about your identity and you can secure a postal ID. You can even have a fake ID which can easily pass as genuine to an untrained eye. Besides, these voters may stampede within the 30-meter radius at around 3:00 p.m. , the close of voting hours. However, if they are within that radius, they will be allowed to vote. Considering their number, the stampede will cause the watchers to relax on their identity challenge.

d. CADENA DE AMOR – Otherwise translated, the chain of love, which is a misnomer because this is a chain to perpetrate cheating. The scheme goes this way. One voter will get the original ballot but will keep it and instead use the fake ballot. The original ballot will be filled-up and given to the next voter in the chain. That voter gets his ballot, but drops the now filled-up ballot of the previous voter. The chain goes on. This is easy actually to check. The serial number of the ballot must coincide with the ballot that a voter fills-up. However, watchers usually, after several hours, get tired, and the job is left alone to the chairman of the BEI who is the usual chief implementor of this scheme.

3. THE NIGHT OWLS - they operate after the voting hours, when everybody, including the public is already sleepy and tired. They usually operate after midnight. Hereunder are the different species of the night owls.

a. THE ILLITERATE CHAIRMAN - when the night draws near, and everybody is weary and fatigued, the chairman will have an adrenaline surge, pumped-up with his desire to enforce his scheme. Suddenly, the chairman won’t know how to read anymore. If the ballot says ‘ESCUDERO’, he can read it as ‘DEFENSOR’. The watchers who are already sleepy do not have the energy to stand at the back of chairman when he reads the ballot.

b. THE TALLYIST - when the eyes are not watching, the one in-charge of the tally sheet will simply tally a vote to his favored candidate, even if that vote should have been credited to another.

c. THE SWITCHER - suddenly, a black-out occurs. When there is no light, the night owls operate. The chairman who has the filled-up ballots under his sleeves, will switch the ballots. You can secure the ballots for a fee from the COMELEC operatives.

 

d. THE SNATCHER – human energy can endure that much only. Beyond the 24 hour’s duty, he will snap somehow. When the ballot box is transported from the polling precinct to the canvassing area, there would be a tendency that the watcher won’t watch the ballot box, and lo and behold, the ballot box is snatched and replaced with another whose contents have been prepared by a candidate or political party.

3. BIG-TIME CHEATERS – This is now the turn of the “dagdag-bawas ” operative. When the election returns are canvassed, the comelec official who has been paid will simply put a zero and the cheating becomes exponential. If a favored candidate has a 52 in the election return, a zero will be added and the number is now 520. If this comelec official is caught, he will simply charge it to clerical error of the BEI and not his.

The schemes outlined above depend largely on human frailty. It is not easy to be on guard of the election proceeding when a watcher gets too weary and sleepy as the counting can go on for hours, day and night. Computers actually can do the job. But the Election Computerization Law has been gathering dust for almost ten years now. It seems that no one, except the people, would want it implemented. The present system depends largely on human endurance. However, a poll watcher cannot simply last for 24 hours duty. Along the way, he will loosen his guard. If you computerize the system, you are taking out the human factor, and the room for cheating becomes slim and in fact, the only way to cheat is to hijack the computer system which can be easily detected. Understand then why our politicians abhor the computerization.

election 101

I thought that being part of a province-wide campaign core for three elections have taught me the ABC of elections. I now realize that it’s one thing to be a planner, but it’s entirely different to be the foot soldier. The arm-chair politician may have the loftiest of ideas but the best idea is nothing if it is not tested, felt, and sold in the marketplace. And the marketplace is in the mountains, farmlands, and the slum areas where ideals clash diametrically with the stark realities of having to survive on a daily basis. How can you talk of ideals when the mouths need to be feed?

Two decades ago, when my learning in the university had so fired-up my ideals that I almost went underground, the thought of giving dole-outs to gain votes was abomination of what democracy stands for. But as the years passed, and my experiences in political campaigns are added to my resume, I am afraid I am losing grip of those ideals I once fervently espoused.

It was in 1994 when my partner in the law firm urged me to run for the provincial board member, a position in the provincial legislative council. I had the chance of winning considering that I had three municipalities which I considered as bailiwicks. But knowing that money had to be given to voters, I declined. The right of suffrage is so sacred that it should not be bought in the market just like a commodity.

Democracy is premised that every man is free, and his political decisions are not restrained by economic want. You take away this freedom, you virtually erase the basis of democracy, and the novel idea that the constitution is the social contract of free men. Even God has given us the free will, so that we can choose between right and wrong.

For one week straight, we went around campaigning. Where there are people gathered, we stopped, heard their woes, and then we promised to work on these problems. But the promises we made did not ring on them. They have heard litanies of promises, but their plight have not been alleviated. They have ceased dreaming, and much more to believe in the dreams politicians weave and dangle before them. Nope, they are not hopeless of the system. Hopelessness is a mere negative energy of hope. What they have of the system is apathy, the “nothing-matters-attitude”.

So when we went near them, they would ask money to buy liquor, some for medicines, and still others for any reason they can concoct. In short, when you go near the voters during the campaign period, they want to skin your hide. It is only during the campaign period the people can get even with politicians. The rest of the year, it is the politician that would bleed-white the resources of the voters.

When these voters ask for money, I am almost tempted to tell them, “Wait, we have not been in power yet, we did not get any of your money”. More often, I was almost gripped with the surge to tell these voters that you deserve your politicians. But during election period, the voters are the customers, so they are always right.

When people are not even assured of food for the next meal, you don’t expect ideals; that is reserved for the saints and mystics who can divine earthy realities during fasting. But let us face it. The people don’t have the fortitude of saints. If they miss one meal, they cringe on their stomachs, and look for food. And if the hunger becomes unbearable, they forget even the laws that could lock them in jail. In the Philippines, hunger incidence is the highest in Asia. Do you expect then a meaningful election?

This election, the people expect a windfall of cash. And if you cannot deliver, they won’t vote for you, even if you have the most impressive credentials. To them, a brilliant and a dumb politician are alike. The only difference is that the brilliant one robs the public coffers with the niceties of the laws, just like what former President Ferdinand Marcos did; the dumb ones like Erap Estrada go to jail even before they can enjoy the loot.

True enough, there are still voters who vote based on conscience. But these are the people whose basic needs are met. Karl Marx may have been mistaken in his prescription, but the diagnose that the economic superstructure determines political consciousness cannot be more true. In a country where the people living below the poverty line accounts for 70% of the population, the voice of the thinking voters is lost in the wilderness. In a popular democracy, the voice of the multitude prevails.

I am not running for any political position yet. I am campaigning for my candidate, who throughout his voting record, has refused to receive a penny from a politician. His record in public service has been sterling and unblemished. But come lection day, money has to be doled-out. Otherwise, he does not stand a chance of winning. For him, it is a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow he must.

 

This election has been a trial run for the political career I am building. Come that time, I may have to kiss goodbye to the ideals of democracy I once held in my youth. Ironically, have to abandon the ideals in order for me to join the bigger democratic debate.

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Tuesday May 8, 2007 – 02:00pm (CST) Edit | Delete

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politics by anecdotes

1. It’s political season in the Philippines. Anecdotes would, to my mind, offer a clear picture of the political landscape here. So let me share some, in the hope that we can have lucid interval in the otherwise insane political realities.

2. The Philippine Congress is bicameral in nature, closely following the Amercan model, owing greatly to the historical fact that Phippines was once an American colony. The Philippine Senate and the House of Representatives were once populated with great statemen and learned men of letters and law. We had the eminent Claro M. Recto, Jose Diokno, Wigberto Tanada, Jovito Salonga, Arturo Tolentino, and others. We used to addresse them as “Honorables” , befitting of their stature. Lately however, comedians, action stars, [and God forbid, a boxer who has not even finished secondary education wants to run also] are now in the Congress. There was this congressman who said in his speech, “I will cementated the road from Cagayan de Oro to Bulua, and vice-versa”. Now tell me, should we call them “Honorables”? . I may have to take bonamine tablet, an anti-vomitting prescription, before I can pronounce the word.

3. My former law office partner was once a Vice-governor of the province, and went on to become a Congressman. I was privy to the inner sanctum of political schemes. In 1998, he ran and won the lone congressional seat of our province. The hardest obstacle in his election was the mayor who was also a gambling lord, and therefore had guns , goons, and gold. No lawyer would dare to accept the assignment during election time in his municipality, but being the rebel and adventurous in the group, I obliged. In his municipality, there were precincts that had zero vote for my partner even if the latter’s relative would swear to have voted. We filed criminal cases against this mayor, and all the lawyers in our law firm were in constant threat. We had to spend for bodyguards for two years. But during the 2004 elections, that mayor and my partner ran under the same political ticket. In politics, strange bedfellows can sleep together.

4. Philippine election is a year-round affair. If you are a congressman, you have to help all the elections in the province, save perhaps for the positions in the churches. There was this election for the Samahang Kabataan, a youth oganization that has a seat in the local legislative council. There are 14 municipalities in our province. It was a 7-7 for the opposing political parties. To break the tie, we had to get the vote of one Samahang Kabataan president. We had an associate in our law office who just passed the bar exam and was still single. We requested him to win the heart of a lady president. Before the election, our associate and the lady were sweethearts. We were assured of the majority vote.

5. Money can buy votes, so do cut-out newspapers. In one of the political conventions, a member who was seeking nomination, was into vote-buying. He cut newspapers to the size and shape of paper bills; on top and bottom of these cut – out papers, he placed real money, inserted these into envelops, and distributed these to the delegates before the votation. As the distribution was made in the convention hall, those who received the enveloped did not verify the content. [There is still honor among the dishonorables] That scheming member won, and the delegates who were hoodwinked, did not complain. They cannot flaunt their greed and ignorance by complaining.

6. I know of a judge who swears he will never run for public office again. Right after he passed the bar exam, he wanted to help his small town. He ran for a seat in the local legislative council. Brimming with idealism and confidence, he predicted his eventual victory. You see, the highest educational qualification among his opponents was a third year college. In that field, no way could a lawyer lose, so he thought. After the polling centers were closed, he went home to take a rest. He asked his mother whether she had voted. The mother, who was already near senility, said yes. Then the son asked whether she voted for him. The mother took from her pocket a piece of paper, and let the son read the contents. The names of the candidates were written but his name was not one of them. He asked his mother, “What are these names mom?” She replied, “Those are names of the candidates I voted because they gave me money.” He lost in that election.

7. I know the family of our vice-mayor in Cagayan de Oro City. The vice-mayor was a school mate in the college of law here. So do her brothers and sisters. Her father was once a mayor in the city. They had a band. All members of the family were good singers and can play any musical instrument. They were that close. The father, who is a lawyer, raised a good family: three lawyers, one doctor, an accountant, and the rest were all successful in their field. The father wanted to run as vice-mayor so as her daughter. Both belong to different political parties. They had a pact that no one would run. But the daughter did run. Feeling betrayed, the father attacked her daughter in the radio programs. And the daughter just answered: “He was a good for nothing father anyway.” When the mother was dying, they even filed cases as to who among the two should have a custody.

vignettes of martial law

1. Living under the shadows of martial law had never been easy. The martial reign of Ferdinand Marcos lasted from September 21, 1972 to February 25, 1986. As the Filipinos celebrate the most peaceful revolution on earth on February 25, 1986, when then dictator Ferdinand Marcos was booted out from office by the sheer number of Filipinos who went to the streets without arms but bearing only bibles, rosaries, and flowers,it is but fitting to recall the dark days in our country. Looking back in history, and not an amnesia of past events, is the best safeguard that democracy would not be snatched away again. There is a cogent need for remembrance of the dark period especially with the spate of extra-judicial killing of militants and critical media men under the Arroyo administration.

2. I was 3rd year college when I became editor-in-chief of the CRUSADER, the official student publication of Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. That was school year 1984-1985. Rey Gomez, my features editor, decided to spend our semestral break in Libas, Jabonga, Agusan del Norte, my birthplace. The place was rebel infested then. So we wanted to have a feel of the rural situation for our write-up. On our way however, the public utility vehicle we were riding was stopped in one of the military checkpoints in Ampayon, a barangay just 15 kilometers away from Butuan City in the island of Mindanao, Philippines. All passengers were frisked. We were asked for any identification card or a residence certificate, but we had none. The vehicle was allowed to go but the two of us were detained in the checkpoint. When it was nearing night, I decided to use my thespian skill , otherwise, we would have become mere statistics along with the other victims of extra-judicial killings perpetrated by the military. I pleaded to a certain Capt. Ruaya that he should let us go because my grandfather died, so went my alibi. He did not believe me at first, but I shed a tear so he let us run away which we did, fearing that bullets might be following us.

In a twist of fate , sometime in 1997, a certain Capt. Ruaya came to our law firm in Butuan City for a legal consultation. He was the respondent in an administrative case. Immediately, I told him if he recognized me, but he shook his head. I told him of the incident, and I advised him to seek another lawyer lest I might be tainted with bias.

3. The killings, and ham-letting of villages were knocking at the doorsteps of the university gates. Student leadership meant social involvement. The economy was bad. Human rights abuses were rampant. Student leaders simply had to be militants. I decided to lead the students in Cagayan de Oro to rallies, pickets, and civil disobedience. The student paper then had a circulation of about 6,000 per issue, the biggest in Cagayan de Oro. The school paper was my medium. I networked with the other editors of school publications to organize the students into protest actions. I recall that on November 1985, for the first time since the proclamation of Martial Law on September 21, 1972, students of our school went outside the gates, and proceeded to other schools where other students were waiting to join us. That was the start of rallies that culminated on February 22, 1986, the last rally I led and participated. Three days after, on February 25, 1986, Marcos fled the country.

Another twist of fate though deserves mentioning. When I joined the fraternity in the College of Law, a brother who is already a major in the police, told me that my picture was one of those posted, that whenever they decided to “salvage” (a misnomer for killing militants), they take a picture from those posted. The next day, the body would be found somewhere.

4. It was sometime in October 1985 when I joined the journalism seminar in Davao City sponsored by the College Editor’s Guild of the Philippines, said to be a front of the communist party. I arrived in the University of Mindanao, Davao City at three in the afternoon. But the host told me that we had to wait for the other delegates from Manila, particularly Ateneo de Manila. It was already around 9:00 o’clock in the evening when we were herded into a bus bound for the seminar site. On our way, we were stopped by the men in uniforms whom I knew later on to be communists guerrillas. When we arrived at the seminar site, we were greeted with staccato bursts of gunfire. I realized that we were already in the rebel’s lair. The seminar was a mix of journalism and indoctrination.

5. For the school year 1986-1987, I was already enrolled in the College of law. My staff in the Crusader convinced me to take the editorial exam again so that I would remain as editor but they would do all the odd jobs while I concentrate in my law studies. My role then would be merely supervisory. I did continue as editor and entrusted the odd duties to my staff. But when the first issue for that school year came out, somebody inserted in the school paper a manifesto of the Kilusang Kabataan, the communist arm for the youth, calling for the bearing of arms. I resigned and had the whole thing investigated. It turned out that one of my section editors was a member of the communist movement and he went into hiding. I have not heard of him since then.

6. I was invited, urged, and cajoled by the militant left to join the movement. But I had not and will never be convinced with communist ideology. I have read and thoroughly studied the predecessors of Karl Marx. I understood the strength of the social analysis; the diagnosis may be correct but the cure is simply utopia. No way can there be classless society and equality among men. When the proletariat as a class rises to power, the said class is led by an individual or groups who eventually dictate the directions of the class. They become the new ruling elite in place of the oligarchs. We have to admit, men are not born with equal attributes. Someone among us will rise to eminence.

I must admit though that Karl Marx has the best socio-structural analysis of modern society.

7. I take pride in having assembled the best writers of the school to compose the staff of the school paper. There was the selection board that conducted the oral and written exams to choose the editor-in-chief and the associate. But the rest of the staff was selected by me. There was Brady Eviota who initially studied in the University of the Philippines-Diliman, but had to trasfer to our school because he was already identified as leftist. He wrote literary pieces. After graduation, he pursued his writing career and went on to be the grand prize winner for the First Mindanao Writer’s Workshop. (Incidentally, my eldest daughter and his were born on the same date and year). The associate editor, Celerina Rosales joined Malacanang Press Corp right after graduation. Rey Gomez, the features editor, bagged a journalism scholarship to Poland. Nilo Labares was the Visayan expert. He could write beautiful prose and poems in the dialect. He is now a known media practitioner in Cagayan de Oro City. There was also a writer we fondly called Red. He was a prolific writer. He was once with the underground movement. These staffers had a common battlecry : down with the dictator. These select students were virtually plucked out by me from their worlds. You see, prolific writers do not announce their brilliance. You have to seek for them.

8. By April 1986, Malacanang Palace , the official residence of the president and his family, was open house. I was eager to see what the seat of power looked like while the entire nation was living in constant fear and poverty. Palace is always a palace. But this was unique. There was one room where the noted 2,000 pairs of Imelda Marcos was stored. The room for the first lady was perfumed garden. Big bottles of perfume were left by the first lady. She could bathe everyday with those perfumes. In contrast, Ferdinand Marcos’ room was reeking with medicines. It was a virtual clinic. Ah, there was the mural of the first couple known as the “Malakas at Maganda” ( The Strong and Beautiful), of the Philippine mythology. Unlike the myth , the first couple pretensions to eternal power and beauty had to break in the onslaught of the people’s revolt.

9. The university is a microcosm of the society. The political firmament was felt in the campuses. After the proclamation of martial law, student governments and student newspapers were banned. In 1983, together with the radicals among the students, I joined the campaign to form the student government. The school administration vehemently opposed. There were student leaders who sided with the school administrators. But we prevailed despite that we received all forms of harassment including that coming from the military. To my suprise, my schoolmate in high school and classmate in college who opposed the formation of the student govenrment run and won the presidency. The similaries with real politik are evident.

10. If there is any one who prevailed on me not to go underground, t’was my mother. One time, as I went up the stage during a rally, I saw her in a corner shedding tears. She knew then that student activists had been “salvaged”. There were brilliant students I know who joined the communist’s movement. Most have been unheard of since then.

11. If anything at all, the greatest contribution of the Filipino race to modern history is the EDSA people’s revolt. It was the most peaceful revolution. The same method was emulated to break the Berlin wall, to dislodge Romanian dictator Caecescu, and the liberation of the great part of Eastern European nations which used to be part of the iron curtain. As for me, the period of martial law and my involvement in that era has fortified my critical analysis in a given situation, and to form the best response thereto. I could not help but write about vignettes of that era.