One of the things that struck me in my several trips abroad, particularly in North America and Europe, is the relatively scarce, if not marked absence of places where one can enjoy Filipino food, fine dining style. This is in contrast to the prevalence of Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Mexican, Mongolian, Indian, Vietnamese, Thai, and even Singaporean restaurants which go beyond the "mom" and "pop" joints, and take an ambience which Erap Estrada once, allegedly as mentioned in his famous Eraptions, ordered when told that it is a feature of one restaurant.
For a while, I self-flagellated myself with the thought that maybe, just maybe, our food is not of the quality that befits a place with class and style. For the life of me, I could not understand why Singaporeans, whose food is not even original, or even English food, which is so boring, have to be given the privilege to be served in fine dining mode, while our food languishes in places where only the hoi polloi go. I was aghast that for a moment, I was acting so politically incorrect, as if there is something wrong with places visited by the ordinary and the people on the go. But really, one must really have to ask: is our food forever consigned to be enjoyed only in fast food joints and via carinderia style? I could not understand why, when even Anthony Bourdain, in his food show "No Reservations," praised our food and even declared for all the world to hear and see that our roast pig is the best on this planet!
But I quickly recovered from this state of depression, and assured myself that in fact this is not a sign of our weakness as a people, but a remarkable indicator of our strength. We do not need fine dining places for our food because we partake of these in the comfort of a familiar place, which is our home, or the house of a friend or extended family. When we visit other places, from Paris to London to New York to Los Angeles to Honolulu, we find places to visit and eat, places which are not from our own familiar ways. Thus, we visit Korean, Japanese, Mexican and French diners with gusto. But everytime we have a craving for our food, we eat in our own community, with its natural ambience devoid of the pretentious decorations and dizzying prices associated with places of fine dining.
But what about those who are not Filipinos? After all, Thai Restaurants outside Thailand, particularly the fine dining ones, cater to non-Thais too. Well, indeed, the absence of fine dining Filipino restaurants in major cities in the world may be taken as a failure of our culture to project itself outside. But on the contrary, I am comforted with the thought that the way we present ourselves to the world through our cuisine is more authentic, and not artificial. We present these as they are--eaten with friends and family whenever, wherever we need to and which makes us feel the value of each other's presence.
After all, in our everyday lives, fine dining is a luxury that only a few can afford, and where people are forced not only to shell a significant part of their day's pay, but also to hide and suppress a good part of their innate nature. Fine dining places, after all, are not natural communities. They are extra-ordinary diversions from what is usual, like Disneyland. Fun, expensive, but unsustainable and vicarious. Definitely not a place to enjoy kare-kare, lechon and inihaw na isda.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Fear and Courage
It is simply a contradiction of images.
Right here in our country, the dominant face that one can see is that of fear--fear of A(H1N1), even more pronounced with the announcement of its first fatality. Never mind that the person who died already had pre-existing conditions, what remains as strong is the high-strung and panic-engendering manner by which news, both TV and print, about the virus is delivered. It does not help either that our health bureaucrats seem to be sending mixed messages. While on one hand DOH encourages schools and offices to practice restraint in declaring closure of their facilities and suspension of classes, it is unable to drive the point home, simply because even its functionaries seem to reveal their own uncertainty on what particular strategy to take. After announcing that it is no longer adopting a policy of containment, but instead now adopts mitigation, one of the DOH officials who attended the public hearing called by the House of Representatives still advocated for school closures as a way to slow the spread of the virus, which is exactly at the heart of the containment policy which it has supposed to have already jettisoned.
Fear creates confusion. But it could also be said that confusion fans the flames of fear. The school where my two daughters are enrolled is now advocating for anti-flu vaccinations, and the carrot is that they can get it at discounted rates. Again, this is confusing, considering that the available vaccines are not for A(H1N1), and that it is not even 100 percent guaranteed that my daughters will not get the seasonal flu if they get vaccinated. What is only sure is that if they get sick that they will only get milder symptoms and will get sick only at a shorter duration . Why should I expose my children to additional chemicals in their bodies for some protection which they can easily get with healthier lifestyle and good hygiene? I guess, only the pharmaceutical companies will benefit from all of these.
The opposite of fear is courage. And in another place, in Iran, we see a lot of these. We are witnesses to the unfolding of a new face of opposition to the fundamentalist conservative forces that have ruled Iran for decades since the Islamic revolution. There, men, and in particular, women and children, and even representatives of the conservative mullahs, are openly showing their defiance against the Supreme Ruler, all in their desire to chart a new trajectory for Iran. Not even the threats of Khameini, or the state-sponsored violence inflicted by the police and the Basiji militias could cow these new faces of hope. In fact, the very violence inflicted on them serves as catalysts, if not an elixir, that continually fuel the rage that has until recently long been kept within their hearts, but are now exploding in unison, together with thousand others. The streets of Tehran, and other places in Iran, are now converted into venues for the exercise of courage in battling the virus of state repression.
This is where the irony lies. The virus that has come to visit us is one that can be fought with a healthy body and lifestyle; yet we cower in fear, or at least, our visible institutions. The House of Representatives, who had the misplaced courage, or rather, audacity, to railroad its misguided Con-Ass resolution, has folded up and declared closure of operations, despite the fact that it was not necessary, upon knowing that one of its workers who died was also infected by the virus.
Yet, in Iran, the possibility of death, or even its certainty, as seen in the image of Neda, that girl who died after being shot by the state-sponsored militia, is not enough to inflict fear, but is in fact the very force that produced courage. While the virus of state repression, the one that causes even more damage than a mild case of A(H1N1) is faced there with an enormous amount of courage, here in the Philippines, most of those who are in panic to wear face masks, suspend their classes and operations, and get their flu shots are not as courageous to stand up to the more destructive virus of all--one that is transmitted in the halls of state power and is born from the naked ambition of one short woman.
Right here in our country, the dominant face that one can see is that of fear--fear of A(H1N1), even more pronounced with the announcement of its first fatality. Never mind that the person who died already had pre-existing conditions, what remains as strong is the high-strung and panic-engendering manner by which news, both TV and print, about the virus is delivered. It does not help either that our health bureaucrats seem to be sending mixed messages. While on one hand DOH encourages schools and offices to practice restraint in declaring closure of their facilities and suspension of classes, it is unable to drive the point home, simply because even its functionaries seem to reveal their own uncertainty on what particular strategy to take. After announcing that it is no longer adopting a policy of containment, but instead now adopts mitigation, one of the DOH officials who attended the public hearing called by the House of Representatives still advocated for school closures as a way to slow the spread of the virus, which is exactly at the heart of the containment policy which it has supposed to have already jettisoned.
Fear creates confusion. But it could also be said that confusion fans the flames of fear. The school where my two daughters are enrolled is now advocating for anti-flu vaccinations, and the carrot is that they can get it at discounted rates. Again, this is confusing, considering that the available vaccines are not for A(H1N1), and that it is not even 100 percent guaranteed that my daughters will not get the seasonal flu if they get vaccinated. What is only sure is that if they get sick that they will only get milder symptoms and will get sick only at a shorter duration . Why should I expose my children to additional chemicals in their bodies for some protection which they can easily get with healthier lifestyle and good hygiene? I guess, only the pharmaceutical companies will benefit from all of these.
The opposite of fear is courage. And in another place, in Iran, we see a lot of these. We are witnesses to the unfolding of a new face of opposition to the fundamentalist conservative forces that have ruled Iran for decades since the Islamic revolution. There, men, and in particular, women and children, and even representatives of the conservative mullahs, are openly showing their defiance against the Supreme Ruler, all in their desire to chart a new trajectory for Iran. Not even the threats of Khameini, or the state-sponsored violence inflicted by the police and the Basiji militias could cow these new faces of hope. In fact, the very violence inflicted on them serves as catalysts, if not an elixir, that continually fuel the rage that has until recently long been kept within their hearts, but are now exploding in unison, together with thousand others. The streets of Tehran, and other places in Iran, are now converted into venues for the exercise of courage in battling the virus of state repression.
This is where the irony lies. The virus that has come to visit us is one that can be fought with a healthy body and lifestyle; yet we cower in fear, or at least, our visible institutions. The House of Representatives, who had the misplaced courage, or rather, audacity, to railroad its misguided Con-Ass resolution, has folded up and declared closure of operations, despite the fact that it was not necessary, upon knowing that one of its workers who died was also infected by the virus.
Yet, in Iran, the possibility of death, or even its certainty, as seen in the image of Neda, that girl who died after being shot by the state-sponsored militia, is not enough to inflict fear, but is in fact the very force that produced courage. While the virus of state repression, the one that causes even more damage than a mild case of A(H1N1) is faced there with an enormous amount of courage, here in the Philippines, most of those who are in panic to wear face masks, suspend their classes and operations, and get their flu shots are not as courageous to stand up to the more destructive virus of all--one that is transmitted in the halls of state power and is born from the naked ambition of one short woman.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Discourse about the Human Body and the Nuances of Language
One of the things that went naturally with my five months of work cum vacation in Hawai'i was the opportunity to be on a regular health regimen of running, walking, aerobics and weight training, something which I did not have the time to do when I was running the College of Liberal Arts at DLSU. While I maintained my health through my regular week-end games of tennis, I just felt that the stress of the job, and the absence of a regular exercise regimen, made me unhealthy. This completely changed. After five months, I saw my body getting in shape. I had a net loss of about 5 pounds, with my body shedding fat but gaining muscles. My abs became flatter and my biceps, triceps and deltoids, even my butt, became firmer. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt satisfied and sexy, and right there decided that I will keep this body no matter what.
This determination is something that I feel burning in me, and has driven me to keep burning those extra calories. A day right after my arrival, and notwithstanding the flu scare, I immediately enrolled in the gym just beside my house in Los Banos. As of this posting, I have been continuing my regular routine of aerobic exercises (mostly running), playing tennis, and weight training. And I intend to continue doing so.
However, what really called my attention is the way people comment about my physique whenever they see me with my shirts on. The reaction is always: "Ay, ang taba mo!" "Naku, mataba ka!", or worse, "Ay, lumaki ang tiyan mo!" Everytime I hear this, I am almost tempted to strip naked in front of them and show them my wares. In fact, that is exactly what I did once after a tennis game (partially, since I only removed my shirt) to show them off my buffed body. Apparently, that did the trick. No one in the tennis court has called me "mataba" again.
But then again, I realized that I could not fault people at all, for we Filipinos simply embody in our everyday discourse the nuances about body appearances that are somewhat limited by our inability to normally distinguish being fat from being healthy. Of course, we have words for healthy, like "malusog", or for being muscular, like "matipuno." However, the former is now also somewhat conflated with the word "mataba" even as we contrast both with being "payat." Furthermore, the word "matipuno" is rarely used in everyday discourse, as it is considered to be too formal ("masyadong malalim"). Thus, indeed, an ordinary person would almost always consider someone who gained muscle as someone who is "tumaba."
Thus, I have come to the conclusion that for us, "taba" is not necessarily "fat." After all, when someone tells you that "mataba ang iyong puso", it is a commendation of your noble trait of being generous, and not as a health warning about you having a fatty heart.
This determination is something that I feel burning in me, and has driven me to keep burning those extra calories. A day right after my arrival, and notwithstanding the flu scare, I immediately enrolled in the gym just beside my house in Los Banos. As of this posting, I have been continuing my regular routine of aerobic exercises (mostly running), playing tennis, and weight training. And I intend to continue doing so.
However, what really called my attention is the way people comment about my physique whenever they see me with my shirts on. The reaction is always: "Ay, ang taba mo!" "Naku, mataba ka!", or worse, "Ay, lumaki ang tiyan mo!" Everytime I hear this, I am almost tempted to strip naked in front of them and show them my wares. In fact, that is exactly what I did once after a tennis game (partially, since I only removed my shirt) to show them off my buffed body. Apparently, that did the trick. No one in the tennis court has called me "mataba" again.
But then again, I realized that I could not fault people at all, for we Filipinos simply embody in our everyday discourse the nuances about body appearances that are somewhat limited by our inability to normally distinguish being fat from being healthy. Of course, we have words for healthy, like "malusog", or for being muscular, like "matipuno." However, the former is now also somewhat conflated with the word "mataba" even as we contrast both with being "payat." Furthermore, the word "matipuno" is rarely used in everyday discourse, as it is considered to be too formal ("masyadong malalim"). Thus, indeed, an ordinary person would almost always consider someone who gained muscle as someone who is "tumaba."
Thus, I have come to the conclusion that for us, "taba" is not necessarily "fat." After all, when someone tells you that "mataba ang iyong puso", it is a commendation of your noble trait of being generous, and not as a health warning about you having a fatty heart.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Politics of the Ordinary
As a political scientist, I have always been challenged to consider what is special and distinct about the object of my inquiries. I started simply as somebody who tried to bridge the discipline of forestry and political science, and is now somebody who tries to tease out the political from Annabelle Rama, Aling Dionisia, Survivor Philippines, and from the everyday experiences of ordinary peoples.
Many have wondered whether I may have just strayed too far, if not, have gone too far. Others have demanded from me some accounting as to how relevant my scholarly inquiries are vis-a-vis the needs of a society in need of heroes, or if not, in dire need of solutions to problems of poverty, corruption and social inequality. In fact, others are even bold enough to ask whether there is some "scholarly" element in what I do.
Have I gone too far?
Maybe, I am. But those who demand from me to show evidence of the relevance of my work may be missing the point about the meaning of politics. Those who see politics as a property of the politicians and the state, as a phenomenon that is only visible in the collective functionings of a body politic through its public rituals of governance may be privileged in looking at the temples of power away from the gaze of the ordinary eye. But they would carry such privilege only to the extent that is more of a detached entitlement than as an attribute that would command some awe. It is an empty one, for the substrate for the whole exercise of politics lies not only in the visible and the public, but also in the unarticulated and the hidden manner by which ordinary citizens translate the abstract concepts of power and governance into concrete everyday experiences. They do not see Congress at work except during fiery hearings and dramatic confrontations. They do not have access to the workings of the bureaucracy except as ordinary clients, if not, as ordinary statistics that are embedded into the whole discourse of public "service," and this only happens when they are embroiled in some kind of crisis or disaster, such as the H1N1 scare. Power for them lies not in the halls of visible public power but in the innner depths of their very own personal, if not local, struggles to survive. The ordinary experiences of ordinary peoples are the very core of the body politics. It is from these that the politician and the state exist.
Have I gone too far? Yes, I did. But not far enough to reinstate the ordinary to its rightful place in the study of politics. But the work is already cut out for me. There is now an explosion of simulated experiences that make the exercise of politics via the usual to gradually lose its grip and meaning. Once you see the gallery of political actors, you will undoubtedly look at the faces of Annabelle, Aling Dionisia, Jamby, Loren, Katrina, Hayden, Gloria and Manny, among the many others that would even include the faces of ordinary citizens, all becoming important symbols of how power has now escaped the confines of edifices like Malacanang and Congress to now populate the very domains of our ordinary lives.
The thought that someday the discipline of Political Science will no longer be studied as a domain of government and those who govern, but as a field by which the governed create social meanings is just too inspiring for me to even go too far, far enough to eventually make the science in "political science" disappear, or if not, be deconstructed away as a pretension.
Many have wondered whether I may have just strayed too far, if not, have gone too far. Others have demanded from me some accounting as to how relevant my scholarly inquiries are vis-a-vis the needs of a society in need of heroes, or if not, in dire need of solutions to problems of poverty, corruption and social inequality. In fact, others are even bold enough to ask whether there is some "scholarly" element in what I do.
Have I gone too far?
Maybe, I am. But those who demand from me to show evidence of the relevance of my work may be missing the point about the meaning of politics. Those who see politics as a property of the politicians and the state, as a phenomenon that is only visible in the collective functionings of a body politic through its public rituals of governance may be privileged in looking at the temples of power away from the gaze of the ordinary eye. But they would carry such privilege only to the extent that is more of a detached entitlement than as an attribute that would command some awe. It is an empty one, for the substrate for the whole exercise of politics lies not only in the visible and the public, but also in the unarticulated and the hidden manner by which ordinary citizens translate the abstract concepts of power and governance into concrete everyday experiences. They do not see Congress at work except during fiery hearings and dramatic confrontations. They do not have access to the workings of the bureaucracy except as ordinary clients, if not, as ordinary statistics that are embedded into the whole discourse of public "service," and this only happens when they are embroiled in some kind of crisis or disaster, such as the H1N1 scare. Power for them lies not in the halls of visible public power but in the innner depths of their very own personal, if not local, struggles to survive. The ordinary experiences of ordinary peoples are the very core of the body politics. It is from these that the politician and the state exist.
Have I gone too far? Yes, I did. But not far enough to reinstate the ordinary to its rightful place in the study of politics. But the work is already cut out for me. There is now an explosion of simulated experiences that make the exercise of politics via the usual to gradually lose its grip and meaning. Once you see the gallery of political actors, you will undoubtedly look at the faces of Annabelle, Aling Dionisia, Jamby, Loren, Katrina, Hayden, Gloria and Manny, among the many others that would even include the faces of ordinary citizens, all becoming important symbols of how power has now escaped the confines of edifices like Malacanang and Congress to now populate the very domains of our ordinary lives.
The thought that someday the discipline of Political Science will no longer be studied as a domain of government and those who govern, but as a field by which the governed create social meanings is just too inspiring for me to even go too far, far enough to eventually make the science in "political science" disappear, or if not, be deconstructed away as a pretension.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Politics of Language in the Philippines: Fracturing a Nation in the Process of Becoming
The use of language to reinforce a sense of identity is a well established strategy not only for cementing unity among various groups but also for the process of nation-building. This is particularly made more urgent when the political body that is being imagined is drawn from a complex multilingual landscape, as in the case of the Philippines. The debate on the necessity to have a national language started early. In 1908, during the Philippine Commonwealth, the Philippine commission crafted a proposal to establish an Institute of Philippine Languages to help craft an indigenous Filipino language, but such proposal was defeated by forces in the Philippine Assembly, under the leadership of Leon Ma. Guerrero, who chaired the Assembly’s Committee on Public Instruction, who feared that adopting the proposal would mean the displacement of English as an official medium of communication (Rubrico, 1998).
Despite this early setback, proponents of a national language based on the local Philippine languages continued their advocacy, notable among which were Lope K. Santos and Manuel V. Gallego. In 1932, the vernacular was adopted as a medium of instruction in the primary and secondary levels. The 1935 Constitution enshrined the ideals of the proponents for a national language in Section 3, Article XIII, which mandated for the development and adoption of a common language that will be based on one of the existing languages. In 1936, the National Language institute was established to implement the Constitutional mandate. Based on critical comparative linguistic analysis, using as standard for selection the language which it deemed most structurally developed, with an equally developed associated body of literary genres and which had the widest acceptability and usage, the Institute recommended Tagalog to become the national language. Over two decades later in 1959, the Education Department changed the name of the national language to Pilipino (Rubrico, 1998).
Despite the decision, the debate continued, with regional groups challenging the propagation of Pilipino. Nevertheless, and over the objections of the oppositors, the Board of National Education mandated in 1970 the adoption of Pilipino as medium of instruction initially in the primary level but gradually progressing until the 4th year of the secondary level. It also mandated the use of Pilipino in teaching Rizal and history courses at the college level. In 1973, the Board shifted to the adoption of a bilingual approach in education, in which the vernacular was used in the first two grades at the primary level, Pilipino for the next two grades, and Pilipino and English for the last two grades at the primary level up to the tertiary levels. The 1972 and 1987 Constitutions both reiterated the development of the national language, now referred to as Filipino, even as they also both directed for the continuation of both Filipino and English as official languages (Rubrico, 1998).
The selection of Tagalog as the core of the national language, while sanctioned by law and gradually gaining acceptance, continues to be a sore point particularly from the perspectives of regional language advocates. At the same time, the globalization paradigm and the opportunities which it has opened to the Filipino labor force, presumably employable due to its relative proficiency in English, given more impetus with the demand for an English-proficient workforce required by the call-center industry, has resurrected the move to go back to English as a medium of instruction even at the primary levels. In 2006, Executive Order 210 was issued by Malacanang which directed the Department of Education (DepEd) to strengthen the use of English as a medium of instruction in all levels. DepEd eventually issued Department Order 36 in compliance of the Executive Order. Both EO 210 and DepEd Order 36 were challenged by several groups for their violation of the 1987 Constitution which specifically declared Filipino as the national language and mandated for its continued use as medium of official communication and instruction (Coalition for a Correct Language Policy, 2007).
In the 13th Congress, House Bill 4701 was filed by Rep. Eduardo Gullas of Cebu, proposing for the enhancement and strengthening of English as the sole medium of instruction from the fourth grade at the primary level up to the tertiary level. Meanwhile, it provides for the use of English and Filipino or the vernacular as medium for pre-school and the first three grades of the primary level. The Bill was certified as urgent by Malacanang, and was approved by the House of Representatives in 2006 but was not acted upon by the Senate. After his reelection in 2007 to the 14th Congress, Rep. Gullas has since re-filed his Bill in 2008, now referred to as House Bill 5619 after it was consolidated with other similar bills. While the Bill has gained significant supporters in the House of Representatives, it was challenged by another group of legislators led by Rep. Magtanggol Gunigundo of Valenzuela City, now assisted by language experts in academe, who filed an alternative Bill, House Bill 3719 which was premised on the child’s first language principle at the primary level progressing into multilingualism at the higher levels. Specifically, under the Bill, the vernacular will be used as the primary medium of instruction in all subjects from the pre-school until the third grade of the primary level. Furthermore, the vernacular, English and Filipino will also be taught as separate subjects at these levels. At the higher primary levels, English and Filipino will now be introduced as medium of instruction in some subjects. Beginning at the secondary levels, English and Filipino will now be used as medium of instruction, with the vernacular being used as an auxiliary medium. Language experts have expressed their support to the Gunigundo Bill on the ground that the use of the vernacular as medium of instruction particularly at the early years of a child’s education has been proven in many scientific studies to be more effective (Llanto, 2009).
Scientific studies aside, the Gunigundo Bill has also captured the support of regional groups that have long challenged the use of Filipino as medium of instruction at the primary and secondary levels. Politically, the Gunigundo Bill becomes a rallying point that gave another face to the seemingly regionalistic resistance to the propagation of Filipino as the national language. What further amplifies the political usefulness of the Bill is found also in how it coincides with the agenda of those who have long advocated for the idea of regional autonomy, which for many will be realized through a shift to a federal form of government. However, while the Bill is laudable in its promotion of an appropriate approach to education that is warranted by scientific studies, there is no provision on adequate resources that would ensure the smooth implementation of its intent. It is here that the roots to the discomfort of many people, who may not be hostile to the adoption of multilingualism as a principle but is wary of the consequences of a legislated language policy that is not matched by adequate resources, are anchored. For example, supporters of Filipino as a national language and a medium of instruction fear that lack of resources may eventually undermine the spirit of multilingualism and may in fact unwittingly lead to the strengthening of English as a medium of instruction (Anonuevo, 2008). Worse, it may end up not improving English proficiency even as it undermines the development of proficiency in Filipino and the local languages. As it is, there are not enough resources allocated by the national government for the development and intellectualization of the Filipino language. In the event of a passage of the Gunigundo Bill, all other regional languages, and even local dialects that are considered as the child’s first language, will have to be given resources to be used for the development of textbooks, teaching manuals and materials, as well as for teacher training. This will create an enormous strain on available resources, made particularly even more critical considering the prevailing economic crisis.
The fear is also founded on the possible appropriation of a very laudable movement to recognize regional languages by those whose interests are less on the language, but more on the real political agenda of constitutional reform towards a federal form of government, which in the end may serve the self-interests of some political players who may seize the opening to insert other non-linguistic and non-federal form related amendments and revisions. Meanwhile, we are now seeing the specter of a revival of the painful language debates, albeit now casted in a different discourse, in which wounds that are gradually healing from the fractures that emerged when Tagalog was chosen to be the core of the national language are now again re-opened and rubbed. There is political sense in juxtaposing the language issue with the form by which sovereignty is crafted in relation to the unitary state, as it may just provide the necessary institutional mechanism to enrich our systems of governance in the face of our multiple ethnicities. However, this may also create a dangerous scenario in which dubious political agenda will now hijack the organic cultural processes and appropriate this in ways that would not serve the interests of regional autonomy nor of the promotion of the regional languages. Worst, it may open spaces for movements that far from consolidating the process of nation building, may in fact lead to its fracturing and fragmentation.
Despite this early setback, proponents of a national language based on the local Philippine languages continued their advocacy, notable among which were Lope K. Santos and Manuel V. Gallego. In 1932, the vernacular was adopted as a medium of instruction in the primary and secondary levels. The 1935 Constitution enshrined the ideals of the proponents for a national language in Section 3, Article XIII, which mandated for the development and adoption of a common language that will be based on one of the existing languages. In 1936, the National Language institute was established to implement the Constitutional mandate. Based on critical comparative linguistic analysis, using as standard for selection the language which it deemed most structurally developed, with an equally developed associated body of literary genres and which had the widest acceptability and usage, the Institute recommended Tagalog to become the national language. Over two decades later in 1959, the Education Department changed the name of the national language to Pilipino (Rubrico, 1998).
Despite the decision, the debate continued, with regional groups challenging the propagation of Pilipino. Nevertheless, and over the objections of the oppositors, the Board of National Education mandated in 1970 the adoption of Pilipino as medium of instruction initially in the primary level but gradually progressing until the 4th year of the secondary level. It also mandated the use of Pilipino in teaching Rizal and history courses at the college level. In 1973, the Board shifted to the adoption of a bilingual approach in education, in which the vernacular was used in the first two grades at the primary level, Pilipino for the next two grades, and Pilipino and English for the last two grades at the primary level up to the tertiary levels. The 1972 and 1987 Constitutions both reiterated the development of the national language, now referred to as Filipino, even as they also both directed for the continuation of both Filipino and English as official languages (Rubrico, 1998).
The selection of Tagalog as the core of the national language, while sanctioned by law and gradually gaining acceptance, continues to be a sore point particularly from the perspectives of regional language advocates. At the same time, the globalization paradigm and the opportunities which it has opened to the Filipino labor force, presumably employable due to its relative proficiency in English, given more impetus with the demand for an English-proficient workforce required by the call-center industry, has resurrected the move to go back to English as a medium of instruction even at the primary levels. In 2006, Executive Order 210 was issued by Malacanang which directed the Department of Education (DepEd) to strengthen the use of English as a medium of instruction in all levels. DepEd eventually issued Department Order 36 in compliance of the Executive Order. Both EO 210 and DepEd Order 36 were challenged by several groups for their violation of the 1987 Constitution which specifically declared Filipino as the national language and mandated for its continued use as medium of official communication and instruction (Coalition for a Correct Language Policy, 2007).
In the 13th Congress, House Bill 4701 was filed by Rep. Eduardo Gullas of Cebu, proposing for the enhancement and strengthening of English as the sole medium of instruction from the fourth grade at the primary level up to the tertiary level. Meanwhile, it provides for the use of English and Filipino or the vernacular as medium for pre-school and the first three grades of the primary level. The Bill was certified as urgent by Malacanang, and was approved by the House of Representatives in 2006 but was not acted upon by the Senate. After his reelection in 2007 to the 14th Congress, Rep. Gullas has since re-filed his Bill in 2008, now referred to as House Bill 5619 after it was consolidated with other similar bills. While the Bill has gained significant supporters in the House of Representatives, it was challenged by another group of legislators led by Rep. Magtanggol Gunigundo of Valenzuela City, now assisted by language experts in academe, who filed an alternative Bill, House Bill 3719 which was premised on the child’s first language principle at the primary level progressing into multilingualism at the higher levels. Specifically, under the Bill, the vernacular will be used as the primary medium of instruction in all subjects from the pre-school until the third grade of the primary level. Furthermore, the vernacular, English and Filipino will also be taught as separate subjects at these levels. At the higher primary levels, English and Filipino will now be introduced as medium of instruction in some subjects. Beginning at the secondary levels, English and Filipino will now be used as medium of instruction, with the vernacular being used as an auxiliary medium. Language experts have expressed their support to the Gunigundo Bill on the ground that the use of the vernacular as medium of instruction particularly at the early years of a child’s education has been proven in many scientific studies to be more effective (Llanto, 2009).
Scientific studies aside, the Gunigundo Bill has also captured the support of regional groups that have long challenged the use of Filipino as medium of instruction at the primary and secondary levels. Politically, the Gunigundo Bill becomes a rallying point that gave another face to the seemingly regionalistic resistance to the propagation of Filipino as the national language. What further amplifies the political usefulness of the Bill is found also in how it coincides with the agenda of those who have long advocated for the idea of regional autonomy, which for many will be realized through a shift to a federal form of government. However, while the Bill is laudable in its promotion of an appropriate approach to education that is warranted by scientific studies, there is no provision on adequate resources that would ensure the smooth implementation of its intent. It is here that the roots to the discomfort of many people, who may not be hostile to the adoption of multilingualism as a principle but is wary of the consequences of a legislated language policy that is not matched by adequate resources, are anchored. For example, supporters of Filipino as a national language and a medium of instruction fear that lack of resources may eventually undermine the spirit of multilingualism and may in fact unwittingly lead to the strengthening of English as a medium of instruction (Anonuevo, 2008). Worse, it may end up not improving English proficiency even as it undermines the development of proficiency in Filipino and the local languages. As it is, there are not enough resources allocated by the national government for the development and intellectualization of the Filipino language. In the event of a passage of the Gunigundo Bill, all other regional languages, and even local dialects that are considered as the child’s first language, will have to be given resources to be used for the development of textbooks, teaching manuals and materials, as well as for teacher training. This will create an enormous strain on available resources, made particularly even more critical considering the prevailing economic crisis.
The fear is also founded on the possible appropriation of a very laudable movement to recognize regional languages by those whose interests are less on the language, but more on the real political agenda of constitutional reform towards a federal form of government, which in the end may serve the self-interests of some political players who may seize the opening to insert other non-linguistic and non-federal form related amendments and revisions. Meanwhile, we are now seeing the specter of a revival of the painful language debates, albeit now casted in a different discourse, in which wounds that are gradually healing from the fractures that emerged when Tagalog was chosen to be the core of the national language are now again re-opened and rubbed. There is political sense in juxtaposing the language issue with the form by which sovereignty is crafted in relation to the unitary state, as it may just provide the necessary institutional mechanism to enrich our systems of governance in the face of our multiple ethnicities. However, this may also create a dangerous scenario in which dubious political agenda will now hijack the organic cultural processes and appropriate this in ways that would not serve the interests of regional autonomy nor of the promotion of the regional languages. Worst, it may open spaces for movements that far from consolidating the process of nation building, may in fact lead to its fracturing and fragmentation.
On Being Called a Spam by a Robot
It is really a bit disconcerting. I just got a message from the administrator of this site informing me that they consider this blog as a possible spam. This, according to the fair judgment of their "spam robots." The e-mail instructed me to hit a button to file an unlock request. While the e-mail also apologized for this inconvenience, it still makes me wonder how post-modern we can indeed be, and the extent to which we are all sucked up and held captive by its manifestations in our everyday lives. Yes, the e-mail apologized. But how sure am I that such apology did not also come from a robot?
Virus of Representatives....Period!
I could not simply fathom the collective stupidity of it all, or at least, of its majority. I am referring to the House of Representatives, particularly in its recent approval of the House measure to convert Congress into a Constituent Assembly to amend the 1987 Constitution. Orphaned by its very proponent, who happens to be the Honorable Gentleman from my home province of Camarines Sur Rep. Luis Villafuerte, and repudiated by a significant majority of people if one believes in the opinion polls on the issue, the Con-Ass initiative was nevertheless railroaded by a majority whose acts constitute another example of how one of the basic tenets of democracy, that of majority rule, could go wrong. It is even more appalling how the majority muzzled the voice of dissent by abruptly ending debates on the issue (perhaps knowing that they already have the numbers) over the objection of the minority oppositors.
Speaker Prospero Nograles was almost waxing poetic when he declared that now that it is approved, Con-Ass will have to be implemented, except that he does not know how to proceed. Well, he got it right. He simply does not know how to proceed because he knows that this is an exercise in futility, as his counterpart in the Senate, Juan Ponce Enrile, has said.
The House assumes too much. It assumes that it can act alone on this, perhaps emboldened by the Constitutional fuzziness of a provision saying that revisions can be introduced to the fundamental law by Congress, acting as a constituent assembly, without explicitly saying that the House and the Senate are distinct entities. Thus, they pursue what legal minds would always say: that what the Constitution does not say, it does not say.
But as a non-lawyer, and a mere student of political science whose vast objects of scholarly inquiry include parliamentary processes, or if only to be down to earth about it, as a mere rational human being, one can simply raise the issue that while revisions to the constitution can be made by Congress sitting together as a constituend assembly, and while indeed, granting without accepting the argument that Congress could act as one and should vote as one, one has to also realize that before such assembly can be constituted, a resolution should first be passed by each house to create such assembly. Passing resolutions is a regular act of Congress, even in ordinary circumstances like summoning the President during the State of the Nation Address. Acting as a constituent assembly to amend the Constitution is not a regular job for Congress. Thus, it requries a resolution from both its Houses. A joint resolution can only be passed when the House and the Senate are already in joint-session , or if there are two parallel resolutions approved separately and reconciled for differences, the final versions of which are still subjected to ratification by each of the House and the Senate.
The fact is: The resolution convening Congress into a Constituent Assembly was approved only by the House. There is no indication that the Senate, even among its rabidly pro-Malacanang members, are ecstatic and excited to join the bandwagon. In the absence of a joint resolution, or a resolution from the Senate to convert Congress into a Constituent Assembly, the House's move is outrightly dead at birth. What the Constitution simply says is that Congress can convert itself into a Constituent Assembly to introduce amendments. It does not say that one House can unilaterally pass a resolution to make such act of conversion. The House of Representatives, acting alone, is not Congress. So, as what legal minds would always say, what the Consitution does not say, it does not say. And what is not said should be interpreted according to the conventional and the regular: that Congress is bicameral, and its regular business, including the approval of resolutions, is always conducted with the two houses voting separately. If indeed Congress can be converted into a constituent assembly to revise the fundamental law of the land, whether or not the voting to approve the revisions are done by the two houses voting together or separately is indeed a justiciable issue. But the act of converting Congress into a Constituent Assembly is an ordinary act of a legislature which requires the passing a resolution, which under the rules, is done with both Houses introducing similar resolutions, and acting on these as separate bodies.
So, what does this mean. Either the members of the House of Representatives are stupid. Or they are simply ignorant. Well, what can we say. Even its leader is confused how to proceed.
This is exactly what I was referring to in my last article. Compared to the H1N1 virus, many more lethal and virulently infectious diseases are upon us, threatening to do harm to our nation and our country. One of them is called the House of Representatives. Next time civil society activists attend their sessions, it would be a powerful symbol of protest if we all come wearing face masks.
Speaker Prospero Nograles was almost waxing poetic when he declared that now that it is approved, Con-Ass will have to be implemented, except that he does not know how to proceed. Well, he got it right. He simply does not know how to proceed because he knows that this is an exercise in futility, as his counterpart in the Senate, Juan Ponce Enrile, has said.
The House assumes too much. It assumes that it can act alone on this, perhaps emboldened by the Constitutional fuzziness of a provision saying that revisions can be introduced to the fundamental law by Congress, acting as a constituent assembly, without explicitly saying that the House and the Senate are distinct entities. Thus, they pursue what legal minds would always say: that what the Constitution does not say, it does not say.
But as a non-lawyer, and a mere student of political science whose vast objects of scholarly inquiry include parliamentary processes, or if only to be down to earth about it, as a mere rational human being, one can simply raise the issue that while revisions to the constitution can be made by Congress sitting together as a constituend assembly, and while indeed, granting without accepting the argument that Congress could act as one and should vote as one, one has to also realize that before such assembly can be constituted, a resolution should first be passed by each house to create such assembly. Passing resolutions is a regular act of Congress, even in ordinary circumstances like summoning the President during the State of the Nation Address. Acting as a constituent assembly to amend the Constitution is not a regular job for Congress. Thus, it requries a resolution from both its Houses. A joint resolution can only be passed when the House and the Senate are already in joint-session , or if there are two parallel resolutions approved separately and reconciled for differences, the final versions of which are still subjected to ratification by each of the House and the Senate.
The fact is: The resolution convening Congress into a Constituent Assembly was approved only by the House. There is no indication that the Senate, even among its rabidly pro-Malacanang members, are ecstatic and excited to join the bandwagon. In the absence of a joint resolution, or a resolution from the Senate to convert Congress into a Constituent Assembly, the House's move is outrightly dead at birth. What the Constitution simply says is that Congress can convert itself into a Constituent Assembly to introduce amendments. It does not say that one House can unilaterally pass a resolution to make such act of conversion. The House of Representatives, acting alone, is not Congress. So, as what legal minds would always say, what the Consitution does not say, it does not say. And what is not said should be interpreted according to the conventional and the regular: that Congress is bicameral, and its regular business, including the approval of resolutions, is always conducted with the two houses voting separately. If indeed Congress can be converted into a constituent assembly to revise the fundamental law of the land, whether or not the voting to approve the revisions are done by the two houses voting together or separately is indeed a justiciable issue. But the act of converting Congress into a Constituent Assembly is an ordinary act of a legislature which requires the passing a resolution, which under the rules, is done with both Houses introducing similar resolutions, and acting on these as separate bodies.
So, what does this mean. Either the members of the House of Representatives are stupid. Or they are simply ignorant. Well, what can we say. Even its leader is confused how to proceed.
This is exactly what I was referring to in my last article. Compared to the H1N1 virus, many more lethal and virulently infectious diseases are upon us, threatening to do harm to our nation and our country. One of them is called the House of Representatives. Next time civil society activists attend their sessions, it would be a powerful symbol of protest if we all come wearing face masks.
The Virus of Fear
I want to share with you the experience of my niece who recently went home to the Philippines for data gathering. As she exited from the arrival area of NAIA, she was met by her mom (my sister), and her two siblings, all of whom were wearing face masks. Her family was also forced to stay in a nearby hotel instead of the original plan of staying in the Quezon City apartment of my brother for the simple reason that the latter (the ever protective and cautious) refused them entry for fear of the virus which my niece may have brought with her.
Today, the World Health Organization has already declared a global pandemic. My University has been closed. Panic is on the streets, with people becoming paranoid about a simple cough.
It is indeed infectious.No. I am not referring to H1N1. I am referring to the virus of fear that has transformed our reunions into pseudo-surgical (if not comical) encounters of the masked kind, has turned kinship away like a plague, and has even forced universities where science and reason are supposed to rule supreme to acquiesce to a bureaucratized gesture of reverse containment. In all of these, international travellers like me are subjected to this process of "othering" in which we are made to feel as if we are deadly carriers of the plague.
But mind you, this is something that happens only in some places, and not in others. I travelled recently across the mainland US from Hawaii to Florida, have been to four airports, expecting to be met by thermal scanners operated by medical bureaucrats in protective attire, and was about ready to wear my mask inside the airplane, only to find out that the US of A, which has far more cases of H1N1 than the Philippines, appears to have a healthy attitude towards this health problem. The University of Hawai'i had four confirmed cases, but classes were not cancelled and offices were not closed, and only the affected people were quarantined. Maybe, the American health bureaucrats are rational enough to know that there is a more logical way to deal with this virus, which by the way has lesser severity compared to the ordinary flu, other than by imposing a blanket reverse quarantine on all internatiolnal travellers and installing thermal scanners in airports. They probably know that a resourceful traveller with fever can cheat the scanners by taking paracetamol two hours before landing. They also probably know that barring people who have travelled anywhere, even in places where there is no known cases, to enter their places of work or study is a bit too much, and in fact could even be challenged in court, particularly if the forced absence would cause serious implications (like missed classes). They also probably know that to impose a mandatory ten-day ban on entry to traveling individuals that cross national borders should also be imposed on those who travel within, particularly from places with already known cases, and if so, could create a nightmare for it could mean a near ban on travel all together. They also probably know that "travel" could also mean commute, so that would even include students and employees who take the bus, the LRT, and other public transportation, thereby opening the doors of employ and study only to those rich enough to drive their own cars.
But we in the Philippines seem to be fixated with rituals instead of substantive remedies. The wearing of masks, the thermal scanners, the denial of entry to traveling workers and students--all of these are our security blankets as we deal with a disease less deadly than the common cold. They may not be effective. But heck, they assure us that at least we are doing something. Never mind if they are not scientifically rational, or they defy common sense. If only we can be as determined in our fight to ward off other threats, far more deadly than this, and here I am not just referring to diseases that threaten our human bodies, but also those that threaten our body politics.But then again, do you imagine yourself wearing a face mask everytime you see a politician?Now, that would be surreal.
Today, the World Health Organization has already declared a global pandemic. My University has been closed. Panic is on the streets, with people becoming paranoid about a simple cough.
It is indeed infectious.No. I am not referring to H1N1. I am referring to the virus of fear that has transformed our reunions into pseudo-surgical (if not comical) encounters of the masked kind, has turned kinship away like a plague, and has even forced universities where science and reason are supposed to rule supreme to acquiesce to a bureaucratized gesture of reverse containment. In all of these, international travellers like me are subjected to this process of "othering" in which we are made to feel as if we are deadly carriers of the plague.
But mind you, this is something that happens only in some places, and not in others. I travelled recently across the mainland US from Hawaii to Florida, have been to four airports, expecting to be met by thermal scanners operated by medical bureaucrats in protective attire, and was about ready to wear my mask inside the airplane, only to find out that the US of A, which has far more cases of H1N1 than the Philippines, appears to have a healthy attitude towards this health problem. The University of Hawai'i had four confirmed cases, but classes were not cancelled and offices were not closed, and only the affected people were quarantined. Maybe, the American health bureaucrats are rational enough to know that there is a more logical way to deal with this virus, which by the way has lesser severity compared to the ordinary flu, other than by imposing a blanket reverse quarantine on all internatiolnal travellers and installing thermal scanners in airports. They probably know that a resourceful traveller with fever can cheat the scanners by taking paracetamol two hours before landing. They also probably know that barring people who have travelled anywhere, even in places where there is no known cases, to enter their places of work or study is a bit too much, and in fact could even be challenged in court, particularly if the forced absence would cause serious implications (like missed classes). They also probably know that to impose a mandatory ten-day ban on entry to traveling individuals that cross national borders should also be imposed on those who travel within, particularly from places with already known cases, and if so, could create a nightmare for it could mean a near ban on travel all together. They also probably know that "travel" could also mean commute, so that would even include students and employees who take the bus, the LRT, and other public transportation, thereby opening the doors of employ and study only to those rich enough to drive their own cars.
But we in the Philippines seem to be fixated with rituals instead of substantive remedies. The wearing of masks, the thermal scanners, the denial of entry to traveling workers and students--all of these are our security blankets as we deal with a disease less deadly than the common cold. They may not be effective. But heck, they assure us that at least we are doing something. Never mind if they are not scientifically rational, or they defy common sense. If only we can be as determined in our fight to ward off other threats, far more deadly than this, and here I am not just referring to diseases that threaten our human bodies, but also those that threaten our body politics.But then again, do you imagine yourself wearing a face mask everytime you see a politician?Now, that would be surreal.
We deserve Katrina, Hayden and Bong
This whole episode about the sex video scandal of Katrina and Hayden is a tragicomedy, and it also acquires the character of a simulacra, a reality drama being played with real people (although most of them are celebrity actors in their own rights) being thrown into the pit of public scrutiny, and their miseries turned into a spectacle for the public to watch, enjoy, be disgusted about, or simply be annoyed.
I am not a lawyer, but the crime element of an act worthy of imprisonment is always judged on the basis of the intention of the perpetrator. I suspect that except for those responsible for reproducing and uploading the videos, and those who supplied the drugs, no other character in this reality soap opera will ever land in jail, not even Hayden. The worst that can happen to him is that his license as a doctor will be revoked, and he can be sued for damages. I am not at all convinced that the videotaping of a sex act for private consumption can be classified as a crime under the Anti-Violence against Women and Children act. It is despicable. It is atrocious. It should be condemned. But under our laws, a good and expensive lawyer can easily save Hayden from legal retribution. Hence, the need to formulate more laws, or to clarify existing ones.
This is where the Senate Hearing should have focused. Katrina and Hayden's presence in the hearing was in fact not necessary. It should have been legal experts, psychologists, computer and IT experts and others in the know who should have been there. But I guess, this is our tragedy as a nation, that people like Bong Revilla, who at this point is still at a loss on the true nature of the work of the Senate (that its job is to legislate and not to prosecute and find guilt), are inflicted on us as Senators of the Republic.
But in the end, the laws of karma will be there to punish. Hayden's and Katrina's are now being felt by them. Don't get me wrong. While I feel that Katrina, or any other woman for that matter, does not deserve to be humiliated like this, the laws of karma do not exempt anyone. Perhaps, this is the price she has to pay for having an affair with somebody else's boyfriend, and denying it with gusto. Maybe, she is paying for other sins. Hayden's karma is more than the cold dousing he got from Afuang. More are still coming.
And what about Bong Revilla? Well, there is always the specter of electoral repudiation.
In the end, everyone will get what he or she deserves.
Including a public whose view of politics is simply a spectacle without issues. Some people are complaining that we surely do not deserve this spectacle of a scandal to be an object of a senate hearing. They are wrong. We deserve no less.
I am not a lawyer, but the crime element of an act worthy of imprisonment is always judged on the basis of the intention of the perpetrator. I suspect that except for those responsible for reproducing and uploading the videos, and those who supplied the drugs, no other character in this reality soap opera will ever land in jail, not even Hayden. The worst that can happen to him is that his license as a doctor will be revoked, and he can be sued for damages. I am not at all convinced that the videotaping of a sex act for private consumption can be classified as a crime under the Anti-Violence against Women and Children act. It is despicable. It is atrocious. It should be condemned. But under our laws, a good and expensive lawyer can easily save Hayden from legal retribution. Hence, the need to formulate more laws, or to clarify existing ones.
This is where the Senate Hearing should have focused. Katrina and Hayden's presence in the hearing was in fact not necessary. It should have been legal experts, psychologists, computer and IT experts and others in the know who should have been there. But I guess, this is our tragedy as a nation, that people like Bong Revilla, who at this point is still at a loss on the true nature of the work of the Senate (that its job is to legislate and not to prosecute and find guilt), are inflicted on us as Senators of the Republic.
But in the end, the laws of karma will be there to punish. Hayden's and Katrina's are now being felt by them. Don't get me wrong. While I feel that Katrina, or any other woman for that matter, does not deserve to be humiliated like this, the laws of karma do not exempt anyone. Perhaps, this is the price she has to pay for having an affair with somebody else's boyfriend, and denying it with gusto. Maybe, she is paying for other sins. Hayden's karma is more than the cold dousing he got from Afuang. More are still coming.
And what about Bong Revilla? Well, there is always the specter of electoral repudiation.
In the end, everyone will get what he or she deserves.
Including a public whose view of politics is simply a spectacle without issues. Some people are complaining that we surely do not deserve this spectacle of a scandal to be an object of a senate hearing. They are wrong. We deserve no less.
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