It is evident that the option for healthy and sexy bodies, from enrolling in the gym, to buying diet pills and whitening creams, or getting a liposuction, or patronizing the new generation of food supplements and health drinks, is a luxury which is available only for those who can afford. However, it is also true that if one looks at the bodies of those who work on manual labor, the farmers, mechanics, stevedores, and baggage handlers, we can see toned and muscular bodies matched with flat abs and bulging biceps and triceps. For them, there is probably no need to go to the gym and spend time on the treadmill or in lifting weights, considering that their everyday working lives is already one big gym. They also would probably don’t have to diet, considering that their meager income could only afford them to have simple and low calorie meals, perhaps even too low to a point that many of them end up critically malnourished. This is why while they may have the external appearance of having “bodies to die for,” it is their health that are seriously at risk. This is their tragedy, one that is caused by the lethal articulation between an increasingly toxic environment brought about by natural and anthropogenic alterations of our planet, and an increasingly expensive cost of Western medical health care, coupled with the deployment of unhealthy Western lifestyles, from fast and junk foods to unhealthy vices.
However, relying on Western medical interventions may not even be providing us a cure to the ailments of modernity. Aside from their prohibitive costs, there is also an increasing discomfort with the ferocity by which new drugs and other chemical-based medical interventions are now being pushed by pharmaceutical companies and the medical practitioners who subscribe to them. It is in this domain that the flaws of Western medicine is confronted and engaged by the emergence of alternative medicine which is more herbal, organic and oriental, and in some cases, may be more affordable. The popularity of traditional Chinese medicine, for example, has reappeared even in modern cities like Manila. These herbal-based medical practices that consider disease less of a chemical malfunctioning of the body and more as a result of an internal imbalance within, offer an interesting counter-narrative to the more intrusive, chemical-dependent, and expensive Western medical practices.
On a different note, and based from my own personal encounter with this alternative form of healing, the delivery of treatment and care takes on a different spatial configuration compared to a Western medical facility like a clinic or a hospital. The Chinese doctor I regularly visit in Chinatown is both a doctor and a source of humor, and the space where he works is not just a clinic but an inclusive community. While Western clinical practice subsists on the privacy of doctor-patient encounters, and its associated confidentiality of diagnosis, the clinic in Chinatown offers a public viewing of such encounter. The room where the doctor works is a small one, and his diagnoses of his patients, made in broken Tagalog, are orally delivered not as a confidential reading of what is wrong with the internal balance of the body of the patient, but as a recitation within the hearing distance of those in the room at the time. While those reared in Western medical practice may frown on this as highly unprofessional, it has demystifying effects, even as it makes the whole process a participatory and inclusive exercise of a group in community with each other. Those who know how to speak Chinese in the room automatically become translators both to the Doctor and to the patient; old-timers help those who are new in explaining not only the rules in the clinic, but also provide their testimonials to clear up doubts, or simply to give advise; people who are first in line help facilitate the queue. These are rituals of community that may not necessarily heal the sick, but are definitely composite of a social capital that is enabled as a group of people negotiate the space through which they seek their own healing.
This alternative form of healing, in addition to other indigenous ways, which include the native Filipino art of healing, confronts a dominant narrative in which the focus on the body, its appearance and vitality, is now in the context no longer just of capitalist production, but also of consumption and pleasure in a political economy of images, in which the body becomes now a commodity to be bought and “consumed”, and not just a resource for capitalist production. In this domain, a dominant narrative specifies not only the “look” and the “body” that is to be desired but also how these can be achieved. There is a deployment of dominant templates not only for fashion and diet, but also even on internal wellness and external appearances. These are then institutionalized in a complex array of discourses and narratives that are produced in society through the operation of certain kinds of truth and knowledge as embodied in templates as diverse as fashion rules, appearance norms, and appropriate lifestyles drawing their logic from professions like Western medicine and effectively deployed by efficient marketing.
However, there are those who refuse to go with the flow, as they create their own embodiments. Jolina Magdangal, a movie personality, is well known for creating her own sense of unconventional fashion which transgressed the established norms of color combinations and accessory matching to the consternation of established fashion gurus. In fact, the word “jologs” which refer to crass and of the hoi polloi was coined based on her name. Nevertheless, Jolina was able to impose her sense of alternative fashion to a point that she is now considered a fashion icon herself. Raymund Francis Rustia is a walking conversation piece with his dreadlocks and elaborate adornments that is uncharacteristically out of the ordinary. His appearance in the first season of “Survivor Philippines,” particularly his ethical playing of the game catapulted him to fame. Kiko, as he is popularly called, transgressed the norm provided by society, and instead of ending up being called weird, now appears in mainstream TV as host to an environmentally-oriented show in one of the TV networks. Bebe Gandanghari is another person who breached the norms provided by society with regards to the human body. Formerly a male matinee idol in the name of Rustom Padilla, he came out and admitted his true sexual orientation in one of the most explosive moment of the reality game show “Pinoy Big Brother,” went abroad, and came back totally transformed into a woman figure. Far from being considered a “freak”, Bebe is now accepted less as an anomaly, and more as a transformed body that carry a sense of personal power by deploying a kind of truth that may not be comfortable to the established norms, but nevertheless speaks loudly as a physical counter-narrative to the constrained identities that imprison those who remain in their closets.
Jolina, Kiko and Bebe, as celebrities with bodies who transgressed social forms of control provided powerful images that find meaning among a citizenry that derive their templates from popular culture. Their transgressions offered a counter-narrative to the dominant images that are displayed in the same venues where they exist—the showbiz media, TV and the entertainment industry. In their iconic presence, they are just three of the many more who are not celebrity figures, but who in their ordinary ways have tried to transgress, resist, and confront the disempowering politics by which their bodies are expected to conform to the ideal shape, size and configuration as dictated by the dominant political economy that images the body not only as a project to be produced but also as a resource to be consumed.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Gym Politics
One of the epicenters of the modern body as a project to be reformed and reconstructed is the gym. While barber shops and beauty salons have earlier become places where looks are changed, they are merely alterations of external body appendages like hair and nails, of which changes may create an illusion of a different look. However, it is in the gym where the body becomes an object of a more radical alteration without surgical operation, in which muscles are pumped to make them bigger, or toned to make them firmer and tighter. The modern gym is no longer a place where the young, mostly men, learn the rudiments of masculinity as they study and engage in physical exercise in their naked glory. In fact, the word “gymnasium” is rooted in Greek, where it originally meant as a place where one can be naked. It is now a place where they celebrate the body as an architectural work for both masculinity and femininity, with gyms now catering to both men and women, straight and gay.
A day in the modern gym is like paying homage to vanity manifested in body flaunting by those who have the perfect physique, and of body envy by those who are trying to acquire such perfect physique. The gym is turned into a place for another kind of learning no longer conducted by master teachers in the Greek tradition on young men as they learn not only the rewards of truth and knowledge but also the pleasures of desire. The modern gym becomes a place where you come in with a sense of inadequacy and an urge to overcome it by learning from the templates that you see in the images created in the media about the perfect butt and the washboard abs, and as re-presented in the bodies that you see parading right before your very eyes. The gym is almost like a sorting place of images of people coming in as veterans, as showed by the badges embodied in their biceps, triceps and deltoids, and as neophytes seen in people with fat bellies, or undeveloped muscles, people who look nerdish, the geeks and the dorks. The latter undertakes the rituals of bench pressing, crunching and lifting, and has to endure both initial shame and lots of pain, looking forward to the day that their hats as beginners will be replaced by the crowning glory of buffed bodies ready to be exhibited to the new batch of nerds, geeks and dorks. The gym, in this regard, becomes a space for an institutionalized fraternity of sorts, with neophytes and masters interacting in the context of a symbolic brotherhood based on sweat and muscles.
In the Greek tradition, the gym is a place where truth and knowledge articulate with pleasure and desire. In its modern incarnation, such truth is no longer residing in the wisdom of philosophy and the arts, but in the simulated images of a body which modern capitalism has produced as commodity to be sold in the media, through the images of half-naked models and actors parading their physiques to create a demand for these, and then reproduced in the body rituals which the gym now offers to its clients for a fee. Thus, the media images of a perfect body is a commodity consumed by those who desire to have it, even as a sculpted body comes out of gyms and other fitness establishments as a reproduction of such images, where they now join the array of representations that further reproduce the commodified perfect body to the eyes of those who feel inadequate about theirs. While there may be no words that attend the sculpted, reformed and remade body, in that it is pure image, its physicality becomes an embodiment of a silent yet potent narrative about the power of a new political economy of human appearances. The desire for a god-like body and the pleasures for having it become a powerful driver of this narrative.
It is easy to associate the politics of the gym with male domination, considering the relatively stronger presence of the male image compared to the female one. In fact, in most gyms and fitness centers, aerobic dancing sessions, which many consider as feminine, are more patronized by women, even as the weight training sessions are very much male-dominated. However, the creeping presence of vanity-induced consumerism, and the simulacra of ideal appearances now deploying not only images of women as reality, but the reality of male beauty as image, have infected even men to create a demand among them not only for aerobics lessons, but even for beauty enhancement treatments. This led to some gyms establishing saunas, spas and salons in their own premises, even as men’s consumption of these services in places other than the gym has increased. However, a more political form of resistance, which De Certeau (1984) have theorized about, that tend to undermine the dominant masculinity prevailing in a typical gym was the preponderance of gay bath houses presenting themselves as fitness centers cum gyms, mainly starting in US cities such as San Francisco and New York but has since spread to other gay-dominated sectors of major cities in the world. In these places, the overall strategies associated with straight body envy and the rituals of heterosexual physicality found in gyms are subverted by a gay sub-culture that effectively deployed tactics that converted these spaces into places where gay men express their lifestyles. Exclusive gay bath houses are now already present in Manila, even as anecdotal evidence suggests that a gay sub-culture here is silently trangressing and implanting itself in the shower and steam rooms even in mainstream gyms and fitness centers. In the end, the gym which used to be a haven for straight male power, have in fact become a potent cruising venue, if not a playground for gays in search of pleasure as they consummate the truth of their own sexualities.
I remember a comment I heard once which said that the single place with the highest density of gays, next to a beauty salon, is the gym. This is not to be taken as an insult, but as a celebration of a successful form of gay politics.
A day in the modern gym is like paying homage to vanity manifested in body flaunting by those who have the perfect physique, and of body envy by those who are trying to acquire such perfect physique. The gym is turned into a place for another kind of learning no longer conducted by master teachers in the Greek tradition on young men as they learn not only the rewards of truth and knowledge but also the pleasures of desire. The modern gym becomes a place where you come in with a sense of inadequacy and an urge to overcome it by learning from the templates that you see in the images created in the media about the perfect butt and the washboard abs, and as re-presented in the bodies that you see parading right before your very eyes. The gym is almost like a sorting place of images of people coming in as veterans, as showed by the badges embodied in their biceps, triceps and deltoids, and as neophytes seen in people with fat bellies, or undeveloped muscles, people who look nerdish, the geeks and the dorks. The latter undertakes the rituals of bench pressing, crunching and lifting, and has to endure both initial shame and lots of pain, looking forward to the day that their hats as beginners will be replaced by the crowning glory of buffed bodies ready to be exhibited to the new batch of nerds, geeks and dorks. The gym, in this regard, becomes a space for an institutionalized fraternity of sorts, with neophytes and masters interacting in the context of a symbolic brotherhood based on sweat and muscles.
In the Greek tradition, the gym is a place where truth and knowledge articulate with pleasure and desire. In its modern incarnation, such truth is no longer residing in the wisdom of philosophy and the arts, but in the simulated images of a body which modern capitalism has produced as commodity to be sold in the media, through the images of half-naked models and actors parading their physiques to create a demand for these, and then reproduced in the body rituals which the gym now offers to its clients for a fee. Thus, the media images of a perfect body is a commodity consumed by those who desire to have it, even as a sculpted body comes out of gyms and other fitness establishments as a reproduction of such images, where they now join the array of representations that further reproduce the commodified perfect body to the eyes of those who feel inadequate about theirs. While there may be no words that attend the sculpted, reformed and remade body, in that it is pure image, its physicality becomes an embodiment of a silent yet potent narrative about the power of a new political economy of human appearances. The desire for a god-like body and the pleasures for having it become a powerful driver of this narrative.
It is easy to associate the politics of the gym with male domination, considering the relatively stronger presence of the male image compared to the female one. In fact, in most gyms and fitness centers, aerobic dancing sessions, which many consider as feminine, are more patronized by women, even as the weight training sessions are very much male-dominated. However, the creeping presence of vanity-induced consumerism, and the simulacra of ideal appearances now deploying not only images of women as reality, but the reality of male beauty as image, have infected even men to create a demand among them not only for aerobics lessons, but even for beauty enhancement treatments. This led to some gyms establishing saunas, spas and salons in their own premises, even as men’s consumption of these services in places other than the gym has increased. However, a more political form of resistance, which De Certeau (1984) have theorized about, that tend to undermine the dominant masculinity prevailing in a typical gym was the preponderance of gay bath houses presenting themselves as fitness centers cum gyms, mainly starting in US cities such as San Francisco and New York but has since spread to other gay-dominated sectors of major cities in the world. In these places, the overall strategies associated with straight body envy and the rituals of heterosexual physicality found in gyms are subverted by a gay sub-culture that effectively deployed tactics that converted these spaces into places where gay men express their lifestyles. Exclusive gay bath houses are now already present in Manila, even as anecdotal evidence suggests that a gay sub-culture here is silently trangressing and implanting itself in the shower and steam rooms even in mainstream gyms and fitness centers. In the end, the gym which used to be a haven for straight male power, have in fact become a potent cruising venue, if not a playground for gays in search of pleasure as they consummate the truth of their own sexualities.
I remember a comment I heard once which said that the single place with the highest density of gays, next to a beauty salon, is the gym. This is not to be taken as an insult, but as a celebration of a successful form of gay politics.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Politics as a Party
Now that elections are less than eight months away, I am tempted to again ready my party shoes, my pop corn, and my drinks and be prepared for one big party event.
There is one thing that Filipinos are noted for—it is our talent to entertain. Our fiestas are much awaited not only for the food we serve, but also for the dances and songs that we perform. Other people, including even Americans, which are perceived to be natural party animals, are amazed at the way we Filipinos are able to orchestrate the transformation of a seemingly dull moment to an explosion of fun, food, and frolic, not to mention booze. To us, however, this is our natural. After all, we are the same people who converted EDSA I into a big party, a grand political festival, where we easily transformed a tense conflict situation into a venue for community gathering and celebration.
It is in this context, therefore, that we should not be surprised if Filipinos see a “political party” not as the boring institution of loyalty, ideology, and platforms that textbooks in political science depict. Instead, it is seen as a “party”—a fun-filled political event, where anyone can dance with abandon in a political game where the norms are not the principles that one have but the camaraderie and personalities that one can enjoy.
We are indeed natural party animals. We have deconstructed a technical political term and turned it on its head to reveal another meaning. This is the only explanation I can think of, if only to make sense of this explosion of political partying by many of our politicians. Indeed, they turn politics into a party, where the talk is not about issues but about appearances; where the spoiler is the one serious and boring, and the star is the one who comes with a glittering dress or a perfumed look or a plastic smile talking an empty talk. There, the likes of Winnie Monsod become a spoiler while Miriam Santiago is party queen.
Politics became a party in past elections, when someone like Eddie Gil appeared as a serious option for citizens who have lost their faith in the electoral process. Politics became a party when a candidate like the late Raul Roco, who had the reputation for explosive temper, suddenly turned into a flower lover, later joined by Lito Atienza. Politics became a party when Ping Lacson, allegedly feared for reasons only Mon Tulfo knows, began to smile, and even shed tears on camera, although lately he has caused Erap Estrada, his erstwhile friend, to frown a lot.
Politics become a party when being a simple newsreader, as Noli de Castro was and still is, considered as equivalent to good public service; or when cute people like Pia Cayetano suddenly came out of nowhere to claim the senate seat of her late father, as if it is an inheritance. Politics became a party when Brother Eddie descends into the arena like a messiah, allegedly sent by God, and joyfully announced by an MTV VJ in the person of Donita Rose herself. Politics became a party when Jamby, Lito and Bong became Senators of the Republic.
Politics became a party when former enemies Miriam and Gloria became friends, and when Imee and Bongbong have only good things to say about Noynoy, for indeed parties are occasions when rivals kiss and make up, even if only for show. Of course, the greatest party of all explodes in its most feverish frenzy when Gloria threw a big one in New York, raking up bills that could rival the ones made by the greatest party animal of them all—Imelda Marcos, whose reinvention of herself through the power of popular culture is a rare political feat, to a point that the CCP has even honored her.
This is how we practice politics—as a party. In this party scene, rules of the game designed by the great minds in political science are thrown out. In fact, we Filipinos have created our own categories that go beyond the imagination of any bookish political science major. The absence of strong political parties, and here I refer to groups that aggregate political interests and compete during elections, is not the only peculiar contribution we have to the annals of political theory. We should be reminded that we are the only country where Senators from the opposition parties (again, I refer to the political group) become chairpersons of committees.
However, and lest we become cocky and declare our uniqueness as our monopoly, let us be humbled by the fact that there are other countries where political parties (again, I refer to the group) are as weak as ours. There are also countries where politicians easily change their political parties (again, I refer to the political group). There are also countries where crazy and weird characters brave whatever sanity impediments to join the political party (here, I now refer to the event, and not the political group) and enjoy the fun.
African countries have also weak, if not weaker, political party systems. Cambodia, Myanmar and Laos have strong dominant parties, but weak opposition parties. China, the sleeping economic giant, has only one political party. The United States is supposed to have two strong political parties, but their system was not effective enough to stop a George W. Bush from inflicting himself on all of us, until Barack reinvented himself to redeem the Democratic Party from being the party of losers.
Thailand, the emerging tiger of Southeast Asia, was once dominated by a party, the Thai Rak Thai, whose ranks grew from the migration of politicians from the other established parties. Speaking of Thai Rak Thai, its name simply translates to “Thai loves Thai.” How is that for a name? Not even Imelda could have had such creativity to name a party “Pinoy Mahal ang Pinoy.” However, Former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was able to get away with it, and Thai Rak Thai was poised to build an even stronger majority in the Thai Parliament, until financial scandal and corruption charges, and a simmering Muslim secession movement in the south, spoiled Thaksin’s party (here, I refer to both meanings of the word) and caused him to live in exile.
As for colorful characters, I do not have to remind you of the California elections some years back that Arnie won, which had a fun-filled cast of characters that included a midget and a porn star—indeed a perfect party! And what about the eunuch that ran in India? Or those mynah birds and holy cows used as campaign materials there? Apparently, in India, when they throw a political party and invite party animals, they also make it a point to include the real ones.
There is one thing that Filipinos are noted for—it is our talent to entertain. Our fiestas are much awaited not only for the food we serve, but also for the dances and songs that we perform. Other people, including even Americans, which are perceived to be natural party animals, are amazed at the way we Filipinos are able to orchestrate the transformation of a seemingly dull moment to an explosion of fun, food, and frolic, not to mention booze. To us, however, this is our natural. After all, we are the same people who converted EDSA I into a big party, a grand political festival, where we easily transformed a tense conflict situation into a venue for community gathering and celebration.
It is in this context, therefore, that we should not be surprised if Filipinos see a “political party” not as the boring institution of loyalty, ideology, and platforms that textbooks in political science depict. Instead, it is seen as a “party”—a fun-filled political event, where anyone can dance with abandon in a political game where the norms are not the principles that one have but the camaraderie and personalities that one can enjoy.
We are indeed natural party animals. We have deconstructed a technical political term and turned it on its head to reveal another meaning. This is the only explanation I can think of, if only to make sense of this explosion of political partying by many of our politicians. Indeed, they turn politics into a party, where the talk is not about issues but about appearances; where the spoiler is the one serious and boring, and the star is the one who comes with a glittering dress or a perfumed look or a plastic smile talking an empty talk. There, the likes of Winnie Monsod become a spoiler while Miriam Santiago is party queen.
Politics became a party in past elections, when someone like Eddie Gil appeared as a serious option for citizens who have lost their faith in the electoral process. Politics became a party when a candidate like the late Raul Roco, who had the reputation for explosive temper, suddenly turned into a flower lover, later joined by Lito Atienza. Politics became a party when Ping Lacson, allegedly feared for reasons only Mon Tulfo knows, began to smile, and even shed tears on camera, although lately he has caused Erap Estrada, his erstwhile friend, to frown a lot.
Politics become a party when being a simple newsreader, as Noli de Castro was and still is, considered as equivalent to good public service; or when cute people like Pia Cayetano suddenly came out of nowhere to claim the senate seat of her late father, as if it is an inheritance. Politics became a party when Brother Eddie descends into the arena like a messiah, allegedly sent by God, and joyfully announced by an MTV VJ in the person of Donita Rose herself. Politics became a party when Jamby, Lito and Bong became Senators of the Republic.
Politics became a party when former enemies Miriam and Gloria became friends, and when Imee and Bongbong have only good things to say about Noynoy, for indeed parties are occasions when rivals kiss and make up, even if only for show. Of course, the greatest party of all explodes in its most feverish frenzy when Gloria threw a big one in New York, raking up bills that could rival the ones made by the greatest party animal of them all—Imelda Marcos, whose reinvention of herself through the power of popular culture is a rare political feat, to a point that the CCP has even honored her.
This is how we practice politics—as a party. In this party scene, rules of the game designed by the great minds in political science are thrown out. In fact, we Filipinos have created our own categories that go beyond the imagination of any bookish political science major. The absence of strong political parties, and here I refer to groups that aggregate political interests and compete during elections, is not the only peculiar contribution we have to the annals of political theory. We should be reminded that we are the only country where Senators from the opposition parties (again, I refer to the political group) become chairpersons of committees.
However, and lest we become cocky and declare our uniqueness as our monopoly, let us be humbled by the fact that there are other countries where political parties (again, I refer to the group) are as weak as ours. There are also countries where politicians easily change their political parties (again, I refer to the political group). There are also countries where crazy and weird characters brave whatever sanity impediments to join the political party (here, I now refer to the event, and not the political group) and enjoy the fun.
African countries have also weak, if not weaker, political party systems. Cambodia, Myanmar and Laos have strong dominant parties, but weak opposition parties. China, the sleeping economic giant, has only one political party. The United States is supposed to have two strong political parties, but their system was not effective enough to stop a George W. Bush from inflicting himself on all of us, until Barack reinvented himself to redeem the Democratic Party from being the party of losers.
Thailand, the emerging tiger of Southeast Asia, was once dominated by a party, the Thai Rak Thai, whose ranks grew from the migration of politicians from the other established parties. Speaking of Thai Rak Thai, its name simply translates to “Thai loves Thai.” How is that for a name? Not even Imelda could have had such creativity to name a party “Pinoy Mahal ang Pinoy.” However, Former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra was able to get away with it, and Thai Rak Thai was poised to build an even stronger majority in the Thai Parliament, until financial scandal and corruption charges, and a simmering Muslim secession movement in the south, spoiled Thaksin’s party (here, I refer to both meanings of the word) and caused him to live in exile.
As for colorful characters, I do not have to remind you of the California elections some years back that Arnie won, which had a fun-filled cast of characters that included a midget and a porn star—indeed a perfect party! And what about the eunuch that ran in India? Or those mynah birds and holy cows used as campaign materials there? Apparently, in India, when they throw a political party and invite party animals, they also make it a point to include the real ones.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
On Simplifying Politics as a Morality Play Between Good and Evil
The surge of Noynoy Aquino's popularity, based from the latest polls, albeit only on limited but significant areas in Luzon (http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/inquirerheadlines/nation/view/20090914-225115/Aquino-tops-Luzon-poll) is very tempting for someone to toot the horn and celebrate the impending victory of the good versus the evil, or at the very least, that the good is winning over the evil.
While I am partial towards Noynoy, I would caution anyone against simplifying politics and life as a battle between good and evil. It is not, at least to the ordinary citizen.
Conrad de Quiros, in his column which appeared today, September 14, in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, criticized those who problematize the "good versus evil" narrative. I am one of those. In the column, he called us too theoretical, too confined in a tiny box, and too out of touch with the reality of politics and how the ordinary Filipino citizen thinks. (http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20090914-225096/It-is-Good-vs-Evil)
I have high respects for Conrad, and have agreed with him almost 99 percent of the time. This is one of the rare one percent that I would strongly disagree with my fellow Bikolano.
The narrative of good versus evil, in fact, is a convenient template for those in power and those who challenge them to mobilize and rally their supporters. It is easy. And it is too simple. All you have to do is to reduce the complexity of people's choices into a dualism between the good (which is always whoever you support), and the evil (of course, the one you don't support). Thus, it is in fact less of a reality that people experience, but more of an image that one conjures and simulates. Using plain language, it is an advertising campaign, an image building strategy. And our experiences with ads and image make-overs is that they create a hype to manipulate people's search for completeness in the face of a flawed existence--buy this product to make yourself whole, so to speak.
It is the same in political discourse. We speak of an incomplete national experience, a flawed national narrative brought about by evil forces now incarnated through a short woman with a mole who loves expensive food. We want to sell an alternative, our "product" who embodies the "good." No matter how strongly one can agree with the demonification of Gloria, this should not cloud our judgment in being honest with ourselves. It is all but campaign hype. But to offer it as biblical truth is, if I may use the metaphor of boxes, not even thinking in a tiny box, but thinking in a very large but nevertheless very imaginary box.
The opposition between good and evil is a convenient tool of those at the top of the overt national narrative, the elites, and power strugglers and their apologists. It is never the discourse of the ordinary. To assume that ordinary citizens could easily fall in this trap is assuming too much of the elite's power to beguile and too less of the ordinary citizen's ability to discern.
To the ordinary citizen, the issues that matter most are survival, authenticity and how to cope and make best of what they have. In a situation in which uncertainty, complexity and the multiplicity of possibilities predominate your decision landscape, it is going to be suicidal and inauthentic to simplify your choices between a good and an evil. Ordinary peoples negotiate the complex pathways of their everyday lives by their willingness to compromise and suspend moral judgments to survive the cacophony of obstacles thrown their way and to retain their bearings. This is why there is a white lie told even by those who go to mass everyday to make their children secure and safe; of a traffc transgression occassionally done by a conscientious tax payer and efficient manager if only to be on time to a meeting; of a human rights advocate technically living in sin with somebody without the benefit of a marriage, or with somebody of the same sex, if only to satisfy his or her own right to happiness; or of a farmer tenant pilfering from his landlord's share of the harvest by not reporting the correct volume; or of the many who are forced into prostitution just to support their families. The list could go on and on.
And in the above examples, the acts of the people mentioned are not cases of pure evil. And the choices that they make are not simply choosing one over the other.
No, it is not us who theorize about the complexity of ordinary life that are out of touch with reality.
On the contrary, I value the experience of the ordinary too much that I am not about to be stampeded by an ideological desire to justify the candidacy of somebody, no matter how I like him, by calling the choices that people make as unreal and fictitious.
History may have been written as an opposition between good and evil, and great transformations have been painted to be triumphs of the good over the evil. But I have said this before, and I am going to say this again--the history that we know is always written by the winners, and not by the losers. There is much to be teased out from the silences that are not articulated there. It is in these spaces that life becomes a complex terrain of everyday struggle, seen in ordinary people's own personal histories of negotiating the pathways outside the simplifying templates of an ideal good and a demonized evil driving the choices that they make. In fact, a careful check even of grand events, or of actions of kings, presidents, revolutionaries and great intellectuals will reveal that these are not purely manifestations of moral decisions in the context of a good-evil moment.
Furthermore, while Barack Obama and Cory Aquino may have been children of this Manichean opposition between good and evil, as Conrad points out in his column, so was Adolf Hitler when he demonized the Jews and painted the great Aryan race as the vessel from which the good in the human race could be realized. Many historical goods have come out of the narratives of good fighting evil. But in the same manner, many evil deeds have also been legitimized by it. Besides, what is "good" and what is "evil" is relative to the one who speaks. In an elitist narrative, those who have been given the right to write history would naturally have the upperhand.
And the last time I checked, Imelda Marcos is still at it whenever she talks about the true, the good and the beautiful. And she was just recently honored by the CCP.
I would say this: let those who write and speak emotionally and with conviction on behalf of the candidates they are committed to support no matter what speak the language of good and evil. They are just doing their jobs. That is their box, their very large but nevetheless very imaginary box.
While I am partial towards Noynoy, I would caution anyone against simplifying politics and life as a battle between good and evil. It is not, at least to the ordinary citizen.
Conrad de Quiros, in his column which appeared today, September 14, in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, criticized those who problematize the "good versus evil" narrative. I am one of those. In the column, he called us too theoretical, too confined in a tiny box, and too out of touch with the reality of politics and how the ordinary Filipino citizen thinks. (http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20090914-225096/It-is-Good-vs-Evil)
I have high respects for Conrad, and have agreed with him almost 99 percent of the time. This is one of the rare one percent that I would strongly disagree with my fellow Bikolano.
The narrative of good versus evil, in fact, is a convenient template for those in power and those who challenge them to mobilize and rally their supporters. It is easy. And it is too simple. All you have to do is to reduce the complexity of people's choices into a dualism between the good (which is always whoever you support), and the evil (of course, the one you don't support). Thus, it is in fact less of a reality that people experience, but more of an image that one conjures and simulates. Using plain language, it is an advertising campaign, an image building strategy. And our experiences with ads and image make-overs is that they create a hype to manipulate people's search for completeness in the face of a flawed existence--buy this product to make yourself whole, so to speak.
It is the same in political discourse. We speak of an incomplete national experience, a flawed national narrative brought about by evil forces now incarnated through a short woman with a mole who loves expensive food. We want to sell an alternative, our "product" who embodies the "good." No matter how strongly one can agree with the demonification of Gloria, this should not cloud our judgment in being honest with ourselves. It is all but campaign hype. But to offer it as biblical truth is, if I may use the metaphor of boxes, not even thinking in a tiny box, but thinking in a very large but nevertheless very imaginary box.
The opposition between good and evil is a convenient tool of those at the top of the overt national narrative, the elites, and power strugglers and their apologists. It is never the discourse of the ordinary. To assume that ordinary citizens could easily fall in this trap is assuming too much of the elite's power to beguile and too less of the ordinary citizen's ability to discern.
To the ordinary citizen, the issues that matter most are survival, authenticity and how to cope and make best of what they have. In a situation in which uncertainty, complexity and the multiplicity of possibilities predominate your decision landscape, it is going to be suicidal and inauthentic to simplify your choices between a good and an evil. Ordinary peoples negotiate the complex pathways of their everyday lives by their willingness to compromise and suspend moral judgments to survive the cacophony of obstacles thrown their way and to retain their bearings. This is why there is a white lie told even by those who go to mass everyday to make their children secure and safe; of a traffc transgression occassionally done by a conscientious tax payer and efficient manager if only to be on time to a meeting; of a human rights advocate technically living in sin with somebody without the benefit of a marriage, or with somebody of the same sex, if only to satisfy his or her own right to happiness; or of a farmer tenant pilfering from his landlord's share of the harvest by not reporting the correct volume; or of the many who are forced into prostitution just to support their families. The list could go on and on.
And in the above examples, the acts of the people mentioned are not cases of pure evil. And the choices that they make are not simply choosing one over the other.
No, it is not us who theorize about the complexity of ordinary life that are out of touch with reality.
On the contrary, I value the experience of the ordinary too much that I am not about to be stampeded by an ideological desire to justify the candidacy of somebody, no matter how I like him, by calling the choices that people make as unreal and fictitious.
History may have been written as an opposition between good and evil, and great transformations have been painted to be triumphs of the good over the evil. But I have said this before, and I am going to say this again--the history that we know is always written by the winners, and not by the losers. There is much to be teased out from the silences that are not articulated there. It is in these spaces that life becomes a complex terrain of everyday struggle, seen in ordinary people's own personal histories of negotiating the pathways outside the simplifying templates of an ideal good and a demonized evil driving the choices that they make. In fact, a careful check even of grand events, or of actions of kings, presidents, revolutionaries and great intellectuals will reveal that these are not purely manifestations of moral decisions in the context of a good-evil moment.
Furthermore, while Barack Obama and Cory Aquino may have been children of this Manichean opposition between good and evil, as Conrad points out in his column, so was Adolf Hitler when he demonized the Jews and painted the great Aryan race as the vessel from which the good in the human race could be realized. Many historical goods have come out of the narratives of good fighting evil. But in the same manner, many evil deeds have also been legitimized by it. Besides, what is "good" and what is "evil" is relative to the one who speaks. In an elitist narrative, those who have been given the right to write history would naturally have the upperhand.
And the last time I checked, Imelda Marcos is still at it whenever she talks about the true, the good and the beautiful. And she was just recently honored by the CCP.
I would say this: let those who write and speak emotionally and with conviction on behalf of the candidates they are committed to support no matter what speak the language of good and evil. They are just doing their jobs. That is their box, their very large but nevetheless very imaginary box.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Agonizing About Noynoy
In the past several Presidential elections, I have always voted for a loser, to a point that some friends joked about the fact that I am not a very good political scientist, considering that I should know better whom to vote for using my own "objective" assessment of the political landscape.
My defense was that I am not an ordinary political scientist, considering that I study the ordinary and the everyday, and not the grand political processes associated with the state. My expertise lies in discerning the political out of Darna and Survivor Philippines, and not in divining political futures from grand scripts and discourses. And even if I could, I would never vote for someone just because she or he is going to win. The exercise of suffrage is too sacred for me to use to mortgage my principles in exchange for the feeling of having been on the winning side. I derive comfort from the fact that what most of recent history have told us is that the winning side is oftentimes also the wrong side.
This time, however, my losing streak may just end with the eventual vote I may cast with Noynoy.
But things have to be brought to careful attention, things that lead me into an agonizing self-reflection. The operative word here is "may," implying that I am not yet 100 percent certain, not only of my vote for him, but also of his chances of winning.
One source of my personal agony is the nagging thought that despite the fact that I may eventually be on the winning side, then why is it that I am not that ecstatic of the possibility? I am bothered by the fact that I still have doubts.
A friend recently told me that Noynoy is the best choice to lead the country into a moral recovery, considering that moral uprightness is in his genes. This is exactly what makes me uncomfortable, for indeed while there is no doubt to the moral force that characterized the union of Ninoy and Cory, and the dominant presence of faith in the worldview of the latter, buying the genetic argument poses a serious risk when one looks at what happened to Kris.
Seriously, however, I am very much uncomfortable putting my hope for the country's recovery in the hands of a family name just because of its political pedigree. This is tantamount to an act of legitimizing a fated form of dynasty, where one clan is almost bestowed the divine right to rule. What would be next? That any Aquino is good, and that all Marcoses are bad? Well, aside from Kris, there was the dancing queen Teresa Aquino-Oreta who sided with Erap with her notorious dance moves in the impeachment hearings in the Senate to prove that the genetic argument is extremely flawed. Kidding aside, what if it turns out that the elements of Kris and Tessie running in the blood of Noynoy might just show up?
Doubts like these emerge simply because we really don't know Noynoy as himself that much. Before the death of his mother, he was just an average performing legislator who simply capitalized on his surname to win a seat in the House and later in the Senate. Noynoy has to really try harder to project himself now as not just the son of Ninoy and Cory, and begin to chart for himself a political narrative which is different from, even as equally if not more promising and compelling than, his parents'. And here, it seems he is not doing very well, considering that his trajectory is in the same manner as her mother's. A death catapulted him to take on a presidential bearing like his mother; he evinces reluctance in the same way Cory was reluctant before; he went to the South on a retreat to reflect like what Cory did. In this process of retracing the path which his mother took, whether deliberately or not, he began to acquire an umbra of religiousity the public has never seen him to have. This may be good to some, but for me it simply betrays the lack of originality and authenticity. Personally, I have always been suspicious of candidates who appropriate religion in building their images and increasing their political stocks. This is why I will never vote for Fr. Ed Panlilio, Bro. Eddie and Bro. Mike.
I have a feeling that this coming elections will be fought not in the domain of memories, but in the landscape of the future. May 2010 may not be that far in time from now, but in a political campaign, a week could be a century. Many things could happen. As the Cory magic wanes, Noynoy will begin to be scrutinized not for what his bloodline would imply, or what his parents have bequeathed him at the time of his birth and at the times of their deaths. He will, by his own terms and record, now be deconstructed, evaluated, weighed, rated, scored, attacked, interrogated, and engaged by an increasingly critical and discerning public, and by competitors who will undoubtedly deploy all tactics, from fair to dirty, at and against him. Among others, he will be put to task regarding his position on agrarian reform. He could not even use the C5 controversy against Villar for the simple reason that he is part of the Senate that allowed such insertions when the budget was first deliberated.
As for me, I will continue to hope that he will do his best. I hope he can begin to be his own person. I hope he can escape from his elitist image and penetrate the CDE crowd to compete with Villar, Erap and Noli. I hope that while using his pedigree and his parents' moral force as an inspiration, that he will now chart a forward looking course of not capitalizing on their deaths and what they could have done, but on embarking on a journey about our future lives, his plans and what could be accomplished, as a way to wing it through the youth vote for which he will compete against Villar and Chiz
I am hoping he will do this so that when the last ballot has been scanned in May 2010, hopefully in the cleanest election we will ever have, that I could finally say that at last, I have voted for the winner, and after six years, I can also proudly say that my winning side was also the right side of our history.
My defense was that I am not an ordinary political scientist, considering that I study the ordinary and the everyday, and not the grand political processes associated with the state. My expertise lies in discerning the political out of Darna and Survivor Philippines, and not in divining political futures from grand scripts and discourses. And even if I could, I would never vote for someone just because she or he is going to win. The exercise of suffrage is too sacred for me to use to mortgage my principles in exchange for the feeling of having been on the winning side. I derive comfort from the fact that what most of recent history have told us is that the winning side is oftentimes also the wrong side.
This time, however, my losing streak may just end with the eventual vote I may cast with Noynoy.
But things have to be brought to careful attention, things that lead me into an agonizing self-reflection. The operative word here is "may," implying that I am not yet 100 percent certain, not only of my vote for him, but also of his chances of winning.
One source of my personal agony is the nagging thought that despite the fact that I may eventually be on the winning side, then why is it that I am not that ecstatic of the possibility? I am bothered by the fact that I still have doubts.
A friend recently told me that Noynoy is the best choice to lead the country into a moral recovery, considering that moral uprightness is in his genes. This is exactly what makes me uncomfortable, for indeed while there is no doubt to the moral force that characterized the union of Ninoy and Cory, and the dominant presence of faith in the worldview of the latter, buying the genetic argument poses a serious risk when one looks at what happened to Kris.
Seriously, however, I am very much uncomfortable putting my hope for the country's recovery in the hands of a family name just because of its political pedigree. This is tantamount to an act of legitimizing a fated form of dynasty, where one clan is almost bestowed the divine right to rule. What would be next? That any Aquino is good, and that all Marcoses are bad? Well, aside from Kris, there was the dancing queen Teresa Aquino-Oreta who sided with Erap with her notorious dance moves in the impeachment hearings in the Senate to prove that the genetic argument is extremely flawed. Kidding aside, what if it turns out that the elements of Kris and Tessie running in the blood of Noynoy might just show up?
Doubts like these emerge simply because we really don't know Noynoy as himself that much. Before the death of his mother, he was just an average performing legislator who simply capitalized on his surname to win a seat in the House and later in the Senate. Noynoy has to really try harder to project himself now as not just the son of Ninoy and Cory, and begin to chart for himself a political narrative which is different from, even as equally if not more promising and compelling than, his parents'. And here, it seems he is not doing very well, considering that his trajectory is in the same manner as her mother's. A death catapulted him to take on a presidential bearing like his mother; he evinces reluctance in the same way Cory was reluctant before; he went to the South on a retreat to reflect like what Cory did. In this process of retracing the path which his mother took, whether deliberately or not, he began to acquire an umbra of religiousity the public has never seen him to have. This may be good to some, but for me it simply betrays the lack of originality and authenticity. Personally, I have always been suspicious of candidates who appropriate religion in building their images and increasing their political stocks. This is why I will never vote for Fr. Ed Panlilio, Bro. Eddie and Bro. Mike.
I have a feeling that this coming elections will be fought not in the domain of memories, but in the landscape of the future. May 2010 may not be that far in time from now, but in a political campaign, a week could be a century. Many things could happen. As the Cory magic wanes, Noynoy will begin to be scrutinized not for what his bloodline would imply, or what his parents have bequeathed him at the time of his birth and at the times of their deaths. He will, by his own terms and record, now be deconstructed, evaluated, weighed, rated, scored, attacked, interrogated, and engaged by an increasingly critical and discerning public, and by competitors who will undoubtedly deploy all tactics, from fair to dirty, at and against him. Among others, he will be put to task regarding his position on agrarian reform. He could not even use the C5 controversy against Villar for the simple reason that he is part of the Senate that allowed such insertions when the budget was first deliberated.
As for me, I will continue to hope that he will do his best. I hope he can begin to be his own person. I hope he can escape from his elitist image and penetrate the CDE crowd to compete with Villar, Erap and Noli. I hope that while using his pedigree and his parents' moral force as an inspiration, that he will now chart a forward looking course of not capitalizing on their deaths and what they could have done, but on embarking on a journey about our future lives, his plans and what could be accomplished, as a way to wing it through the youth vote for which he will compete against Villar and Chiz
I am hoping he will do this so that when the last ballot has been scanned in May 2010, hopefully in the cleanest election we will ever have, that I could finally say that at last, I have voted for the winner, and after six years, I can also proudly say that my winning side was also the right side of our history.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Of Awards and Recognitions
It took me a while before I could muster enough courage to say this.
Now is the time.
I am sick and tired of awards and recognitions. Particularly if they come as a price you have to pay for acting unnatural just to please. Or when the recognition is tantamount to being knighted as part of an elite group. And most particularly if they come in exchange for some kowtowing and ass licking (pardon my French).
And this is not coming from someone who is just sour griping. I have won awards and recognitions on my own, and would not even dare list these just to prove my point. Those who know me would testify that I am not lying.
But what really gets me are the kinds of awards and recognitions in which what you become is a person recognized for what you are not, and for what others would like you to be.
There is this prestigious award given to young scientists, for example, but I know of many who have been awarded this recognition not out of exemplary work, but of extraordinary interpersonal skills. I know of a place, I am not going to name where but for those in the know would probably be able to guess, in which a quick way to win the award would be to be nice to a select elite group. I remember being approached by someone who I presumed cared enough to advise me that if I want to become an outstanding young scientist, that I should know who I should be and should not be associating with. Of course, it is but natural for this select group to take care of their own (and conversely, to make it difficult for those who do not belong in their group), to a point that the older members use their clout in the science community to facilitate the recognition of their younger cohorts--provided that they behave. Indeed, they even have a very efficient reservation system and a pecking order in which one young member already is reserved for a given year when to receive the award.
Naturally, the principled person which my parents taught me to become shuddered at the thought of playing politics and kissing asses of senior scientists if only to win a medal I could not even be proud of.
And then there is this award for outstanding alumni, in which people nominated me to receive, but I flatly refused for the simple reason that I have to produce my own evidences and supporting documents. I was just too proud, perhaps, to believe that all my work are public in nature, and therefore those who feel I truly deserve the award must find the time to look for these themselves, instead of me carting off boxes of publications, medals and recognitions. This is in the same league as that pesky international who's who that offers you to have a place in an alleged book of outstanding individuals, if only you pay a fee.
But the cake is reserved to one group organized to be supposedly composed of scholars par excellence but whose elitism and exclusiveness are taken by some of its members to medieval heights , in which people who are nominated to become one of them are subjected to scrutiny far beyond their academic reputations, but would include their personal life. And here, we are not even talking about immorality, but the very trivial quirks of somebody being denied membership for the simple reason that he is perceived to be quarrelsome, or somebody in the group doesn't like another nominee's style of written communication. One time, I almost fell on the floor when I was told that one reason why somebody was denied membership was that she was a single mother (as if all single mothers are of dubious moral character), or that one male nominee who is obviously gay is said to be having an affair with another man (and what did they expect from him, to have an affair with a woman? For crying out loud, this is why he is gay!), when in the same breath you have currently sitting members who are also as gay as you can get, but perhaps are just too good in hiding their affairs.
Here, my deepest sense of moral outrage was ignited by what I find as ridiculous and hypocritical acts of misplaced moral uprightness. I guess, I am just offended by a group anointing itself as guardians of morality. Reminds me of the Pharisees, or of moral McCarthyism. In the name of guarding their precious values, they forgot what one morally upright outcast of His society in His time once said: let those without sin cast the first stone.
Awards and recognitions come and go, and could be one or the other. The National Artists controversy, if only to give an example, is a shining testament to how political power can easily poison the process, even as one could also reveal an exclusionary elitism masquerading as due process and embedded in the vetting of nominees. Carlo Caparas may not necessarily be 100 percent wrong when he said that hell was raised against him because of the kind of art he practiced. It is too bad Gloria made it worse for him. What can I say? The lady simply pollutes anything she touches of late, including expensive dinners. I am going to bet that had Carlo received the award from Cory, many in the progressive art group would find ways to justify this as a form of democratizing the process.
I may still value awards and recognitions from peers in the form of academic journals publishing my work; or of being promoted using a very rigorous, fair and objective process such as the one we have at DLSU; or of getting grants or fellowships from competitions which have fairly established protocols. This is why I am proud of my publications, my promotions, and my recent Fulbright grant.
But what makes me even proudest is when I go home to a family that loves me the way I am, bare and devoid of all medals and accolades but simply being me--a husband, father, son and brother. My family is my most priceless medal--pure, unadulterated gold, silver and bronze rolled into one with some accents of timeless diamonds.
So, to those who think I am unlucky and miserable just because I am not an outstanding young scientist, or have not been invited to join this elitist group, or have not been recognized as an outstanding alumni of my school (from elementary to college), pardon my French--but I can tell you this: get all your medals and plaques, and shove them up as high as Mt. Everest for all I care!
Now is the time.
I am sick and tired of awards and recognitions. Particularly if they come as a price you have to pay for acting unnatural just to please. Or when the recognition is tantamount to being knighted as part of an elite group. And most particularly if they come in exchange for some kowtowing and ass licking (pardon my French).
And this is not coming from someone who is just sour griping. I have won awards and recognitions on my own, and would not even dare list these just to prove my point. Those who know me would testify that I am not lying.
But what really gets me are the kinds of awards and recognitions in which what you become is a person recognized for what you are not, and for what others would like you to be.
There is this prestigious award given to young scientists, for example, but I know of many who have been awarded this recognition not out of exemplary work, but of extraordinary interpersonal skills. I know of a place, I am not going to name where but for those in the know would probably be able to guess, in which a quick way to win the award would be to be nice to a select elite group. I remember being approached by someone who I presumed cared enough to advise me that if I want to become an outstanding young scientist, that I should know who I should be and should not be associating with. Of course, it is but natural for this select group to take care of their own (and conversely, to make it difficult for those who do not belong in their group), to a point that the older members use their clout in the science community to facilitate the recognition of their younger cohorts--provided that they behave. Indeed, they even have a very efficient reservation system and a pecking order in which one young member already is reserved for a given year when to receive the award.
Naturally, the principled person which my parents taught me to become shuddered at the thought of playing politics and kissing asses of senior scientists if only to win a medal I could not even be proud of.
And then there is this award for outstanding alumni, in which people nominated me to receive, but I flatly refused for the simple reason that I have to produce my own evidences and supporting documents. I was just too proud, perhaps, to believe that all my work are public in nature, and therefore those who feel I truly deserve the award must find the time to look for these themselves, instead of me carting off boxes of publications, medals and recognitions. This is in the same league as that pesky international who's who that offers you to have a place in an alleged book of outstanding individuals, if only you pay a fee.
But the cake is reserved to one group organized to be supposedly composed of scholars par excellence but whose elitism and exclusiveness are taken by some of its members to medieval heights , in which people who are nominated to become one of them are subjected to scrutiny far beyond their academic reputations, but would include their personal life. And here, we are not even talking about immorality, but the very trivial quirks of somebody being denied membership for the simple reason that he is perceived to be quarrelsome, or somebody in the group doesn't like another nominee's style of written communication. One time, I almost fell on the floor when I was told that one reason why somebody was denied membership was that she was a single mother (as if all single mothers are of dubious moral character), or that one male nominee who is obviously gay is said to be having an affair with another man (and what did they expect from him, to have an affair with a woman? For crying out loud, this is why he is gay!), when in the same breath you have currently sitting members who are also as gay as you can get, but perhaps are just too good in hiding their affairs.
Here, my deepest sense of moral outrage was ignited by what I find as ridiculous and hypocritical acts of misplaced moral uprightness. I guess, I am just offended by a group anointing itself as guardians of morality. Reminds me of the Pharisees, or of moral McCarthyism. In the name of guarding their precious values, they forgot what one morally upright outcast of His society in His time once said: let those without sin cast the first stone.
Awards and recognitions come and go, and could be one or the other. The National Artists controversy, if only to give an example, is a shining testament to how political power can easily poison the process, even as one could also reveal an exclusionary elitism masquerading as due process and embedded in the vetting of nominees. Carlo Caparas may not necessarily be 100 percent wrong when he said that hell was raised against him because of the kind of art he practiced. It is too bad Gloria made it worse for him. What can I say? The lady simply pollutes anything she touches of late, including expensive dinners. I am going to bet that had Carlo received the award from Cory, many in the progressive art group would find ways to justify this as a form of democratizing the process.
I may still value awards and recognitions from peers in the form of academic journals publishing my work; or of being promoted using a very rigorous, fair and objective process such as the one we have at DLSU; or of getting grants or fellowships from competitions which have fairly established protocols. This is why I am proud of my publications, my promotions, and my recent Fulbright grant.
But what makes me even proudest is when I go home to a family that loves me the way I am, bare and devoid of all medals and accolades but simply being me--a husband, father, son and brother. My family is my most priceless medal--pure, unadulterated gold, silver and bronze rolled into one with some accents of timeless diamonds.
So, to those who think I am unlucky and miserable just because I am not an outstanding young scientist, or have not been invited to join this elitist group, or have not been recognized as an outstanding alumni of my school (from elementary to college), pardon my French--but I can tell you this: get all your medals and plaques, and shove them up as high as Mt. Everest for all I care!
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