The Peace Advantage

Raptured

2005-07-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

Am writing from the 6th floor of an 8-storey building right smack in the heart of Quezon City, Philippines. Below is a panoramic view of Metro Manila and the serene, mountainous terrains of Antipolo, Rizal juxtaposed with the bustling insanity of urban Philippines. Ooooops! I have to avoid the stinging tirades or this may be construed as another prelude to suicide. (My apologies to my good man, Davis. And thanks, too for pulling me off the railroad track!)

Seriously though, I can't think of anything else these past few days except the recent spate of events that has become a redefinition of the concept of 'civil war' in the Philippines. I was urged earlier last week to write something on London's 7/7 bombing. But the thought was not compelling enough. Not that I feel no compassion at all for those mercilessly waylaid by some terror freak. It's just that a blogger, like me or any other, feels a lot more sensitive when it comes to local events. It's probably the geographical proximity or the intensity that breaks the sense of apathy and installs outrage in its place.

You see, folks and friends in this free blogging world, my country, unlike London, does not have to worry about bearded, red-eyed, suicidal, i'll-eat-your-balls-for-breakfast kind of terrorists that are making memorable cameo appearances all over the world. We have been totally exempted from the list of beneficiaries of those ass-kickin', live aid benefit rock concerts that threaten the G8 to unload their wallets or James Hetfield will be the next UN Secretary General.

The Philippines is scott-free from all those scourges. We don't need terrorists or bad-mouth, devil-worshipping trash metal bands to remind us that the Apocalypse is right around the corner.

The Philippines is proud to proclaim that it can do all that mass destruction, all by itself; independently and resolutely. We have our President. We have our Congress. We have the leaders of the so-called "opposition" and the masses; just in case the president and the congress fails to exterminate us all. By all indications. the self-destruct button just got stuck.

They say tough times make tough people. But tough times, prolonged long enough seem to numb people in the end. It seems, the country that gave the world a sterling example of peaceful change through people power and prayer power in 1987, has run out of faith and patience. People Power just cannot be sequeled like Star Wars or it looses its magic and efficacy as a uniting force.

Perhaps, it's not the politicians and the graft or the culture of corruption that is to blame. We are, as a people, guilty of allowing ourselves to be bribed. In allowing our votes to be bought. To be willing accessories to the betrayal of everything we stand as a nation. That is why we are hungry. That is why we are despondent. That is why we are restless and agitated. That is why we are at the edge of a bloody civil war. God forbid.

The good part is--we have what it takes to declare exemption from the Rapture itself. We're starting it out early!

Guess, that earns us early retirement.

Logged Out

2005-07-18T13:40:00.000-07:00

I am humbled. It took a 17 year old student from Singapore to wake me up from my 2-month hiatus.

This is probably the longest it took me to blog again. Well, there are a host of reasons why I decided to take time out. First, the company is closing shop. Which means I would have lesser access to my computer and the internet. Which means I would have lesser resources (make that, money!) to pay my borrowed time in commercial Net shops. Which means I would have nothing left on the weekly budget to save for my own computer, telephone and internet access.

I will have to stop there, or the next item to be scratched out of the list would be food, sleep and, quite surely, my marbles! Self-restraint is a virtue. That, we all have to remember.

I'd like to thank Dave, that considerate young man who took time to visit my blog and to prod me to write on. If you're reading this, my man, I just visited your site and was really awed by its creativity and content. Keep it up!

Now, back to my suicide. As I was saying, there are reasons to stop thinking, writing or just plain breathing. The last one, though, is definitely optional. Sometimes, circumstances just avalanche on you, that you just pull that plug that connects you to the rest of the world. Just like that. No second thoughts. You just feel you have to go someplace where life is simpler and rationalization is outlawed.

The good side of "logging-out" of the world is you have a chance to "log-in" to yourself. I may not have the money to blog or eat or sleep. But I have time. A whole lot of it at my disposal. And you know what? I chose to use it finding peace. With myself. With my own faults and weaknesses. With the gifts I have. With that God or higher power or whatever name the rest of the world calls that "graceful and awesome animation" you feel when your senses had given up and you just cannot take any more.

Him and me, we're not through yet. We're in this together. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be back on-line with Him and you, very soon.

Pray for us all.

Of "Duhhs" and "Aaahs"

2005-05-31T20:03:00.000-07:00

It took me awhile before I convinced my nimble, little fingers to type a post. The past few days were dreary. That's an understatement. The past days were bummer.

Before you succumb to my melancholic, chemically-induced depression, let me explain.

Yo, out there from beyond the pitiful, little republic called the Philippines! Have you seen the news lately. If you want to start your day at the proper positive, hopeful and self-assuring perspective, don't watch Philippine TV.

I'm not being downright pessimistic about the land of the great Malayan race. I'm stating facts. We are ruled by people who do not have the slightest inclination to lead by example. Our leaders are criticized 24/7 by people who do not have the slightest idea as to what could solve our problems.

Last night, the late news headline was grabbed by a survey pinpointing the most corrupt government departments. A day before that, the presidential son was implicated in the illegal numbers game called jueteng. Backtrack a few more days and its the presidential husband grabbing the limelight with a long-distance denial straight from the US.

Today, it's the presidential daughter coming to the rescue of Dad and Big Brother. The Philippine Senate, from a distance, drools in defending their supposedly incorrigible witness who was earlier not so subtly reminded by no less than the Justice Secretary that he may be charged for giving false testimonies.

Hell, this is the stupidest roadshow I've ever seen. I mean, who wants to see this 'gentlemen' fight it out for a 15 seconder video clip on national TV, with something like..."Ahhhh...Errrr....the...uhhh....justice secretary.....should....ahhhhh.....eeer....mind! Uhhhh....his...own! Uhhhhh.....bisnis!"

Fuck! Can't our supposedly smart and contemplative senator contemplate the next few words of his utterly moronic statement in silence, without the "duuhs" and the "aaahs"?

Oh well. So much for the depressive mood. I'm better now. Now, I'm seething.

Dispepsic Summer

2005-05-08T10:15:00.000-07:00

This is probably the hottest summer I have ever experienced in my life. Is it the heat? Or is it my age that's telling me that staying out in the sun for 10 minutes is as bad as doing a nosedive into a pool of brimstone?

Yesterday, I learned my lesson. Starting today, I will never, ever drink brandy without ice, unless I am 100% sure that the damn brandy isn't one of those sold in non-air-conditioned wine shops that sell "sun-boiled" brandy. Yeah, you know their kind. And you see them everywhere, too.

I really don't have nothing against wineshops displaying their wines on their front windowshelves for everyone to see. That's what windowshelves are for. But to have your "wares" baking on the midday summer sun and then pass them on to unknowing, alcoholic buyers who can't tell the difference between muriatic acid from regular vodka is another thing! I mean, even alcoholics have rights, you know. The right to be warned that not all wineshop owners know how to care for their merchandise!

Well, I learned the hard way. And suffered the biggest dyspepsia of my mortal life.

Lesson: Check out your juice before downing your daily litre. You just don’t know how the wineshops take care of their wine. They may be "disinfecting" their brandies for clinical reasons!

Lend Me A Box of Peace

2005-04-26T17:35:00.000-07:00

I've so many things on my mind, I don't know what to write about first. Better start off with this totally titanic title--Peace.

For months and months, I've been intrigued, and I have to admit, overwhelmed by the immensity of the topic. Why choose it in the first place, you may probably ask. Well, I think I may have been overly fascinated and obsessed with the concept since I learned of the word. It's too broad, too ephemeral, too abstract to be contained in box or defined into specifics by other words. It's a feeling and thing of the mind all at the same time.

And you know what, Peace becomes all the more intriguing when there is an abscence of it; when nothing in sight reminds you of it. Which brings me to the problem. I may have subconsciously "abandoned" my "peace blog" because I cannot find peace. To post a blog has been a terribly burdensome, fearsome experience lately. It seems like I have created something I do not and will never understand, because I, who created it do not really feel or experience the real sense of the word.

Peace, after all, can only be defined by those who live it; by people who can only smile when other people mouth the word "peace" because they know the spoken word cannot capture the reality and essence of the concept. Right now, I'm not one of them.

I've always believed though that everthing can be worked on and that peace is a natural tendency of man, just as hate and rage is. I can just hope that in the process of blogging for Peace, I may someday be worthy enough to profess her gospel.

Of Popes and End Days

2005-04-21T14:12:00.000-07:00

This is a belated post. I should have written this down when the beloved Pope John Paul II passed away. Perhaps, like the rest of the Christian and non-Christian world,I was taken by surprise; though I must admit, half of me expected (and half-hoped) the Lord would end Karol's suffering and lay his weary spirit to rest.

For a political bystander like me, Popes come and go. Like prophesies of war and famine and the grim scenarios of tribulation that mankind is supposed to endure in these end of days (or so the Bible Codes say).

The "enlightened" amongst us though say otherwise. Take Michael Crichton's treatise on environmentalism for example.

The guy credited for a smash dinosaur hit, several award-winning books and a whole host of creative accomplishments, have been doing the rounds of the international circle; questioning the very foundations of the environmental doctrine and the doomsday it warns mankind of if the human race chooses not to behave.

Crichton says, Mother Nature is the not the gentle but strict momma that she is romanticized to be by the green brigades of the world. Nature, he said is better off left to her own affairs and should not be expected to revert to her "paradise" state, as a sort of reward for humankind's new found concern for her. For the scientist, that Crichton is, Nature is still the wild, untamed creature that man has yet to conquer and understand. Thus, Crichton lambasts the scientists of this age for peddling the lie of "environmentalism".

In a manner, I totally understand why Crichton and other new scientists seem to be pissed at how world science have been so politicized. Gone are the days of strict empirical evidence that should be the sole basis of scientific fact. I've always suspected the politics behind the banning of DDT, and Crichton and company confirms the many anomalies lurking behind scientific policies.

The new Pope, Benedict XVI, may well be the heir to an elightened papacy. The world watches as prophets of doom continue to knock on every doorstep, peddling the threat of environmental diasater and the folly of humankind in managing his God-given environnment.

Maybe Crichton is right after all. Environmentalism has ceased to be a child of science and scientific research. Environmentalism is the new religion; the new faith with its own Genesis and Apocalypse. And maybe this time, science would rightfully step in and play God for the sake of our sanities.

Waterworld

2005-03-18T23:39:00.000-08:00

It's summer again. This is the time of year when people remember how truly significant our water resources are. It's when you sorely miss something that you remember. That's how it is with people and things.

The problem with missing water is you miss out on a lot of other things--like taking a bath, or getting all wet just to beat the heat. Or feasting on ice-cold lemonade (yes, you need water to make ice, too!)

Lucky for me, I live in the Philippines--a country where raw water is for sale! Pictures of the African dryland come to mind whenever I chance upon the shenanigans of our local "water lords" on paper or on TV. And I think to myself, isn't water supposed to be free like the air we breath? I thought God made water first because He intended it to be FREE!

Well, forgive me for these musings. But everytime I buy a bottle of mineral water and down it in seconds, I can't help but wonder how on earth did the biggest global resource become this marketable.

Support the Blog!

2005-03-11T12:41:00.000-08:00

Just enrolled into Google AdSense. Why? Well, blogging has become more than a hobby to me lately. In fact, I've convinced friends and foes alike that blogging is a real cool way to be heard out in the wild, wild world out there.

So, I'd like to appeal to you dear friends, who happen to stumble on this humble blog of mine to check out the cool products and services on the right side of your screen. Come on, it won't hurt to just take a peek.

Bye for now. I'll be blogging yet another interesting topic come Monday!

Peace!

Freedom, Unleashed!

2005-03-08T15:28:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like a big bike and rider slashing through windswept highways in the dead of the night. Well, any other time of the day would do. The Honda X11 is a prime example of a decent, monster bike. Freedom, with all its spirituality, is stripped down to its growling, metallic core when the freedom-seeker finds his machine. On the highway, it's just me, my stratocaster and my bike.

Photomania!

2005-03-08T14:53:00.000-08:00

Been honing my photoblogging prowess...That's why I'm practicing on this post. Hope to spruce this page up with more visuals.

A Hero's Welcome for the Japayuki

2005-01-27T12:57:00.000-08:00

The Philippines have again landed the international headlines. Japan is clamping down for nth time on human trafficking minions that had made their streets the flesh brothel of Asia. Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi had branded it a 'national shame'; being cited by a US State Department report as among the countries failing to curb human smuggling and the flesh trade it perpetuates. "Enough is enough", says the Koizumi government. Japan's ultimate remedy for the gaping wound, its seems, is unmercied amputation.

The Philippine overseas performing artists (OPA) sector, commonly and derisively called Japayukis (after the Karayuki comfort women of old), was devastated by the news. It meant the prospect of loosing their only source of income and pride; a false pride borne of the Filipino's fascination for the powerful 'yen' and the mighty 'dollar'. It meant the real prospect of hunger and unspeakable poverty for hundreds of thousands of their dependents who had learned to savor 'wasabe', 'sashimi', and 'tempura' and enjoy the conviniences of Japanese electronics, in return, for allowing their mothers and daughters to slave in Japan.

For the Philippine economy, bouyed by foreign remittances, the impending exodus of its Japan artists spells disaster to the tune of US$1 billion lost per year. Diplomacy had gone only as far as a guaranteed deployment of health professionals and skilled workers to replace entertainers who would be displaced by Japan's new law.

It is a fact that the moral dimensions of the Japayuki issue have long been ignored in favor of the more practical demands of living in the Philippines. With a country divided by cult politics, graft, and wayward governance, the simple Filipino woman has to learn how to push the welfare line mentality aside and ignore the conventional norms of decency. There is no greater motivation than a hungry stomach.

In Japan, the Filipina found a pot of gold. The country's bubble economy spawned men who hunger for the primal indulgences their wealth could buy. The Filipina provided them reasons to spend. In her side of the world, there are things more necessary that indulgences. But like all good things, and the bad, too, all have to end somewhere. The inevitable has come with a bang.

Yet, the undying optimist and survivor that she is, the Filipina may just be on the rebound. Her journey into the world of powerful nations and powerful men need not end as a sordid tale of disillusionment. Like the tales of old, there is always a new beginning for the hero of the tribe. The loftier dreams are yet to be for the a heroine who turned away from innocence and fear of damnation to let his tribe and family live.

Now, its her tribe's turn to give out the hero's welcome she deserves.

Hello 2005

2005-01-03T13:37:00.000-08:00

It's the year of the Rooster, so the Chinese say. But for those who have nothing to crow about, the year is just another tragic page in history. With the recent catastrophies unfolding like mayhem--the twin storms that hit the Philippines; the killer tsunamis that took thousands of lives and dreams to the ocean floor and back to dry land again; reminding every human soul in the planet of its mortality.

It took me some time to go back to journaling again. It's not that I've ran out of things to say or themes to play around with. In fact, I really don't take writing as something thematic. It's more of a necessary evil for me; a sort of an exhaust system. Call it "detox" if you will. That's probably the nearest word to capsulize the need to expel somethings the human spirit cannot tolerate for long. That includes the spectacle of dead people and dead people pretending they're alive; the misery captured by the eager lenses of the media and the more miserable picture of people who just cannot cry anymore.

Elsewhere in the world, it's another year of the usual wars, the occasional truces and paranoia. It's like Christmas is strategically scheduled at the end of every year to provide humankind a respite; a breather of sorts before going back to the cursed reality of living. Kudos to the Vatican.

I wish us all well and pray that that Higher power; the one reason that makes all of these work for a loftier purpose, would keep us all. At least, until the next bad news comes along.

2004-11-17T14:51:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I updated. Been very busy doing what people believe is hard labor, work, toil, the dirty laundry of living comfortably numb. I've slowed down on reading, after I finished Dan Brown's Angels and Demons and after Hollywood announced they'd make a movie out of Robert Langdon. So much for the hype of it all.

Anyway, real life is the best read. This I found out when I was watching the late news and caught myself stuck in the news about Hacienda Luisita--that sovereign, old rich, virtual republic north of Manila owned by the family of former president Corazon Aquino. Well, everybody knows they'd been sucking their workers dry for ages now; refusing to yield to agrarian reform and hellbent on keeping the feudal status quo so their grandchildren's grandchildren could also live off the sweat and blood of the sugar plant workers.

No Robert Langdon adventure can replace the seething anger anyone well-meaning human being would feel at the sight of blood and death. All because the landlord feels strongly against being a few pesos poorer when he concedes to the demands of the people who feeds him.

I thought the "red scare" was a thing of the past. Commies just don't figure that strongly anymore in petty labor issues like this. But, they insist they are there; sneaking in like the filthy snake they have always been painted to be. Especially, when blood spills and death tolls rise.

Angels, Demons and Leonardo

2004-11-04T09:21:00.000-08:00

Departing from what I normally call work, I indulged a bit late on a secondary past time--book browsing. I found noted writer cum symbologist Dan Brown's two intriguing books, The Da Vinci Code and, right now, I'm devouring its precedent, Angels and Demons (courtesy of an angel of a friend).

It's not easy reconciling Brown's titillating plots with "popular" reality. And by popular, I mean what you and I and the rest of the globe believe to be truth. Things we see and feel and relate to easily as part of our own life. That includes religion, faith, faithful and faithless people, heaven and hell.

My daughter (who happened to have read Brown first) posed the intriguing the other day as we chatted. What if Jesus really married Mary Magdalene, which explains why there as so many feminine symbols around, which explains why many are trying their darnest to cover them up, which explains why this world is doomed to war and destruction? Would it matter?

I have to admit the proposition is mind-boggling to understate the headache and sleepless nights I got from reading Brown It poses old possibilities relentlessly echoed by conspiracy theorists for ages. Could they be right after all? Could Christendom really be the biggest lie ever told?

All the confusion and enlightenment triggered by Brown's books had somehow leveled all the complex doctrines of sin, atonement, forgiveness and even prayer down to a simple outlook in life and living. This I can say.

Thousands of men in history may have erred and erred big time. The world as it is today is one big testimony to the dire consequences of these errors. But writers and theorists like Brown provide the world a reason to stop and think and ask itself--what if things figure out as consistently as Brown's logic would? Would it cleanse the world of hate? Would the realization of the fatal error mend the ancient rife that had divided nations? Would we forgive? Would we at last find peace?

Divisive Development Work

2004-10-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

The developmental sciences are the Third World's way of coping with societal problems, we are told. From the practitioner's perspective, the solutions to inequality and pervasive poverty are a matter of scientific, pragmatic and mass-oriented methods. Development is measured by the changes in the bahavior of the target beneficiary.

But one cannot help notice the results in the Philippine setting--the behavior by which the Filipino poor responds to so-called development interventions from the benevolent sectors of society. Through the years, the poor had been bombarded by all concievable forms of "Dev movements" from government, NGOs, international agencies, cooperative organizers and even the church. Yet, the paradigm of developmental work, which is essentially that of "strategic" intervention rather than covert control, has become more of the exception that the rule.

The social scientist would argue that, as a science, development work follows a certain pattern borne of keen statistical analysis, that justifies not just random, strategic intervention but, calculated control of variables.

The layman would take this argument as lame excuse. Development work is built on trust. Trust that the stakeholders of development have every noble intention to make development work for the masses of the people. They do not start from scratch, but are equipped at the onset with essential management and organizing skills honed by a social setting unique to them.

The development worker is, therefore, a mere facilitator; a direction-setter who pools both human and phsyical assets of the c0mmunity to help the community reach a development goal. The end of development work is people empowerment.

Sadly, development work in the Philippines had been twisted and corrupted to mean anything but community empowerment. It has been equated to feeding programs, medical assistance, financing programs and a host of initiatives that border on charity and straight dole-out. Educating the poor has come to mean political indoctrination and mass agitation.

The results speak for itself. We have a malignantly divided urban poor sector, prone to the exploitation and corruption of dole-out, bribe-ridden and vote-buying politics, and delusional cause-oriented movements that espouse fatalist opportunism and civil disobedience as the only alternative.

Development work, however, is continually being redefined in the ground, in the midst of the poor. Picking up the pieces, community-based organizers and managers have become selective in their alliances; chosing agencies and organizations that do not impose their developmental doctrines as a precondition to assistance. Slowly, but consistently, this new paradigm of development work is taking form in small entrepreneurial communities, in urban-rural trading networks and even on-line schools.

This is the new discipline. Development work of the poor, by the poor and for the poor. A parallel economy is borne of a society that has failed its least.

The Politics of Poverty

2004-10-20T10:51:00.000-07:00

I shook a poor man's hand once. It was kind of rough and scaly. Dirt feels like dried cola where sand and soil sticks stubbornly. The was not just a beggar. He can't talk. He just goes where his feet brings him. A real nowhere man. Sometimes, he gets beaten up by street thugs or gets stoned by kids on the way. Sometimes, he gets lucky and finds food scrap in a dump. Or people feel happy about the world and decide to "care" for "poor". That's when he really feeds.

Much like when I met him. I shook his hand and bade him goodbye. But he kept coming back; staring at our dinner with lustful hunger in his eyes waiting to be invited. My folks cringed when I obliged and shared my plate with him. I watched him eat like there's no tomorrow. My heart was pumping like mad as if it would explode with pity, while my head screamed with thoughts of repulsion at the filth before me.

That was a long time ago.

On the mountain heap of garbage known to the world as the Smokey Mountain of Manila, Philippines, I stood staring at the poor man again. This time he was among the children scouring for food and valuable garbage they could sell for a few pesos. Their mothers stood at a distant shanty store, chatting the day away.

Nearby, towering buildings stood. This is where their more fortunate neighbors live. Just yesterday, government announced they would soon join them in the towering buildings, and there, they would live with more dignity.

But the towering buildings also house a divided nation. The church decided to be more selective of those they would serve. Those who were excluded decided to put up their own churches and serve themselves.

"I will soon be a part of the poor, divided nation in the towering buildings," said the beggar man. "The kids will soon learn how to make enemies among themselves and build churches that would serve themselves and we will be more divided".

And I cringed at the sight of the filth before me.

Ghost Pen

2004-10-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

Writing is as legit a profession can get. I can't help admire people who get their names published along with their piece. I see the newspapers and get jealous of those "by-lined" articles of friends and total strangers. How lucky some people can get!

This one's coming from a phantom writer; one who writes for other people who want to get published. A writer who writes for a living. At my end, my pen is a slave and I, the slave mind and slave driver. From my point of view, I can write the world from many points of views. And still keep mine buried and hidden under a pile of jargon and senselessness.

Yet, the ghost pen wields power in its own disguises. It can bend truth beyond recognition. Or fashion fiction as gospel word. I am ephemeral as I am eternal. As long as people long for expression clearer than thought. As long as people fail to reconcile sentiment with manifestation; mind with soul. The ghost pen is a spirit that lends its self to the dead among us.

Stop

2004-10-15T18:54:00.000-07:00

Funny how people would take time to put the blame on somebody else but himself. That's the way to live, they say. That's the way to enjoy life, in this fast moving, mega-kinetic world we are in. I also catch myself going the with the flow sometimes. Taking the fast lane. Not minding the faces and places I zoom past as I race across life with that fixation for goal-getting.

Achieve, achieve, achieve. Keep the bag moving, one friend said. Well, I am moving. But sometimes the pace just gets so fast I need to stop. To deccelerate and pause for one silent moment. Making sure that this time, I am running the right road.

I created this blog as a virtual stopover spot. A place where I can rest and just sound off my thoughts to the world, not expecting anything but temporary space. Tomorrow I set off to the unknown with one consolation in mind--I have the power to rest; to choose peace.

Welcome to my Blog!

2004-10-13T01:09:00.000-07:00

I just created this page. To those who took time to look this up, thanks!

Expect more of Fish for Peace in the days to come.

ICHTUS