Indignation over impunity

MST, 23 Nov

Today is the second anniversary of the Maguindanao massacre, in which 58 were murdered. Thirty-two of the 58 were journalists and media workers.

It is no accident that today also marks the first International Day to End Impunity, as designated by international press freedom watchers and media advocacy groups.

At three o'clock this afternoon, the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines, the International Federation of Journalists, the Freedom Fund for Filipino Journalists and the Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility, together with multi-sectoral support groups, will lead the somber commemoration. Participants will assemble at the University of Santo Tomas and will march to Mendiola.

The highlight of the event will be the “trail of impunity” that will be left leading to the Mendiola Bridge. Outlines of bodies will be drawn on the streets to depict the continued killings.

**

When you talk about impunity and violence against media workers, it is the Maguindanao massacre that immediately comes to mind. This is because this incident marked the biggest single attack on journalists.

Let us make no mistake, however. The problem has existed long before the November 2009 carnage and will continue to do so until the culture of impunity is countered.

According to the CMFR, beginning 1986 up to this month, there have been 182 journalists and media workers killed. One hundred twenty-three of these deaths were work-related, meaning, the victims were killed because of the nature of their jobs.
Of these cases, 46 are now on trial, seven have been archived, nine have resulted in dismissal or acquittal. There have been 10 convictions. No masterminds have been brought to justice. How could our nation not be angered?

Discussions and analyses of impunity have been many, as well. Various causes of this prevailing culture of impunity – largely understood as the impossibility of identifying, prosecuting and making accountable the perpetrators of violence, so that they are beyond the reach of the law – have been offered.

CMFR executive director Melinda Quintos de Jesus summarizes the conditions that breed impunity:  powerful persons believing themselves above the law even as they rule agencies of law and order; poor police capability for forensic investigation which leads to a reliance on witnesses; a poorly-funded Witness Protection Program; a judicial system weighed down by rules and regulations that are vulnerable to legal manipulation; and a culture of violence and guns.

Beyond the indignation and the analysis, however, the bigger task is figuring out what could be done to counter the culture of impunity in our country.

United Nations rapporteur Frank La Rue, quoted in a CMFR publication, says: “Impunity mulitplies itself, (it grows) geometrically. Every case that is not investigated is an invitation for many more to come." He thus emphasizes the role of the state. "By not investigating cases, the state is (sending) the message that violence is acceptable.”

Indeed, media groups and non-government organizations can wear black every day and cry out until their voices are hoarse. But without government action, the instruments of impunity cannot be dismantled.

**

A forum last week gathered representatives of media groups and key government agencies who talked about what they were doing to address impunity – not just against journalists, but against civilians exercising their freedom of expression.

The Supreme Court, Department of Justice, and the Philippine National Police all said they were doing something to improve their capability to run after the perpetrators who believe they can get away with their dark deeds by exploiting the weak links in the system.

The Supreme Court, through Atty. Josefina Guzman of the Public Information Office, said it was taking an activist stand on the issue of impunity, specifically through the writ of amparo and the writ of habeas data. It wants to do more, but court delays are caused, as we well know, by the lack of judges and the restrictions posed by the Rules of Court. Many times, the courts are torn between the need to observe due process on one hand, and expediency and urgency, on the other.

The prosecution of cases is hampered by the lack of competent investigators, deficient evidence gathering, insufficient protection for witnesses, the reluctance of families to come forward, and sheer poverty.

Justice Undersecretary Leah Armamento reported, among others, that steps are now under way to foster greater collaboration between prosecutors and investigators so that they can build stronger cases against suspects.

Police General Ricardo Marquez, head of the PNP's Task Force Usig, pointed out that the greatest source of their problems is the discretion given to local officials in picking out police officials assigned to their area. This inappropriate relationship weakens the enforcement of the law because the police is beholden to, if not under the control of, the local officials. Marquez wants this process amended.

These are just some of the solutions and initiatives to address the culture of impunity. Will they be translated into action, or will the responsibility be tossed from one agency to another? Will the public's indignation be heightened by the absence of concrete reforms despite our outrage?

What will we be talking about on the third, fifth, tenth anniversary of the massacre?

We are waiting for more than the President's unequivocal denouncement of impunity.
We also need swift, decisive and orchestrated action to strengthen the weak links that embolden perpetrators. This administration has shown it could move mountains if it wants to. There is no excuse for simply lighting a candle today and then forgetting all about the issue until next November.

adellechua@gmail.com

The Wide-Eyed Child Bride

No trips to the salon for this 18-year-old, 7-month pregnant bride. I was left to my own faculties with a little help from my future mother-in-law.


Wedding chariot. This was not the exact vehicle that was used in my wedding, but it is very similar. (Photo courtesy of sulit.com)


The presidential table was the only table at my wedding.


My wedding cake -- "Aladdin" was the Disney movie that year.

This is about my wedding, one sunny Wednesday 17 years ago.

Before that, I had been living with Jay for about a month already, in Unit 2-E of the same apartment compound in Barangay Marulas where my Lola Deling lived. Jay and I did not pay rent, much less populate the place with pieces of furniture and appliances out of our hard-earned savings. That would have been sweet. But nothing in that apartment was ours at all. Everything, from the pastel-colored plates and rainbow-striped bedsheets to the lowly tabo in the bathroom was owned by Ate Magdalena, Lola's irrepressible neighbor, who was married to an Austrian chef working in a Balinese resort.

That summer, Ate Magdalena was whisked off to Vienna to get to know her in-laws. She did not want to leave her house pad-locked in the three months that she would be gone. So she asked Jay and me if we would be so generous as to do her the favor of living in her house, free of charge, and treating everything in it as if it were our own.

I was technically single but very much pregnant, on leave of absence from university where I was a freshman. My grandmother was furious when she learned that Jay and I were even giving the matter some thought. She worried about what the neighbors would say. Fortunately, my gay uncle whom I called Papa Edwin burst her bubble. “Damn the neighbors. Look at the girl's tummy!” He, like I, could understand the conservative affectations of my grandmother but decided we would be better off doing what came naturally. After all, Jay and I were only waiting for the day I turned 18 so we could start processing our marriage documents.

Will you tango?

Ah, the proposal.

There was none.

Jay simply knocked me up. And then everybody, even I myself, assumed that I would want to be his wife.

His parents believed in earnest that they were doing me a favor by legitimizing me and my unborn child. See, I had a most unconventional family setting. I was a child out of wedlock – I would not know my father until three years after my marriage – and my mother had died the year before.

On the day after Jay informed them I was with child, his father was on our doorstep at six in the morning, asking my grandmother to please not hate his son because “it takes two to tango.”

He added that they had nothing but good intentions and would not in any way expose me or their good name to shame. Why, a cousin was congressman of the third district of Pangasinan – and would it not be nice to bear a prominent last name? He said he would be back later that evening with his wife. Would it not be nice, too, if we could all have dinner together?

My old-fashioned Lola Deling was mollified by the old man’s show of good intention. She began referring to that evening as pamanhikan. She bought two pieces of Andok's lechon manok and put an extra leaf of pandan in our boiled rice. But 7:30 became 8:30 became 9:30 became 10:30, and only then did Jay and his parents arrive – with a plastic bag of corned beef, noodles, soap and toothpaste. “My husband is a seaman, a second engineer,” Jay's mother said, as if that was supposed to explain their lateness and their canned offerings.

My future mother-in-law dominated the dinner conversation with tales of how she had raised her Jay-jay singlehandedly because he husband was always at sea. She enumerated the values she instilled in her boy, so that he was now respectful, thrifty, disciplined, ambitious – and a gentleman. She rattled off his achievements as a piano player, composer, theater actor, pilot and would-be aeronautical engineer. She added that their house was big and she had always wanted to fill it up with children.

In one of her rare pauses, Papa Edwin wondered aloud why there seemed to be a rush to get us married. We were both so young. I was 17 and Jay was 20. Why don't I keep the baby, remain in Lola's house, receive financial support, finish my studies, get a job? In a few years, when Jay and I were more sure of our feelings, we could make a conscious decision to marry and plan the wedding ourselves. Wouldn't that be better?

The rest of us looked at him as though he had lost his mind. Papa Edwin shut up.

Taking advantage of the awkward moment, Jay's mother started again. She told us that we should be practical and have a civil wedding first. And then, when we saved enough, we could schedule a church wedding where our baby would either be flower girl or ring bearer.

Jay piped in that he was looking at a budget of one hundred thousand pesos for the occasion which would be held at the San Agustin Church in Intramuros – for that rustic, romantic, timeless feel. He would hire a string quartet and have soldiers line up in pairs and raise their swords. Then we would march underneath.

I nodded my head vigorously, imagining myself with flowing hair in a long, lacy bridal gown. Sweet, I thought. In those days, what Jay wanted, I wanted, too.

I spent my 18th birthday by going to the municipal registrar and filing an application for a marriage license. The following day was Jay's own birthday; he turned 21. His mother threw a joint debut celebration in their house. Naturally, only Jay's friends and relatives came.

The party was in full swing when Papa Edwin dropped by to say he could not stay, not even for a quick meal, and to warn me that I should not even insist because nothing could change his mind. He wished me a Happy Birthday and a Happy New Life and all of a sudden I was fighting back tears. I felt so alone, suddenly wanting to run after him, go home and bring back things to the way they were. But then I saw Jay, holding a glass of punch, having a good time with his friends. I sat beside him, this boy I loved, and reminded myself I would soon be his wife.

Three weeks later, our license application was approved.

Tossing and turning point

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, I had difficulty falling asleep. I would not doze off until three or four in the morning. I attributed it to anxiety over the life-changing step I was about to take.

My new bedfellow was not too happy with my tossing and turning. Jay tried to lull me to sleep with his stories. He told me about the time his father came home for a vacation and filled their refrigerator's vegetable rack with chocolates “which I did not have to share with anybody! Imagine that?” He ate them up in record time and soon had to see the dentist.

He also talked about wanting to be a pilot so that everybody would literally look up to him.

One evening, Jay sounded more upset than usual. It turned out that his mother had stopped talking to him because of his decision to cohabit with me in that apartment and not in their big house “which would eventually be mine.” He told me he had tried to appease her by saying that we were staying in the apartment to make the separation from my grandmother gradual and less painful for the old woman. He added that I also needed to be among familiar faces during my pregnancy.

I sat up. That was not how I saw it at all. All along, I thought he liked the idea of the two of us in our own little universe -- never mind if the sheets we were lying on were not even ours. I waited for Jay to say that what we had then was a preview of what was to come, with the two of us, and our future children, happy and cozy in our home. We would start out with modest things, building our means and our happiness as we go along.

But I did not argue. He was tired from work-- his job as marketing assistant for his uncle's computer hardware shop and the two-way commute between Makati and Valenzuela must be taking its toll at that late hour.

In the meantime, my grandmother got tired of waiting for Jay's parents to come over again and discuss the details of our civil wedding. She and Papa Edwin put together a lunch menu and started calling people who would help with the cooking. They drafted a list and scheduled a trip to the Balintawak market.

Two days before the wedding, I was at Jay's parents' house. His mother had asked me to go to the PLDT office to pay their telephone bill and I had come over to hand her the receipt. She then gave me two thousand pesos. “Give this to your Lola,” she said. “This is my contribution to your wedding.”

I handed the money to my grandmother, who became angry. I was angry too but I did not know why, save for that feeling that something was wrong. Again I dismissed those vague but disturbing feelings.

The magic carpet

Finally, my wedding day arrived.

I had a silky white maternity dress that bared my shoulders and came down to my knees. I designed it myself and had it made by the seamstress down the street. Good thing my Lola, a former seamstress herself, had extra pieces of cloth stashed away in her closet. That saved me the trouble of buying the material.

For himself, Jay bought a plain white short-sleeved polo the evening before.
On the morning of my wedding, he asked me to iron his shirt. I did not know how to iron but I did not want him to think I knew nothing about chores. An hour passed, and I was still struggling with the shirt. He remarked that I was ironing creases into it instead and suggested I call one of the cooks to do it. I brooded for a few minutes. Did he just give me a thumbs-down in the domestic department?

At eight in the morning, preparations were in full swing. A long wooden table had been laid out in the compound's garage. Papa Edwin had also borrowed some monobloc chairs from his friends in the barangay hall – they were in bright shades of yellow and green, with the name of some official painted at the back.

Jay's parents arrived. His dad wore a yellow polo shirt and slacks and his mom came in a red-and-white polka dot dress I may have seen her wear the previous New Year's Eve. She cast a look at the colorful tables and chairs – and suddenly I saw them through her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. True enough, she called my uncle and asked him to send a couple of boys from the neighborhood to get white table cloths and a dozen white monobloc chairs from her house. She said the boys should scrub the chairs there since the visitors should not see they were only being scrubbed now.

“What visitors?” Papa Edwin asked.

Jay's mother also fished out 300 pesos from her wallet and asked my aunt to go out and buy 20 white balloons and have “Best Wishes Jay and Adelle from Papa and Mama” stamped on them. Her precious son heard her and told her this was not a children's party. She yielded. The greetings were out – there would be nothing written on those balloons.

She then pulled me aside and told me that the wedding cake, which was her surprise to me, was on its way. I looked forward to seeing the cake. My grandmother totally forgot about having to have a cake and Jay had not mentioned it, either.

Surprised I was, indeed, when I saw that the cake it was in true-to-form Disney format. “A Whole New World,” it said. Aladdin and Princess Jasmine were there, with their magic carpet. My heart sank but I willed it to resurface. I told myself to see the good intentions buried somewhere all that icing.

Just then, Papa Edwin said our ride had arrived. He had borrowed his friend's stainless owner-type jeepney and had asked his friend's husband to drive us to and from the Regional Trial Court.

I know: seven people inside an “owner” was not exactly the height of luxury. Lola, Papa Edwin and Jay's parents squeezed themselves at the back. Jay and I were in front. It was a bumpy ride to court and I had to lift my butt every so often to shield my baby from the jolts. At that time, I was on my seventh month of pregnancy.

By the time I got out of the vehicle my hips were aching, my left leg was cramped and my dress was sticking to my back from all that sweating. My got tangled from the wind and the smog – the jeep was not the air-conditioned kind. I did not feel pretty anymore. I felt as dusty and cheap and worn-out as the stairs leading to the judge's chambers.

We were late for the ten o'clock appointment -- “but not to worry,” the secretary said, “Judge is also late.” We were told he was having coffee with a friend and would be back soon. We waited a good 45 minutes for His Honor. In the meantime, Jay's mother chatted with the woman who I learned would be our godmother -- a municipal health officer she had known for decades but whom I'd only met that morning.

The judge arrived. He was dismissive and businesslike, as if we were doing him a great inconvenience by showing up and asking him to marry us off. He was so brisk that the actual ceremony was over in less than five minutes.

We spent another fifteen minutes taking pictures – with the judge, with our ninong, Papa Edwin, and ninang, Jay's mother's friend, and with the court officer who asked us to sign the marriage documents.

And just like that, I became somebody’s wife.

Party and after-party

I did not seem to mind the ride home as much. All I wanted was to take a shower and get out of that sticky dress. But the show was not yet over.

When we got home, the white table cloth had been laid out over the big rectangular table. White balloons had been tied to the backs of the immaculate monobloc chairs.

On the table lay a feast: caldereta, menudo, embutido, rellenong bangus, chop suey, hulabos na hipon, escabecheng lapu-lapu, pancit canton. My mother-in-law was pleased. Perhaps she was thinking her two thousand pesos really went far. There were enough seats for everyone at the long table, even for my two other uncles who had taken a break from factory work and had brought their wives for the luncheon.

But all I could focus on was the fact that there were too many flies. I was worried that I would not notice a fly in my food and I would ingest it and it would be bad for the baby. Even the Disney-themed cake remained in the box until the last minute because my mother-in-law said the flies might stick to the icing.

I did not have the heart to invite even my closest friends.

All of the gifts came from my relatives. I opened one and saw that it was a box of drinking glasses. Jay's mother remarked that she had a lot of glasses in her house already, expensive ones, and some dated back to her own wedding in 1971 and even her parents' in 1937. Jesus Christ, this woman, I finally allowed myself to think. Did she assume I would be drinking out of her glasses forever?

I looked at Jay, hoping he would say something to remind his mother that he and I would find those glasses useful when we struck out on our own. But he did not say a word. He was busy putting the electric fan on steady mode so that it faced him directly. “Damn this heat,” he muttered. It was the middle of March.

Somebody remarked that the judge was in too much of a hurry that he forgot about wedding rings. I panicked. Did we even have rings? I looked at Jay and his face was equally blank. But his father fished a red box out of his shirt pocket and showed us two gold bands that he said he had bought in Singapore. My name was engraved on the inner surface of Jay’s ring. His was engraved on mine. We put them on each other's fingers but had to do it several times so Jay's mother could take better pictures.

Two months later, I gave birth and went home straight to Jay's parents' big house after my stay at the hospital. I went back to school for my degree and had three more children.

And now it is 2011. That baby I was heavy with during my wedding is herself seventeen, a college sophomore. She has just survived a break-up from her boyfriend of two years. I am glad she’s over the hump – and has realized that your first does not necessarily have to be your only, or your last.

The others are now 15, 11 and 9.

I am a journalist by profession, but a writer at core -- a chronicler of works in progress, mine or others'. And I am in school again, in the same university that allowed me to go on leave to have my baby and did not revoke my scholarship. In fact, I am there now on yet another scholarship. It’s good to know we are still worth believing in, despite our occasional folly.

My Lola, Papa Edwin, and Jay' mother have died. Jay’s father continues to venture out to sea and visits his grandchildren, showering them with presents, every time he is on vacation.

The trial court has moved to the former municipal hall. The pitiful structure is now a condemned two-story building with laundry hanging out from the windows. In front of it is a vacant lot that serves as a tricycle terminal.

Jay still lives in his parents’ spacious house, coexisting with the many fancy gadgets he has acquired over the years – a drum set, three saxophones, yet another piano (he now has two), and a host of designer watches. There is a mean-looking black Nissan Patrol as well as a cute BMW Z-3 in his garage. I bet he could not be caught dead in any owner-type jeepneys, especially since his new job is in Fort Bonifacio, in the fanciest section of town. We see each other during holidays and school events. I wish him well.

I live in a two-room apartment I share with the children. The younger ones alternate sleeping over at their father’s house, however, to keep him company. Our home is small and the bedroom cramped, but after four and a half years, I have learned to appreciate the trade-off between the lack of personal space and the closeness the children share with me and with each other.

My lawyer tells me I can expect a decision on my petition to nullify my marriage before the year is over. I filed it two and a half years ago. The progress is slow – I can’t afford to “facilitate” my case, nor am I willing to – but I am fine with waiting: Waiting for the verdict, waiting for the rest of my life.

Seventeen years ago I was in a hurry, but now I want to take beautiful, sweet time.

Peace through printed matter

Seventeen-year-old Arizza Nocum gives her speech as she is recognized by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts and the National Library of the Philippines for her work as administrator of the Kris Peace libraries.


Armand and Annora Nocum reach out to children in conflict areas in Mindanao -- where they are both from -- through books.


Some people are hard at work countering the culture of guns in the South and elsewhere.

When the Nocum family talks about the prospects of peace, or at least peaceful coexistence between Christians and Muslims in Mindanao, they speak from experience. A very personal experience.

After all, Armand – who hails from Manicahan, Zamboanga City – is a Christian actually a former Catholic seminarian) and his wife Annora, a Muslim from Sulu, have lived together and raised their children out of respect for each other’s
religious beliefs.

But this is more than just a mixed-religion marriage. The family has ventured out. Building on their love for books and their knowledge of the many heart-rending stories preventing children in conflict (and impoverished) areas the simple joy of holding a book on their hands.

This family does not just go out there and hand out books, either. They build libraries. These structures, Armand believes, are important in establishing children's habit and the love of reading. These edifices are called Kris Kristiyano at Islam) libraries.

The first Kris library was built in 2008 in Arman's hometown, where the Christian-Muslim ratio is 50-50. It is now a fully-functioning, two-floor library built on 100 square meters of land. There are about 5,000 book titles there: the Nocums provide incentives like school supplies to encourage children of either religion to come to the library – and keep coming back.

There are two other such libraries in Moro Islamic Liberation Front strongholds in Zamboanga Sibugay and yet another in a relocation site for Ondoy victims in Rodriguez, Rizal.

Their latest project is yet another library in Bgy. Holy Spirit in Quezon City. "It's a facade," Arman says of the middle-class subdivision that first greets visitors to this part of town. Further down live about 150,000 squatters. Small wonder that there are always reports of petty crimes here. What they intend to do this time is to attract the children who live in these depressed areas to read.

Another library will soon be built in Basilan.

We don't need to be told that reading has the power to transport children to places they have never dared imagine. When they are constantly exposed to the fact that there exists a place where they don't have to take up guns or resort to petty crimes to stay alive or protect their families, children will start realizing that they could do things differently. They could read some more. Finish their studies. Be professionals. Do something meaningful and help their families and communities build a life different from the one they were born to.

**

In the meantime, the Nocums' advocacy has been taken up as well by their daughter Arizza, 17 and an industrial engineering freshman at the University of the Philippines. Arizza was recently recognized by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts and the National Library of the Philippines for her work as administrator of the Kris libraries.

Earlier, Arizza became the first Filipina to win the Zonta International Young Women for Public Affairs Award. She donated part of her $4,000-prize to expand the library in Quezon City. For her 17th birthday several months ago, she conducted a book drive among her friends instead of throwing a party.

Despite these, Arizza looks and acts like a normal teenager – doting on her baby brother, enjoying her just-obtained driver's license and meeting new friends at school.

"I've been so fortunate, having these opportunities as a scholar and getting the best education," she says. She attended Philippine Science High School and is now an Oblation scholar at UP. "I just want to give something back."

Her father has retired from journalism – he says the profession is stressful and dangerous to his health -- and now heads his own public relations company. Working for the cause is not a breeze, of course. Aside from the obvious issues of security in the Mindanao libraries, mitigated only by the fact that they are from there and are thus a bit more familiar with the situation, the Nocums also have to deal with distrust from the children's parents – Christians and Muslims alike. Many of them feel threatened that the libraries expose the children to other worlds and encourage them to think differently.

Local government officials are also a problem, according to Armand. They do not recognize the basic issues – for example, the fact one pencil must be broken into two or three pieces just to be shared by more children. That kids walk several kilometers or brave dangerous roads in order to come to school. That they bring salt as baon just so they could eat something while studying. "Mindanao needs help, it has been neglected for so long," he adds.

All these years, the Kris libraries as well as the scholarship programs and other activities have been sustained by the generosity of friends and acquaintances who send books and financial assistance. Visit www.krislibrary.com to find out more about the project.

adellechua@gmail.com

A marketplace of memories

This is the native, handwoven shopping bag used for the palengke.


Coconut-themed entrance to the BBB market. I took this when I was already on board the tricycle on the way home. If you don't like eyesores, then this is not the place for you. I don't like them, too, but the richness of my memories far outweighs the uninspiring ambiance.

(I wanted to take photos inside, too -- but security-wise, it is not a very good idea.)

The palengke (wet market) is very much a part of my childhood. I am reminded of this every time I tell the children than going to the grocery, which is the most ordinary thing in our routines now, used to be a big deal to me -- because we only did so for Christmas, fiesta, or a big birthday celebration.

(In fact, the story goes that I got so excited pushing a cart around that I rammed into a bottle of fish sauce, or patis, for which my irate mother had to pay at the counter.)

So in the absence of supermarket trips, we got by going to the wet market for our daily needs in the kitchen.

In my part of town, THE palengke is the one in BBB, a 5-minute tricycle ride from where we lived. It is the same now as it was while I was growing up: the areas for meat, vegetables, seafood, the carinderia. The fruit stands at the fringes. The filth, the mud, the noise, the body heat of each individual you come into contact with, and the constant danger posed by pickpockets.

When I was a kid, my grandmother would take me to the market and leave me to eat pansit palabok or halo-halo at the carinderia. This, while she shopped inside. By the time I finished eating, she would also be done shopping at the wet section. We would then be ready to buy fruits and then head home.

I sometimes go to that same carinderia now. The palabok tastes exactly the same.

At the dry goods section, one can find shirts, slippers, hair accessories and even household ornaments like curtains and bed sheets. I remember my Lola buying a red jumper and a matching red-and-white shirt for my tenth birthday. I did not like it much, but I wore it anyway.

I proved that my Lola had started thinking of me as a big girl when she started sending me to the palengke on my own. Those days, being able to travel alone, anywhere, was a validation that I was indeed growing up. I became especially high when I was taught how to spot fresh fish by looking at the color of its eyes -- and warned to bring back only those.

I wonder: if Lola were alive (she died in 04), she'd probably be proud of how I am running my household. See her fear was that I would grow up to be a bookish fellow, far removed from the mundanities of daily life.

So this morning I decided I would spend my day-off cooking for the children using palengke-bought ingredients. Our helper Cathy was on day off (on weekdays, I do send her to the market -- a smaller one near the house). I picked up my bayong and went on a nostalgic trip, which by the way enabled me to whip up a well-received tandem of chicken curry and pancit canton/ chop suey, as well as use the day's budget for two and a half days' worth of food.

I think I will be back next week.

Dragons everywhere

In There Be Dragons, Josemaria Escriva is played by Charlie Cox -- "he with the handsome face and the worn-out shoes." (photo from www.blogseitb.com)

Some groups are promoting the movie There Be Dragons as a film about the life of St. Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei. While this claim could attract many devout Catholics to the theaters, it could also tune out, and at the onset, those who fancy themselves free thinkers.

The pursuits of Escriva, however, only account for about a third of the movie (there are at least two other major characters). It is actually possible to see and appreciate it from wherever one comes, and through fresh eyes – religious inclinations notwithstanding.

The themes, after all, are not endemic to Catholics or to Opus Dei. They apply to humanity in general. In fact, according to the movie guide, it is “the fruit of an unlikely partnership between, on the one hand, an Oscar-nominated British director, a self-described wobbly agnostic, and a Spanish member of the Opus Dei."

A Spanish journalist, Roberto, is commissioned to write a book about Escriva. He goes back to his hometown Madrid to speak to a primary source: his father, Manolo, who knew the subject of his book. Manolo and Roberto, however, have not spoken to each other in years.  Their relationship has always been problematic. Roberto decides to reach out to his dad, if only for the sake of the book.  He cannot understand why Manolo remains uncooperative.

The old man is revealed to have been more than an acquaintance of Josemaria. They used to be friends, both coming from affluent families.  But Josemaria's father’s chocolate business shuts down and the family becomes poor. Manolo's father, on the other hand, maintains his riches and dissuades him from maintaining his friendship with the now-poor Josemaria.

The two young men's paths cross several times later on in life. They become classmates in the seminary but Manolo (who just joined in deference to his religious mother) quits. When Manolo's father dies, Josemaria comes to comfort him – though he is shunned.

The civil war breaks out and Manolo agrees to spy for the fascists, infiltrating the communist movement. He however falls in love with a Hungarian comrade Ildiko who spurns him in favor of their leader, Oriol. Manolo the mole – and the jilted suitor – plants evidence of being a spy on the belongings of Ildiko, then pregnant with Oriol's child. Oriol is devastated that the woman he loves has betrayed their movement – and shoots himself. Ildiko gives birth in a farm and continues fighting. In a final battle, Manolo shoots Ildiko – granting her wish to be with her lover after death.

Manolo comes into contact with Josemaria in the mountains. He is supposed to shoot priests but decides to spare the latter's life.

The dying Manolo tells Roberto, for the first time, that he is Ildiko's child with Oriol.

**

The horrors of the Spanish civil war in the 1930s serve as the backdrop of the dark and complicated life of Manolo, the rich, privileged young man. He is taught early on to look after his own interests and nothing else. His father's death leaves him lost and he ends up spying, not knowing anymore whose side he is on. He experiences human love but also constant rejection. He gives in to vengefulness because of this.

Despite this, Manolo's decision to adopt the baby and raise him as his own, his refusal to shoot his old friend Josemaria and his final act of letting Ildiko go show glimpses that he is also capable of putting his own interest behind. Of course, these choices are themselves not pure. After all, while he acted as Roberto's legal father, he sucked at building a genuine bond with his son. In defying his "mandate" to shoot the priest Josemaria, Manolo killed his companion instead. And then, of course, in setting Ildiko free, he had to kill her as well.

Indeed the least troublesome and the most entertaining parts were those that involved the perenially holy Josemaria, played by british actor Charlie Cox, he with the handsome face and worn-out shoes. When he hears confession at the park to avoid detection, he pretends to wear a wedding ring. The woman telling him her sins ends up kissing his cheek instead. He is shown to have led a handful of young men who are not priests but who still seek to serve, especially in little, mundane ways. Every time he has a dilemma, the answers seem to come to him through interventions and little wonders – what looked like a tear on the statue of the Virgin Mary among the ruins, or the words of a young woman who suddenly disappears.

Of course, in the movie, all is well that ends well. At his death bed, Manolo clutches at the rosary that Josemaria has given him many years ago. Roberto forgives him.

There Be Dragons reminds us that whatever path we choose to take, we will always find ourselves in unchartered territory. There will be numerous opportunities for stumbling. In the end, it's what we do afterwards that matters. Nobody is good – or evil -- through and through.


adellechua@gmail.com

IJ

Classes for the semester begin this week. For this month until January, I will be taking Investigative Journalism under Luz Rimban. I look forward to the next nine weeks.

The course sounds daunting, but I think that it would lessen my self-doubt a little. Since my trip to Cebu for the Media Nation summit a month and a half ago, I have been walking around with a sense of inadequacy that as a journalist, I am not really getting out there, talking to people, making hard decisions, fretting about things that are not easily called black or white.

Instead I have been ensconced in the newsdesk, in the comfort of my air-conditioned office in Makati. I work a few hours a day, having the entire morning and the early afternoon free. Working on Sundays and holidays has become an acceptable trade-off.

Suddenly I realize that for all this time, I have been commenting from an armchair. No wonder I felt like such a novice during the summit, thrust into a function roomful of journalists who report from the community and deal with very real, very basic threats.

Yes, I write editorials, pen my own column, and edit the other columns that appear in the op-ed page. That's tough, too but things do tend to become easier if you do them every day, year after year.

Now I think I am ready to venture out into new territory.

Facebook state of mind - 2009

thanks to www.archivedbook.com

Jun 28 too exhausted and too crowded out to do the kind of writing i don't have to do but want to! hayyy....

Jul 1 is happy for *** who has been talking about writing a book for YEARS and has just today given me an outline of the three pieces he wants me to help him with.

Jul 1 is also wondering whether she could get in trouble for employing a 65-year-old maid...but Manang says she's strong and needs the job!

Jul 1 realizes she needs Manang, too...

Jul 2 wonders why she gets dizzy every time she takes a cab...

Jul 3 Elmo turns seven tomorrow but has fever...lagnat laki? let's hope so...

Jul 7 Bad English, zany logic or bloated ego?

Jul 8 an extraordinarily productive day: did two great interviews, didn't suffer a nosebleed thinking of an editorial topic...and i got to fix the small ones' lunches and fetch them from school! :)

Jul 20 here's one secret to happiness: know the difference between a crisis and an inconvenience.

Jul 22 the firefighting i did just this afternoon affirms that it is so much easier to be a writer than an editor, with all that responsibility. but who's saying we can't do it? buti na lang sarap ng baon ko (mango bar from red ribbon) :) ...headache's fading fast

Jul 25 sweet, sweet life: late afternoon in a favorite cafe, old music in a language i am yet to understand, my reliable computer and, as always, a blank document before me, waiting to be filled with words.

Jul 27 is putting her house (back) in order.

Jul 27 it's tough to write something on a topic everybody is talking and writing about. how do you stand out and say something new -- and meaningful -- nonetheless? im rewarding myself with bangus pate over sky flakes for this feat.

Jul 27 from somebody who's supposed to be an industry icon: the 5 Ws of journalism
are who,what, when, what and when. LOL. love this job.

Jul 29 breakfast argument: elmo asks for milo. i tell him we only have ovaltine and it's the same thing. he doesn't agree. he explains to me very patiently, like i were the seven-year-old, that ovaltine is "pampatalino" while milo is "pampagaling sa sports."

Aug 1 to my daughter bea and her friends: good luck sa UPCAT and here's to a great future! :)

Aug 2 is living with her decision not to hire a live-in maid anymore...and getting along just fine.

Aug 2 was viewing my daughter sophie's fb wall and saw a post from this kid, her classmate: "cr[u]sh kita." waaah! these are nine-year-olds!

Aug 5 found an old treasure...the soundtrack cd of the 90s movie Leaving Las Vegas. "My one and only love" by Sting is just tops!

Aug 9 sarap ng 2-day weekend. i'm still getting used to it after working six days a week for the past three years...

Aug 12 scrimped for the past two days and went to the wet market early this morning to get my favorite tiger prawns. kids and i had a fabulous lunch! :)

Aug 13 yay weekend ko na!

Aug 16 is exhausted from a trip to divisoria to find gowns for the girls and sad that she was not able to write her column for tom...bawi dapat :(

Aug 18 Graceans 93 will have a reunion on Saturday, Sept. 5 at the OLGA...err.. St. Mary's Academy of Caloocan City...campus. We have been given the 12-4 pm time slot. More details will follow soon. We will be getting in touch with you individually through text, and through point persons per section/ group. Please block this day off. Hope to see you there!!! :)

Aug 18 si sophia ay lalahok sa lakambini ng wika sa huwebes at magpapamalas ng sayawing igorot sa saliw ng "salidumay" ni grace nono...subalit mataas ang lagnat nya! napagod yata sa pag-eensayo. magpagaling ka sana mahal ko...

Aug 21 spent the entire morning watching a Sex and The City (the series) marathon, and wondered why carrie bradshaw, who writes a weekly column for a newspaper --- like i do -- can afford a New York apartment, fancy lunches and plenty of lovely shoes...and i'm still riding jeepneys... :)

Aug 23 graceans 1993...please check your inbox for updates on the preparations for our reunion. sa mga nalaktawan ko for some reason, pasensya na...paforward na lang from those who actually received the message..see you all

Aug 24 graceans 93 if you can scan more photos during our olga days, pa-email na lang kay ria (ma. lourdes) romulo at ria_romuloyahoo.com...she will make an audio visual presentation. deadline for this is on friday para magawa na nya this weekend., thank you...

Aug 25 graceans please check your inbox; there are new announcements about our reunion. please just update the others i may have missed. di po sadya...:)

Aug 26 some people believe they've got everything figured out but in truth are being so simplistic. unnerving!

Aug 29 Graceans, please check your inbox for updates. Also please give your shirt orders and name tag preferences to Aileen Alonzo BEFORE 7PM SUNDAY (that's tom). Thanks and see you soon! :)

Aug 30 Graceans, reminder lang to please inform me or Charm or Aileen once you make deposits to the bank accounts. Also, Mr. Casimiro said the parking area INSIDE OLGA will be opened to accommodate vehicles of those attending the reunion. Near Gate 2 ang entrance nito. Thank you!

Aug 31 Hi Everyone I'd like to ask those who have not remitted payments of P500 for the reunion, open na ang banks tomorrow and your advance payments would help us a lot since we have to make advances to the caterer and other suppliers. The Little Miss Gracean T-shirts that cost P180 each are not included here because they are optional.

Aug 31 Also, don't forget to inform us once you have paid. PLEASE BRING YOUR DEPOSIT SLIPS ON SATURDAY. Let's get these small but necessary details out of the way so we can have a blast during the reunion. Thank you for your cooperation! :)

Sep 1 a true leader can make a big sacrifice. i just wonder...is the wedding still on?

Sep 4 hi graceans, please check your inbox for some important last-minute announcements about tomorrow's reunion....if i missed some people, pa forward na lang sa kanila. thank you and see you all very soon!

Sep 7 is still struggling with words as deadline looms. waaah!!!

Sep 9 is thankful that this uninspired week is almost over.

Sep 10 has decided to look for an able/ trustworthy kasambahay, delegate the menial aspects of housekeeping, focus on the important things and train her sights on higher goals. :)

Sep 15 looks forward to playing Stage Mom this weekend as Bea takes her ADMU entrance test and Josh's band plays at Sausage Bar (Mother Ignacia).

Sep 16 Downpour in my part of town but barely rained where the office was. Drenched, I walked into a roomful of dry people. Talk about sticking out.

Sep 17 Old Swiss Inn waiting for my lunch date....hehe, my dad. Brrr, it's cold!!

Sep 17 Day Off = you don't show up at the office but are tired attending to other things anyway. when will a REAL break come along? i wonder...i wish...

Sep 20 so proud of my kids! wish they would always know what's good for them...whether or not i am around.

Sep 21 wishes elections here would boil down to choosing the better candidate (between two serious ones) instead of the least evil among numerous clowns in the running.

Sep 29 It is easy to say a mouthful but difficult to sound meaningful and original.

Oct 1 I understand my Lola now, after seventeen long years.

Oct 5 ever tried paraphrasing entire flowery chapters of florante at laura into 2 compact sentences? it's easy. i get good training from my job.

Oct 8 sometimes things just fall on your lap, and you do what you have to do.

Oct 13 has been awake for the last 34 hours and now feels like a zombie.

Oct 15 hates it when she has done everything she could yet there remain things over which she has no control.

Oct 16 is torn between cultural enrichment and plain practicality.

Oct 20 the signs are all there but the foolish choose to ignore them.

Oct 27 there will always be somebody in your circle, inner or not, who will drive you
crazy.

Oct 28 hayyy...the trouble and the torture our loved ones (family) subject us to....

Oct 28 is leaving the office with her nerves still jumping. home is the real
workplace.

Oct 31 me-time at my favorite cafe. good food, great music. would've stayed for hours, writing...until i had a low-bat notice. alas, breton does not allow guests to charge laptops anymore. so now im back to the jungle. :( boo. happy halloween

Nov 1 strangers not welcome

Nov 3 the moon's a fingernail, and slowly sinking. another day begins...(sting, ghost
story)

Nov 4 found hundreds of precious photos in my USB which I thought i'd lost. but it's time to go home. bukas na uli upload...:)

Nov 9 one crazy day. my column today is about the phase-out of mercury, a toxic substance, in hospitals. in a freakish twist of fate, josh calls me from home saying he has broken his study lamp in our room and asked our helper to sweep away the tiny beads of mercury. SOOO not the way to do it. they have opened the window and have disposed of their clothes and the broom. we are sleeping downstairs tonight...

Nov 10 went bread shopping. can just imagine a happy elmo...with traces of nutella all over his mouth.

Nov 12 walked from pier 13 to pier 15 then from pier 15 to my office. not a piece of cake at 2:00 on a scorching afternoon. but it's all for a story, so...ok na lang din! :)

Nov 12 was so eager to imitate what she saw on a cooking show that she used half a cup of white wine in her pasta sauce, forgetting that she had to pack the same dish for her kids' lunch. Hope they didn't feel funny after eating...

Nov 19 is learning the art of "applying herself" and realizing that 1) it's not altogether bad and 2) it's not too late.

Nov 21 yesterday,i spent the morning at the palace (covered a forum). but it was nothing like the rest of the day which i spent with my real princess, sophie.

Nov 24 your car is coded. you, however, are not.

Nov 26 will be in mariveles, bataan tomorrow for an experiment on mixing work, rest and quality time.

Dec 6 is this a day off? interviewed somebody in QC at 8am, went back to Val, finished column, cooked lunch, washed dishes, went to another meeting in SJ, window shopped, dinner at TOSH, brought Josh to a bassists' party, and now it's midnight and I'm still writing and killing time before two am when I'm supposed to pick him up...before i can call it a day. Buti na lang hanggang 330 Starbucks! Love this full life, though.

Dec 7 elmo: mommy bakit ka palagi nagko-computer? adelle: nagsusulat po ako ng libro, kuya elmo: (surprised) marunong ka gumawa ng libro? gawa mo ko! yung maraming robot!

Dec 9 in a critical situation where the status quo is simply not acceptable, is "no deal" better than a "bad deal"? ...(on climate change, not on anybody's love life!)

Dec 12 hi graceans. the organizers of our batch's christmas party are requesting those who will attend to remit their payments to the identified bank accounts (mine and teen's). we have to make an advance payment to the caterer. sana pwede by monday...thank you and see you all soon! pls visit cool graceans' wall for details...:)

Dec 16 knows how the holiday rush can kill the spirit of the season so she's trying to take things in stride. (key word is "trying").

Dec 20 it is always a joy to talk to people who are passionate about what they do.

Holiday

I went on a holiday Wednesday and Thursday upon the kind invitation of some people close to our family.

All four kids were with me. It was a big deal because it was our first family vacation in four years.

It was even a bigger deal because for I discovered this is what a vacation should be: Organized and democratic. There was also much laughter -- and nothing feels better than to laugh together with your own children even though it is over some silly joke or anecdote.

Bea flooded Facebook with pictures. I guess we would always want to look at them, remember, and smile.

Complicity

Nov 2 column for Manila Standard Today, page 5

Why challenge the status quo?

Bernie and Ruth are an American couple in their 70s. They have two sons, Andrew and Mark.

They are not your ordinary senior citizens. They are, after all, the Madoffs. Bernie was arrested in December 2008 and is now serving a 150-year jail term in North Carolina for pulling a Ponzi scheme, defrauding hundreds of high-profile investors of a total of $65 billion over many years. Madoff's feat is the biggest financial fraud in history.

Ruth, who now lives in Florida, was interviewed on the program 60 Minutes. She told the story of how she and her husband tried to kill themselves on the Christmas after the scheme had unravelled. They swallowed sleeping pills – obviously, these did not work.

Who did succeed in taking his own life was their son Mark, who hanged himself in his New York apartment on the second anniversary of his father's arrest.

Ruth says she would not be able to forgive Bernie for driving their son to kill himself. Apparently, while the boys had been working closely with their father, they had no idea what he was up to.

Andrew, who is now promoting an authorized biography, says he is never going to speak to his father for the rest of his life. As for Ruth – well, she just has to live with the shame of being Bernie's wife. (She became estranged from her sons in the aftermath of the arrest. Andrew "struggled to understand" why his mother stuck it out with his father after everything. She only decided to end her loyalty to Bernie after Mark's death.)

The public's reaction to this latest set of revelations are mixed. Some doubt that Ruth and the boys did not know about Bernie's grand-scale scam. Could it be that they had so much faith in their father's financial genius that they assumed all of the benefits came from honest work? How stupid could they be?

Another possibility is that they had started enjoying the comforts – no, the luxuries – that they had simply decided not to think about where the money might have come from. Perhaps they never even asked, so he never told.

Back here at home, another elderly couple has gained notoriety for financial dishonesty. Former military comptroller Jacinto Ligot and wife Erlinda, charged with failing to file their tax returns for 2003, remain missing. There is a warrant for their arrest in connection with the tax case.

The family's unexplained wealth has brought them to the Senate, where the couple uttered the standard answer of "I cannot recall" to practically every question thrown their way. Husband and wife could each post a bail of P20,000, however – loose change, some would say.

Mrs. Ligot is not alone. Remember the other military wife, Clarita Garcia, wife of Major General Carlos Garcia who has been charged with plunder? She thoughtlessly gave her husband away when she wrote a letter to American authorities explaining that the wads of cash found in her and her sons' possession were gratuity and shopping money from military suppliers who had their contracts approved through her husband.

Remember, too, the wives of the Philippine National Police generals who were stopped at the Moscow International Airport for carrying euros equivalent to P6 million? The generals were in Russia for a conference – what the wives were doing aside from keeping their men company, nobody knows.

**

I raise these examples to point out the crucial role of spouses with regard to the conduct of a government official or a businessman. Spouses who remain together most likely have achieved a certain level of intimacy such that one would feel secure to tell one's secrets to a partner. This is what the law assumes when it says that spouses cannot be compelled to testify against one another. This implies is that the bond between husband and wife is superior, inviolable.

It is thus natural to assume that the wife, for instance, knows what her husband is up to. Because how could she not know? Any thinking person would know how much a particular job or position would rake in. If a family lives sorely below, or beyond, the breadwinners' official means, then something is not quite right.

Unfortunately, some families don't care what fuels their lifestyle – the nice house, the expensive schools, the cars, the houses, the vacations. They simply feel entitled to all these. It may be that they know their husband/ father is up to no good, but they choose to ignore it. Worse, some know and knowingly join in as well. This is why in some parts of the country, politics is seen as a family enterprise. They have to keep all the good stuff – power, money, influence – among members of the family. Some kill for this.

All this is sad because families are supposed to guide each other into doing the right thing, or at least keep each other from doing wrong. Take for instance the various cases of corruption that permeate all levels of government, nationwide. Corrupt officials are not just government employees – they are also husbands or fathers, wives or mothers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters. What face do they show their families – do they pretend to be honest, or make no bones about it and expect their families to just accept what they are doing? It feeds them well, after all, and enables them to live in luxury. Who would be so stupid as to challenge the status quo?

Citizens would – no, should. This is, hence, a plea to the wives and sons and daughters and other family members: Ask questions. Don't feel entitled to your lifestyle. Pressure from the public through the media may move some officials to action. Family pressure, however, could be stronger.

Of course, one can always choose to keep quiet. Many of us were raised to belive that family is the most important thing there is. So if one's "cooperation" – even if it means just staying quiet – is needed to keep the family together, or protect it, then why not, right? The (financial) benefits are nothing to sneeze at, besides.

Fortunately, there are still those who recognize that there are things of a higher order than what we generally hold dear. If you are unfortunate enough to be such a situation, remember: Neglecting to act, or worse, refusing to, is tantamount to committing the same wrong yourself.


adellechua@gmail.com