New blog, new site

GMANews.TV, where I am managing editor, has finally unveiled its new look on New Year's Day. The site carries a section for bloggers. I've started a new blog there, although it still carries an old entry from another blog. You can read my "official" entries there. Please visit our site and try to click on my blog too. Thank you very much and Happy New Year to all.

Another blog

I've been experimenting with other blog sites/hosting. I've since mirrored this blog on jotorres.wordpress.com. No worry, as of now the contents are the same. I'm still on the experimentation stage. I've tried the new beta of blogger. It's better the earlier version, which I am using for this blog. I am, however, still waiting for blogger to allow earlier users to migrate content to the new improved and easier version. As of now, I'm enjoying my experiment with wordpress although there are times that the connection to the site slow down.

'The White Man’s Burden'

I just got hold of a copy of Robert D. Kaplan’s “Imperial Grunts” from National Bookstore this afternoon. “Imperial Grunts’ is Kaplan’s reportage on the American military’s operations in various areas in the world, including the Philippines, after the United States declared war against terror.

I just read the book’s prologue where Kaplan compared the poet/writer Rudyard Kipling to another American artist, Frederic Remington. While Kipling celebrated in his works British imperialism, Remington turned imperialism “from fact into heroic myth” when he rode with troops scouting for Indians to subdue.

What caught ignorant me, however, was a footnote on page 10 of Kaplan’s book that reads: “’The White Man’s Burden’ was a poem written by Kipling to urge the United States to intervene in the Philippines in 1899. It is essentially an idealistic poem, though it has often been quoted out of context.”

I searched google for the poem and found a copy in the Washington State University website. Here’s Kipling’s poem.

The White Man’s Burden

Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden--
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden--
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
"Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke (1) your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden--
Have done with childish days--
The lightly proferred laurel, (2)
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!

(1) Cloak, cover.
(2) Since the days of Classical Greece, a laurel wreath has been a symbolic victory prize.

Porn, the Internet and online journalism

Francis Fukuyama declared history, viewed as a clash of ideologies, has ended. He said “liberal democracy” of the type pioneered by the United States might constitute “the final form of human government.”

So what’s next? What is supposed to be the next organizing principle of history?

Cyberspace, of course, Internet enthusiasts say. The Internet is global and personal at the same time. With a computer and a telephone line one can communicate, and even have sex, with anybody around the world. The Internet is supposedly becoming a “new paradigm for human development.”

Nicholas Negroponte, in his 1995 book Being Digital, wrote:

“Computing is not about computers anymore. It is about living. As we interconnect ourselves, many of the values of a nation-state will give way to those of both larger and smaller electronic communities. We will socialize in digital neighborhoods in which physical space will be irrelevant and time will play a different role. Twenty-five years from now, when you look out a window, what you see may be five thousand miles and six time zones away. When you watch an hour of television, it may have been delivered to your home in less than a second. Reading about Patagonia can include the sensory experience of going there. A book by William Buckley can be a conversation with him.”

Media, of course, is in the forefront of this new world order. In the Philippines, the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism has pioneered blogging as a form of interactive journalism. Other media organizations, like the giant broadcast network GMA and the Philippine Daily Inquirer, are preparing to plunge into new forms of journalism in the Internet.

Pornography, however, has been way, way ahead already and has become, for many people, the doorway into the online world.

In its latest installment of articles on addiction, the PCIJ printed a commissioned article I wrote on pornography. The proliferation of relatively cheap bootleg sex DVDs, as well as increasing access to the Internet, has made it easier for some Filipinos to get hooked on porn. To read the article visit GMANews.TV or the PCIJ website.

Trivia

Doug Engelbart, a Stanford researcher, came to the Philippines in 1968 and came across an essay written by Vannevar Bush and published in the Atlantic Monthly under the title “As We May Think.” Inspired by the essay, Engelbart wrote a program that demonstrated the first working hypertext software he called “oNLine System.”

Engelbart’s software allowed users to browse through multiple windows of text using a small block of wood mounted on a ball to direct the cursor – a prototype mouse. Engelbart, however, was years ahead of his time. It would be another 25 years before the invention of the World Wide Web.

Imagine if Engelbart was not stationed in the Philippines and did not come across Bush’s “As We May Think”? The Internet would not have been the same as we know it today.

When things happen on a Sunday

It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday afternoon. I woke up while a heavy downpour tries to drown an army of cockroaches in the drainage outside the gate. I was supposed to just supervise that hanging of posters on the walls of our office that's why I decided to wake up late. I even had my breakfast/lunch at Jollibee at past 2 p.m. (By the way, I was surprised that Jollibee indeed cut on the use of plastic and Styro!)

Then the text messages started coming: There was the encounter between government forces and communist rebels where one insurgent reportedly died; then there was the reported shoot-to-kill order by the Army against a peasant leader; then Defense chief Cruz resigned and Saddam Hussein was sentenced to die by hanging. (Will they literally hang him?) I’ve been reading a biography of Saddam and it’s interesting to learn how his miserable childhood and his growing up years in the town of Tikrit affected his later years.

Again, it’s still work, Saddam or not. News won’t stop coming and it’s already 8 p.m. What was supposed to be a lazy afternoon spent reading Saddam’s biography or browsing back issues of Time or Newsweek that keep piling on my desk or an afternoon watching NCIS ended just like one of those weekday afternoons.

Update

I was enjoying reading new entries from John Nery’s blog only to realize that I’ve been missing my blog too. It has been a while since I last wrote something. I’ve been preoccupied these days with everyday matters – like how to go about doing an article on pornography for the PCIJ, how to achieve symmetry in putting up the frames on the wall of the office, how to manage time between editing stories and making work processes go smoothly, attending meetings, etc.

There are books too that are waiting to be read – Michael Weisskopf’s new book on the war in Iraq lent to me by a dear friend, Paulo Coelho’s The Zahir (also borrowed from a friend), Ghost War, the award-winning book of Steve Coll on terrorism that I started reading last year, a Cuban novel, and several journalism books that I only remember to browse when an invitation to give a lecture comes.

My only respite from the daily, if not hourly, grind is to watch the television series “Rome” and “Prison Break.” The first is a lesson in history while the second is a reminder that things can be done if one puts everything into making it happen, be it breaking out from prison or making a wireframe become a working website.

Dan Campilan: Brief, brilliant life in journalism

The only time I had the chance to talk with Dan was during a training workshop for GMA News reporters early this year. I presented to the reporters the new website of GMA News and invited them to write stories for the site.

During the break I joined some of them for a chat. Dan was there. Maybe because of my Visayan diction that he introduced himself as Cebuano. He was happy to learn that I too am a Bisaya. He said "daghan na tang Bisaya sa GMA."

He also said he wanted to write. I told him to just start writing. "Maulaw man ko," he said. I told him there's no reason not to try. "There's always a first time," I said.

He was excited. There's a lot of life in him. I wished him the best. I saw a very promising and very eager journalist.

When I woke up this morning I saw several messages on my phone. Some were asking what happened to Dan. Lean, Newsbreak's artist, said Dan is a classmate at PUP's Open University as a first year broadcast communication student.

The man had a dream. As Jessica Soho said, Dan is an inspiration. May his short life inspire us.

Here's a tribute to our colleague:

Danifel "Dan" Campilan had a brief but exciting five-year career as a broadcast journalist. It ended in Quezon City the way it started in his home province of Cebu – by accident.

In his iGMA.Tv homepage, Dan recalled his first job: "Aksidente lang ang pagiging broadcaster ko. Pagkatapos ng kolehiyo, nag-work muna ako as a Bingo caller sa Cebu — as in Bingo na sugal: letter B 2. Then I found out na may boses pala ako at kaya magsalita in public."

[My being a broadcaster started by accident. After college, I worked first as a Bingo caller in Cebu — as in Bingo the gambling game: letter B 2. Then I found out that I had the voice and could speak in public.]

And so Dan applied for a job with Bombo Radyo Cebu. Readily, he was hired — but not just because of voice. He had some experience in campus journalism at the Cebu Institute of Technology, where he took a course in Information Technology as a scholar of the Department of Science and Technology.

His first major coverage assignment earned him a promotion.

Curiously, his career rose after he reported on the sinking of the M/V Asia South Korea tragedy in Daanbantayan, Cebu.

"The tragedy happened on December 23, 1999, and Christmas was near. Together with the survivors, we spent our Christmas at the site," Dan wrote.

"It was a major break for my radio broadcast career, because I was promoted on the 27th day of the same month to cover national news in our Bombo News Center in Makati."

Thereafter, his career steadily picked up at every turn that he covered accident, melee, upheaval, one after another.

Memorable stories

His profile offered a summary: "Dan Campilan was practically in the center of many upheavals and shakeups that the country has gone through, from the impeachment of Erap and the swearing in of PGMA to the impeachment bid of Chief Justice Hilario Davide Jr."

He was a young journalist but Dan ran a long list of memorable coverage events.

As a Bombo Radyo Makati reporter, he covered both EDSA Dos and "EDSA Tres," or the siege of Malacañang by pro-Estrada supporters on May Day 2001.

"Di ko makalimutan ang May 1 siege coverage na ito," he recalled.

"Habang nagko-cover sa dispersal ng mga Erap supporters noon biglang umulan ng tear gas at tinamaan ako at nagpulasan na lahat. Para mawala ang anghang sa mata, dinakot ko yung ice cream na tinitinda nung mama sa Mendiola at pinanghilamos. Nagsunuran na rin yung iba. Sorry sa manong, but you saved my life."

For GMA 7, Dan’s diligence and discipline yielded good stories. He was the first to break the story on cases of meninggococcemia in Baguio City.

He reported on the tragedy that befell the people and communities of Infanta, Quezon, after a terrible typhoon in 2005.

Great little lives, beings

But the big political upheavals were not what really caught Dan's fancy.

Some of the stories he found memorable were the features he did on great, little lives and beings, like the one on Juliet Chavez, the first Dumagat to win a beauty contest at the Sabutan Festival.

"Pinakagusto ko rin yung nire-rescue namin yung mga eagle, sawa, at unggoy at iba't iba pang mga hayop na inire-report sa GMA at dinadala namin sa Wildlife Rescue Center," he said. At home, he said he had love birds for pets.

[I liked it best when we would rescue eagles, snakes, monkeys and a variety of other animals, and we would take them to the Wildlife Rescue Center.]

Between tight work schedules, Dan managed to give time to two hobbies.

The first is job-related -- watching TV, art films and documentaries. The other is totally unrelated, even unexpected of a strong and sprightly man – cooking.

Dan had the built of an athlete and was given to sports. In high school, he was a varsity player in volleyball and table tennis, but also dabbled in basketball, badminton, swimming and track.

Dream: To be a farmer

Apart from sports, he was grounded in nature. In fact, if his broadcasting career had not taken off, Dan said he would have wanted to become a farmer.

"Kasi yun ang pangarap ko noon para tulungan ang aking mga lolo't lola sa pagtatanim ng mais sa probinsya. Ha-ha-ha, ang babaw lang ng mga pangarap ko. Kahit ngayon I still want to become a farmer, pero siguro pag nag-retire na kasi kailangan ko kumita."

[My dream is to be a farmer and help my grandfather and grandmother plant corn in the province. Ha-ha-ha, I have such a simple dream. To this day, I still want to become a farmer. Maybe when I retire I would, but for now, I have to earn a living.]

Retirement would have been a long way off except that the lie of life visited Dan so suddenly, just before he could turn 26 years old on November 27.

Since joining GMA News Dan had really been busy, so busy that on August 17, 2005, he started a blog — Kapusong Cebuano. More than a year later all that the blog contains is its first, and unfortunately also last, entry:

"matapos ang ilang linggong trabaho, day-off ako today at gumawa nitong first blog ko.

"trial pa lang ito kasi di ko alam paano mag-blog. hehehe."

[After weeks of work, I finally had a day-off today and so here is my first blog. This is a trial blog for now because I still don’t know how to blog. Hehehe.]

Treasured possessions

At the time of his unfinished blog’s posting, Dan wrote that his mobile phone was his most treasured possession.

It was, after all, the one thing that "keeps me in touch with my family in the province." As important, too, were "my steno notebook and pilot ballpen – the most important items while working in the field."

Just recently, Dan did something for himself for a change. He bought a second-hand car to drive to and from work.

It was, unfortunately, while driving it that he would meet yet another accident that would cap his brief but brilliant career as a broadcast journalist. - GMANews.TV

Victory for Uste!

Thanks to JJ. She said the lizard kisses the ground every evening as punishment for killing her mother. The lizard was supposed to be a woman who killed her mother and, as punishment, the gods turned her into a lizard that must kiss the ground every evening.

Why so, why a woman, not a man, must kill her mother, I don't know.

Luisa Igloria has this entry in her blog:

The elders told stories of how the lizard, among all creatures, understands the mysteries of the universe most because at dusk, at vesper-time, it runs or falls to the earth to kiss the ground. We saw them in the kitchen corners, under the eaves, beneath the windowsill, behind cabinets. More than once someone closed a door by mistake or too quickly lowered a skillet, and its severed tail went skittering across the floor. Thus, because it knows to give up part of itself to save the rest. The rest is a story of regeneration that I admire.

UST wins over Ateneo, 76-74.

It was not unexpected. I’ve always cheered for Ateneo (where I tried to fathom the mysteries of God in the late 80s), but when UST entered the UAAP finals this year, I could not help but wish my alma mater’s team the best. A lot of what I later learned in life I first heard from Dominican friars in UST.

“I only have one alma mater because there is only one God, and God is a Thomasian,” a UST journalism graduate said.

Congratulations to my alma mater, congratulations to all Thomasians!

The kissing-the-ground act of lizards

Every evening, when I have the time, I always look for house lizards. They are easy to find. They always come down from the ceiling, down the wall, to kiss the ground. I’ve always wondered why.

My father used to tell me a story why lizards kiss the ground every evening, about 6 p.m. I forgot the story already. Is it a kind of punishment from the gods? I can’t remember anymore.

The lizards, however, have been always a reminder to me. I mean their kissing-the-ground act. It reminds me of humility, of remembering, of recognizing from where we all came from.

With so many things to worry, I forget a lot of things, the simple things most of the time, like anniversaries, birthdays, acts of kindness and even the act of saying hello to people, I mean, just to be pleasant to others.

I wonder how come lizards don’t forget their kissing-the-ground act every evening.

Sometimes, when I feel reflective, I do admire the lizards. Aside their not forgetting their daily ritual, I admire them for – well this is a crazy reflection – their humility to remember where they came from. As priests say on Ash Wednesdays: “From dust thou art, to dust you’ll return,” or something to that effect.

Journalism is history in a hurry. That’s what I read last Monday in a journalism book I brought as reference material for a lecture on journalism in Zamboanga City. Life has been always a blur since I started working as a journalist, except maybe during those days and nights I spent in the barrios or in hotel rooms in some foreign country.

I’ve always told myself that it’s therapeutic just to stop for a moment, sit back, relax and just enjoy the ride. Yes, life is a ride and I’ve been enjoying the fast lane for a while now. It’s just funny that many times I don’t listen to myself. Many of us don’t, I supposed.

* * *

I’ve been trying to dig into my files these days to look for some papers – birth certificates, clearances, etc – that must be submitted to the office as part of my employment requirements. It’s not easy, the digging part. I have to look into envelopes, folders and boxes, leaf through old notebooks, books and files.

I’m still looking until now. I’m enjoying the search that I don’t want to find what I’m looking for anymore. I enjoy scanning old notes, books and files – and there are hundreds of them. Then, like ghosts from the past, people jumped from the yellowed pages of notebooks and pads. I have to talk to them, laugh with them, feel their pain and share their anguish.

While friends during my younger years accumulate wealth, here I am collecting dust, digging into dreams written on cheap notebooks, dreams that until now remain to be realized. What a life. But it’s fun.

I just wonder, as I write this, if 20 years from now I will be able to scan these pages, hese posts, this blog, to revisit the past. Will there be dust on my computer screen? What would be the feeling then?

* * *

A very dear friend gave me a book today. It’s Pedro Juan Gutierrez’s “The Insatiable Spider Man”. I intend to read it in the coming days. I scanned the first few pages and I came across sentences like these:

“He tries to kiss her. She smells the tobacco and alcohol on his breath and feels nauseous. She moves her face quickly to one side and pulls back. The man kisses her neck and licks her. She struggles some more. The man pushes her. Silvia loses her balance and stumbles. He holds her up to prevent her falling. He’s a giant playing with a little bird. Silvia is very slender and frail. She’s still trembling….With his right hand he fishes inside his trousers and pulls out a long black stiff thick prick. Shit. Silvia looks at it. She has to look at it since it’s a few inches from her eyes and she thinks, ‘Christ almighty, I’m really fucked now. Look at the size of it, dammit. If he puts it in me, he’ll split me in half, he’ll kill me, the motherfucker!’”

Just look at the lines, the short sentences, the active voice, the drama it brings to the reader sans the adjectives that many of us, lazy, trying-hard-copycat wannabe writers, use to pretend that we too know how to write.

Thanks for the book, my friend, it sure made my day!

UNBOWED

NUJP's 5th Congress Statement

The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) wraps up its 5th Congress held August 27 to 28 in Tagaytay City secure in the knowledge that the free and independent Philippine media's staunch defense of freedom of the press and of expression has expanded the frontlines with more committed journalists rallying to the cause.

But at the same time, this Congress also reflected the sober realities journalists face as the war against civil liberties in the country appears to have intensified and reached a more vicious stage.

As our keynote speaker, the venerable Vergel O. Santos, reminded us in the wake of National Security Adviser Norberto Gonzales' ominous pronouncement about the supposed communist infiltration of the media, "We may even be in bigger trouble than we think."
As he so aptly pointed out, the 50 or so journalists slain since Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo came to power "are enough to staff one national daily and that, therefore, their murder means the silencing of one potential collective voice of public conscience - silenced for precisely doing what it is in its perfect nature to do so - speak."

Not to mention the often odious working conditions and even more odious economic benefits so many of our colleagues, especially those in the frontlines, the provinces where the calling to serve the people's right to know is most needed, have to bear with.
And there among us, delegates to the NUJP's highest policy-making body, were living proof of the risks and dangers we face.

Tony Abejo of the NUJP's Ozamiz chapter is publisher and editor of the Malindang Tribune, a family-run community paper in Oroquieta City, Misamis Occidental.

Carolina Montilla of the NUJP-Tacloban is publisher/editor of the Eastern Times, based in Leyte's capital city and serving Eastern Visayas. Maureen Japzon is an editor and feature writer of the community paper and, incidentally, was voted by the Congress to the
NUJP National Directorate.

Last Friday, the eve of his travel to Tagaytay, Abejo received no less than eight text messages on his cellular phone, warning him to "be cautious" and, eventually, suggesting that he divide what little wealth he had among his wife and children because he would "rest in peace."

Tony can only think of one reason for the ominous messages: Retribution for using his newspaper as a platform to rail away at official incompetence and corruption.

Indeed, for Tony, threats have been a constant companion for the last 14 years. This time, though, he acknowledged, they appeared to be striking closer to home, the venom seemingly more potent than before.

Not that he fears as much for himself as for the future of the harbinger of truth he has worked so hard to establish if those who seek to slay him - and the truth along with him - succeed.

Roli Montilla is no stranger to the dangers that face the Philippine press either.

When Martial Law was declared, her colleagues at the national daily she used to work for had to all but bodily shove her out of the country to escape the wrath of the dictatorship.

She returned from exile and to the profession she loves. Only to find that the dangers she faced then remain and have, in fact, grown in the midst of our supposedly restored democracy.

It is not only Roli who is at risk but practically everyone who works for and with her at the Eastern Times.

In July, a Samar-based columnist for her paper received a letter bordered in black ribbon from an "Anti-Communist League" telling him to "regret what you have done." Since then, Roli told the Congress, the columnist has reported being trailed by motorcycle-riding men, the dreaded common thread in the pattern of murders that has ravaged the ranks of both the Philippine press and legal dissenters.

As have two of her staff reporters in Tacloban, one of them treated to the sight of an arrogantly flaunted bulge at the waist.

Roli and Maureen have been receiving text threats regularly.

That Tony, and Roli and Maureen, notwithstanding the personal worries that weighed heavy on them, showed up at the Congress and lent their time and experience to strengthening the NUJP is a tribute to their courage and dedication and the truism that, indeed, real strength lies in unity.

The unity of those who share the same dream of a free and independent Philippine press serving the people's right to know and their right to free expression, the unity of those who together wage battle against those who seek to stamp out the truth in pursuit of selfish interests.

Tony, Roli, Maureen, the writers of the Eastern Times and all of our threatened colleagues are what the International Federation of Journalists fittingly paid tribute to, Filipino journalists who "continue to strive for increased professionalism and a strong, independent and free media" and "defend the public's right to know, despite regular and violent attacks from all sides."

They are, as Vergel Santos fittingly observed, "freedom's last line of defense" in the face of "one evidently desperate president," a national security adviser "out of an old dangerous mold of official enforcers - those programmed to feel more needed as their bosses feel more insecure," their favorite general, "who seems to relish being called 'executioner' as an affirmation of efficiency - efficiency in a barbaric sense," and a government gripped by an "official cold-bloodedness and twisted sense of retributive proportion."

Our threatened colleagues are the raison d'etre of the NUJP. They ARE the NUJP. And they are the best proof that, at the end of this arduous path, the Philippine press and the Filipino people we serve will emerge unbowed, triumphant.

Jose Torres Jr.
Chairperson
August 29, 2006

Shakespeare at 2 o’clock in the morning

It’s past 2 o’clock in the morning and I’m fighting not to close my eyes as members of the House of Representatives explain their vote whether to junk or not the impeachment complaint filed against President Arroyo.

Lack of sleep is one of the hazards of the trade, especially when covering politicians who just love to talk. Sometimes it’s fun. I mean the coverage, not the politicians. One has to learn to survive on cigarettes, cups of coffee or glasses of cold water to remain sane.

Journalism is not a walk in the park in a country where everybody has an opinion on everything political or otherwise.

As our politicians talk on television, I entertain myself trying to read a biography of William Shakespeare. Politics in the Philippines anyway seems to be a mix of comedy, tragedy and bad poetry.

Friends from abroad ask how we, Filipinos, afford to smile and even joke about the tragedies we encounter daily. “We’re born to it,” I would say.

What better way to survive in our world of contradictions than to have a big dose of humor.

I find it funny that the only book within my reach as our lawmakers start to recite litanies of their “convictions” and even quote poetry from time to time is Stephen Greenblatt’s “Will in the World” on “how Shakespeare became Shakespeare”. - JT

'Journalist din po ako'

"Attorney, paki-explain na lang sa mamang pulis na 'not guilty' po ako dahil journalist din po ako."

A visit to my old beat

After so many years, I went back to my favorite beat - the House of Representatives.

Nothing seemed to have changed - the lawmakers, the journalists, the security personnel and the congressional staff. The tables, chairs, computers and printer I used eight years ago were still there.

There was already a wi-fi connection inside the session hall and the working area for the media. New and younger journalists replaced older reporters like me who had moved on to other fields. Still some of my contemporaries and older reporters I met when I was first assigned as a newspaper reporter in Congress were still religiously filing stories from my old beat.

Nothing seemed to have changed - the stories, the issues and the concerns.

I was there today to cover the state of the nation address of President Arroyo. There was nothing significant to write about except for the promises the President delivered and the usual protest actions outside in the streets.

Still the excitement was there, the teasing, the jokes and the stories journalists share when we get together. A president's SONA is always an opportunity for us journalists to get-together. It was actually a "reunion" of sort.

Raul and Ben were still there. So were Jess and Jodeal. Fidel, Dennis and I were just visitors today. Still the welcome was warm.

It has been a long time that I have covered a beat since I left newspapering and tried my hand on online journalism.

I miss my beat. I miss the people I worked with in the past, the people who helped me become what I am today. I treasure my experience in the House. There's no way but forward, however. What is important is we do not forget.

Something to tickle our heartsin this time of uncertainties

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O, Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

- Prayer of St. Francis

What a shame!

Yes, another journalist was killed. What a shame.

Local and international media organizations have issued statements. What to me hit the nail on the head was a statement issued by Mr. Red Batario of the Center for Community Journalism and Development.

Something's Very Wrong

Once again press organizations and media associations will be condemning the latest killing of a Filipino journalist. Once again international press watchdogs will call for a full investigation. Once again police authorities will create another task force to go after the killers. Once again there will be a lot of angry denunciations. Once again nothing will happen.

The murder of community broadcaster Armando "Rachman" Pace, 51, of Radyo Ukay in Digos, Davao del Sur last July 18 brings to eight the number of journalists killed in the country this year.

"This brings the Philippines' atrocious record for journalist safety to a new low, less than a month after the shocking murder of journalist husband and wife George and Macel Vigo," said Christopher Warren, president of the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ).

The statistics are grim enough reminders that something's very wrong with this country.

But do we as a nation really care about the brutal, blatant, successive, and brazen murder not only of journalists but also of activists, lawyers and others whose only crime was trying to let people know the truth and their rights? Do we in the national media suffer from selective amnesia when we forget to voice our anger because those targeted were community journalists living and working so far away from our own comfort zones? Do we as citizens care well enough to understand media's role in democracy?

These are dark days indeed for the Philippine press and the Philippines as a nation.

All of us should suffer the collective shame of allowing a culture of impunity to take root in our midst. All of us should take the blame for pretending, or at worst believing, that things will become better by doing nothing at all.

Mindanao, 20 years ago

Twenty years ago, in the mountains of Mindanao, I lived with the people.

George and Macel

I could have written a poem like Mila. I could have written a story like Fr. Peter. But after a few drops of tears, a short statement and fewer interviews about the murder of people, work overwhelmed me. I did not forget. I just became like many of us, overwhelmed by our daily needs and preoccupations, angst, illusions and daydreams. How we wish we could have done something good for others. How we wish we could have changed our ways for the better. Then the rain came one Saturday afternoon, the moment is perfect to forget our idealism, it is perfect to just forget and cuddle with someone while listening to Bob Marley on the new ipod.

Did George and Macel had the same moments together? Did they also just lie down on a Saturday afternoon when the rains prevented them to do the laundry? They love each other, friends who knew them said. They dedicated their lives to each other and together served the people they infected with their love. Their death was not only a moment of sacrifice, it was also a moment of truly sharing the love they nurtured despite all the odds.

George and Macel
By Mila D. Aguilar

George and Macel were lovers
Four children between them.
They rode out into the night
To be shot down in broad daylight.

George and Macel were lovers of country.
They did what they could,
Peacefully. But they were mowed down,
In view of so many.

George and Macel were lovers of freedom.
Young, they never realized that
Martyrdom would be the sum
Of their quest for the Kingdom.

George and Macel were lovers of God.
Born at the end of dictatorship,
How could they see
They would die on the tail of it?

Friend, I never got to know
George and Macel. Were they
On the list you made
Of those to be wiped out?

July 7, 2006

Do not pollute the land where you are. Bloodshed pollutes the land, and atonement cannot be made for the land on which blood has been shed, except by the blood of the one who shed it. (says the Lord in Numbers 35:33)

George and Macel: United in love, commitment and death
Written by Fr. Peter Geremia

KIDAPAWAN CITY (MindaNews/29 June) -- George and Maricel Vigo came to visit me on June 19, 2006, just before being killed. Of course they didn't envision a violent death on that day. They didn't even mention threats or issues. They focused on their own personal and family concerns. It was a sort of renewal of their personal relationship and their deepest commitments.

After our long sharing, they walked away holding hands like young lovers. They looked as if that was the happiest moments of their life, a peak experience. They poured out so much affection that I was amazed.

As they rode home, they were shot down like birds flying in the sky.

A couple of days later I saw a picture on top of their coffin. They were standing together by Lake Agco, the magic lake near the peak of Mt. Apo. That's where the tribal leaders held their ritual, the D'yandi or Blood Compact, vowing to defend the sacred mountain, which they call Apo Sandawa, "to the last drop of their blood." On that spot George and Macel made their own vow to one another and to the oppressed. When I saw that picture I could feel the vibration of their burning love for one another, for the oppressed, for nature, for the values of peace and justice.

Why didn't the spirits of Nature warn them about the immediate danger to their life? Their 13-year-old son would ask, "Why were they sacrificed like innocent lambs?" I could not protect them; maybe I added to the risks they were facing. God certainly knew what was about to happen. They were chosen for the special privilege of becoming martyrs.

Those who plan to kill them knew what was happening. How many saw that horrible murder coming and did not stop it? How can they live with their consciences now? How can they look at their children and see the children of George and Macel, like shadows in the dark.

They showed they can kill even women in a public place without any fear of being stopped, as if they have a license to kill. Some say this is a warning to all activists. It is the season for hunting down popular community leaders. They say it is a national campaign funded by the masterminds of the war on terrorism, or better, the war of terror.

This is the sickness of vigilantes and fanatical groups—like when Fr. Tulio Favali was killed during Martial Law. They think atrocities will make them more powerful. And they are masters of deceit. In fact, the official investigators deceived Macel's mother to sign a statement attributing the killing to New People's Army (NPA). They accused George and Macel of supporting the NPA, then they blame the rebels for their killing. They also blame the rebels for Favali's murder, but gradually the truth was revealed by witnesses who overcame fear and threats, sustained by solidarity of many supporters who took a stand—"tama na, sobra na" (enough).

George and Macel grew up during the last years of Martial Law. During their student years, they joined our Task Force Apo Sandawa, an alliance of church groups, NGO's, and Peoples Organization (PO) committed to protecting the environment of the Indigenous People (IP) and all the oppressed sectors. They both served in the Diocesan programs, Tribal Filipino Program (TFP), and Justice and Peace Integrity of Creation Program (JPIC). Then they found jobs in various NGOs to support their growing family.

Both of them joined the Federation of Reporters for Empowerment and Equality (FREE) and they struggled to launch a local paper called "Apo Sandawa", then a second paper called "Headliner." In 2001 the offices of Headliner was burned to the ground, suspected arson attack because of their reporting. George was also involved as a local producer for a number of BBC World Service radio and television documentaries and features. He also helped produce "Islands Under Siege," which aired on America's most respected documentary program, Frontline. George became a UCAN correspondent which stands for Catholic Asian News. Their voices became familiar to the public in the local radio stations and as a journalist they constantly projected the voice of the poor, oppressed, exploited and struggling masses.

Since the time of the All Out War in the year 2000, which raged around us here, they were among the most active Peace Advocates joining in human rights investigations, relief and rehabilitation missions, peace rallies, and so on. In particular, they proposed and formed a group called Kids for Peace, bringing their own children together with others to express their expectations for peace.

They became very much involved in promoting pro-people politics through education and grassroots organizing. In 2004 they were among the conveners of KALAMPAG- Kotobatenyos for Good Government, an alliance of POs, NGOs, church-based and civic groups of concerned citizens who promote "a style of leadership respectful of all our people and to heal the wounds of the victims of abusives."

We wonder if they became targets because of their participation in KALAMPAG or because of all their community involvements. They were considered moderate activists, journalists working within the system—young professionals who cared deeply for family and community values.

George often introduced himself as my 'junior', implying that he wanted to continue my way of serving the people around us. Macel always shared her deepest secrets. Now I feel their deaths are also my death, like when Fr. Favali was killed in my place.

They can kill people like George and Macel, like Favali and other martyrs, but they cannot kill our dreams and commitments. The power of hatred can shock and scare many, but the power of the kind of love that George and Macel shared will grow beyond death. As it happened with Christ: he was condemned and crucified, but he rose to new life and he promised that all those who follow his way to the cross will experience resurrection, but I believe it is being generated like a seed underground, watered by the blood of martyrs. Those who share their spirit and their passion for truth and justice, for peace, and solidarity, will continue their struggle.

Our tribe is decreasing. So many progressive leaders killed, others paralyzed by threats, particularly here in Kidapawan. The worst trend is the indifference of the majority—from the authorities to academics, even churches and NGOs—who appear to have lost their prophetic voices. The majority of the media are used by the masterminds of deception. Even the Department of Justice and the courts make a mockery of the system of justice.

As a result a new wave of vigilantism and fanaticism is sweeping the land, and true democracy is being suffocated under blood and fear. Some say that, because of the pervasive influence of consumerism, the culture of corruption promoted by the media and internet, the commercialization of vices and the make-belief world of entertainment, many people are prevented from facing reality. Thus many families break down, the young are alienated, and very few leaders can be credible to the masses of the oppressed. Maybe now the victims or the martyrs can become the new modules for the counter culture that can fill wounds of violence and generate new Peace Advocates like George
and Macel. (MindaNews)

(Fr. Peter Geremia, PIME, is an Italian-American missionary who has worked in Mindanao since 1977. In 1985 Fr. Peter was targeted for assassination by right-wing vigilantes, who instead killed his friend Fr. Tulio Favali. Fr. Peter's name appears on military blacklists now being circulated. So did George's.)

As you grow older, remember this

Forwarded by Miss Amita

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will.

You will have your heart broken, probably more than once, and it's harder every time.

You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken.

You'll fight with your best friend.

You'll blame a new love for things an old one did.

You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will stay awake just to watch you sleep.

Wait for the guy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in your sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends.

Wait for the one who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares about you and how lucky he is to have you.

Wait for the one who turns to his friends and says, “that’s her.”

Paalala lang, kaibigan

Forwarded by Mr. R. Jimenez (Salamat!)

Wala na ang mga kaibigan mo noon.
Ang dating masasayang tawanan ng barkada sa canteen, napalitan na ng
walang katapusang pagrereklamo tungkol sa kumpanya ninyo.
Wala na ang best friend mo na lagi mong pinupuntahan
kapag may problema ka.
Ang lagi mo na lang kausap ngayon eh ang kaopisina mong hindi ka
sigurado kung binebenta ka sa iba ‘pag nakatalikod ka.

Pera. Pera na ang nagpapatakbo ng buhay mo.
Alipin ka na ng Meralco, PLDT, SkyCable, Globe, Smart, at Sun.
Alipin ka ng Midnight Madness.
Alipin ka ng tollgate sa expressway.
Alipin ka ng credit card mo.
Alipin ka ng ATM.
Alipin ka ng BIR.

Dati-rati masaya ka na sa isang platong instant pancit canton.
Ngayon, dapat may kasamang Italian chicken ang fettucine Alfredo mo.
Masaya ka na noon pag nakakapag-ober-da-bakod kayo
para makapag-swimming. Ngayon, ayaw mong lumangoy kung hindi
Boracay o Puerto Galera ang lugar.
Dati, sulit na sulit na sa ‘yo ang gin pomelo.
Ngayon, pagkatapos ng ilang bote ng red wine, maghahanap ka ng
San Mig Light o Vodka Cruiser.

Wala ka nang magawa.
Sumasabay ang lifestyle mo sa income mo.
Nagtataka ka kung bakit hindi ka pa rin nakakaipon kahit tumataas ang
sweldo mo.
‘Yong mga bagay na gusto mong bilhin dati na sinasabi mong hindi mo
kailangan, abot-kamay mo na.
Pero kahit nasa iyo na ang mga gusto mong bilhin, hindi ka pa rin makuntento.

Saan ka ba papunta?

Frend, gumising ka. Hindi ka nabuhay sa mundong ito para maging isa
lang sa mga baterya ng mga machine sa Matrix.
Hanapin mo ang dahilan kung bakit nilagay ka rito.
Kung ang buhay mo ngayon ay uulit-ulit lang hanggang maging
singkwenta anyos ka na, magsisisi ka.

Lumingon ka kung paano ka nagsimula, isipin ang mga tao at mga bagay
na nagpasaya sa ‘yo. Balikan mo sila.

Ikaw ang nagbago, hindi ang mundo.