james.soriano

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 1 July 2009 Issue (Page E-4)

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When I found out that Michael Jackson died Friday morning, I was at the library, huddled over one of the computers with my blockmates as we waited for our readings. I immediately occupied another unit for myself and spent almost an hour reading about his death and what other people had to say about it. Some of my friends had much to say, and I didn’t know before then that I had peers who were hardcore fans. Even those who weren’t still paid tribute in their own little way, sparing a few words or popping his CD in the car.

It seemed like I was the only one who didn’t have anything to say. To the world, his death came as a violent tremor, the aftershocks of which were felt throughout the world wide web, causing sites to crash and search engines to overload. To me, it was just another death on the headlines. Initially, there is shock—he was a cultural icon, after all—but ultimately, it was something that I couldn’t relate to.

I was never an MJ fan. I was aware of his greatness, but I never had an experience of it. If anything, my awareness of it was peripheral—songs like Beat It and Smooth Criminal I only truly appreciated as covers by contemporary bands. Maybe the King of Pop could be considered as part of my generation, but in my life, it’s like he has always been on the outer fringes of it.

All my knowledge of Michael Jackson as a star and a person I owe to the few songs I have in my iTunes, and to what the media says about him. Maybe that’s unfortunate, because it was only in his latter years (the earlier parts of mine) that he had come to be portrayed as an eccentric lunatic with a history of pedophilia. He was always more Wacko Jacko to me than he was Michael Jackson. Unfortunately, we have always condemned people on the basis of how they appear or what we’ve heard about them.

But based on what I read about him now—funny how in death, all faults are forgiven, if temporarily—it seems that he has always been more the latter than the former. He was a person who found himself at odds with the world and the way he was to live within it. He was eccentric, not only because he purposefully took part in creating his own image, but also because he was judged by the way he chose to find his own happiness. In more ways than I can comprehend, Michael Jackson was complicated, conflicted, and largely misunderstood. I guess that’s the price you pay for such widespread fame.

But maybe the price was too high. I can’t help but relate to the fans out there who felt that he has always been victimized. Living a life under the public eye exerts tremendous pressures, and even more so when it judges you harshly. Michael Jackson started getting addicted to painkillers to deal with the stress of a bad image. Maybe it is sordidly fitting that he died after being injected by one.

The saddest thing of all is the way he had to go; he was a victim to the end. As a child, he was the victim of abuse. As a middle-aged man, he was the victim of disease. In his latter years, he was ultimately the victim of our very own condemnations. But finally, his demise came too early; his death stank of Elvis Presley.

He never had the chance to prove that he was a better man than we all thought. In the face of all the allegations and rumors spun against him, people often forget that he, too, had helped people overcome drug abuse. He, too, contributed funds to charities and hospitals. He, too, called for people to “heal the world, and make it a better place.”

Beyond this, it is through music that Michael Jackson most made a mark on the world. It is to him that the pop industry owes its revitalization. It is to him that performers such as Prince owe their initial and eventual success. It is to him that we all owe the channel that is MTV. And finally, it is to him that we owe Thriller and Billie Jean.

A sports pundit once said about the football legend Maradona: “The people who said terrible things about Maradona are the same people who forget that it is necessary to judge geniuses by their deeds and not by their life.”

If Michael Jackson lived as a performer, then perhaps it is most fitting to judge him by the way he has healed the world through his words and his music.

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin 24 June 2009 Issue (Page E-3)

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Just last Saturday, I was informed that the school requires us to register for the upcoming elections. We were told by my NSTP moderator that all students taking the program are required to present proof of their registration, either the Voter’s ID or the official receipt, to their respective program moderators. Failing to do so would apparently merit a deduction in our grades, but I wasn’t too clear on which component this falls under, or on how much they’ll deduct.

At first, I wasn’t too comfortable hearing about this (is it right for schools to interfere with the student’s exercise of his or her political rights?), but I personally don’t mind. I intend to vote in the upcoming elections, and I have been planning to register since the beginning of summer. In fact, my family decided that we were all going to register together. We were going to bond over it.

I would still like to believe that my vote counts for something, even if it’s hard to divorce the election process from harsh realities such as cheating and fraud. Or even if we’re not entirely sure there’s going to be an election. The point is that democracy fails without its voters. Voting is often the only opportunity that we ordinary citizens get to directly influence our society. If we collectively choose not to make use of it, then we might as well deny our existence as a republic, and leave the course of our lives to the whims of those who would take the reins of leadership by force.

Originally though, I did not want to vote.

After turning eighteen last year, I had decided that I wouldn’t vote in the 2010 elections. My most important consideration was that I didn’t believe in a system where evil deeds are rewarded and no good deeds go unpunished. Neither did I believe in any of the prospective candidates, who seem to be sprouting off the same generalities in different words when asked to talk about their plans for the country.

I didn’t believe back then that my vote counted for something.

At the time, it seemed to me that the elections are just another superficial exercise we go through as a nation to keep some semblance of democracy. It is like an estranged husband and wife staying together for the kids when there is no love between them. The elections are just one big joke we play on ourselves because the truth hurts. And the truth is that we don’t know any other way to run our country.

A year later, I still feel the same way. It isn’t as if the situation has become at least marginally better. Elections are still won on personalities and payouts, not platforms. Parties are still little more than loose political alliances, little more than another way for the voters to remember the candidates’ names. Our political culture is still just a little more than non-existent. And our candidates are still little more than the same people.

The only thing that seems to have changed is that the elections are going to be automated. At the very least, I guess, you spend a little less time in the election booth.

But even if things haven’t changed all that much, I’ve realized that it is still better to participate in the process than to shun it. Not participating is as good as saying you don’t believe this society can move forward under a democratic system. It is a declaration of surrender in a hopeless situation. I figure that if I’m not going to vote, I might as well leave and find some other, better country to reside in. I may as well abandon ship.

Not voting is also a form of protest—and my decision back then was motivated by the desire to protest against the injustices that are perpetrated by the system and its operators.

But then again, if I wanted to make a difference, I figured that my gesture should count. After all, there is a difference between abstaining and not voting. An abstain vote is still making a statement, and it is one that would be counted in the ballots.

We have been taught since grade school that with rights come responsibilites. With suffrage, or the right to vote, I believe that the foremost responsibility is to make use of it; everything else follows from there. True, our laws and our candidates might seem weak, but it is only by persistently undergoing the experience of election after election that our country will learn to select the right leaders. Otherwise, we might as well resort to a revolution, because there is no other acceptable way to pick leaders in a democratic society.

This is why I feel obligated to vote.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 17 June 2009 Issue (Page E-3)

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We’ve seen some very strange things happen in this country, especially during the years of this administration.

We heard the President promise during her first term that she would not run for a second. Shortly after, we heard her voice on wiretapped telephone lines telling an election official to manipulate some votes in her favor. She is still the President now.

We watched as she declared a state of national emergency, and granted herself the power to take over privately-run public utilities, in response to the growing clamor for her resignation. We trembled in fear as it brought us back to another dark period in our history which began in the exact same way.

We witnessed as the First Gentleman, along with other public officials implicated themselves in a multibillion-dollar scandal with taxpayers’ money. We rallied behind the whistleblower who risked both life and reputation to bring the criminals to justice. We also looked on helplessly as they got away with it.

What’s terrifying is that this is the way it has always been.

Our country is no stranger to deception and betrayal. Our history is marred by strange events which have happened despite insurmountable obstacles, sometimes defying even logical possibility. The 1986 People Power Revolution is a very good example, but it is the only positive example I can think of. Most are negative.

Our independence from Spain we owe not only to the sacrifices made by our ancestors, but also to the invaluable help offered to us by the Americans. Unfortunately, by some strange oversight we did not realize that while we were busy “fighting for our freedom” in the streets, the Americans were negotiating with the Spaniards for the sale of our country in the halls of Malacanang Palace. Yet we greet each other “Happy Independence Day!” when history tells us it’s really more like a horrible not-joke: “Happy Independence Day…NAAAT!!”

And it’s not just our colonizers who have practiced deception on our people. History tells us that we have a penchant for deceiving our fellow countrymen if it serves to advance our personal interests. This was certainly the case when Emilio Aguinaldo had Andres Bonifacio executed, and when Antonio Luna was assassinated. We always eliminate the ones we love—wasn’t this the case when Joe de Venecia, the favored one, was ousted from the Speakership by the minions of the one who favored him?

So with history, both recent and ancient, telling us that this is the way it has always happened, I find it hard to believe that the Con-Ass issue would be any different, despite the fact that both laws and logic tell me that it is probably otherwise.

True, many experts say that the Supreme Court will probably rule against the resolution because the time is not yet ripe for Charter Change. But who is to say that is for certain? Supreme Court justices are appointed by the President, after all. What goes on behind these appointments is something we are not privy to. Not to mention that it was also the Supreme Court who legitimized the 1973 Constitution which was ratified by Marcos’ so-called “citizen’s assemblies.”

There is also that unknown variable, the Lozano complaint. Reason will tell us that the Supreme Court should dismiss his complaint because no legal ruling has happened yet. Yet if the courts consider his complaint, it could be a sign of danger.

Lozano has always proclaimed himself to be part of the opposition, but ironically, his moves have always favored the President politically. He has unwittingly(?) saved the President twice from impeachment due to his groundless complaints. He could save the President yet again—this time from an election.

Similarly, while the Senate seems impenetrable, there is no telling whether they can hold their ground. Many of the President’s most outspoken critics have been silent or have been silenced by scandals coming in their way. And if the Supreme Court rules in Con-Ass’s favor, it might serve as enough of an imperative for the more moderate senators to push for it.

Finally, we can always vote against Con-Ass in a plebiscite—but starting this year, elections are to be automated, and it is easy to program a “No” into a “Yes”.

But in the end, the most unsettling thing is the confidence of the congressmen. Our brightest minds have called their gamble and have called it stupid. But no one has the audacity to gamble on something that they know will certainly fail. And those who do usually have aces under their sleeve.

I think we should be scared of Con-Ass because stranger things have happened in this country.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 10 June 2009 Issue (Page E-4)

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Reason tells me that there is no cause to panic about the Con-Ass resolution passed by the House of Representatives just over a week ago. Many of our best and brightest legal and political minds have said the same thing, despite the distateful manner in which the procedure was handled, and the widespread public outcry that accompanied it. My head agrees with theirs.

There is simply no way that the Lower House, even if supported by the President, can outmatch the combined powers of the Senate, the Supreme Court, and the People. The very nature of our government, and the laws that govern it, already ensures this. GMA is still vying for the power to change the law; she has not changed it yet.

Our constitution will tell us that a Con-Ass, or the amendment of the constitution through our senators and congressmen, is only possible if three-fourths of the entire legislative branch, or ‘Congress’, vote to approve it. Only then is it possible for both the Lower House and the Senate to meet as a single body—a Constituent Assembly—to make changes to the constitution.

But there are three formidable lines of defense that the Administration must overcome in order for the Con-Ass to be successful.

The first wall is the approval of the resolution, manned by the Supreme Court.

There are two conflicting ways to interpret the “three-fourths of Congress” clause. Simply speaking, our congressmen choose to play it by numbers, arguing that the statement should be taken as it was written. On the other hand, our senators contend that both Lower House and Senate should achieve a three-fourths vote separately. This is consistent with the way the writers of our constitution intended our Congress to be, which is bicameral: a precise way of saying both houses have an equal say.

Since our congressmen pretty much forced the resolution despite objections from the Senate, it is the Supreme Court who will decide whether their interpretation is valid. To derail the Con-Ass, the Supreme Court can rule against it, which is what some legal experts say they will do. Or they can delay their ruling until after the elections—in other words, not rule at all.

But even if the courts rule in the congressmens’ favor, they’ll have a second wall to siege: the Senate.

And the Senate is impenetrable. They have already passed a resolution opposing the Con-Ass initiative. Without the Senate’s approval, no amendments to the constitution can be passed.

Fr. Bernas, SJ, a key member of that fateful committee responsible for our current constitution, put it very cleverly: “Congress is already a constituent assembly. So that even if today they want to propose amendments, they can propose it now, pero dapat ipasa sa Senado…Congress consists of two Houses. The House cannot say ‘we are Congress’ because Congress is the House and the Senate.”

In so many words, he was saying that the amendments they propose will have to undergo the same double examination that bills and laws currently go through. This is only logical, since constitutional provisions are more far-reaching than ordinary legislation. Fr. Bernas, then, is confirming one very important fact: legally, it is impossible for the Lower House to override the Senate.

But it is impossible even practically speaking. Assuming a Con-Ass convenes, both houses will still have to agree on a budget for a plebiscite—a popular vote. But there is no money for a plebiscite, and Senate can always disapprove of the budget.

Yet if all obstacles are still steamrolled in the name of power, there is still the final wall: the people.

The amended constitution can only pass if majority of the voting population ratifies it via a plebiscite. With the fate of our constitution in our hands, I have a feeling that we won’t.

For the only way they can get that far is to commit crimes of epic proportions, disregarding both laws and practical constraints. Last time I checked, we didn’t vote for people who committed crime, especially when crime was committed in our presence.

Our reaction to their ‘useless’ resolution should be enough of an indication.

No matter which way I look at it, there seems to be no reason to panic about the Con-Ass resolution. There is simply no way that an army of fat dwarven congressmen, led by their mole-faced hobbit queen, can scale the high walls of the people, the Senate, and the judiciary. My mind tells me that there is no reason to fear.

But my intuition tells me something different.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 3 June 2009 Issue (Page E-4)

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Just over a week ago, on the morning of May 23, a man decided to end his life by jumping off a cliff. The man, who was in his early sixties, had been taking a hike when he threw himself off a mountainside near the village of Bongha in South Korea. He sustained numerous fatal injuries to the head and was immediately brought to the nearest hospital. He was pronounced dead an hour later.

After his suicide was confirmed by police, his lawyer told reporters that he had left a brief suicide note for his family, saying that life has been difficult and apologizing for making too many people suffer. His note was later published in full by Yonhap News, a South Korean news firm, from whose website I have taken the note. The important parts read as follows:

“I have owed to too many people. The amount of burden I have caused them is too great…The rest of my life would only be a burden for others…It is fate. Cremate me. And leave only a small tombstone near home. I’ve thought of this for a while.”

The man was Roh Moo-hyun, president of South Korea from 2003 to 2008. A clean politician who served uprightly during his term, his reputation took a recent hit due to a corruption scandal involving members of his family and staff. Based on the suicide note, the former champion of clean governance had apparently been driven to suicide by the humiliating allegations.

His death unleashed a renewed wave of public support, accompanied by ire at the current administration which unforgivingly pursued their accusations against Roh and his family. In a country where it has become a tradition for incumbent presidents to garner public support by demonizing the former one, this isn’t at all surprising.

At least Roh, who did much to weaken the cycle of corruption that had been entrenched in the office, took responsibility for the misdeeds committed in his name.

His family had reportedly received six million from a businessman, although he has insisted that these were not bribes, and the transactions were made without his knowledge. In comparison, his predecessors had been found personally guilty of laundering hundreds of millions of dollars. Many of his supporters feel that he had paid too high a price for a relatively smaller offense, if it could be called one.

I neither condone nor condemn what Roh did, but I am deeply affected by what his act symbolized.

I guess it’s because it’s rare nowadays to find people at the highest echelons of government who would truly take responsibility for the crimes they have committed, and I don’t mean that in the way you orchestrate an “apology” on national television out of political expediency. It’s one thing to apologize as a way to garner public support, and it’s an entirely different one to apologize and mean it—to the point that you would end your life for it.

But what’s interesting is that Roh lived in a society that puts a very high premium on saving face, and so the essence of what Roh did wasn’t very surprising. He was expected to feel shame and take responsibility for the accusations. It is only shocking because our societies have long since outgrown the practice of discarding one’s life to save one’s honor.

In contrast, our society is one that is policed by feelings of guilt, based on a fear of violating established codes of ethics and morality. It is quick to condemn and pass judgment on our actions, branding us as sinful or evil when we commit them. Yet it seems as if this only encourages people to hide their wrongdoings instead of owning up to them.

It’s sad, considering that our basis for accountability is based on “stronger”, more internal foundations of morality and conscience, instead of “superficial” and external notions of embarrasment and losing face.

In a society such as Roh’s, where everyone is seen to have a specific duty or role, one’s fall from grace is irredeemable, and it is only in self-punishment that one maintains his or her self-respect before others. In ours, where everyone is seen as basically free and equal, a person’s fall from grace can be redeemed by forgiveness, but the fear of being labelled serves as the incentive to cover up for misdeeds.

Roh’s act may have been extreme, but the essence of what he did was not. He was simply doing what any decent human being would, and that is to take responsibility for his mistakes. It’s tragic in an entirely different way: he has become a hero for doing what he was supposed to do.

Is it so much nowadays to expect people, especially those assuming positions of power, to do what they are supposed to?