There is no greater physical testament to Manuel Quezon’s legacy than the city named after himself. It is the materialization of his vision, a city identified with the common Filipino, centralizing the political and economic functions that remain scattered throughout our country. But it is a vision only partially fulfilled, for twenty-eight years after being declared as capital, Marcos would move it back to the old seat of colonial power.

But that does not take anything away from this sprawling metropolis that has become every bit as central to the country as the state’s capital. Spanning over sixteen thousand hectares, Quezon City dwarfs all other cities on the mainland as the largest city in Luzon.

Home to twenty four government agencies, it shoulders many of the government’s responsibilities, including legislation and national defense. Quezon City is where the headquarters of both the police and military are located on opposite sides of the road. It is the location of the Batasang Pambansa, where congressmen sleep as bills are passed into law. It is where we decry thwarted impeachment complaints and rally for agrarian reform. Quezon City houses so many political functions that you wonder why they had to move it back.

It is also the seat of technology and commerce. Quezon City is the country’s cellphone and modem, home to the central offices of PLDT and Bayantel, as well as Globe, Sun and Smart. It is the television, with channels such as ABS-CBN, GMA, NBN and RPN. Were Quezon City to be bombed, perhaps people wouldn’t mourn the loss of the city as much as they would mourn the loss of TV and internet connection.

And if we were to arrange the archipelago into parts of the human anatomy, Quezon City would be its brain. It houses two of our most prestigious universities, including our national university. It is the site of groundbreaking medical and technological research, as well as advancements in culture and the arts. Quezon City has become our country’s intellectual capital. Whereas Manila once produced the greatest minds of an older time, Quezon City is now harnessing the greatest minds of a newer generation.

But the real character of this city can only be found in the little details, the small spaces and confined alleyways that define its contours. In its essence, Quezon City is a collection of tiny, contrasting, even conficting elements that have been patched together to form a collage that is at once both disorienting and captivating.

For this reason, it does not seem right to call Quezon City a ‘metropolis’. Unlike metropolitan areas such as Makati or Alabang, it does not appear regal or luxurious. Its streets are not smoothly paved, its skyline not defined by designer condos and high-end skyscrapers. While it does have a very small share of these areas, perhaps Quezon City is still closer to the medieval town: a hodgepodge of people clumping together to form a stinky, cramped community.

Indeed, this is the Quezon City of my experience. The air is grimy and smells of smoke and urine. There are no trees, save for the ones to be found on isolated islands. The rough roads are replete with antique jeeps and dented cars driven by equally rough drivers. There are subdivisions within subdivisions, and yet the space still never seems to be enough—people take residence in every little corner that they can cram into.

Yet all these are found side by side with the places this city is known for. The government departments are coincidentally found on the roughest thoroughfares, such as Commonwealth and the Elliptical Road. The Batasang Pambansa is just a few blocks away from a wet market. Behind malls and universities, you can find subdivisions and squatters’ areas. This city is accessible in quite an unplanned way.

It is this characteristic that gives the city its rich and flavorful identity. Quezon City is a place of unconscious but unceasing connection, where squatters can be neighbors with rich people and you can go to malls in tattered shorts and slippers. It is where plainly-dressed congressmen can shop for pirated DVDs and professors can dine with tricycle drivers in carinderias. In Quezon City, some people are more equal than others, but at least everyone is equal.

Manuel Quezon once dreamed of a city where the common Filipino would find his place with dignity. Having lived here all my life, I can say somehow that this dream came true. Quezon City is home to presidents, senators, lawyers, doctors, businesspeople, teachers, students, street sweepers, jeepney drivers, salespeople, beggars, call-boys, and call-girls alike.

And though Quezon City is not the state’s capital, I can’t help but think that he still realized his vision.

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that GMA has decided to confer the Order of National Artist to four individuals who were not even shortlisted by the award’s selection committee.

For an administration that has gone great lengths to entrench itself in power, it shouldn’t surprise us that it would tamper with the cultural distinctions that mark our legacy as Filipinos. In fact, it was unavoidable: a government which thrives on a culture of corruption was inevitably liable to the corruption of our culture. Surely, it is no big deal for such an administration to combat standards of quality or propriety when it has already proven itself able to defy a Constitution.

And who are we to argue with them? The National Artist Award is, after all, technically not awarded. Rather, it is proclaimed. In the end, one becomes a National Artist because the President proclaims it to be. One is a National Artist by law, not by distinction.

It is only a distinction in the sense that there is a committee in place to judge artists on the basis of merit. It is a committee composed of esteemed members of the arts community, appointed by the CCP and the NCCA, and it is doubtlessly the most well-suited group for the task. But it is important to point out that their opinion is simply an opinion. Their role is merely advisory, or consultatory. It is still the President that will have the final say.

Perhaps we could question: why would there be a National Artist Award Committee when the President can simply bypass the rules and appoint National Artists whenever she pleases?

The answer is that the President, too, realizes that she is not one who can decide on what constitutes exceptional art, and what doesn’t. She humbly acknowledges that there are other people who are better qualified to make decisions on matters of artistry and culture. She also recognizes that the title of a National Artist is an enormously significant one, and it is a decision which she cannot make lightly.

And who are we to say that she didn’t respect the opinions of the arts community? Did she not confer the award on three out of the four recommended by the committee? Besides, as her spokesman said, her choices were not limited to the recommendations of the CCP and NCCA; she also based them on the opinion of “other artists groups.” And who cares that she is not able to name these groups? Everyone, even artists, has a right to be anonymous.

But even when we look at her selections, who is to say that they are not worthy of note? To paraphrase the standards set by the awards committee, the Order of National Artists can be bestowed upon those who have contributed to building a sense of nation, pioneered a creative style, produced a substantial body of work, or have gained respect through critical acclaim or their peers. Don’t any of the President’s four extra choices fall in any of these categories?

Hasn’t Carlo J. Caparas contributed to creating a sense of Filipino identity through brilliant comic book stories such as Panday and Bakekang? (Never mind, of course, that he didn’t draw these works—apparently comic books are ‘visual art’ whether we talk about the drawings or the story.)

Didn’t he pioneer the art of the massacre film through works like The Lipa Massacre: God Save the Babies? (Consider the clever dramatic use of the colon, even.)

Isn’t the fact that he is the first National Artist to be conferred simultaneously for both Visual Art and Film a testament to his substantial body of work? Does he not deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as Lino Brocka?

The same can be asked for Cecilla Guidote-Alvarez. Has she not won awards from the Ramon Magsaysay Foundation and the CCP itself? Did she not forward the development of Philippine theater by establishing PETA in the sixties? In her own words, “Was I an idiot before I became a national artist?”

Does it even matter that she is automatically disqualified for nomination as the NCCA’s executive director, when it was the President who decided that she was worthy of the award? Does it violate delicadeza when she didn’t lobby for herself to begin with?

But there is one last objection that I can raise. It is the fact that she picked so many—and that they are composed of her most loyal supporters. Eddie Romero put it best when he used the words ‘wholesale declaration,’ because it cheapens the value of the award. But it is more than just debasing the award, it is also a politicization of the arts.

Then again, weren’t the arts politicized to begin with?

Even for a figure as monumental as Cory Aquino’s, whose life and memory are deeply intertwined with our country’s, I am hard-pressed to find the words that can truly capture what she has meant to me.

I have never met her. I know her only in the sense that one knows a public figure by reading about her or seeing her on TV. In terms of being a real, tangible person in my life, I do not know Tita Cory.

But I do know her in terms of her work in shaping our history, and the fruits of that labor which we now enjoy. I know her by her speeches, her prayer rallies and her yellow ribbons. Most importantly, I know her through the fact that I am free to say No to Con-Ass and be out past ten at night.

I am acquainted with Tita Cory as an icon, a champion of democracy. Even after her term, she had somehow always been the stern and watchful mother of our young republic; the lurking, often uninvited, conscience of Philippine politics. In many important ways, she is a figure larger than life, towering and at the same time permeating our everyday existence.

Yet what makes Tita Cory most extraordinary was the fact that she remained ordinary.

Behind the accolades was a woman who had always seen herself as no more than an ordinary person, placed by Providence at the head of other ordinary people. She was simply a faithful wife, one who finished the work that her husband started. She was thrust violently into political leadership and accepted it, despite being derided for being nothing more than a plain housewife.

But our nation’s drama would have played out differently had this plain housewife rejected the part she was asked to play.

In the end, it will not mattered so much that she had made mistakes. It will not matter that her term’s first three years were marked by incessant attempts at military takeover. She will not have been nothing more than a transition president. History inevitably judges us by our results, but it is not these results that we will remember her by.

In Spanish, her first name means ‘heart’, and it was with heart that she presided over a fledgling democracy. It would be foolish to say now that Cory was ill-equipped for politics—she was born into a family that dealt exclusively with aristocrats and politicians. But despite the reality of realpolitik, she had remembered to make decisions based on her moral and ideological foundations.

She knew that her task was to revive a country, not to divide it among the armed and the powerful as spoils. In the process, she had been misunderstood and often misrepresented. She was also forced to make compromises, but in the end, she had ruled the nation, her stubborn and unruly child, in the best way that she knew how: as a stern but nurturing mother.

Tita Cory only did what she was tasked to do in the best way she knew how. To put it in that way makes it sound so simple, but in the course of our lives, this is all that we can ask of ourselves and most other people. To do what she had to do in the way she knew how was perhaps the most difficult thing of all.

But the legacy of Tita Cory is so much more than just our political institutions. It is more than the overthrow of an oppressive dictatorship or the freedoms that we now enjoy.

I believe that her greatest gift of all is that moment when she decided to fly from Cebu to join the crowds that had gathered in Metro Manila, for it was in that moment that she revived in us a sense of who we are and who we could be. Without that, we would never have shown the world that the struggle for freedom, though it comes at a high price, can be won without shedding a single drop of blood.

In offering herself, she had given us heart, and inspired us to offer our hearts to others. And it was only through heart that we were able to win back our nation.

Tita Cory had once said that freedom and democracy are really hard to come by, “and that it is mainly by perseverance that one is won and the other is kept.” And in a time where it is easy to lose sight of what he had fought for, it is most important for us to hold on to her gifts.

If we are to honor her memory, it will be by seeing to it that her efforts were not in vain.

What most people don’t know is that Mozilla has always made a living competing with giants. When they released the first version of Firefox in 2004, the looming giants of the internet such as Apple and Microsoft weren’t really giving much thought to browser technology. Microsoft, in particular, had already dominated the browser market, having crushed Netscape and its other major competitors during the so-called “browser wars” of the ’90s.

But what Mozilla has done is to provide us internet users with meaningful choices on the browser technology that we use, in an Internet environment that is increasingly becoming tweaked by big businesses to their own advantage and profit.

I still remember how a couple of years ago, it was hard to imagine using a program other than Internet Explorer to browse the net. That was a time when browsers were little more than viewing decks into cyberspace, and Internet Explorer was about the only viewing deck there was. Of course, IE was problematic, vulnerable to all kinds of security threats, pop-up ads, and other headaches. But there were no other options.

This was what Firefox took advantage of. It made surfing a lot safer, faster, and less pop-up prone. It was also responsible for some of the browser’s most compelling innovations, such as tabs and Live Bookmarks, which many of us cannot imagine using the internet without. In this way, it was able to attract web users, who had never given much thought to the browsers that they use, and revitalized the dormant browser market. By giving them a run for their money, it gave companies like Microsoft a reason to keep innovating and maintaining their browsers.

Nowadays, browsers are expected to be fast, secure, and increasingly capable of running complex applications such as videos or Flash games. For that, we have Firefox to thank. And despite the fact that its competitors are becoming stronger by the day, Firefox is still one of the most widely-used browsers in the world today, with nearly 300 million users and rising.

With a market share that has been growing while others such as Microsoft’s have been declining, Mozilla Firefox remains one of Silicon Valley’s biggest success stories.

But more fascinating than the numbers are the people behind Firefox: a motley crew of engineers, open-source programmers, and concerned internet users who wanted a better internet experience. It is an unlikely community led by Mitchell Baker, the decidedly hippie chairperson of the Mozilla Foundation.

Compared to other Silicon Valley corporations, the model for Mozilla is radically different. Only a fraction of the people concerned with building Firefox are paid employees in Mozilla, which boasts of a 250-strong workforce. After them, there are a thousand or so other programmers who contribute code and ideas for each Firefox release. And after them, there are the tens of thousands of volunteers, from Santa Clara in California to Hyderabad in India, who help test, promote, and translate Firefox into other languages.

It is an unlikely model for success, but Mozilla has proven that there is still room for trust and cooperation in a cutthroat, highly-competitive business environment like the IT industry.

It also proves that when people come together for a common cause, they can make a truly big impact. To its many supporters, Firefox is more than just software. It is also a mission: to keep the Web free for everyone, and to ensure that no company can tilt the Web to its advantage. To quote Ms. Baker, “We succeeded because more people got engaged, helped us build a better product, and helped us get the product into the hands of people. We succeeded because of the mission.”

Mozilla Firefox is about a community of people coming together to make a contribution to make their mark on the world—if in a ubiquitous yet often overlooked area such as the internet—and succeeding. It has helped the internet move forward by showing the world that browsers do matter. But more importantly, it is an affirmation: that even as common people, we do have the power to change the way things are if we worked together.

The fact that we use Firefox is a testament to that truth.

This was what the Archbishop Oscar Cruz pointed out after Pampanga Gov. Ed Panlilio, ironically a priest on leave, declared his intention to run for chief executive in the upcoming elections.

Of course, Among Ed running for the presidency will necessarily entail surrendering his priestly calling, for this isn’t the Vatican and priests can’t become heads of state. Besides, his superiors have already voiced their displeasure at his decision to immerse himself in the political scene. So the contention isn’t really about the legal doctrine of church-state separation.

But at the same time, there is no such thing as a priest on leave: there is no way that Among Ed can divorce himself from either his identity as a priest. In fact, it may well be said that his campaign would probably be predicated on his image as an upright priest on a moral crusade in the depraved, faithless wasteland that is government—which echoes his earlier claim to Pampanga’s governorship.

So the contention presents itself: should Among Ed run for public office?

First of all, the fact that there are figures like Among Ed in today’s political scene point to an obvious problem in the way our government operates. With a system that has come to reward corruption while punishing those who refuse to cooperate, it is not surprising that there are many calls for a more moral approach to leadership.

In other words, we are all tired of corruption and scandal. The older members of our society in particular, who have witnessed Martial Law and several People Powers, are growing weary of waiting on the world to change. We want a leader who will set a good example, and a man like Among Ed who has God on his side might just be what our government needs.

This is sound, reasonable logic, but the problem is that it works in a vacuum. It does not account for the structures and relationships that exist within the administration. Just because you are president does not assure you of authority or internal support.

In fact, in a government system where there are three co-equal branches, much of a president’s power can be overridden. The only reason that isn’t happening now is because our current President favors the status quo.

But in the case of Among Ed, it may happen. In fact, it is already happening to him at the gubernatorial level, where it is not just bishops who speak out against his candidacy, but other local officials whom he has offended, presumably in his crusade against corruption.

Another key point to examine is his identity as a priest. After all, if he wins it will be by his moral leverage. And even if he does give up his priestly duties, it does not mean that his beliefs or convictions will change. In other words, he will still be a priest, if not by the cloth, then at least in spirit. And isn’t the spirit what truly matters anyway?

Since we live in a society that has been highly influenced by the Church for almost half a millenium, perhaps this idea is not unsettling. But I can think of at least two reasons why it could be.

The first is on the level of ideology. We are still a religiously diverse country, with varying opinions on issues such as abortion, death penalty, and Mindanao.

True, many of us are Catholics, but we don’t all have the same stands. Yet if Among Ed were to win the presidency, he would be given the power to decide on contentious issues. Not that he’ll necessarily decide in favor of the CBCP, but it does shoot his credibility somehow.

The second and more immediate reason is the precedent that it sets. If Among Ed was able to use the priesthood as his platform for politics, then others would be able to use it in the same manner. His running for presidency legitimizes the move from priesthood to politics, which effectively blurs the already fuzzy line between the church and the state. And even if we could consider his actions as a product of extraordinary circumstances—well, how different is our country’s plight from many others’, really?

It is really too bad that there are no examples to which Among Ed’s case could be favorably compared. Jesse Jackson didn’t win the presidency in his time, and a comparison to Iran’s Ayatollah is probably pushing it.

Even so, I don’t believe this is the time for a priest to run for public office. We do need men of character, but men of the cloth will blur more lines than they illuminate.

After all, there is no such thing as a priest on leave, even if one has left it.

When I went to Eastwood the other weekend to watch “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen,” I was immediately confronted with the only two downsides that come with watching extremely successful box office hits. The first is the extremely long lines. The second is tickets getting sold out.

Like most other malls that I checked, Eastwood had decided to show only Transformers in all its seven cinemas. So it was only reasonable to assume that I could waltz into the theater area, take two minutes to buy the tickets.

I was horribly mistaken, and equally horrified to witness the long, serpentine lines that were waiting for me on the escalator’s horizon. Worse, all showings after ten were full. I had never been so scared in my entire life.

Thankfully, Eastwood decided to have two special showings to meet demand, one at 12:20 and one at 12:50 AM. I managed to get into the later one, since the other one was also practically full. The movie was slated to run for a little over two and a half hours, but I didn’t care. I only felt relieved.

When the movie ended in the really early morning, my head was spinning, my eyes red, and my body heavy. The film had even outlasted the bars on City Walk. And on the drive home, I passed by a man throwing up from the backseat window of his cab. Looking back, it was a pretty wild night, perhaps my most unforgettable movie experience of the decade.

But for all the hype it was given, it didn’t live up to expectations. Sequels—or as in the case of the Star Wars series, prequels—generally pale in comparison to the originals. From experience, I know that there are only two probable outcomes: either they’re worse, or they’re much, much worse.

Critics mostly agree. It was Michael Bay’s worst-reviewed movie, even more so than the horrible “Pearl Harbor.” The so-called “Top Critics” of Rotten Tomatoes gave it an average 19% approval rating. In terms of stars, that’s barely one star out of five. Heck, a critic on Rolling Stone magazine gave the movie no stars at all, and claimed that “Transformers 2 has a shot at the title [of] Worst Movie of the Decade.”

There is certainly a lot to complain about in this movie. For one thing, the camera never stops moving. For another, things are always blowing up. There was simply too much action in the space of 147 minutes, and I imagine that the poor mother to my left must have likened it to an extended fall from a cliff with mines exploding all around.

But it wasn’t just the visual and auditory abuse. For a very long movie, the plot was still too drawn-out, and this was evident in how the movie ended. The characters weren’t developed well, either. Many critics have even complained about the characters of Mudflap and Skids, who have got to be the worst depictions of racist stereotypes since Jar Jar Binks. I am suspecting that many of us in the audience only stayed awake because Megan Fox, who admittedly isn’t such a good actress, was onscreen.

Amazingly though, moviegoers seem to disagree. The movie generated $200 million in its first week, second only to The Dark Knight as the biggest five-day opening of all time. According to CinemaScore, polls indicate that moviegoers gave it an average grade of B+. As of last Friday, it had already made more than $508 million.

I was just at Eastwood last Saturday, and droves of people are still lining up to watch this movie.

At first glance, it doesn’t make sense. We would all expect a movie with bad reviews—and really horrible ones at that—to slow down its success. That was certainly what happened with X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and the reviews were better for that film than this one. Common sense would dictate that if a movie is bad, then audiences would notice, and therefore it would tank. It is this business of movie assassination that critics are paid for.

But I guess it just goes to show that critics aren’t always right. Sometimes they’re just critical. I don’t this movie deserves less than three stars, and I certainly don’t think it has a shot at the Worst Movie of All Time. That title still belongs to “Manos: The Hands of Fate.”

In my opinion, this movie is still worth watching despite all its flaws. It’s not “The Empire Strikes Back” or “The Two Towers,” but I thought it was a fun sequel.

You should watch it, if only to hear the audience start clapping when Optimus Prime comes back to life.

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.

]]> http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/a-non-fans-tribute-to-the-king-of-pop/feed/ 1 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ph/ http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/obligated-to-vote/ http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/obligated-to-vote/#comments Wed, 01 Jul 2009 14:38:23 +0000 James Soriano http://james.soriano-ph.com/?p=248 PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin 24 June 2009 Issue (Page E-3)

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.

]]> http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/obligated-to-vote/feed/ 1 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ph/ http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/why-we-should-be-scared-of-con-ass-part-2/ http://james.soriano-ph.com/2009/07/why-we-should-be-scared-of-con-ass-part-2/#comments Wed, 01 Jul 2009 14:34:27 +0000 James Soriano http://james.soriano-ph.com/?p=244 PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 17 June 2009 Issue (Page E-3)

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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