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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 15 October 2008 Issue (Page F-4)

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Is anyone beyond pardon?

In answering that question, perhaps the case of Claudio Teehankee, Jr. would be a good place to start. Should he be pardoned? He’s rich and influential; no less than the son of one of the great chief justices in Philippine history. He clearly committed a heinous crime, and he has (purportedly) not shown any signs of remorse. He is, in short, the perfect example of a person whom you shouldn’t pardon.

There are other issues as well. Many have complained that the process was not transparent. Some individuals have even claimed that money changed hands in this case. The victim’s family declared that they were not informed. It seems glaringly evident to everyone that this is not just a case of a lapse in judgment—this was a deliberate act of political indiscretion.

In fact, no matter what way you look at it, this can’t be anything but political. Our very own Justice Secretary did admit that Teehankee’s brother, ambassador and representative to the WTO, ended up being a factor in the decision. Considering how even impeached Presidents get pardoned nowadays, I guess the issue is not just about one deliberate act of political indiscretion, but rather, a whole system founded on it.

Also, we shouldn’t forget about the victims’ families. If there is anyone against whom this crime has been committed, it is to them, who are in themselves victims, first and foremost. Why should they—or we—forgive him? Some things that have been taken away can never be returned. If it were our friend, our parent, our brother or sister, whose life had been taken on a whim, would we not feel the same way? We don’t have to undergo their experiences to be able to grasp they are experiencing. Forgiveness does not come easily for wounds that will never heal.

If so, then is every other pardon just as objectionable?

A decade ago, a lot of controversy surrounded the case of Flor Contemplacion, who purportedly murdered a fellow OFW as well as the son of their Singaporean employer. We claimed that she was framed, that she was innocent. We demanded that she be pardoned. Our then-president went so far as to personally appeal her execution sentence. It was denied. Her execution strained our country’s relations with Singapore for some time. Even if the facts of the case were never fully established to us, our then-president went so far as to call her a hero.

But in contrast to Teehankee, Flor Contemplacion was a poor Filipina forced into an abusive working condition. If so, then is pardon simply a question of race or social class?

Say a poor, oppressed farmer murdered his usurious landlord, who happened to be a wealthy and corrupt politician. Assuming he did his country a favor, does that make his murder any less objectionable? Would you call him a hero? Would you think twice about saying that he deserves pardon?

Maybe it would help us answer the question if we turned our assumptions around for a minute. Let’s say that pardon is acceptable and justifiable under certain circumstances. If our administration can do it, and regularly, for the rich and influential, then it is fair to say that the same standard should be applied for those who are poorer.

But assuming there was a case parallel to Teehankee’s, where the murderer a poor drunkard, the victims in question from the slums and the scene of the crime was in an obscure street alley rather than a high-class subdivision. Would that man have a right to be pardoned, too? Would there be an outcry if our president pardoned him?

In the end, however, the question of pardon is about morality, more so than about politics, race, or social class. It extends to our conscience as individuals who live in a state which respects rights, including the benefit of the doubt.

But if we were to talk about morality, then it goes back to the question: Is anyone beyond forgiveness?

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 8 October 2008 Issue (Page E-3)

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It seems to me like the only issue hitting the global headlines these past few weeks is the financial crisis that the US is currently facing. It strikes me as funny in a scary sort of way. It’s funny because I don’t recall any other instance in recent history of our world leaders coming together to agree that
a) There is a problem, and
b) We all have to do our part to solve it.

I guess money talks in a way that global warming doesn’t.

Nonetheless, it is an issue that everyone should rightfully be worried about. This crisis has drawn comparisons to no less than the Great Depression, and the world’s leading economists figure that things won’t be getting better anytime soon.

While our president tells us that there’s nothing to worry about because we have ‘fundamentally sound economics’ (whatever that means), it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if the US slows down, then so do we. They’re easily our biggest trading partner, not to mention that our currency is tied to theirs.

It is precisely this dependence on the United States—and not just by our country—which makes the measures they will take a very big deal. There are mixed reactions to the $700 billion bailout that was approved-shortly-after-it-was-rejected, but the international community generally sees it as a good move. After all, if the US government doesn’t bail these big companies out, then the rest of the world is in for a very painful crash. It’s their responsibility to clean up the mess they’ve made, isn’t it?

If this were true, then I wish we could say the same for the companies we’re bailing out, because it’s not their money that they’ve misused, its other people’s. And it’s these ‘other people’ they’re relying on to bail them out again.

I think this is the height of injustice.

In the first place, a large part of what made this crisis possible is the fact that these investment banks and mortgage-brokers kept on taking questionable loans, in the illusion that profits would continue to expand unstoppably (which sounds an awful lot like history repeating itself).

Simply speaking, they kept on lending money to people who couldn’t necessarily pay them back, so that when times got hard and people started defaulting on their loans, these companies were left with a lot of compensating to do. They compensated using the money that other people entrusted them with, and that’s how they became bankrupt.

Practically speaking, this means that money invested in these companies is lost. Pensioners cannot look forward to a stable retirement. Jobs will continue to vanish. Incomes will also disappear, and in our case, this might mean OFW remittances. Investors will be more afraid to invest, and as they grow more averse to risk, losses will occur in the stock market.

Most importantly, whichever way the world economy goes, it is our generation who will be facing the brunt of its effects.

In the end, however, these companies and the people who run them are very lucky people. They stand to lose but a few luxuries: one of their many houses, probably a yacht.

On the other hand, the rest of us are going to have to buckle up, because our money is going into saving their businesses. What do we stand to lose? A life’s worth of savings, a stable retirement, maybe a house you haven’t fully paid for—what could easily be a life, so to speak. This, apparently, is our reward for putting our trust with them.

If you don’t think that’s the height of oppression, think about this: we’re bailing out these companies because we have to. They’re simply too important to be allowed to fail; their collapse will deal a huge blow to the world’s financial system, which could easily mean another, Greater Depression. And after we bail them out, we’ll still be subject to the same system.

The old saying goes that you should never bite the hand that feeds. In this case, it’s also that we can’t. But if there’s any consolation, it’s the fact that the big people now have to put their money where their mouth is.

Oh, but wait—they don’t have it anymore.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 1 October 2008 Issue (Page E-3)

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I’ve been looking forward to the Obama-McCain debate for quite some time now, but I must say that after watching CNN’s coverage of it last Saturday, I was rather disappointed.

I expected someone to take the lead in this campaign, but no one did. More emphasis was seemingly put on antagonizing the other candidate’s stances than on a fruitful discussion about policies. In particular, the debate became very intense when it came to the issue of Iraq and the Middle East. Obama continued to depict McCain as a supporter of the Bush administration; McCain continued to paint Obama as an inexperienced candidate. Afterwards, both campaigns released statements saying that their candidate had won. I don’t know who to believe.

Nonetheless, if there’s anything I admire about the political culture of the United States, it’s the fact that citizens continue to value these kinds of exchanges. Debates are an excellent avenue for presenting platforms and comparing policies. As far as government goes, these are the most important things we need to look out for when we elect a country’s leaders.

Funnily enough, while we’ve based much of our own system of government on theirs, this tradition of discussing platforms and policies through an intellectual clash is something that we’ve never inherited.

In our country, not much value is placed on the practice of debate in elections. Instead, our political culture (if it exists) is obsessed with pandering to images– and images only.

In the Philippines, the practice of elections approximates American Idol: it is mostly a battle of personalities. It explains why campaign jingles work, why actors win, and why few candidates seems to pay attention to making a real platform– which might also account for why there are no political parties here in the real sense of the word. We might as well turn elections into a reality show.

Then again, it’s not like there’s much we can do about that. If it’s true that history repeats itself, then this phenomenon of voting for the most handsome candidate is merely a repetition of how we used to select our datus based on who seems most charismatic. It’s all just a cycle that will continue to recur, and there is nothing we can do to change it.

Also, the idea of making Juan de la Cruz listen to some boring debate about whether candidates support the E-VAT is not quite as convincing as, say, the monetary ‘handouts’ that politicians would give to voters. The harsh realities of politics in the Philippines will continue to be there, and they will be much stronger forces than the force of reason.

It’s not like they’ll take these ideas seriously, anyway. Their ideas will not matter if they don’t put them into action. And it’s hard to put faith in a system that has promised us so many big things before, but have continued to fail us today.

But maybe that’s the problem. Since when did ‘progress’ or ‘poverty elimination’ become platforms? Why does no one ever talk about concrete measures, like the reform of relief programs, the passing of laws, or the repealing of policies? Allow me to be crazy and say that the reason why we there is no hope is because we’re not given something real to believe in.

I believe that there is a value in re-engineering the way we think and go about elections. I believe that more emphasis should be placed on the platforms and ideas put forth by candidates, instead of selecting leaders based on, literally, face value. I believe that there is room for the growth of a real political culture in the Philippines, that this will eventually ensure that we select the appropriate people for office. I believe that while there are many obstacles along the way, it is not yet too late to start. It took four centuries for the United States to get to where they are, and I think we have the capacity to do the same.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 24 September 2008 Issue (Page E-3)

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Last Sunday, while everyone was out watching the Ateneo-La Salle game in Araneta, I was over at a blockmate’s house with a couple of friends doing some academic work. This, however, did not change the fact that by four in the afternoon, all of us were seated around the big-screen TV, watching the game intently, sharing its highs and lows with all the other fans in the Big Dome. We had ceased being productive.

The game was a bit of a mess. The game was excruciatingly slow in the first half, and there were too many fouls and turnovers throughout. About the only thing that was amazing in this game was the defense, and even if you’re a fan of the sport, this is usually quite hard to appreciate.

But the game wasn’t completely devoid of good points. One of these good points was Ateneo’s 6”7 center Rabeh Al-Hussaini, who had 31 of Ateneo’s 69 points to go along with 9 rebounds. The MVP candidate’s play showed why Ateneo has been on top all season.

During the post-game analysis, my blockmates and I were talking about him in particular. “Ano bang height niyan?” one of them asked. “six-foot-seven,” another of my blockmates answered. “Mga kasing-height ni Michael Jordan.”

That remark, I think, illustrates why the Philippines and basketball don’t fit each other very well.

In our country, basketball is something of a national fixation. We play it on the streets, buy the jerseys, and have an entire channel dedicated to it on cable. This obsession tends to be both utilized and fueled by media. For example, basketball players are treated as celebrities, performing various other functions ranging from TV host to commercial model. When you think about it, these people aren’t just selling products or TV shows. In effect, they are also selling basketball, being “ambassadors of the game”. Maybe this is why every teenage boy, at some point in his life, must have wanted to be a basketball superstar.

While I myself also subscribe to the basketball culture, I don’t understand how things came to be this way, or indeed, why they should be.

For one thing, we put in so much money and effort into basketball when it’s something we can’t be competitive at internationally. Height, of course, is the big issue here. In other countries, the height range for big men would be around six-foot-ten to over seven feet. For smaller players like guards, the average height would be at around six-foot-four to six-foot-seven. Here, Rabeh Al-Hussaini, who stands six-foot-seven inches tall, is already a big man. Our big men are about as big as the small guards of other countries.

For another thing, we pay so much attention to basketball that we’ve come to ignore other sports. In this country, there’s not much room for a career in a sport that’s not basketball, aside from billiards, boxing, and bowling. Besides being unfair to all our talented and dedicated swimmers, martial artists, and other “–ball” players, it also makes you wonder if we have a strange, irrational preference for sports starting with the letter ‘B’.

That aside, I think the worse effect is that some of the sports we’re ignoring, we can actually be competitive at internationally, if we aren’t already. It seems to me that we pay much more attention to how our basketball teams fare in the UAAP than we do about our Olympic bets in taekwondo or archery. While it might be true that we’d give them support when they finally win, let’s face it: any endeavor that aims to win at international sporting leagues requires state support, in terms of both of funding and fan base. Basketball has a lot of this, while our other sports don’t appear to have much, if at all.

Perhaps the funniest thing about all of what I’ve mentioned above is that these aren’t things we haven’t heard before. Despite this, though, we continue to hold on to basketball as our national sport, for better or worse.

But I guess you could also look at it this way: if a sport is just as much about enjoyment as it is about competition, then the fact that we enjoy basketball is what matters.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 17 September 2008 Issue (Page F-4)

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A lot of us enter college dreaming of big things for ourselves.

During the first few weeks of school, it was not uncommon to hear people say that they’re going to average an uno or a quatro (whichever applies), or at least make the Dean’s List, this first semester. I guess there’s just something about the whole situation that makes us believe that we’re up to the challenges it poses. But maybe that’s a good thing, if it motivates us to give it our best.

Now that we’re nearing the end, though, the mood is strikingly different. A lot of my peers have given up on the possibility of an academically flawless first semester, or on making the Dean’s List, for that matter. I guess there’s just something about the whole situation that puts us in our place. Whatever the reason, the fact is that we don’t get the grades that we expected.

But the good thing about the college system is that your grade isn’t the only thing that matters. This, I presume, is the reason why the upperclassmen keep saying that you should be active in orgs, because orgs will give you the experience as well as the opportunities when you start out. They often tell stories of people who didn’t necessarily graduate with honors, but were very much involved in org work, which is why they’re doing okay right now.

Besides, as one of my professors put very eloquently, college is really all about the lessons you learn and the skills you pick up, which aren’t necessarily reflected by your grades. Grades measure your output, but they do not always truly measure the kind of person you are, or the amount of knowledge you have gained.

At this point, there is a lot of consolation about not doing very well academically in college. After all, grades aren’t everything. We shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves for not getting the marks we want to get. Instead, we should just enjoy learning for learning’s sake.

I agree—except it’s really not that simple.

For one thing, it’s still one of the first things that potential employers look at when they view your resume. This, actually, has some logical basis: grades are the most objective measures of your ability to produce output. In a way, therefore, they are a reliable measure of your work ethic. True, grades don’t always reflect your true mettle, but your true mettle won’t be worth anything if it can’t earn you a decent living.

Second, first-class grades are pretty much a prerequisite to getting first-class opportunities, and by that I mean you have to be one of the very best, if not the very best. After all, these opportunities go a very long way; you could be starting at a position which most other people would take years to even reach. If you think about it in terms of the money you earn or the time you save, that is quite a significant advantage. It is an advantage that org involvement won’t often be able to give you.

It is at this point that you realize how much a semester really matters. Education is a game of grade-point averages, and college is no different; the only thing that matters is your average at the end. Therefore, the goal is to keep your GPA consistently high. If you spread that out over the whole course of your college life, which is around eight semesters for most people, you’ll realize that one or two near-failing marks in one semester can easily destroy your bid for summa cum laude, and that semester is something you can never get back.

That is precisely why first semester can be so frustrating. If you slipped up, then you’ll just have to live with it. Also, it doesn’t get any easier from here. If you weren’t able to exploit it, then you’ll just have to work harder the rest of the way—all for a piece of paper that supposedly estimates your worth in the job market.

Maybe it’s unfair, but the fact of the matter is this:

Grades do matter.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 10 September 2008 Issue (Page E-4)

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As a young adolescent, my father loved talking about his experiences as a young activist. That was back in the late ‘70s, when life was characterized by Cold War-like tension under the Marcos administration, and threats seemed more visible and real, even for young people.

Nonetheless, activism had an appeal to the youth then. And my father was one of those people who would be at the forefront of rallies, as well as behind organizing them. Eventually, he would be one of the millions of people who flocked to EDSA and proved to the world that oppressive regimes could be brought down by bloodless revolutions. Obviously, he’s proud to be part of that movement.

Conversations like these, though, would inevitably come to a comparison with our generation. My father would say that activism was not what it used to be, when the youth truly felt like they had a stake in their country’s future. He would also say that the youth of today is a lot more apathetic and indifferent.

Firstly, I think he’s right in saying that activism is not what it used to be. Then again, he lived in a generation when fears were much more palpable. You always felt like you were being watched, and you never knew what could happen to you. One day, you could be in school, and the next day, you would never be heard from again; nowadays, it’s not like that. Or, at the very least, you wouldn’t expect that to come from non-criminal elements.

Besides, back in the day they had an incentive to be disruptive. For one thing, most people supported it, whether openly or not. For another thing, they used to send stronger messages. Now, they don’t seem to work. Moreover, sometimes they are just annoying.

Secondly, in my opinion there’s some merit to the accusation that we’ve become more apathetic. Things have changed, yes; but besides that, I think our generation has become more detached from reality. The advent of the information age has ironically made it easier for us to lock ourselves in our own little worlds. We are now able to block out the sounds of the world around us with the sounds that come from our iPods.

In my own experience, the sad truth is that I know too many people who just don’t give a damn. For some, the sad state of affairs is simply not a reality that can be felt, whether literally or figuratively, in their lives. Others are aware of what’s happening, but would rather not care. What’s the point in caring, anyway? It’s either that, or there’s also no point behind their not caring. Ours, after all, is also a “wala lang” generation.

But it would be wrong to say that we’re completely indifferent. Activism is often equated with protests and demonstrations, particularly in this country, where “militant” takes on the special meaning of “one who engages in rallies”. Yet activism also takes a number of different forms, such as advocacy campaigns. If that’s the case, then the ranks of the young activists in this country would increase. It might be by a small amount, but I guess it’s better than nothing.

If we are going to insist on traditional notions of activism, though, can you blame us for not being involved in political change? Our generation bore witness to the other People Power, but things didn’t turn out the way our people had hoped they would. We’ve also borne witness to the massive protests that have followed, and none of them have succeeded. As a generation, we’ve learned—via experience, in fact—that these methods don’t work anymore. Or that if they do, they don’t necessarily make things better.

That’s funny, though. It’s either we don’t care, or we’re disillusioned this early. All the while, things seem to be getting worse, and it’s either we don’t feel it, or we don’t feel anything can be done about it.

In the final analysis, maybe we are an apathetic generation.

But as long as there are people who continue struggling to make things better, no matter how few, I refuse to believe that there is no hope.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 4 September 2008 Issue (page F-4)

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One hot topic that seems to recur in the newspapers and among my socially-aware peers is HB 4110, known more commonly as the Reproductive Health Bill. The bill, which is national in scope, promoted information on and access to both natural and family planning methods. It also claims not to “have any bias for or against either method.” The author of the bill, Rep. Edcel Lagman, has characterized the bill as pro-life and pro-family.

Supporters of the bill commend it for promoting the exercise of freedom of choice, as well as for being a timely response to the causes underlying overpopulation and, in the long run, poverty. Opposition to the bill, on the other hand, centers on claims that it is anti-life, that it promotes a culture of promiscuity, and that sex education is best practiced at home.

In my own opinion, it is the most reasonable alternative we have at the moment.

I think it’s unfortunate that the term ‘population control’ has negative connotations. Whenever mentioned, it seems to imply that we reduce people to mere numbers or statistics, or connote unacceptable and unnatural methods of prevention. That’s why it’s hard to give bills like these a fair hearing. But I propose that we set aside our biases for just a moment.

I want to begin with an observation: people who live in poverty are basically uninformed when it comes to reproductive health. It does not help either that society deems sex as a taboo topic. These people, then as now, find out through their friends, or by trying it out themselves. It is situations like these that cause more, usually unwanted, pregnancies. These pregnancies make their already-complicated lives even more complicated.

In an ideal situation, traditional methods would be enough. People would abstain because they would know the consequences, and their values would be consistent with it. But reality isn’t like that. People’s values differ, and they don’t always know the consequences.

If we really want to help them out, then the best we can do is to inform them, and give them their options. Isn’t this what we value in a democracy? Besides, if there’s anything that should be going for this bill, it’s the fact that it does not value one method over another. This means that if society’s values are as consistent as they appear, then most people would probably just listen to their parish priest anyway.

I understand the most of the controversy stems from the notion that modern methods would be available. Apparently, making these available would constitute an attack on our values. They would also, presumably, turn us all into sex maniacs, because condoms are available at our nearest convenience stores.

I don’t know what’s more oppressive, though—that we insist on imposing one system of beliefs for all people, or that we allow these ‘threats’ to exist for the sake of giving people knowledge. That’s because I don’t believe in an absolute notion of good. Or, maybe I’m just a liberal, believing that democracy is all about giving people choices, and that the furthest government can step in is by recommending some choices over others.

It’s the same banana with the ‘culture of promiscuity’ argument. True, safe sex is not the same as responsible sex, and I’m sure adults with ten or more children would understand.

As for experimental teenagers, well, they’re going to be exposed sooner or later. The question is whether we’ll let them get there first before they know anything. Or, maybe I’m just a cynic, not believing we can expect many of us to listen to abstinence talks because the world today encourages us to find out for ourselves what’s good for us, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

In the end, it’s not just a question of values, but a question concerning the just distribution of resources. I agree, this problem must be addressed, but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait forever before we get anywhere. In the meantime, more children are being born into lives that will become more and more difficult, the more that they keep on coming.

Maybe that’s the greater oppression.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 28 August 2008 Issue (page G-3)

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I have not given thought to heroes until these past two weeks, when the commemoration of National Heroes’ Day reminded me that if there’s anything they do for us at present, it’s that they give us long weekends.

I don’t mean to imply, though, that holidays are all they’re worth; they’ve done so much more for this land than many of us ever have—or so we are taught to believe. But these weekends feel like they’ve just been long weekends, nothing more. And it does feel kind of sad that we don’t seem to remember why we commemorate them in the first place.

Maybe it’s because the nature of our heroes has changed. Times are different now, and the heroes of old have ceased to be relevant. Perhaps it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that “hero” is now synonymous to “icon”, since many of the people we call “our heroes” happen to be icons as well, like boxers and movie stars.

While I don’t necessarily agree with it, there is nothing wrong with that. Who a person considers to be his hero is his own business.

But if we have started to look for our heroes in places other than where they used to be, like at the forefront of causes or building the nation, so that our standards for heroism have changed, does that mean that we’ve lost them? Have heroes—people of courage and self-sacrifice, who fight for the greater good—disappeared?

Heroes are important because they remind us of man’s capacity for good in a twisted world. That’s why we need them, and that’s why we hold on to them: they give us something to believe in. They give us hope.

That’s also why, nowadays, we have turned to sectors like media and sports for our heroes. They are able to help us get through the drudgery of reality. When Michael Phelps won his eighth gold medal, we are able to set aside the problems of high prices and government corruption for a moment, and recall the greatness of the human spirit. When Manny Pacquiao won against Barrerra (or Morales, or Diaz), we remember that we, as a nation, still have something to be proud of. We look up to them because they can, to a certain extent, be looked up to.

After all, if we look to the realm of politics or society, will we find anyone we can look up to? Maybe there are, but the fact of the matter is we just don’t see them. Or if we do see them, they aren’t inspiring or ‘heroic’ enough to move us to action.

But who would want to be that kind of a hero, anyway? In a system where the lines have become so blurred that heroes are persecuted for doing the right thing, what incentive would you have to be one? Ironically enough, it seems that to play the role of a hero is to accept playing the role of the villain.

But even more ironic is the fact that we kill our heroes while crying out, at the same time, that we need them.

Then again, it’s possible that I’m looking in the wrong places. There are a lot of good people out there who are doing what they can to help change the way things are. They come in different faces: volunteers who help build houses, professionals who prioritize the less-fortunate, even icons who use their status to highlight their advocacies. In a sense, you can call them heroes because they serve as examples for doing the right thing.

It’s not like I mean to discredit their good works, but I don’t think you can boil down heroism to just being good. I think heroism also means doing the right thing even in the face of persecution, because that means you’re brave enough to stand alone. Taken in that sense, heroes are really hard to find. Ironically enough, perhaps that’s what makes them more valuable.

But even more ironic is the fact that it seems to be the heroes who face the greatest persecution who are be able to rally the most people.

I don’t know about you, but I haven’t found those people yet. I’m still holding out for a hero.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 21 August 2008 Issue (page F-4)

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I was taking a leak before going to English class last Wednesday when I overheard two of my batchmates talking about school. They seemed rather stressed, and understandably so; it’s midterms season. I wasn’t really listening to them, but I did hear one part of the conversation that struck me. It went something like this:

“Why do we even have to take up Math, anyway? It’s not like we’ll need to factor quadratic equations when we start working!”

“Yeah nga e! It’s not like I need to balance chemical equations when I’m already in media!”

Of course, we all know that’s not the point. We study math, science and language not because we are supposed to remember every single detail. Rather, we take them as a form of mental training, and your course determines which areas you are trained in. Of course, there are some subjects whose basis for being taken up may seem questionable, but that’s disputable.

Then again, I think the query makes sense in a different way. If you boil down the reasoning behind it to its simplest form, the question simply asks, “What’s the point?”—which means that probably, the point is being missed. On one hand, perhaps it is the wrong question to ask, since factoring is obviously not the point of a college education, but on the other hand, it’s also right.

Why do we work so hard to attain degrees that will only matter when we start working—if they will matter at all? And considering how college has become something of a necessity in starting a decent career, has the system of education failed in some way?

Nowadays, it seems like there are only two kinds of people who get the jobs that they want. The first are the people who have studied and graduated abroad; the second are the people who come from prestigious local universities. For these people, college has done its part.

This leaves out everyone else who comes from lesser-known institutions, as well as those who never went to or finished college. They constitute a majority of the workforce. The sad part is, they often don’t land the jobs they should be in. You could graduate as a Science or a Business major and still end up as a minimum-wage earner.

Of course, it can be argued that a large part of what makes a person successful in a career is his or her drive and determination. There are people, after all, who go into jobs that don’t fit their course descriptions and still end up successful. College can only go so far when it comes to equipping students with the tools that they need, in a world whose demands are constantly changing. I agree.

Then again, perhaps there is a need to re-examine our approach when it comes to education.

For one thing, I’m not sure it makes sense for our colleges to go with the flow when it comes to the labor market—that’s the reason why virtually every college seems to offer a Nursing course these days. While we supply whatever job is in demand around the world, we do so at the expense of other professions, and we often end up with an oversupply.

Another area which needs re-examining is the philosophy behind education. In our country, the mindset of most people coming out of college is to land a stable job and slowly work your way up. Perhaps we need to encourage students to start out on their own, instead of focusing on just getting employed.

It can even go as far down as the amount of knowledge that is being fed to the minds of students. Is it really necessary to go through all that tedium? Perhaps curricula can be adjusted so that there’s less pressure, which might result in better learning. Interestingly enough, people who study in universities abroad often have lighter loads than the ones who study here.

Nonetheless, while we can argue about how college education should be, the more important thing is still to make the most out of it. This means different things to different people, but the important thing is to learn to be flexible and adaptable.

And that means realizing that learning goes on and on and on, even after college.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 14 August 2008 Issue (page F-3)

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Since last Wednesday, going to school has become a horrible experience for me and my siblings. Without virtually any warning, the MMDA decided to close on that day the U-turn slot just right before the Katipunan flyover across Ateneo. By Monday, all the U-turn slots across Miriam College were closed. Presumably, this measure was meant to ease the perennial traffic buildup in the area, especially during school hours.It didn’t.

Instead, the opposite happened. Huge bottlenecks now occur under the Katipunan flyover as well as the U-turn slot going to UP. Those who want to avoid the standstill would have to journey all the way to the U-turn slot at the end Katipunan in Blue Ridge. This is no small inconvenience, considering that it’s around three kilometers away from the Ateneo gate, and fuel prices are skyrocketing.

Last Friday, the situation blew out of proportion. According to a traffic bulletin, the Katipunan traffic slowed to a halt a quarter before seven in the morning. This was because the vehicles coming from UP and beyond who were making a U-turn at Miriam had occupied all the lanes. In a matter of minutes, traffic on the other lane slowed down as well. Some vehicles went against the traffic to join the cars making a U-turn at Miriam. No officers arrived to take control of the situation until half an hour later, and the gridlock lasted until around nine. Many students were late. Some were forced to walk to school in order to elude the standstill.

As a response, the MMDA closed both U-turns as well. Now, everyone resorts to the U-turn under the flyover, where all the traffic from Xavierville goes. The bottleneck there gets so bad that even commuters are affected.

As you can see, I’m not a big fan of the change in traffic scheme. I think it makes things more difficult for motorists. True, Katipunan traffic has never been easy to deal with, but neither is EDSA traffic, or España traffic. But I don’t think there’s a pressing need to change things in Katipunan right now. The old scheme may not be perfect, but it’s working because motorists are already used to it. If it’s not broken, why fix it?

To be fair though, I’m not saying we shouldn’t introduce changes that might improve things. And every time we do, we’re obviously bound to encounter some difficulties. We shouldn’t be so quick to judge either.

But sometimes that route leads to a dead-end. And when you get to that point, the only thing to do is to stop and turn back.

In the first place, the scheme itself didn’t seem to be well-thought out. Traffic was simply diverted to all the wrong places. The situation last Friday could have been avoided if the traffic officers had been there to maintain order from the beginning, not to mention that motorists seemed unprepared for the situation. More effort should have been exerted in disseminating the information about the plan.

It’s when things like these happen that I begin to wonder whether our government remembers that we’re still people, not mere pawns on a policy-making chessboard. Our lives are affected by the laws they enact and the measures they implement, not to mention that it is their responsibility to serve us. There is more to traffic management than just closing U-turns; people have to be on time for school, they spend money on gas, and their lives could be put in peril by car accidents.

In the same vein, there is more to the Bangsamoro agreement than just a piece of paper. There are all the people that you would displace to consider. There is more to agrarian reform than just economics and business. There are the lives and livelihoods of farmers to consider. There is more to the ZTE deal than just internet access. What’s at stake is the blood, sweat, and tears of millions of Filipinos in the form of tax money.

Then again, I guess they just can’t consider every single thing. That’s just reality.

But won’t you agree that we deserve a lot better?