Violence Can Solve the World's Problems

 Violence is the exertion of force so as to injure or abuse.

- MERRIAM-WEBSTER DICTIONARY

Last week, the palace released the order to roll back the conversion of the 144-hectare Sumilao land and return it to the embrace of agriculture. Through the order was in no way conclusive as to the fate the Sumilao farmers' claim, it was, at least, small victory for the them, who took painful discouraging steps for more than ten years in a struggle to achieve a life of dignity and respect. And with this small victory, they were able to return home in time for Christmas for free, carrying with them gifts twice their combined body weights. A Merry Christmas, indeed.


I was fortunate enough to take part in what we considered their "last march to victory" from the DAR office in Quezon City to the Malacañang Palace in Manila. Church leaders from different orders and denominations fortified their ranks as well as students and members of civil society groups. This was the most silent and peaceful march I have ever experienced. Under the heat and smog of Metro Manila, we made it to the seat of power and home of the Filipino people.


I trust that I don't have to retell the story of Sumilao Farmers. This ridiculous tale has been all over the papers since October, betraying the laggard mechanisms of Filipino governance. Back in '97 the farmers staged a 28-day hunger strike, which resulted to an acceptable compromise, only to be taken away by the Supreme Court. This year, they walked for sixty days from Bukidnon to Manila and continued to walk around the Capital Region for another fifteen days, moving from one heartache to another... one rejection after another by a government that had sworn to protect its people. 


Witnessing all these things, I realized that these farmers are some of the most violent people I have ever encountered. Beneath their smiles and cheerful dispositions, they have caused so much pain against themselves... against their own bodies, their own minds and their own emotions. They have willingly subjected themselves to suffering that compounded the burden they were already carrying. Hence, these people of the soil are masochists of the highest grade. 

Tired of injustice, yet?

Some high and mighty members of the business community have a criticized these farmers for acting out of emotion and seducing the public to fall in love with the dramatics and romanticism of the whole exercise. Indeed, Atty. Bag-ao admitted that these were "dramatics". These were emotion-wrenching moves to wake people up. But these were acts done only because people refused to listen to reason from the very beginning. Law is a difficult thing to understand (in spite of the palpable simplicity of this case). People will not take these things seriously until they are able to visualize the actual suffering. And this is what the farmers had provided for us: They painted a 75-day picture for the entire nation to comprehend just how unjust the system has become. Because reason was no longer viable, they had to resort to violence -- self-inflicted violence.


For 75 days, these farmers led the country to a place it's people had long forgotten. There is no such thing as a peaceful protest. Violence will always be present. The only difference is against whom this violence is directed. In this case, it was absorbed by the protesters themselves, never minding that they already had suffered much. For indeed, violence is nothing more than inconvenience multiplied a hundredfold. And for a few people to go through this, to completely abandon their comfort zones just to pursue something worth living for, is nothing short of heroic. 


These people were not beggars... far from it. They were legitimate suitors who were merely calling the government's attention to an oversight that was so clear that it was grave moral abberation that the case lasted for as long as it did. These people never asked for anything. They were claiming what was already theirs: the land and all the dreams they had attached to it.


A couple of days before the farmers packed up for home, we were able to join them at a thanksgiving mass at the Church of the Gesu, where Fr. Danny Huang gave a priceless homily in three languages (English, Tagalog & Bisaya), he spoke of hope as living in the future -- to act as if your goal was "already there" -- na ang Paglaum kay kanang pagtuo nga anaa na kanimo ang imong gipangita. 


Hope in our country is not difficult to find, regardless of the pain you see around you. Consider this: The farmers walked for 75 days, carrying with them only their clothes and beddings, with little or no money or food. They marched under the heat, the rain and they even weathered a storm along the Bicol territories, but never did a day pass by where they were left hungry. No sun ever set leaving the farmers without a roof over their heads. Wherever they went, there were kind souls who understood and empathized. This was a miracle to match the multiplication of bread and fish thousands of years ago. Heroes create heroes. Their power does not come from intelligence or skill, but the will to move others to take action for something greater than themselves... this is sacrifice... this is violence.


May the star of Christmas shine brightest on Sumilao this year.

Survival of the Filipino Dream

Originally published in ThePalladium December 2007 (Vol. 4, Issue 3), released on December 17, 2007. This article was written for my column Legal Personality.

A prophet has no honor in his own country.

- JESUS CHRIST from John 4:44

It was in grade school where I was first taught of this phenomenon called ‘Brain Drain’ in my Civics and Culture class. At first, I was just amused that social terminology could rhyme like that, but as my teacher started to explain what it was and how it was a national evil, I felt the seeds of dissent start to grow inside me, staying my tongue as my mind yelled, “So what?” If people can find their creative destinies away from their country of birth, why stop them? I didn’t know it then, but I was already advocating human self-determination to myself.


Coined by the Royal Society of London in the 1950’s, ‘Brain Drain,’ also known as ‘Human Capital Flight’ is the widespread emigration of highly-skilled, highly-educated or highly talented people to other countries or territories because their own is unwilling or unable to sustain their wants and needs. This is caused by war, famine, poverty, disease, lack of opportunity or any other reason that would impel an intelligent person to seek refuge elsewhere.

Brain drain has been happening everywhere in the world from the very beginning of human existence. When we hear of migration, we remember the Ice Age, the Exodus from Egypt, the European Slave Trade, the India-Pakistan Exchange, and here, close to our hearts, the flight of the Filipino people to every possible habitable place in the globe. These people were compelled to leave by a force that was much greater than themselves. In the Ice Age, it was probably because of the lack of mammoth meat or the search for less ice-age-like climates. During the Exodus, it was the promise of a prophet to lead them to a land of milk and honey that pushed them forward. The Africans came to Europe to fuel its economy because they pretty much had no choice at the end of a musket’s barrel. In India and Pakistan, people have moved around because of religious intolerance and violence between the Hindus and the Muslims of that region. And for the Philippines, well, there are as many reasons for leaving as there are people.


People will always want a better life for themselves and their families. This is human nature and it stems from our instinct to survive. Some people however go through the motions of everyday life with one meal a day and voice out no complaint. These people seem to have resigned themselves to accepting their lot and life and justify it with superstitious ideas of bad luck and misfortune. Their human spirit is broken by a long, long series or combination of social evils that often begin with poor governance. Not only do we have bad living conditions, we don’t have them at all. All we really have are conditions for survival. There is very little room for growth in this country.


On the other hand, we have these highly educated, highly-trained and highly-skilled people who realize all these terrible social ills and the sooner they realize it, the sooner they make that visit to the immigration office. Filipinos who dream big often long to leave the insular and barrio-tic way of thinking and focus on greater things like “making the world a better place” or “becoming the very best in his/her field of work”. They find that their work goes unnoticed, unappreciated and unsupported by their own communities. When this goes on consistently for too long (which is the general rule), the Filipino dreamer will have no choice but to seek for greener pastures. No matter how good, intelligent and hard-working you are, you can only be as good as the opportunities that life gives you. Is it wrong for one to live his/her only life to the very best of his/her capabilities? Is it selfish to leave the country imposed upon you by birth, to seek a country you actually choose because the people there appreciate you and allow you to grow? I think not.


In any case, it will always be our hopeful vision that the millions of Filipinos living and working abroad will look back to the islands and draw out their inherent compassion to support and encourage those who have stopped dreaming. Perhaps when conditions improve, many more people will come back and set up shop here, allowing a strong middle-class to grow. For now, our middle class is overseas. We have to accept the fact that we just cannot give what we don’t have. Wealth is not generated by kindness alone but by the sweat of men and women who are justly compensated. In a sense, our collective destiny as a Filipino people will depend upon our success as individuals, whether here or abroad. 


I just don’t want to see any more Filipinos coming back for the wrong reasons, the worst being the elitist view that “Mas masarap ang buhay sa Pilipinas dahil meron kang mga katulong dun.” 


What about THEIR dreams?


We have a long way to go and many attitudes to change.

The Human Security Act: A Dangerous Euphemism for State Terrorism

by Kazimir K. Ang and Mark Robert A. Dy

Originally published in ThePalladium December 2007 (Vol. 4, Issue 3), released on December 17, 2007.


Both terrorism and anti-terrorism are nothing new. As early as the 1200’s, the common law of England allowed the King and his lords and sheriffs to declare any person or group of persons as outlaws (think Robin Hood and the Merry Men). These outlaws would be stripped of the right to use the law in their favor, thereby exposing themselves to mob violence, swift justice or conviction without trial. They were summarily sentenced with civil death, stripping them of their properties, titles and rights. Outlaws were entitled to none of the basic needs and any person who would give them support in any form (food, shelter, clothing) was considered aiding and abetting outlawry or banditry and would be flogged, tortured or hanged. Much later, this practice would be brought to the New World, influencing much of the Western movies people love so much.


Sans the romanticism of it all, there is nothing exciting about losing your rights by a declaration of a monarch or a president or any of his/her minions. The legislative history of the U.S. has shown many grants of government power that border on the tyrannical. The most prominent among them are the RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act) of 1970, which was used to quickly hunt down and scatter the Mafia and more recently, the USA PATRIOT Act of 2001 (Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism), which was an immediate legislative response to coordinated 9/11 attacks on American soil. All these laws are characterized by the weakening of civil liberties, harsh punishments and an overhaul of existing procedural rules on custody and evidence. 


Now, here comes their distant Filipino cousin, RA 9372 or the Human Security Act (HSA) of 2007, which has brought about hostile criticisms and verbal missiles in full spates. The protagonists of this piece of legislation, now commonly referred to as the anti-terrorism law, should not be surprised that they’re drawing blood instead of plaudits from concerned citizens and legal practitioners. While this act’s policy states that the thrust of RA 9372 is to protect life, liberty, and property of persons from terrorism and protect humanity as a whole, this valiant policy is but a flimsy stab at covering up many of the insidious manners by which this law may be subject to abuse and to undermine several constitutionally protected human rights. 


Note that the law’s policy statement is a near-exact replica of the due process clause in the Bill of Rights, making it sound as if it were constitution-friendly. What people sometimes forget is that Article III actually defines and limits the powers of the government vis-à-vis civil and human rights, while the new anti-terrorism law is a whole bundle of forced legislative creases on these same rights. In other words, this law, which purports to create a massive shield against terrorism, also fractures the shield we have against government action by creating new exceptions to long-established protections for human dignity.

ter-ror-ism (tr’Y-r-z’Ym) noun


The prime source of controversy is the HSA’s broad and vague definition of what constitutes an act of terrorism. Section 3 of the HSA defines terrorism as the commission of certain crimes punishable under the Revised Penal Code “thereby sowing and creating a condition of widespread and extraordinary fear and panic among the populace in order to coerce the government to give in to an unlawful demand.” You would think that the additional elements of having to prove that the act is committed to sow and create fear and that the government is forced to do unlawful acts would make it harder to prosecute individuals for terrorism, until you realize that mere conspiracy to commit terrorism is punishable as well.  


This law is no toothless law or a mere declaration of a war against terrorism. The HSA contains provisions allowing the state to violate fundamental rights found in the Constitution as well as those embodied in international human rights and humanitarian law conventions, leaving one to wonder who’s terrorizing who, really. 


Section 17 bans any organization created for the purpose of espousing terrorism. It doesn’t sound too despotic until you get to the second half of the paragraph which states that an organization nevertheless may be proscribed as a terrorist organization, when the organization, though not organized for such purposes, “uses…acts to terrorize or to sow and create a condition of widespread and extraordinary fear and panic among the populace in order to coerce the government to give into an unlawful demand.” Clearly we’re faced again with yet another vague definition, which violates our right to assemble and to organize, because with mere allegation and raw intelligence, any organization may be outlawed and any legitimate dissent or protest be proscribed as terroristic. This provision requires hardly a quantum of evidence for any assembly or association to be liable for proscription.

Section 19 provides for the indefinite detention of a suspect so long as there is an “imminent terrorist attack” and a “written approval” from an official of a human rights commission or member of the judiciary. Take cautious note that no probable cause is required to justify the suspect’s detention, only mere claim of “imminent terrorist attack.” This in effect legitimizes warrantless arrests and suspends the suspects’ privilege of the writ of habeas corpus. The Constitution requires that in suspending the privilege of the writ, no person can be detained for three days without the filing of charges against him. However, the HSA contains no such requirement – the suspect may be detained beyond three days so long as his connection to the imminent terrorist attack is alleged, without having to file the necessary charges. Also note that the written approval will come from either a judge or an official of a human rights commission under the executive branch, not the constitutionally-created and independent Commission on Human Rights.


Section 26 limits the right to travel of the accused “to within the municipality or city where he resides” and/or places the accused under house arrest, even if entitled to bail, so long as he or she is charged under the HSA but the evidence is not so strong. Not only that, he or she is also prohibited from using telephones, cellphones, e-mail, internet, and other various means of communication with people outside of his residence unless otherwise allowed by the court. 


It used to be a joke that it’s not so bad to be illegally detained, because the HSA requires the payment of P500,000.00 for each day of illegal detention. But a critical run-through of the law reveals that “The amount of damages shall be automatically charged against the appropriations of the police agency or the Anti-Terrorism Council that brought or sanctioned the filing of the charges against the accused,” which actually meant that we’d be paying ourselves, because these appropriations are public funds – in short, taxpayer’s money. The joke is over.


So many things have been said against the HSA by civil society, international organizations and even dissenting members of government. The government might try to push these suspicions away and label them as baseless exaggerated paranoia. But the collective Filipino experience and that of humanity as a whole has taught us to always remain vigilant against any threat on human dignity, never to wait until it’s too late. 


On the other hand, times are changing and we face new threats other than government abuse. This calls for a serious balancing act and a recalibration of our idea of a good society, for the sake of common security. This time, we have to ask ourselves “How much personal liberty are we are willing to give up for the sake of quick justice?” Would you have given up some of your freedoms if you knew it could have prevented the Glorietta 2 incident? 


The HSA was designed to limit rights, make no mistake about that. Legislators decided that some rights have to be limited, in certain cases, in order to quickly dispense with a terrorist threat. They needed to find a way to cripple terrorists by freezing their accounts and properties. They want the courts and the police to be able to gather evidence more quickly by allowing exceptions to the Anti-wiretapping law. They want to prevent the destruction of evidence and the prevention of coordinated movements by limiting the right of communication. Whether we agree with these methods or not is a matter of sound personal judgment. 


As legal practitioners, we often tell ourselves to first wait and see because, ultimately, the matter will have to be dealt with by the Supreme Court, if and when an actual controversy arises. But the vigilance required of us has very little to do with mere intellectual discussions and abstract exaltations. This is as real as it can get. We are dealing with real lives and real victims. And when the time comes, we, as stewards  of  justice,  must  never stand  indolently by.

Art Inspires Art: Even Angels Cry by Ida

Here is an impressive piece of digital art created by Ida from the Philippines, inspired by Sundown Caffeine's song Even Angels Cry.


Original artwork found at:
http://ida-d-great.deviantart.com/art/Even-Angels-Cry-68253354


Thanks for sharing this with us, Ida! :)


Peace out!

Farmer Joey

This week was full of prouder moments... of being a human rights advocate and a part of the legal profession... of having friends who sacrifice and inspire... of being part of something beyond words, beyond life.


A few hours ago, I had an instructive encouter with a Sumilao farmer named Joey. I offered him a light and we started talking:


Joey: Diba ikaw 'tong kauban namo adtong isa ka adlaw sa San Carlos? Joey [offering me a handshake] (Aren't you the one who was with us the other day at San Carlos? Joey)


Mark: O. Mark [shaking his hand] (Yup. Mark.)


Mark: O, unsay nahitabo ganina? (So, what happened today?)


Joey: Wala mi pasudla sa Malacanang. (They didn't let us in Malacanang)


Mark: Mao ba? Wala man lay ning sugat sa inyo? (Really? Wasn't there anyone there to greet you?)


Joey: Wala lagi. (Nobody did.)


Mark: Yawa. Unya, unsay inyong gi buhat? (The devil. What did you do?)


Joey: Wala lang. Gahulat lang tawn mi didto. (Nothing. We just waited.)


Mark: Grabe sad ning inyong kalisud no? Wala pa gyuy ning buhat ani sukad. (This is some sacrifice you're making. Nobody's ever done this before.)


Joey: Mao lagi. (Yup.)


Mark: Naa nakay asawa, Joey? (Are you married, Joey?)


Joey: O. Tulo na gani ako anak. Isa ka four-year old, isa ka two ug isa ka one-year old. (Yes. I have three children. A four-year old, a two-year old and a one-year old).


Mark: Wala ka gimingaw? (Do you miss them?)


Joey: Mingaw lagi. Sa buntag ok lang kay daghan man tao. Bibo pa. Pero sa gabii, mingawon gyud ta. (Yup. During the day, it's alright because we're surrounded with so many people and we have a nice time. But in the evening's, I really miss my family.)


Mark: First time ba ninyo sa Manila? (Is it your first time in Manila?)


Joey: Kami kadalasan, first time pa. (For most of us, it is.)


Mark: Kuyaw sad mo no? First time ninyo, daghan na kaayo mog nakit-an? (Wow. It's your first time and you've already visited all these places.)


Joey: Mao lagi. Pag agi nako sa EDSA mura gyud ko'g ga-damgo. Kining mga lugara, gaka-kit-an ra gyud ni namo sa TV. Pero karun, naa na mi diri. Kuyaw gihapon na experience. (Yup. As I was walking along EDSA, I felt like I was dreaming. These are places that we only see on television. But now, here we are. This is an amazing experience.)


Mark: Padayun lang gyud, bai. Bisang lisud na kaayo, siguro nakit-an man ninyo na bisan asa mo mu-adto, daghan gyud ga suporta sa inyo. Gikan sa Surigao abot sa Manila, naa man gyuy ning dawat sa inyo diba? (Just hold on, friend. It's been hard, I'm sure you've noticed that no matter where you go, you will always find many people who support you. From Surigao to Manila, there have always been people who have lent you aid, right?)


Joey: Mao lagi. Naa gyud mi pirmi matulugan. Wala gyud mi nagutom. (Right. We always had a place to sleep. We were never left hungry.)


Mark: Daghan pa gihapon buotan na Pilipino, diba? Mahuman nalang lagi unta ni para mu-uli na mo. Pasko na raba hapit. (There are still many good Filipinos, right? I just hope that all this will be over soon so you guys can go home. Christmas is coming very soon.)


Joey: Mao lagi. Sa kaluoy sa Dyos. Mahuman na unta. (Right. By God's grace, I hope it will be.)




We shared a few jokes just to lighten the mood and Joey excused himself. After listening to one of Marlon's enlightening lectures, Det and I had to leave because she had a 6am call time at work. And so we took a cab and I dropped Det off at her place... and then... for no clear reason... I walked... I walked from the San Carlos Seminary to my home. 


It took me forty minutes this time because of my unusually heavy backpack.


When I got home, I could not feel more grateful.


How petty our problems seem after talking to a tired landless farmer.


We continue to fight. Tomorrow's another day.

Don't Drink & Text

My advice to everyone is this: Never hinge your hopes or expectations on an anecdotal singularity or a short series of them. A single instance can mean nothing. Even several instances can fall short of what we can consider as true. 


There are flukes in human behavior that are neither measurable nor contained by reason, logic or faith. They are simply abberations in the universal scheme of things. For indeed, we are creatures of habit and any deviation from these habits are not who we are but what we do under the most irregular of circumstances. 


This thing we call romanticism is our curse as a human race, fueled by the noxious gases of art and literature. It makes us attracted to chaos -- something that impels us to stick our necks out of our shells, only to lay them softly on the chopping block. 


Reality is something we all want to escape from. The human mind can wander to any place without any restriction other than experience. We can revisit our past and explore our future with ease. But none of these can truly emancipate us from the prisons of our own flesh, which carries with it all our limitations and shortcomings. We take ridiculous risks every single day just by leaving our homes. We expose ourselves for all that we are and all that we can never be... and this is always a terrifying prospect for any of us. 


The great Ryan J. Roset would sum all these up in one word: "Olats!"

Writer's Blockade

It annoys me that it's been four months since I wrote my last song... for someone who does this for a living, this is a terrible pace. Nothing moves me anymore... I'd rather crawl back into my hole and stay in this deliberately chosen isolation until I get tired of the indoors once more.


I hate how it's so cold outside that it makes my head throb like a tired wall clock. I hate how I miss the feel of a cigarette on my lips as the smoke penetrates my every vein... Twenty days, and it's only now, under the cold, that I miss that warmth and that smell.


I grab my guitar but nothing comes. I used to have something to say about everything. Now, the words just sound like the crumpling of loose asphalt under my heels. The sirens several fire trucks speed off in the distance. I wanted to kick some movie star's ass earlier today, just for giving me a nasty look. I wanted to... but I was smarter than that.


And some people do write... but only out of ignorance. Judgment after judgment. Conclusion after conclusion. There is no art in the absence of logic... no guidance... the elitist way is always suspect. And some people try to sound intelligent by criticizing others... but they will never be able to offer an alternative... such hollow existence.


You sound like everyone else, they say... well, I have twenty thousand strong who will disagree... art is for the people. This is what I do.


It annoys me that it's too cold to be outside... and there's nobody to meet.

Don't Ask Me About It...

I remember walking around in the mall today, just observing the people... so many different lives... what could they be thinking?


They say love is real... that nothing could be more real than this... but how come so many people die unloved? Why do so many people walk alone in this world? And so we come to the painful realization that love might be real... but it's not for everybody... 


So is it really just some kind of social construct... a capitalist propaganda used to sell beauty products and Hollywood movies? How can it be real when it's too arbitrary... when the standards we set for it are highly elitist and unreasonable -- the exact same standards that we are passing on to our children every day...


People are so obsessed with beauty. Billions of dollars are spent in fashion, fitness and cosmetics each year, just to make people feel worse about themselves... Magazines, movies, music, heck even the automobile, liquor and tobacco industries rely almost entirely on this illusion of beauty... and society's response is this: only the beautiful deserve to be loved.


How about the disabled? The dark-skinned? The burn victim? People who have an acne problems? Fat people? Ugly people? I see so much imperfection in the world burdened with so much sadness. 


My family has been lucky so far... each of my siblings have experienced love at one time or another... but I think about the people who surround me... even my closest friends... and I see the hard-to-acknowledge truth that most of them have never known love... and an even sadder truth is that some of them might never find it in this lifetime... If I could use my own friends as a measuring stick, I would say about 70% of humanity will never find it... and of those who do, they will never understand it... Darwin would have been proud to see all this pain.


I have been a very lucky bastard. Time and again, my friends remind me... and time and again, I forget. I've had my unfair share of love... I cannot count the times I've been hurt just as I cannot account for the girls I have hurt in this short lifetime... but one thing's for sure, I have loved many... and I've been lucky enough to have sometimes known what it is to be loved in return... and though I do not consider myself, by any means, as an attractive man... I have no choice but to consider myself a very lucky one (my closest friends can attest to this).


So why am I still complaining? 


Because in spite of all these things... all the luck... all the experiences... all the insight... I still know nothing... and I don't know what to tell a friend of mine in New York when he asks me about how to attract women... I don't know what to tell my little cousin if he asks me 'how do you know if a girl likes you?' 


All the books, all the poetry, all the crap ever written about it is of no practical importance at all... all the motherhood statements, the cliches, the annoying anecdotes, the idealistic bullcrap have no value whatsoever out there... Out there, it's a jungle... it's a cruel, sadistic jungle... and there are no answers, no strategies, no solutions... love, if it exists, is too arbitrary to be claimed as normal human experience... there are too many factors to consider... and most of them, you'd rather ignore... there is just too much randomness... too much uncertainty... and it makes me nauseous just thinking about it.


It sickens me... I feel this strange churning in my stomach each time someone tells me that he "looks up to me" or that "I have it all figured out"... What the hell is wrong with the world?


My friends, you want me to be honest? Well... I have no freakin' idea what I'm doing. Not a goddamn clue. 


My only advice: Prepare yourself for a lot of pain.

Final Days

And after the third hour of running through your first set, your voice is hoarse and your fingers, numb... a strong reassurance that this is what you want to do for a living.


One more hour and it might be enough for tomorrow.


You pack the letter neatly into your blue planner and say a prayer... finally, its maker shall be justified.


Your phone has been silent all night... not a word... not an acknowledgment... not a new thing, though... but there are some things people should never get used to.


Another German invitation lies on top of your desk, and you wonder if another escape will help at all. Perhaps the words will make sense if you stare at them long enough... perhaps not.


Your room is a mess... dad always told me that the condition of your surroundings reflect what's in your head... he was right.


He was so right.

Through the Eyes of the Minority

This article originally appeared in the July 2007 Issue of ThePalladium, Ateneo Law School's official student publication. This was a piece for my column Legal Personality.


The most meaningful mass I ever attended was neither in a beautiful medieval church in Magdeburg nor on a mountaintop overlooking Baguio City. It was on the roof deck of an unflattering residential building, deep in the heart of the Islamic City of Marawi. Just as the sun came down to bleed into the horizon of Lake Lanao, the local bishop began his homily in unison with dozens of mosques chanting the Maghrib or their post-sunset prayer. We were probably the only Christians in the entire city, and yet, there was a deep feeling of universal peace. It was a moment of profound deliverance to know that we were free to be different from our brothers and sisters, and yet, accepted as friends. 


It has been more than a month since our trip to Lanao del Sur, and I still have recurring staccatos of both bad and pleasant dreams about the whole experience. Working with the Ateneo Human Rights Center and, more recently, the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE) has never been easy, in spite of the constant presence of good-natured companions. After four years as a human rights advocate, I thought there were no more surprises. But this recent summer was full of firsts, as it presented me with a totally different level of work with much higher stakes. There was a looming sense of real danger, and I knew that I would have to be ready for the worst of eventualities. 


I was never a stranger to the Philippine south. My father's family originated from Cagayan de Oro City and I spent a year there for college. I have been to many places in Mindanao, but always circling and never setting foot on any of the ARMM territories. This would be my first time to set foot on Lanao del Sur. Entering Marawi City felt much like entering into a foreign country. I instinctively searched through my pockets to see if I left my passport, realizing my folly only after clearing my throat. Although materially the same – the foliage, the weather and the people, there was this strong unwelcome feeling, triggering a heightened cautiousness I had never before drawn. The chartered van that harbored us offered no sense security at all. We entered the city with all eyes locked on us, as if telling us to turn back while we still can. Amidst all of this, four battalions of heavily armed soldiers were deployed in the city. Never before have I seen so much firepower in real life. 


It was then that I learned how to be part of a minority. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but it brought me into a concrete level of pure understanding. The ideas of tolerance and the protection of free will broke away from my mind and materialized before my very eyes. You never realize how precious your freedoms are until they become scarce. When you are part of the minority, both your movements and your words are calculated, always avoiding any cause to offend the unfamiliar people around you. When you are a visitor in a strange land, your internal system is locked on defensive mode as you distrust your surroundings just as you perceive it to distrust you. 


Help would not take long to arrive and in the next few days, we would meet friendly faces and share long conversations with both the locals and other people from neighboring provinces who came to lend a hand. Fear and distrust are inversely proportional to understanding, and the more time we spent with these volunteers, the more my ignorance faded and the more I was emboldened to rise up to the occasion. We borrowed from each other's strengths and were able to do our jobs with confidence, knowing that we were working with people from the locality and they, in turn, had doubled-up their resolve because our presence meant that the whole country had its eyes on them. What started out as an episode of fear and distrust turned out to be a strong coordinated response to a common social problem. There was an election to be guarded and we had much work to do. We would find ourselves at the different counting and canvassing areas, welcomed by some and questioned by others. Days would pass and the local skeptics would soon understand that we were there for no other reason but to see that people's votes are properly appreciated and taken into account – to ensure that the vote of a single farmer or laborer from Lanao del Sur will count as much as a that of the CEO of a huge business firm in Makati. 


For 100,000 votes, we risked our very lives. Why? Because those votes belong to people who need the most protection. And if we can protect the most vulnerable – those who are most difficult to protect, we might be able to find confidence in Philippine democracy once again.  


For six days, I was part of the minority. I feared everything I saw, in spite of the apparent inescapable beauty of the city. It took much determination, some friendly conversations and a few laughs to finally ease up and become myself again. In the end, I would find more than twenty new people in my phone book, among them, a young Maranao girl anxious about entering her first year in law school, two soldiers from Cagayan de Oro who shared their noteworthy battle experiences and showed me how to operate a grenade launcher, a driver who shared his first-hand observations of deception during the 2004 elections in Mindanao and many other lawyers, paralegals and volunteers who gave their time and effort to show Lanao del Sur that we care about their choice – a choice that will affect the greater Filipino nation. 


During the mass, the bishop would call our attention to the beautiful melodies filling the night skies of Marawi City. 


"They are praying for peace", he said. 


And so were we.

Jazz Night

The thing I love about public transportation is that no matter how terrible it may be, it's always there. Each time I feel distracted by the material world, I take the public transportation. It's a chance to immerse myself into the everyday life of the people... my people. 


Every other day, lining up would be a personal hell... but today was different. I was in no hurry to get home... home wasn't even on the agenda as of yet... The familiar smells, the noise, the shouting, the muttered swearing, the cracked streets and the inhumane conditions kept me grounded for yet another night -- keeping me in a state of indifference, which I desperately needed.


And upon arrival at my destination, the most crucial thing of all came unexpected... it was Jazz Night. 


I could not recall her name but she moved like a housecat with the saddest eyes and sang with a heartfelt emptiness that echoed my very own. 

No sabía que buscaba amor hasta que le encontré

This business is no place for the meek, but tonight, I was genuinely humbled by the house band's musical prowess... and so I kept myself glued to my seat in admiration. Eight songs later, I would swallow the last drop of my current bottle, head for a table where the lone evening star would settle in and ignore the rest of her entourage... this was no place for the meek. 


No, I will not remember her name... but to me, she had the beauty of a Ria... and that is who she will be forever. No pressure, no tomorrow or yesterday to judge us. This will probably be the last time I will ever see this woman again... and so, let it be the best. For tonight, I will be Rex, which is ironic because I would feel like a slave for the rest of the night. 


The casual conversation would lead me peering into another soul's window... while my own was boarded shut... in any case, she did most of the talking and although her smile kept forcing itself into the universe, her eyes will betray a sadness that no word in any language I am familiar with would be able to describe. 


And she would talk... a lost love, a drunk father, a hollow bank account, a dream... and I would absorb all these things that I'm sure would evaporate in the next few hours... but for tonight, Rex and Ria would be the only people in existence... if only for a few more minutes.


Her next set would commence and I would grab the bill, pay our tab, take my hefty sack of law books, zip my jacket up and just leave. And just like any other night, there would be no goodbyes. I would not look back as she called out my one-night monicker through the substandard microphone. I did not see it, but I felt the first real smile for the night... only to be followed by the usual sadness in her eyes. My last sensation was catching the start of familiar tune, long left unheard:

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick, 

and think of you 

caught up in circles confusion-- 

is nothing new

I walked down the steps in a straight line, only be suprised by an old friend who recently left the priesthood. He would introduce me to his companion (girlfriend, i presume) and proceed to have a few seconds of small talk.


"You're alone", he said in an almost questioning tone.

Then you say --  go slow -- 

I fall behind -- 

the second hand unwinds

"Yes, I am", I replied. And I just left.


It was Jazz Night.