Remembering 2003

Published in Cebu Gold Star Daily

In memory of Justice Edgardo F. Sundiam, a professor who taught me about the legal profession. 

This is a shortened version of an essay I wrote for his class back in my first semester of law school, year 2003. 

May he rest in true peace.

The Law of Hope

One needs to be slow to form convictions, but once formed they must be defended against the heaviest odds.

- MOHAMDAS ‘MAHATMA’ GANDHI (Martyr, Patriot, Lawyer)

I have spent 71 days in the law school. I have studied for approximately 300 hours at my own desk at home. I have read approximately 7000 pages of text from law books and case assignments. And yet I am nothing.


“The law school is not for the faint of heart”. Those were the words I heard from a friend who just passed the bar a couple of years ago. This phrase rang in my mind in each step I took towards my first class. Every fear, every apprehension, every doubt attacked me at that moment, drowning all the noise and every other sensation that surrounded me. The only prayer in my heart was that I would make it through the day with my spirit still intact. That was 9 weeks ago. From that moment until today, I have traversed into the wisdom and greatness of the law as well as its duplicity and insidiousness. Not for the faint of heart, indeed.


I never had a reason for entering law school worth mentioning. For one thing, I couldn’t find a satisfying job after college. My parents kept pressuring me to enter medical school but it was just too far from my own desires. I live in my brother’s apartment and have not contributed a single cent for the bills or for the rent. In short, I had nothing else to do with my life and time was running out fast. As lame as it sounds, that is my truth. I do not even have a good reason why I applied for law school in the first place. At that time, it was just a way for me to get my parents off my back. I was working in a religious organization and got paid just enough to settle my mobile phone bills. I was a true cliché… a highly educated, jobless Filipino with a dying sense of self-esteem. I had no idea what law school was all about. I couldn’t have cared less. To me, lawyers were just thieves in suits. I never wanted to be anyone who, even remotely, fits that description. I had my pride… and little did I know that with it, I carried my prejudice.


For the past 2 months, I have listened to professors and students talk about the law. But what I found to be more noteworthy is what they think of the law as a way of life. I have heard of people talk about it as, merely, a business. Some talk about it as a vocation of nobility and honor. And some even consider it as “the new priesthood”. From all these, I realized that the profession of law is not characterized by the practice itself, but one’s reason for practicing it. The title “lawyer” is not conclusive of what a person is. It merely speaks of what he does. Just like any other person practicing any other profession, that person is not only what he does but also what he believes in. A lawyer can be a mercenary, a patriot, a thief, a saint, a master, a servant, a prophet, a criminal… he can be anything. Before law school, I did not know this. I made my judgment without trial. I was unjust in forming my own conclusions.


My decision to enter the law school came about the day before the enrollment. Even then, my doubts were overpowering me. I had to ask counsel from a priest, several relatives, and a whole lot of friends. Every single one of them said the same thing: “Go for it! You will make a great lawyer”. The problem was that I never even understood what it meant to be a “lawyer”. Nevertheless, I trusted their wisdom and I took the plunge. Little did I know that I had just made one of the best decisions of my life, and it was not even completely mine.


I found myself in the law. The words justice, counsel, and compassion keep ringing in my head. I never expected to find these words on the very text of the law itself. I never really examined, much less, understood the law this clearly before. My indifference has deprived me of something so great and yet so real. The Preamble of the 1987 Constitution of the Philippines speaks unequivocally that, inter alia, the People of the Philippines live under a regime of truth, justice, freedom, love, equality, and peace… Six great virtues that exist or ought to exist in this great country of ours. I have found in the law what I have been looking for, for a long time: Hope.


What have I learned so far? That I am nothing. I am an idea that is yet to be realized. What I do now and what I will be doing for the next 4 years of my life in the law school will make me into something real -- someone who will stand a chance against adversity -- someone who will be able to push reality a little closer to his ideals. With all my fellow law students, those who came before us, and those who will come after us, all we have is hope. We all study the same books, the same laws, and the same ideas… but in the end, what we will become is not what we have been taught but what we choose to believe in and hope for. None of these titles like judge, politician, businessman, prosecutor, or counselor will ever matter. It will never be about what we are capable of doing… It will be about why we do them.


What motives do I have? To serve God and share his mandate of love to all people? To defend those who are too weak to defend themselves? To fight for what is just and right? To bring order into this chaotic world? To break down walls and create bridges for all men and women? Yes, all these and more. But these only are ideals that we have to incarnate into this world through painfully hard work against seemingly insurmountable odds. Yes, it will be difficult. Certainly, giving up would always be a welcome option. But all I ask… all I demand from myself, is that I would leave this world a better place that it was when I entered it… then I would have done my part.


The evils of man can be created with so little effort or even by accident… but goodness can only come from determination and conviction.


Why do I want to be a lawyer?


Because I have hope. 

Nothing Follows

NOTHING FOLLOWS

These are the last words you will ever see as a bar examinee... and though you don't think much of it then, you do now... and you can only pray that this is a statement of no consequence -- a non-prophetic lexical blunder that was never intended to articulate your fate.


How do you reconcile a duty with a dream? I'm just figuring this out right now... and it's no fun at all. As much as I hated the academic part of being in law school, sudden post-bar freedom [abandonment] is no fun. Is this life? Pay the bills, then die? Maybe. For some of us, maybe. But I'm still figuring this out. 


No vacation for this one. There's just too much to do. 


Thank you to everyone who gave their time, mind and muscle to support us during one of our darkest times. The bar exam is no joke. No freakin' way. But we were standing on the top of a giant's head... and this was probably enough to pass those eight tests.


Thank you to the Ateneo Law School BarOps. To my dearest friends in the AHRC, to my fellow bar examinees who served as my primary mutual support group, to my AHRC Batchmates who made their appearances and gestures of support. To my immediate family who was there throughout the whole ordeal, and my extended family who believed in what fortitude I had left to spare. To my bandmates and friends in the music business who gave me their own brand of sick but vital support. For all your prayers, financial and moral support, smiles, text messages, emails, hugs, kisses, taps on the shoulder, jokes, insights, wake-up calls, sleepless nights and all your generous sacrifices, thank you, everybody. 


The bar exam is a spiritual and humbling experience. I thank God for it and for everyone who was part of my experience. 


I love you all. Forget the damn lawyer's oath... I personally swear to every one of you that I will never abuse this power should I be deemed worthy of it.


See you all in the real world soon.

Two Timepieces

Originally published in the March 2008 Issue of ThePalladium -- in my column Legal Personality.


As a super-senior, I can't help but reach back into my immediate past to try and draw out a cumulative meaning that will somehow justify this long-overdue end. After years of leafing through thousands of pages of often-incomprehensible text and braving hundreds of hours of humiliation, terror and disappointment, I finally see the finish line in the short distance -- a sight that gets sweeter every day. And just as we were taught always to begin with the end in mind, it's equally important to end reflective of everything that had been. 


Roughly a week before I descended into the hell that was Intro to Law, my dad gave me an elegant wooden Ingraham table clock, and on its face was an inscription that read:

One Day at a Time

Help me believe in what I could be, and all that I am. 

Show me the stairway I have to climb,

Lord, for my sake, teach me to take one day at a time.

This is a prayer that I see twice every single day: Once when I wake up to prepare for the day and a second time as I wind up my affairs for the night. And it helped. It allowed me to take one piece of the puzzle at a time from the manifold parts of the law and reassemble them inside my head, albeit often with much difficulty. Law school has consistently pushed me against the walls of my own personal limits and I found myself repeatedly tearing them down just to make it through another exam—another semester—another year. I admit I was never as smart as my classmates. But by some grace, my academic destiny is all but complete. 


In any case, law school is not just a lengthy exercise in intellectual sadomasochism, but it carries with it gifts of immeasurable value. One such gift is an extension of our youth. Most of us have been attending school our entire lives, and these extra four years give us an excuse to delay growing up. It gives us a chance to keep holding on to our ideals and our innocence up to the last possible moment. Indeed, to the casual outside observer, a law class would appear to be nothing more than a group of older, better-dressed high school students in action. Even our professors encourage this through their comical antics and shameless commentaries while discussing constitutional concepts like Stop-and-Frisk or family case law like Chi Ming Tsoi v. CA. In spite of all the pain involved, law school can be quite amusing. It's one huge carnival –- an attractive nuisance, if you will. Law school teaches us to be critical of all things brought before us, and this philosophy is always attended with humor and wit. 


Another gift that law school affords us is the chance to clarify who we truly are. Many of us found ourselves in law school either because we couldn't get work that pays well enough or because we haven't made a career choice just yet. And long before even considering law school, we were writers, activists, artists, musicians, athletes and many other things that have nothing to do with legal education. To some people, law school is a reason enough to abandon these skills and passions for the much-needed additional study time. For others, this is simply unacceptable. These are the same people who join organizations in and outside school to find some semblance of normalcy in their lives—to say that law school is not the be-all and end-all of who I am as a person. We have law students who compete in sports or performance arts locally and internationally. We have writers who have penned brilliant pieces of literature, both outside and inside the legal spectrum. We have students who volunteer with charity organizations to work closely with and for the poor. All these is, to my mind, the Magis that we always keep hearing about: the more—the lingering discontent with the world and the corollary desire to always push it further towards goodness. Our character is built by the things that we pursue with fervor alongside the tests of academic life. 


In the end, there are many people to thank: our mentors, our friends and even those who just love giving us a hard time. They all build up our character. I was a legal tabula rasa when I entered the Rockwell campus and I will be leaving it dramatically stronger and wiser than I was then. 


Last Christmas, my dad gave me a beautiful silver Breitling wristwatch. I wear it proudly after several years of not having any watch at all and relying on my mobile phone for the time. This time, there were no inscriptions or prayers on its face. But I felt that it was my old man's way of saying "It is time." 


End with the beginning in mind.

Perfecting Death

Dean CLV once said that being in law school is like going to your death. You have to allow your old self to die in the process so that a a new you can rise from the ashes (or something to that effect... exaggerations mine). 


With one week of classes to go, I can't help notice that the final traces of the pre-resurrection ashes around me are being wisped away by even the slightest draft. 


Five years ago, here stood a man who was ready to enter a lifetime commitment and be a father. That man became broken, bitter and angry because of the loss of those dreams. His jealousy and hatred resonated throughout his little universe but he never said a word. The worst part was that he was already in law school. His grades had suffered a blow he would never recover from as everything was a mess inside him... emotional cancer had struck and there seemed to be no way out of it... and as the demons seemed to take everything from him, he prayed that he would be removed from this cursed place forever... this was not to be...


The heavens opened a window... one that would allow the man to expand his universe slowly so that the cancer would be isolated in the old areas... and so he took it... to escape what he has become with a hope of becoming something totally different. That window was called the Ateneo Human Rights Center... and this would soon become part of the triangle that was his new universe. It was here where he learned that the only way to start becoming whole again was to expel all that negativity. He focused more on what he could do for other people to distract him from the crashing tides inside him. Fortunately, he was never alone in this task. He found kindred souls and fellow lost spirits in the trenches. It was the summer of 2004 and the curing process was terrible and slow... but it it did happen... and because of this, he was not only healed but transformed into something totally different. He would stay for four more years, loving the work and the people involved in it. This was the work that blessed him with a chance to take his first trip to the West and shrink the world in his mind. This also helped him to find the greatest friends he could ever ask for in his life... and a continuing source of people of that same quality and caliber.


And in the process another window opened: The man started writing music once more. After having abandoned a dream for almost eight years, he just picked up his guitar and wrote what he felt. This became the second part of his current universe: Music. On that same summer of 2004, a more experienced musician friend came to Manila and called the man up... said he wanted to hang out. The man obliged and the talk turned into a jamming session after the man told his musician-friend about some material he was working on. In a single evening, the veteran and the rookie were able to record two songs of amazing quality on a beat-up PC. The rest is history, the band Sundown Caffeine would be born a few months later at a psuedo-Mexican bar in his hometown of Cebu City and the music would go on to be not just a source of amusement, but a viable career path for the two (not so) young men.


So what's the third part of the triangle? 


It's family. The past, the existing and the future. The beginning and end of all that we do and all that we work for. This is a point in time when such an elusive dream has to be cast aside, at least partially. You want your own family and your own home but you have to get there first... and though you keep repeating the words to yourself that "there's no rush"... you realize deep inside that you wont be in this waking world much longer and that your present family will probably outlive you by several years. Perhaps you've accepted that you end up dead without ever knowing that sensation. Perhaps living vicariously through your brothers and sisters will do the trick. In any case, this leg will have to be set aside... 


I've been walking on two legs for years... why should it be a problem now? 


A few days more and I will face my final recitation, my final classroom session, my final hours of detention in the necessary evil that is the formal education system.


CLV was right. My death is almost complete. Entering law school was perhaps the best mistake I ever made in my life. And if could talk to the me five years ago, I'd tell him to brave it out... because things are really going to be alright.


_____


And so it's time. 


I walk out that door with no regrets... only honest mistakes. 


And I will walk with two legs for now, if only to carry a steeled heart.


My death is almost complete.

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.

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.

A Humanized World

This is a short reflection essay I wrote after the Human Rights and Liberalism Seminar I attended in Gummersbach, Germany from June 25 to July 7, 2006. Thank you to the Friedrich Naumann Stiftung for the wonderful opportunity. 


This was originally published in the FNS website, here:
http://www.fnf.org.ph/seminars/reports/a-humanized-world.htm


Coming home was not a difficult thing to do after having experienced a two-week seminar on human rights and liberalism in Gummersbach.


Not only was I able to amplify my knowledge on human rights, but I also formed meaningful bonds with human rights advocates from all over the globe. It felt good to know that, difficult as it is, this was not a struggle we were fighting alone.


Human rights are put into their proper context when all artificial differences are set aside. Race, religion, creed, nationality, gender, age, profession – all these social constructs are rendered meaningless when we talk about human rights. In theory, I understood this. But it took a 6,000-mile trip to Germany for me to appreciate it in its truest sense.


In the seminar, I learned that my country was not unique in its problems. The co-participants and the facilitators I met shared their experiences boundlessly. They continue to suffer as we suffer, be it in similar or totally different ways. With these shared accounts, I discovered that the Philippines does not boast of the worst conditions possible, but at the same time, it was disheartening to know that we still have a very long way to go.


We have always been one of the first and most eager to enter into international agreements protecting human rights. But disgracefully, we are one of the last ones to properly implement them and make them real. Our domestic laws are second to none, but the proper enforcement of these laws is dismally missing. These are problems that have been present ever since the creation of our republic but we have little to show as evidence of our commitment to change. One thing is undeniable: we have failed. And in accepting failure, we have to recognize that we might have to find solutions elsewhere. This is the purpose of international dialogue.


In the International Academy of Leadership, we were asked to return to the basics of human rights theory and transform these theories into solutions. In the past, reading about the problems of other countries like Bosnia, Afghanistan or Israel always seemed too academic for me. They were abstractions that offered no empirical help in understanding the problems and coming up with an effective solution. Gummersbach changed all that. By giving me a chance take part in this dialogue, I was able to give human faces to all these different countries and remove them from the abstract realm forever. Their problems became real to me and the solutions they offered became more feasible. By understanding the different histories of European, Asian and Latin American countries, the underlying interconnections became apparent, and it made me understand how the Philippines fit in the vast fabric of the world. I was part of the human community, and the world became my home.


One important thing I remembered about the seminar room where we had our sessions is that it had this large map of the world displayed on the far wall. Before the seminar, I looked at the map. It was the same as any other map I had seen before. It was just a geographic representation of the different territories of the world. But after all the stories shared, jokes exchanged and friendships formed, I never looked at the world the same way again. Costa Rica was no longer some obscure country in Latin America but it was home to a friend who I sang with in a Karaoke bar in Magdeburg. Malaysia was no longer just a wealthy neighboring Southeast Asian country, but it is where a very funny and poetic Chinese lawyer lives with his wife and child. Jordan ceased to be just another Middle Eastern country and, in my consciousness, has become the birthplace of a brilliant political scientist who has lived in London, New York and France, and hates football. These once abstract places, that I might never even have a chance to visit in this lifetime, are homes to people who I have come to know as friends. All these countries have become real because they have been given human faces.


Today when I read the newspaper, I see, understand and empathize more because it has become clear that in all these talks of war, disaster and human rights abuses, every victim is somebody’s parent, child or friend. Understanding this makes me more aware that I am part of a larger human family. Each time a single member of that family suffers, the entire family is harmed. This is how I understand human rights.


Like I said in the beginning, coming home was not difficult to do. Because of this new connectedness I felt with the whole of humanity, the world had become home. The 6000 miles no longer mattered.

A Speech I delivered at the 70th Anniversary of the Ateneo Law School

Good evening friends.


A colleague of mine who has family in Lebanon emailed me last night about what happened. Five days ago, Israeli Jet fighters indiscriminately bombed Lebanon in response to the kidnapping of two of their soldiers. 60 Lebanese are dead and 150 are wounded (and my friends, the next time you read the papers and find the word wounded, this does not mean people with chicken scratches… these include people who have had their legs amputated or their eyes gouged out). Men, women, and children. No exceptions.


For those of you who are familiar with the principle of proportionality, this is definitely not it. Israel receives $3 billion in military aid from the United States every year. Their military technology is second to none. Nukes, warplanes, satellite capabilities… believe me, if you see it in the movies, the Israelis have it. Lebanon has old guns, old rockets and a few helicopters that were used during the Vietnam War. Go figure.


Many Lebanese are fleeing to neighboring countries as refugees. This happened five days ago and the fires in Lebanon have not yet been extinguished completely.


Why am I talking about a country hundreds of miles away? On the night of the 70th Anniversary of the Ateneo Law School why on Earth am I talking about war? Because, my friends, I want to clarify what we are celebrating tonight. It does not matter if we call ourselves Ateneans. It does not matter if we are Christian by name. It does not matter if we are Filipinos by birth. These things will not matter if we do not choose to be human first – if we do not feel the plight of our fellow human beings, empathize with their suffering and choose to respond accordingly. Was this not the same desire of San Ignacio and San Francisco Xavier?


I have been working with the Ateneo Human Rights Center for almost three years now and I can strongly say that these years have been the most difficult and the most precious moments of my life. My work has brought me to the mountains of Mindoro and Tarlac, to the jails of Metro Manila, to the remotest barrios of Northern Mindanao and, most recently, to the former border between East and West Germany. There are many places that need us – many voices that call upon us. There is human suffering in so many places and we have a choice on whether to respond to them or to ignore them completely.


Human rights is about facelessness. It is about extinguishing the borders and differences that make us unequal in our rights. It is about recognizing that we are all human beings complete in dignity. If you had noticed, at the start of this speech I did not greet anyone by the titles that we have grown so accustomed to: Attorney, Doctor, Professor. These are not titles of respect. These are mere titles of classification – formalities. People who address us as such do not necessarily respect us; chances are they do it out of habit or because they are expected to. These titles tell people what studies you finished not who you are. The only title that gives genuine respect is what I used to address all of you tonight: friends.


So my friends, on this 70th Anniversary, we honor our school because it has given us the opportunity to be great people. The key word here is opportunity. To say that every Atenean is great is just plain ignorance. Not every Atenean is a Bobby Gana or an Ed Nolasco. We have Ateneans who cheat on their taxes, bribe government officials, or manipulate election returns. There are Ateneans who lie, murder and rape as if they were uneducated and uncivilized. The word Atenean is, likewise, just a title that describes where you studied. Never be fooled by titles.


Our school is great because it offers us a shot at greatness. For those who choose not to take this chance, they have only themselves to blame. For those people who have taken this opportunity to become greater than mere titles, this night is for you.


How does one become great? Do what you do best no matter what it may be. We can be good at so many things but we can only be excellent in a few. Find those talents, skills or dreams you are superior in and lose yourself in them. Strive to outdo yourself every single day.


Not all of us can be Justices of the Supreme Court. Not all of us can be working for the United Nations or Amnesty International. Not all of us can be priests, pastors, imams or religious leaders. And I am very sure not all of us will turn out to be practicing lawyers.


Find your place. You may be an excellent debater… go, compete and argue your heart out. If you love books, you might want to start writing one of your own. If you excel in sports then try going pro. Every single day, we are tempted to forego the excellent for the good. So much time is wasted in doing good. Like I said, there are many people and places that need us. In this short lifetime, we just have to find where we are needed the most and stay there. We each can find our own ways of inspiring people and changing the world. Pray through the work that you do and do it with magnificent passion. That, my friends, is heroism. That is what the Atenean ought to be.


If ten or twenty years from now, you become role-models in your respective fields and someone asks you if being an Atenean had anything to do with your success. By all means say yes. But don’t forget to tell them that: Ateneo gave me the shot and I took it.


Have a good evening.

The Rights of the Soul

Originally published in the February 2006 edition of ThePalladium for my column Legal Personality.


Being a fervent advocate of human rights, I am morally bound to speak about how much the marginalized need us and how little they have in both in life and in the application of the law. On a different note, twenty years of Jesuit education has taught me that one cannot truly give what s/he does not have. Jesus Christ, himself, said “If a blind man leads a blind man, both will fall into a pit.” And thus, I am equally bound to say that we, ourselves, have a solemn duty to protect our own rights – some of which we do not even recognize.


American psychologist, Abraham Maslow, taught us that the human person has a hierarchy of needs. From bottom to top, he listed them down as Physiological, Safety, Love/Belonging, Esteem, and at the apex, Actualization. One has to satisfy the lower-level needs in order to go up the next rung and satisfy the higher ones. The problem with human rights theory is that it is often restricted to the bottom two levels (food, shelter, clothing, education, safety, etc.) – ensuring people’s survival. But is it fair to end there? A full stomach with an empty heart?


This is where these higher-level rights come in, which I conveniently call “The Rights of the Soul”. Like human rights, these rights are inalienable, inherent and imprescriptible. They cannot be given away or sold, they are not granted by law but are part and parcel of one’s humanity, and they cannot be extinguished through time. One cannot separate them completely from human rights because they are, in fact, human rights and emanate from the same continuum of liberties and freedoms. For instance, the freedom of expression is expanded to form the freedoms of art and music – of beauty… not only to express but to also appreciate and judge the same. The freedoms of religious and political belief also go higher than mere organized beliefs but to personal ones – the right to hope, to dream, to have access to the ideal and the divine. The freedom to feel – to love, to laugh, to cry, to hate, to experience the broad spectrum of human emotions and to go through them again and again. The right to privacy also goes deeper and creates a right to keep one’s life compartmentalized without the fear of being accused of duplicity against the other aspects of his/her life… to be separate his/her career, family and passions from one another.


These are only instances and, no different from human rights, there can be no real possibility of enumerating them all because these are the things that make us human (a concept which might never be fully comprehended). Not only humans of flesh and blood but humans of soul and spirit – things that allow us to reach out into the unknown, the impossible, and the divine and, somehow, make them real.


So, when will we begin to assert these rights? Many people impliedly relinquish these rights by living their lives mechanically… they work, study, eat, sleep and do it all over again the next day and the next until on end. By doing this, no matter how wealthy or intelligent, are they not oppressed as well? One who does not live his/her life all the way to actualization cannot teach another about beauty or meaning or hope. The best that s/he could do is offer material things that inevitably perish in time.


The rights of the soul that we protect turn us into beings of power and by only protecting them, will we be able to empower others.


And here I am, just finished writing a new song while I swallow the last drops of my Starbucks peppermint mocha frapuccino as an unwashed little girl approaches me and begs for a few coins. I hand her a twenty and send her off with a smile and a prayer. I then put on my black jacket and walk home.


So much for higher level rights.

Wanted: Heroes

Originally published in the December 2005 edition of ThePalladium for my column Legal Personality.

You cannot embrace a man who is full of sores because the only thing he will feel is pain. 

- ANONYMOUS 

One of my law professors once told me that our job as lawyers is to prevent, avoid, or resolve conflicts. In my short stay in the ALS, I have found this increasingly difficult to accomplish. Many people these days have this tendency to be oversensitive. They hurt very easily. Nobody can make an honest mistake nowadays. Nobody can take a joke anymore. Today you have to be politically correct in whatever you do and say. People no longer want to hear the truth. They want you to feed them with feel-good lies and expertly-manufactured BS in the guise of positive affirmations that only make them stop trying to improve themselves. You can no longer call a spade a spade without being shrugged and given all kinds of strange looks.


We cannot afford to have feelings anymore… not when everything around us is falling to ruin. “I’m sorry, it was an oversight. Please forgive me”. We just don’t want to tell people that they are wrong. Now, I am not saying that we stop having compassion for those who deserve and need it. I’m saying that we should just stop being so oversensitive. It is just not proper in our calling. One cannot be impartial and oversensitive at the same time. Justice has no feelings. We need to be up and alert, sharp, and discriminating with surgical precision. We are ordinary human beings called to do extraordinary tasks.


People should learn to, once more, stand up on their own two feet. We need to be the Filipinos who once stood tall and proud against our oppressors. Dr. Rizal did not sit at home and cry about hurt feelings. When the Spanish friars offended him (although this might be too much of an understatement), he wrote two books and started a revolution. This is the kind of person that we are being shaped to become.


In the world today, truth is not as important as meaning. Knowing this, we should be watchful in allowing the truth to be drowned in a sea of faulty meanings. We have become a nation of blabbering crybabies while the wealthy reach the top because they don’t give a damn what people say about them. We die with our petty concerns and allow the real opportunities to pass us by unnoticed. People always want to see themselves as the victims. This country has no room for any more victims! With the massive privileges and responsibilities dropped on our laps, we have no choice but to become heroes.


How?


Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do your job.


That is all the hero ever has to do.

Wing and Talon

Originally published in the September 2005 edition of ThePalladium for my column Legal Personality.


The conversation started with a simple question:

Are you happy, Mark?

I could have chosen to answer this question with my ever-casual “yes” and dismiss the subject altogether. But this time, it led me to an unexpected stupor of intensive thought.


A Theology professor once told me that we human beings have an infinite capacity for happiness. Comforting words these are but, consequently, it also means that we will never get to where we truly want to be – our destination is ever-ambulant, always two steps ahead of us – always eluding us. When frustration sets in, we shake our heads, bow down and surrender to compromise. Dreams become encrusted with the rough material of reality. Do we allow ourselves to be repeatedly imprisoned this way? Or do we dare break through?

The Bar Examinations are a few days away. Everything is set.

We are the privileged few. Oftentimes, we hear critics say that we are too detached from the real world – from the masses.


Indeed, we are. We are those who desire to truly live rather than to just survive. It is basic that what is popular is infrequently what is right. To allow ourselves to be swept by the masses is to join those who have been divested of free choice – people who act because of the external pressures brought upon them – people who do what they do because they are left with no other option. They are constantly pushed around by painful externalities – they simply cannot act on their own volition lest they get trampled upon and might even die trying. In this situation – when you fight for pure survival, only self-interest governs.


We are too educated and too fortunate to allow ourselves to be fooled into the same trap. All our lives, we have been stormed with blessings that many others could only fantasize about. As a counterpart, we are necessarily yoked with tremendous responsibilities that we ought never to abandon. It is our paramount duty to elevate others to where we are – to champion them and obtain for them the very freedoms that we take for granted every single day.


We must never apologize for being where we are. However, we must never fail to condemn ourselves for not pulling others up during the climb.


Human beings are flawed by nature. But for the few of us who have been given the necessary facilities to better approximate perfection, that is, excellence, we must do so. Anything less is pure unmistakable injustice.


The conversation ended with a simple phrase:

People like us are never satisfied with the ordinary… and we should never be.

For the 2005 Bar-candidates and future leaders of our nation, I pray that you may never lose your idealism; that you may never allow yourselves to be obscured by the riptide of the masses under the deceptive guise of popular choice, no matter how loud. For the sake of the future of the Filipino people and for humanity, allow yourselves to shine forth for all to see your borrowed glory and take your lead. I implore you to remain steadfast and hold true to your commitment and calling as stewards of justice. Make proud those who have crafted you into incomparably superb tools for bringing legal order to an often chaotic world.


Do not allow yourselves to be just lawyers and pass the bar for its own sake – but be ever-vigilant and strive always to raise the bar to an unprecedented height and embrace your destiny… become the Atenean lawyer.


Come take your fill and reap the fruits of your arduous labor. Remember: infinite capacity. So flex your wings and sharpen your talons. Rest up. You are ready.


No “good lucks” for the prepared. Only three words remain: 

ONE BIG FIGHT!

The Lie That We Live

Originally published in the June 2005 edition of ThePalladium for my column Legal Personality.


Remember when you were in first grade, your teacher would always remind you: "It is wrong to steal, to cheat, to lie, to be dishonest."? Even more so for Catholic schools where the word "wrong" is effectively replaced by "a sin".


Have you ever been dishonest in your life? Are you a liar? A cheat? A thief? A criminal?


At the top of your head, it would be very easy to answer these questions with a firm "NO". You would never imagine yourself being called these degrading names – labels that only belong to those people on the streets or in prison. 


Let me pose more questions closer to home: "Do you have pirated (stolen) video, music, or software CD’s in your home? Have you ever corrected a waiter who mistakenly charged you for three drinks instead of the four that you consumed? Have you ever cut into a line of people during registration or in a bank just because a friend of yours happened to be there?


Where does this kind of behavior come from when all our lives, we have been taught to love one other, to be good, honest, kind, polite, patient, respectful, obedient, responsible… and all that? Is this really the easy way out? Or can we justify this trend of dishonesty a "necessary evil" for our very survival?


We Filipinos live in the most ridiculous of circumstances. We are a first-world culture trapped in a third-world country. Everyday, we are enticed by the wonders of the modern world: mobile phones, TV’s, computers, movies, shopping malls, video games, designer clothes, signature perfumes, skin-whitening products… these things are added to our cart of "learned necessities" while our means remain less than sufficient to meet even the most basic of our "real" needs. We Filipinos constantly live in denial. We refuse to show the world that we cannot afford to enjoy these things.


So what do we do? We imitate and approximate. We create copies (though inferior) of what other people are enjoying. We try to find some semblance of satisfaction in our lives by pretending to have much more than we actually do.


An optimist would say: Then we are a creative people – Dreamers – people who are resilient and determined to find happiness even in scarcity.


A pessimist, on the other hand would remark: We are truly lost. We deny what is real and focus on the things that can never be. We are plagued by this "national delusion" that would do more damage than good.


Whenever something goes wrong, we immediately blame the government, we blame religion, our superiors, and even the weather? We have nothing but heroic expectations from other people yet we meet our own responsibilities with empty nods and phony grins. We have enough blame in our hearts to go around for the next century and, yet, many of us cannot even find peace in our own households, our barkadas, and in our own relationships.


So... how can we not be dishonest, when even the very life that we live is a lie?


What I say: We are in a place that we need to get out of soon.

The Study of Power

Originally published in the March 2005 edition of ThePalladium for my column Legal Personality.


I will never forget these strong, albeit simple, words from a speech that Atty. Medina ardently delivered during the First Alternative Law Groups National Conference: he said, "Lawyers are powerful people". Indeed they are. How else would you characterize an individual who, by his mere words, can send another human being into the darkest and filthiest corners of prison while sapping every ounce of dignity left in him? How else would you describe somebody who can stand before the leaders of this state and convince them that the indigenous tribes of the highlands should be left undisturbed to live in and preserve the lands of their ancestors? These godlike characteristics cannot be taken lightly. The ability to seal the fate of another individual or group of human beings is no small thing that we can just toy around with. The choice on whether to preserve an endangered culture or to relocate entire communities is a both gift and a curse. This is power – and to a great extent, we already have this power even as non-members of the Bar – because we chose to study law.


We, as law students, acquire power every single day. Every statute we master, every judicial decision we comprehend is another weapon and shield that we can use for or against another person. But every weapon can only be as good as its wielder. It can only follow the will of its master. We all have the same weapons at our disposal but it is our duty to decide how they will be employed in battle. We, legal warriors, are free to choose our banners and adversaries – sometimes, they even choose us. We can choose to charge as we hold our heads up high or we can choose to hide in the shadows and strike our unsuspecting victims with treachery. We can use this power to hoard vast amounts of riches for ourselves or we can use it to generate collective wealth by empowering those who surround us. We can use this power to teach those who are defenseless or we can choose to annihilate these ‘easy prey’. We can adhere to the law of the survival of the fittest or we can choose the creed of interdependence and communal survival.


Sooner or later, we will all have to make these choices, not only about which side of the battlefield we will be fighting on but also the methods we choose to employ to win this war. Whom we fight for and whom we fight with will be greatly affected because of this power that we yield. The law is a tool, a weapon – it can do great good or cause great suffering depending on the hand that wields it. We all have to take part in the war, whether we like it or not. The refreshing waters and the blood of our country are in our hands. What happens in the next 20 or 30 years is our burden, our responsibility – it is our problem to solve.


It will, ultimately, be a matter of conscience, discipline and attitude – a continuing choice that we have to make over and over again. We can watch our own backs and eventually be kings of a desolate wasteland or we can find our way together somehow and become citizens of a realized utopia.


We are all warriors. The law is our sword and our shield. We are the generals in this struggle and we choose whom we crush and whom we serve. This onus is a direct consequence of our power. When we chose to be students of the law, we chose power – but we chose to be burdened with difficult decisions as well. Some of us will eventually have to choose sides in the future; some of us already have. But whether we choose to meet our enemies in or outside court, rest assured, we will all be on the same battlefield either as keepers of the peace or instigators of ruin.


So to all of my powerful friends and colleagues... may we have a good fight and may we believe in what we fight for.