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.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 25, 2007
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.
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:
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.
"Yes, I am", I replied. And I just left.
It was Jazz Night.
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 sabĂa que buscaba amor hasta que le encontrĂ©
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.
Friday, July 7, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, February 13, 2006
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.
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.
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