Blogging for My Birthday

Am blogging on the eve of my 66th birthday.

I haven’t posted a blog for over a week. I have to finish a book on rural electrification for the 40th anniversary in August 2009. There are also a series of activities toward launching the Electric Consumers Advocacy of the Philippines or ECAP, and I have been asked to serve as interim national president. 

But before midnight comes, I thought I should post a new blog, even a short one. After all, I started blogging on my 64th birthday two years ago. More precisely the day after my birthday, upon the suggestion of Raymond Palatino. Thanks, again. How time passes. He is now a newly seated party-list member of Congress.

I take a quick glance at my blog stats. I have posted exactly 300 blogs since I started on July 12, 2007. Another interesting stats. My most read posts are those on alternative learning systems or ALS, followed by those on malunggay.

I realize that Facebook must be drawing much of the energy I would otherwise devote to regular blogging. It used to be that my sister Yen in Puerto Rico and my son Yeyi with his wife Minette in Singapore would track my travels and activities through my blog posts. So did other friends. They told me so. That made me blog often. Now it’s faster and easier to post brief updates on Facebook. But I’m still resisting Twitter.

The first theme I chose for my blog was “Renewing our spirituality and strategy for justice.” That still reflects one of my central concerns. But I replaced it last year with “Between Honesty and Hope.” Part of the influence was the solo art exhibit that I had which used that theme. But the main reason is that it captures the permanent tension I feel in my life, driven by hope to break barriers, but tempered by acceptance of limitations.

I think of people who have passed on, most recently Susan Fernandez, and before her, Julius Fortuna. Christian faith makes us believe they have been born to a new life beyond. But the sense of loss will not go away. Inay died almost five months ago, and as I think of her now, I miss her again.

Still my life has been blest. I give thanks for life, and love, and learning.

What Links Lenin to the Aetas?

Yesterday at 6 am, a NEA car picked me up at home for a long drive to Pampanga. We were to visit the linemen and engineers who were putting up the poles and stringing the lines to bring electricity to Barangay Nawacat, a community of over 900 Aetas in the hills of Floridablanca.

A few weeks ago, Aetas in two barangays of Floridablanca, Nawacat and Nagbuklod, were given a Certificate of Ancestral Domain Title (CADT) to around 8000 hectares. At the awarding ceremony, they asked GMA for electricity to be brought to their communities. Since the areas are under the franchise of a private distribution utility, the San Fernando Electric Light and Power Company (SFELAPCO), it was tasked to do the job.

SFELAPCO has taken charge of electrifying Barangay Nabuklod, which has over 3000 residents. But Barangay Nawacat has fewer and poorer residents, is quite far from the town center, without a bridge across the river, and the road to it is barely passable. NEA has assumed the responsibility for it.

Using previous successful working methods, NEA assembled a Task Force Kapatid, which brought together 64 linemen and 10 engineers from  eight electric cooperatives (ECs) in Central Luzon, coordinated by 5 NEA engineers.

Two electric coops, PENELCO in Bataan and PELCO 2 in Pampanga, were asked to choose the route for the poles and decide on what “tapping point” to use for the electricity to Nawacat . Both have energized some barangays in Floridablanca which were waived to them by SFELAPCO. After comparing their findings, they agreed that the “tapping point” for the electricity to Nawacat should be from the line of PELCO 2.

When I heard that NEA Administrator Edith Bueno and her two deputies Ed Piamonte and Bert Basig were going to visit Task Force Kapatid – Namawac, I asked to join them: “I want to see up close how electricity is brought to a remote rural barangay.”

Our first stop was at the edge of a river that we could not cross. Across it I saw three poles with yellow-shirted linemen on the crossbars. I have learned some of the jargon, so I knew that they were “dressing” the poles, attaching insulators with grooves for the hot wires.

We traveled to a more shallow crossing, and drove slowly to Barangay Namawac. Almost  all of the 170-plus poles were in place, some of them wood, others steel. The distance from the “tapping point” to the barangay is more than seven kilometers, and the materials used to bring electricity there will cost more than five million pesos.

“You can see why we need non-stock non-profit electric coops and NEA with commitment to missionary electrification,” Edith remarked. “No profit oriented coop or corporation will invest that much, since they have to wait for decades to earn it back.”

The work of digging the holes and putting up the poles has been made easier by the boom trucks brought by the participating ECs. We stopped to talk to the different work teams to express our appreciation for their solidarity. 

Task Force Kapatid was the brain child of Fr. Silva and it was first used to bring hundreds of linemen and engineers from other ECs to restore the lines in the towns around Lake Lanao. They had been destroyed during the fighting in the 90s. It has been used after every major typhoon in Bicol, Aklan, Mindoro, Pangasinan, Masbate, and elsewhere to restore electric service faster than the capacity of individual coops. One of the PENELCO linemen proudly said that he has taken part in nine Task Force Kapatid missions.

When we reached Nawacat, I got to talk to an Aeta resident, Angelo Saplala, a barangay kagawad. I asked him, “Other than having lights, what benefit do you expect from having electricity?”

He seemed to have thought about this, since he quickly enumerated a few. “It will save us a lot of money,” he said. “I spend 400 pesos a month for kerosene.” He will probably be a lifeliner using less than 50 KWH and paying around 50 pesos a month.

“When we have electricity, we will be able to work at night, preparing what we will sell in the town market,” he added. “We can travel earlier in the morning.” He also thought of buying a refrigerator, not just to preserve food but to make ice which he will sell to his neighbors.

It was a glimpse of what advocates of rural electrification believe, that it is not just about bringing electricity into rural villages, but also about stimulating community development.

Electricity may be necessary for development, but it is not enough. They need an all-weather farm to market road, and a bridge across the river. “When the river is swollen after heavy rains,” Angelo said, “all we have to eat are bananas.”

There is a primary school built 8 years ago. Before that, children had to stay in Floridablance town during the school week, and walk home for the weekends.

The general manager of PELCO 2 is Amador Guevarra, better known as “Ka Basil.” He whispered to me that the area we were in used to be under his command when he was with the New People’s Army. It is part of the tri-boundary of Bataan, Pampanga, and Zambales. I was reminded of Fr. Silva’s quip that he also went to the mountains, but not as a guerilla. “Instead of carrying an Armalite, I brought light. I am a warrior of light, against the forces of darkness.”

Is this what links Lenin to the Aetas? Not quite.

Activists who are now involved in rural electrification often ask ourselves why we didn’t see the importance of electric power during the years of our involvement in the revolutionary movement. I expressed this once to General Dumol, the first NEA Administrator who laid the foundations of rural electrification from 1969 to 1985: “Could it be because we identified it with the Marcos martial law regime which we were fighting against?”

He had another answer, which he proposed with a mischievous smile: “You must have forgotten Lenin’s slogan during the Russian revolution – Land and Electricity!”

Can BENECO Resist Another Takeover Attempt?

This weekend, Girlie and I went up to Baguio City, upon invitation of BENECO, the Benguet Electric Cooperative, to speak at the annual assembly of their MSEAC (Multi-Sectoral Electrification Advisory Council).

“Talk to them about the plan to organize the ECAP – Electric Consumers Advocacy of the Philippines,” suggested Leo, who is in charge of consumer education and development. We met in Toledo City, where I was a resource person at the convention of the National Solidarity of Unions and National Solidarity of Associations of the electric cooperatives.

I did speak about ECAP to around 170 participants, roughly half of whom were MSEAC members from Baguio City and 13 towns covered by the franchise of BENECO. The other half were leaders of barangay-based RECA – rural electrification consumers association, and pastors of small religious congregations.

But as usually happens when I get invited to speak at gatherings, I end up learning a lot, more than I have been able to teach them.

In this case, I learned about the recurring struggle of BENECO to maintain its character as a “non-stock non-profit” electric coop against those who want it to be a “for profit” corporation or coop. This has crystallized in the rallying cry, “Serbisyo, hindi negosyo!”

 What I found instructive is that the story of BENECO is but a variation of a pattern that seems to repeat itself across all the electric cooperatives – the struggle to preserve the original mission of rural electrification against the threat of corporate takeover and the shift to profit as the primary motive.

Like all the 119 electric cooperatives in the Philippines, BENECO was organized in the 1970s, after R.A. 6038 declared “total electrification on an area basis” as national policy, and created the National Electrification Administration or NEA to lead its implementation.

NEA adopted the strategy of organizing “non-stock non-profit” electric cooperatives as the main vehicle for rural electrification, in partnership with NEA.

Earlier, outside Metro Manila and other major cities, electric distribution was in the hands of private corporations or local governments. These were limited to households and institutions in the town centers, since they were the only ones who could afford to pay, and also because the corporations and local governments had limited capital to expand. There were also a few small stock-for profit electric cooperatives, but they had the same limited resources and reach.

When the NEA started organizing the new non-stock non-profit electric cooperatives or ECs, they set out to extend electric service, first to all the towns, and then to all barangays in their franchise areas. In most places, the ECs built the distribution system from scratch.

But in those areas where there were pre-existing inadequate systems, the ECs took them over. Of course they had to compensate the owners, but this was implemented during the martial law years, and I imagine that not everyone was a willing seller.

By the end of this year, 40 years after the passage of R.A. 6038 in 1969, the ECs and NEA expect to extend electric lines to the remaining barangays without electricity. Of course this does not mean that all households will have connections; this depends on their interest and capacity to pay. But so far, 8,200,000 households are being served by ECs. And after the barangays, there are thousands of sitios and puroks that await.

When I last spoke with General Pedro Dumol, the first NEA Administrator (1969-1985) he said that “rural electrification” may not be an accurate name anymore. After all there are many urban centers and town centers that are within the ECs franchise areas. In fact, without the greater number of connections and heavier loads in these urban and town centers, the ECs would find it difficult to give quality service to the rural and remote communities who would be considered “non-viable” from a business point of view.

BENECO is a dramatic case in point. Baguio City represents 80% of its load, and presumably also sales. The adjacent town of La Trinidad consumes another 12% of the electricity it distributes. The rest of the 12 towns under its franchise consumes the remaining 8%.

The situation is not as lopsided in other ECs, but generally, they would have significant areas within their franchise which are quite “viable” from a business point of view.

That makes them attractive targets to two sets of interests: 1) Those who don’t believe in subsidized service, and 2) Those who believe that once foundations have been laid through public funds and institutions, privatization should happen to insure continued viability. Of course there is not much talk about the profits that will go to whoever takes over. The emphasis is on the greater efficiency of private ownership and management.

I didn’t have time to hear the full story of BENECO’s struggles, but two episodes stand out.

The first happened soon after EDSA 1986. Since the rural electrification program was identified with the deposed Marcos regime, the thrust of “de-Marcos-ification” was used by government officials and corporate leaders close to the new government to move against some ECs.

Without any consultation and warning, BENECO was turned over by NEA to the management of the Aboitiz Group of companies. Most of BENECO’s management and staff resisted the attempted physical takeover, and I was told stirring stories of the stand-off, until the NEA-Aboitiz agreement was declared illegal.

The second happened just a few years ago, soon after the passage of EPIRA. This law allows a EC to choose to convert itself from a non-stock non-profit coop supervised by NEA to either 1) a stock for-profit coop registered with the CDA or 2) a stock for profit corporation registered with the SEC.

A group interested in taking over the management of BENECO launched a campaign to convert it to a stock for profit coop, and managed to have a resolution passed at the AGMA (Annual General Membership Assembly) to call for a referendum. Ironically, the same group asked for a TRO so they could have more time to campaign before the referendum could be held.

Fortunately, the majority of the member-consumers voted to maintain BENECO as a non-stock non-profit coop. Part of the reason is that once converted to a stock for profit coop, BENECO will be vulnerable to a corporate takeover. Although the coop law puts a 20% limit to the stocks any individual can own, there are cases of corporations using proxies to acquire majority of the coop’s shares.

At the meeting of the MSEAC and the other consumer organizations, the BENECO staff were asked if that is the end of such attempts. Unfortunately, the answer is no. If another group succeeds in passing another resolution at the AGMA for a referendum to convert BENECO into a stock coop or corporation, BENECO has to comply, even if it has to spend millions of its own resources to hold such a referendum.

That is one of the reasons, though not the main reason, why the ECAP is being organized. Even without any threats to the original mission and character of the ECs, member consumers should organize to safeguard their rights, and increase their capability to hold the EC accountable to delivering quality service. 

Earlier, Fr. Silva has encouraged and supported the formation of unions and associations among the EC employees, as a check and balance to management and the Board of Directors. A well-informed and vigilant organization of member-consumers is another check and balance mechanism.

The draft declaration of ECAP says that rural electrification is not just about bringing electricity to communities. Electrification is supposed to stimulate community development. And through the organization of coops, electrification seeks to empower the people in the communities.

Fathers and Sons

It’s just before midnight. Girlie and I have come home from an evening celebration of summer solstice, the longest day of the year.

The celebration was really about the 60th birthday off Lito de Dios. We were invited by his wife Oyie to the surprise party she had organized at Our Brother’s Moustache.

Girlie and I were more than happy to go. Both Oyie and Lito are good friends with whom I worked for some years in the anti-martial law resistance movement. Besides, when Girlie organized a surprise party for my 64th birthday two years ago, Oyie and Lito brought a whole band, The Jerks, to play. Since Lito loves to sing, he joined the band in singing many of the Beatles songs.

When we got into the resto, the same band was already onstage, rehearsing. After a while, the lights were dimmed. Oyie arrived with Lito, and as they walked in, we applauded and shouted our greetings. The Jerks started playing “Today is Your Birthday” and true to form, Lito picked up an extra mike to join them in singing.

Still holding the mike, over Oyie’s protestations, Lito decided to emcee the start of the evening’s program.

He introduced his classmates from high school for whom, he said, he holds special affection,”because we shared wet dreams together!” In the same spirit of mischief, he acknowledged the presence of Gary Olivar, a former activist of the national democratic movement, as “the current spokesperson of GMA’s national democratic government.” At the other end of the political spectrum, he called Dodong and Princess Nemenzo the “representatives of the Filipino people.”

Among those who entertained us was a percussion band led by Inkie, his son. When I congratulated him on having a talented son, Lito asked about Yeyi, my son. I told him that Yeyi is in Singapore and also plays with a band when he has some free time from his computer programming work. “That may be all that our sons have inherited from us,” Lito said with a smile.

Noel Cabangon also came to sing some songs, with Lito also joining him. Afterwards, we teased Noel who has just come from a European tour, “Have you observed quarantine time?” He said he is free of the flu, but not his son. “He is one of the reasons his school has stopped classes.”

These fathers’ conversations about our sons and the text greetings about Fathers Day made me think back about my father. Girlie asked what I remember about him. “Not much,” I said. “My father died when I was only four years old.” My father, Vivencio dela Torre, was a tailor. I have only two memories of him. One was him combing my hair. The other is my playing with some rubber bands near his sick bed.

When my son Yeyi was born during martial law, I couldn’t stay with him to rear him. I was a hunted man and afterwards, I was in various prisons for many years, Sometimes I wondered if this was a recurring pattern, and that he would grow up with few memories of his father. Luckily we have managed to reconnect though only when he was already much older.

Girlie wondered aloud if Yeyi’s twin sons, Edric and Johann, would take after their father and play some musical instruments when they grow up. Most probably,” I answered. “I am sure Yeyi will encourage them.”

Senior Citizen Moments

This afternoon, after a hurried lunch, I rushed to the Department of Foreign Affairs to renew my passport, and experienced some pleasant “senior moments.”

I had gone to Makati to apply for a visa to South Africa to attend the board meeting of GCE, the Global Campaign for Education. But the consular staff asked me to get a new passport: “Your passport is somewhat damaged,” she said, “and I can’t promise that immigration will accept it even if you have a visa.”

The taxi ride from Makati to Pasay City  took much longer than I wanted. I was worried that I wouldn’t make it to my 3 p.m. appointment in Quezon City . I was scheduled to meet the staff of the Foundation for Philippine Environment who asked me as chair of the FPE Board of Trustees to give them some directions for their assessment and planning workshop.

I breathed a bit easier after I got my passport photo taken, xeroxed my old passport, and filled up the application form in less than 15 minutes.

The security guard directed me to the covered basketball court to have my papers validated. As soon as I got in, my heart sank. There must have been hundreds patiently seated in long rows, waiting for their appointed hour. The sign at the last row read “3 to 4 p.m.”

I was told to go to a small table to get my appointment time. I calculated that I would be at the tail end of the last row..

“Are you a senior citizen?” the person at the table asked without checking my papers. Must be my graying hair. I should tell Ayen, my daughter, who has been urging me to dye it. He instructed me: “Go directly to Window A, then Window B.”

That took less than five minutes. I was starting to feel good about being a senior citizen.

Where do I go next? Another guard pointed to Gate 3. I dutifully lined up at the end of a double loop. At the rate the line was moving, it would take at least an hour. There was no sign of a separate line for senior citizens. I thought I might as well leave for Quezon City.

Two young women, escorted by a guard,  joined the line behind me. The guard noticed me, probably my hair again, and asked: “Are you a senior citizen?” When I nodded, he told me I need not wait in line. Feeling good again.

Inside the room processing applications for passport renewal, there were around 50 applicants waiting in their seats. Again, my heart sank. I may have to wait for a while.

Then the guard at the door called my attention, and pointed to a separate window. The sign said it was reserved for senior citizens. The clerk checked my papers, asked me to sign my name and place my thumb marks. I paid at the cashier’s window (the line was a short one). I returned to the senior citizens window to get a slip of paper asking me to pick up my new passport after  seven working days.

Unfortunately, there is no way they could process it faster. I immediately texted Thea, the national coordinator of E-Net Philippines to take my place in the GCE board meeting, since the release of my new passport does not give me enough time to apply for a visa.

On the way back to Quezon City, I silently gave thanks for the laws that benefit senior citizens and which have also set the tone for other policies and government processes.

Actually my first pleasant “senior moment” was some years back when I waited for over 30 minutes, unable to get into the crowded cars of the MRT. Then I was told that the first car is reserved for women, those traveling with children, and senior citizens. Since then, though the first car is usually crowded, I have managed to squeeze myself into whatever space is available.

Three Metaphors of Freedom

On June 12, Independence Day, I retrieve three metaphors of freedom from my years in prison.

Ka Pepe Diokno gave us this quote: “No matter how long the night, dawn will surely come.” It’s a comforting thought through the dark times that did not show any immediate promise of ending. Hence the other quote, a challenge from Rizal’s Pilosopong Tasio that “not everyone was asleep during the time of our forefathers.”

From solitary confinement, I wrote self critically, that dawn will surely come, whether we do something or not. But not freedom. 

The second metaphor is from a prison song that we used to sing at the end of every Sunday mass that I celebrated for the parents and relatives of political detainees in Bicutan. It’s about water’s relentless flow.

Masdan ang daloy ng tubig sa batis ng gubat/ Di ito matutuyo bukal nito’y likas/ Mumunting agos na sa ilog nagtitipong lakas/Tiyak na darating sa Inang dagat.

I was told that a former guerrilla leader contributed the core idea for the next stanza – the movement for freedom is water and martial law is a dam meant to block its flow. I like the next lines of the song because they capture the Pinoy’s response to obstacles. 

Kung ang daloy ng tubig pilit na sagkaan/ Taasan man ang harang, hahanap ng daan/ Tubig na naipo’y magtitipong lakas/ Tibayan man ang harang sa huli’y sasambulat

Faced by obstacles, the Pinoy first response is not to confront head on, but to look for other ways to get through, including palusot. But don’t underestimate the Pinoy’s capacity and willingness to confront, if all other options are blocked.

The title of that prison song is not about water. It is Ibong Malaya, and the bird, captured and caged but struggling to fly free, is  probably the main metaphor of freedom in Philippine song and poetry.

It is one of the key images of Bayan Ko, which is practically our second national anthem.

There is an interesting variation in one of the stanzas of Bayan Ko, which reflects a debate among Pinoy activists. The original lines are:  Ibon mang may layang lumipad/ Kulungin mo at umiiyak.

After singing the original lines for some time, activists changed ”umiiyak” to “pumipiglas.” They argued that if all the bird does is cry, it will never get out of its cage. It must struggle. Others didn’t want to touch the original, and sought to defend it by saying “If the bird does not feel caged and does not cry about it, it won’t see the need to struggle to get out.”

Eventually, they agreed on a compromise solution. Since the refrain of Bayan Ko is sung twice, they sing “umiiyak” the first time, and “pumipiglas” the second time.

Monday Memories of Love and Death

Rainy days and Mondays…

It must be the rain, but memories of the past week weigh heavy on my mind at the start of this week.

The week opened with Congress ramming through a resolution on “con-ass.” That has provoked angry protests across the political spectrum. I hope the planned June 10 rally in Makati doesn’t get rained out. Whatever happens, I expect the anger to continue building up.

The day after, Congress passed its own version of a CARP extension law. Let’s hope that the bicameral committee of Senate and House finish their work soon, and no killer amendments survive the final version. Those who have campaigned for over two years for CARPER find this enough reason to celebrate, even though tempered by the sobering thought that we may have gotten an extension, but not much reform.

Then, I received text messages about two deaths that affected me personally.

Tito Regie Arceo, husband of Tita Thelma, and father of Bantayog ng mga Bayani martyr Ferdei Arceo, died after months of recovering from a triple bypass.

Ka Rene Penas, leader of the Sumilao farmers, and a leading campaigner for CARPER, was shot before midnight by still unknown assailants.

The death of Tito Regie had more immediate impact, because it is personal. I got to know him soon after EDSA 1986, when he tried to advice (with less success than he wanted) the left movement about its foray into electoral politics. A couple of years back, I met him again many years later when Tita Thelma asked me to get involved in the Bantayog ng mga Bayani, where she serves as head of the research and documentation committee.

Girlie and I took a taxi through the rain to Funeraria Paz, where we met Tita Thelma. After prayers and some silence, we asked how old Tito Regie was. “He is 83,” she replied. “We are of the same age.”

“So, how long have you been married?” Tita Thelma said that they have been married for 58 years. They met as political science students at the University of the Philippines.

I thought of Girlie’s parents, Nanay Flotie and Tatay Iba, who celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary last year. We visited them two weeks ago, since Tatay was sick  in the hospital and Nanay had just recovered.

Girlie asked Tita Thelma: “Can you tell us the secret of your long and loving marriage?”

Tita Thelma thought for a while. “Don’t have unnecessary baggage. Settle for a simple life. Be satisfied with what you have. But fight for what you want.”

She added a second. “Don’t let the sun set on your wrath.” Girlie told her that we try to keep the same rule, and we succeed most of the time. She had a good laugh with Tita Thelma’s follow-up advice: “When you argue and you are in the wrong, don’t hesitate to say that you are sorry. But if you are in the right, just keep silent and don’t belabor the point.”

And finally, a third advice: “Don’t stop loving and telling each other about it.” She took out from her bag something that Tito Regie gave her in 1974, a pamphlet of love poems.

I don’t think I have ever met Ka Rene, and my initial emotional response to the news about his death was more political than personal. But as I read the testimonies of those who have known him, and listened to his last recorded speech, my response became more personal.

Somehow, my sadness and anger at Ka Rene’s death connected in my mind and heart to similar  feelings I had when Ka Eric of UNORKA was killed. Both farmer-leaders are from Mindanao, and initially led struggles on specific local issues. But both took up the cause of farmers in other places, and eventually both were elected to national leadership posts – Ka Eric as general-secretary of UNORKA, and Ka Rene as vice-president of PAKISAMA.

What made Ka Eric’s death more poignant to me was that we had met just some days earlier to discuss how ELF could assist UNORKA in training their leaders from their provincial federations. In line with ELF’s approach to grassroots leadership formation, I told Ka Eric that he would have to reflect on his development as a leader and draw lessons that we can use for the leadership formation program.

What drives farmer-leaders like Ka Rene and Ka Eric to take on causes beyond their immediate local communities? What made them persist despite warnings about threats to their lives?

I recall what a farmer from the Ilocos was supposed to have said in the early years of martial law: “If we dare to struggle, we may die. If we don’t, we will still die. Better to die because we have struggled.”

Truth, spoken bravely. 

Still, leaders like Ka Rene and Ka Eric must have sometimes allowed themselves to think that “there is a time to die,” when the death of leaders strengthen the resolve of those they leave behind. For there are those who have studied the ways of holding on to power and the status quo, and know that “there is a time to kill,” when the loss of leaders can dishearten and weaken those they leave behind.

When Jun Lozada decided to “walk toward the light” and tell what he knows about the ZTE deal, he had to face the prospect of losing his freedom, perhaps even his life. He requested me to talk to his wife Violet, because he may have prepared himself for possible consequences, but not his wife and children. Fortunately, Girlie was able to join me, and she had a long conversation with Violet who said, “I had only simple goals – to be a good wife and a good mother.”

While we mourn and rage about the deaths of farmer-leaders, I hope that their families, especially the wife they leave behind, have people with whom they can talk about love and death, and living on.

Return of Murderous Thoughts

How many times have you murdered people in your mind before falling asleep?

I must have done this more than a dozen times when I was very young.

My murderous thoughts were triggered by petty reasons – some personal slight, some unresolved quarrel. But I wouldn’t sleep unless I replayed the offense and the sense of being aggrieved, and imagined ways I could exact revenge, including “terminating with extreme prejudice” to borrow a CIA phrase I learned much later in life.

When I talk about this at seminars, I joke that there was a peculiar feature of my imagining that was an early sign of my calling to be a priest.

When I thought of killing someone I hated, I didn’t think of simply killing him (it was always another boy). I wanted to kill him only after I was sure that he had committed a “mortal sin.” That way, I was sure that he would not only depart from this life, but would suffer forever in hell.

Of course I have outgrown such childish quirks, or so I thought.

But last night, after following the proceedings in Congress that brazenly railroaded the resolution on con-ass, I couldn’t sleep until I yielded to my childhood ritual.

The images and sequences were straight from the movie “V.”  

An outraged group barge into the main hall of Congress. They escort the opposition and the gallery  out to safety, and bolt the doors. Then they turn hoses on the triumphant majority. But instead of water, the hoses spout gasoline. They throw their torches and watch the majority flail and burn. They post the slow-motion clips on You Tube.

Then I slept a dreamless sleep.

The morning after, my conscience reminded me of Christ’s words that we are already responsible for acts that we only think about, even if we don’t actually do them.

Mea culpa.

Decision Week

Tomorrow, on the first Monday in June, the Senate and Congress meet for their last session week.

They will not meet again until the last Monday in July, when they convene to hear the GMA’s State of the Nation Address or SONA.

The headlines of the SONA in July will depend on what both houses decide on or not this week.

For those of us who have been campaigning for CARPER – CARP Extension with Reforms, this is the last chance for the Senate and Congress to pass such a law. The interim measure they adopted earlier, a joint resolution extending CARP, expires by the end of June.

There is a saying that elected officials vote according to their constituency, rather than according to their conscience. If there is truth to this, CARPER has a good chance of passing. It has a constituency that has argued the case for CARPER in committee hearings, conferences, and dialogues with legislators and with GMA herself. The farmers’ organizations and their allies, especially church leaders, have made themselves heard on the streets, most recently braving water cannons and truncheons.

But of course there is another constituency that may not be as vocal but is definitely powerful – landed interests that oppose CARP and would prefer the law to lapse, or allow its extension only with “killer amendments” contrary to its spirit of reform. Ironically, there are also those who oppose from a “left” standpoint, criticizing CARP as reformist.

During high-level dialogues with church officials who have taken up the cause of the farmers, enough pledges to pass CARPER have been made, by Senate President Enrile, House Speaker Nograles, and President GMA herself. These pledges have been publicly repeated, followed by private reassurances.

What should we expect, then?

I can’t help but think of the framework I use in the struggle for reforms: “Between Honesty and Hope.”

It is hope that drives our efforts, but it is tempered by an honest assessment of the power we have been able to muster in our campaign for CARPER. We may have argued well and wielded the power of principle, but we are not sure that our numbers and level of unity is adequate. And I still believe my first lessons from the FFF years that we need to combine the “power of principle” and the “principle of power” to win our struggle for reforms.

There is additional hope from Sol Alinsky’s almost cynical observation that people in powerful places “can be made to do the right thing, even if for the wrong reason.” We hope that enough of the elite find it in their interest to pass CARPER, or at least not militantly oppose it.

Just as I was tilting toward “hope,” I received this text message from a friend who has access to some inner circles of the elite: “The Lakas-Kampi merger and the announcement that there will be elections in 2010 may be a ploy. They will still force a vote tomorrow in Congress on the resolution for charter change.”

The Baptism of Bishop Pabillo

Last Saturday and Sunday, I was asked to facilitate the 5th National Congress of UNORKA, the national federation of local farmers’ organizations that has been at the forefront of the struggle for agrarian reform.

I did not hesitate to accept the invitation, especially since it came from the chair of the steering committee, Ka Eking Tayo from Negros Occidental. Ka Eking is head of NOFFA, a federation of hacienda-based organizations. He is also a graduate of the grassroots leadership course of ELF, but even before he was elected president of NOFFA, he was already an active leader of the basic ecclesial communities.

Over the two days, I was impressed by the low key but steady leadership demonstrated by Ka Eking and the members of the steering committee. While UNORKA is a rather “flat” federation of “autonomous local” organizations, it still needs national leaders to represent it, especially to lead in its national advocacy campaigns. The 5th national congress has been convened to elect new national leaders for the next three years.

Being national leaders of UNORKA is not for the faint of heart. At its 4th National Congress, it had to elect a secretary general to replace Ka Eric Cabanit who was murdered by killers suspected to be hired by landowners. For various reasons, many of those elected to serve for three years either cut short their term or failed to serve altogether.

On Saturday morning, the 600-plus delegates listened to reports from various provincial and municipal federations. After some time, I teased the assembly that after listening to the reports, perhaps very few will consider being elected to be national leaders of UNORKA.

For example, Eva from Masbate talked of how her husband was killed in front of her and their seven children. There were over 30 delegates from Iloilo who have just been released on bail after spending over a month in jail; they now face another imprisonment, due to harassment cases filed against them.

Although all the reports started with local cases and struggles, they all ended with the reason they are in MetroManila – to continue the campaign for CARPER, or CARP extension with reforms. With just 10 session days left, they see the need to press both Senate and House to pass a new law, but also have to guard against “killer amendments” that opponents seek to insert.

All the reports also had another recurring item – the welcome involvement of many church leaders in solidarity with the farmers’ struggle for CARPER. For the few of us present who worked with the Federation of Free Farmers in the late 1960s and early 1970s, this was a reminder of a partnership that we think should be revived, if agrarian reform is to push ahead in the face of the determined resistance of vested interests.

Although the timing of his appearance at the UNORKA congress was set by his busy schedule, Bishop Pabillo’s address came at the right time, since it followed the reports about the farmers’ experience of solidarity from many church leaders.

Instead of a general solidarity message. Bishop Pabillo gave a succinct and substantial summary of Church social teachings. It was my first time to hear him speak about the topic to an assembly of farmers, and if the spirited Q and A after his talk is an indication, his message both inspired and challenged the audience.

The seven principles he discussed are: 1) Human dignity as the basis for human rights, 2) The common good based on people being social beings, 3) Solidarity for the pursuit of the common good, 4) Subsidiarity and empowerment, 5) Care for the environment, 6) The universal destination of all creation, and 7) Peace as the fruit of justice and peaceful forms of struggle.

This simple listing doesn’t capture the stirring and relevant application Bishop Pabillo made of these principles to the struggles of the farmers, not just against outside powerful forces, but also within their ranks. Hence the lively Q and A that followed.

The last point he made about achieving peace through struggles that are both just and peaceful drew a question from a veteran farmer-leader from Mindanao. “How far will church leaders go to show their solidarity with our struggles?”

Bishop Pabillo’s answer was short and direct: “So long as your struggle is for a just cause and is peaceful, you can rely on me to be with you all the way.”

Adding credibility to his answer is the fact that Bishop has not only hosted meetings of farmers, issued public statements, and lobbied persistently with government officials. He has also marched with farmers on the streets, and has joined them in a hunger strike in front of Congress.

Although I couldn’t join them, I  was told that there was a planned march on Monday to Congress to call on its members and leaders to stop discussing charter change, and instead accelerate the passage of CARPER.

When I got home last night from a meeting, I heard the news that the march had been blocked and that the security forces had hosed the marchers with water cannons.  Bishop Pabillo was with them, and was not spared.

I have not been on the receiving end of a water cannon, and wondered if the water used against Bishop Pabillo was colored or icy.  Jane Capacio of Kaisahan and PARRDS who blogged about it as her first time to be hosed, described the water as “dirty and smelly.”

My mind flew back to another May, in 1972. I was with a protest march that was stopped on Roxas Boulevard, at some distance from the US embassy. Without warning, tear gas canisters were lobbed from behind the riot police into our midst.

That was a sort of baptism, and I remember it vividly. Whatever was in the tear gas really stung my face, and made it hard to breathe. Not just tears but mucus flowed uncontrollably. I ran away together with my companions, looking for a way to relieve the heat and the pain. We saw a small faucet at the edge of Rizal Park, rushed to it, but it had only a tiny trickle of water. Below it was a small puddle of dirty water, and we all scooped some to wash our faces.