Join the Global Launch of the Charter for Compassion

November 12, 2009 is the scheduled global launch of the Charter for Compassion. This afternoon, at the office of the Education for Life Foundation (ELF), a group of Filipinos will “join the conversation” about it.

What is this charter anyway?  What does it seek to accomplish?

The original idea came from a former Catholic nun, Karen Armstrong, who made it her TED wish, and invested her 100,000 dollar TED prize to start the process.

After leaving the convent, she thought she would have nothing to do at all about religion, having had enough of it. But an assignment from the BBC brought her face to face with various expressions of religion, including virulent fundamentalist varieties, but also a common thread in every religious tradition, popularly known as the Golden Rule – “Do not do unto others what you do not want done to you.”

She is a much published scholar on religion, and she has traced the Golden Rule back to Confucius. I like her anecdote about a well known rabbi, contemporary of Jesus. A pagan promised to convert to Judaism if the rabbi could explain the whole of Jewish religion while standing on only one leg. The rabbi stood on one leg and said, “Do not do unto others what you do not want done to you. That is the essence of our religion. All the rest is commentary.”

Unfortunately, most organized religions tend to emphasize doctrine and beliefs about God, afterlife, and other dogmas that have generated debates and controversies, including violent conflicts.

What the Charter for Compassion seeks to accomplish is to remind every religious tradition of this core message and value, and to promote it, in word and deed. 

The final version of the Charter has been written by a multi-denominational group who have received suggestions from all over the world. Here is the text, which I downloaded just now. You can learn more about the Charter, its history, the process and prospects, at the TED site.

Charter for Compassion

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity  of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect. 

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest,  to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others – even our enemies – is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge  that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum  of human misery in the name of religion.  

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~  to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings, even those regarded as enemies. 

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensible to the creation of a just economy and  a peaceful global community. 

Any charter, like any vision-mission document is not self-implementing. But having a charter is a good start to talk and think together about the various ways we can live it out. Hence the tagline: “Join the conversation.”

For us in the Philippines, one initial challenge is translating this into our national language. Our informal brainstorm had us floundering for a while. “Charter” has been too much associated in recent months with “charter change” and suspect political motives.

Then someone remembered “Kartilya” which evokes Emilio Jacinto’s Kartilya ng Katipunan. That perked us up. What about compassion? The closest concept seems to be “Pagmamalasakit.”

Rebuilding our communities. Rebuilding our nation.

Jess Santiago’s song, Pitong Libong Pulo, kept playing in my mind today.

I especially like the refrain, which is an anthem of hope: At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon / Pag-asa’y bulaklak na muling sisibol / Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig / Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip.

Early this morning, I silently hummed the song as I commented on the concept note drafted by Pancho Lara for a conference on November 19, on “Asset Reform, Environmental Change, and Conflict.” During our brainstorm a few days back, I suggested as conference subtitle: “Rebuilding our communities. Rebuilding our nation.”

After the devastating floods that hit MetroManila and neighboring provinces, followed by fatal landslides in Northern Luzon, the Philippine discourse on climate change has intensified, feeding into and feeding from the process leading to Copenhagen in December.

Climate change is a crucial factor, but not the only factor. There are previous persistent problems, like deforestation, siltation of waterways, market-driven urban development that has not included disaster risk reduction and ecological considerations. The conference we are preparing focuses on the link between environment, asset reform (and social justice), and asks ourselves how we can retool our approaches in community organizing and development advocacy.

Before noon, I went to the Oxfam office to attend the meeting of “RCube” an ad hoc group that seeks to influence the direction of the government-led reconstruction efforts. We hope that the realizations forced upon those in power will make them consider other ways to reconstruct our settlements, and make them open to ideas and good practices presented by communities in partnership with LGUs, urban planners, community organizers, and ecological advocates.

During our recent FPE board meeting, when we got updates about government moves to address climate change, someone asked: “Why only now? Climate change has been talked about for a decade?” The answer was straightforward. “Because MetroManila and the middle class (even some of the elite) have been hit, dramatically, by its consequences.”

The November 19 conference is being organized mainly by those of us who come from the social justice tradition. We want to be interrogated by the discourse on climate change and environmental change. We also examine two predicted threats to asset reform: “1) Anti-poverty gains from asset redistribution will be threatened by climate change and its severe effects on the environment, and the onset of violence and conflict arising from these changes. 2) The demand for increased public investments in asset reform will be threatened by the new priorities towards disaster awareness, prevention, and response, and climate change mitigation and adaptation of subnational, national, and regional states and the international donor community.”

The emphasis on climate change can have positive or negative outcomes. “On the positive side it reinforces the need for partnerships between State and civil society at various levels to address a brewing crisis that hardly differentiates between age, gender, class, and ethnicity. On the negative side it can be skewed in favor of actions that protect the “included”, rather than the “excluded”.  It may dampen, under-capitalize, or even thwart investments that strengthen the endowments and entitlements of the poor (asset reform), which remains a fundamental building block of anti-poverty efforts and the bulwark of democratic governance.”

The language can be a bit turgid. Those of us in popular education and grassroots leadership formation need to do a lot of work to make the issues more accessible.

The conference asks us to look beyond the imagery of tragedy and hopelessness, and see local communities as rallying points for survival and renewal. It is a call to work together around the task of rebuilding our communities and rebuilding our nation. “The expected outcome is an exploration of new strategies and partnerships between community, State, and a global civil society that is fair to all, and secures people’s lives and livelihoods over the long term, in the midst of the new global challenges confronting citizens and their communities.”

Jess Santiago’s song delivers the message is a more stirring way: 

Pitong libong pulo, tayo’y watak watak / Kanya-kanyang kilos, kanya-kanyang kumpas / Iba’t-ibang daan ating binabagtas / Hindi matagpuan landas sa pagunlad

Pitong libong isla, ating pag-isahin / Sa iisang mithi / Pitong libong pulo, matatag at buo /  Hindi mahahati / Sambayanang bigkis ng isang lunggati / Payapa’t malayang kayumangging lahi

 At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon / Pag-asa’y bulaklak na muling sisibol / Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig / Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip

 Ano mang sakuna sa ati’y dumating /  Ano mang mawasak ating bubuuin / Gaano mang bigat ang ating pasanin / magbabayanihan at babalikatin

 At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon /  Pag-asa’y bulaklak na muling sisibol / Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig / Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip

Remembering

Today, Girlie and I should have been in Naujan, praying at the tomb of Inay and Tatay. But the recent typhoon had cancelled the ferry boats to Mindoro for a couple of days, and we decided not to chance a crossing today.

Instead, as soon as we woke up, we spent some time in our mini-garden, in a simple ritual of remembrance. She lit some candles and started writing the names of those whom we want to pray for. “Let’s draw up a list of at least 100,” she said. “We can add others as we remember them through the day.”

We started with Inay, who died last February, whom I miss more than usual today. I added the names of Tatay, Tiyo Villing, the only sibling of Inay who has died, following his wife Tiya Vive. We remembered Tiyo Ulo and Tiya Nena, husband and wife of Tiya Dely and Tiyo Delfin. We listed Fr. Tom Cassidy SVD as part of family. On the dela Torre side, all my father’s siblings and their partners are dead. The Gan side have relatively longer lives.

Girlie had a long list of her relatives, starting with her grandparents on both her mother and father’s side. Her mother is an orphan, so the names of uncles and aunts are only from her father’s side  - Tiyo Mario, Tiyo Carding, Tiya Anita, and many more. She has special memories of her cousin Ave. Altogether, her list of relatives and close friends of the family had more than 50 names.

From family and friends, we moved on to comrades and activists with whom we shared not just commitment but mutual friendship and respect. We know at least one third of those whose names are on the Wall of Remembrance of the Bantayog ng mga Bayani Foundation. But there are many more. We  listed over 30 names of activist-friends, especially those whose wake and funeral we have attended.

I recall one November 1 evening in prison at Camp Bagong Diwa in Bicutan. We were around 40 prisoners. We gathered in a room, lit candles, and wrote the names of activists we personally knew, and who had been killed in the struggle. The sheets of paper on the walls had more than 250 names.

Off and on, Girlie and I talk about what we think and believe about those who have died, and about life beyond death. We half-seriously ask each other, and promise, that whoever of us dies ahead, he or she should try to get a message back. 

She has a gift which she cannot fully explain, of sometimes receiving from those who have “crossed over” messages that they want her to pass on to their loved ones. When I ask her how it happens, and how she handles it, she explains that over time, she has developed some “protocols.” 

At mass this evening, as I prayed for the names on our list, I thought that those who have crossed over do continue to live on, in us and among us, as we remember them. But also in other ways, in legacies they have left with us. I think of the wake of Susan Fernandez, and how my mind and heart shuttled between the urn that contained her ashes and her face and voice singing on the video screen.  I think of Tita Odette’s spirit continuing to drive the Earth Day Network.

These are consoling thoughts. But we want more.

I take some comfort from the biblical passage about faith seeing “as in a mirror, darkly.” A commentator explains that a mirror in those times was of polished metal, that didn’t give clear and sharp images.

Triple A of Change and Learning

Yesterday, at the second meeting of our ad hoc group at the Oxfam GB office, we realized that it was exactly a month since the floods of Ondoy.

Lan Mercado of Oxfam GB who had originally convened us – from PIEP, FPE, COM, Philssa, ASOG – to brainstorm on recovery and reconstruction, beyond immediate rescue and relief. Our shared concern was how to insure that “disaster risk reduction” and “ecological restoration” are incorporated into any reconstruction program.

We committed ourselves to present our ideas and engage the government-organized reconstruction commission. Since this is a national government initiative, we wanted to make sure that the front-line role of local governments is given due importance. And of course, we want to make sure that the communities and the people involved will have real and not token participation in the post-Ondoy and Pepeng planning and implementation.

The last thing we want to happen is for the government, both national and local, to see reconstruction as simply rebuilding what have been damaged. Worse, if the main added element is the forcible relocation of people from endangered urban sites to provincial relocation sites that are far from their livelihood opportunities.

Although our immediate focus is on MetroManila, we realize that we need to expand the circle of concern to include Laguna, Rizal, Bulacan and neighboring ecosystems, not so much because they are relocation sites, but because their water and forest systems impact on MetroManila. Besides, parts of their areas and communities have also been hit by the typhoons and floods.

During our updates, I was struck by how little public knowledge there is about the provision in the UDHA law that 20% of any housing project should be for socialized housing. Anna of PIEP shared many interesting ideas and actual architectural and urban planning approaches (but so far used mainly in other countries) for “in-city” resettlement and “planned unit development.” 

She also introduced us to a new word “charette” which architects use to describe a brainstorm cum workshop session that ends with actual drawings and sketches. We had a bit of fun playing around with this latest addition to our development vocabulary.

We share the hope that the massive devastation of the two typhoons and the aftermath of analysis and accountability can be also an opportunity for authorities and communities to be more open to change. 

As we brainstormed further about how to communicate our ideas and pursue effective advocacy, I suggested that we may find it useful to use the “triple A” framework I use for any process of learning and change:

A-1 is to AFFIRM: What of the past and existing realities and approaches should we retain and affirm, because they remain valid and have stood the test of time?

A-2 is to ADD: What new elements and approaches do we introduce (probably based from experiences from other places) to fill glaring gaps and enhance what are already there?

A-3 is to ALTER: What do we drop altogether, subordinate or modify? This is usually the hardest part. But while it seems to be the only one directly associated with change and learning, it  should not be separated from A-1 and A-2.

When I was younger and less experienced, the emotions I associated with change were all positive – excitement and fulfillment. Now I realize that change is also accompanied by a feeling of anxiety, even among those who stand to benefit from it. Hence the value of explaining that alteration is just one of three, and that there is also affirmation and addition.

An Aeta’s Advice on Relief and Reforestation

Yesterday at a meeting of FPE, the Foundation for Philippine Environment, Lan Mercado of Oxfam GB gave us a briefing on the damage wrought on the Philippines by typhoon Ondoy and Pepeng. She said that around 4 million people have been displaced by Ondoy, and another 2 million by Pepeng, mainly due to landslides.

More than three weeks after Ondoy, most of the response is still at the stage of “relief.” The next stage of “early recovery” is only true of MetroManila. And she reminded us that in previous years, the more destructive typhoons, like Milenyo, have come in December.

Still, she said that the need for immediate relief and early recovery will pass, though more slowly than before. But will government and people learn the lessons and integrate hazard mapping and disaster risk reduction in development planning? And beyond the rhetoric, what decisive measures will be taken for climate change adaptation and climate change mitigation? 

Both FPE and a sister organization PTFCF, the Philippine Tropical Forest Conservation Foundation, are into long-term, or at least medium-term, programs of biodiversity conservation and reforestation. We have no funds or capabilities to respond to the more immediate needs of rescue, relief, and rehabilitation. But we asked our staff to check on the situation of our partner communities, many of them indigenous people, to guide us on what response we can give within our mandate.

Just before we ended our meeting, I got a phone call from Carling Domulot, president of LAKAS, the Aeta organization that is a partner of ELF, the Education for Life Foundation, and FPE. “I am going to Quezon City tomorrow, “he informed me. “Can we meet?”

Tonight, I managed a quick meeting with Carling before he took the night bus back to Zambales. 

Fortunately, the LAKAS community which he leads is settled on higher ground, and the flood waters did not reach their houses. But their six-hectare farmlands are in the lower plains, and all their crops have been destroyed. A few months back, he had asked ELF for some funds to buy rice. Their community had accommodated their fellow Aetas displaced by an earlier flood, and allowed them to plant root crops and vegetables in their field. But while waiting for their crops to grow, they needed some food to tide them over. Most of them used to earn 150 pesos working as day laborers in other people’s fields, but the flood had deprived them of this daily income.

Before they could harvest their crops, these were wiped out by the flood.

The local government and other agencies, public and private, have brought relief goods to the displaced communities. These are welcome, of course. But Carling also worries about the possible long-term impact on the Aetas. He recalls what happened after the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo in 1991. The displaced Aeta communities were the target of massive relief assistance, so much so that competing relief organizations added to the divisions among the Aetas.

“After many years, we have recovered our sense of self-reliance and unity,” he said. “Our responsibility as leaders is to make sure that we do not back slide to a culture of dependence, even though we do need assistance.”

One solution is to advice well-meaning organizations not to use the term “relief,” but to use the framework of “food for work.” Whatever food or money is given should be in exchange for asking the displaced Aetas to clean up their surroundings, plant trees, and when possible, plant food crops.

Reforestation is almost a “motherhood” response to preventing future floods and landslides, and essential to climate change mitigation. Both FPE and PTFCF are looking into supporting reforestation of the watershed areas and the mountains closest to MetroManila as a strategic intervention.

But Carling has some cautionary advice on reforestation.

“Over the past 18 years, since we settled in our present homes after Mt. Pinatubo erupted, I have seen many reforestation projects,” he said. “But how many of those trees are still alive? Why are most of our mountains still without forests?”

Many people and much funds can be mobilized for massive “tree planting” activities. Carling observes that the problem is how to take care of the trees for at least five years, to insure that they will continue to live and grow. He thinks it is better to assign each household a definite area and number of trees to take care of. But they would need support while waiting for the trees e.g. fruit trees to offer them possible income.

“We need to combine the long-term goal of renewing the forest, and the need to address our short-term  requirements for food and some extra income,” Carling says. The solution he sees is to fund these households to plant vegetables and other food crops in between the growing trees. The crops will give them food and some income from selling whatever surplus remains.

He adds that in Zambales, during the dry season, there are forest fires. Even their 40-plus hectare community-based reforestation project has suffered, despite their clearing fire breaks. He says, “If we practice contour farming for our root crops and vegetables, the spaces between the growing trees will be kept clear, and there will be little left to feed a forest fire.”

Of course he promotes the use of organic fertilizer and pest control. For many years, they also used chemical fertilizers and pesticides, but a few years back, LAKAS shifted to sustainable agricultural practices. “Our fellow Aetas did not immediately follow our example and advice,” he comments with a smile. “They were convinced only after they observed that we could harvest repeatedly, and earned more. I realized also that most of them are leaders in their own communities and would not simply follow the advice of a fellow Aeta leader.”

He has been talking with the local government and with other organizations about his ideas on combining food production and reforestation. “But most of them tell me that they have to focus first on relief assistance,” he says. “They ask us to wait till later. But even though we have not been displaced, our main source of food and livelihood has been destroyed. We need to do something about this, and combine it with the need to plant trees.” 

As he left to catch the night bus, I told him I will ask around if in the midst of the relief efforts, there are resources and organizations that are prepared to assist the kind of program he has described.

After the Flood

It’s hard to believe that two weeks have passed since the great flood hit MetroManila.

Despite the resumption of classes and other “normal” activities, the flood and its aftermath are still very present, in the news, and in our consciousness. Adding to their continuing presence in our minds and hearts is typhoon Pepeng, which spared MetroManila, but wrecked havoc on Northern Luzon.

Girlie and I have just flown back from London, where I spoke at a seminar on Faith, Conflict, and Poverty. While we were away, our house companions have cleaned up, though some of our books and most of our files are not yet completely dry.

Slowly but steadily, life is going back to normal. Ayen is anxiously studying for her exams. My appointment book is filling up with meetings that have been pushed back.

And yet, I have a sense that we can’t go back to the same life. We can’t treat the flood and its aftermath as mere interruptions of life as usual.

This is true of those who have lost loved ones and homes. But it is true even of those who are grateful that our lives have been spared together with those whom we love, and who have lost much, much less of what we own.

At the very least, we have become more aware, and concerned, about climate change and related issues. It’s a striking example of education from life, for life. Will the learning persist, or will it fade with time? I recall an aphorism: “Life’s lessons will be repeated, until finally learned.”

Our place had no phone and internet connection for a week. I went to internet cafes for e-mail and Facebook updates.

One message had deep resonance, and could be a summary headline of countless images and stories:  The flood drew out the best in the Filipino. As a people, we demonstrated our compassion, generosity, and heroism. Why can’t we get a government that matches our qualities as a people?

We deserve better.

It is not only a question of better government and political leadership, for which we have enough claimants and contenders, as we shift our attention to the May 2010 elections.

It is a question of how we rebuild and integrate our larger systems and structures. Our resilience and response have shown that we can perform well at the interpersonal, group, and community levels.

The legitimate critique of government, especially central government, for its inadequate response, its limited preparation, and lack of prevention, is related to the larger and the long-term.

Just before leaving last Sunday, I had our weekly teleconference with Fr. Silva and Edith Bueno. They asked NEA Deputy Ed Piamonte for updates on the impact of Pepeng on the power lines of the electric cooperatives in Central and Northern Luzon. Fr. Silva also reported that Visayas and Mindanao coops were asking how they can take part in a Task Force Kapatid to help their sister coops.

Beyond the immediate response, the board of the three CEBECO coops asked what they can do to help mitigate climate change and its impact. An initial agreement was for the electric coops to launch a well-targeted and sustained reforestation program in their respective areas. I said that this may also be a program for mobilizing the Electric Consumer Advocacy of the Philippines.

I trust that other ideas and initiatives will emerge after the flood.

As I write, I remember the refrain from a song of Jess Santiago: At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon/ Pag-asa’y bulaklak na muling sisibol/ Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig/ Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip

Close Encounters with Odette

Starting tomorrow, September 24, Odette Alcantara will be hosting her community of friends and kindred spirits at her Blue Ridge house, where her ashes await us.

She has left instructions that we should not mourn her departure. It is fitting that the invitation being circulated is to “celebrate her life.” Because Odette is hosting, and because we are Pinoy and Pinay, there will be lots of food to share, and even more stories about our close encounters with Odette.

Here are some of my stories.

The first time I visited the house of Odette Alacantara in Blue Ridge was in the early 80s. I was with Boy Morales; both of us were in the underground movement, and on the run. She had agreed to give us shelter for a few days, until our unit had established a new UG house.

She was a very gracious host, and quickly settled us in our rooms. Then she challenged us to a chess game. I demurred, since I hadn’t played chess in a long time. Boy took up her challenge and was soundly beaten, repeatedly.

That was a revelation. Odette, whom I knew as a patron of artists, turned out to be a formidable chess player. Later, when we were working together in the Earth Day Network, she often referred to chess moves when brainstorming about our campaigns.

My second visit to Odette’s house was in 1986, after my release from prison. She hosted a reception for ex-detainees, including an impromptu program. I sang a Pilipino translation of a Spanish revolutionary song which I learned from a Pinoy activist in Sweden. Years later, she would press me from time to time to sing that song, “Kaliweteng Manok.” Sorry, Odette, that I never sang that song again for you.

A third encounter she often reminded me about was in Tayabas, Quezon. We met by chance in the mid 1990s, during the Pahiyas celebrations. She took me aside and expressed her concern, and confusion, about the divisions and debates in the left movement. “Can you help me make sense of all these?” she asked.

We happened to be in front of the Tayabas church. “Think of the debates about strategy in these terms,” I said. “There are those who want to enter the church by smashing the front door. But others argue that there are other ways to enter the church, through the back door, possibly, or through the windows.”

She said that the metaphor helped her resolve the tension she felt, having friends on the different sides of the left debate, and wanting to look for what united them, rather than taking sides.

I don’t know when Odette first asked me to join the Earth Day Network. But I recall my immediate response. “Odette, I have no credentials as an environmental activist. My passion is for social justice.”

Her response was vintage Odette: “No problem. Become an advocate and activist for environmental justice.”

With that, I joined the community of people whom Odette fondly called her “alipin.” My test assignment was to emcee a national conference on R.A. 9003, the law on ecological solid waste management.

From the point of view of popular education or “pop-ed,” what I particularly appreciated about Odette’s tutorials were her two acronyms and images that capture the key messages of environmental thinking and advocacy. The first is “LAHAT” – lupa, araw, hangin, ako, tubig. The second is the “OSTIA” representing the partnerships of government, churches, business, and NGOs/communities.

Memories of Repression and Resistance: 2

This afternoon, I got a text message from a staff of Bandila, the nightly news program of ABS-CBN: “Today po air yun Sa Wari Ko segment namin.” A few days ago, a TV crew came to our rented place to shoot my contribution to “Sa Wari Ko.” I was asked to  give a three-minute reflection on what I think about martial law.

I said that I can’t help but look back at martial law from the point of view of a political detainee, since I spent nine of the 14 years from 1972 to 1986 in various detention centers and prisons. There are two lessons, I added, that we can draw from the experience of martial law. The first is that our ruling elite are capable of adopting a repressive form of rule. The second is that there are enough Filipinos who will rise in resistance.

I ended by quoting Ka Pepe Diokno who sent these comforting words to us in prison: “No matter how long the night, dawn will surely come.” We used that in the greeting cards we produced to give friends: “Manalig kang gaano mang kahaba ng gabi, darating rin ang liwanag.”

But dawn will surely come, even if we do not do anything about it. Freedom will not come unless we struggle for it.

While waiting for the Bandila segment, I think back to Friday the 13th in December 1974. I should have been superstitious.

I had picked up a note the day before, at a drop point in an office of a religious congregation. The message was from my contact in the underground resistance. He asked to meet me “in the first place where we met” which only the two of us knew. He had failed to show up for a previous appointment. His explanation in the note was that there had been arrests, “may sunog” in the language of the UG movement, and we should meet to plan how to regroup.

What he wrote was the truth, but not the whole truth. Later, in prison, we pieced together the story. A few days earlier, there were military raids on a network of UG houses in Baguio City, and a number of activists were arrested. During tactical interrogation which involved torture, most stood firm and refused to give any information. But one or two eventually yielded information that led to another series of raids and arrests in MetroManila.

One military raiding team caught a labor organizer while he was ironing his pants. The soldiers pressed him for information about his contacts, and when he refused, they pressed the hot iron against the soles of his feet. But they couldn’t get him to talk.

My contact was also arrested, and also refused to give any information, even under duress. But at night, his interrogators put him on a military jeep, and while it was speeding on a deserted highway, they pushed him out of the vehicle. He managed to hold on to the jeep, but the rest of his body was strung out of the speeding jeep. He told me later that at that moment, he thought of his wife who had just given birth to their child. That broke him, and he agreed to cooperate with his captors.

They asked him to write the note and deliver it to our usual drop point.

That afternoon of Friday the 13th of December 1974, I set out to our meeting place, Luisa and Sons restaurant on Claro M. Recto street. On the way there, I felt some unease, but dismissed it. The note I received seemed authentic. Only the two of us knew where we first met, and there was an urgent need to regroup after the arrests.

I spotted him sitting at a table. I took a seat across him, and ordered a glass of pineapple juice. He seemed worried and despondent, so I tapped his cheeks and asked how he was. Suddenly someone grabbed my left arm. I managed to shake it off, and ran toward the entrance of the restaurant. A couple of  men in civilian clothes were waiting there, pointing their guns at me. I ran back toward the band stage of the restaurant, intending to grab the mike and tell people who I was.

I followed the standard movement advice to create public commotion during arrest, and shouted “Call the police!” I still remember one of the arresting unit muttering to me: “We are the police!” Eventually they managed to push me down on the floor and handcuff me. I was quickly loaded into a military vehicle and brought to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Command, for a brief interview. 

I gathered that I was arrested by a composite unit. I had to wait while they argued over who should have custody over me. The eventual winner was the intelligence unit Z-2, whose area of operations covered the whole of Northern Luzon and Central Luzon. Since its headquarters were in Camp Olivas in Pampanga, I was brought there, and placed in a small room, my left arm handcuffed to a metal cot, to await tactical interrogation.

That was the first day of my first detention, which lasted five years, four months, and five days.

I did not spend all those years in the same detention cell. From Camp Olivas, I was transferred for a month to the YRC in Fort Bonifacio, then ordered to be brought back to a newly built detention place in Camp Olivas. After a few months, I was transferred to Camp Crame, and from there, to three different sections of the newly opened Camp Bagong Diwa in Bicutan.

There are many stories to tell about those different prisons, for another time.

For now, I entertain the thought that those first five years (and the four years of my second detention) give me grounds to claim a special expertise in “comparative prison architecture.”

Memories of Repression and Resistance: 1

It’s an hour before midnight of September 21, 2009.

I think back to this morning and the  memorial service at the Bantayog ng mga Bayani to honor the martyrs and heroes of the resistance to martial law. The recurring slogans for September 21 are “We will remember!” and “Never Again!” But this year, we decided to emphasize another: “Itayo ang bantayog ng mga bayani sa bawa’t puso!”

It’s an hour before midnight, and I can’t help but think of September 21 many years ago.

On Thursday, September 21, 1972, President Marcos signed Proclamation 1081, imposing martial rule in the Philippines. But he didn’t promulgate it until Saturday, September 23.

Rumors were rife, of course, about possible martial law, but most people I talked to were predicting a much later date, probably October. So I still joined a protest march to Plaza Miranda, sponsored by the Concerned Christians for Civil Liberties, that Thursday afternoon. 

I remember being asked to address the rally, and saying, “We who can still speak openly, should use our voice for the sake of the voiceless.” The Manila Times issue on Friday, September 22, carried a photo of that last rally. That turned out to be its last issue.

That same Friday, I spoke at a forum of college students, somewhere in Quezon City. When asked what I thought about Marcos possibly declaring martial law, I said that he may think that is not how best to repress us. “If he strips us of our rights in one dramatic act, that will provoke resistance. If he strips us gradually, we may not resist until it is too late..” I think I even cited the story of the frog who would leap  out of a pot of boiling water, but would stay in the pot if the water were slowly heated, until it was too late to jump out.

Later, I cited this “analysis” as evidence that no one should trust the logic of my political judgment, at least not about the “capability and intentions” of the elite.

It’s a good thing I didn’t sleep that Friday night in the seminary. I think I had another meeting in an urban poor community, before spending the night at an activist HQ. When I went to Christ the King Seminary on Saturday morning, the seminarians were out on the front lawn. “The military were here early morning. They knocked on your door and wanted to take you to Camp Crame. They showed us your photo and asked where you were.”

My immediate thoughts were about Julius Fortuna and other activists of the Movement for a Democratic Philippines. They had asked me for a safe place to stay, and I had brought them to the house of my relatives. I took a taxi to fetch them. They had heard about martial law being declared, though there was still no official announcement; just radio silence. 

Where to hide? I called some nuns who were friends and activists. They agreed to receive us in their convent. Was it there that we watched the TV proclamation? My memory is fuzzy. What I recall is that we asked for reading materials, and the nuns gave Julius (May he rest in peace) a set of the Selected Writings of Mao Tse Tung. For me, they found a hard bound edition of the Jerusalem Bible

The next days were tense. It was hard to figure out what was news or rumor. We managed to establish skeletal communications with other activist groups, but most were in hiding, and moving from place to place, to avoid being fixed targets.

Our religious hosts contacted some elite families they knew, and whom they trusted would take the risk of offering us shelter in their homes. Julius and I must have spent a few days with three or four different families.

We were introduced with pseudonyms, to protect our hosts and us. But one morning, at breakfast, the children of our host family greeted me with a somewhat mischievous smile. “We know who you really are,” one of them said.

They didn’t wait for me to ask how they knew. One of them showed me the last issue of Manila Times, Friday, September 22. There on the back page, was a photo of our Thursday rally. On top of the makeshift stage, holding a microphone, there I was, addressing the rally.

Next day, we were informed that a proper “UG house” had been set up. We thanked our hosts, and moved to the next mode of  existence.

Thinking of Harry Potter and Noynoy Aquino in Edinburgh

Saturday September 12, Girlie and I had a free day to tour Edinburgh by ourselves. 

We went first to the High Kirk of St. Giles on High Street, just a block away from our hotel. The cathedral is an impressive structure with beautiful stained glass windows. We especially liked the Thistle Chapel with its ornately carved wooden stalls and ceiling. The carvings reminded me of Rosslyn Chapel, of Da Vinci Code fame, which we visited early in the week. But the lace-like carvings of Rosslyn are of stone, and thus more impressive, even without the legend and mystery.

As we got out of the cathedral, we espied a statue of Adam Smith and had our picture taken. I made a mental note to re-read his Theory of Moral Sentiment, which lays out the philosophical underpinnings of his later, better known, Wealth of Nations.

By then it was lunch time, and we decided to eat at the Elephant House Cafe. Its claim to fame is that J.K. Rowling wrote her first Harry Potter book in one of the corner tables, while sipping a cup of coffee which was all she could afford as a single mother. The tremendous success of her Harry Potter series is symbolized by the last place we visited in Edinburgh, the Hotel Balmoral. it was in one of its posh suites that J.K Rowling wrote her seventh and last Harry Potter book.

Like our daughter Ayen, millions of children have learned to read books because the Harry Potter series appealed to them. The movies and the marketing reinforced its appeal. Fortunately, like Ayen, they maintained their habit of reading, even after they outgrew Harry Potter in favor of the Twilight series of vampire love.

I asked Girlie, “Why do you think Harry Potter appealed to Ayen and other children?” She thinks it is because it’s an adventure story, pitting Harry and his two friends Ron and Hermione, in a series of challenges against a powerful Voldermort. It appeals to the imagination with its evocation of wizards, magic, and primal emotions. And unlike the Lord of the Rings, it is more accessible, and children can identify with the protagonists – Harry Potter and his friends.

I have written earlier about the advantage of the story being promoted as the vehicle for the presidential campaign of Noynoy Aquino – democracy and good governance against the current administration and traditional politics. From reading the past week’s newspapers and commentaries, this story is now overlaid with a moral story line of “good versus evil,” which gives activists  and analysts some unease.

For many activist-friends, that story is less than overwhelming, because the story that they (we) consider more significant is the struggle for social transformation and social justice. But this latter story is more complex. The main protagonists are not clearly identified, or difficult to identify with, at least for electoral struggle. And given our past disappointments with electoral results, we could understand the anarchist quip of Emma Goldman, “If voting changed anything, they’d declare it illegal.”

But if we accept the observations of Harold Gardner on The Unschooled Mind, the story being developed around Noynoy’s candidacy has the potential to appeal to a diverse constituency. His description of the unschooled mind applies to the majority of the electorate, whose basic moral sentiments and thinking have been formed even before they go through formal education. And even with formal higher education, these basic sentiments and thinking e.g. on politics and leadership, can remain unchanged, especially if they are not directly subjected to critical examination. They are also reinforced by the dominant discourse in the popular media, which prefers the simple over the complex, and sharp black/white contrast to nuances and ambiguities. 

Shall activists despair, then, about the chances of other more complex and significant stories, and yield to the emotions and options of the moment? Not at all.

The challenge is how to engage this developing and probably dominant story and its protagonists, with our other significant story/stories. The electoral campaign is an opportunity for popular education and adult learning, about politics, elections, leadership, and competing visions for our shared future.

Some may choose to do this as a social movement part of the Noynoy campaign. Others may opt to do it from the platform of a non-partisan citizens’ movement. Still others from being part of competing candidacies. The only option that I think would be difficult to justify is to critique the Noynoy storyline from point of view of the current administration.

Sometime back in the late 80’s, we had similar discussions among activist-friends about movement building and electoral campaigning. I remember saying that building a movement for social transformation and social justice is like running a marathon, but an electrical campaign is like running a sprint race. They require different strategies and methods.

Some activists disdain sprint races, preferring to stick to the planned pace of their marathon, and treat electoral sprints as temporary distractions. If they participate at all, it is token or opportunistic.  Others engage seriously in sprints in a way that they find it difficult to recover their energies after setbacks. Still others learn, not as fast as they would want, how to run in electoral sprint races as part of their long-distance marathon run.