From Criminal to Doctor of Criminal Justice

Today is May 10, the anniversary of the death of Andres Bonifacio. Activist-friends have chosen this as a symbolic date for their campaign to seek truth and justice for activists who have been victims at the hands of their comrades.

While mulling over this, I read an e-mail from Fr. Tony Ranada SVD, who is into prison ministry, forwarding the testimony of Raymund Narag. I found it inspiring,and want to share it with you:

Last May 4, 2012, I marched in the graduation ceremonies of Michigan State University in East Lansing, Michigan.  Pending the successful defense of my dissertation, I will receive a doctoral degree in criminal justice.  From a maligned ex-detainee in one of the most crowded jails in the Philippines, I will be called “Dr. Narag,” with specialization in prison administration.  I wish to share my story as testimony to the triumph of the human spirit.  It is a testimony of God’s love.

I was once accused of a crime I did not commit.  I was accused of murder for the death of an equally promising young man few months prior to my bachelors’ graduation in the University of the Philippines.  From May 24, 1995 until February 28, 2002, I was arrested by the police, prosecuted in the courts and put behind bars in Quezon City Jail.  Then only 20 years old, I was naïve to the harsh realities of this world.  Released at age 27 and losing the seven best years of my youthful life, I was a changed man.

Like any emotionally devastated human being, I was initially bitter about my incarceration.  I could not fathom why a person as idealistic and as innocent as I was should undergo such travails.  I cannot comprehend why I had to live in a cell which accommodated 30 inmates instead of the 5 that was humanely prescribed.  I cannot understand why I was forced to live with a food subsistence of tuyo (dried fish) that barely sustained my flesh.  I cannot grasp why I had to go out of jail with handcuffs and the media too willing to proclaim: “I was the person to be hanged.”  In my myopic mind and shortsighted understanding, I questioned God: “do I deserve this suffering?”

But God works in mysterious ways.  He sent people who could serve as floater when I was about to sink in the sea of despair.  He sent sister Auxi, a religious nun, who made me her assistant in her prison ministry.  He sent Bobby and other brothers in the Christ Youth Action, who introduced me to the Bible. He sent the UP Pahinungod which provided me with the opportunity to be “fulltime” volunteer in the jail. He kept my parents and sisters who steadfastly supported me without questioning my involvement in the crime.  He kept my girlfriend whose advice: “be a good boy” continued to ring when the corrupting influences of the jail tempted me.  And He gave Dan, my fellow accused and who served time with me, whose character was a pillar of strength when we were emotionally drained.

Responding to the hook God gave me, I volunteered my services to the Jail Bureau.  I taught in the literacy program where we introduced the basics of writing and reading to our fellow inmates.  I worked as a paralegal coordinator where we monitored the cases of inmates who had long been overdue for release.  I organized a bible study group called Kristo Okay sa Amin (KOSA) to generate brotherly love among the warring gangs.  Eventually, on my fourth year of imprisonment, I became the Mayor the Mayores, the top position in the inmate political hierarchy, where I helped the warden in managing the affairs of the prison: of how to keep the jail surroundings clean, of how to prevent conflicts among the inmate gangs, of how to generate funds to keep the reformation programs going.  Indeed, I saw firsthand the intricacies of managing a crowded, underfunded, undermanned prison institution.

Therefore, instead of being bitter about my prison experience, as Father Tony Ranada, the QC Jail chaplain would say, “I was embettered by it!” I learned that there was a reason why God sent me there: to tame my wild and insatiable soul.  Prior to my incarceration, I was headed to the worldly and Machiavellian life of the legal profession where I envisioned myself to be a shrewd lawyer.  “Nah!” God said, “I had better plans!”

I realized I was in jail to discover His undying love for me.  I realized His immense plan to prosper me. Having found the reason: I claimed my freedom and clung on to His promise: I may be the maligned inmate, but I was spiritually free.  I shall use my academic and intellectual skills for His greater glory.

In the process, I was invigorated to document furiously what ailed the jail administration and to understand why and how my fellow inmates ended up in jail. I also endeavored to understand why gangs engaged in violence and drug distribution and how prison officers maintained their professional integrity despite the deficiency in salaries and personnel.  I wrote letters to the media and to concerned politicians and administrators to provide a realistic analysis of why jail escapes happen, of why inmates engage in riots, and anything that will portray a true understanding of jail life.  Indeed, right in the confines of Quezon City Jail, I was introduced to the academic field of Criminal Justice.

Eventually, after 6 years, 9 months and 4 days, I was proclaimed a free man.  Of course, I was wrongly accused!  Immediately, I wrote a book entitled “Freedom and Death Inside the City Jail” about my jail experience which was supported by the United Nations Development Program and published by the Philippine Supreme Court.  In his message, then Chief Justice Hilario Davide described my book as an “eye opener.” He then used it as one of the bases for the wide-ranging Action Program for Judicial Reforms.  In one unforgettable moment, I delivered a speech in-front of the 15 justices of the Supreme Court sharing them my story of incarceration and redemption.  Almost in tears, one of the female justices approached me and whispered, “our courts could only express our apology.”

Apologies accepted! But more than apology, I wanted our leaders to act more in behalf of the inmates and other downtrodden people.  I wanted them to develop a passion for the people they are serving.  Using my extensive experience on how the inefficacy of the prison records lengthen the stay of inmates in jail, and inspiring a group of computer programmers, we came up with a Simplified Inmates Records System (SIRS) that computerized the inmates’ carpeta.  We also developed a Detainees Notebook, where inmates can self-monitor their own cases.  These efforts to de-clog the jail were eventually noticed by the Quezon City government; which awarded me the Outstanding Citizen Award in 2005. Three years after treated a lowly inmate in Quezon City Jail, I was honored as Quezon City’s model citizen.  God be the glory.

But when it rains, it pours.  My representation about the penal situation brought me everywhere. Eventually, I was chosen as one of the 10 Fulbright Scholars in August 2005. I was sent to Michigan State University for a Masters Degree in Criminal Justice.  For my masters’ thesis, I studied the correlates of victimization among Filipino respondents.  Impressed by my performance, the Department offered me another scholarship, this time for the Doctor in Philosophy.

The road to the PhD degree was a long and rigorous one.  I had to burn the candles to read theories about crime; I had to stay in the library for long periods to master the methods of collecting data; and I had to refresh my old mathematical skills in order to understand statistical analyses.  There were times that I almost gave up, asking God if I had made the right decision to pursue a PhD.  I had two kids by then and they were growing right in my eyes.

But once again, I clung to God’s promise. I remembered: He sent me to prison, and He plucked me out. Then, there must be a reason why He sent me to a foreign shore just to be the “Filipino expert” in Criminal Justice.  Indeed, He introduced me to a church family that nourished and deepened my understanding of His Word.  In my spiritual growth, I realized that any efforts to improve a justice or social system must be based on the foundation of truth and love.  And I used this biblical concept to guide my future efforts to improve my country’s justice system.  Indeed, after seven years, the same length of time I spent in jail, I am done with my masters and PhD degrees.

I marched tall and proud.  I marched to say thank you for all those who kept and continue to keep the faith.  I will reiterate: Hang on and never give up.  I marched to declare that everybody commits a mistake and it is important to learn and grow from it.  I marched to be a testimony to the triumph of the human spirit in the face of seemingly unending odds.  But most importantly, I marched as a proclamation of God’s love.

Raymund E. Narag. School of Criminal Justice, Michigan State University. 26 Baker Hall, East Lansing, Michigan 48823. Tel. No: 517-355-9537

A Time to Live, A Time to Die

 

 

March has been a month for mourning, for Girlie and myself.

February 29, one of our closest friends, Horacio Boy Morales, died. He had been in coma for three months, following a heart attack.We still feel the aching void that he has left in our lives.

March 24, Nanay Flotie (Nanay Nene to others) “crossed over.”  The pain from an accidental fall 88 days earlier led to the discovery that she was suffering from renal failure. Last midnight, when the Villariba clan gathered after the Easter rites, we missed her motherly hosting of clan celebrations.

There were other deaths of family and friends in March, but these two dominate our minds and hearts.

Because of them, the annual ritual remembrance of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection has become very personal, existential.

During the wake of Nanay Nene, I overheard Girlie telling her friends: “There is one last lesson that Nanay taught us – how to die peacefully.” Not without pain, and not without moments of anxiety, but ultimately, with serenity.

The open channel that Girlie had to Boy Morales gave her insight into the pain that Boy was feeling, and also into his strong will to wake up and live. When his body finally gave up, his message to Bel and his children was typical BM: “I am sorry I had to leave you. I tried my utmost.”

During the quiet times that Girlie and I exchange what we feel about the death of Nanay Nene and Boy Morales, I experience the truth of a prison aphorism: “Sorrow shared is sorrow divided.” Can I say the same of the second part of the aphorism: “Joy shared is joy multiplied”?

Or similarly, “Hope shared is hope multiplied”?

We both continue to find meaning in religious rituals, and we both read and explore theological and spiritual themes, but Girlie and I share what we may describe as a “secular sensibility.”

It makes for interesting conversation, especially when we discuss death and life beyond death.

My preferred definition of theology is “fides quaerens intellectum” – faith seeking understanding. Girlie and I share a faith (or is it better to call it hope?) in life beyond death. But our secular sensibility, and our readings into neuroscience and evolutionary psychology, seek a different understanding of this faith and hope.

While listening to the priest’s sermon about Christ’s resurrection as the foundation of our faith, Girlie would sometimes whisper questions to me: “Is he talking of historical or biblical truths?”

Something else was occupying my mind – Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s critique of “cheap grace,” which I was correlating to “cheap faith.”

What does it mean to believe that Nanay Nene who just died, continues to watch over us, just like my Inay who died in 2009? What is the meaning of the image of Boy Morales traveling through vast galaxies, which flashed through Girlie’s mind?

It may be tempting to settle for satisfaction in the default mode of our received religious instruction. But I will continue to seek a deeper understanding, drawing comfort from the biblical passage that “we see now through the mirror, darkly.”

Happy Easter!

Gramsci in Dumingag

Dumingag is a second-class town in Zamboanga del Sur, with 44 barangays, 33 of them upland and inhabited mainly by indigenous Subanen. It was chosen to host the first MIndanao Sustainable Organic Agriculture Congress. During a brief conversation, Mayor Jun Pacalioga requested me to do a one page write up about his work in Dumingag, in support of his nomination for an international award.

Here is my brief submission, adapting some concepts from Gramsci:

Learning from Dumingag, Zambpanga del Sur

Two years ago, I asked officials of the Department of Agriculture if  there is any LGU that has provided agricultural extension workers in every barangay. “The mayor of Dumingag has done it,” they told me.

Mayor Jun Pacalioga has done this, and more. In everyone of the 44 barangays, most of them upland, there is an extension worker paid from LGU funds. And there is a second extension worker, paid from barangay funds.

What caught my interest is the two-week training these extension workers underwent – on community organizing, integrative health, and sustainable organic agriculture.  Also, that the promotion of sustainable organic agriculture is embedded in an over-all program of participatory local governance and people empowerment.

The impact of Mayor Jun’s leadership is symbolized by the decision to hold the first Mindanao-wide conference on sustainable organic agriculture in Dumingag.

There may be better practitioners and promoters of organic agriculture who have lessons to share. But I think that Dumingag and Mayor Jun are contributing unique lessons, demonstrated in practice, to those like myself who not only advocate sustainable agriculture, but want to link it to the struggle for social justice and social transformation.

The leadership and strategies of Mayor Jun remind me of Antonio Gramsci’s observation that “hegemony” (of the dominant elite) is maintained through a combination of “coercion and consent.” Why have changes for the better happened in Dumingag within a relatively short time and with limited local resources? I think a key reason is the judicious use by Mayor Jun of this Gramscian combination.

There is a significantly broad base within Dumingag for sustainable organic agriculture. This is the result of persistent education and social mobilization work not only by the barangay-based extension workers, but by the LGU itself, personally led by Mayor Jun who practices what he preaches. But this “consent” has also been reinforced by various local ordinances that are strictly enforced, including the banning of chemical inputs. It is further reinforced by the LGU’s initiative to link the small producers to markets.

Another insight of Gramsci on “good sense” and “common sense” can be applied to Dumingag. I told Mayor Jun that one indicator of success is when the “good sense” had become “common sense.” Hence his efforts to integrate the practices and principles of sustainable organic agrlculture in the culture of Dumingag.

And there are early signs of this. When he started, people said “Why is the Mayor promoting organic agriculture? Is he crazy?”

Now, they say, “Those who do not practice organic agriculture must be crazy.”

The Large Organs of Horacio Boy Morales

It was in Bago Bantay prison that I first heard Boy Morales say this: “To succeed in politics you must have large organs!”

I was taken aback, presuming that it referred to sexual practices. A scholarly study of Javanese “great men,” which I had read, did say that they are supposed to exhibit great sexual prowess.

Boy kept his mischievous smile and added – “Like a broad mind and a big heart.”

During the five nights of remembrances after his death, and before his ashes were interned at the Loyola Memorial chapel, speaker after speaker told stories about Boy Morales and his large organs.

His political vision and project included a much broader range of political persuasions and players than most of us dare to imagine, much less feel willing and able to engage in.

I had a first glimpse of this in the work we did in the underground resistance, before we were arrested in 1982. Our group was tasked to give substance and form to the National Democratic Front, so that it would include all the revolutionary forces fighting the dictatorship. In his testimony, Dodong Nemenzo acknowledged that he overcame his previous refusal to join what he judged to be an old-style Stalinist “united front” because Boy presented a framework for the NDF that respected and gave meaningful participation to other smaller organizations of the left, like that of Doc Nemesio Prudente.

Even as we collaborated in what we tentatively baptized as Ang Bagong Katipunan, Boy was also busy developing an even broader alliance that included all opposition forces, including traditional political leaders who were neither willing nor able to engage in revolutionary struggle.

That could be the reason why when we were in prison, he pushed me to help craft a framework that would link the rapidly growing open-legal protest movements with the trajectory of the revolutionary movement. At first, we simply described them as representing and searching for “new politics,” unlike those who mainly thought of restoring pre-martial law elite-dominated democracy. Later, we  proposed “popular democracy” as the name of their progressive political project.

When we were released from prison after EDSA 1986, Dodong said that he had expected Boy to lead in the forging of a new “left unity.” Instead, Boy identified himself with the project of “popular democracy” which Dodong confessed he did not quite figure out. Many of us laughed knowingly when we heard him say this.

Boy did keep his interest in the forging of left unities, but he sought even larger unities. Based in PRRM and other organizations that friends called the “Boy Morales group of companies” he helped launch issue-based coalitions like the Freedom from Debt Coalition. Beyond what we now call “civil society” campaign and advocacy networks, he reached out into government, to find ways of combining the energies outside government with reform-minded leaders inside the institutions of power.

When he himself was recruited into government as Secretary of the Department of Agrarian Reform, he pursued the same approach which later led to the founding of the “new” La Liga Filipina. Even after he left government service, he remained consistent to La Liga’s strategy of seeking synergies for reform among those outside and those inside the institutions of power.

There are many more stories to tell about the broad inclusive political vision of Boy Morales, including his forays into what is now called the global movement for social justice.

But I want to recall another set of stories about his big heart.

Beyond the many testimonies to his personal kindness and thoughtfulness, especially from his staff and close friends, what struck me through those five nights was this recurring theme: He never talked of anyone as an “enemy.” One activist quoted Boy as saying “There are only friends. Of course some are good friends. Others are not so good friends.” Another used a Filipino metaphor: “Para kay BM, walang masamang tinapay.“

And yet BM was a consummate political analyst and operative. Even now, and even after countless intimate conversations with him, I still don’t know how he kept his big heart open to those who did not reciprocate, and how he recovered from his many disappointments with those who failed to deliver on their commitments, or worse, betrayed him.

After the first night of his wake, I Googled Balthazar Gracian, the Jesuit who wrote The Art of Worldly Wisdom  in the 17th century. Boy said that it was from this book that he got the quote about “large organs.”

I read all the 300 short sections of the book, but couldn’t find anything about large organs. What I did find is this:

“Be able to stomach big slices of luck. In the body of wisdom not the least important organ is a big stomach, for great capacity implies great parts. Big bits of luck do not embarrass one who can digest still bigger ones. What is a surfeit for one may be hunger for another. Many are troubled as it were with weak digestion, owing to their small capacity, being neither born nor trained for great employment. Their actions turn sour, and the fumes that arise from their undeserved honors turn their proper place, for luck finds no proper place in them. A person of talent therefore should show that he has more room for even greater enterprises, and above all avoid showing signs of a little heart.”

One of Boy’s two daughters, Susan, recalls her father advising her to “have a stomach for big slices of luck.”

Looking back at the three decades that I have worked closely with Boy Morales, I think he had a stomach that could swallow big slices of disappointments, without losing hope in people and in the future, and his dream of a nation that he wanted to help build and re-build, that would include anyone who wants to be included, and would be a legacy to our children.

One of the songs Jess Santiago offered at the wake has a refrain that captures well the vision and hope of Boy Morales that he calls on us to share:

At mula sa guho tayo ay babangon / Pag-asa’y bulaklak na muling sisibol

Sa kinalugmukan ating ititindig / Ang bansa ng ating mga panaginip

Rest in peace, BM. You continue to live in our minds and hearts, and in our lives.

Remembering EDSA in Mindanao

Last February 20, while I was in Dumingag, Zamboanga del Sur, Joe Torres, the editor of UCA News, facebooked me a message: “Can you write a short reflective piece on EDSA, around 500 words, on time for the anniversary?”

I am now in Davao and have just e-mailed Joe the requested short piece on EDSA.

Strange that it is in Mindanao that I received his message and sent him my piece about EDSA.

Some political commentators, especially from Mindanao, have pointed out that EDSA 1986 was a a case of people in “Imperial Manila” deciding for the rest of the country. Joe is from Mindanao. I wonder if he shares the sentiment.

I remember that when I was released from prison a few days after EDSA, I spoke at a public forum about how we should welcome the new democratic space and fill it, so that we can push its boundaries even further, against those who want to set narrow limits to “people power” and would even push it back.

One participant, a fellow activist from Mindanao, reacted emotionally:  “What new democratic space are you talking about? We have just been bombed in Davao del Norte!”

It turned out that because EDSA had dislodged Marcos from power, some AFP units guarding Metro Manila were immediately redeployed to Mindanao to beef up the counterinsurgency military campaign.

While acknowledging the context of his reaction and other similar critical comments, I still persisted in my belief that we should “pursue conjunctural possiblities, while recognizing structural limitations.”

Pardon the abstract formulation, which I used again in another context, when addressing an ANC-sponsored meeting in South Africa that discussed what course of action to take after Nelson Mandela was released from prison by the apartheid regime.

Writing my short piece for UCA News, I struggle once more to strike a balance between an “appreciative inquiry” and a “critical inquiry” approach to EDSA and its aftermath.

Since I am here to facilitate a strategic planning session of the Philippine Catholic Lay Mission, I thought of linking my remembrance of EDSA to another historical event, less noticed or remembered – the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines or PCP II, held in 1991.

For Filipino Catholics, I wonder what the greater disappointment should be, with EDSA or with PCP II?

Anyway, here is my short piece on EDSA and PCP II:

Remembering EDSA and PCP II

This week is the annual “ritual remembrance” of EDSA 1986. Expect a mix of celebratory recollections and self-critical questioning: “What has EDSA contributed  to Philippine democracy, and also to Philippine development? What have we done, individually and collectively, to keep the spirit of EDSA alive?”

Even after 26 years, the acronym EDSA does not need to be spelled out. Even people in other countries associate EDSA with “people power” successfully restoring democracy in the Philippines, after years of martial rule.

PCP II, however, needs to be spelled out, even for Filipino Catholics. It is the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines, held 21 years ago, which declared the church as not just “for the poor,” but “of the poor,” committed itself to establishing Basic Ecclesial Communities, and  advocated greater lay participation and leadership.

Why do I choose to remember EDSA in connection with PCP II?  I am in Davao, spending the triduum of EDSA 1986 (February 23-25), in the company of the Philippine Catholic Lay Mission. They have invited me to facilitate their strategic planning, using the principles and methods of Appreciative Inquiry.

These circumstances color my reflections about EDSA.

According to Gabriel Garcia Marquez: “What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.” Applying this to my remembrance of EDSA, “What matters is not just what happened to us, but what we choose to remember, how we choose to remember, and with whom we choose to remember.”

My personal remembrance of EDSA is primarily positive, since it led to my eventual release from my second imprisonment, much earlier than I had expected. But since I was, and continue to be, an activist for social justice and popular democracy, I also look back at EDSA through the complex lens of Mary’s Magnificat: “God has put down the mighty from his throne, and has lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things, and has sent the rich away empty.”

Many choose to remember the first line – “the mighty has been put down from his throne.” That is an achievement of EDSA that we should continue to celebrate. True, it is the political elite who have benefited most from the removal of Marcos, but even the middle class and the poor can welcome the widening of the formal democratic space.

What about those who choose to remember ”lifting up the lowly?” Compared to our initial high hopes, the gains for the poorer majority are much smaller and slower, especially at the national level. In places like Naga City, people power has been institutionalized through local democratic mechanisms like the Naga City People’s Council during the term of Mayor Jessie Robredo. The many good practices of “participatory local governance” recognized by Galing Pook, form a growing list, and are islands of hope in an archipelago still sadly dominated by traditional local elite, including extreme cases like former Governor Ampatuan.

It is issues  of social justice that feed the deeper disappointments about the promise of EDSA. Some of the very rich may have been sent away, but not empty. Most of the rich simply switched sides and continue to control the economy. The hungry still wait to be “filled with good things.”

For Filipino Christians who share a “preferential option for the poor,”  the critical questions about EDSA cannot be addressed only to the elite in government and the economy.  The Catholic Church in the Philippines made its own promises at PCP II. Like EDSA, there are some results from PCP II that we can celebrate. But there are also many reasons to be disappointed.

In the spirit of Appreciative Inquiry, we continue to live in hope, in ourselves and in our country. People power has become an integral part of the Philippine political tradition, because of the form it took and the result it achieved at EDSA in 1986.

The challenge to those of us who choose to remember EDSA together, is not to keep looking back and wonder how we can resurrect that specific form of people power to achieve similar results.

Let us focus our energies on detecting the diverse and different forms of people power, inside and outside institutions, and help bring about a new synergy that will pursue the promises of EDSA.

GOMBURZA and Watermelons

Yesterday, February 17, was GOMBURZA day, in honor of the three priests who were accused of supporting the Filipinos’ struggle for national independence, and were garroted by the Spanish colonial government.

Jose Rizal has been quoted as saying that “Were it not for Gomburza, I would have probably been a Jesuit.”

Remembering this yesterday, the ICM nuns at St. Theresa (mostly senior citizens like me) shared a mischievous chuckle. Should we be thankful that Rizal did not become a Jesuit, or should we regret it?

I was invited to St. Theresa to give an orientation on urban agriculture, not the usual topic for me or for them.

Many of the ICM nuns were familiar faces, proudly acknowledging their history of social activism. We had no time to check, but most of them were probably part of the Christians for National Liberation, which our generation of Christian activists launched with a march-procession to the Gomburza monument on February 17, 1972.

That’s 40 years ago.

A short pause to give thanks, that we are still alive. and not just biologically.

I recall reading that all human beings, without exception, share two common desires: To live long. And to live well.

I used a Filipino version of this for Inay who died three years ago at age 89. Maraming salamat para sa isang mahaba at makabuluhang buhay.

For most of us in the lecture hall yesterday, living well and meaningfully had been associated with our commitment to social justice and taking sides with the struggles of the poor and oppressed. I referred to that at the start of my talk, adding that the symbolic color of our cause is red. During the martial law years of repression, the color red represented not just resistance but revolution.

But we were meeting to initiate a new conversation about urban agriculture, and the broader cause of sustainable development.

Another cause, another color – green. No, not as in the 1960s “green revolution,” but green nonetheless. Closer to organic agriculture but not exclusively so.

I chose to tell them about urban agriculture by tracing my own learning process. Like them, my involvement in agriculture was indirect, focused on social justice issues rather than productivity, agrarian reform rather than crops, credit and markets. Not even organic agriculture.

So, were we about to switch colors from red to green?

Not quite. Our commitment to social justice remains. So with our “preferential option for the poor.” But it is now linked to and enveloped by our commitment to sustainable development, not just in the distant future, but now.

“Let’s think of ourselves as watermelons,” I said. “Green on the outside, but still red inside.”

My presentation on urban agriculture was not about the technical aspects of production. It was an initial orientation about its principles, followed by a scan of possibilities for a large urban compound like the St. Theresa campus and the ICM residences. I ended with a challenge to them to discuss and decide on their priorities among the many possibilities.

So, other than the date, is there any connection at all to Gomburza and CNL and our cause of national liberation?

I think there is, but that is for another blog.

Martin Luther King on the Corona Impeachment

Sunday, January 15, is Martin Luther King Jr. day in the USA.

That day, I briefly Googled for quotes from this modern day prophet, as a simple way of honoring him, and to serve as my “liturgy of the word” for the Sunday.  And since Monday was to be the start of the impeachment proceedings against Chief Justice Corona, I hoped I might find some relevant words from Dr. King.

But Girlie and I had to go to the Body Talk orientation session given by our good friend Dorothy Friesen (a kindred spirit of Dr. King, an activist for social justice and peace). I didn’t have time to find what I was looking for.

Monday was so full of meetings, I didn’t have time to catch even the start of the impeachment. But today, at Tuesday’s end, I found some time to resume my search. And I did find quotes from Dr. King that speak to me about the Corona impeachment, though not always as I expected:

Law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. 

Never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was legal.

Dr. King’s words can cut both ways, though my initial interpretation was tilted by my political bias in favor of the PNoy presidency.

On some positions, Cowardice asks the question, “Is it safe?” Expediency asks the question, “Is it politic?” And Vanity comes along and asks the question, “Is it popular?” But Conscience asks the question “Is it right?” And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right.

Obviously, Dr. King’s words address quite a different context and different issues. But I take them as a healthy challenge to my present state of mind and heart about the impeachment process.

I must confess that I am not as excited and incensed as many friends, and do not feel the need to engage in public partisan debates on the issue. Hence, Dr. King’s words on taking a stand and taking sides poke my conscience, even if I am conscious that they do not really apply to the impeachment issue:

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. 

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

The hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who remain neutral in times of great moral conflict.

I take some comfort from another set of Dr. King’s observations on how some people conduct themselves, even in movements for change and significant political moments.

Whatever their final outcomes, such movements and moments offer opportunities for deeper and long-term political education. But this calls for effort and creativity. Dr. King’s observations reflect his share of disappointments and frustrations:

Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will.

Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.

Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think. 

I close with his wise and challenging call for the kind of leaders we need:

A genuine leader is not a searcher for consensus but a molder of consensus.

Thank you, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And a belated Happy Birthday!

Poignant Words from Jose Rizal

For this year’s Rizal Day, I wanted to write something different from the usual. Possibly a review of Felice Sta. Maria’s book on The Foods of Jose Rizal.

While reading the first chapters of Felice’s book, I also checked Facebook for updates.

Clicking a link to Sonny San Juan’s article on Rizal, I found some quotations from Rizal that I have not read before. They are refreshingly different in tone from the better known quotations from Rizal. The word that came to mind is “poignant.”

Why not make a poster with some excerpts that speak to me, I thought. That would be a good way to remember Jose Rizal today. Here it is:

A few minutes after posting it, a number of Facebook friends “liked” the poster, but also asked: “Are these really Rizal’s words? Where and when did he write them?”

Unfortunately, the article of Sony San Juan did not have footnotes. But thanks to Google, I eventually found the source. Yes, the words are Rizal’s own. They are from a letter he wrote during his exile in Dapitan to Fr. Pastells S.J. It is dated November 11, 1892.

The time and setting of the letter partly explains the tone of Rizal’s message. He was in exile in Dapitan, but he was not yet faced with the prospect of being put on trial or condemned to death. It was not a situation calling for a heroic stance. The more immediate challenge must have been how to make full use of his considerable skills and energies in such limited circumstances.

In that context, I can understand the provocative impact of the note scribbled by Fr. Pastells on the first page of Thomas a Kempis’ The Imitation of Christ, which the priest had sent to him:  ”What a pity that such an excellent young man had not lavished his talents on the defense of better causes!”

Rizal’s measured response is directed to Fr. Pastells, but it is also reflection of the struggle within himself. That is the source of the poignant tone.

“ It is very possible that there are causes better than those I have embraced, but my cause is good and that is enough for me. Other causes will undoubtedly bring more profit, more renown, more honors, more glories, but the bamboo, in growing on this soil, comes to sustain nipa huts and not the heavy weights of European edifices. I do not regret neither the humbleness of my cause nor the meagerness of its rewards but the little talent that God has given me to serve it. If instead of weak bamboo I had been solid molave, better service I would be able to render. But He who has arranged it thus sees what the future brings, does not err in any of His acts, and knows very well for what use are even the smallest things.

” As to honor, fame, or profit that I might have reaped, I agree that all of this is tempting, especially to a young man of flesh and bone like myself, with so many weaknesses like anybody else. But, as nobody chooses the nationality nor the race to which he is born, and as at birth the privileges or the disadvantages inherent in both are found already created, I accept the cause of my country in the confidence that He who has made me a Filipino will forgive the mistakes I may commit in view of our difficult situation and the defective education that we receive from the time we are born. 

“ Besides, I do not aspire to eternal fame or renown; I do not aspire to equal others whose conditions, faculties, and circumstances may be and are in reality different from mine; my only desire is to do what is possible, what is within my power, what is most necessary. I have glimpsed a little light, and I believe I ought to show it to my countrymen.“

Re-reading Rizal’s words, I think that they speak to our generation of activists, about the choices we made, and the consequences we accepted.

Celebrating Christmas after Sendong

After Sendong, it is impossible to think of celebrating Christmas and not  think about Cagayan de Oro and Iligan.

Christmas is family reunions, around the the media noche table. That is what we will have in Lucena tonight, with the gathering of the Villariba clan.

But there will be no reunions and media noche meals for thousands of families whose houses have been swept away by Sendong, and who are still anxiously hoping to find missing members, or mourning their dead.

The day before Christmas, I re-read what others have written about Sendong and its aftermath. There are many words of compassion and wisdom. I choose three that continue to occupy my mind and heart.

The first is from friends at Balay Mindanaw Foundation Incorporated:

We refuse to be victims. We are resources.

When news of Sendong’s destructive impact broke, Girlie and I thought of friends at BMFI whom we have known for a decade and whose Facebook status we regularly check.  Kaloy Manlupig was quick to send the first updates. Ayi Hernandez’ personal story gave us a gripping sense of the risks and the responses. After accounting for all the BMFI staff and their families, many of whom took shelter in the Balay Mindanaw Peace Center, they focused their time and energies on assisting the families and communities assigned to them. They have been issuing regular bulletins about their work and the donations they have received.

Their work inspires us. But also their words, which they first heard from another Asian peace activist.

The second is from Atty. Tony La Vina’s article, After Sendong, 10 Things We Must Do:

Avoid distractions and blame games, but exact accountability.

“Although this is certainly not the time for blame games, accountability must be exacted. In other countries, notably in Japan, officials take themselves out of the equation by resigning and taking responsibility. Unfortunately, we do not have that tradition here. And so I welcome the task forces created by the President to investigate what happened, although I would have preferred an independent commission to do this job to have more objective findings. Nevertheless when they finish, I hope they will file the appropriate criminal, civil and administrative cases against accountable officials. I would especially want charged those officials who abetted the activities that exacerbated the disaster, or those which had the information and the power to prevent it (but negligently did not do so).”

The third is the title of the pastoral letter of Archbishop Tony Ledesma SJ:

A Time to Grieve, A Time to Build

After Ondoy, we worked together in the Climate Change Congress of the Philippines (CCCP). Although our initial focus was on MetroManila and national policies, Archbishop Tony consistently drew our attention to the precarious situation of Cagayan de Oro and its endangered watershed.

“In some of our churches, the Misa de Gallo could not be celebrated because the church became a refuge for families seeking higher ground.  In one chapel, even pigs and other animals were brought in and tied at the foot of the altar.  Lay ministers were scandalized until the parish priest reminded them that this must have been the same situation in the stable of that first Christmas night…

“The longer-term challenge is to help these families re-build their present homes or re-locate to safer grounds.  We are heartened by the visit of President Aquino and other public officials.  His declaration of a state of national calamity and observation that families should not be allowed to return to extremely dangerous areas are welcome statements.  Last January 2009, the city had already experienced severe flooding.  Some old-time residents recalled that this phenomenom happens every forty years.  But barely three years after that, Typhoon Sendong came with greater vengeance.

“We have to cast a broader look at the entire river basin area of Cagayan de Oro River.  This extends to the northwestern part of Bukidnon and surrounding areas.  Illegal logging and irresponsible mining activities have contributed to the degradation of the environment and the siltation of the river bed.  The erection of man-made structures may have also impeded the natural flow of the waters. (The continued hydraulic flush mining along Iponan River has likewise caused widespread flooding of the Canitoan-Iponan areas of the city.) It is for these reasons that we have to strengthen the Cagayan de Oro River Basin Management Council, a multi-sectoral effort to protect and conserve our most precious natural resource after our human resources – the river system.

“As we approach Christmas week and the coming of the new year, may I propose a Family-Adopt-a- Family program.  Families unaffected by the flood can invite to their homes an evacuee family, especially those that have lost their homes or loved ones, for a few days or for a Christmas meal to share the spirit of the season. May the new-born child in the manger fill us with the spirit of solidarity in moments of adversity and hope in the sharing of love and life with one another.  “Make us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart” (Ps. 90).

When Will They Ever Learn?

The eve of November 1, especially if it is a holiday, triggers reflections about death. But also about life, since today is also the official birth of the 7 billionth person on earth.

Pancho Lara’s reflections on war and peace in Mindanao which he asked me to post in my blog, has also appeared in today’s Inquirer.

He steered my attention to another piece worth sharing. It is by Ed Quitoriano, and I am posting it here for you to appreciate.

Ed Q, as he is known to friends, brings a perspective and authority to the discussion that is rooted in decades of his direct experience and observations about war and peace, in the Philippines and in other countries, notably Indonesia and Aceh.

Killing and Dying for Peace

Ed Quitoriano

War making is an extension of politics by any means and war machines are the instruments by which political aims are achieved. Warriors may be trained to professionalize war making but they are not thrilled to kill or be killed for the sake of war.  As Sun Tzu would say, “the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting” adding that, ”what is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy’s strategy.”

The GPH and MILF have already laid out their strategic frameworks – the primacy of the Philippine Constitution and integrity of the Republic, on the one hand, and, the creation of a Bangsa Moro sub-state, on the other.  Since its emergence in 1978, the MILF has reframed its strategic agenda from secession and full Islamic independence to the creation of a self-determining, Shariah-based, cluster of autonomous areas within a sub-state. Meanwhile, the GPH has not reframed its strategic agenda in dealing with the MILF and other armed challengers – be it the MNLF, NDFP or MILF:  it is the primacy of the Constitution and the integrity of the republic.

Politico-military leaders who remain impervious to change produce a protracted and costly process. However, these costs are bearable compared to the economic and human costs of war. No country will ever benefit from protracted armed struggle except in hindsight – by producing the knowledge and literature that tell readers how to better deal with violent conflict in the future. Whether that knowledge is actually used is an entirely different matter.

In Aceh, the Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (GAM) and the Government of Indonesia fought a three-decade long war for roughly the same intentions expressed by the MILF and the GPH: one seeking independence, the other seeking the integrity of the Indonesian Republic.  Both had earlier histories of war making against colonialism, independently deriving their own strategic frameworks from the map drawn by the Dutch colonizer.

When strategies become vulnerable to public attack, both politicians and military commanders scramble for the best discourse to frame their strategies – often forgetting the costs already incurred.  In thirty years of war prior to the 2005 Helsinki MOU, both sides paid lip service to peaceful negotiations as a strategy. Instead, they communicated through bullets and bombs and allowed military tactics to take command of strategies.

The Indonesian government launched at least three major military offensives in Aceh: first in 1989 when it declared the province as “Daerah Operasi Militer (DOM)” or area of special military operations, announcing the death of GAM in 1996 and withdrawing military forces in 1998; second, in 2001-2002; and, third, in 2003-2004, through the onslaught of the Tsunami in December 2004.  All military offensives have been bloody and dislocated civilian populations. The death toll reached 15,000 lives.  In the first offensive, Amnesty International estimated 7,000 human rights violations.

Intense and bloody warfare always provokes the leaders of competing politico-military forces to pause and confront the grim realities on the ground. As the body count increases and the sheer scale of destruction becomes a living nightmare, warriors begin to question their own humanity. Like their forebears in other conflicts, their concern over the fate of their buddies, rather the objectives of the conflict, becomes more pronounced. They begin to swear allegiance to each other, rather than the State. To be sure, some may actually lose their grip on humanity and unleash more death and destruction, but others begin to question the seeming madness of it all.

No matter how professional a war machine becomes, there is a sense of humanity among warriors. Generals far removed from the frontline often see this as only an erosion of the command and control structure. During the DOM,  the Indonesian military command noted some cracks – some officers not only getting reluctant to fight an all out war but also transferring weapons to the GAM, either out of guilt or sympathy for the enemy cause. During the second offensive in 2001, the Indonesian military commander, Gen. Bambang, had to motivate his troops. At one point, he was caught on TV camera telling his troops that the GAM guerrillas were “monopolizing bird’s nests and selling them to the Chinese for medicine.” He also bragged that he had punished hundreds of Indonesian soldiers for human rights violations – “for shooting chickens owned by civilians.”

Aceh is more than 90 percent Acehnese but even the GAM had to worry about public support for the cause without which its military machine would have problems of recruitment, intelligence and supplies. If Bambang had invented the stealing of “birds’ nests” as a way to motivate the troops, the GAM had its own bogey – “the Javanese enemy.” Equating the Indonesian government to a Javanese government is not too distant from Nur Misuari’s portrayal of Filipinos as “Philipinos” and “colonos”, the heirs of King Philip II of Spain and the government as the heir-colonizer.

In contemporary civil wars, politicians and military commanders could easily motivate the troops by portraying rebels as terrorists, lawless elements or bandits. Rebels would return the favor by portraying government soldiers as mercenaries, fascists and human rights violators.  The general public and the media had to decipher communications exchanged via bullets and bravado rather than intelligent discourse on political aims. In the war machines, military tactics then override political strategies if only to inspire warriors to fight to the death.

Two AFP military commanders have been sacked in the aftermath of the Al Barka clash where 25 lives have been lost (19 members of Special Forces of the AFP and 6 MILF fighters).  It is not known what the MILF intends to do with its own commanders in the field. But certainly the mode of dying in such a battle is a classic example of how tactics in the hands of military commanders could undermine the value of strategic discourse.  One could ask the political aim behind the sending of Special Forces troops, who were on training for scuba diving, to a deadly mission in Al Barka. Similarly, one could ask why the MILF warriors decided to inflict a brutal response despite their knowledge that their leaders were negotiating for peace.

There is even a bigger question for any observer of the peace talks. Are the GPH and MILF panels actually talking to their own followers when they negotiate with each other? Are strategic aims shaped by a winner-take-all framework and attitude?

The Indonesian government and the GAM carried the same strategic aims in three decades of war. Yet two failed attempts at a negotiated settlement in 2000 and 2002 compelled them to go back to talking rather than fighting. This commitment led to the Helsinki MOU in August 2005. One conclusion stood out at the end – peaceful negotiations are difficult but their outcomes do deliver mutually beneficial solutions.  People often think it was the tsunami that did it. Tsunami or not, conflict actors made the final determination that it makes better sense to negotiate rather than wage an endless war. At the end Gen. Bambang abandoned his “birds’ nest” discourse and found himself sitting in the negotiating panel of the Indonesian government.