Coco Hubs

Coco Hubs is the “nickname” for Integrated Coconut Agro-Industrial Hubs.

It is a program of government that seeks to address the problem of small coconut farmers whose only income from coconuts are from their sale of copra or nuts to traders who aggregate them and in turn sell them to large mills that are far from the farms.

By supporting the setting up of small and medium size processing plants, the Coco Hubs program seeks to make the small coconut farmers go beyond being raw material producers to being participants in the higher value-adding part of the coconut value chain.

Last Friday, I was asked to speak on the Coco Hubs at a forum sponsored by SOAP, the group whose mission is to Spread Organic Agriculture in the Philippines.

Am posting the slides I prepared.

As raw as it can get. Tears in my eyes drown me.

The words are from a friend activist-poet, Aida Santos.

On the way to Tacloban airport, she saw people awaiting the bodies of some SAF (Special Action Forces) who were killed in Mamapasano.

The words introduce three short poems she wrote.

The week-long national conversation about the killings in Mamapasano have been cacophonous. My work schedule did not allow me to join in, but also because I couldn’t find words that are superior to silence.

Cautionary words in prison

When I was in prison during the martial law years, fellow activist-prisoners from Mindanao expressed to me their criticism about “Imperial Manila.”

They said that Manila-based people, whether elite or ordinary citizens, including activists, tend to think we have the solutions to Mindanao issues, and that our intervention is always helpful and welcome.

Since then, I have followed this rule. I don’t go to Mindanao unless invited. And in judging events and issues in Mindanao, I give greater weight to Mindanao-based friends and kindred spirits.

Silence. Tears. Words.

When the news broke about the death of 44 SAF fighters (with little mention of MILF fighters killed, nor of civilians), there was understandable outrage, expressed publicly, targeting not just what happened but directed to those in authority.

At the same time, there were fears, also publicly expressed, that he emotions of the moment would be exploited by those who do not agree with the peace process and initial peace agreements that the government has signed with the MILF.

I wondered what public comment my friends from Balay Mindanaw would post.

Kaloy Manlupig chose the response we learned and liked from the recent visit of Pope Francis. How fast things change. The deaths in Mamapasano happened only 10 days after the Pope left..

Silence. Because realities are greater than our ideas.

Tears. Because eyes washed by tears see more clearly. But only after tears have dried. Tears cloud our eyes and hearts.

And difficult it may be, words. To help each other understand what is in our hearts and minds.

Prose and Poetry

The national public conversations are mainly in prose, so with the conversations inside us and among us.

We need prose, for analysis and for perspectives, historical and structural, that help temper the immediate and existential.

But we also need poetry. Not as an evasion, but as a way to join the conversation even when we haven’t fully sorted out our stand.

Justice and Peace 

There are calls for justice. There are calls for peace.

Last year, I was invited by Balay Mindanaw to facilitate a synthesis session of a peace building conference in Myanmar.

I shared with them my difficulty in framing the link between justice and peace.

My activist history and sensibility have been focused on justice, and its associated call to take sides in a struggle. From this perspective, “peace is the fruit of justice.”

Peace builders who acknowledge the link between un-peace and injustice pursue “peace as the path to justice.”

Are these simply different starting points in the same direction? Or are they contradictory?

Is this an example of a reality that is greater than our ideas, and words?

Rest in peace. Thank you.

 

 

Remembering Jesse Robredo

 

The Local Government Code she signed into law toward the end of her term is a less acknowledged legacy of Cory Aquino’s presidency. But for those who have persisted in the work of organizing people for power at the basic community level, this provided a framework for new possibilities. But also new challenges to classical organizing.

After EDSA 1986, the focus of those who wanted more than a mere restoration of pre-martial law democracy was on new spaces at the national level – constitutional provisions on more direct democracy, like initiative, referendum, and recall. Later, the provision for special party lists.

Coming from the years of struggle for national issues, against the central government, most activists especially those in Metro Manila did not give as much attention to engaging local governments.

My own experience is illustrative. When I visited my hometown of Naujan after my informal exile in Europe, my high school classmate Nelson Melgar, who was the town mayor, challenged me: “When will you help your own hometown?”

We decided to work together to train the devolved agricultural extension workers in community organizing. After that, we scanned the barangays for national NGOs working in the area. We found a number of them, but they were not in touch with the local government.

Participatory Local Governance

The more systematic introduction I got to PLG – participatory local governance, came from Gerry Bulatao who headed a consortium with two key partners, Balay Mindanaw in Misamis Oriental, with Kaloy Manlupig and Ayi Hernandez, and Teody Pena of Quidan Kaisahan and Paginupdanay in Negros Occidental.

Although they were a national consortium, their focus was on local governance and development, in mainly rural communities. Hence the contentious issue of agrarian reform remained a central concern. But what interested me most was their organizing innovation to form sectoral people’s organizations and to forge their partnership with the local government at the barangay-bayan level.

Their field staff would train leaders of people’s organizations in CO-CD (community organizing for community development). The barangay officials would be given a separate training on provisions of the local government code on people’s participation. Then the two groups would come together to do joint participatory rural appraisal, followed by drawing up a barangay development plan, whose results were presented to a pledging session with government and non-government agencies.

The new approach had uneven results, especially on issues like agrarian reform that could not be resolved only at the local level. The organizers had to develop additional skills, especially in alliance work.

PLG had the perspective of SIAD (sustainable integrated area development). That’s why Kaloy called the community organizers SIADO – sustainable integrated area development organizers. It also communicated the orientation that the organizers should have, to be unobstrusive like shadows and focus on the growth of the PO leaders and barangay officials.

A similar orientation and approach was used in the programs of ANIAD in Antique, with Arnold Vandenbroek and Goldie Chan. They asked Oca Francisco and COPE to train their field staff in the classical organizing methods.

What about conflict-confrontation?

The challenge of PLG was how to balance the emphasis on helping mobilize people to act independently on their issues, and helping them and the barangay officials to work together on agreed upon priorities. There were still confrontations and negotiations, not so much with barangay officials but higher officials.

The default mode of classical organizing is to treat officals as unwilling to respond except under democratic pressure. As the people experience positive partnership with some local officials, they had to adjust their understanding of people power, as not just for resistance but also for engagement.

Jesse Robredo’s has said that “Good local governance can be the conclusion of our unfinished revolution.” He followed this up with words that could be, but should not be misread, as discouraging militancy: “This revolution can also be anchored on people like you, who serve rather than criticize, collaborate rather than divide, build up rather than tear down. People who engage to understand.”

Institutionalizing People Power: The Naga City People’s Council

Those of us who advocated popular democracy, to include principled partnership with reformers in government, still prefered to look for ways to institutionalize people power outside the existing power institutions.

We were pleasantly suprised at Cory Aquino’s call to make people power permanent in the form of people’s councils, and held consultations at the national level on how to implement it.

It took the NagaPopdem activists to establish this on the ground in Naga City. It helped that the city mayor was Jesse Robredo, open to engagement with the citizenry. But the bigger factor was the strong presence of NGOs and people’s organizations in the city. They set up the Naga City People’s Council, and used this as the platform for engaging the elected city officials.

They went one step further. With the encouragement of Mayor Jesse, they successfully lobbied for the passage of a city ordinance that recognized the Naga City People’s Council and formalized its access to the processes and structures of the city council.

The NCPC experience deserves a more in depth study, since it is still a work in progress, with its share of success and challenges. But it poses an important question to those who are committed to organizing people for power. As we build strong people’s organizations through issue-based mobilization, conflict-confrontation, and negotiations, is our perspective to use this power only to elect or be elected as officials?

Or is a people’s council the way to institutionalize people power independently while also seeking to enter the established institutions of power?

The challenge is how to insure that the members of the people’s council maintain their initiative, and not let the secretariat do the work. And for the people’s council itself to pursue independent action and not limit itself to joint work with government.

This reminds me of an idea from the revolutionary movement on alliances – “Independence and initiative within the united front.”

New wineskins and new wine

Naga City had another innovation called “reengineering the local school board.” Jesse Robredo opened the local school board to citizens’ participation beyond its traditional members. Legal constraints did not allow the new participants to vote, but they had full rights to take part in the scrutiny of how the special education fund would be spent.

In this case there was greater initative from the government compared to the citizens. Ideally, a reengineered school board should have a counterpart base in an independent coalition of education advocates and stakeholders, similar to the Naga City People’s Council.

In rural barangays, some NGOs pursued the idea of a council of people’s organizations independent of the elected barangay council. But as PLG programs developed, instead of setting up these people’s council, organizers chose to use the mandated Barangay Development Council as the structure for institutionalizing people’s participation.

The Barangay Development Council is mandated to have at least 20% of its members from community leaders other than the elected officials. And the BDC has the power to allocate the barangay development funds for priority projects which are identified in the process of developing the barangay development plan..

These structures are like new wineskins. But they also need new wine. Otherwise, the danger is that they will be new ways of coopting and taming the people’s energies, rather than new ways of tempering them in these new sites of struggle.

Beyond Islands of Hope: Toward an Archipelago of Hope

Participatory local governance and good local governance are a welcome source of hope for organizers of people for power. They offer useful lessons. And their numbers continue to increase, symbolized by the Galing Pook award winners for excellence in local governance.

The award gives much weight to the leadership of the elected officials and the impact of their projects. The criteria include people’s participation, but this is not as well measured. I am glad to hear from Eddie Dorotan of the Galing Pook foundation that they are developing an award for citizens’ participation.

Although we celebrate and value these local “islands of hope,” we ask ourselves: What about the national level? How do we work toward a whole “archipelago of hope?”

At a workshop organized by Synergeia, I heard this question posed to Jesse Robredo, a multiple Galing Pook awardee. He didn’t know then that he would have the chance to do something about it.

As Secretary of the DILG, one of his innovations was initially called BUB, “bottoms up budgeting” based on local poverty reduction action plans, LPRAP. This was meant to make the local government involve the people’s organizations in making their local development plan. Another is his full support for the option of “people’s proposals” for resettling urban poor settlers from endangered sites.

What more could Jesse have accomplished had he not died?

 

Filipinos in 2014: What Can We Learn from Grundtvig?

At least two things, maybe more.

But first, you may ask, who is Grundtvig? He is a Danish pastor, poet, historian and educator, whose full name is Nikolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig. He lived from 1783 to 1872, and was the contemporary of two Danes who are better known internationally – the  existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, and Hans Christian Andersen, beloved author of fairy tales.

So, what does Grundtvig have to say to us, Filipinos in 2014?

“Outer loss, Inner gain.”

Am not sure if this saying is from Grundtvig’s own words, but it is, as Danes would say “Grundtvigian.”

The historical context for this saying was the loss of territory in the southern part of Denmark, which the Germans took over. According to historians, the saying may have had a literal meaning: The loss of the rich farmlands near the German border forced the Danes to develop the farmlands deeper into Denmark, particularly in Jutland, which led to the expansion of Danish agriculture.

But over the years, the dominant meaning of “Outer loss, Inner gain”  has been the philosophy of Grundtvig, and the Danes, that even if a superior nation-state conquers the territory, the people can develop a stronger sense of national identity and independence, if they dig deep into their history and culture and cultivate it, resulting in “people’s enlightenment.”

So what’s the relevance to us in 2014? I think of the continuing tension in the West Philippine Sea, as China with its superior naval forces asserts its claim on a part of our land and sea. And if that is not bad enough, there is the realpolitik response of the USA offering to establish greater presence on Philippine soil as a counterfoil.

Other than feeling dismayed and aggrieved, and debating about the danger of deepening dependence, can we have a national conversation about what we, as a people, still have and can develop?

“When few have too much, and fewer have too little.”

These are definitely Grundtvig’s words, from one of his many poems. He had a prodigious output of poems and hymns, over 1500, many of them still being sung today in Danish churches and folk high schools.

The idea of nationalism as a response to external threats can be misused in an elitist fashion: Forget our internal differences. Unite against a common external enemy.

Grundtvig had a core concept that is difficult to translate, but I think it is captured by the hyphenated phrase “national-popular.” I am reminded of Rey Ileto’s thesis, distinguishing between the call for “independencia” by the ilustrado leaders of the Philippine independence movement, and the vision of “kalayaan” by the peasant libertarian movements.

Even the present administration accepts the criticism that the Philippine economic growth is not inclusive, and we remain a very inequitable society.

A Grundtvigian dialogue of life does not limit itself to seeking and strengthening our shared national culture and identity. It must ask and decide on the actions that are needed to make our country stronger, because it is more equitable.

Maraming salamat Grundtvig!

Thanks to Boinikko who shared a link to an interview about Grundtvig, where Professor Clay Warren mentioned my name as someone from the “resistance movement” who was influenced by Grundtvig. That led me to write this blog.

What Can Adult Educators Learn from Rak of Aegis?

When Girlie and I arrived at the PETA theatre for the premier of Rak of Aegis, we were surprised to see the editorial board of the DVV International journal, Adult Education and Development. I was thrilled to meet them because I had a discussion with them earlier in the day. But then I felt a little anxious.

“Did you know that the musical is in Pilipino?” I asked the group whose members are from Europe (Germany, Norway and Denmark), Latin America, Middle East and South Asia. They did, but they were prepared to understand as much, or as little, as they could. At least they had read the synopsis from the printed program.

I couldn’t shake off my anxiety, but I told myself that the music of Aegis would make their evening, even if they don’t understand the lyrics. Girlie and I offered to do some whispered translations for them. For starters, we shared with them what we know of Aegis and their songs, which Maribel Legarda, the director, aptly described as “rockified kundiman.”

I hadn’t read the synopsis, and did not know what to expect other than the music. But Rak of Aegis delivered the PETA brand of theatre which Girlie and I have enjoyed in their past productions – a multilayered story driven by energy, full of invention, weaving poignant moments with sly and good-natured humor, conflict and feel-good inspiration.

How to explain Pinoy humor?

During the break and after the show, our foreign friends’ gave very positive feedback. Like us, they were especially swept up by the enthusiasm of the audience which erupted  in cheers and sang-along when the Aegis band gave a mini-concert of their hit songs.

Still, our friends had some questions, like: “Why did the audience laugh during scenes that appeared to be serious and sad?” I tried my best to explain the Pinoy sense of humor, and laughter as our default reaction, with a range of nuances from knowing titters and guffaws to self-mocking laughter.

What about the casual line, was it an ad lib ?, by a girl character to a boy: “Do you want visit to me in my condo?”  I didn’t want to  tell the convoluted telenovela about Vhong Navarro and Deniece, just to explain one brief burst of mischievous laughter.

Love in the time of calamity

Yesterday, my immediate appreciation of Rak of Aegis was how it recontextualized the hit songs of Aegis beyond the original personal “love and loss.” The songs acquired a wider and deeper meaning, about the loss of community resources and livelihoods, and about competing hopes and dreams.

Today I read the notes of Lisa Magtoto, the writer of this rock musical. She tells how she found Aegis lyrics that are not only about being “sawi” but also about gumption, that applies to many levels – personal love, individual and family dreams, community hopes.

In particular, the hit song Basang-basa sa Ulan has well-known lines of loss and helplessness:  Heto ako / Basang-basa sa ulan / Walang masisilungan / Walang malalapitan. But that same song also has these lines: Ngunit heto / Bumabangon pa rin.

Although the social and community context is integral to the musical, Lisa explains that true to the original Aegis songs, the spine of the story is still about losing, and possibly finding, love in  the time of calamity.

Different ways of decoding Rak of Agies

Following Paolo Freire’s methods, adult/popular educators like myself can look at Rak of Agies as a “code” which can yield many meanings through a process of “dialogical decoding.”

Using this approach, we can decode the messages of Rak of Agies about losing and finding love, with calamity as a context.  There are many lessons about love in the rock-musical –  from the triangle of Kenny and Tolits competing for Aileen’s affection,  a father and daughter’s love and conflict between Kiel and Aileen, a son and mother’s love and conflict between Kenny and Mary Jane, unresolved hurt from past love between Mary Jane and Kiel, Jewel’s hope that Kenny could reciprocate gay love.

The many love stories add a richer texture to the Aegis songs. But they also stretch the musical. Can they be tightened without sacrificing the message about the complexity of personal and family relationships in a community under stress?

Given the tradition of adult/popular education, we will most probably decode Rak of Agies by focusing on its messages about a community losing and finding hope after a calamity.

Rak of Agies as a mirror of competing hopes

Last night, I wished aloud that sponsors can bring PETA’s rock musical to the communities in the Visayas who have been affected by Yolanda.

First of all, it is entertaining – the songs, the stories, especially the humor, but also the conflicts and the sadness. Watching Rak of Agies can be a communal therapeutic experience. Relating to the songs and stories about losing and finding love can offer welcome relief, no matter how fleeting.

But beyond the relief, Rak of Agies offers more – a mirror to their competing hopes: Looking individually for hope outside the community, or even outside the country, like Kenny thinking of being an OFW, or Aileen hoping to be discovered through You Tube. Or like Kiel, hoping to revive previous livelihoods that were already hurting from competition before being further destroyed by disaster. Or like Mary Jane, looking to donors like Fernan for relief or compensation from guilty parties.

Like a good adult/popular education “code” Rak of Agies does not deliver its message didactically. It simply offers the community various options which they can discuss with their “remembering selves” after their “experiencing selves” have enjoyed the songs and stories.

Its central message is about two competing perspectives on hope:  Do they focus on exploiting the immediate opportunities of post-disaster relief and reconstruction, including “disaster tourism” and “disaster philanthropy”?  Or do they focus on finding ways to use the remaining assets of the community for sustainable livelihoods?

Symbolic of these competing options is the generative metaphor of relying on temporary flood waters versus standing on solid ground.

Bubbles of fragile hopes

My most memorable take away image from Rak of Aegis is from a fantasy scene of Aileen and Tolits singing about their still unexpressed love and their hopes.

As they sang, other cast members appeared, each one holding two sticks joined by strings. I thought they looked like the instruments used to stun fish. I wondered what they were meant to symbolize.

To our unexpected delight, their instruments produced soap bubbles that floated above and around the love pair. The effect was magical, for a while.

Thank you PETA. Thank you Aegis. Catch the Rak of Aegis at the PETA theatre every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, until March 9.

After the First Quarter Storm: Building Back Better?

Is there any symbolic meaning of the number 44? I wish there were, but I can’t think of any.

I thought of the number because this week is the anniversary of the First Quarter Storm, which happened 44 years ago in 1970. That was when a political storm surge hit our generation.

Did the First Quarter Storm shake the political establishment then? I presume it did, though the full impact came two years later, when President Marcos decided to impose martial rule and swept away the structures of Philippine elite-dominated democracy.

The bigger, more immediate, and more lasting impact, however, was on the life choices of our generation. For many of us, young and not so young, that political storm surge washed away the normal career paths laid out to those who managed to enter college or acquire a degree.

The metaphor of a political storm surge came to mind because I have been listening to reports on restoring electricity in Yolanda-devastated areas. I am here at the Holiday Inn at the former Clark Air Base, taking part in a “strategic thinking” session of the National Electrification Administration.

The theme is *Rebuilding the Nation through Total Electrification.” I have been asked to comment on the different SWOT analysis reported by different units.

My involvement in NEA and rural electrification dates back to December 2001, when Fr. Paking Silva, newly appointed NEA Administrator asked me to be his consultant.  In January 2002, I took part in my first NEA strategic planning workshop, and realised the implications of the newly passed EPIRA – the electric power industry reform act.

Pursuing the same storm surge metaphor, I told the participants here in Clark that for the rural electric cooperatives, EPIRA is like a Yolanda, not because of its immediate effects in 2002, but in its cumulative impact which are evident after a decade..

The challenge, as in any post-disaster situation, is to use the opportunity to “build back better.”

Our generation easily relates to the description of martial law as a political disaster. With EDSA 1986, many of us hoped that instead of a mere restoration of pre-martial law democracy, we would build back better. I personally hoped that we would build, at least a more liberal democracy, and preferably a more participatory popular democracy.

That is why the theme of “rebuilding” resonates with me.

So, are there systems that we think have been built back better? And like post-Yolanda structures, can these survive future social and political storm surges?

And what about our lives, those of our generation who survived martial law?

Accelerated Learning in Bali

Into the second day of the conference I am attending in Bali, Indonesia, I think of an aphorism about the competitive edge in the “knowledge economy” – Those who win are those who learn fastest.

And a second, related, aphorism – It is better to learn from other people’s mistakes, and not just one’s own.

The topic is “community-driven development” programs, and how to sustain and mainstream them. I myself have not been directly involved in the Philippine government CDD program, whose remote origins are CIDSS during the Ramos presidency which became Kalahi-CIDSS in the GMA presidency.

But I am now involved in developing a training program for the CFs or “community facilitators” who will be hired by the scaled up NCDDP – National Community Driven Development Program, so I welcome this opportunity to learn as much and as fast as possible about CDD.

Listening to presentations and discussions from 11 countries, with a wide range of CDD programs, has been an experience of accelerated learning.

The oldest and biggest CDD program in the world is Indonesia’s Program Nasional Pemberdayaan Masyarakat (National Program for Community Empowerment), which covers 63,163 villages 5,100 subdistricts 393 districts, with an annual 1.7 billion dollar budget.

Here are brief notes from the session with Sujana Royat, Deputy Minister for Poverty Alleviation and Community Empowerment (Coordinating Ministry of People’s Welfare).

Sujana came across as a seasoned bureaucrat, with a sense of mischief.

Starting CDD

He located the origins of CDD in the political context of “reformasi” after the replacement of the Suharto regime. The challenge was how to meet the expectations of the local villages from the political change.

He frankly described the inherited system of governance as corrupt at all levels. The bureaucracy was largely Ineffective: “Government used to deal with everything through projects with TORs. Even praying to the gods had a TOR. What about accountability? Pray to the gods!”

The pilot stage of CDD was a mechanism to bypass these, with the state giving “block grants” directly to the communities. Predictably, there was opposition, but not just from politicians. There was also local resistance from landlords, loan sharks, and the “rural mafia.”

Scaling up CDD

He shared stories about how the CDD program was scaled up nationally. He paid tribute to then Finance Minister Sri Mulyani who instructed him: “Do it, or else I’ll hang you.”

“She is crazy,” he adds, “but I love her.”

He needed the agreement of 13 ministries. Most of them were reluctant to integrate CDD into their programs. What he did was to ask them individually to put in writing if they agree or disagree: “I will give the written document to my superiors. But I warn you, if you refuse, you may be fired.”

“Some bureaucracy and dictatorship is useful even in a democracy,” he added.

Sustaining CDD

There is a never ending process of convincing communities, politicians, bureaucrats, even inner circle of the President

About stubborn politicians and skeptics,? “Don’t debate with them. Expose them to communities, especially women’s groups and other community groups. Let politicians discuss directly with the people. Touch their heart.”

Next year, 2914, Indonesia will have presidential elections. Sujana declares “I will not support any presidential candidate who will not support CDD.”

Still, though we need to be concerned about sustaining CDD across electoral changes, he advised participants to concentrate efforts on making the people “own” CDD.

His final word: “Government officials like myself can be fired, but government officials cannot fire the people.”

What would Jesse Robredo say?

Today, October 10, is the anniversary of the passage of the Local Government Code.

I thought of writing a short blog about participatory local governance, and not just because of the anniversary. When people ask for an alternative to the pork barrel, one persuasive answer is to allocate national funds to projects identified by local development programs developed through participatory processes.

When I think of good local governance, I think of Jesse Robredo. He is not the only good local leader I have the privilege of knowing, but public reaction to his premature death has made him an icon larger than life.

Until I retrieved it from my files, I had forgotten that I wrote an unfinished piece about Jesse on his death anniversary. Let me start with that.

Missing Jesse

One year ago, Jesse left this world.

It was too soon.

We look for inspirational leaders in national government, and he provided it. He represented what good local governance can contribute to good national governance, and what good national governance can contribute to good local governance.

Remembering a dinner

Months before the 2010 elections (or was it a year?), I was invited to a dinner with Jesse. Grace Padaca, and Among Ed Panlilio. Friends talked of the three as having potential for national leadership. But Jesse said that an electoral cmapaign for the Senate was unrealistic. “Hindi ako masyadong kilala at wala akong pera.”

We agreed that good local governance continues to be one bright spot in Philippine politics and development, represented not just by Galing Pook award winners but by other similar intiiatives.

But how do we scale up? Do we remain content with scattered “islands” of good governance? Can’t we dream of a “whole archipelago” of good governance?

Happily, Jesse was thrust into national position by presidential appointment, though not without difficulty. During his first months, he must have been tempted to give up, as his undersecretary was seen to be closer to the presidency. But he persevered in his duties and pursued reform initiatives. To his credit, President Aquino did come around to recognizing Jesse’s sterling qualities.

What would he have said? What would he have done?

What if Jesse were alive when the scandal about the pork barrel broke out?

He would face a dilemma. Being part of national government and a team player, he wouldn’t grandstand at the expense of his colleagues. But his commitment to transparency and accountability would argue against any defensive cover-up, or forced justification.

I presume he could be part of a presidential investigating team, looking into LGUs and also NGOs who are implicated in the abuse and misuse of public funds.

His initiative of promoting the Seal of Good Housekeeping and his support for “bottom-up budgeting” are possible institutional counterfoils to such abuse and misuse.

Two posters for Jesse

I had earlier planned on using a picture of Jesse, against a blank background, without any text. That would invite us to project what we think Jesse would say, or what we would want him to say.

Then I thought of the two quotations from Jesse that I used with the same picture for a poster I made after his death. 

The first quotation represents Jesse’s credo: “Good local governance can be the conclusion of our unfinished revolution.”

The second quotation can provoke a discussion: “This revolution can also be anchored on people like you, who serve rather than criticize, collaborate rather than divide, build up rather than tear down. People who engage to understand.”

Rest in peace, Jesse, now that you are not with us. But your spirit among us prevents us from being at peace.

Dekada 70 and Imagined Communities

For Filipinos of my generation, Dekada 70 is associated first with the idea of change, political change, even revolutionary change.

There is a second idea I associate with Dekada 70. Politically, it is nationalism and national liberation. Personally, it is an awakening to being Filipino, part of the Philippine nation.

My personal awakening took time. Growing up in my hometown of Naujan, serving as an altar boy, and studying in a parish school,  I thought of myself first as a Roman Catholic, member of the global Catholic community. My identity as a Filipino was not yet dominant in my consciousness.

This identity as a Roman Catholic was even reinforced when I entered Christ the King Mission Seminary and joined the Society of the Divine Word. The SVD is a religious missionary congregation started by Germans but whose formal foundation was across the border in the Netherlands, to evade the restrictions of the Kulturkampf.

A moment of awakening

Septuagenarian memories can be fuzzy, but I distinctly remember a moment of awakening. It was in 1964, on the eve of the 400th anniversary of the Christianization of the Philippines. Fr. Jaime Bulatao had written a well-received essay on split-level Christianity in the Philippines.

Being an SVD, I appreciated his message as a call for the incarnation of Christianity in Philippine culture and realities.

I was in Abra then, on a one-year regency before starting my first year of theology. I started asking myself how I could contribute to the development of a Filipino theology.

That influenced my decision to refuse the SVD’s offer to send me to Rome for my theology studies. I told myself that I could better write a Filipino theology by staying in the Philippines.

A process of deepening 

My incipient nationalism could have developed simply into a religious variation of elite nationalism, asserting national self-determination and invoking “Filipino Christian” as a gegenuber concept, distinguished from and opposed to colonial interpretations.

Happily, my nationalism deepened as I got exposed to the nationalist discourse against neocolonial dependence, and to various social issues, especially agrarian reform as an integral content of nationalism. What developed may be described as a “popular nationalism” that included a probably romanticized looking up to farmers and indigenous people, as the bearers of authentic Filipino culture and identity.

Further deepening happened when the “Second Propaganda Movement” developed into a political movement, with the national democratic current gaining hegemony among the young and the restless. Though I was not that young or restless in my mid-20s, I chose to act in the wider arena of political and revolutionary struggle, beyond the narrower comfort zone of religious nationalism.

Re-imagining the nation

Fast forward to now.

Since I first read it, I have appreciated Benedict Anderson’s description of the nation as an “imagined political community, limited, but within its limits sovereign.” He counterposes the nation as limited, to the imagined global religious communities that aim to include as many converts as possible.

There is a secular version of such religious global imaginings – “Globalism,” an ideology that is not the same as the actual process of globalization but builds on it.  Globalists want to create a global borderless market, asserting that global is superior to anything national or local.

Globalization and the ideology of globalism challenge our inherited vision of a sovereign nation, and the still unfinished task of nation-building.

But another process also challenges us to re-imagine the nation – the process of localization, together with an implicit ideology of localism.

Since the mid-90s, I have taken part in promoting “participatory local governance” (PLG) to take advantage of the possibilities offered by the Local Government Code. But the continuing frustration with national government and the documented gains in good local governance can lead activists to focus their energies on specific towns, cities or provinces, and almost give up on national transformation.

Dekada 70 as a renewed call to nation-building

Dekada 70 is a reminder that we cannot face global competition as a simple aggregate of local communities – barangays and towns, or even cities and provinces. There is an advantage in being a nation, a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. We need to build national institutions that are inclusive and representative.

But the dominant models of highly centralized nation-states need not be what we aim for. We should look at the gains in participatory local governance and local development as integral to building a nation.

The context has become more complicated and our inherited strategies need rethinking. But the task remains relevant and urgent. The slogan of the 70’s still speak to us: “Kung hindi tayo kikilos, sino ang kikilos? Kung hindi ngayon, kailan pa?”

In contemporary youthspeak: Ikaw na. Now na.

Dekada 70

Thoughts on turning 70

The French revolution failed in many of its goals. But it succeeded in propagating the metric and decimal system. Is this why we celebrate in a special way the passing of 10 years?

Whatever. I will soon celebrate turning 70. Seven decades on this earth.

In our native language, Dekada 70.

Beyond its literal meaning, Dekada 70 has powerful resonance in the political imagination of my generation. Dekada 70 evokes the spirit of the French revolution and succeeding revolutions.

More generically, it is a metaphor for a movement for change.

Political change and social change. Rapid, rather than slow and steady. Radical, rather than mere reforms. Sooner, rather than later.

Dekada 70 also evokes the activist spirit of daring and dedication. We may have practiced the discipline of structural analysis, but we believed that change happens only through organized action and persistent struggle. Is that a voluntarist streak in Dekada 70? Or more accurately, the dialectical element?

So how does a would be 70 year old senior citizen relate to Dekada 70?

It is tempting to simply quote Clint Eastwood’s character in The Bridges of Madison County. “We had youthful dreams. They didn’t work out. But it was good to have them.”

But those dreams do not dwell in a past, nostalgically visited from time to time, in recollection and reunions.

Our dreams continue to live in our present lives and times, seeking new shapes and story lines.