To the one I love,
What if on Valentine ’s Day, everyone becomes blind and all roses suddenly lose their scent? How can I let you know that I love you aside from saying the words? How can I possibly touch your heart if you can never see the roses I am giving you? How can I find that beautiful rose if all I can see is darkness? What would happen to my dreams of leaving red and white roses on your bed so that you’d dream romantic dreams when you go to sleep? What would happen to my dreams of surprising you with a romantic shower of rose petals?
In the dark, in our blindness, there will be no romantic sunsets for us to behold. No majestic mountains and pristine seas for us to view. No candlelight to glow and glimmer between two dining lovers. No glistening stars for us to look up to in the serenity of the night. So where will I take you?
I’ll take you to a place where the cold wind blows. Be it a place where beautiful trees stand with utmost grandeur amidst a sea of shimmering green meadows, or a bleak, dry valley devoid of beauty and vegetation. For it will not matter what we shall see. Only what we shall feel. The wind’s hissing shall be the bright, blinding glare of sunlight. The gust, the blow of the wind, the stirring of the strands of our windblown hair, the tingling of our senses as the chillingly cool wind pricks our skin, they shall all be the sun rays that shower us with warmth. And when the wind seems to run out of breath, when its furious hissing becomes a soft, soothing murmur, that will be our romantic sunset. Maybe it won’t be as romantic as the breathtaking sunsets we have already seen in our lives. But what better thing can we have? What else can I offer you to make you feel the intensity of our romance? If I can’t offer you visual splendor, I’ll offer you the best I can. I’ll offer you the splendor of a beautiful feeling. If we can’t see the beauty around us, why can’t we just opt to feel all the beauty we failed to feel deeply enough because we were too busy seeing?
Come to think of it, my love. There must have been a time when no one saw the romance in sunsets. But we learned. Everyone learned to believe that there is romance in beauty. And that a beautiful sunset is a romantic sunset. So believe me, we shall also learn. We shall learn to feel the romance in each beautiful feeling. We will learn to feel romantic when we feel the wind. And let us begin the learning today. So we can start feeling the sweetness today.
As a gift, I can not give you roses. But I will give you the rain. When I hear the rain pouring, when the raindrops begin to knock on our roofs, I’ll know that my spring has come. So I’ll take you outside. And we’ll feel the coldness together. We’ll embrace and feel the countless raindrops slithering between my skin and yours. I know there won’t be a pleasant scent for us to relish. But at least we’ll have something intense and pleasant to feel. We’ll feel each other shiver. And that shiver, that little manifestation of a quiet inner suffering, that will be the assurance that this gift comes from the heart.
As for my dreams of showering you with rose petals, I will never give that up. Though blind, though handicapped, I will search the ground for every light little thing that can fly and flutter in midair, little things that will feel like rose petals when they fall on you. Be they merely torn paper, leaves or plastic garbage. And when I have gathered enough, I will throw them all up. So they can fall upon the two of us. Just like rose petals. And as they fall, I’ll hold your hand and we shall reminisce. We shall imagine. We shall believe that these light, little things are red and beautiful. For when our eyes can no longer see, we’ll see through our memories.
Memories. They are what can turn the ugly beautiful, the despicable endearing, and the painful soothing. One day we’ll find ourselves walking along the banks of a stinking, polluted river. But because that river is the same river we saw together each day as we went home, we’ll stop to relish the river’s putrid smell. Because that smell, no matter how offensive, will flood our minds with beautiful memories. Beautiful images that we shall never see again. One night, the hounds will shatter the night’s tranquility with their howls. But we shall not be disturbed. We shall not be angered by those maddening sounds. Because through the howling hounds, we’ll know that the moon and the stars are up there, glowing, glistening, existing. One night, we’ll find ourselves standing dangerously close to a fire. We shall not see its light. But we shall feel its warmth. The same warmth that shall remind us of the romantic candlelight and the glorious bonfires we stared at quietly on the countless nostalgic nights of our past. And because we’ll want to feel more, to remember more of the romantic past, we’ll extend our hands towards that warmth. And we’ll let the fire burn our palms until we could no longer bear the pain. Yes, it shall be painful. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much?
One day, perhaps, in my search for light, little things that feel like rose petals; I’ll find a priceless treasure on the ground. As I try to pick up something, I’ll be pricked by the thing’s thorns. Because it is a real rose. And I will rejoice because of that miracle. In my joy I’ll grip the flower’s stem tightly, letting the thorns pierce my skin until the blood flows out. And as soon as I find you, I’ll hand you my gift. A rose in the dark. Incredulous, you will hesitate to reach for it. But because you love me, you’ll touch my hand, and feel the blood that drenches it. The same blood that had come out of the wounds caused by the rose. The same blood that proves to you that I have a real rose in my hand. The same blood that lets you know how much I love you. Then, reluctantly, you’ll touch the soft petals, and then slide your hand to the thorny stem, gripping it, letting your palm bleed as much as mine does. Letting your blood fuse with mine as it drips down the flower’s stem, and then down to your arms. We’ll bleed, feel each other bleed and find bliss in each other’s bleeding. We will grip the stem even more tightly, let the blood flow out more profusely. And then we’ll suffer, we’ll cry and find bliss in each other’s weeping. In another life, such pleasure would have been deemed sick. But can anyone blame us for wanting to feel this much? Can anyone stop us from loving this much? From being this passionate? For hurting ourselves this much because the pain brings back ethereally beautiful memories? Because this is the only way to feel our love at its deepest? As we cry, we shall embrace. And not care how much pain we have to bear, or inflict on each other, just to experience this much love.
Sometimes, for love to be truly passionate, the lovers will have to suffer and bleed.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
When The Truth Becomes Irrelevant
The night sky is taunting me. It offers me a spectacle of a million sparkling stars and one beautifully luminescent moon. And quietly it asks me, all this beauty, all these marvels, were they created by one divine God?
As I ponder the question, as I stand here beneath the mottled sheath of darkness that is the night sky, my gaze shifts from the unreachable stars to the humble ground. And there, lying amidst the dirt and the weeds are a few rocks the size of my fist. Just seeing them, I already know that they are hard. But how? How can I be so sure that all such rocks are hard? Someday, will it be possible for me to see something that looks like one of these rocks but is not hard? Maybe. But so far, I’ve already seen thousands, perhaps millions of rocks in my life and all of them were hard. Is it wrong for me to expect that all rock-like things are hard? If I see a rock being hurled at me, should I remain standing where I am and believe that the rock is soft because I have no proof that all rock-looking things are hard? See, in my mind, I have already created a model of how the world works, and in that model, all rocks are hard. Can that model fail someday? Perhaps. But while it is not failing, should I assume that my model, my understanding of the world is wrong? Should I just live my life without a mental model of how the world works? Should I just make every observation, every step in my life, without any expectations (both the right and the wrong ones) of what’s about to happen next? Should I just keep walking calmly while all the possibly hard rocks are being thrown at me?
Suddenly, a car’s bright headlights flash from behind me. And before the driver can blow its horn and shatter the night’s romantic serenity, I move out of the vehicle’s way. I stay out of the way? Why? Because if I don’t, the damn car will run over me. How do I know that? Have I ever seen a man actually being run over by a car? No. Have I seen animals being flattened by trucks? Yes. Why do I expect that the same thing that happened to dogs and cats can also happen to me? Because according to my understanding of the world—my model—humans are just as vulnerable as their lowly animal counterparts. Can my model fail someday? Yes. If I am insane, or if I am merely dreaming, that car can not kill me. If that thing with a headlight is not really a car but a hologram, my model fails and that thing can never flatten me. But should I go on crossing the street mindlessly each day, believing that not a single one of the speeding cars can kill me?
Which makes me wonder how man discovered fire. When one ancient man first observed that rocks produced a spark, what could have driven him to keep scratching more rocks? What could have prompted him to believe that the sparks could possibly produce fire? While he kept scratching those rocks against each other, did he have absolute proof that the rock’s spark could produce fire? I doubt. Proof, he had none. But he certainly had a rough model of how things in the world work, a model that had been based on countless observations—which must have included his observations on how lightning produced fire upon striking the ground. And based on that model—which must have been flawed given his limited knowledge—he acted, until he produced the miracle of fire. Was it wrong for him to believe in his flawed model? Should he be called a fool for having faith in something he wasn’t sure about?
Why did man ever decide to trust reason? When one of the earliest hunters, was in the forest, observing the wild animals, figuring how they behaved, figuring how they could be captured, did he have absolute proof that his mind had the capacity to model the lives and behavior of these creatures? No. Was he wrong in trusting his mind? Should he have just believed that the world followed no definite order? Should he have just counted on luck for his fate? When humans began to think critically, did they have absolute proof that critical thinking would be more practical than depending on pure luck? No. Should they have stopped thinking critically early on? Was it wrong for them to have faith in the capacity of their minds? Was it wrong for them to have faith in Reason? No matter what they say about the impracticality of faith, one thing can never be denied: the light of reason began to exist only through the spark of faith.
It’s easy to predict that rocks are hard when you’ve proven to yourself that all the rocks you’ve seen are hard. It’s also easy to trust your mind and Reason when all your life you’ve benefited from them. But what if you find yourself in a situation wherein you have to predict the outcome of something you have never observed before?
I imagine myself walking in the dark. Alone. Or so I think until I hear the voice of the woman I love. She seems to be from afar, for the sound of her voice creates an eerie echo. She tells me that she knows where exactly I am, even though we are both in the dark. She warns that there are murderous men not far behind me and they are about to kill me as soon as they catch up with me. But, unfortunately, she says, I cannot run. Because ahead of me, between where I am and where she stands, is a cliff. She tells me that I may be strong enough to leap across the cliff and the men behind me are not. I, on the other hand, consider fighting the murderous men in the dark. Can I successfully leap in the dark across that cliff? Or am I better off repeatedly unleashing punches—stabs—in the dark until I get rid of all those murderous men? While I go on thinking, there is a truth that eludes me. Is it better to leap or to fight? But in this kind of situation, the truth is impossible to know until I decide to fight or jump. And in this situation, when the truth is impossible to know, the truth becomes irrelevant. Because I don’t have to wait to know the truth before I act. The best thing I can do is to either leap or stab in the dark.
I wonder how terrible the ordeal of the first farmer was. When he decided to till the land, to spend several months nurturing his crops, did he ever fear that the crops may all die before they could be harvested? Did he ever fear that a storm or a tornado may suddenly wipe out his crops? That he could have been better off, spending most of his time hunting instead of farming? Of course he did. But could he know when the storm will strike? And since it is his first time to farm, can he know if the land is fertile enough? No. And when he’s about to sleep at night, when he was seeing in his mind images of his wife and children starving after his failure with the farm, what could he do to avoid that nightmare? What could he do, given his limited knowledge, to protect his farm from the ruthless forces of nature? He could take a leap in the dark. And then hope that it would work. He could pray.
Often, the prayer has been regarded by intellectuals as a monument to man’s failure to take control of his fate. The prayer—a plea for God to intervene—is often viewed as a symbol of human weakness. But in reality, the first prayer was a milestone on the road to science. It was a glaring proof that humans deeply understood the world they were moving in. Because when humans began to pray, that was when they fully acknowledged that the universe followed a definite order and that by aligning their acts with this order, they could bend up benefiting from it.
Today, I still cannot prove that those stars, that moon and that sky were created by a divine God. But I do know that when I go to sleep, I want to be safe. When my loved ones are asleep, I want them to be just as safe. When I wake up tomorrow, I’d still want to see the faces of the people I love. And if ever they are taken from me, here should be a good reason for it—a reason that will ultimately be beneficial for them. How do I make sure that all my loved ones shall be safe? That if we suffer, our suffering would be for something good? The truth is, I can never be sure. That’s why I take a stab in the dark each night. I pray. Should I be deemed a fool for doing that? Should everyone think me weak?
A lot of things have happened in my life. Some are good, some horrible. Do they make sense? Yes. But only if I include God in my mental model of the world. Can my mental model of the world fail someday? Maybe. Is it possible that I may be wrong in believing in God? Yes. But until my model fails, until my faith is proven wrong and dysfunctional, should I go on living without a mental model of the universe’s order? Should I go on living without believing anything unproven? Should I go on living believing that nothing that happened in my life makes sense?
I am not saying that we should all believe in God. But if I do believe in a God I never saw, I still deserve respect for it. There is nothing irrational about that. As long as my belief does not compromise the welfare of another human being, I have the right to stick to my faith.
Going back to the scenario I mentioned earlier, the one in which I am supposed to choose between leaping and fighting the murderous men in the dark, if I happen to be walking alongside another man in that same scenario, and we make different decisions; I to leap in the dark and he to fight; should I respect the other men for his decision? Of course, I should. And in the same way, I respect all atheists, agnostics and believers of faiths other than my own.
Now, say we both decide to jump and I’m the one who goes first. And then after a while, the other man hears me screaming as I plummet to my death, hence proving to him that the cliff is too wide for a man to leap across successfully, should the second man also leap in the dark? If he jumps even after hearing my screams, his act will not be one of faith but of stupid fanaticism. In the same way, when clerics believed that the earth was the center of the universe even though Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei had presented sufficient evidence proving otherwise, the clerics’ act was not one of faith but of stupid, closed-minded fanaticism. When supposedly holy men stubbornly believe that the universe was created in six days and biological evolution never occurred, even though sufficient evidence says otherwise, theirs is not an act of faith but an act of stupidity.
On the other hand, if we make our decisions simultaneously, and I happen to die after jumping while the other lives on after courageously taking a stand against the assailants? Does that make me a fool? Does that make him the wiser man? What if I live and he dies? Should I be deemed wiser for surviving? Or should I just be dismissed as the lucky one. Truth is, wisdom alone cannot guarantee that one’s decisions would be correct. Maybe my belief in God is right. But in this case, being right does not prove me wiser than any atheist. Maybe the atheists are correct in believing that there is no God. But being correct alone does not make them wiser than believers like me.
I believe in God. Which means that I already took a leap in the dark. The leap hasn’t ended yet, though. For the truth hasn’t fully revealed itself to me yet. I am still airborne, hoping that I will land somewhere safe. Will I plummet to death? Maybe. But even if that happens, it will happen not because I’m a fool.
I will only fall because I am human.
As I ponder the question, as I stand here beneath the mottled sheath of darkness that is the night sky, my gaze shifts from the unreachable stars to the humble ground. And there, lying amidst the dirt and the weeds are a few rocks the size of my fist. Just seeing them, I already know that they are hard. But how? How can I be so sure that all such rocks are hard? Someday, will it be possible for me to see something that looks like one of these rocks but is not hard? Maybe. But so far, I’ve already seen thousands, perhaps millions of rocks in my life and all of them were hard. Is it wrong for me to expect that all rock-like things are hard? If I see a rock being hurled at me, should I remain standing where I am and believe that the rock is soft because I have no proof that all rock-looking things are hard? See, in my mind, I have already created a model of how the world works, and in that model, all rocks are hard. Can that model fail someday? Perhaps. But while it is not failing, should I assume that my model, my understanding of the world is wrong? Should I just live my life without a mental model of how the world works? Should I just make every observation, every step in my life, without any expectations (both the right and the wrong ones) of what’s about to happen next? Should I just keep walking calmly while all the possibly hard rocks are being thrown at me?
Suddenly, a car’s bright headlights flash from behind me. And before the driver can blow its horn and shatter the night’s romantic serenity, I move out of the vehicle’s way. I stay out of the way? Why? Because if I don’t, the damn car will run over me. How do I know that? Have I ever seen a man actually being run over by a car? No. Have I seen animals being flattened by trucks? Yes. Why do I expect that the same thing that happened to dogs and cats can also happen to me? Because according to my understanding of the world—my model—humans are just as vulnerable as their lowly animal counterparts. Can my model fail someday? Yes. If I am insane, or if I am merely dreaming, that car can not kill me. If that thing with a headlight is not really a car but a hologram, my model fails and that thing can never flatten me. But should I go on crossing the street mindlessly each day, believing that not a single one of the speeding cars can kill me?
Which makes me wonder how man discovered fire. When one ancient man first observed that rocks produced a spark, what could have driven him to keep scratching more rocks? What could have prompted him to believe that the sparks could possibly produce fire? While he kept scratching those rocks against each other, did he have absolute proof that the rock’s spark could produce fire? I doubt. Proof, he had none. But he certainly had a rough model of how things in the world work, a model that had been based on countless observations—which must have included his observations on how lightning produced fire upon striking the ground. And based on that model—which must have been flawed given his limited knowledge—he acted, until he produced the miracle of fire. Was it wrong for him to believe in his flawed model? Should he be called a fool for having faith in something he wasn’t sure about?
Why did man ever decide to trust reason? When one of the earliest hunters, was in the forest, observing the wild animals, figuring how they behaved, figuring how they could be captured, did he have absolute proof that his mind had the capacity to model the lives and behavior of these creatures? No. Was he wrong in trusting his mind? Should he have just believed that the world followed no definite order? Should he have just counted on luck for his fate? When humans began to think critically, did they have absolute proof that critical thinking would be more practical than depending on pure luck? No. Should they have stopped thinking critically early on? Was it wrong for them to have faith in the capacity of their minds? Was it wrong for them to have faith in Reason? No matter what they say about the impracticality of faith, one thing can never be denied: the light of reason began to exist only through the spark of faith.
It’s easy to predict that rocks are hard when you’ve proven to yourself that all the rocks you’ve seen are hard. It’s also easy to trust your mind and Reason when all your life you’ve benefited from them. But what if you find yourself in a situation wherein you have to predict the outcome of something you have never observed before?
I imagine myself walking in the dark. Alone. Or so I think until I hear the voice of the woman I love. She seems to be from afar, for the sound of her voice creates an eerie echo. She tells me that she knows where exactly I am, even though we are both in the dark. She warns that there are murderous men not far behind me and they are about to kill me as soon as they catch up with me. But, unfortunately, she says, I cannot run. Because ahead of me, between where I am and where she stands, is a cliff. She tells me that I may be strong enough to leap across the cliff and the men behind me are not. I, on the other hand, consider fighting the murderous men in the dark. Can I successfully leap in the dark across that cliff? Or am I better off repeatedly unleashing punches—stabs—in the dark until I get rid of all those murderous men? While I go on thinking, there is a truth that eludes me. Is it better to leap or to fight? But in this kind of situation, the truth is impossible to know until I decide to fight or jump. And in this situation, when the truth is impossible to know, the truth becomes irrelevant. Because I don’t have to wait to know the truth before I act. The best thing I can do is to either leap or stab in the dark.
I wonder how terrible the ordeal of the first farmer was. When he decided to till the land, to spend several months nurturing his crops, did he ever fear that the crops may all die before they could be harvested? Did he ever fear that a storm or a tornado may suddenly wipe out his crops? That he could have been better off, spending most of his time hunting instead of farming? Of course he did. But could he know when the storm will strike? And since it is his first time to farm, can he know if the land is fertile enough? No. And when he’s about to sleep at night, when he was seeing in his mind images of his wife and children starving after his failure with the farm, what could he do to avoid that nightmare? What could he do, given his limited knowledge, to protect his farm from the ruthless forces of nature? He could take a leap in the dark. And then hope that it would work. He could pray.
Often, the prayer has been regarded by intellectuals as a monument to man’s failure to take control of his fate. The prayer—a plea for God to intervene—is often viewed as a symbol of human weakness. But in reality, the first prayer was a milestone on the road to science. It was a glaring proof that humans deeply understood the world they were moving in. Because when humans began to pray, that was when they fully acknowledged that the universe followed a definite order and that by aligning their acts with this order, they could bend up benefiting from it.
Today, I still cannot prove that those stars, that moon and that sky were created by a divine God. But I do know that when I go to sleep, I want to be safe. When my loved ones are asleep, I want them to be just as safe. When I wake up tomorrow, I’d still want to see the faces of the people I love. And if ever they are taken from me, here should be a good reason for it—a reason that will ultimately be beneficial for them. How do I make sure that all my loved ones shall be safe? That if we suffer, our suffering would be for something good? The truth is, I can never be sure. That’s why I take a stab in the dark each night. I pray. Should I be deemed a fool for doing that? Should everyone think me weak?
A lot of things have happened in my life. Some are good, some horrible. Do they make sense? Yes. But only if I include God in my mental model of the world. Can my mental model of the world fail someday? Maybe. Is it possible that I may be wrong in believing in God? Yes. But until my model fails, until my faith is proven wrong and dysfunctional, should I go on living without a mental model of the universe’s order? Should I go on living without believing anything unproven? Should I go on living believing that nothing that happened in my life makes sense?
I am not saying that we should all believe in God. But if I do believe in a God I never saw, I still deserve respect for it. There is nothing irrational about that. As long as my belief does not compromise the welfare of another human being, I have the right to stick to my faith.
Going back to the scenario I mentioned earlier, the one in which I am supposed to choose between leaping and fighting the murderous men in the dark, if I happen to be walking alongside another man in that same scenario, and we make different decisions; I to leap in the dark and he to fight; should I respect the other men for his decision? Of course, I should. And in the same way, I respect all atheists, agnostics and believers of faiths other than my own.
Now, say we both decide to jump and I’m the one who goes first. And then after a while, the other man hears me screaming as I plummet to my death, hence proving to him that the cliff is too wide for a man to leap across successfully, should the second man also leap in the dark? If he jumps even after hearing my screams, his act will not be one of faith but of stupid fanaticism. In the same way, when clerics believed that the earth was the center of the universe even though Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei had presented sufficient evidence proving otherwise, the clerics’ act was not one of faith but of stupid, closed-minded fanaticism. When supposedly holy men stubbornly believe that the universe was created in six days and biological evolution never occurred, even though sufficient evidence says otherwise, theirs is not an act of faith but an act of stupidity.
On the other hand, if we make our decisions simultaneously, and I happen to die after jumping while the other lives on after courageously taking a stand against the assailants? Does that make me a fool? Does that make him the wiser man? What if I live and he dies? Should I be deemed wiser for surviving? Or should I just be dismissed as the lucky one. Truth is, wisdom alone cannot guarantee that one’s decisions would be correct. Maybe my belief in God is right. But in this case, being right does not prove me wiser than any atheist. Maybe the atheists are correct in believing that there is no God. But being correct alone does not make them wiser than believers like me.
I believe in God. Which means that I already took a leap in the dark. The leap hasn’t ended yet, though. For the truth hasn’t fully revealed itself to me yet. I am still airborne, hoping that I will land somewhere safe. Will I plummet to death? Maybe. But even if that happens, it will happen not because I’m a fool.
I will only fall because I am human.
The Death of Dreams, The Birth of Nightmares
The future is only as beautiful as the dreams of today’s children. All the comforts we relish today, all the freedoms we enjoy, all the wonderful technologies that keep us alive and driven to move farther forward, they are all legacies of the children who dared to dream big long before were born. And whatever beautiful breakthroughs shall be here tomorrow only depends on what today’s generation can come up with.
When I see pictures of Rome, Athens and the pyramids of Egypt, I can’t help but think of the dreams had by the children who grew up to build those cities and structures. When I see pictures of the New York Skyline, I think of the impoverished European immigrants who sailed across the Atlantic hundreds of years ago, most of them carrying nothing with them but their dreams and their promising children. When I see pictures of the Great Wall, the remarkable Chinese architecture and calligraphy, and the elegant clothes worn by the Chinese as early as 2,000 years ago, I think of the ancient Chinese children who dreamed of refining their own culture. When I see the filth of the Philippines, the beggars on Manila’s stinking streets, the murky waters of the Pasig River, the anarchic way by which illegal vendors occupy the two lanes of Commonwealth Avenue at night (until the Metro Manila Development Authority acted on the matter), the sewers that are always clogged, the coverless manholes, the potholed roads, the agony of commuting when the streets are flooded, the garbage on the streets, the garbage on the escalator steps of the MRT (Metropolital Rail Transit) Ayala station (which reveal that even the highly educated professionals in the country’s central business district have the shamelessness to throw away their trash anywhere), animal carcasses flattened in the middle of highways, the shanties under the bridges, and the 10 to 20 children who cram themselves in one small tricycle just to get a cheap ride to school everyday, I can’t help but think of the beautiful dreams the ancient Filipino children never had.
Albert Einstein taught himself calculus at the age of 12. That must have been in 1891. And in that year, how many Filipino twelve-year-olds were dreaming Einstein’s dreams? I doubt if any of them even heard the term calculus. If the legend is true, the legendary apple must have fallen from a tree and onto Isaac Newton’s head sometime in the 1660’s , when the man responsible for the Laws of Motion, Calculus, Universal Law of Gravitation and the Particle Theory of Light was still in his early twenties. In that period, how many twenty-something Filipinos had heard of Johannes Kepler, Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei –the giants on whose shoulders Isaac Newton stood? In the 19th century, when the likes of Thomas Edison and James Watt were dreaming of marvelous inventions, how many Filipino children were familiar with the concept of invention? Since that was a time when there were no public schools in the country, zero should be a safe answer. From 1521—the year in which the Spaniards supposedly discovered the Philippines—to 1896—the outbreak of the Philippine Revolution—what dreams did Filipino children dream? Aside from becoming corrupt politicians and wealthy feudal lords, I doubt if there’s anything bigger for those poor children to dream.
The painful truth is that the children of pre-20th-century Philippines never had the chance to dream most of the glorious dreams we have today, let alone the dreams of their western counterparts. But that truth is only painful in the sense that there is not much for us to cherish as a nation today as a result of our ancestors’ limited dreams. Had they had bigger dreams, perhaps their frustrations had also been much more painful. Even the dreamiest child would run out of good dreams if everyday of his life, the only kind of success he sees is that of corrupt officials and feudal lords. No wonder most of yesterday’s Filipino children either grew up slowly killing their beautiful dreams or nurturing the evil ones. No wonder the country is what it is right now.
There is still hope, though. Because compared to the people of wealthier nations around us, the Filipinos have been free to dream big for a very short time. Someday the dreams of today’s children may also be realized. Someday this nation may also be great. Maybe. Depending on what dreams our children today have. But what dreams do today’s children have? They dream of becoming the people they admire. But whom can they admire? Whom can they follow?
It’s bad enough that we do not have an Isaac Newton or an Albert Einstein for our children to look up to. The situation even gets worse when corrupt officials bask in the spotlight, their success broadcast on national television, all for our children to see, while our great scientists and artists fade quietly into their deaths, and into oblivion.
Not too long ago, Jun Lozada testified in the Philippine Senate against Comelec (Commission on Elections) Chairman Benjamin Abalos. The former alleged that the contract to establish a National Broadband Network (NBN) for the Philippine government was awarded to a company called ZTE because of the latter’s sinister machinations. As the senate hearings went on, several columnists pointed out that the hearings were an exercise in futility, that everything Lozada had done would lead to nothing but failure. And they were right.
A few years ago, a few enlightened congressmen moved to impeach President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo after an audio record of her phone conversation with Virgilio Garcillano (a COMELEC commissioner) was found. The conversation supposedly occurred during the course of counting of ballots in 2004-when Ms. Arroyo was among the presidential candidates, which was unforgivably unethical. Many journalists predicted that the impeachment attempt would be a failure. And they were right. The congressmen involved in the impeachment attempt failed.
In 2003, surveys revealed that former Senator Raul Roco was the leading candidate for President. By May 2004, when the elections were held, he was dead last among five candidates. The years 2003-2004 were among the saddest for Filipino idealists. That was a time when even the idealist supporters of Raul Roco swung towards Gloria Macapagal Arroyo because they feared that Roco did not have the political machinery to defeat Fernando Poe Jr.—a popular movie actor with absolutely no experience in governance. Many of them claimed that a vote for Roco would go to waste because he would certainly not win. And in a way, they were right. Roco lost.
Now I’m compelled to think of the heroes who fought for our freedom more than a hundred years ago. Jose Rizal, Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Antonio Luna, Gregorio Del Pilar and Apolinario Mabini dedicated their lives to the fight for freedom. Did the prospect of failure ever bother them? I’m sure it did. And I’m sure during the turbulent days of the revolution, not a few pragmatists advised them to throw away their dreams because they were bound to fail anyway. And the pragmatists were right. Jose Rizal was executed by the Spaniards. Bonifacio and Luna were executed by their own comrades. Emilio Jacinto died of Malaria while leading a group of brave Filipino soldiers in Laguna during the Philippine-American war. Gregorio Del Pilar was killed by the Americans in battle. Apolinario Mabini was exiled. Should they have thrown away their dreams before they even attempted to realize them?
What if the Philippine Revolution never happened? What if Jose Rizal never wrote Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo (the two novels that sparked the revolution)? What would we tell our children when they ask about Filipino heroes? Who would be there for our children to emulate? I know many of our heroes failed. But I am grateful for their attempts. Because had they not done anything at all, I would have grown up feeling absolutely no sense of national pride. We all would have grown up feeling no sense of national pride. They failed. But their failures matter. Because of them, there are still a few good men who work honestly and efficiently in government. Because of them, there are still soldiers who die for their country. Because of them, there are still teachers who teach in far-flung barrios, notwithstanding the threats of malaria and abductions by rebels. Because of them, there are still poorly paid Filipino judges who make the justice system work. Because of these failed men, there are still impoverished cops who run after the thugs, and not with the thugs. Because of them, there are still patriotic entrepreneurs who still continue to invest here instead of bringing their money to another country. Because of them, there are Filipino children today who still DREAM of becoming good men and women tomorrow.
The hearings on the NBN scandal and the impeachment attempt against President Arroyo in 2005 may have been failures. But these are failures that will forever matter. These failures will inspire. Because of them, tomorrow will never run out of good men and women who will take a stand against corruption.
Sometimes, when I think of witnesses like Jun Lozada and the congressmen who tried to impeach President Arroyo, I can’t help but compare them to test pilots. When a test pilot climbs into the cockpit of a newly designed aircraft, he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive the flight or not. But he’ll certainly fly the damn thing. When the flight is successful and the pilot lives, everyone below celebrates and can’t wait to rub shoulders with triumphant pilot. But if the aircraft explodes in midair, even if it’s not the pilot’s fault, the people below—the engineers, mechanics, financiers and spectators—would do anything to dissociate themselves from the failed flight attempt and the heroic pilot’s name would end up buried in oblivion. Yet, no matter how many test pilots die, the world never seems to run out of them. Because as long as children can see the planes that fly, there will be children who’d dream of flying. As long as they can see the courage of the test pilots, they would have a reason to be courageous themselves. As long as children can see heroes, there will be children who’d dream of becoming heroes. When a plane crashes down, the right thing to do is not to quit flying but to build a better plane. When heroes fail, the right thing to do is not to stop being good but to be better.
Which reminds me of Raul Roco’s defeat in the 2004 presidential elections. When Roco’s supporters voted for Arroyo just to avoid a Fernando Poe Jr. presidency, they forgot two important things about voting. First, voting is not just a matter of letting someone win a government post. To vote is to take a stand and let that stand be counted. Second, why, in the first place, were there so many people eager to vote Fernando Poe Jr. for president? (I don’t mind the fact that he’s an actor. What I can’t stand is the thought that many of those people who voted for him did so because he was a popular actor.) It’s because so many children of yesterday grew up dreaming the wrong dreams. If none of us could stand for our right dreams today, if all of us would be afraid to fail, if none of us could vote for the candidate we truly believe in, how can we expect the next generation to have better dreams?
When we talk of dreamers, we should not only remember the ones who were gifts to mankind. Because the worst atrocities in human history were committed by the most passionate dreamers. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Atilla the Hun, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. What do these men have in common aside from unspeakable terror upon mankind? They all lived in environments wherein the ultimate form of success was either victory in war or triumph in politics. And being the passionate dreamers that they were, they aimed for nothing less than the ultimate success.
When the Roco supporters opted not to vote for him because they feared that his political machinery was too weak compared to those of Arroyo and Poe, they were essentially handing the gift of success to Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, a success that the children of today would also want to have someday. None of those voters should be surprised then if the next generation produces ten new Gloria Arroyos and zero Raul Rocos. When we silence all the Jun Lozadas, we let the corrupt rule our land with impunity. And tomorrow, no one should be surprised if the innocent children become the corrupt rulers of the land.
I wonder what kind of dreams Osama Bin Laden had when he was a child. Maybe the young Bin Laden had often heard about the adventures of Francis Drake, the British pirate who was knighted for sinking Spanish ships--many of them merchant vessels manned by helpless, impoverished civilians—and despite the fact that he had raided African villages to capture slaves he would later sell to his wealthy compatriots. Maybe the little Osama thought that if a British pirate who had brutally killed innocent sailors and enslaved poor African villagers could be knighted, his own acts of terrorism might also compel the world to eventually address him someday as Sir Osama.
I wonder what kind of dreams the children of Iraq had when the country was under Saddam Hussein. Maybe some of them were thinking, “If a man like Saddam could be called a President, I might as well be the next Saddam.” I wonder what the children of today’s Iraq are dreaming. Maybe some of them are saying, “If a warmonger like George W. Bush could become President of the world’s most powerful country, I might as well become the George W. Bush of my own country.” I wonder what the children of Gaza are thinking. Maybe some of them are thinking, “If those men who bomb our homes can be called soldiers, I might as well be the fiercest soldier for my people.” I wonder what the other children of Palestine are thinking. Maybe some would say, “If all those citizens of other countries couldn’t give a damn about our dreams to live in peace, why should I ever care about their own dreams?” I wonder what all the impoverished children of third world countries are thinking. Maybe some are saying, “If life can’t offer me any job that’s more fulfilling than being a rebel or a terrorist, why shouldn’t I get the best job I could have?”
Walking on the streets of Manila, I still held the empty can of cola in my hand until I could find the nearest garbage can. As I walked on, several bystanders stared at me incredulously. They must have been thinking, “Why can’t this stupid guy just dump his trash on the streets like most people do?” And I was thinking, “Why can’t I just give up my dream of having a clean Manila? How much cleaner would the city be because of one piece of trash that I refuse to dump on the street?” Sometimes, it gets really exhausting.
I hope there are more dreamers out there. Ones who are stronger, brighter and more powerful than I am. I hope there are more people out there who can show the children of today that there are good dreams to dream. I hope they would never grow tired of their own beautiful dreams.
Because when all good dreams die, the worst nightmares are born.
When I see pictures of Rome, Athens and the pyramids of Egypt, I can’t help but think of the dreams had by the children who grew up to build those cities and structures. When I see pictures of the New York Skyline, I think of the impoverished European immigrants who sailed across the Atlantic hundreds of years ago, most of them carrying nothing with them but their dreams and their promising children. When I see pictures of the Great Wall, the remarkable Chinese architecture and calligraphy, and the elegant clothes worn by the Chinese as early as 2,000 years ago, I think of the ancient Chinese children who dreamed of refining their own culture. When I see the filth of the Philippines, the beggars on Manila’s stinking streets, the murky waters of the Pasig River, the anarchic way by which illegal vendors occupy the two lanes of Commonwealth Avenue at night (until the Metro Manila Development Authority acted on the matter), the sewers that are always clogged, the coverless manholes, the potholed roads, the agony of commuting when the streets are flooded, the garbage on the streets, the garbage on the escalator steps of the MRT (Metropolital Rail Transit) Ayala station (which reveal that even the highly educated professionals in the country’s central business district have the shamelessness to throw away their trash anywhere), animal carcasses flattened in the middle of highways, the shanties under the bridges, and the 10 to 20 children who cram themselves in one small tricycle just to get a cheap ride to school everyday, I can’t help but think of the beautiful dreams the ancient Filipino children never had.
Albert Einstein taught himself calculus at the age of 12. That must have been in 1891. And in that year, how many Filipino twelve-year-olds were dreaming Einstein’s dreams? I doubt if any of them even heard the term calculus. If the legend is true, the legendary apple must have fallen from a tree and onto Isaac Newton’s head sometime in the 1660’s , when the man responsible for the Laws of Motion, Calculus, Universal Law of Gravitation and the Particle Theory of Light was still in his early twenties. In that period, how many twenty-something Filipinos had heard of Johannes Kepler, Nicolus Copernicus and Galileo Galilei –the giants on whose shoulders Isaac Newton stood? In the 19th century, when the likes of Thomas Edison and James Watt were dreaming of marvelous inventions, how many Filipino children were familiar with the concept of invention? Since that was a time when there were no public schools in the country, zero should be a safe answer. From 1521—the year in which the Spaniards supposedly discovered the Philippines—to 1896—the outbreak of the Philippine Revolution—what dreams did Filipino children dream? Aside from becoming corrupt politicians and wealthy feudal lords, I doubt if there’s anything bigger for those poor children to dream.
The painful truth is that the children of pre-20th-century Philippines never had the chance to dream most of the glorious dreams we have today, let alone the dreams of their western counterparts. But that truth is only painful in the sense that there is not much for us to cherish as a nation today as a result of our ancestors’ limited dreams. Had they had bigger dreams, perhaps their frustrations had also been much more painful. Even the dreamiest child would run out of good dreams if everyday of his life, the only kind of success he sees is that of corrupt officials and feudal lords. No wonder most of yesterday’s Filipino children either grew up slowly killing their beautiful dreams or nurturing the evil ones. No wonder the country is what it is right now.
There is still hope, though. Because compared to the people of wealthier nations around us, the Filipinos have been free to dream big for a very short time. Someday the dreams of today’s children may also be realized. Someday this nation may also be great. Maybe. Depending on what dreams our children today have. But what dreams do today’s children have? They dream of becoming the people they admire. But whom can they admire? Whom can they follow?
It’s bad enough that we do not have an Isaac Newton or an Albert Einstein for our children to look up to. The situation even gets worse when corrupt officials bask in the spotlight, their success broadcast on national television, all for our children to see, while our great scientists and artists fade quietly into their deaths, and into oblivion.
Not too long ago, Jun Lozada testified in the Philippine Senate against Comelec (Commission on Elections) Chairman Benjamin Abalos. The former alleged that the contract to establish a National Broadband Network (NBN) for the Philippine government was awarded to a company called ZTE because of the latter’s sinister machinations. As the senate hearings went on, several columnists pointed out that the hearings were an exercise in futility, that everything Lozada had done would lead to nothing but failure. And they were right.
A few years ago, a few enlightened congressmen moved to impeach President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo after an audio record of her phone conversation with Virgilio Garcillano (a COMELEC commissioner) was found. The conversation supposedly occurred during the course of counting of ballots in 2004-when Ms. Arroyo was among the presidential candidates, which was unforgivably unethical. Many journalists predicted that the impeachment attempt would be a failure. And they were right. The congressmen involved in the impeachment attempt failed.
In 2003, surveys revealed that former Senator Raul Roco was the leading candidate for President. By May 2004, when the elections were held, he was dead last among five candidates. The years 2003-2004 were among the saddest for Filipino idealists. That was a time when even the idealist supporters of Raul Roco swung towards Gloria Macapagal Arroyo because they feared that Roco did not have the political machinery to defeat Fernando Poe Jr.—a popular movie actor with absolutely no experience in governance. Many of them claimed that a vote for Roco would go to waste because he would certainly not win. And in a way, they were right. Roco lost.
Now I’m compelled to think of the heroes who fought for our freedom more than a hundred years ago. Jose Rizal, Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Jacinto, Antonio Luna, Gregorio Del Pilar and Apolinario Mabini dedicated their lives to the fight for freedom. Did the prospect of failure ever bother them? I’m sure it did. And I’m sure during the turbulent days of the revolution, not a few pragmatists advised them to throw away their dreams because they were bound to fail anyway. And the pragmatists were right. Jose Rizal was executed by the Spaniards. Bonifacio and Luna were executed by their own comrades. Emilio Jacinto died of Malaria while leading a group of brave Filipino soldiers in Laguna during the Philippine-American war. Gregorio Del Pilar was killed by the Americans in battle. Apolinario Mabini was exiled. Should they have thrown away their dreams before they even attempted to realize them?
What if the Philippine Revolution never happened? What if Jose Rizal never wrote Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo (the two novels that sparked the revolution)? What would we tell our children when they ask about Filipino heroes? Who would be there for our children to emulate? I know many of our heroes failed. But I am grateful for their attempts. Because had they not done anything at all, I would have grown up feeling absolutely no sense of national pride. We all would have grown up feeling no sense of national pride. They failed. But their failures matter. Because of them, there are still a few good men who work honestly and efficiently in government. Because of them, there are still soldiers who die for their country. Because of them, there are still teachers who teach in far-flung barrios, notwithstanding the threats of malaria and abductions by rebels. Because of them, there are still poorly paid Filipino judges who make the justice system work. Because of these failed men, there are still impoverished cops who run after the thugs, and not with the thugs. Because of them, there are still patriotic entrepreneurs who still continue to invest here instead of bringing their money to another country. Because of them, there are Filipino children today who still DREAM of becoming good men and women tomorrow.
The hearings on the NBN scandal and the impeachment attempt against President Arroyo in 2005 may have been failures. But these are failures that will forever matter. These failures will inspire. Because of them, tomorrow will never run out of good men and women who will take a stand against corruption.
Sometimes, when I think of witnesses like Jun Lozada and the congressmen who tried to impeach President Arroyo, I can’t help but compare them to test pilots. When a test pilot climbs into the cockpit of a newly designed aircraft, he doesn’t know if he’s going to survive the flight or not. But he’ll certainly fly the damn thing. When the flight is successful and the pilot lives, everyone below celebrates and can’t wait to rub shoulders with triumphant pilot. But if the aircraft explodes in midair, even if it’s not the pilot’s fault, the people below—the engineers, mechanics, financiers and spectators—would do anything to dissociate themselves from the failed flight attempt and the heroic pilot’s name would end up buried in oblivion. Yet, no matter how many test pilots die, the world never seems to run out of them. Because as long as children can see the planes that fly, there will be children who’d dream of flying. As long as they can see the courage of the test pilots, they would have a reason to be courageous themselves. As long as children can see heroes, there will be children who’d dream of becoming heroes. When a plane crashes down, the right thing to do is not to quit flying but to build a better plane. When heroes fail, the right thing to do is not to stop being good but to be better.
Which reminds me of Raul Roco’s defeat in the 2004 presidential elections. When Roco’s supporters voted for Arroyo just to avoid a Fernando Poe Jr. presidency, they forgot two important things about voting. First, voting is not just a matter of letting someone win a government post. To vote is to take a stand and let that stand be counted. Second, why, in the first place, were there so many people eager to vote Fernando Poe Jr. for president? (I don’t mind the fact that he’s an actor. What I can’t stand is the thought that many of those people who voted for him did so because he was a popular actor.) It’s because so many children of yesterday grew up dreaming the wrong dreams. If none of us could stand for our right dreams today, if all of us would be afraid to fail, if none of us could vote for the candidate we truly believe in, how can we expect the next generation to have better dreams?
When we talk of dreamers, we should not only remember the ones who were gifts to mankind. Because the worst atrocities in human history were committed by the most passionate dreamers. Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Atilla the Hun, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. What do these men have in common aside from unspeakable terror upon mankind? They all lived in environments wherein the ultimate form of success was either victory in war or triumph in politics. And being the passionate dreamers that they were, they aimed for nothing less than the ultimate success.
When the Roco supporters opted not to vote for him because they feared that his political machinery was too weak compared to those of Arroyo and Poe, they were essentially handing the gift of success to Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, a success that the children of today would also want to have someday. None of those voters should be surprised then if the next generation produces ten new Gloria Arroyos and zero Raul Rocos. When we silence all the Jun Lozadas, we let the corrupt rule our land with impunity. And tomorrow, no one should be surprised if the innocent children become the corrupt rulers of the land.
I wonder what kind of dreams Osama Bin Laden had when he was a child. Maybe the young Bin Laden had often heard about the adventures of Francis Drake, the British pirate who was knighted for sinking Spanish ships--many of them merchant vessels manned by helpless, impoverished civilians—and despite the fact that he had raided African villages to capture slaves he would later sell to his wealthy compatriots. Maybe the little Osama thought that if a British pirate who had brutally killed innocent sailors and enslaved poor African villagers could be knighted, his own acts of terrorism might also compel the world to eventually address him someday as Sir Osama.
I wonder what kind of dreams the children of Iraq had when the country was under Saddam Hussein. Maybe some of them were thinking, “If a man like Saddam could be called a President, I might as well be the next Saddam.” I wonder what the children of today’s Iraq are dreaming. Maybe some of them are saying, “If a warmonger like George W. Bush could become President of the world’s most powerful country, I might as well become the George W. Bush of my own country.” I wonder what the children of Gaza are thinking. Maybe some of them are thinking, “If those men who bomb our homes can be called soldiers, I might as well be the fiercest soldier for my people.” I wonder what the other children of Palestine are thinking. Maybe some would say, “If all those citizens of other countries couldn’t give a damn about our dreams to live in peace, why should I ever care about their own dreams?” I wonder what all the impoverished children of third world countries are thinking. Maybe some are saying, “If life can’t offer me any job that’s more fulfilling than being a rebel or a terrorist, why shouldn’t I get the best job I could have?”
Walking on the streets of Manila, I still held the empty can of cola in my hand until I could find the nearest garbage can. As I walked on, several bystanders stared at me incredulously. They must have been thinking, “Why can’t this stupid guy just dump his trash on the streets like most people do?” And I was thinking, “Why can’t I just give up my dream of having a clean Manila? How much cleaner would the city be because of one piece of trash that I refuse to dump on the street?” Sometimes, it gets really exhausting.
I hope there are more dreamers out there. Ones who are stronger, brighter and more powerful than I am. I hope there are more people out there who can show the children of today that there are good dreams to dream. I hope they would never grow tired of their own beautiful dreams.
Because when all good dreams die, the worst nightmares are born.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Angels' Children Are Marching To Hell
What is life? Is life just a matter of being born into this world, never mind how much suffering one has to go through after birth? Is life nothing more than being able to wake up each day and see the sun? Is life nothing more than being able to breathe, to feel the air?
What is not life? When a five-year-old girl has to beg for her food everyday on the dangerous streets of Manila, what she’s having is not life! That is cruelty. That is hell. When innocent children are being born only to serve as their parents’ cheap laborers, it is definitely not life that they’re having. When children as young as four years old are breaking stones everyday to feed themselves instead of playing with toys, what they’re having is definitely not life. When those beautiful little girls are still out on the dark streets of Manila at night just to peddle sampaguita garlands, making themselves extremely vulnerable to rapists and pedophiles, they do not have anything close to a life. When children are out of school and chasing garbage trucks to steal a few pieces of junk that can still be sold, they are deprived of life. When young boys are picking up guns to become terrorists and criminals just so they can feed their younger siblings, fulfilling responsibilities that they never chose to have, what they’re having is the exact opposite of life. When the brightest young men and women of this country are sacrificing their education, their careers and their happiness just take over their parents’ responsibility to feed and educate their siblings; they’re having the farthest thing from life.
In the Philippines, in this predominantly catholic country, countless souls are experiencing the exact opposite of life. And because we never seem to run out of Pro-Life advocates who vehemently oppose birth control, because there are people who preach that contraception is a sin and that bringing a child into this world will always please heaven, there will be millions more to experience the exact opposite of life. There shall be millions more to experience hell.
But you know what life is? Life is something had by well-off Pro-Life senators who work comfortably in the air-conditioned halls and offices of the Philippine Senate. Life is something had by the middle-class CFC (Couples for Christ) members who could afford to go to church in decent clothes each Sunday, the same people who take a stand against contraception. Life is something had by the bishops who go around the city in private cars and are able to eat three times a day without having to commit a sin, the same holy men who give homilies demonizing the proponents of birth control. Life is something had by the Pro-Life congressmen who win votes by blocking every bill that encourages birth control. Life was the one thing celebrated by the irresponsible parents when they conceived the children they could never take good care of.
Unbelievably, these people, the ones who had experienced and celebrated life, may even get something beyond life. Because of their deeds, they might earn tickets to heaven. The Pro-Life priests, churchgoers and politicians will be rewarded for their efforts to discourage contraception. They might even earn more rewards for encouraging parents to procreate. As for the parents, they’ll be rewarded for their aversion to contraceptives. They’ll be rewarded for each tiring day that they tried to take care of their children. They’ll be rewarded for their futile attempts to sufficiently feed all their children, even though from the start, they should have known that they never had the means to feed all of them. They’ll be rewarded for the countless times they selflessly prayed to God begging Him to let their children miraculously finish college, even though from the start, they should have had the foresight to anticipate their children’s educational needs, that they shouldn’t have conceived them in the first place if they cannot give them the education they deserve. They’ll be rewarded for all the emotional suffering they endured as they watched their children pitifully chase garbage trucks and steal every exposed piece of metal on the streets of Manila, even though prior to the conception of their children, they should have had made sure they had the capability to offer their children a real life.
I shudder to think how things would be in and hell someday. In heaven shall be the Pro-Life priests, nuns, churchgoers and politicians, relishing the cool, soothing air of the paradise. And in that same place, the parents, freed of their earthly burdens, will feel as light as air, their light allowing them to fly beautifully like angels. While down there in hell, burning in the deep, seething ocean of fire are the poor children who had been born to a cruel, apathetic world because those happy Pro-Life advocates encouraged their irresponsible parents to procreate. In hell shall be the children who had to become pickpockets just to feed themselves. In there shall be the little boys who had to work as lookouts for hold-uppers and hired killers because there was nothing else they could do to earn a living and feed their younger siblings. In hell shall be the young boys who became terrorists and bandits just to take over their parents’ duty of being the breadwinners. In hell shall be the poor kids who got imprisoned at an early age and whose minds were poisoned by the violent culture of the older prisoners.
Perhaps, out of rage, the children of hell shall question the wisdom of God. “God, why are those privileged angels up there while we are down here suffering?” they’ll say. “Why do you reward them when in their lives, all they cared about was saving their own souls? Why are they so happy now when they never suffered on earth as much as we did? Why do you reward them for bringing more poor children like us into the world? Does it make you happy to see all those angels’ poor children marching to hell? Why do you make them so happy now when in life, all they cared about was the love they could get from their own children, when they never even thought if we, their children, would ever find enough time in our grueling lives to love and feel loved?”
Now, the pro-life advocates out there might say that the children are marching to hell not because parents are irresponsibly conceiving them but because there is so much evil in this world. Because there is poverty in this country. Those are the sickest arguments one could ever hear.
Let’s say a preacher tells his young followers to dive into a river teeming with crocodiles. If the followers do as the preacher says, some of them may elude the crocodiles. But what fool would expect all of them to survive? If you are one of those followers who sees how your friends are being ripped apart by those ravenous reptiles, whom will you be more furious at? The crocodiles that devoured your friends? Or the preacher who told all of you to dive into that river? And if you can see how your friends are being brutally killed by the reptiles, will you not do anything to stop the preacher from telling more followers to swim in that river of death?
Yes, it is possible for even the most impoverished, underprivileged children to remain good. And there is nothing wrong in hoping that they would all resist the earthly temptations that come their way. But to expect that every child who grows up without getting all the financial and emotional support he needs will become a saint, that every such child would never be tempted to kill and steal for his food, that each one will never dream of being rich through illegal means, that each one would be able to contain all the seething angst inside of him, that is like telling innocent children to dive into a crocodile-infested river and praying that all of them would survive! Like it or not, as long as there are children who can not have a real life, as long as there are children who have to work to feed themselves, as long as there are children who have a reason to question the kindness of God and the fairness of society, as long as there are bright children who can not go to school, as long as there are children who can’t be taken care of by their parents, there will be sinners among these children. There will be more souls for the devil to reap.
Can the souls of those children still be saved? Of course. Why not? If you tell some children to swim in a crocodile-infested river, you can still try to rescue them after they obey you, right? But how many can you save?
Some people might say that the real problem of the country is not overpopulation but the unequal distribution of resources, and so birth control is not really a solution to the ills of this nation. But this argument is wrong in two ways. First, while I agree that the unequal distribution of the country’s resources is a problem, that problem should not be passed on irresponsibly to helpless children. Until the resources of the country are properly distributed among the people, no one has the right to tell every Filipino parent not to practice birth control. Second, the ultimate goal of birth control is not population control but the preservation of the most important human right—the right to have a real life. Whether the population of the world is 6 billion or 600,000, no parent has the right to conceive a child if he can’t offer the latter a real life. No parent should be so selfish as to feel a child’s love at the cost of letting the child suffer in this world.
“Anak ko, mahal ko. Condom, ayoko,” says the writing on the wall of the Ascension of Our Lord parish in Lagro, Quezon City. In English, that means, “I love my child. I don’t want condoms.” How could there be so much crap in the church of God? And how could so many Catholics be buying that crap?
Seeing that writing on the wall reminded me of Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the controversial book The Prince, in which he wrote, “The end justifies the means.” For Machiavelli, even if a prince brutally executes an innocent man in public, if that unjust execution instills fear in the heart of his constituents and maintains order in his realm, the prince is still essentially doing the right because he is achieving his desired end, even if an innocent man is killed in the process."
When a catholic saves his soul by refusing to use contraceptives and pleases God through the act of procreation, never mind if another child will grow up struggling to feed himself and may end up selling his soul to the devil out of poverty, that Catholic is no more just nor less immoral than Macchiavelli. Because he is attaining an end (salvation) through a means that sacrifices the welfare of an innocent child. A church that teaches Catholics to act that way is a church that encourages its flock to attain an end through a means that brings suffering to helpless children. A church that tells its flock to save their souls by avoiding contraception is a Machiavellian church.
A few centuries ago, the Catholic Church imprisoned Galileo for simply telling the truth – that the earth is not the center of the universe. That fiasco was one of the lowest points in the history of the church. And it never should have happened if there were enough enlightened Catholics who stood up and challenged the wisdom of the church. Before that, the Church also launched crusades to conquer the holy land, all of which led to the deaths of countless innocent people. If only there were Catholics brave enough to oppose their bloodthirsty church leaders, all those innocent lives could have been spared. I am a Catholic. And I will not allow posterity to liken me to the cowards who never lifted a finger when Galileo was imprisoned and when the crusades were launched. If I know that the church is wrong about contraception, why should I hesitate to oppose my own church's view?
Remember, the lowest points in the history of the Catholic Church were reached when all the good, enlightened Catholics remained silent.
What is not life? When a five-year-old girl has to beg for her food everyday on the dangerous streets of Manila, what she’s having is not life! That is cruelty. That is hell. When innocent children are being born only to serve as their parents’ cheap laborers, it is definitely not life that they’re having. When children as young as four years old are breaking stones everyday to feed themselves instead of playing with toys, what they’re having is definitely not life. When those beautiful little girls are still out on the dark streets of Manila at night just to peddle sampaguita garlands, making themselves extremely vulnerable to rapists and pedophiles, they do not have anything close to a life. When children are out of school and chasing garbage trucks to steal a few pieces of junk that can still be sold, they are deprived of life. When young boys are picking up guns to become terrorists and criminals just so they can feed their younger siblings, fulfilling responsibilities that they never chose to have, what they’re having is the exact opposite of life. When the brightest young men and women of this country are sacrificing their education, their careers and their happiness just take over their parents’ responsibility to feed and educate their siblings; they’re having the farthest thing from life.
In the Philippines, in this predominantly catholic country, countless souls are experiencing the exact opposite of life. And because we never seem to run out of Pro-Life advocates who vehemently oppose birth control, because there are people who preach that contraception is a sin and that bringing a child into this world will always please heaven, there will be millions more to experience the exact opposite of life. There shall be millions more to experience hell.
But you know what life is? Life is something had by well-off Pro-Life senators who work comfortably in the air-conditioned halls and offices of the Philippine Senate. Life is something had by the middle-class CFC (Couples for Christ) members who could afford to go to church in decent clothes each Sunday, the same people who take a stand against contraception. Life is something had by the bishops who go around the city in private cars and are able to eat three times a day without having to commit a sin, the same holy men who give homilies demonizing the proponents of birth control. Life is something had by the Pro-Life congressmen who win votes by blocking every bill that encourages birth control. Life was the one thing celebrated by the irresponsible parents when they conceived the children they could never take good care of.
Unbelievably, these people, the ones who had experienced and celebrated life, may even get something beyond life. Because of their deeds, they might earn tickets to heaven. The Pro-Life priests, churchgoers and politicians will be rewarded for their efforts to discourage contraception. They might even earn more rewards for encouraging parents to procreate. As for the parents, they’ll be rewarded for their aversion to contraceptives. They’ll be rewarded for each tiring day that they tried to take care of their children. They’ll be rewarded for their futile attempts to sufficiently feed all their children, even though from the start, they should have known that they never had the means to feed all of them. They’ll be rewarded for the countless times they selflessly prayed to God begging Him to let their children miraculously finish college, even though from the start, they should have had the foresight to anticipate their children’s educational needs, that they shouldn’t have conceived them in the first place if they cannot give them the education they deserve. They’ll be rewarded for all the emotional suffering they endured as they watched their children pitifully chase garbage trucks and steal every exposed piece of metal on the streets of Manila, even though prior to the conception of their children, they should have had made sure they had the capability to offer their children a real life.
I shudder to think how things would be in and hell someday. In heaven shall be the Pro-Life priests, nuns, churchgoers and politicians, relishing the cool, soothing air of the paradise. And in that same place, the parents, freed of their earthly burdens, will feel as light as air, their light allowing them to fly beautifully like angels. While down there in hell, burning in the deep, seething ocean of fire are the poor children who had been born to a cruel, apathetic world because those happy Pro-Life advocates encouraged their irresponsible parents to procreate. In hell shall be the children who had to become pickpockets just to feed themselves. In there shall be the little boys who had to work as lookouts for hold-uppers and hired killers because there was nothing else they could do to earn a living and feed their younger siblings. In hell shall be the young boys who became terrorists and bandits just to take over their parents’ duty of being the breadwinners. In hell shall be the poor kids who got imprisoned at an early age and whose minds were poisoned by the violent culture of the older prisoners.
Perhaps, out of rage, the children of hell shall question the wisdom of God. “God, why are those privileged angels up there while we are down here suffering?” they’ll say. “Why do you reward them when in their lives, all they cared about was saving their own souls? Why are they so happy now when they never suffered on earth as much as we did? Why do you reward them for bringing more poor children like us into the world? Does it make you happy to see all those angels’ poor children marching to hell? Why do you make them so happy now when in life, all they cared about was the love they could get from their own children, when they never even thought if we, their children, would ever find enough time in our grueling lives to love and feel loved?”
Now, the pro-life advocates out there might say that the children are marching to hell not because parents are irresponsibly conceiving them but because there is so much evil in this world. Because there is poverty in this country. Those are the sickest arguments one could ever hear.
Let’s say a preacher tells his young followers to dive into a river teeming with crocodiles. If the followers do as the preacher says, some of them may elude the crocodiles. But what fool would expect all of them to survive? If you are one of those followers who sees how your friends are being ripped apart by those ravenous reptiles, whom will you be more furious at? The crocodiles that devoured your friends? Or the preacher who told all of you to dive into that river? And if you can see how your friends are being brutally killed by the reptiles, will you not do anything to stop the preacher from telling more followers to swim in that river of death?
Yes, it is possible for even the most impoverished, underprivileged children to remain good. And there is nothing wrong in hoping that they would all resist the earthly temptations that come their way. But to expect that every child who grows up without getting all the financial and emotional support he needs will become a saint, that every such child would never be tempted to kill and steal for his food, that each one will never dream of being rich through illegal means, that each one would be able to contain all the seething angst inside of him, that is like telling innocent children to dive into a crocodile-infested river and praying that all of them would survive! Like it or not, as long as there are children who can not have a real life, as long as there are children who have to work to feed themselves, as long as there are children who have a reason to question the kindness of God and the fairness of society, as long as there are bright children who can not go to school, as long as there are children who can’t be taken care of by their parents, there will be sinners among these children. There will be more souls for the devil to reap.
Can the souls of those children still be saved? Of course. Why not? If you tell some children to swim in a crocodile-infested river, you can still try to rescue them after they obey you, right? But how many can you save?
Some people might say that the real problem of the country is not overpopulation but the unequal distribution of resources, and so birth control is not really a solution to the ills of this nation. But this argument is wrong in two ways. First, while I agree that the unequal distribution of the country’s resources is a problem, that problem should not be passed on irresponsibly to helpless children. Until the resources of the country are properly distributed among the people, no one has the right to tell every Filipino parent not to practice birth control. Second, the ultimate goal of birth control is not population control but the preservation of the most important human right—the right to have a real life. Whether the population of the world is 6 billion or 600,000, no parent has the right to conceive a child if he can’t offer the latter a real life. No parent should be so selfish as to feel a child’s love at the cost of letting the child suffer in this world.
“Anak ko, mahal ko. Condom, ayoko,” says the writing on the wall of the Ascension of Our Lord parish in Lagro, Quezon City. In English, that means, “I love my child. I don’t want condoms.” How could there be so much crap in the church of God? And how could so many Catholics be buying that crap?
Seeing that writing on the wall reminded me of Niccolo Machiavelli, author of the controversial book The Prince, in which he wrote, “The end justifies the means.” For Machiavelli, even if a prince brutally executes an innocent man in public, if that unjust execution instills fear in the heart of his constituents and maintains order in his realm, the prince is still essentially doing the right because he is achieving his desired end, even if an innocent man is killed in the process."
When a catholic saves his soul by refusing to use contraceptives and pleases God through the act of procreation, never mind if another child will grow up struggling to feed himself and may end up selling his soul to the devil out of poverty, that Catholic is no more just nor less immoral than Macchiavelli. Because he is attaining an end (salvation) through a means that sacrifices the welfare of an innocent child. A church that teaches Catholics to act that way is a church that encourages its flock to attain an end through a means that brings suffering to helpless children. A church that tells its flock to save their souls by avoiding contraception is a Machiavellian church.
A few centuries ago, the Catholic Church imprisoned Galileo for simply telling the truth – that the earth is not the center of the universe. That fiasco was one of the lowest points in the history of the church. And it never should have happened if there were enough enlightened Catholics who stood up and challenged the wisdom of the church. Before that, the Church also launched crusades to conquer the holy land, all of which led to the deaths of countless innocent people. If only there were Catholics brave enough to oppose their bloodthirsty church leaders, all those innocent lives could have been spared. I am a Catholic. And I will not allow posterity to liken me to the cowards who never lifted a finger when Galileo was imprisoned and when the crusades were launched. If I know that the church is wrong about contraception, why should I hesitate to oppose my own church's view?
Remember, the lowest points in the history of the Catholic Church were reached when all the good, enlightened Catholics remained silent.
Every Warrior Wants To Go Home (The Underside of Chauvinism Part II)
Even as a child, I have already felt that fire of manhood, that longing to be in the battlefield, to slay the enemy no matter how many wounds I’d have to endure. And being in the battlefield didn’t always mean that I had to grasp a sword. The “battlefield” was any arena where I could excel. When I found out that I could write, I began spending every day of my life trying to improve my writing skills. So that I could excel. So that I could win. And more importantly, so that I could defeat someone. The same thing happened when I realized that somehow I can excel in the physical sciences. Like every other man, I have dreamed of being better than the rest. And like the many little boys who never would have bought a book by an unknown author named Joann Kathleen Rowling but might have thought otherwise if she used the androgynous pseudonym J. K. Rowling, I grew up nurturing an irrational desire to be superior to women.
After 26 years of my life, I finally found out why I’ve always wanted to win my own little wars and why I waged them in the first place. All this time, I’ve been marching repeatedly to the battlefields of life because I hungered for the beautiful feeling of coming home. And I wanted someone to be there when I come home wounded. It was never my instinct, as it has never been an instinct of any man, to dream of being superior to women. But I did want to be superior to women anyway. Because there is nothing more natural than a man’s instinctive desire to take care of a woman. I wanted to be superior because I was afraid that no woman would ever let me take care of her if I were inferior to them.
Ours is an era of monumental social changes. And monumental shortcomings of a society rushing to reform itself. In this era, it is wrong to believe that men should be superior to women. Gender Equality is a virtue that must be upheld by any respectable person. Yet in this grossly romantic world, it is still perfectly okay for a woman to say, “I want to find a lover who’s much stronger and more successful than I am, someone who can be proud to say someday that he only had all those achievements because he was inspired by me.” A woman who says that is a romantic, deemed by society as wise and sophisticated. But if a man says the same thing in public, he is a shameless gold-digger, period!
When a poor boy who grows up to become a millionaire rescues his beloved woman from the abominable pit of poverty, he is called a romantic. But when a poor boy escapes poverty after marrying a wealthy, beautiful woman, no matter how sincere his intentions are, no matter how pure his love is, he will never be called a romantic. He will only earn that description when he moves heaven and earth to match her success.
Everywhere, you hear men being taught to give way to the more competent women. And in those same places, men are being taught that women will only fall for the man who can outdo them. It is right for a man to accept defeat to a woman. But it is also still right for a man to accept that defeat with a deep bitterness. The princess should be free to go as far as she wants and as far as her talents can take her. But if a man wants to be her prince, he still has to be one step ahead of her.
I understand why the early warriors had been so fearless. When your happiness as a man—your hope of being loved by a woman—rests on your capability to prove your virility through war, why should you hesitate to pick up your weapons and go to war? If you’re a man today and your happiness greatly depends on how you can turn yourself into an adorable prince—someone who has the right to rescue a princess—why would you not do anything to become a prince? And if being a prince meant that you have to be superior to the romantic princess, why would you not do anything to be superior to women? Love drives heroes to fight their noble wars. It is the one thing that drrives poor boys to become great men. And it is the hunger for that love that forces the most kind-hearted men to become chauvinist pigs.
In the offices and institutions, the battle for gender equality is being won. More and more women are gaining access to career opportunities that had long been unjustly beyond their reach. But in the homes, on the streets, in the neighborhoods, the pall of defeat looms. Marriages are in turmoil because men can’t stand the pressure of being less successful than their wives. Somehow, they think that their failure to match their wives’ success is tantamount to impotence. The women, on the other hand, feel disappointed by their husbands’ failure to become the admirable princes of their dreams. And even if both the insecure husband and the powerful wife are happy in their home, when they walk on the street, they will still be mocked. He for being a gold-digger and she for being naïve.
Gender Equality is not just about the women having the right to become warriors. It’s also about the men having the right to stay home and take care of the children when the woman goes to war. It is about the man’s embrace being as sweet as that of any woman when the fearless female warrior comes home bleeding. It is not just about the women proving that they are stronger. It is also about the men humbly accepting that they are weaker and the rest of society not ridiculing them for that. It’s not just about letting the women reach the top. It is also about the men at the bottom being free to love the women at the top. It’s not just a matter of letting the wives become superior to their husbands. It is a matter of assuring each husband that no matter how inferior he is to his wife, he could still take care of her, she could still rest her head on his shoulder, he could still caress her gently as if she was the most fragile thing in this world. Gender Equality is not just about success. It’s about acceptance. It is not just a matter of letting the men and the women compete fairly. More than anything, it is a matter of letting the men and the women love freely.
I have always been fascinated by the great men who had accomplished amazing achievements because they were inspired by the women they loved. John Keats being inspired by Fanny Brawne, Petrarch by Laura, Jose Rizal by Leonor Rivera, Percy Byshe Shelly by his wife Mary and Pierre Curie by Marie (The last two men, incidentally, were outdone by their wives.). And I wonder, how many women had been inspired by men to accomplish great things but were never able to do as they had dreamed because they lived in chauvinistic times? How much better could this world have become if only those ambitious women were free to spread their wings? How much more meaningful would the lives of those men have been if they knew they were the inspiration of those great women? Maybe someday, men, like women, will feel pride in just being the inspiration of their successful spouses. For the good of humanity, that day will have to come soon.
Today, the warriors are still marching to the battlefields of life. Some of them are men, some women. Some will be triumphant. Some will go home wounded. But whatever happens in the battlefield, they’ll all want to do what matters most afterwards. Be they men or women, triumphant or wounded, they will all want to come home.
May all the world’s warriors go home in peace.
After 26 years of my life, I finally found out why I’ve always wanted to win my own little wars and why I waged them in the first place. All this time, I’ve been marching repeatedly to the battlefields of life because I hungered for the beautiful feeling of coming home. And I wanted someone to be there when I come home wounded. It was never my instinct, as it has never been an instinct of any man, to dream of being superior to women. But I did want to be superior to women anyway. Because there is nothing more natural than a man’s instinctive desire to take care of a woman. I wanted to be superior because I was afraid that no woman would ever let me take care of her if I were inferior to them.
Ours is an era of monumental social changes. And monumental shortcomings of a society rushing to reform itself. In this era, it is wrong to believe that men should be superior to women. Gender Equality is a virtue that must be upheld by any respectable person. Yet in this grossly romantic world, it is still perfectly okay for a woman to say, “I want to find a lover who’s much stronger and more successful than I am, someone who can be proud to say someday that he only had all those achievements because he was inspired by me.” A woman who says that is a romantic, deemed by society as wise and sophisticated. But if a man says the same thing in public, he is a shameless gold-digger, period!
When a poor boy who grows up to become a millionaire rescues his beloved woman from the abominable pit of poverty, he is called a romantic. But when a poor boy escapes poverty after marrying a wealthy, beautiful woman, no matter how sincere his intentions are, no matter how pure his love is, he will never be called a romantic. He will only earn that description when he moves heaven and earth to match her success.
Everywhere, you hear men being taught to give way to the more competent women. And in those same places, men are being taught that women will only fall for the man who can outdo them. It is right for a man to accept defeat to a woman. But it is also still right for a man to accept that defeat with a deep bitterness. The princess should be free to go as far as she wants and as far as her talents can take her. But if a man wants to be her prince, he still has to be one step ahead of her.
I understand why the early warriors had been so fearless. When your happiness as a man—your hope of being loved by a woman—rests on your capability to prove your virility through war, why should you hesitate to pick up your weapons and go to war? If you’re a man today and your happiness greatly depends on how you can turn yourself into an adorable prince—someone who has the right to rescue a princess—why would you not do anything to become a prince? And if being a prince meant that you have to be superior to the romantic princess, why would you not do anything to be superior to women? Love drives heroes to fight their noble wars. It is the one thing that drrives poor boys to become great men. And it is the hunger for that love that forces the most kind-hearted men to become chauvinist pigs.
In the offices and institutions, the battle for gender equality is being won. More and more women are gaining access to career opportunities that had long been unjustly beyond their reach. But in the homes, on the streets, in the neighborhoods, the pall of defeat looms. Marriages are in turmoil because men can’t stand the pressure of being less successful than their wives. Somehow, they think that their failure to match their wives’ success is tantamount to impotence. The women, on the other hand, feel disappointed by their husbands’ failure to become the admirable princes of their dreams. And even if both the insecure husband and the powerful wife are happy in their home, when they walk on the street, they will still be mocked. He for being a gold-digger and she for being naïve.
Gender Equality is not just about the women having the right to become warriors. It’s also about the men having the right to stay home and take care of the children when the woman goes to war. It is about the man’s embrace being as sweet as that of any woman when the fearless female warrior comes home bleeding. It is not just about the women proving that they are stronger. It is also about the men humbly accepting that they are weaker and the rest of society not ridiculing them for that. It’s not just about letting the women reach the top. It is also about the men at the bottom being free to love the women at the top. It’s not just a matter of letting the wives become superior to their husbands. It is a matter of assuring each husband that no matter how inferior he is to his wife, he could still take care of her, she could still rest her head on his shoulder, he could still caress her gently as if she was the most fragile thing in this world. Gender Equality is not just about success. It’s about acceptance. It is not just a matter of letting the men and the women compete fairly. More than anything, it is a matter of letting the men and the women love freely.
I have always been fascinated by the great men who had accomplished amazing achievements because they were inspired by the women they loved. John Keats being inspired by Fanny Brawne, Petrarch by Laura, Jose Rizal by Leonor Rivera, Percy Byshe Shelly by his wife Mary and Pierre Curie by Marie (The last two men, incidentally, were outdone by their wives.). And I wonder, how many women had been inspired by men to accomplish great things but were never able to do as they had dreamed because they lived in chauvinistic times? How much better could this world have become if only those ambitious women were free to spread their wings? How much more meaningful would the lives of those men have been if they knew they were the inspiration of those great women? Maybe someday, men, like women, will feel pride in just being the inspiration of their successful spouses. For the good of humanity, that day will have to come soon.
Today, the warriors are still marching to the battlefields of life. Some of them are men, some women. Some will be triumphant. Some will go home wounded. But whatever happens in the battlefield, they’ll all want to do what matters most afterwards. Be they men or women, triumphant or wounded, they will all want to come home.
May all the world’s warriors go home in peace.
Dreaming Between Calls
“You know, no one has really talked to me in months,” the old man said over the phone as the call was about to end, the words spoken with a hoarseness indicative of the thickness of the lump in his throat. What he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
It was just a regular working day for a call enter agent like me. And this, a call from a fifty-something American man who begged to be allowed to skip the payment for his credit card for that month, was supposed to be just one of the 70-plus calls I would routinely handle and, owing to the fact that I didn’t have a limitless memory, would have to be casually swept out of my mind and into the realm of oblivion by the end of my shift. But the memory of that call simply refused to go away. Even until today, more than two years after I received it and nearly a year after I left the call center industry.
As in any outsourced call center that services credit card companies, the call began with routine verification. I asked for the name, credit card number and some personal info. Getting his date of birth made me aware of his age. And through the accurate personal info he gave me, I was able to access his account profile, allowing me to see his profession as well as the spending limit on his card. I could no longer remember his profession. But I do remember being impressed. It was something like a doctor or an accountant. The spending limit was high, further convincing me that the man had an enviable financial status. But when he began explaining the reason for his call, all impressions of success and stability faded.
He said he used to have a good-paying job and didn’t have to rely on anyone for his needs, much less, ask for undeserved favors. But things changed drastically a few months ago. He was crippled in a car accident that nearly had him killed. And since then, he was never able to work, thus depriving him of a source of income. Given his situation, he begged for permission to miss that month’s payment for his credit card.
He couldn’t work, I thought. That’s why he couldn’t pay. But couldn’t he have received insurance as a result of the accident? It was a question that I came up with as a result of curiosity. But sensitivity kept me from asking it aloud. What about his children? A middle-aged man at the pinnacle of success must have raised children who grew up to become well-off professionals.
“I don’t have any children,” he said even before I could ask. I didn’t bother asking about a wife, lest she turned out to have been killed in the same accident.
I did what I could do for him, something which, as a matter of professional ethics, I can’t disclose in this article. And right then and there, the call should have ended. I should have said “Thank you for calling” and “Good bye”. But the man kept talking, ranting about things that didn’t have anything to do with credit cards. He kept pointing out how pitiful his predicament was. He said he didn’t know how he could survive without a source of income. God, he didn’t even know how he could buy his medication. I wanted to say, “All right, you’ve made your point. I already did something for you. Why do you have to keep talking like that?” But I simply didn’t have the heart to say all that. It only took me 2 minutes to address the man’s concern but the actual call lasted for 40 minutes. Professionally, that was a catastrophic failure on my part. The required average handling time of each agent was only five minutes. And I was over that figure by 700 %. It was a moment that warranted a rare selfless form of unprofessionalism. And that’s exactly what I gave him. Even though I knew that would get me into trouble with my boss as soon as the agents’ performance numbers are released by the end of the day. The man didn’t just call bout his credit card. He badly needed someone who could listen.
Finally, when his emotions subsided, when the psychological volcano in him had completed its eruption, he found the courage to say “Thank you”, words that somehow frightened him because they would inevitably be followed by “Good bye”.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I wanted to say a few more soothing words that I should have said much earlier. But the man began to weep like a child. And then he hung up.
Ironically, it was at that moment, right after I heard him sob, that I had this somewhat insensitive thought. He was crippled but still had the capability to dial our number and speak over the phone. If he could do all of that, he‘d get a job sooner or later. All hope’s not yet lost for him. He would just have to rid himself of the emotional baggage that paralyzed him far more than his actual paralysis did.
Thinking of the last caller made me turn towards the agent seated to my left, a 49-year-old guy whom the young people at the office endearingly called Daddy Rolin. He was the living proof that the man who just spoke to me over the phone could still get his life back on track. Years before entering the call center industry, Daddy Rolin was a man one wouldn’t hesitate to call successful. As I recall, his academic background was in finance but he established a stable career in the construction sector in the Middle East. However, tragedy struck after he returned to work here in our country, the Philippines. A viral infection attacked the bones and muscles of his legs, practically crippling him. But he fought back. Through therapy, he was able to walk again, albeit only with the aid of a cane and at a very inconveniently slow pace. In a way, he had conquered his illness. But when you see him walking in the office, struggling to lift his leg to make each difficult step, his body trembling each time a lifted foot landed on the ground, his hand quavering as he did his best to grasp the cane’s handle and keep his balance, it is simply impossible to describe him as victorious.
A victor, he might not have been. But an inspiration, yes. Despite his handicap, he still found a job as a call center agent, answering calls of customers from the United States, a country halfway across the globe from ours. It’s no secret that each time he walked past the entrance door, all employees nearby would take notice of his arrival and watch the subsequent struggle he would courageously face as he walked from the door to his work station.
When mortals see a god walking among men, the mortals would be stunned. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized by the sheer glow of a powerful god? And as soon as that god leaves, all mortals will go on with their lives, lives that will remain unchanged despite the descent of that god from Olympus. But when a mortal seemingly cursed by the gods dares to climb Olympus, the mortals will not only watch. They will be moved, inspired to go where only the powerful gods go. That’s exactly what Daddy Rolin did to us. By merely going through each difficult morning, he drove us to climb our own Olympuses.
If someone was free, that is, if someone was nearby and didn’t have a call to attend to, that person would willingly walk slowly alongside Daddy Rolin so that the latter could have one hand on the cane and another on the kind person’s shoulder. Given his situation, riding a wheelchair would have been much more convenient for Daddy Rolin. Except that it would put to waste all the miraculous triumphs of the therapy since his legs’ muscles would inevitably deteriorate if they’re never flexed.
Had there been no call centers in this country, the man wouldn’t have a good-paying job. At his age and at his condition, it was difficult, if not impossible, to find a new financially rewarding career. In this country, in this age, the call center industry had become the new Great Equalizer.
Great Equalizer. That’s how, in an interview for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Filipino tycoon John Gokongwei described the Second World War. After the war, both the rich and the poor had to struggle for financial survival. And in such a situation (this is my opinion and not Mr. Gokongwei’s), the usually sturdy wall that blocked the poor’s path towards wealth crumbled. The same is true of the call center boom in this country. It offered a sea of opportunities to countless Filipinos who never would have established real, respectable careers had the boom not come.
In our workplace, there were promising young men who had a lot of potential that could have just gone down the drain in the absence of the call centers, young men who studied at the University of the Philippines – Diliman, the country’s premiere university, but eventually had to drop out for financial reasons. Had they graduated, they would have become brilliant engineers. And when you come to think of it, had they decided to stay in their respective provinces (the University of the Philippines – Diliman campus was in Metro Manila) and study in smaller, less prestigious state colleges, they should have become engineers by now. But ours was a generation taught to aim only for the best and nothing less. That’s why, like the more than 60,000 senior high school students who take the entrance exam to the University of the Philippines each year, they dreamed of graduating from that estimable university and nothing less. They didn’t become engineers. But they were brilliant nonetheless. And for that reason, they deserved the success that the call center industry generously gave them.
I still clearly remember how, in college, my engineering professor mocked call center agents in front of the class. “Yes, they are well-paid,” he said. “But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?”. He paused to let the words’ impact be felt deeply in the silence. “If you’re happy to simply earn money, if that is the only purpose you can have in your life, then go ahead, work in a call center!” But now, I was compelled to ask. What are we supposed to do for our society? Dream?
While waiting for the next call, I looked at the other agents at the office. It wasn’t a very busy day. The volume of calls was low and as a result, many agents didn’t have calls to attend to. Some of them spent their unexpected free time gossiping with each other. The others seemed to be resting, staring at the computer, perhaps their way of keeping their eyes open (sleeping was a no-no) while their minds flew to dreamland. Yes, that must be what they were doing. Dreaming.
A call center in the Philippines is a place filled with dreams, most of them broken. Here, you would find not only the dropouts but also the engineers, the programmers, the accountants, the teachers, the nurses and even the former soldiers earning a living through a profession they never even dreamed of when they were young—when they dreamed of becoming something else, something more prestigious. In this office, there was a school teacher who had to shift to a new career because her salary as a teacher simply wasn’t enough to pay for her children’s tuition. In this call center, there were promising Computer Engineers who were stuck here because they could not find employment in the I.T. industry. This place was the refuge of engineers who could subsist on the lower salaries they could have had as entry level engineers but had to take calls for a living because they had to support the college education of their younger siblings. Finding sanctuary here are the young nursing graduates who could not find a hospital that would offer salaries high enough to cover the debts their parents had to incur for the sake of their education. Here, you would find former bank supervisors who had to leave the banking sector because they could not find a bank that could give them salaries high enough for them to afford the ever increasing apartment rates in Manila.
All these brilliant people, these underemployed professionals, they certainly must have once dreamt of doing the best for their society. Just imagine the young computer engineers when they were young and full of hope. They must have dreamed of building a billion-dollar I.T. industry for the country. But instead of manufacturing computers, they found themselves wearing headsets and pacifying irate callers. The teachers, they must have dreamed of nurturing the talents of the gifted. The accountants must have spent years imagining themselves in an accounting firm, putting into order the finances of the country’s biggest players. The programmers must have spent their youth nurturing their creativity. But now, the only time they could make use of their creativity is when they had to say a big “No” to a pleading customer’s request. These people had spent a good portion of their lives preparing to serve society in the ways they had dreamily envisioned. What were they supposed to do now that reality was bluntly telling them that their society had no room for the fulfillment of their dreams? What were they supposed to do? Dream, starve and die?
Sometimes, in between calls, they— we would still find ourselves thinking of the dreams we could no longer fulfill. But each time that phone rang, each time a call ended only to be followed by another one, we were being smacked thunderously in the face by the bitter reality. And the more calls we took—the more thunderous smacks we endured—, the more we were compelled to forget our dreams. So what if those dreams could no longer be fulfilled? The important thing was that while we were there, taking calls and earning the money we needed, the dreams of our siblings and children remained intact.
Now I know why I never forgot about that crippled American man’s call. It’s because his predicament was not too different from ours. He spent much of his life believing that life would be good if he only worked hard. That until old age, he would be a significant contributor to the society’s welfare and would never be a liability to his government. Then suddenly, something shocking happened and through some cruel twist of fate, he found himself unable to get a decent job, unable to serve society and himself in the gallant way he had always envisioned. We spent our lives preparing to be heroes for our country in our own gallant ways. We even worked hard for the fulfillment of our dreams. But when our turn to be part of the workforce came, something shocking happened: we realized that deserving the job would never be enough to get the job. And even if the job was already ours for the taking, the heavy hand of fate dragged us back to our responsibilities and away from our dreams. For some time, we inevitably wallowed in self-pity. But luckily for us, each of us swallowed his pride, rid himself of all emotional baggage early on and scrambled for the next best thing.
“But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?” the words of my professor echoed in my head.
And my caller said, “You know, no one has really talked to me in months.” Although what he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
Listen to us.
It was just a regular working day for a call enter agent like me. And this, a call from a fifty-something American man who begged to be allowed to skip the payment for his credit card for that month, was supposed to be just one of the 70-plus calls I would routinely handle and, owing to the fact that I didn’t have a limitless memory, would have to be casually swept out of my mind and into the realm of oblivion by the end of my shift. But the memory of that call simply refused to go away. Even until today, more than two years after I received it and nearly a year after I left the call center industry.
As in any outsourced call center that services credit card companies, the call began with routine verification. I asked for the name, credit card number and some personal info. Getting his date of birth made me aware of his age. And through the accurate personal info he gave me, I was able to access his account profile, allowing me to see his profession as well as the spending limit on his card. I could no longer remember his profession. But I do remember being impressed. It was something like a doctor or an accountant. The spending limit was high, further convincing me that the man had an enviable financial status. But when he began explaining the reason for his call, all impressions of success and stability faded.
He said he used to have a good-paying job and didn’t have to rely on anyone for his needs, much less, ask for undeserved favors. But things changed drastically a few months ago. He was crippled in a car accident that nearly had him killed. And since then, he was never able to work, thus depriving him of a source of income. Given his situation, he begged for permission to miss that month’s payment for his credit card.
He couldn’t work, I thought. That’s why he couldn’t pay. But couldn’t he have received insurance as a result of the accident? It was a question that I came up with as a result of curiosity. But sensitivity kept me from asking it aloud. What about his children? A middle-aged man at the pinnacle of success must have raised children who grew up to become well-off professionals.
“I don’t have any children,” he said even before I could ask. I didn’t bother asking about a wife, lest she turned out to have been killed in the same accident.
I did what I could do for him, something which, as a matter of professional ethics, I can’t disclose in this article. And right then and there, the call should have ended. I should have said “Thank you for calling” and “Good bye”. But the man kept talking, ranting about things that didn’t have anything to do with credit cards. He kept pointing out how pitiful his predicament was. He said he didn’t know how he could survive without a source of income. God, he didn’t even know how he could buy his medication. I wanted to say, “All right, you’ve made your point. I already did something for you. Why do you have to keep talking like that?” But I simply didn’t have the heart to say all that. It only took me 2 minutes to address the man’s concern but the actual call lasted for 40 minutes. Professionally, that was a catastrophic failure on my part. The required average handling time of each agent was only five minutes. And I was over that figure by 700 %. It was a moment that warranted a rare selfless form of unprofessionalism. And that’s exactly what I gave him. Even though I knew that would get me into trouble with my boss as soon as the agents’ performance numbers are released by the end of the day. The man didn’t just call bout his credit card. He badly needed someone who could listen.
Finally, when his emotions subsided, when the psychological volcano in him had completed its eruption, he found the courage to say “Thank you”, words that somehow frightened him because they would inevitably be followed by “Good bye”.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I wanted to say a few more soothing words that I should have said much earlier. But the man began to weep like a child. And then he hung up.
Ironically, it was at that moment, right after I heard him sob, that I had this somewhat insensitive thought. He was crippled but still had the capability to dial our number and speak over the phone. If he could do all of that, he‘d get a job sooner or later. All hope’s not yet lost for him. He would just have to rid himself of the emotional baggage that paralyzed him far more than his actual paralysis did.
Thinking of the last caller made me turn towards the agent seated to my left, a 49-year-old guy whom the young people at the office endearingly called Daddy Rolin. He was the living proof that the man who just spoke to me over the phone could still get his life back on track. Years before entering the call center industry, Daddy Rolin was a man one wouldn’t hesitate to call successful. As I recall, his academic background was in finance but he established a stable career in the construction sector in the Middle East. However, tragedy struck after he returned to work here in our country, the Philippines. A viral infection attacked the bones and muscles of his legs, practically crippling him. But he fought back. Through therapy, he was able to walk again, albeit only with the aid of a cane and at a very inconveniently slow pace. In a way, he had conquered his illness. But when you see him walking in the office, struggling to lift his leg to make each difficult step, his body trembling each time a lifted foot landed on the ground, his hand quavering as he did his best to grasp the cane’s handle and keep his balance, it is simply impossible to describe him as victorious.
A victor, he might not have been. But an inspiration, yes. Despite his handicap, he still found a job as a call center agent, answering calls of customers from the United States, a country halfway across the globe from ours. It’s no secret that each time he walked past the entrance door, all employees nearby would take notice of his arrival and watch the subsequent struggle he would courageously face as he walked from the door to his work station.
When mortals see a god walking among men, the mortals would be stunned. Who wouldn’t be mesmerized by the sheer glow of a powerful god? And as soon as that god leaves, all mortals will go on with their lives, lives that will remain unchanged despite the descent of that god from Olympus. But when a mortal seemingly cursed by the gods dares to climb Olympus, the mortals will not only watch. They will be moved, inspired to go where only the powerful gods go. That’s exactly what Daddy Rolin did to us. By merely going through each difficult morning, he drove us to climb our own Olympuses.
If someone was free, that is, if someone was nearby and didn’t have a call to attend to, that person would willingly walk slowly alongside Daddy Rolin so that the latter could have one hand on the cane and another on the kind person’s shoulder. Given his situation, riding a wheelchair would have been much more convenient for Daddy Rolin. Except that it would put to waste all the miraculous triumphs of the therapy since his legs’ muscles would inevitably deteriorate if they’re never flexed.
Had there been no call centers in this country, the man wouldn’t have a good-paying job. At his age and at his condition, it was difficult, if not impossible, to find a new financially rewarding career. In this country, in this age, the call center industry had become the new Great Equalizer.
Great Equalizer. That’s how, in an interview for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Filipino tycoon John Gokongwei described the Second World War. After the war, both the rich and the poor had to struggle for financial survival. And in such a situation (this is my opinion and not Mr. Gokongwei’s), the usually sturdy wall that blocked the poor’s path towards wealth crumbled. The same is true of the call center boom in this country. It offered a sea of opportunities to countless Filipinos who never would have established real, respectable careers had the boom not come.
In our workplace, there were promising young men who had a lot of potential that could have just gone down the drain in the absence of the call centers, young men who studied at the University of the Philippines – Diliman, the country’s premiere university, but eventually had to drop out for financial reasons. Had they graduated, they would have become brilliant engineers. And when you come to think of it, had they decided to stay in their respective provinces (the University of the Philippines – Diliman campus was in Metro Manila) and study in smaller, less prestigious state colleges, they should have become engineers by now. But ours was a generation taught to aim only for the best and nothing less. That’s why, like the more than 60,000 senior high school students who take the entrance exam to the University of the Philippines each year, they dreamed of graduating from that estimable university and nothing less. They didn’t become engineers. But they were brilliant nonetheless. And for that reason, they deserved the success that the call center industry generously gave them.
I still clearly remember how, in college, my engineering professor mocked call center agents in front of the class. “Yes, they are well-paid,” he said. “But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?”. He paused to let the words’ impact be felt deeply in the silence. “If you’re happy to simply earn money, if that is the only purpose you can have in your life, then go ahead, work in a call center!” But now, I was compelled to ask. What are we supposed to do for our society? Dream?
While waiting for the next call, I looked at the other agents at the office. It wasn’t a very busy day. The volume of calls was low and as a result, many agents didn’t have calls to attend to. Some of them spent their unexpected free time gossiping with each other. The others seemed to be resting, staring at the computer, perhaps their way of keeping their eyes open (sleeping was a no-no) while their minds flew to dreamland. Yes, that must be what they were doing. Dreaming.
A call center in the Philippines is a place filled with dreams, most of them broken. Here, you would find not only the dropouts but also the engineers, the programmers, the accountants, the teachers, the nurses and even the former soldiers earning a living through a profession they never even dreamed of when they were young—when they dreamed of becoming something else, something more prestigious. In this office, there was a school teacher who had to shift to a new career because her salary as a teacher simply wasn’t enough to pay for her children’s tuition. In this call center, there were promising Computer Engineers who were stuck here because they could not find employment in the I.T. industry. This place was the refuge of engineers who could subsist on the lower salaries they could have had as entry level engineers but had to take calls for a living because they had to support the college education of their younger siblings. Finding sanctuary here are the young nursing graduates who could not find a hospital that would offer salaries high enough to cover the debts their parents had to incur for the sake of their education. Here, you would find former bank supervisors who had to leave the banking sector because they could not find a bank that could give them salaries high enough for them to afford the ever increasing apartment rates in Manila.
All these brilliant people, these underemployed professionals, they certainly must have once dreamt of doing the best for their society. Just imagine the young computer engineers when they were young and full of hope. They must have dreamed of building a billion-dollar I.T. industry for the country. But instead of manufacturing computers, they found themselves wearing headsets and pacifying irate callers. The teachers, they must have dreamed of nurturing the talents of the gifted. The accountants must have spent years imagining themselves in an accounting firm, putting into order the finances of the country’s biggest players. The programmers must have spent their youth nurturing their creativity. But now, the only time they could make use of their creativity is when they had to say a big “No” to a pleading customer’s request. These people had spent a good portion of their lives preparing to serve society in the ways they had dreamily envisioned. What were they supposed to do now that reality was bluntly telling them that their society had no room for the fulfillment of their dreams? What were they supposed to do? Dream, starve and die?
Sometimes, in between calls, they— we would still find ourselves thinking of the dreams we could no longer fulfill. But each time that phone rang, each time a call ended only to be followed by another one, we were being smacked thunderously in the face by the bitter reality. And the more calls we took—the more thunderous smacks we endured—, the more we were compelled to forget our dreams. So what if those dreams could no longer be fulfilled? The important thing was that while we were there, taking calls and earning the money we needed, the dreams of our siblings and children remained intact.
Now I know why I never forgot about that crippled American man’s call. It’s because his predicament was not too different from ours. He spent much of his life believing that life would be good if he only worked hard. That until old age, he would be a significant contributor to the society’s welfare and would never be a liability to his government. Then suddenly, something shocking happened and through some cruel twist of fate, he found himself unable to get a decent job, unable to serve society and himself in the gallant way he had always envisioned. We spent our lives preparing to be heroes for our country in our own gallant ways. We even worked hard for the fulfillment of our dreams. But when our turn to be part of the workforce came, something shocking happened: we realized that deserving the job would never be enough to get the job. And even if the job was already ours for the taking, the heavy hand of fate dragged us back to our responsibilities and away from our dreams. For some time, we inevitably wallowed in self-pity. But luckily for us, each of us swallowed his pride, rid himself of all emotional baggage early on and scrambled for the next best thing.
“But ask them, ‘What are you doing for your society?” the words of my professor echoed in my head.
And my caller said, “You know, no one has really talked to me in months.” Although what he really meant was, “No one has really listened to me in months.”
Listen to us.
Dead Men Dreaming
In 1896, the Philippine Revolution began. Brave Filipino men offered their lives for the liberation of the country from Spain. As these brave men lay dying in the battlefield, as they bathed in their own blood, watching their comrades fall one by one, nostalgically staring at the sky that was then partially concealed by the thick gun smoke, their bodies rattling from the tremors caused by the cannonballs crashing into the bloodied ground, their lungs sucking in the last few breaths they could take, what could they have been thinking? What were they dreaming of? Could they have been dreaming of seeing the Philippine flag—which didn’t even exist yet then—being waved triumphantly from the window of a mansion in Cavite? Were they dreaming of the medals that would be posthumously given to them? Were they even dreaming of seeing more Spaniards die? Or were they hoping that after the war, their families would live in freedom?
Today, in a time of Filipino Diaspora, when millions of Filipinos are scattered all over the world, finding employment in various countries, there are again deafening calls for patriotism. The country, many nationalist intellectuals say, is in need of heroes. Heroes who won’t have to shoot the enemy or die brutally in battle. The country’s best and brightest are being asked to stay here so that this poor nation, and this nation alone, shall benefit from their talents. The doctors, engineers, nurses and teachers are being asked to be content with their meager salaries here and ignore the lucrative offers that await them abroad.
But how does one really become a hero? How does one become a patriot? Sometimes I wish heroism would always be as clear and as equivocal as the acts of shooting the invaders and dying in the battlefield. But no, things aren’t that simple. Yet countless intellectuals are shamelessly presenting their simplistic notions of patriotism. To them, a skilled Filipino worker can be a hero if he stays in this country and never entertains the idea of being employed abroad. Because if he works abroad, he is contributing to the economy of another nation and his own country fails to benefit from its investments (education, infrastructure, social services) in him.
Well, it’s easy to be simplistically patriotic if you don’t have to lose your soul in the process. But if you are a nurse working as a volunteer (with no pay) in a godforsaken hospital somewhere in the impoverished Philippine countryside and you are tasked to pull the plug on unconscious patients whose families could no longer afford to maintain the life support system required for the patients’ survival, would you not wish that you were just working abroad, earning big bucks so that someday you could return to your country and help your poor patients financially? Wouldn’t you wish that you were never there to do your task in front of the patients’ relatives, being remembered as the nurse who murdered their loved one even though you were just doing your job? If you are an ordinary soldier and you are being ordered by your corrupt superiors to torture a female college student suspected of being a communist sympathizer, wouldn’t you wish that you were just a carpenter abroad who didn’t have to harm the innocent? If you are a brilliant college graduate from an obscure state university and the only job you can get in your small town is as a member of the staff of a corrupt politician, wouldn’t you wish that you were just abroad, saving enough money so that someday your children could graduate from a reputable university and wouldn’t have to compromise their ideals just to earn a living?
What benefit will this country get if in our attempt to hoard the most talented people, we end up forcing them to sell their souls?
Now, let’s say you are a teacher in a public high school. You’ve seen countless bright students graduate and eventually lead successful lives. But your own children, the ones who might even be brighter than any student you’ve had before, could not even finish college because your meager income would never allow you to save enough for their tuitions. What would you do? You can try augmenting your income by selling snacks to your students and co-teachers. And for your effort, you would be rewarded with ridicule. How many times have we heard jokes about teachers being the vendors in Philippine schools? Countless times. And you will certainly hear a lot more of them. So will your children. That’s why out of pragmatism, you decide to work abroad for 3-5 years. And for that, the fanatically nationalistic intellectuals would brand you as unpatriotic. How much more insensitive can this country be to its heroes? You leave this country for a few years and then suddenly, all the many years you’ve spent heroically teaching young Filipinos for some loose change flies into oblivion. Isn’t heroism defined as the love for country? Those students that you will not be able to teach while you are abroad, you know they are certainly a part of this country. But so are your own children. Who has the right to say that the college education of your children is far less important than the high school education of the other young Filipinos? Wouldn’t be it better for you to ignore the misguided nationalists’ harsh remarks and just go ahead with your plan to work abroad so that someday, when you’ve saved enough for your children’s college education, you can return and teach in that public high school again without having to worry about your finances?
Say you are a young Filipino engineer. Your parents just spent all of their savings on your college education. It’s already been a year since you have earned your professional license and the most that your employer can give you is a 12,000-peso monthly salary, which would be enough for you to subsist but terribly insufficient to cover the expenses for the college education of your four younger siblings who also dream of becoming engineers. Wouldn’t you want to spend a few years working abroad for a higher pay so that your family would have four more engineers? Who would have the right to say that your siblings’ future is far less important than the welfare of the Filipino company that employs you? Who would have the right to say that your bright siblings’ contribution to the country’s industrial sector would be far less significant than that of the employer you’d abandon?
What benefit do we Filipinos get if, in our attempt to keep our most brilliant people here and hidden from the rest of the world, we end up depriving their children and younger siblings of the education they deserve? What’s the point in deepening the country’s current pool if it comes at the cost of badly depleting that of the future? And what will happen to those wasted bright people who deserve to but would never be engineers, scientists, teachers and doctors? They would lose their chance to build successful careers but certainly not their brilliance-- the same kind of brilliance that makes it possible for crime lords, terrorists and rebels to succeed.
You know there’s gotta be something wrong with a country if almost all of its talented young people are dreaming of working abroad. This country must have a disease that urgently needs to be cured. But stopping the exodus is not the cure. The exodus, in the first place, is not the disease. You stop the exodus and the disease will still be there, whatever it is.
If they want to leave, let them, the best thing we can do is to ask them to return someday, though it would be foolish to expect them to return if they’d be treated as unpatriotic traitors when they get home.
Now, some geniuses out there might point out that most of the overseas Filipino workers’ income just goes to over-consumption and practically none of it goes to real, significant investments. Well. If you gather the ten best professors of literature in this country, give them US$10,000,000 and ask them to set up a business using the money given them, could you guarantee that their business plan would be successful? Can you guarantee that none of the US$10,000,000 would go to waste? What about the country’s ten best physicists? Would they be more successful than the professors of literature? How about the ten best mathematicians? The ten best chemists? The ten best sociologists? How then do we expect each of the returning overseas Filipino workers –engineers, scientists, doctors, nurses, carpenters, domestic helpers, etc.—to miraculously become financial geniuses and come up with sound business plans or investment schemes when they return here? They need financial guidance. Education. They must be made aware of what they can do with their money other than using it to pamper their relatives. A strong link must be made between the country’s brilliant but capital-hungry entrepreneurs and the relatively cash-rich overseas Filipino workers. And here lies the great opportunity- one that hasn’t been taken for a long time. This opportunity is being wasted, as proven by the over-consumption of the overseas Filipino workers’ families. But the worst thing anyone can do when an opportunity is being wasted is to destroy that opportunity so that no one can say that it’s being wasted! That would be the height of stupidity. That reeks of the same stupidity displayed by the idiots who suggest that the exodus must be stopped because much of the overseas Filipino workers’ money is just going to over-consumption anyway!
Heroism is not only a matter of killing the enemy. More than anything, it's about saving your own people. And the last thing we should think of in rescuing this nation of ours from poverty is killing the economies of other nations by hoarding our talented professionals. When we indiscriminately keep our brilliant workers from grabbing better career opportunities abroad so that they'd be forced to stay as underemployed and underpaid workers here, we become no different from ruthless dictators who forcefully turn all their surviving young constituents into suicide bombers! What point is there in hurting the enemy, if it comes at the cost of destroying your own people? In our search for enlightenment on true heroism, we must remember what the heroes of our revolution were thinking when they lay half-dead in the battlefield. Were they more concerned about destroying the enemy or making sure that their loved ones would live happily?
Today, in a time of Filipino Diaspora, when millions of Filipinos are scattered all over the world, finding employment in various countries, there are again deafening calls for patriotism. The country, many nationalist intellectuals say, is in need of heroes. Heroes who won’t have to shoot the enemy or die brutally in battle. The country’s best and brightest are being asked to stay here so that this poor nation, and this nation alone, shall benefit from their talents. The doctors, engineers, nurses and teachers are being asked to be content with their meager salaries here and ignore the lucrative offers that await them abroad.
But how does one really become a hero? How does one become a patriot? Sometimes I wish heroism would always be as clear and as equivocal as the acts of shooting the invaders and dying in the battlefield. But no, things aren’t that simple. Yet countless intellectuals are shamelessly presenting their simplistic notions of patriotism. To them, a skilled Filipino worker can be a hero if he stays in this country and never entertains the idea of being employed abroad. Because if he works abroad, he is contributing to the economy of another nation and his own country fails to benefit from its investments (education, infrastructure, social services) in him.
Well, it’s easy to be simplistically patriotic if you don’t have to lose your soul in the process. But if you are a nurse working as a volunteer (with no pay) in a godforsaken hospital somewhere in the impoverished Philippine countryside and you are tasked to pull the plug on unconscious patients whose families could no longer afford to maintain the life support system required for the patients’ survival, would you not wish that you were just working abroad, earning big bucks so that someday you could return to your country and help your poor patients financially? Wouldn’t you wish that you were never there to do your task in front of the patients’ relatives, being remembered as the nurse who murdered their loved one even though you were just doing your job? If you are an ordinary soldier and you are being ordered by your corrupt superiors to torture a female college student suspected of being a communist sympathizer, wouldn’t you wish that you were just a carpenter abroad who didn’t have to harm the innocent? If you are a brilliant college graduate from an obscure state university and the only job you can get in your small town is as a member of the staff of a corrupt politician, wouldn’t you wish that you were just abroad, saving enough money so that someday your children could graduate from a reputable university and wouldn’t have to compromise their ideals just to earn a living?
What benefit will this country get if in our attempt to hoard the most talented people, we end up forcing them to sell their souls?
Now, let’s say you are a teacher in a public high school. You’ve seen countless bright students graduate and eventually lead successful lives. But your own children, the ones who might even be brighter than any student you’ve had before, could not even finish college because your meager income would never allow you to save enough for their tuitions. What would you do? You can try augmenting your income by selling snacks to your students and co-teachers. And for your effort, you would be rewarded with ridicule. How many times have we heard jokes about teachers being the vendors in Philippine schools? Countless times. And you will certainly hear a lot more of them. So will your children. That’s why out of pragmatism, you decide to work abroad for 3-5 years. And for that, the fanatically nationalistic intellectuals would brand you as unpatriotic. How much more insensitive can this country be to its heroes? You leave this country for a few years and then suddenly, all the many years you’ve spent heroically teaching young Filipinos for some loose change flies into oblivion. Isn’t heroism defined as the love for country? Those students that you will not be able to teach while you are abroad, you know they are certainly a part of this country. But so are your own children. Who has the right to say that the college education of your children is far less important than the high school education of the other young Filipinos? Wouldn’t be it better for you to ignore the misguided nationalists’ harsh remarks and just go ahead with your plan to work abroad so that someday, when you’ve saved enough for your children’s college education, you can return and teach in that public high school again without having to worry about your finances?
Say you are a young Filipino engineer. Your parents just spent all of their savings on your college education. It’s already been a year since you have earned your professional license and the most that your employer can give you is a 12,000-peso monthly salary, which would be enough for you to subsist but terribly insufficient to cover the expenses for the college education of your four younger siblings who also dream of becoming engineers. Wouldn’t you want to spend a few years working abroad for a higher pay so that your family would have four more engineers? Who would have the right to say that your siblings’ future is far less important than the welfare of the Filipino company that employs you? Who would have the right to say that your bright siblings’ contribution to the country’s industrial sector would be far less significant than that of the employer you’d abandon?
What benefit do we Filipinos get if, in our attempt to keep our most brilliant people here and hidden from the rest of the world, we end up depriving their children and younger siblings of the education they deserve? What’s the point in deepening the country’s current pool if it comes at the cost of badly depleting that of the future? And what will happen to those wasted bright people who deserve to but would never be engineers, scientists, teachers and doctors? They would lose their chance to build successful careers but certainly not their brilliance-- the same kind of brilliance that makes it possible for crime lords, terrorists and rebels to succeed.
You know there’s gotta be something wrong with a country if almost all of its talented young people are dreaming of working abroad. This country must have a disease that urgently needs to be cured. But stopping the exodus is not the cure. The exodus, in the first place, is not the disease. You stop the exodus and the disease will still be there, whatever it is.
If they want to leave, let them, the best thing we can do is to ask them to return someday, though it would be foolish to expect them to return if they’d be treated as unpatriotic traitors when they get home.
Now, some geniuses out there might point out that most of the overseas Filipino workers’ income just goes to over-consumption and practically none of it goes to real, significant investments. Well. If you gather the ten best professors of literature in this country, give them US$10,000,000 and ask them to set up a business using the money given them, could you guarantee that their business plan would be successful? Can you guarantee that none of the US$10,000,000 would go to waste? What about the country’s ten best physicists? Would they be more successful than the professors of literature? How about the ten best mathematicians? The ten best chemists? The ten best sociologists? How then do we expect each of the returning overseas Filipino workers –engineers, scientists, doctors, nurses, carpenters, domestic helpers, etc.—to miraculously become financial geniuses and come up with sound business plans or investment schemes when they return here? They need financial guidance. Education. They must be made aware of what they can do with their money other than using it to pamper their relatives. A strong link must be made between the country’s brilliant but capital-hungry entrepreneurs and the relatively cash-rich overseas Filipino workers. And here lies the great opportunity- one that hasn’t been taken for a long time. This opportunity is being wasted, as proven by the over-consumption of the overseas Filipino workers’ families. But the worst thing anyone can do when an opportunity is being wasted is to destroy that opportunity so that no one can say that it’s being wasted! That would be the height of stupidity. That reeks of the same stupidity displayed by the idiots who suggest that the exodus must be stopped because much of the overseas Filipino workers’ money is just going to over-consumption anyway!
Heroism is not only a matter of killing the enemy. More than anything, it's about saving your own people. And the last thing we should think of in rescuing this nation of ours from poverty is killing the economies of other nations by hoarding our talented professionals. When we indiscriminately keep our brilliant workers from grabbing better career opportunities abroad so that they'd be forced to stay as underemployed and underpaid workers here, we become no different from ruthless dictators who forcefully turn all their surviving young constituents into suicide bombers! What point is there in hurting the enemy, if it comes at the cost of destroying your own people? In our search for enlightenment on true heroism, we must remember what the heroes of our revolution were thinking when they lay half-dead in the battlefield. Were they more concerned about destroying the enemy or making sure that their loved ones would live happily?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)