A brief interlude

a few more arrests yesterday here in manila. one of those arrested at the international women's day rallies was a female representative of a party-list group who was violently dragged and carried away to a waiting police vehicle. footage of the rallies aired on a prime time television news program last night showed in one scene a police officer assuring a group of women that his dispersal unit were not there to arrest them. the grateful women applauded these gentlemanly words. but then the police officer quickly added that women should be at home and not making all those disturbances in the streets. the footage abruptly ended at that point, catching just a few boos and scowls from the dumbfounded protesters. government got a break today from a major daily which headlined the results of initial investigations into this tragic television game show stampede instead of the long-running exchange on 1017. there's an article in the business section saying that government economic planners are worried over the continuing appreciation of the peso. it seems exporters are having a hard time adjusting to the changes. there has been another rollback in the prices of cooking gas. my good friend, one of those few avid readers, has reprinted some of my recent postings here in random thoughts. another summer fast approaching, perhaps bringing with it another dreaded separation. i've been doing some mental workouts in-between these brainless activities here at my station -- digesting Nietzsche's musings on the Apollonian-Dionysian unity in Greek tragedy, and reflecting on what this could mean to recent political events in the Philippines. beyond our blue cloudy sky, mars is as rusty as ever, still prophetic in its dusty bareness.

On legitimacy and leadership

The little things I know about politics and political science I learned either from those highly rhetorical discussions in my student organizations or from all those reading assignments in my political science subjects (which were also quite few) back in college. Based on my limited knowledge on these subjects, and on additional bits of information and rumors that I stumbled upon recently, I have come to the conclusion that there is really no state of emergency in the Philippines. Well, at least not in the manner and for the reasons that the present administration would want us to believe. Instead, what we have in today is a government struggling to assert its legitimacy.

I believe it was the Italian communist Antonio Gramsci who dissected state power into its two components: the ideological and the repressive. In simple terms, the state inspires allegiance and obedience from the people either by convincing them about its legitimacy and the righteousness of its actions, or by threats and actual use of force. Institutions, like the family, schools, media, and religion, have big roles in legitimizing state power by molding us into "good citizens", convincing us not to get involved with state affairs, or by simply not doing anything that could interfere with "state business". In "normal" times, threats to use force or even using "mild" force are enough to make people obey laws and are therefore much evident in our daily lives.

But here's the interesting part: Gramsci's theory also tells us that when the ideological processes of the state lose their efficacy, it is compelled more and more to rely on its repressive instrument. It replaces the carrot with a stick, so to speak, to make recalcitrants dance to its tune. Thus, if people continue raising questions regarding the credibility of the last elections and thus the legitimacy of elected leaders, despite the President's admission on national television of her "lapses in good judgment" in talking to an election official on the phone while votes are being tallied and her assertions that it does not in any way constitute cheating, the government could be forced to use measures that are more drastic than harassing or maligning supposed witnesses in the case. And therefore, with persisting rumors of coups or military personnel switching over to the other side, the government declares a state of national emergency.

Now, as one young lawyer who is an expert on constitutional matters puts it, such declaration of a state of national emergency based on the Philippine constitution, should be nothing more than a declaration of fact. It's as good as a declaration that the national color for the day would be beige, or that the martian's birthday would henceforth be known as National Red Planet Day. But President Arroyo went a little bit further by appropriating for herself powers to legislate, delegate legislative powers, and take over businesses that are deemed to affect public interest. A friend and fellow blogger has qualms about considering Proclamation 1017 as a full declaration of martial law as its "casualties" are way below that of Marcos' actions in '72. Well, to borrow from a term from the 80s, I'd like to call it "low intensity martial rule".

I don't think this government meant 1017 to be a permanent thing or to have that broad impact in the first place. It was just a kick in the butt, a not-so-gentle slap in the face, of restless groups in society who are itching to bring about another change in administration. It was a calculated move to assert ideological dominance in an institutional arena such as the media which for a while has appeared to have forgotten to pay homage to the Prince. It was a deliberate offensive to whip into submission so-called "disgruntled groups" within its repressive apparatus, the military, who are mouthing dangerous anti-hegemonic statements on "protecting the people". It was a measured act to remind leftists forces who have entered the legal parliamentary arena, that there are limits to what they can do within the present dispensation.

So, what more can we say now that the President has lifted the state of national emergency? Some elements of the grim and determined bunch of so-called "progressives" in Philippine society have predictably began calling Arroyo's recent move as a "trick", alleging that martial rule is still pretty much in the air despite 1017's revocation. In the case of these groups, one reason why nothing positive came out from this recent hoolabaloo is the fact that they have become so predictable and passe. Attending this forum on 1017 at the university, I was taken aback by this young long-haired emcee, supposedly from this "activist school" (whatever that is) of a known NGO, whose language sounded much like an echo from the First Quarter Storm. Compared to it, the use of Filipino by an Iglesia ni Kristo (Church of Christ) minister would sound more timely, natural, sincere and nationalistic.

As such, the left is far from being a hegemonic counterpoint at the moment. It faces serious challenges that prevent it from attaining some form of moral and intellectual leadership over society. It has yet to heal the real divide that appeared between it and the desperate poor during EDSA 2 when it stood side by side with sections of the rich and influential sectors to overthrow another elite political figure who was popular among the marginalized and the oppressed. A crack in reality was somehow opened up by the recent proposal of one group within the left to establish a transitional revolutionary government with a "blueprint" for a viable Philippine society to substantiate it. But without names being brought up, the middle class, much less the poor couldn't be expected to bite into such a scheme. I heard that a popular professor from a premier university has gained some support from various sectors to lead such a government. I wonder how they will work on this and convince him in the coming days.

A good friend

It was my oldest daughter who prodded me into getting another pet dog. I think it was sometime in 2001. And pretty soon, we had this hyperactive male dalmatian wreaking havoc in our yard. My daughter named him "Buster". I would have called him "Bozo" or "Charlie" as he was more of a clown to me than a dog. But I started believing that I had this unlucky streak in naming dogs. You see, my mother used to give us local puppies (askals, or asong kalye in Filipino, literally street dog) before we got Buster. I did the naming of these puppies back then. And all eventually died. So I let my daughter choose a name for the new dog. The dalmatian was simply too expensive to satisfy my anti-superstition quirks.

About a year later, we acquired this female labrador puppy. My daughter named her "Lassie". I would have called her "Sadie" (from that Beatles song) or "Bonnie" (from Bonnie Abbzug in Edward Abbey's Monkey Wrench Gang). But the name Lassie stuck. And years later, with our neighbors complaining of the stench in our front porch, I would be walking Lassie and Buster around this neglected park early in the morning and late in the evening, rain or shine, trying to get them to empty their bladders and intestines before bringing them home. Like Buster, Lassie was brimming with canine energy. She used to do these crazy sprints, running after Buster in the yard and throwing her 55 to 60-pound body in the air, her prim brown coat shining in the morning light, as Buster jumps over her.

I was anxious the first time we left Lassie with this guy and his stud labrador. She was supposed to stay there for three nights. But when my father and my brother came back the following day, the guy asked me to bring Lassie home. My dog kept him awake the whole night. Guess she was not really used to being away from us. After one of her unsuccessful pregnancies, I remember bringing Lassie to this pet clinic somewhere in Quezon City to have her womb x-rayed. Earlier, our lady veterinarian suspected that some of Lassie's dead puppies were still inside her body, decomposing there and slowly poisoning her system. So we waited in line at the clinic, Lassie calmly sitting through her fever, and with all those folks occasionally glancing in our direction, perhaps wondering what a dog was doing in a clinic reserved for people.

I still can't understand why Buster and Lassie ended up with me when I transferred to my parents' place. I thought my oldest daughter would either insist on having the dogs with her or in visiting them regularly at my parents' house. It was more because of the second prospect that I agreed to take the two dogs with me. Anyway, I thought, my daughters would still have one labrador left with them to take care of. Not having the good sense to bring along with me some pictures from the family albums, Lassie would soon become my only link to those precious moments with my daughter when we were all playing in the yard, walking in the neighborhood, or strolling around the campus. Moments that are now slowly fading into the distant past. Desperately longing for the presence of another being in my room, or finding my mind too restless to think of anything else, I would sometimes let the yellow labrador in and just run my hand through her thin coat.

Arriving at the office today, I got a call from my mother informing me that Lassie had died. My immediate reaction was to ask about my parents' plans for burying her body. But I saw my mind then already racing to recall all those times during the past few weeks when Lassie would come running towards the gate as soon as she hears the softest clink of my keys. Or those mornings when she would have this dour look behind the wire fence as she waits for me to get my ride to the office. I now regret failing to give her the regular weekend bath last Saturday. Had a meeting the whole afternoon today. All the time, I kept thinking about how I'm going to tell my daughter about Lassie's death. Both of us lost a good friend.

Of guerrillas and wanderers

Just realized this is only my second post for the new year. It must be some kind of blogging inertia. A brain spewing out all these crazy ideas will continue to do so unless acted upon by an outside force. And a brain at rest will continue towards stagnation unless stimulated again by an external event. With my apologies to Sir Isaac Newton. I wonder how that would translate in terms of thermodynamics. But somebody really ought to write something about it one of these days. Anyway, in between those eye-straining and finger-stiffening work in front of the office computer, and those back-breaking chores at home, this 1,300-gram (more or less) chunk of gray matter calling itself "the martian" has also been busy making some mental notes of possible blogging topics and filing these for future use. (Got this "mental notes" image from James Clavell's Shogun. I always get a real kick out of imagining myself as Lord Toranaga, that cold, calculating Japanese daimyo who ended up as shogun in Clavell's novel.) So the past four weeks or so have not been a complete loss. Lemme see, where to start ...

Blogs, blogs, blogs. Surfing through the blogging world, unlike writing in my blog, has not yet petrified into a hobby for me. But I do take a peek at other blogs from time to time. Boredom has this almost mystical quality of stopping the flow of time, during which a numbed human consciousness can take stock and try to restore its dynamic and creative quality. (Wow, where did that come from??) Guided by blogspot's Blogs of Note, I recently chanced upon these interesting blogs during such boring enigmatic moments at my work station:

The Dormitory Boys These guys remind me of Roberto Benigni's existential stance in La Vita e Bella (Life is Beautiful). Life sucks but it doesn't mean you can not have a really great time.

Tales of the Freeway Blogger I really admire this guy's passion and artistry. Boring Filipino leftists can learn a lot from him.

David Baldinger: Cartoonist & Photographer Nice political cartoons and personal pictures. And another Gormenghast and Dune fan.

A guerrilla in Bolivia. Walking into an office at night on a Sunday, a paperback copy of the great Argentinian doctor's diary, its pages all yellow and almost crumbling to the touch, found its way into my hands. Been reading it since then (alongside Brian Aldiss' Helliconia novels). The Ramparts Edition of The Diary of Che Guevara from November 1966 up to the honorable doctor's final days in La Higuera, Bolivia in October 1967, includes photographs as well as reproductions of the original notebooks and Spanish transcripts. Had the chance to read other books on Che, written by people who knew him. But reading his own diary, with its terse entries written in the thick of battle, is quite a different experience altogether. This comes at the heels of watching the equally memorable Walter Salles' The Motorcycle Diaries. Coming to my own office late on a Monday morning, this Yahoo News item on a socialist winning the presidential elections in Bolivia and the challenges facing him (with more than two-thirds of the 8.5 million Bolivian population in extreme poverty) greeted my eyes. It has been almost four decades since Che's death. I wonder how its meaning resonates among Bolivians today. (Read this interesting article by David Rieff in Truthout.)

The wanderer. Marshall Sahlins considers hunting-gathering groups as constituting the original affluent societies, notwithstanding their poverty. Among Pinoys, the descriptive acronyms NPA (no permanent address) and TNT (tago nang tago, always hiding), have come to be associated with different kinds of people who are forced to move from place to place for various reasons. Walking out of this fastfood joint close to midnight, and again sometime way before dawn, I had this thought of me being a kind of wanderer. Which, following Sahlins' ideas, may not really be a bad thing at all. Well for one, you see and experience more things than the average sedentary guy. Plus you have a crack at these precious insights on life. Like, you realize that you can actually manage with just a few belongings (in my case, what's inside my backpack). As Sahlins puts it, affluence is not always about owning more, but also about wanting less. As a wanderer, you are also constantly reminded of the transitory nature of things. That there is really no permanent "home", just as there is no permanent "here" and "now".


I went out walking
Through streets paved with gold
Lifted some stones
Saw the skin and bones
Of a city without a soul

The Wanderer
Zooropa
U2

Tartarus

There was this very distinctive, recurring dream in childhood (probably from watching all those replays of that classic Charlton Heston flick, The Omega Man, on tv). There was a nuclear war that wiped out a big chunk of the human population and laid many places to waste. Most of those who survived became zombie-like beings who craved for the brains of those who were not affected by the radiation. We were among those who remained regular homo sapiens. And we lived underground. Under our house, that we abandoned due to the threats posed by the brain-suckers, we constructed this very big and complex headquarters complete with all the high tech gadgets and amenities that allowed us to go on with quite a comfortable albeit dangerous existence. We had this great van with powerful computers and all kinds of weapons on-board. And from our secret underground complex, we would emerge into the zombie world riding our van. We’d be searching for other people who managed to avoid contracting the dreaded brain-craving disorder. Brainless zombies would be throwing themselves at our vehicle, hoping to slow down our regular patrols and get a shot at sucking our brains out.

It was hell on earth. And our HQ in the dream was a Tartarus of sorts, a place found way down below Hades. Read about this place first in Stephen Baxter’s Titan which tells of a human expedition to the Saturnian world. Thinking of a call-sign for their base on Saturn’s methane-covered moon, the few remaining astronauts decided on Tartarus. In Greek mythology, before Zeus’ and the other gods’ time came, there were the giant Titans, children of Uranus and Gaia, sky and the Earth. There was Cronus, the leader, Rhea, Tethys, Iapetus, Hyperion, Phoebe, Oceanus, Coeus, Crius, Mnemosyne. Their stronghold was Mount Othyrs, the counterpart of Mount Olympus. Cronus overthrew his father, Uranus. But soon after that, this ten-year battle between the Titans and the gods, led by restless Zeus, erupted. Zeus enlisted the help of the Hecatoncheires, the terrifying hundred-armed giants. All of the dreadful Titans were defeated and imprisoned in Tartarus. The Hecatoncheires were appointed prison guards.

Finished constructing my floor-to-ceiling bookshelf a few days before the start of the new year. Spent a little over 2,500 pesos, which included the price of the varnish. The shelf has seven levels (eight if you include the space above the topmost board). Arranged neatly within its numerous compartments, my six boxful of books don’t look too many. In fact, I still have some compartments left for vases and indoor plants (and for my future audio and video system). Staring at the whole thing from where I lay at night, on the floor, I imagine seeing the massive, threatening walls of Tartarus. Plan to construct another shelf-cum-work station along the other walls in my room as soon as I have enough funds to buy more construction materials. I’ll then be literally surrounded by words contained in books. With an internet connection for my computer, a stereo and a tv set (and maybe a dvd player), guess I wouldn’t mind staying in this “prison” even for a thousand years (if I get to live that long). Could fill up megabytes of disk space with my notes and journals. Maybe I could even put in a few novels and children’s stories.

So I’ve named my partly renovated room, my HQ, Tartarus. My muse said it doesn’t sound that good. True, it’s not very lyrical (it used to be the "Batcave", until I realized I’m not particularly fond of bats or caves). But I still like the idea of a comforting prison as I did then, when I was still young, dreaming of those isolated strongholds underground that protected me from cruel, scary people outside. Must be some kind of womb-fixation, as an ex-partner used to say disdainfully. I’d like to think now it’s a lot better than being in either heaven or hell.