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Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
A New Job
Tomorrow I start work for a start-up marketing company. Or more accurately, I start to officially work for a commonly-owned and managed enterprise.
As you can probably guess: it's a worker's cooperative. A group of artists decided to band together to establish a business that they themselves will run and manage. I'm not an artist, of course, nor can I ever pretend to be one. I'm just coming in based on the strength of a hack writing job I did for them. Apparently, they have a need for writers, so any hack writer, my person included, might do.
It's a prospect that fills me with excitement and trepidation.
I believe that this cooperative has a lot of potential for growth and that I could contribute to such growth, given my background and knowledge of the cooperative business. But I also seriously doubt my writing prowess and thus, I fear, I'll come short of their expectations. As I said, I do believe I'm only a hack writer, at best; not an artist like them. The best I could come up with is perhaps a decent phrase or two.
There's a lot of uncertainty involved. They still have to get their systems in place. A few equipments are still being acquired. Heck, even my job description is a bit vague (Imagine: having been asked by my "boss" to help in drafting my own job description? It's a moral dilemma. On one hand, I could take advantage of it to have less things to do or be responsible of, but on the other, my conscience wouldn't let me shortchange them. In the end, I simply declined.) Even the pay isn't that good. It's even lower than my previous salary as a factory worker.
I could, however, render flexible working time. Or tele-commute. As long as I meet the targets then I'm good. This is what attracted me to the job. Of course, another plus factor is the potential for growth. The company is expanding rapidly and is poised on proving the viability of the worker's cooperative as a viable and sustainable enterprise. As a cooperative advocate, that prospect excites me. Alas, we can be free from the yoke of corporate slavery. There are no real "bosses" at the company, at least, not in the traditional sense. And we pay for our own salary and bonuses...based on output and equity considerations. Plus, the office is near U.P., thus, technically, still within my comfort zone.
Honestly, though, should my application for a certain corporation be approved, I would probably leave this new job in a heartbeat. I've been so used in rendering regular hours of work, in having concrete rules, and definite hierarchies that I find my new company's work ethics to be quite disconcerting.
I feel like a domesticated rat whose cage has finally been opened. Everyone yells at me to flee. That freedom is to be desired.
And yet all I know, in all my life is the certainty of comfort in my own little cage.
As you can probably guess: it's a worker's cooperative. A group of artists decided to band together to establish a business that they themselves will run and manage. I'm not an artist, of course, nor can I ever pretend to be one. I'm just coming in based on the strength of a hack writing job I did for them. Apparently, they have a need for writers, so any hack writer, my person included, might do.
It's a prospect that fills me with excitement and trepidation.
I believe that this cooperative has a lot of potential for growth and that I could contribute to such growth, given my background and knowledge of the cooperative business. But I also seriously doubt my writing prowess and thus, I fear, I'll come short of their expectations. As I said, I do believe I'm only a hack writer, at best; not an artist like them. The best I could come up with is perhaps a decent phrase or two.
There's a lot of uncertainty involved. They still have to get their systems in place. A few equipments are still being acquired. Heck, even my job description is a bit vague (Imagine: having been asked by my "boss" to help in drafting my own job description? It's a moral dilemma. On one hand, I could take advantage of it to have less things to do or be responsible of, but on the other, my conscience wouldn't let me shortchange them. In the end, I simply declined.) Even the pay isn't that good. It's even lower than my previous salary as a factory worker.
I could, however, render flexible working time. Or tele-commute. As long as I meet the targets then I'm good. This is what attracted me to the job. Of course, another plus factor is the potential for growth. The company is expanding rapidly and is poised on proving the viability of the worker's cooperative as a viable and sustainable enterprise. As a cooperative advocate, that prospect excites me. Alas, we can be free from the yoke of corporate slavery. There are no real "bosses" at the company, at least, not in the traditional sense. And we pay for our own salary and bonuses...based on output and equity considerations. Plus, the office is near U.P., thus, technically, still within my comfort zone.
Honestly, though, should my application for a certain corporation be approved, I would probably leave this new job in a heartbeat. I've been so used in rendering regular hours of work, in having concrete rules, and definite hierarchies that I find my new company's work ethics to be quite disconcerting.
I feel like a domesticated rat whose cage has finally been opened. Everyone yells at me to flee. That freedom is to be desired.
And yet all I know, in all my life is the certainty of comfort in my own little cage.
On Carlo Caparas Being a National Artist
Carlo Caparas is not a visual artist. And certainly not a National Artist material.
Gerry Alanguilan has said it best in this online petition
When the highest award for artists in the Philippines can be dispensed through political patronage rather than merit, then it certainly says something about how we, as a nation, regard arts and culture in our country. GMA has committed an outrage that must be redressed. I do hope the Supreme Court rules against the insertion of undeserving National Artists by Malacañang.
Gerry Alanguilan has said it best in this online petition
When the highest award for artists in the Philippines can be dispensed through political patronage rather than merit, then it certainly says something about how we, as a nation, regard arts and culture in our country. GMA has committed an outrage that must be redressed. I do hope the Supreme Court rules against the insertion of undeserving National Artists by Malacañang.
On Looking For A Job and Selling Banana Que
With my separation pay from my previous job being almost depleted, I had no choice but to seriously look for a job these past few weeks.
This time with more desperation than ever.
Yup, desperate enough to consider selling banana-que...or eating my words.
A college professor once admonished us to take up masteral studies in Political Science because, otherwise, all we were good for, as BA undergraduates of the said course is "selling banana-que". The good professor, I believe, does not really denigrate those who sell banana-que---at least not consciously. But those who do sell them, she would say, are undergrad students, too. "Go ahead, ask them." We all laughed, of course, thinking how much a kidder the professor can be.
Well, after graduation, I sort of realize how true her words can be. Let me put it this way:
What's one sure way to turn up negative results in a job search engine? PUT IN THE WORDS "POLITICAL SCIENCE" THEN PRESS "ENTER".
If my said professor had low regard for banana-que vendors in UP, then she had a LOWER regard for call center agents. I didn't teach you political analysis just so you could all be "telephone operators", she would say.
"That wouldn't happen to me," I would mutter. After all, haven't I chosen factory work and labor service above and beyond the lure of easy money in a call center? Yes, I did. I even told a friend, half-jokingly that I might as well sell banana-que before I consider working for a call center.
I've always imagined myself working for an Non-Government Organization after graduation. I wanted to continue serving other people. I wanted to nurture my social advocacies while providing for my necessities. And so I submitted a few applications to certain NGOs just after graduation.
And then I waited. And waited. And waited. A friend from the labor sector told me to wait some more because there's definitely going to be a job opening in the labor advocacy center soon. So I waited some more.
Unfortunately, my funds are fast running out. I didn't get much separation pay to begin with, in the first place. And I had to provide for my needs in the meantime.
And so, suddenly, the prospect of getting a call center job didn't seem all that bad. After all, some of my friends are working as call center agents and they're doing mighty fine, aren't they? And didn't they say, getting a call center job would be a cinch?
In short, I ended up eating my banana-que laden words: I applied for a call center job.
I'm putting this in my blog to remind myself to always be humble. To not let the prejudices of some other people affect my future decisions. And to not let myself forget that whatever I achieve in life... I'll always be factory worker.
Which is about as decent a job can get---as decent as the banana-que seller. Which, in the end, is way better than a politician or congressman, right? (Oops, here I go again.)
This time with more desperation than ever.
Yup, desperate enough to consider selling banana-que...or eating my words.
A college professor once admonished us to take up masteral studies in Political Science because, otherwise, all we were good for, as BA undergraduates of the said course is "selling banana-que". The good professor, I believe, does not really denigrate those who sell banana-que---at least not consciously. But those who do sell them, she would say, are undergrad students, too. "Go ahead, ask them." We all laughed, of course, thinking how much a kidder the professor can be.
Well, after graduation, I sort of realize how true her words can be. Let me put it this way:
What's one sure way to turn up negative results in a job search engine? PUT IN THE WORDS "POLITICAL SCIENCE" THEN PRESS "ENTER".
If my said professor had low regard for banana-que vendors in UP, then she had a LOWER regard for call center agents. I didn't teach you political analysis just so you could all be "telephone operators", she would say.
"That wouldn't happen to me," I would mutter. After all, haven't I chosen factory work and labor service above and beyond the lure of easy money in a call center? Yes, I did. I even told a friend, half-jokingly that I might as well sell banana-que before I consider working for a call center.
I've always imagined myself working for an Non-Government Organization after graduation. I wanted to continue serving other people. I wanted to nurture my social advocacies while providing for my necessities. And so I submitted a few applications to certain NGOs just after graduation.
And then I waited. And waited. And waited. A friend from the labor sector told me to wait some more because there's definitely going to be a job opening in the labor advocacy center soon. So I waited some more.
Unfortunately, my funds are fast running out. I didn't get much separation pay to begin with, in the first place. And I had to provide for my needs in the meantime.
And so, suddenly, the prospect of getting a call center job didn't seem all that bad. After all, some of my friends are working as call center agents and they're doing mighty fine, aren't they? And didn't they say, getting a call center job would be a cinch?
In short, I ended up eating my banana-que laden words: I applied for a call center job.
I'm putting this in my blog to remind myself to always be humble. To not let the prejudices of some other people affect my future decisions. And to not let myself forget that whatever I achieve in life... I'll always be factory worker.
Which is about as decent a job can get---as decent as the banana-que seller. Which, in the end, is way better than a politician or congressman, right? (Oops, here I go again.)
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tutoring UPCAT applicants
It was the summer of 2009. I was jobless, penniless and a UP graduate. I felt I need to give something back to UP (my alma mater) and my community before I attempt getting a job or a few pesos in my pockets. (Sometimes, I believe all my dreams are rooted in penury, anyway.)
I decided I was going to give tutorials or review sessions for public high school kids. I decided to talk to a local town councilor about this and he introduced me to the principal of the San Mateo National High School. At first, I could sense that the principal wasn't keen on the idea and simply told me to come back on the first week of June. Even though it would have been ideal had the review session started on April or May, he says, it just wasn't possible to get the kids to school during the school break.
I was able to conduct tutorials earlier that summer to a bunch of incoming 4th year students from Ropdiguez(Montalban)---alas, that's another story--- and that proved useful for the tutorials I was to conduct for the San Mateo public high school.
I went on the first week of June. I was introduced to the high school head teacher who told me that I could not begin that week because they had to get the permission from the kids' parents first. Since the tutorials would be conducted by my lonesome, I suggested to keep the class size lean. It will be limited only to the top ten students of the graduating class.
On the first day of the tutorials, the head teacher asked me categorically: "what's in it for me? Why am I doing this tutorial?" Apparently, the principal wants to know if I was going to charge the kids or the school with anything.
I said it wouldn't cost them a thing. In fact, I had to print review materials and had to xerox the same so the cost was really to my person and not to them. I was doing this as part of my service to the community. (I didn't say it was for free because---contrary to anyone's idealistic perceptions---somebody like me could get something from it, I was regrettably taught: whether experience, goodwill or dharma. As my sociology professor, ever doubtful of altruistic intentions, say: "there's no such thing as a free lunch".)
Having hurdled that part, I was led to the Language Training Room on the third floor. Upon entering, the students greeted me with "Welcome to San Mateo National High School, Mr. Arnel Abeleda. MABUHAY!" or something to that effect. I knew they said a lot more but my head went giddy upon hearing "mabuhay!". It was just an expression I hear on TV and read in books and this was the first time I heard it bestowed on me. At that time, their tuition for the review session was already half-paid.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for compliments.
Next, I'll talk about the review sessions and some impressions on public high school libraries.
I decided I was going to give tutorials or review sessions for public high school kids. I decided to talk to a local town councilor about this and he introduced me to the principal of the San Mateo National High School. At first, I could sense that the principal wasn't keen on the idea and simply told me to come back on the first week of June. Even though it would have been ideal had the review session started on April or May, he says, it just wasn't possible to get the kids to school during the school break.
I was able to conduct tutorials earlier that summer to a bunch of incoming 4th year students from Ropdiguez(Montalban)---alas, that's another story--- and that proved useful for the tutorials I was to conduct for the San Mateo public high school.
I went on the first week of June. I was introduced to the high school head teacher who told me that I could not begin that week because they had to get the permission from the kids' parents first. Since the tutorials would be conducted by my lonesome, I suggested to keep the class size lean. It will be limited only to the top ten students of the graduating class.
On the first day of the tutorials, the head teacher asked me categorically: "what's in it for me? Why am I doing this tutorial?" Apparently, the principal wants to know if I was going to charge the kids or the school with anything.
I said it wouldn't cost them a thing. In fact, I had to print review materials and had to xerox the same so the cost was really to my person and not to them. I was doing this as part of my service to the community. (I didn't say it was for free because---contrary to anyone's idealistic perceptions---somebody like me could get something from it, I was regrettably taught: whether experience, goodwill or dharma. As my sociology professor, ever doubtful of altruistic intentions, say: "there's no such thing as a free lunch".)
Having hurdled that part, I was led to the Language Training Room on the third floor. Upon entering, the students greeted me with "Welcome to San Mateo National High School, Mr. Arnel Abeleda. MABUHAY!" or something to that effect. I knew they said a lot more but my head went giddy upon hearing "mabuhay!". It was just an expression I hear on TV and read in books and this was the first time I heard it bestowed on me. At that time, their tuition for the review session was already half-paid.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for compliments.
Next, I'll talk about the review sessions and some impressions on public high school libraries.
Commuter Tales No. 1: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman with an Umbrella
Commuter Tales INTRO
I grew up on a jeepney.
I grew up riding public transportation: the ubiquitous tricycles in San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, the jazzed-up “patok” jeepneys of Montalban to the lumbering yellow buses of San Mateo, Rizal. As a loyal “pasahero” I have had quite a number of memorable experiences within those confined spaces of public conveyances that I decided to collect them as a series of vignettes which I originally planned to release as an ashcan comix (who knows? It may yet happen). I thought: “if Harvey Pekar can do it, so can I!”.
Harvey Pekar of “American Splendor” can attract top talents, however and I, on the other hand, is only limited to a bunch of people I could force to draw for me for a song: namely my brother, Mannie and my brother, Mannie. (Who is always perennially busy, by the way.)
I decided therefore, to just release the darn thing anyway in the form of blog entries. So here it is. Hope you enjoy them. (Yes, I’m talking to the two of you.)
Commuter Tales No. 1: HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN WITH AN UMBRELLA
I’m very bad at remembering names. I could remember a face very well but somehow I often fail at supplying the correct name for a particular face.
There was this time when a middle-aged woman tried to start a conversation with me on a jeepney while I was on my way to work. She was a heavy-set woman with a large friendly face. She appears to be on the way to the market because she was holding a large “bayong” (market bag) and an umbrella. The woman also seems she knows my mother. She asked about her, and I told her my mom was OK.
Then without further ado, she paid for my fare, along with hers.
Since she beat me to the draw of paying the fare(not that I will pay for her fare but I was more than willing to reimburse her, only she wouldn’t hear any of it), I now felt a debt of gratitude to her. I had to keep the conversation she started, going. I had to nod and smile and try to appear interested in everything she says even if in back of my mind I was still trying to fit the puzzle of “connect the face with a name”.
Of course, now that the lopsided conversation---it was mostly her talking with me nodding my head with a few 'ah-huhs' here and there---has gone on for a while, it puts me in a quandary. It would just be a tad too impolite to interrupt her and ask her what’s her name. Why, that would mean, I wasn’t really listening to her since I could not place her story within a proper context of how I knew her. Besides, I had pretended I knew her the moment she called my attention. Ah, what to do?
Meanwhile, another woman went on board the jeepney. She was about the same age as my benefactor but the thick make-up and frilly dress she wore invites everyone to believe she was younger than she was. When my benefactor saw her, the latter clammed up. Alas, some peace and quiet for the rest of my journey, I thought.
It was a short trip, by the way: just under four kilometers. It only appeared longer because I had to carry the conversation along during lulls and…well, I thought, I had paid for my fare by being a polite conversationalist.
Then my friendly benefactor, the one with a shining benevolent face and St.-Francis-of-Assissi smile suddenly turned red in the face and turned her attention to the new passenger. The sheep was turning into a wolf. A big, bad, pissed-off, take-no-prisoners wolf.
“Where is my husband?” she shrieked. Yes, shrieked. I could swear I saw her fangs glisten. Now, everyone’s attention was on them. The newly-arrived passenger turns out to be the concubine of my benefactor’s husband. They started exchanging heated words inside the jeepney.
Then it started to get ugly. My wolf started to jab the concubine with the pointed end of her long umbrella. The concubine was feisty too but her umbrella was too short so she resorted to deflecting the jabs and retaliated through taunts and verbal attacks.
I could feel the dagger looks of the rest of the passengers on me. I can hear them think: "Why don't you stop the crazy woman? Don't you know her? Didn't she just pay your fare?". STOP HER. Do something! I tried to pacify the wolf but since I never really knew her or even her name before this fateful jeepney ride, I could not come up with an appropriate summoning or spell that would divert her attention from her homicidal tendencies. Whenever I try to deflect her umbrella from hitting the concubine, I was liable to injure the other passengers. So I just decided to hold the umbrella firmly to prevent it from being used as a deadly weapon. I was grappling with the umbrella as my benefactor was about to lunge at the throat of the other woman.
Finally, the jeepney screeched to a halt. The driver has had enough. He could not let these women fight inside his jeepney. He ordered them to get off.
The wolf-woman went down to the sidewalk. She was still itching for a fight and was looking forward to smashing the face of the concubine to the street. (She said so.) But the concubine wouldn't budge. She knew couldn't last two minutes with my transfigured benefactor. She told the driver to floor it.
But the wolf immediately got wind of the plan. With both hands, she grabbed hold of the handle bars at the back end of the jeep and screams at the driver (yes, screams that even the people three blocks away seems to have been awakened from their slumber) that if the concubine does not get off the jeepney, she would let herself get dragged by the jeep.
More dagger looks. The people on the streets, including, whom I suspect to be the old grannies who were sleeping three blocks away start to congregate near the ruckus.
It was quite a scene. The woman was willing to get dragged by the jeepney if she couldn't get her claws on the neck of the other woman. I repeatedly pleaded to my wolf "tama na po, tama na po" ("That's enough, ma'am. That's enough.") as I try to pry her claws---I mean fingers---from the handle bars. But she was beyond reason! There's a crazed glint in her eyes. I felt she couldn't care less about how she looks or sounded, she's going to have her revenge---either inside or outside the jeepney.
A few seconds of distraction wherein our protagonist releases her vise grip on the metal bars of the jeep was enough for the driver to speed away.
The driver and the other passengers laughed so hard but I couldn't join them. The other woman was still in the jeep and I couldn't be that insensitive. The other passengers tried to felicitously ask the other woman whether she was hurt but I couldn't join them, because after all---I was friends with the enemy. My benefactor was left biting the dust but I couldn't join her: heck, I didn't know her and besides...I might be late for work.
I hang my head in shame for the rest of the trip never uttering another word. It was just about two kilometers but it was a very long two kilometers.
Now, when I ride the jeep, I try to pay my fare immediately before looking at the faces of the other passengers. It's a lesson well-learned.
I grew up on a jeepney.
I grew up riding public transportation: the ubiquitous tricycles in San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, the jazzed-up “patok” jeepneys of Montalban to the lumbering yellow buses of San Mateo, Rizal. As a loyal “pasahero” I have had quite a number of memorable experiences within those confined spaces of public conveyances that I decided to collect them as a series of vignettes which I originally planned to release as an ashcan comix (who knows? It may yet happen). I thought: “if Harvey Pekar can do it, so can I!”.
Harvey Pekar of “American Splendor” can attract top talents, however and I, on the other hand, is only limited to a bunch of people I could force to draw for me for a song: namely my brother, Mannie and my brother, Mannie. (Who is always perennially busy, by the way.)
I decided therefore, to just release the darn thing anyway in the form of blog entries. So here it is. Hope you enjoy them. (Yes, I’m talking to the two of you.)
Commuter Tales No. 1: HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN WITH AN UMBRELLA
I’m very bad at remembering names. I could remember a face very well but somehow I often fail at supplying the correct name for a particular face.
There was this time when a middle-aged woman tried to start a conversation with me on a jeepney while I was on my way to work. She was a heavy-set woman with a large friendly face. She appears to be on the way to the market because she was holding a large “bayong” (market bag) and an umbrella. The woman also seems she knows my mother. She asked about her, and I told her my mom was OK.
Then without further ado, she paid for my fare, along with hers.
Since she beat me to the draw of paying the fare(not that I will pay for her fare but I was more than willing to reimburse her, only she wouldn’t hear any of it), I now felt a debt of gratitude to her. I had to keep the conversation she started, going. I had to nod and smile and try to appear interested in everything she says even if in back of my mind I was still trying to fit the puzzle of “connect the face with a name”.
Of course, now that the lopsided conversation---it was mostly her talking with me nodding my head with a few 'ah-huhs' here and there---has gone on for a while, it puts me in a quandary. It would just be a tad too impolite to interrupt her and ask her what’s her name. Why, that would mean, I wasn’t really listening to her since I could not place her story within a proper context of how I knew her. Besides, I had pretended I knew her the moment she called my attention. Ah, what to do?
Meanwhile, another woman went on board the jeepney. She was about the same age as my benefactor but the thick make-up and frilly dress she wore invites everyone to believe she was younger than she was. When my benefactor saw her, the latter clammed up. Alas, some peace and quiet for the rest of my journey, I thought.
It was a short trip, by the way: just under four kilometers. It only appeared longer because I had to carry the conversation along during lulls and…well, I thought, I had paid for my fare by being a polite conversationalist.
Then my friendly benefactor, the one with a shining benevolent face and St.-Francis-of-Assissi smile suddenly turned red in the face and turned her attention to the new passenger. The sheep was turning into a wolf. A big, bad, pissed-off, take-no-prisoners wolf.
“Where is my husband?” she shrieked. Yes, shrieked. I could swear I saw her fangs glisten. Now, everyone’s attention was on them. The newly-arrived passenger turns out to be the concubine of my benefactor’s husband. They started exchanging heated words inside the jeepney.
Then it started to get ugly. My wolf started to jab the concubine with the pointed end of her long umbrella. The concubine was feisty too but her umbrella was too short so she resorted to deflecting the jabs and retaliated through taunts and verbal attacks.
I could feel the dagger looks of the rest of the passengers on me. I can hear them think: "Why don't you stop the crazy woman? Don't you know her? Didn't she just pay your fare?". STOP HER. Do something! I tried to pacify the wolf but since I never really knew her or even her name before this fateful jeepney ride, I could not come up with an appropriate summoning or spell that would divert her attention from her homicidal tendencies. Whenever I try to deflect her umbrella from hitting the concubine, I was liable to injure the other passengers. So I just decided to hold the umbrella firmly to prevent it from being used as a deadly weapon. I was grappling with the umbrella as my benefactor was about to lunge at the throat of the other woman.
Finally, the jeepney screeched to a halt. The driver has had enough. He could not let these women fight inside his jeepney. He ordered them to get off.
The wolf-woman went down to the sidewalk. She was still itching for a fight and was looking forward to smashing the face of the concubine to the street. (She said so.) But the concubine wouldn't budge. She knew couldn't last two minutes with my transfigured benefactor. She told the driver to floor it.
But the wolf immediately got wind of the plan. With both hands, she grabbed hold of the handle bars at the back end of the jeep and screams at the driver (yes, screams that even the people three blocks away seems to have been awakened from their slumber) that if the concubine does not get off the jeepney, she would let herself get dragged by the jeep.
More dagger looks. The people on the streets, including, whom I suspect to be the old grannies who were sleeping three blocks away start to congregate near the ruckus.
It was quite a scene. The woman was willing to get dragged by the jeepney if she couldn't get her claws on the neck of the other woman. I repeatedly pleaded to my wolf "tama na po, tama na po" ("That's enough, ma'am. That's enough.") as I try to pry her claws---I mean fingers---from the handle bars. But she was beyond reason! There's a crazed glint in her eyes. I felt she couldn't care less about how she looks or sounded, she's going to have her revenge---either inside or outside the jeepney.
A few seconds of distraction wherein our protagonist releases her vise grip on the metal bars of the jeep was enough for the driver to speed away.
The driver and the other passengers laughed so hard but I couldn't join them. The other woman was still in the jeep and I couldn't be that insensitive. The other passengers tried to felicitously ask the other woman whether she was hurt but I couldn't join them, because after all---I was friends with the enemy. My benefactor was left biting the dust but I couldn't join her: heck, I didn't know her and besides...I might be late for work.
I hang my head in shame for the rest of the trip never uttering another word. It was just about two kilometers but it was a very long two kilometers.
Now, when I ride the jeep, I try to pay my fare immediately before looking at the faces of the other passengers. It's a lesson well-learned.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Story of a Genuine Worker's Coop
In a meeting with coop leaders in Metro Manila ostensibly to discuss the Implementing Rules and Regulations (IRR) for the newly-minted RA 9520, otherwise known as the Philippine Cooperative Code of 2008, I happen to decry my distaste for all these pseudo-cooperatives posturing as worker's cooperatives; which where in fact, really nothing more than employment agencies.
Former senator Agapito "Butz" Aquino was in that meeting and although he left early, his secretary approached me to ask for an article in the upcoming issue of the Philippine Cooperative Center's newsletter, The COOP VOICE.
I shared a story about a cooperative which I had a hand in organizing: the Pinagkaisa at Nagkakaisang Manggagawa ng R. Hortaleza Multi-purpose Cooperative.
Here is the article:
Former senator Agapito "Butz" Aquino was in that meeting and although he left early, his secretary approached me to ask for an article in the upcoming issue of the Philippine Cooperative Center's newsletter, The COOP VOICE.
I shared a story about a cooperative which I had a hand in organizing: the Pinagkaisa at Nagkakaisang Manggagawa ng R. Hortaleza Multi-purpose Cooperative.
Here is the article:
From Crisis to Opportunity: The Story of a True Worker’s Cooperative
by Arnel Abeleda
It is the shared nightmare of the working class: reporting for work one morning and finding out that the company has closed shop. This is what happened to some 300 workers of a popular chain of beauty supply and vaciador shops one fateful morning in July, 2007. A working class nightmare they soon collectively transformed into a working class dream.
On July 1, 2007, the workers of R. Hortaleza shops suddenly found themselves out of work as all of their branches in Metro Manila, Cavite and Laguna were closed down and padlocked in the night. A paltry sign was posted in each of the shops saying the shops were closed due to bankruptcy. The two labor unions, namely the Nagkakaisang Manggagawa ng R. Hortaleza, representing the supervisory personnel and the Pinagkaisang Manggagawa ng R. Hortaleza, representing the rank-and-file personnel immediately called for a unified general assembly, filed a case at the labor department for illegal dismissal and then went on strike. It was a harrowing experience for them and prospects for the future were, at that time, certainly bleak.
The picket line was also thinning as the days went by. The workers, caught unawares either had hardly any savings or were in debt and thus had to find other sources of income in the mean time. Some of their members went back to their home provinces.
Their usual customers or ‘suki’ were also caught unawares. They brought their knives, coping saws and nail clippers to be sharpened only to find there’s a picket line outside the shops. Some enterprising vaciadors, seizing this opportunity, sharpened the objects themselves, albeit manually.
Eventually, the idea to take over the business left by their erring employer started to take root. After all, they have the requisite skills of seasoned vaciadors, they knew the suppliers and more importantly, they have earned the trust of their customers or ‘suki’ for a great number of years. All they needed was capital to get the business going.
Some money lenders were even offering to finance select shops. But they decided to manage the shops themselves. It was at that point that they toyed with the idea of forming a cooperative. A genuine worker’s cooperative that would be owned, managed and run by the members themselves. They would report for work, conduct their business and set their own salaries and incentives.
This was the genesis of the Pinagkaisa at Nagkakaisang Manggagawa ng R. Hortaleza Multi-purpose Cooperative.
Starting with a capital of twenty thousand pesos (P20,000.00) borrowed from the lifetime savings of one of their members, they bought supplies at Divisoria and started their trade. They wanted to retain the loyalty of their existing customers but could not afford the pricey rentals of their branches’ former locations so the Cooperative decided to ply their trade in less pricey locations but always at a place near their former place of business. They borrowed almost half a million pesos from various sources in order to rebuild their business in five branches---out of the total twelve branches originally---in Metro Manila and Laguna.
Running their own business, they admit is not a walk in the park. In 2008, they had to close their branch in Singalong, Manila due to poor sales. Their four remaining branches in Blumentritt (2454 Rizal Ave. ext., Sta. Cruz, Manila), Sucat (8292 PDRC Bldg., Dr. A Santos Ave., Parañaque), Alabang (354 Romicar Bldg., National Road, Alabang, Muntinlupa) and Biñan, Laguna (Kris 100, Sto. Domingo St., Biñan, Laguna) are still going strong. In fact, they have almost paid their loan obligations and are seeking to expand in other areas.
Aside from sharpening services of a vaciador, their shops also supply products for beauty parlors and they have recently ventured into production of nail files and nail pushers after getting a grant from the Department of Labor and Employment in the form a production machine. Ably headed by Board Chairperson Ms. Fe Floralde, Vice-chairperson Mr. Chito Doluntap, and Manager Mr. Denes Evasco with Ms. Cristina David as treasurer and Ms. Shirley Protacio as Secretary, this cooperative serves as a model worker’s cooperative.
So what is their trade name, you ask? It’s called “Worker’s Control Beauty Supply & Vaciador ng Bayan”.
Truly, the coop sector’s answer to the working class dream.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Remembering M/V Princess of the Stars
The MV Princess of the Stars capsized off Romblon province on June 21, 2008, exactly one year ago today. It capsized after being directly hit by Typhoon Frank. It carried at least 820 passengers. Of the total, 504 were recovered and 443 have been identified so far.
I was a passenger on the same ship less than a year before it sank. The Union of Metro Manila Cooperatives, of which I am a director, decided to hold the General Assembly of the coop union on board the ship. The general assembly will be held during the trip to and from Cebu. The overnight stay at Cebu once we disembark is our night out.
It was an offer too good to pass. And of course, I went despite stern warnings from some of my friends because a major typhoon had just passed a few days before.
My first thought upon seeing it was: "wow, this ship is humongous!" It was 7 stories high. I remember sending SMS to my friends saying the ship was so large I couldn't even feel the rocking motion of the waves. The facilities and amenities in the M/V Princess of the Stars, was to me (who's used to some rickety ships plying the Batangas Port to Mindoro route) really impressive. It had a convention cum disco area, a sun deck, karaoke rooms,play area for kids, a swimming pool and well-appointed cabins.
More than the ship itself, what I shall remember about the Prinecess is it's nice crew who accommodated our various requests during the 4 day trip/convention/assembly. Being younger than my fellow directors, I am usually left with the secretariat to help in the conduct of the assembly. I remember being green with envy as my fellow directors recount how the nice captain took them to the bridge while I was at the convention hall clicking on a laptop as a resource speaker was doing a presentation.
I may not have met the nice captain but I have met and interacted with his nice crew. And the thought that some of them may be lying on an upturned 7 story coffin off Romblon doesn't fail to leave a lump in my throat.
I pray that justice be done to the victims of the M/V Princess of the Stars. And I hope that such a tragedy never happen again.
I was a passenger on the same ship less than a year before it sank. The Union of Metro Manila Cooperatives, of which I am a director, decided to hold the General Assembly of the coop union on board the ship. The general assembly will be held during the trip to and from Cebu. The overnight stay at Cebu once we disembark is our night out.
It was an offer too good to pass. And of course, I went despite stern warnings from some of my friends because a major typhoon had just passed a few days before.
My first thought upon seeing it was: "wow, this ship is humongous!" It was 7 stories high. I remember sending SMS to my friends saying the ship was so large I couldn't even feel the rocking motion of the waves. The facilities and amenities in the M/V Princess of the Stars, was to me (who's used to some rickety ships plying the Batangas Port to Mindoro route) really impressive. It had a convention cum disco area, a sun deck, karaoke rooms,play area for kids, a swimming pool and well-appointed cabins.
More than the ship itself, what I shall remember about the Prinecess is it's nice crew who accommodated our various requests during the 4 day trip/convention/assembly. Being younger than my fellow directors, I am usually left with the secretariat to help in the conduct of the assembly. I remember being green with envy as my fellow directors recount how the nice captain took them to the bridge while I was at the convention hall clicking on a laptop as a resource speaker was doing a presentation.
I may not have met the nice captain but I have met and interacted with his nice crew. And the thought that some of them may be lying on an upturned 7 story coffin off Romblon doesn't fail to leave a lump in my throat.
I pray that justice be done to the victims of the M/V Princess of the Stars. And I hope that such a tragedy never happen again.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Mike Enriquez effect
I used to watch TV Patrol religiously but I became disgusted with it when the newscast featured longer and longer segments of crime or traffic accidents. When I tune in to my evening newscast, I want to watch news, dammit, not some neighborhood altercation somewhere in Metro Manila that gets to be broadcast on National TV just because some blockhead reporter hangs around police precincts too much and do not sniff out more news worthy stories.
Now, I’m starting to get incensed with GMA news, and I believe it’s because of Mike Enriquez and what he brought to the news and newscasting in general. It may be funny when an impersonator mimics Mike Enriquez in a comedy routine but alas, the real joke is on us.
Mike Enriquez doesn’t deliver the news: he shouts them. He treats his audience as if they are all hard of hearing. When somebody said he should be a hard-hittin’ newscaster, he took it to mean literally. He took it to mean aurally. Maybe one could forgive him in the beginning because his roots are from radio broadcasting, but he’s been on it for years on television and somebody should tell him to tone down his voice--- particularly his bosses from GMA 7.
Mike Enriquez also points out what is already quite apparent. He treats everyone as if they were half-blind. For instance, just before the commercials are shown, he announces that in a small hick town, a bull went rampaging inside a supermarket as caught in a CCTV camera. He says: “O, ayun, nakita ninyo mga kapuso? O, ayun o, sumugod!”. He does this every time. He interjects his inane remarks into his news spiel. Somebody should tell him: “yes, everyone can see that, now stop pointing out the obvious!”.
Mike Enriquez, as the self-styled Imbestigador ng Bayan, also struts about like he’s Zorro: the defender of the poor and the oppressed. Yes, even in the newscast wherein he features himself. We want the news, we don’t want to see your adventures (or more likely, the adventures of your staff wherein you take all the credit as you narrate).
He ceased to be the dark knight of the oppressed for me years ago when I saw in one of the segments in his program the story of a supposedly abused student. This student was apparently being sexually propositioned by a superior in his school, so what the Imbestigador did was to equip that minor with a hidden camera and set-up a sting operation. The child met with the alleged sexual molester in a motel. Only then did they call the police. So when they tried to barge into the motel with cameras and police in tow, the motel management ran interference, fearing it would sow panic in their customers.
It was several hours later when they were finally allowed to secure the child. In the end, the molester was caught, the Imbestigador had good ratings but at what price? The child was molested under their own noses. Under the sting they had poorly planned. To my mind, they were as guilty as the child molester, perhaps even more so. To my mind, Mike Enriquez is also a child molester.
Of course, now, Mike Enriquez carries the Anak-Seal TV award as one of the most admired TV newscaster of children. Ay, if they only knew.
And this is what disturbs me most about this Mike Enriquez brand of newscasting: it’s being legitimized. It’s being accepted as good newscasting even by standard award –giving bodies. Gone are the days of no-frills newscasts from my youth from the likes of Ms. Tina Monzon-Palma and Ms. Cathy Santillan. The worse is, I can sense that the newscasters even from other channels are assimilating the Mike Enriquez Style.
When I watch the evening news, I want to watch more news. Not more newscaster quirks.
Now, I’m starting to get incensed with GMA news, and I believe it’s because of Mike Enriquez and what he brought to the news and newscasting in general. It may be funny when an impersonator mimics Mike Enriquez in a comedy routine but alas, the real joke is on us.
Mike Enriquez doesn’t deliver the news: he shouts them. He treats his audience as if they are all hard of hearing. When somebody said he should be a hard-hittin’ newscaster, he took it to mean literally. He took it to mean aurally. Maybe one could forgive him in the beginning because his roots are from radio broadcasting, but he’s been on it for years on television and somebody should tell him to tone down his voice--- particularly his bosses from GMA 7.
Mike Enriquez also points out what is already quite apparent. He treats everyone as if they were half-blind. For instance, just before the commercials are shown, he announces that in a small hick town, a bull went rampaging inside a supermarket as caught in a CCTV camera. He says: “O, ayun, nakita ninyo mga kapuso? O, ayun o, sumugod!”. He does this every time. He interjects his inane remarks into his news spiel. Somebody should tell him: “yes, everyone can see that, now stop pointing out the obvious!”.
Mike Enriquez, as the self-styled Imbestigador ng Bayan, also struts about like he’s Zorro: the defender of the poor and the oppressed. Yes, even in the newscast wherein he features himself. We want the news, we don’t want to see your adventures (or more likely, the adventures of your staff wherein you take all the credit as you narrate).
He ceased to be the dark knight of the oppressed for me years ago when I saw in one of the segments in his program the story of a supposedly abused student. This student was apparently being sexually propositioned by a superior in his school, so what the Imbestigador did was to equip that minor with a hidden camera and set-up a sting operation. The child met with the alleged sexual molester in a motel. Only then did they call the police. So when they tried to barge into the motel with cameras and police in tow, the motel management ran interference, fearing it would sow panic in their customers.
It was several hours later when they were finally allowed to secure the child. In the end, the molester was caught, the Imbestigador had good ratings but at what price? The child was molested under their own noses. Under the sting they had poorly planned. To my mind, they were as guilty as the child molester, perhaps even more so. To my mind, Mike Enriquez is also a child molester.
Of course, now, Mike Enriquez carries the Anak-Seal TV award as one of the most admired TV newscaster of children. Ay, if they only knew.
And this is what disturbs me most about this Mike Enriquez brand of newscasting: it’s being legitimized. It’s being accepted as good newscasting even by standard award –giving bodies. Gone are the days of no-frills newscasts from my youth from the likes of Ms. Tina Monzon-Palma and Ms. Cathy Santillan. The worse is, I can sense that the newscasters even from other channels are assimilating the Mike Enriquez Style.
When I watch the evening news, I want to watch more news. Not more newscaster quirks.
Walang Kinikilingan, Walang Pinoprotektahan
In a recent interview, Ms. Jessica Soho, vice-president for News programs of the GMA network’s News and Public Affairs’ Department said: “…ang branding sa amin, pag GMA news kilala yan na patas, nasa gitna talaga. Totoo yan sinasabi namin eh. Wala kaming interests to protect, therefore wala kaming kinikilingan, wala kaming pinuprotektahan. Ang baduy, noh? (Laughs). Serbisyong totoo lamang. Kung merong kaming pwedeng ipagmalaki, yun”.
I can’t believe she takes that seriously. Or expects anyone else to swallow it hook, line and sinker. The operative word in her reply, I believe is “Branding”. That is how they like to fashion themselves. But of course, we know better.
I do not believe that GMA news, or any news organization for that matter, can really be that objective to state “walang kinikilingan, walang pinoprotektahan”. Even the tenets of elementary journalism and broadcasting admits that we can’t really claim pure objectivity. Our political, religious, sexual and cultural upbringing will always color the way we see and interpret things and I don’t think the reporters from GMA-7 are exempt from this. Our political socialization affords us a unique lens in which we view---or in the case of newscasters---frame the stories.
GMA news is a business and like all businesses, they, who run them would move heaven and earth to protect their own. They have an interest to perpetuate: the credibility of their own broadcast.
Also, they have a television station with a stable of stars and shows. Even a cursory look at the showbiz news the evening broadcast carries will show that it is heavily focused--- on their own stars. For instance they feature such inane segments like “Sexbomb girls (the network’s patented version of dancing vixens popularized in a noontime show) teaches children to dance”. It had no real human interest to begin with. It wasn’t as if the children were dying of terminal diseases or something. Nope.
Why on earth would they feature that? Are they trying to promote the Sexbomb Girls as some group little Filipino children could emulate? “Mama, when I grow up, I wanna be a sexbomb girl!”. Mom: “now pout your lips, gyrate and say: Awwww!” The real reason: it was because the sexbomb girls has a new season in their afternoon soap.
There’s also the Manila-centic news. You can hear about a neighborhood altercation among residents in Metro manila complete with slapping incidents inside the police stations but you don’t hear similar incidents in neighboring provinces. You hear about a motorcycle accident in Metro Manila involving one person but you don’t hear about vehicular accidents in Visayas or Mindanao unless it involves a certain threshold of fatalities preferably in the double digits. So yes, there’s bias because the bread-and-butter of GMA news derives from advertising revenues in Metro Manila so they would naturally pander to news about or in Metro Manila.
GMA also has newscasters doubling as product endorsers. One endorses a shampoo, the other a liquor brand, while some a laundry detergent and even a health supplement. Their credibility as news presentors suffer because GMA news allows this. Although I consider myself more of a GMA viewer (oh, please no “kapuso” shtick) than the other channel, I believe that the restriction on product endorsements by newscasters as imposed by ABS-CBN was a good call. Will the product endorsers report about labor disputes or labor issues in the companies whose product they espouse? How about if someone doesn’t get well from taking a health supplement that a famous newscaster endorses? If truly they have no bias, they would have to report such cases., but the question is: will they have credibility? Will the people believe in them?
There’s also the Atty. Gozon slant. Atty. Felipe Gozon (along with Mr. Gilberto Duavit, of the Duavit political clan in Rizal) owns the majority shares of the network. I feel that if a foundation wanted to have news coverage for its activities it will have to invite Atty. Gozon because there’s almost always an Atty. Gozon feature in every evening newscast. It doesn’t matter what the activity was, if they had invited Mr. Gozon to speak, that would most assuredly earn a few seconds spot on national television. Ah, what the powers-that-be at GMA news would do to suck up to their boss.
Every evening we hear “walang kinikilingan, walang pinoprotektahan, serbisyong totoo lamang” as the GMA 7 sign-off but the truth is, no matter how much they repeat this mantra, no matter how much they try to make themselves and others believe: it will never be self-fulfilling.
Because it’s patently false.
I can’t believe she takes that seriously. Or expects anyone else to swallow it hook, line and sinker. The operative word in her reply, I believe is “Branding”. That is how they like to fashion themselves. But of course, we know better.
I do not believe that GMA news, or any news organization for that matter, can really be that objective to state “walang kinikilingan, walang pinoprotektahan”. Even the tenets of elementary journalism and broadcasting admits that we can’t really claim pure objectivity. Our political, religious, sexual and cultural upbringing will always color the way we see and interpret things and I don’t think the reporters from GMA-7 are exempt from this. Our political socialization affords us a unique lens in which we view---or in the case of newscasters---frame the stories.
GMA news is a business and like all businesses, they, who run them would move heaven and earth to protect their own. They have an interest to perpetuate: the credibility of their own broadcast.
Also, they have a television station with a stable of stars and shows. Even a cursory look at the showbiz news the evening broadcast carries will show that it is heavily focused--- on their own stars. For instance they feature such inane segments like “Sexbomb girls (the network’s patented version of dancing vixens popularized in a noontime show) teaches children to dance”. It had no real human interest to begin with. It wasn’t as if the children were dying of terminal diseases or something. Nope.
Why on earth would they feature that? Are they trying to promote the Sexbomb Girls as some group little Filipino children could emulate? “Mama, when I grow up, I wanna be a sexbomb girl!”. Mom: “now pout your lips, gyrate and say: Awwww!” The real reason: it was because the sexbomb girls has a new season in their afternoon soap.
There’s also the Manila-centic news. You can hear about a neighborhood altercation among residents in Metro manila complete with slapping incidents inside the police stations but you don’t hear similar incidents in neighboring provinces. You hear about a motorcycle accident in Metro Manila involving one person but you don’t hear about vehicular accidents in Visayas or Mindanao unless it involves a certain threshold of fatalities preferably in the double digits. So yes, there’s bias because the bread-and-butter of GMA news derives from advertising revenues in Metro Manila so they would naturally pander to news about or in Metro Manila.
GMA also has newscasters doubling as product endorsers. One endorses a shampoo, the other a liquor brand, while some a laundry detergent and even a health supplement. Their credibility as news presentors suffer because GMA news allows this. Although I consider myself more of a GMA viewer (oh, please no “kapuso” shtick) than the other channel, I believe that the restriction on product endorsements by newscasters as imposed by ABS-CBN was a good call. Will the product endorsers report about labor disputes or labor issues in the companies whose product they espouse? How about if someone doesn’t get well from taking a health supplement that a famous newscaster endorses? If truly they have no bias, they would have to report such cases., but the question is: will they have credibility? Will the people believe in them?
There’s also the Atty. Gozon slant. Atty. Felipe Gozon (along with Mr. Gilberto Duavit, of the Duavit political clan in Rizal) owns the majority shares of the network. I feel that if a foundation wanted to have news coverage for its activities it will have to invite Atty. Gozon because there’s almost always an Atty. Gozon feature in every evening newscast. It doesn’t matter what the activity was, if they had invited Mr. Gozon to speak, that would most assuredly earn a few seconds spot on national television. Ah, what the powers-that-be at GMA news would do to suck up to their boss.
Every evening we hear “walang kinikilingan, walang pinoprotektahan, serbisyong totoo lamang” as the GMA 7 sign-off but the truth is, no matter how much they repeat this mantra, no matter how much they try to make themselves and others believe: it will never be self-fulfilling.
Because it’s patently false.
Bumped off by Aling Dionisia
On the Last week of April, I attended a Labor Center’s press conference on the upcoming Labor Day mobilizations.
The venue was a newly-opened restaurant in front of the ABS-CBN headquarters in Quezon City. I arrived half an hour early so I decided to help out in setting up the banners and what-not for that planned mid-morning press con.
There was a smattering of print journalists and one broadcast journalist from a giant TV network. When it was about 11 o’clock, the press con finally started. I was asked to pinch-hit for the leader of the Association for Displaced Filipino Workers who couldn’t make it to the said event.
I sat at the farthest end of the table. The cut-out cardboard name I sat in front of wasn’t even mine. I tried to look all serious and pensive---thinking that is what my whole participation that morning shall require. I will just sit there and somebody else will do all the talking.
Then they told me I should prepare a statement.
The press-con began. The Labor Center president started to read his prepared statement. Then, the TV reporter approached the table, not even bothering to listen to half of what he said and asked: “can you just get right on the part about your planned nationwide mobilization? It’s nationwide, right?”
“Uhm, yes.”
Apparently, he wasn't really after the story about the current travails of Philippine labor. What he needed was some quotable quotes, a soundbite. He doesn't need to listen, I rationalized to myself. Maybe he thinks everything we have to say is included in his press kit. The reporter then adds: “can you also raise your fists so we can take pictures?”
After taking the perfunctory pictures, the TV crew hurriedly left. Other reporters left as well. Only a couple of print journalists stayed long enough to listen to what we really have to say. (They were still eating, anyway.)
I was the last to say my piece. At that time there was only one tabloid reporter left. But it didn't matter. I simply stated what I felt as a worker displaced by the current economic crisis and how I view the palliative measures in which the government tries to solve the problem: by staging job fairs during Labor Day.
It was a pretty good speech, I believe, mostly because the words were wrenched from my gut. I did not talk about workers as an abstract group; I talked about what I felt and experienced.
Later that night, I tried to catch the early evening news and the late night news, hoping to catch the few seconds they gave us to air our announcement regarding the Labor Day rallies.
Of course, there was no mention of it.
I tried to rationalize that maybe there are other more news worthy stories out there that night. That is until I saw the inordinately long series of feature stories on Manny Pacquiao's mom, Aling Dionisia on that day: Aling Dionisia arriving in the US; Aling Dionisia being welcomed by her cousin, Aling Dionisia going to the hotel where Manny stays; Aling Dionisia arriving at the hotel; and Aling Dionisia being welcomed by Manny with a kiss even if he was really tired and sleepy by the time she arrived.
It's a good thing Philippine TV newscast knows its priorities.
The next morning, I woke up late because of staying up late for the late evening newscast. I scanned the tabloids, but alas, I found no mention on the front page. Maybe it's on the inside pages, I reckoned or one of the tabloids that were already sold before I went there. Maybe.
What does Philippine media deem important? Isn't the plight of Filipino workers more newsworthy than the first trip to America of Manny Pacquiao's mom? It's only a few more days before May 1 but there's hardly any mention of the current condition Filipino workers being battered by the economic crisis.
I felt guilty for eating at that restaurant. It was supposed to be a breakfast buffet but it turned out to be a brunch for us, participants. That press con must have set back the already cash-strapped Labor Center and for what? Neglible media coverage. I have resolved, therefore, never to sit in front of press conferences in the future to face the media. Unless I can get drag Aling Dionisia to the same table, of course.
The venue was a newly-opened restaurant in front of the ABS-CBN headquarters in Quezon City. I arrived half an hour early so I decided to help out in setting up the banners and what-not for that planned mid-morning press con.
There was a smattering of print journalists and one broadcast journalist from a giant TV network. When it was about 11 o’clock, the press con finally started. I was asked to pinch-hit for the leader of the Association for Displaced Filipino Workers who couldn’t make it to the said event.
I sat at the farthest end of the table. The cut-out cardboard name I sat in front of wasn’t even mine. I tried to look all serious and pensive---thinking that is what my whole participation that morning shall require. I will just sit there and somebody else will do all the talking.
Then they told me I should prepare a statement.
The press-con began. The Labor Center president started to read his prepared statement. Then, the TV reporter approached the table, not even bothering to listen to half of what he said and asked: “can you just get right on the part about your planned nationwide mobilization? It’s nationwide, right?”
“Uhm, yes.”
Apparently, he wasn't really after the story about the current travails of Philippine labor. What he needed was some quotable quotes, a soundbite. He doesn't need to listen, I rationalized to myself. Maybe he thinks everything we have to say is included in his press kit. The reporter then adds: “can you also raise your fists so we can take pictures?”
After taking the perfunctory pictures, the TV crew hurriedly left. Other reporters left as well. Only a couple of print journalists stayed long enough to listen to what we really have to say. (They were still eating, anyway.)
I was the last to say my piece. At that time there was only one tabloid reporter left. But it didn't matter. I simply stated what I felt as a worker displaced by the current economic crisis and how I view the palliative measures in which the government tries to solve the problem: by staging job fairs during Labor Day.
It was a pretty good speech, I believe, mostly because the words were wrenched from my gut. I did not talk about workers as an abstract group; I talked about what I felt and experienced.
Later that night, I tried to catch the early evening news and the late night news, hoping to catch the few seconds they gave us to air our announcement regarding the Labor Day rallies.
Of course, there was no mention of it.
I tried to rationalize that maybe there are other more news worthy stories out there that night. That is until I saw the inordinately long series of feature stories on Manny Pacquiao's mom, Aling Dionisia on that day: Aling Dionisia arriving in the US; Aling Dionisia being welcomed by her cousin, Aling Dionisia going to the hotel where Manny stays; Aling Dionisia arriving at the hotel; and Aling Dionisia being welcomed by Manny with a kiss even if he was really tired and sleepy by the time she arrived.
It's a good thing Philippine TV newscast knows its priorities.
The next morning, I woke up late because of staying up late for the late evening newscast. I scanned the tabloids, but alas, I found no mention on the front page. Maybe it's on the inside pages, I reckoned or one of the tabloids that were already sold before I went there. Maybe.
What does Philippine media deem important? Isn't the plight of Filipino workers more newsworthy than the first trip to America of Manny Pacquiao's mom? It's only a few more days before May 1 but there's hardly any mention of the current condition Filipino workers being battered by the economic crisis.
I felt guilty for eating at that restaurant. It was supposed to be a breakfast buffet but it turned out to be a brunch for us, participants. That press con must have set back the already cash-strapped Labor Center and for what? Neglible media coverage. I have resolved, therefore, never to sit in front of press conferences in the future to face the media. Unless I can get drag Aling Dionisia to the same table, of course.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
The Corrupt LGU of Morong, Rizal
Here is a blog from my friend, Kim. Please click on the link. He has stood against the corrupt practices of the LGU of Morong, Rizal and he has recently received some death threats in the process.
Here is the link for part 2
And here is my reaction/reply to him:
Please spread his story. it's the best way to protect him from the nefarious cops of Morong. Thank you.
Here is the link for part 2
And here is my reaction/reply to him:
In the end, you stood up for the principles you believe in, and for that:I salute you. We need more people like you who are willing to stand up for their rights.
I have to add though, that you, standing up against corruption is a result of a confluence of factors and did not necessarily arise from you being a UP student---the fact that the mayor may have been a relative, your moral upbringing and political socialization and other external factors like the weather, I surmise, must have played some part in your decision to confront the ugly reality of local corruption at that particular time---so I admonish you to brandish being a UP student more judiciously in the future. Believe me, many UP graduates are quite ambivalent in divulging their being UP graduates because of various stereotypes the public have of them (for nurturing the likes of Marcos, Joma, Ninoy and ...heaven help us, Miriam).
Corruption takes many forms and it doesn't have to be as brazen as what you had experienced. When you start working you'll be faced with seemingly "victim-less" type of corruption like accepting gifts from suppliers during special events in the company. Or taking home some supplies the company would have disposed. These things silently chip away at the core of the very principles you espouse, if you are not aware of them. But I'm glad, young as you are, you already drew the line. You already know where you'll stand.
It's a good victory but the key to winning the battle is to sustain it hoping others do likewise. Or just change the the whole defective system (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
Please spread his story. it's the best way to protect him from the nefarious cops of Morong. Thank you.
Letter to GMA 7 news
Last December, after watching SAKSI, the late evening newscast at GMA Channel 7, I wrote a letter to its editor, to wit:
The editor never replied. When I checked back on the story in their website, I found out that the ship actually sank in SAN JOSE, ANTIQUE and not SAN JOSE, OCCIDENTAL MINDORO. Well how about that, eh? They even showed a computer-generated map of its location in Mindoro but it turns out to be in a completely different island several hundred miles away.
Of course, GMA 7 would never admit to such faux pas. Who would have noticed anyway? The newscast was aired almost at midnight. Everyone watching would have been half-asleep by then. Nobody would care. Maybe just some nutcase who happens to hail from San Jose, Occidental Mindoro and who was watching the news to see some fireworks. But then, he's a nobody.
Well, I care for the truth. And for a station that bills itself as the "tahanan ng katotohanan"("house of truth"), GMA 7 should also be very careful in dispensing factual truths in its newscast.
I saw the SAKSI newscast yesterday ostensibly to view the UP Lantern parade which I had just attended, when I came across the news regarding the sinking of the ship off the coast of Antique.
The ship apparently was en route to San Jose, Occidental Mindoro but the computer graphics erroneously showed: SAN JOSE, ORIENTAL MINDORO.
Did your editors also err? Even a cursory knowledge of geography would reveal that the western side is usually referred as the Occidental side and not oriental.
I also take umbrage because I grew up in San Jose. Occidental Mindoro may not have the tourist haven called Puerto Galera but not every prosperous and beautiful town in Mindoro belongs to Oriental Mindoro---San Jose being a case in point.
I was not able to see the earlier newscast, 24 Oras, but I hope you did not repeat such faux. I hope you could rectify this error. Thank you for your time.
The editor never replied. When I checked back on the story in their website, I found out that the ship actually sank in SAN JOSE, ANTIQUE and not SAN JOSE, OCCIDENTAL MINDORO. Well how about that, eh? They even showed a computer-generated map of its location in Mindoro but it turns out to be in a completely different island several hundred miles away.
Of course, GMA 7 would never admit to such faux pas. Who would have noticed anyway? The newscast was aired almost at midnight. Everyone watching would have been half-asleep by then. Nobody would care. Maybe just some nutcase who happens to hail from San Jose, Occidental Mindoro and who was watching the news to see some fireworks. But then, he's a nobody.
Well, I care for the truth. And for a station that bills itself as the "tahanan ng katotohanan"("house of truth"), GMA 7 should also be very careful in dispensing factual truths in its newscast.
Uncomfortable Plot Summaries by postmodernbarney
• 25TH HOUR: White New Yorkers commit crimes against both law and ethics; feel bad for being caught, rather than for doing it at all.
• 300: Gays kill blacks.
• 8 MILE: White man successfully coopts black culture to impress other whites.
• A CIVIL ACTION: Underqualified lawyer doesn’t listen to clients, royally botches case.
• A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES: Social deviants make life difficult for genius.
• A CRY IN THE DARK: Dogs eat baby, confusion follows.
• ALIEN: Ship fails to deliver cargo, crew don’t get bonus.
• ALIENS: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• AMADEUS: Man with health problems receives help from rival.
• AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON: Tourist causes riot.
• ATLAS SHRUGGED: Selfish industrialist destroys economy.
• AUNTIE MAME: Spinster exposes child to sexual fetishists, socialists; thwarts marriage to good Republican girl.
• BATMAN: Wealthy man assaults the mentally ill.
• BEAUTY AND THE BEAST: Peasant girl develops Stockholm Syndrome.
• BENJI: Family abandons beloved pet, forcing it to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• BEOWULF: Colonists hire assassin to drive natives from land.
• BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA: Redneck trucker kills Chinese immigrants.
• BILLY ELLIOT: Union worker turns back on strikers for personal gain.
• BLADE: Obsessed loner stalks minority group.
• BLADE RUNNER: Man with no apparent skill stumbles into escaped robots, fails to kill most, fucks one.
• BLAKE’S 7: Terrorists fight government, die.
• BOOGIE NIGHTS: Deformed boy goaded into life of crime.
• BOTTLE ROCKET: Mentally unstable man fosters friend’s descent into mental instability, finds love.
• BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S: Pretty redneck girl fools socialites, flirts with gay gigolo.
• BREWSTER’S MILLIONS: Black man abuses line of credit.
• BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER: Teenage serial killer destroys town in fit of semi-religious fervor.
• CHANGE OF HABIT: Rock star regrets not looking closer at contract with movie studio.
• CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY: Deranged pedophile big-business industrialist tortures and mutilates young children.
• CHASING AMY: Homosexuality proved to be passing fancy and sign of sexual deviance.
• CHEERS: Alcoholic cuts lime in bar as penance for his womanizing ways.
• CHINATOWN: Father desires closer relationship with his children.
• CHRISTMAS VACATION: Incestuous relatives teach family the meaning of Christmas.
• CLERKS: Aimless loser remains in dead-end job, abusive “friendship.”
• CLOAK AND DAGGER: Spoiled teens discover drugs make them special.
• CONAN THE BARBARIAN: Petty thief murders religious leader.
• CORALINE: Misfit discovers she is special person in a secret world just beside our own.
• CRANK: Drug addict spends last day in orgy of rape and violence.
• CUJO: Family neglects to give family pet rabies shots, pays price.
• DAREDEVIL: Blind man pisses off crime boss, gets all his girl-friends killed.
• DARK KNIGHT RETURNS: Aging sadist corrupts, endangers minor, facilitates murder, destroys superhero comic books for 30 years.
• DEADWOOD: Pimp and rapist charms frontier town into eventual fire-based disaster.
• DEBBIE DOES DALLAS: Cheerleaders develop valuable entrepreneurial skills.
• DEEP THROAT: Medical anomaly earns woman new friends.
• DELIVERANCE: Tourists experience local hospitality.
• DEMOLITION MAN: In a future where crime is completely eradicated, a black man steals and murders.
• DIE HARD: Dysfunctional cop saves marriage by murdering foreign national.
• DIRTY HARRY: Police incompetence allows murderer to go free.
• DOCTOR FAUSTUS: Scholar leans nuances of contract law.
• DOCTOR WHO: Elderly man serially abducts young women.
• DONNIE DARKO: Hallucinating teen crushed by airplane engine.
• DRACULA: Immigrant clashes with locals.
• E.T.: Out-of-control pet causes mayhem, sadness.
• EVERY WHICH WAY BUT LOOSE: Part-time mechanic involves girlfriend in illegal fight club, risks life of best friend and endangered primate.
• FALLING DOWN: Life is difficult for white men.
• FANTASTIC FOUR: Scientist exposes friends, family to dangerous radiation to assuage ego, becomes embroiled in rivalry with former room-mate.
• FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF: Amoral narcissist makes world dance for his amusement.
• FIELD OF DREAMS: Schizophrenic builds ball park, almost kills girl.
• FIGHT CLUB: Deranged sociopath guides yuppies to their deaths.
• FIREFLY: In an analogue of the post-Civil War west, a white man on the losing side bosses around a black woman.
• FRANKENSTEIN: Scientific advancement proves unpopular with general public.
• FREAKS: Acrobat learns value of community.
• SERENITY: Men fight for possession of scantily clad mentally ill teenage girl.
• GHOSTBUSTERS: Unemployed college professors destroy hotel with nuclear weapons.
• GLADIATOR: Convict murders head of state.
• GLENGARRY, GLENN ROSS: Sales job proves difficult for some.
• GONE WITH THE WIND: Rich, white slave owner enjoys getting raped, miscarries.
• GOOD WILL HUNTING: Underemployed genius squanders prestigious job opportunity to chase trim.
• GREEN ARROW: Rich white man with Robin Hood fetish goes vigilante.
• GREEN LANTERN: Policeman beats up his girlfriend.
• GREMLINS: Distant father ruins son’s life, puts entire town at risk.
• GROUNDHOG DAY: Misanthropic creep exploits space/time anomaly to stalk coworker.
• HACKERS: Cybercriminals on revenge kick destroy innumerable jobs.
• HAIR: Hippie dodges draft, dies ironically.
• HALLOWEEN: Babysitter’s relationship with murderer places children in danger.
• HARRY POTTER: Celebrity Jock thinks rules don’t apply to him, is right.
• HE GOT GAME: Escaped convict attempts to embezzle only son.
• HIGHLANDER: Elderly immigrant destroys property.
• IRON MAN: Alcoholic rich white man with technology fetish goes vigilante.
• WAR MACHINE: Alcoholic rich white man gives weapons to black man.
• IT: Children use horrific murders as excuse to run train on young girl.
• JFK: Family man wastes life for nothing in crusade against homosexuals.
• JUDGE DREDD: Fascist thug in bleak dystopia is cheered.
• JUNO: Teen fails to get abortion, ruins lives.
• JURASSIC PARK: Theme park’s grand opening pushed back.
• KARATE KID: Boy gains acceptance through violence.
• KILL BILL: Irresponsible mother wants custody of her child.
• KINDERGARTEN COP: Incompetent left in charge of children, who are eventually fired at by convicted felon.
• KING KONG: Endangered animal stolen, shot.
• KING OF KONG: Dick battles loser over trivia.
• LA CONFIDENTIAL: Rapist joins thug in foiling police corruption scheme.
• LABYRINTH: Girl is negligent baby-sitter.
• LARS AND THE REAL GIRL: Retarded man doesn’t know what sex toy is for.
• LASSIE COME HOME: Family abandons beloved pet, forcing it to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• LOLITA: Man encourages step-daughter to take chances.
• LONE WOLF MCQUADE: Alcoholic assaults local businessman, ruins marriage.
• LORD OF THE RINGS: Midget destroys stolen property.
• LOVE ACTUALLY: Prime Minister risks war with United States over a sexy secretary.
• MARLEY AND ME: Out-of-control pet causes mayhem, sadness.
• METROPOLIS: Efficient society undone by unions.
• MICHAEL CLAYTON: Attorney works against client’s interests.
• MILK: Uppity queer dies.
• MIRRORMASK: Misfit discovers she is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL: British comedy troupe inadvertently creates language lab for nerds.
• MULHOLLAND DRIVE: Lesbian relationship is harmful.
• MY GIRL: Boy killed by female friend’s irresponsibility.
• NEVERWHERE: Misfit discovers he is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU: Southern musicians encounter massive flooding and government incompetence.
• OBSERVE AND REPORT: Emotionally disturbed man gets woman drunk, rapes her.
• OCEAN’S ELEVEN: Gang of career criminals commit act of terror to facilitate robbery and romance.
• OF MICE AND MEN: Migrant farmer murders mentally handicapped friend.
• ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST: Disruptive mental patients treated.
• PILLOW TALK: Gay man tricks woman into sex.
• POLTERGEIST: Pot-head parents lose child, ruin property values.
• PREDATOR: American military-industrial complex ruins first contact with alien life.
• PRETTY BABY: Young woman’s modeling career encouraged.
• PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Woman with gold-digging mother nags wealthy man into marriage.
• PYGMALION: Urchin cured by social betters.
• RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK: American yahoo murders soldiers and desecrates religious artifacts for money.
• RAISING ARIZONA: Convicted felon seduces police officer in kidnapping plot.
• RAMBO III: The United States provides arms, equipment and training to the terrorists behind 9/11.
• RATATOUILLE: Vermin infest restaurant until it is forced to close doors.
• RAVENOUS: Coward is seduced by cannibal, destroys army outpost.
• RED DAWN: Despite shock-and-awe tactics, a superior occupying force is no match for a tenacious sect of terrorist insurgents.
• RISKY BUSINESS: Privileged rich kid gets everything he wants with no consequences.
• ROAD HOUSE: Bouncer becomes vigilante, murders local businessman with karate.
• ROBIN HOOD: Disgruntled veteran protests taxes.
• ROBOCOP: Female officer’s incompetence leads partner to be murdered and enslaved by corporation.
• ROCKY: White man beats black man.
• ROSEMARY’S BABY: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• RUDY: Diminutive athlete patronized.
• RUSHMORE: Teen molests teacher, is expelled. Finds love.
• SCARFACE: Immigrant finds running his own business stressful, dangerous.
• SCHINDLER’S LIST: Wealthy industrialist expands not-for-profit ventures.
• SCOTT PILGRIM: Emotionally immature musician sleeps with high-school girl.
• SE7EN: Homicide detectives unable to prevent even a single murder by admitted serial killer, killer gives cop head.
• SHORT CIRCUIT: Rogue scientist steals top-secret government weapon.
• SIGNS: Jesus trumps science.
• SILENCE OF THE LAMBS: Incompetent manipulated by several murderers, stumbles upon suspect completely by accident. Creates situation that allows serial killer to escape.
• SLEEPY HOLLOW: Veteran harassed.
• SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT: Redneck bootlegger makes mockery of law, sanctity of marriage.
• SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS: Layabout stepdaughter shacks up with seven miners.
• SOPHIE’S CHOICE: Mom loves one of her kids way more than the other one.
• SOUTHLAND TALES: Traumitized vet destroys universe.
• SPIDER-MAN: Nerd gets bitten by spider, complains about how this ruins his life for years to come.
• STARDUST: Misfit discovers he is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• STAR TREK: Over-sexed officer routinely places crew in danger.
• STAR TREK THE MOTION PICTURE: Meglomaniac can’t let go of past glory, drives successor to suicide.
• STAR TREK III: Military officers steal vessel and destroy it to eliminate a handful of enemies while engaged on an extremely vague rescue mission.
• STAR TREK IV: Interplanetary fugitives poach wildlife from a past age to cover up an act of genocide.
• STAR TREK VI: Racist military commander past his prime nearly ruins galactic peace.
• STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE: Religious extremist terrorists destroy government installation, killing thousands.
• STAR WARS: EMPIRE STRIKES BACK: Boy is abused by midget, kisses sister, attempts patricide.
• STAR WARS: RETURN OF THE JEDI: Handicapped mass murderer kills septugenarian, is lauded.
• STRAW DOGS: Immigrant clashes with locals.
• SUPERBAD: Boys plan date-rape, sleep together.
• SUPERMAN RETURNS: Illegal immigrant is deadbeat dad.
• SWEENEY TODD: Businesses flourish when freed from stringent regulation.
• TAXI DRIVER: Modern dating proves challenging for working class man.
• TERMINATOR: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE: Tourists have difficulty with regional cuisine.
• THE CAT FROM OUTER SPACE: College professors help illegal alien evade authorities.
• THE CONVERSATION: Paranoid schizophrenic follows worst possible career path.
• THE CRYING GAME: Hairdresser bonds with client.
• THE EDGE: Men bond in Alaskan wilderness.
• THE EXORCIST: Jesus trumps science.
• THE FIRM: White lawyer learns hard work is irrelevant.
• THE GOLDEN COMPASS: Critique of Catholicism upstaged by polar bear fight.
• THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY: Nameless drifter kills American soldier over stolen money, hangs friend.
• THE GOONIES: Physically abused, retarded man finds love with overweight preteen.
• THE INCREDIBLE JOURNEY: Family abandons beloved pets, forcing them to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• THE MATRIX: Hacker is given perfect justification for mass slaughter.
• THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS: Dangerous insurgent invades neighboring country.
• THE OFFICE: Incompetent boss routinely endangers employees, passes fire-worthy blame, sexually harasses subordinates; is seen as “hero” compared to people who just actually work.
• THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST: Mel Gibson fulfills fantasy of showing a Jew beaten to a bloody pulp and killed on-screen.
• THE PROFESSIONAL: Hired murderer sleeps with little girl.
• THE STEPFORD WIVES: Woman has difficulty adjusting to suburban life.
• THE TAKING OF PELHAM 1 2 3: Civil servant insults and shoots foreigners.
• THE THING: Unexpected visitor imposes on workers, their dogs.
• THE UNTOUCHABLES: Murderer indicted on technicality.
• THE WICKER MAN: Isolated religious community revitalized by newcomer.
• THE X-MEN: Minority group seeks overthrow of social order.
• THERE WILL BE BLOOD: Kidnapper commits murder several times.
• TITANIC: Crazy old widow disregards lifelong memories of husband, children, and grandchildren in favor of that one time she fucked a bum.
• TOP GUN: Pilot routinely endangers Air Traffic Controllers.
• TORCHWOOD: Bisexual is inefficient manager.
• TRAINSPOTTING: Statutory rapist and junkie sifts through human waste, gets enormous sum of money.
• TRANSPORTER: Repressed homosexual kills employers.
• TWILIGHT: Girl gives up college for stalker.
• BREAKING DAWN: Native American guy is romantically obsessed with ex-girlfriend’s baby.
• TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME: Father becomes more involved in teenage daughter’s life.
• V FOR VENDETTA: Dystopian government overthrown by faceless conformity.
• VERTIGO: Stalker drives woman to suicide.
• W.: Unspeakable disaster afflicts America. Then terrorists attack.
• WALL-E: Obsolete robot disrupts big business, disrupts lives of millions of innocent civilians.
• WAR OF THE WORLDS: Immigrants face difficulty acclimating.
• WATCHMEN: Homosexual destroys New York, blames God.
• WEEKEND AT BERNIES: Two employees take advantage of their boss’ hospitality.
• WONDER WOMAN: Princess from isolationist culture lectures Americans on equality.
• WORLD TRADE CENTER: Rag-tag group of underdogs succeed at a massive undertaking despite overwhelming odds, credit success with faith in God.
• 300: Gays kill blacks.
• 8 MILE: White man successfully coopts black culture to impress other whites.
• A CIVIL ACTION: Underqualified lawyer doesn’t listen to clients, royally botches case.
• A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES: Social deviants make life difficult for genius.
• A CRY IN THE DARK: Dogs eat baby, confusion follows.
• ALIEN: Ship fails to deliver cargo, crew don’t get bonus.
• ALIENS: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• AMADEUS: Man with health problems receives help from rival.
• AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON: Tourist causes riot.
• ATLAS SHRUGGED: Selfish industrialist destroys economy.
• AUNTIE MAME: Spinster exposes child to sexual fetishists, socialists; thwarts marriage to good Republican girl.
• BATMAN: Wealthy man assaults the mentally ill.
• BEAUTY AND THE BEAST: Peasant girl develops Stockholm Syndrome.
• BENJI: Family abandons beloved pet, forcing it to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• BEOWULF: Colonists hire assassin to drive natives from land.
• BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA: Redneck trucker kills Chinese immigrants.
• BILLY ELLIOT: Union worker turns back on strikers for personal gain.
• BLADE: Obsessed loner stalks minority group.
• BLADE RUNNER: Man with no apparent skill stumbles into escaped robots, fails to kill most, fucks one.
• BLAKE’S 7: Terrorists fight government, die.
• BOOGIE NIGHTS: Deformed boy goaded into life of crime.
• BOTTLE ROCKET: Mentally unstable man fosters friend’s descent into mental instability, finds love.
• BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S: Pretty redneck girl fools socialites, flirts with gay gigolo.
• BREWSTER’S MILLIONS: Black man abuses line of credit.
• BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER: Teenage serial killer destroys town in fit of semi-religious fervor.
• CHANGE OF HABIT: Rock star regrets not looking closer at contract with movie studio.
• CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY: Deranged pedophile big-business industrialist tortures and mutilates young children.
• CHASING AMY: Homosexuality proved to be passing fancy and sign of sexual deviance.
• CHEERS: Alcoholic cuts lime in bar as penance for his womanizing ways.
• CHINATOWN: Father desires closer relationship with his children.
• CHRISTMAS VACATION: Incestuous relatives teach family the meaning of Christmas.
• CLERKS: Aimless loser remains in dead-end job, abusive “friendship.”
• CLOAK AND DAGGER: Spoiled teens discover drugs make them special.
• CONAN THE BARBARIAN: Petty thief murders religious leader.
• CORALINE: Misfit discovers she is special person in a secret world just beside our own.
• CRANK: Drug addict spends last day in orgy of rape and violence.
• CUJO: Family neglects to give family pet rabies shots, pays price.
• DAREDEVIL: Blind man pisses off crime boss, gets all his girl-friends killed.
• DARK KNIGHT RETURNS: Aging sadist corrupts, endangers minor, facilitates murder, destroys superhero comic books for 30 years.
• DEADWOOD: Pimp and rapist charms frontier town into eventual fire-based disaster.
• DEBBIE DOES DALLAS: Cheerleaders develop valuable entrepreneurial skills.
• DEEP THROAT: Medical anomaly earns woman new friends.
• DELIVERANCE: Tourists experience local hospitality.
• DEMOLITION MAN: In a future where crime is completely eradicated, a black man steals and murders.
• DIE HARD: Dysfunctional cop saves marriage by murdering foreign national.
• DIRTY HARRY: Police incompetence allows murderer to go free.
• DOCTOR FAUSTUS: Scholar leans nuances of contract law.
• DOCTOR WHO: Elderly man serially abducts young women.
• DONNIE DARKO: Hallucinating teen crushed by airplane engine.
• DRACULA: Immigrant clashes with locals.
• E.T.: Out-of-control pet causes mayhem, sadness.
• EVERY WHICH WAY BUT LOOSE: Part-time mechanic involves girlfriend in illegal fight club, risks life of best friend and endangered primate.
• FALLING DOWN: Life is difficult for white men.
• FANTASTIC FOUR: Scientist exposes friends, family to dangerous radiation to assuage ego, becomes embroiled in rivalry with former room-mate.
• FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF: Amoral narcissist makes world dance for his amusement.
• FIELD OF DREAMS: Schizophrenic builds ball park, almost kills girl.
• FIGHT CLUB: Deranged sociopath guides yuppies to their deaths.
• FIREFLY: In an analogue of the post-Civil War west, a white man on the losing side bosses around a black woman.
• FRANKENSTEIN: Scientific advancement proves unpopular with general public.
• FREAKS: Acrobat learns value of community.
• SERENITY: Men fight for possession of scantily clad mentally ill teenage girl.
• GHOSTBUSTERS: Unemployed college professors destroy hotel with nuclear weapons.
• GLADIATOR: Convict murders head of state.
• GLENGARRY, GLENN ROSS: Sales job proves difficult for some.
• GONE WITH THE WIND: Rich, white slave owner enjoys getting raped, miscarries.
• GOOD WILL HUNTING: Underemployed genius squanders prestigious job opportunity to chase trim.
• GREEN ARROW: Rich white man with Robin Hood fetish goes vigilante.
• GREEN LANTERN: Policeman beats up his girlfriend.
• GREMLINS: Distant father ruins son’s life, puts entire town at risk.
• GROUNDHOG DAY: Misanthropic creep exploits space/time anomaly to stalk coworker.
• HACKERS: Cybercriminals on revenge kick destroy innumerable jobs.
• HAIR: Hippie dodges draft, dies ironically.
• HALLOWEEN: Babysitter’s relationship with murderer places children in danger.
• HARRY POTTER: Celebrity Jock thinks rules don’t apply to him, is right.
• HE GOT GAME: Escaped convict attempts to embezzle only son.
• HIGHLANDER: Elderly immigrant destroys property.
• IRON MAN: Alcoholic rich white man with technology fetish goes vigilante.
• WAR MACHINE: Alcoholic rich white man gives weapons to black man.
• IT: Children use horrific murders as excuse to run train on young girl.
• JFK: Family man wastes life for nothing in crusade against homosexuals.
• JUDGE DREDD: Fascist thug in bleak dystopia is cheered.
• JUNO: Teen fails to get abortion, ruins lives.
• JURASSIC PARK: Theme park’s grand opening pushed back.
• KARATE KID: Boy gains acceptance through violence.
• KILL BILL: Irresponsible mother wants custody of her child.
• KINDERGARTEN COP: Incompetent left in charge of children, who are eventually fired at by convicted felon.
• KING KONG: Endangered animal stolen, shot.
• KING OF KONG: Dick battles loser over trivia.
• LA CONFIDENTIAL: Rapist joins thug in foiling police corruption scheme.
• LABYRINTH: Girl is negligent baby-sitter.
• LARS AND THE REAL GIRL: Retarded man doesn’t know what sex toy is for.
• LASSIE COME HOME: Family abandons beloved pet, forcing it to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• LOLITA: Man encourages step-daughter to take chances.
• LONE WOLF MCQUADE: Alcoholic assaults local businessman, ruins marriage.
• LORD OF THE RINGS: Midget destroys stolen property.
• LOVE ACTUALLY: Prime Minister risks war with United States over a sexy secretary.
• MARLEY AND ME: Out-of-control pet causes mayhem, sadness.
• METROPOLIS: Efficient society undone by unions.
• MICHAEL CLAYTON: Attorney works against client’s interests.
• MILK: Uppity queer dies.
• MIRRORMASK: Misfit discovers she is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL: British comedy troupe inadvertently creates language lab for nerds.
• MULHOLLAND DRIVE: Lesbian relationship is harmful.
• MY GIRL: Boy killed by female friend’s irresponsibility.
• NEVERWHERE: Misfit discovers he is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU: Southern musicians encounter massive flooding and government incompetence.
• OBSERVE AND REPORT: Emotionally disturbed man gets woman drunk, rapes her.
• OCEAN’S ELEVEN: Gang of career criminals commit act of terror to facilitate robbery and romance.
• OF MICE AND MEN: Migrant farmer murders mentally handicapped friend.
• ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST: Disruptive mental patients treated.
• PILLOW TALK: Gay man tricks woman into sex.
• POLTERGEIST: Pot-head parents lose child, ruin property values.
• PREDATOR: American military-industrial complex ruins first contact with alien life.
• PRETTY BABY: Young woman’s modeling career encouraged.
• PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Woman with gold-digging mother nags wealthy man into marriage.
• PYGMALION: Urchin cured by social betters.
• RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK: American yahoo murders soldiers and desecrates religious artifacts for money.
• RAISING ARIZONA: Convicted felon seduces police officer in kidnapping plot.
• RAMBO III: The United States provides arms, equipment and training to the terrorists behind 9/11.
• RATATOUILLE: Vermin infest restaurant until it is forced to close doors.
• RAVENOUS: Coward is seduced by cannibal, destroys army outpost.
• RED DAWN: Despite shock-and-awe tactics, a superior occupying force is no match for a tenacious sect of terrorist insurgents.
• RISKY BUSINESS: Privileged rich kid gets everything he wants with no consequences.
• ROAD HOUSE: Bouncer becomes vigilante, murders local businessman with karate.
• ROBIN HOOD: Disgruntled veteran protests taxes.
• ROBOCOP: Female officer’s incompetence leads partner to be murdered and enslaved by corporation.
• ROCKY: White man beats black man.
• ROSEMARY’S BABY: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• RUDY: Diminutive athlete patronized.
• RUSHMORE: Teen molests teacher, is expelled. Finds love.
• SCARFACE: Immigrant finds running his own business stressful, dangerous.
• SCHINDLER’S LIST: Wealthy industrialist expands not-for-profit ventures.
• SCOTT PILGRIM: Emotionally immature musician sleeps with high-school girl.
• SE7EN: Homicide detectives unable to prevent even a single murder by admitted serial killer, killer gives cop head.
• SHORT CIRCUIT: Rogue scientist steals top-secret government weapon.
• SIGNS: Jesus trumps science.
• SILENCE OF THE LAMBS: Incompetent manipulated by several murderers, stumbles upon suspect completely by accident. Creates situation that allows serial killer to escape.
• SLEEPY HOLLOW: Veteran harassed.
• SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT: Redneck bootlegger makes mockery of law, sanctity of marriage.
• SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS: Layabout stepdaughter shacks up with seven miners.
• SOPHIE’S CHOICE: Mom loves one of her kids way more than the other one.
• SOUTHLAND TALES: Traumitized vet destroys universe.
• SPIDER-MAN: Nerd gets bitten by spider, complains about how this ruins his life for years to come.
• STARDUST: Misfit discovers he is special person in secret world just beside our own.
• STAR TREK: Over-sexed officer routinely places crew in danger.
• STAR TREK THE MOTION PICTURE: Meglomaniac can’t let go of past glory, drives successor to suicide.
• STAR TREK III: Military officers steal vessel and destroy it to eliminate a handful of enemies while engaged on an extremely vague rescue mission.
• STAR TREK IV: Interplanetary fugitives poach wildlife from a past age to cover up an act of genocide.
• STAR TREK VI: Racist military commander past his prime nearly ruins galactic peace.
• STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE: Religious extremist terrorists destroy government installation, killing thousands.
• STAR WARS: EMPIRE STRIKES BACK: Boy is abused by midget, kisses sister, attempts patricide.
• STAR WARS: RETURN OF THE JEDI: Handicapped mass murderer kills septugenarian, is lauded.
• STRAW DOGS: Immigrant clashes with locals.
• SUPERBAD: Boys plan date-rape, sleep together.
• SUPERMAN RETURNS: Illegal immigrant is deadbeat dad.
• SWEENEY TODD: Businesses flourish when freed from stringent regulation.
• TAXI DRIVER: Modern dating proves challenging for working class man.
• TERMINATOR: An unplanned pregnancy leads to complications.
• TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE: Tourists have difficulty with regional cuisine.
• THE CAT FROM OUTER SPACE: College professors help illegal alien evade authorities.
• THE CONVERSATION: Paranoid schizophrenic follows worst possible career path.
• THE CRYING GAME: Hairdresser bonds with client.
• THE EDGE: Men bond in Alaskan wilderness.
• THE EXORCIST: Jesus trumps science.
• THE FIRM: White lawyer learns hard work is irrelevant.
• THE GOLDEN COMPASS: Critique of Catholicism upstaged by polar bear fight.
• THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY: Nameless drifter kills American soldier over stolen money, hangs friend.
• THE GOONIES: Physically abused, retarded man finds love with overweight preteen.
• THE INCREDIBLE JOURNEY: Family abandons beloved pets, forcing them to engage in a dangerous cross-country journey.
• THE MATRIX: Hacker is given perfect justification for mass slaughter.
• THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS: Dangerous insurgent invades neighboring country.
• THE OFFICE: Incompetent boss routinely endangers employees, passes fire-worthy blame, sexually harasses subordinates; is seen as “hero” compared to people who just actually work.
• THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST: Mel Gibson fulfills fantasy of showing a Jew beaten to a bloody pulp and killed on-screen.
• THE PROFESSIONAL: Hired murderer sleeps with little girl.
• THE STEPFORD WIVES: Woman has difficulty adjusting to suburban life.
• THE TAKING OF PELHAM 1 2 3: Civil servant insults and shoots foreigners.
• THE THING: Unexpected visitor imposes on workers, their dogs.
• THE UNTOUCHABLES: Murderer indicted on technicality.
• THE WICKER MAN: Isolated religious community revitalized by newcomer.
• THE X-MEN: Minority group seeks overthrow of social order.
• THERE WILL BE BLOOD: Kidnapper commits murder several times.
• TITANIC: Crazy old widow disregards lifelong memories of husband, children, and grandchildren in favor of that one time she fucked a bum.
• TOP GUN: Pilot routinely endangers Air Traffic Controllers.
• TORCHWOOD: Bisexual is inefficient manager.
• TRAINSPOTTING: Statutory rapist and junkie sifts through human waste, gets enormous sum of money.
• TRANSPORTER: Repressed homosexual kills employers.
• TWILIGHT: Girl gives up college for stalker.
• BREAKING DAWN: Native American guy is romantically obsessed with ex-girlfriend’s baby.
• TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME: Father becomes more involved in teenage daughter’s life.
• V FOR VENDETTA: Dystopian government overthrown by faceless conformity.
• VERTIGO: Stalker drives woman to suicide.
• W.: Unspeakable disaster afflicts America. Then terrorists attack.
• WALL-E: Obsolete robot disrupts big business, disrupts lives of millions of innocent civilians.
• WAR OF THE WORLDS: Immigrants face difficulty acclimating.
• WATCHMEN: Homosexual destroys New York, blames God.
• WEEKEND AT BERNIES: Two employees take advantage of their boss’ hospitality.
• WONDER WOMAN: Princess from isolationist culture lectures Americans on equality.
• WORLD TRADE CENTER: Rag-tag group of underdogs succeed at a massive undertaking despite overwhelming odds, credit success with faith in God.
My so-called UP Education
On my third year as an undergraduate student of political science at the University of the Philippines, I went AWOL.
My parents couldn’t send me to school. My parents were jobless at that time: my father after suffering from a heart attack/stroke couldn’t pass his seaman’s physical exam anymore and my mother couldn’t find work as a teacher after having been a domestic home-maker for a number of years (the schools were looking for fresh and nubile graduates---or those with political connections). UP may have comparatively low tuition fees vis-à-vis other tertiary institutions but for us then, even my transportation expenses became a burden.
I decided to find work. I took on odd jobs until I got a job at the local factory. I never flaunted my being a UP student. That was, to me, more of a stigma than a badge of honor. I could imagine people talking behind my back: “if you really were a UP student, then what are you doing working here doing manual labor in a lowly factory?”
My work at the factory wasn’t bereft of grief or misfortunes. I was assigned to one of the most physically taxing jobs in the factory. But I focused on my work. I was never late nor absent and I did more than what was expected of me. A fortnight after my contract expired, they re-hired me. I was to become a regular factory hand. And for ten years, I was. (In a sense, I believe I shall always be that lowly factory hand no matter where I work).
Eventually my co-workers got to know my UP background but never from me. This was after I took helm of the cooperative and was elected as one of the top leaders of the labor union. My UP background therefore, did not really figure at all in the campaign. The best anyone can say about a product of UP education, I have gathered is that that person is “smart” or “matalino”---and that can either work for you or against you.
The best thing I got from my so-called “UP education” gave me is social concern. Concern for my fellow workers. I started to read the collective bargaining agreement and the company rules. I learned how some rules are made to stymie dissent and worker’s rights and I tried, in my own small way, to find ways around that; to explain the rules to my co-employees and to seek for better, fairer and more humane work conditions.
I think I have learned more from my factory work than from my two years of “UP education”.
Nevertheless, after a long hiatus, I decided to continue with my formal studies. My siblings have already finished college by then and I have no living parent to support anymore so I have run out of excuses not to. I may have learned much from my factory work but a diploma that hangs on a wall is, I have come to believe, the only piece of ‘education’ that is universally recognized by Filipinos. It’s funny though how people in the academe thinks the same way also. They would ask: “why did you stop studying?” when they meant to say why I stopped going to UP. I would just smile and refuse to answer or answer indirectly but in back of my mind, I would reply: “No, I have never stopped studying.”
And so here I am finally a graduate. But not before I lost my job due to the economic crunch and lost my position as a coop and union leader in the process. This was definitely not how I pictured my world will be after graduation.
Still, my spirit is undaunted. My hands will always be the hands of a laborer. My heart will always strive to serve the people. My mind will always be eager to learn.
So watch out, world: my education will continue.
My parents couldn’t send me to school. My parents were jobless at that time: my father after suffering from a heart attack/stroke couldn’t pass his seaman’s physical exam anymore and my mother couldn’t find work as a teacher after having been a domestic home-maker for a number of years (the schools were looking for fresh and nubile graduates---or those with political connections). UP may have comparatively low tuition fees vis-à-vis other tertiary institutions but for us then, even my transportation expenses became a burden.
I decided to find work. I took on odd jobs until I got a job at the local factory. I never flaunted my being a UP student. That was, to me, more of a stigma than a badge of honor. I could imagine people talking behind my back: “if you really were a UP student, then what are you doing working here doing manual labor in a lowly factory?”
My work at the factory wasn’t bereft of grief or misfortunes. I was assigned to one of the most physically taxing jobs in the factory. But I focused on my work. I was never late nor absent and I did more than what was expected of me. A fortnight after my contract expired, they re-hired me. I was to become a regular factory hand. And for ten years, I was. (In a sense, I believe I shall always be that lowly factory hand no matter where I work).
Eventually my co-workers got to know my UP background but never from me. This was after I took helm of the cooperative and was elected as one of the top leaders of the labor union. My UP background therefore, did not really figure at all in the campaign. The best anyone can say about a product of UP education, I have gathered is that that person is “smart” or “matalino”---and that can either work for you or against you.
The best thing I got from my so-called “UP education” gave me is social concern. Concern for my fellow workers. I started to read the collective bargaining agreement and the company rules. I learned how some rules are made to stymie dissent and worker’s rights and I tried, in my own small way, to find ways around that; to explain the rules to my co-employees and to seek for better, fairer and more humane work conditions.
I think I have learned more from my factory work than from my two years of “UP education”.
Nevertheless, after a long hiatus, I decided to continue with my formal studies. My siblings have already finished college by then and I have no living parent to support anymore so I have run out of excuses not to. I may have learned much from my factory work but a diploma that hangs on a wall is, I have come to believe, the only piece of ‘education’ that is universally recognized by Filipinos. It’s funny though how people in the academe thinks the same way also. They would ask: “why did you stop studying?” when they meant to say why I stopped going to UP. I would just smile and refuse to answer or answer indirectly but in back of my mind, I would reply: “No, I have never stopped studying.”
And so here I am finally a graduate. But not before I lost my job due to the economic crunch and lost my position as a coop and union leader in the process. This was definitely not how I pictured my world will be after graduation.
Still, my spirit is undaunted. My hands will always be the hands of a laborer. My heart will always strive to serve the people. My mind will always be eager to learn.
So watch out, world: my education will continue.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sister Stella L@25 and being a Vilmanian
“Vilmanian ka ba?” an elderly woman asked me.
“Ah, hindi po. Gusto ko lang po manood ng Sister Stella L. Maganda raw po na pelikula. One of the best, ika nga.”
“Ah, siyempre,” said the elderly woman, this is where Vilma says: “si Val, si Val na walang malay---”.
“Hindi po sa pelikula na ito yun,” corrected another Vilmanian. (I can tell they are Vilmanians because they have identical red-colored t-shirts with “VSSI: Vilma Santos Solid International” emblazoned on back.) “Ito po ay pelikula na maraming sikat tulad ni…ni…(and she approaches the movie poster before proceeding) Gina Alajar, Laurice Guillen, Jay Ilagan, Anita Linda, etc…”
It was four o’clock and the movie was supposed to start at five. I can only spot three other people who doesn’t look like members of the Vilma Santos fans club. Instead of hobnobbing with them, I decided to chat with the Vilmanians.
“It’s like a reunion, it’s been years since we last saw each other,” the same elederly woman tells me. Since I professed to be a newbie moviegoer to a Vilma Santos flick, she must have taken it upon herself to orient me in how to become a Vilmanian.
“Oy, umm, Aling Viring kamusta ka na?,” a heavily made-up middle aged woman greets another. I couldn’t help but notice that even if it were a reunion, it surely helped that the t-shirts they were wearing had names in the front, like “Aling Viring”.
It was the 25th anniversary showing of the Mike de Leon classic “Sister Stella L”. And for a laborer like me who just lost his job, disillusioned by the current labor situation, the movie couldn’t have come at a better time. It shored up my faith in just demands of labor in this country, and how we need more of people who care.
People like Sister Stella L.
“Kung hindi tayo kikilos, sino ang kikilos, kung hindi ngayon, kailan pa?”
“Ah, hindi po. Gusto ko lang po manood ng Sister Stella L. Maganda raw po na pelikula. One of the best, ika nga.”
“Ah, siyempre,” said the elderly woman, this is where Vilma says: “si Val, si Val na walang malay---”.
“Hindi po sa pelikula na ito yun,” corrected another Vilmanian. (I can tell they are Vilmanians because they have identical red-colored t-shirts with “VSSI: Vilma Santos Solid International” emblazoned on back.) “Ito po ay pelikula na maraming sikat tulad ni…ni…(and she approaches the movie poster before proceeding) Gina Alajar, Laurice Guillen, Jay Ilagan, Anita Linda, etc…”
It was four o’clock and the movie was supposed to start at five. I can only spot three other people who doesn’t look like members of the Vilma Santos fans club. Instead of hobnobbing with them, I decided to chat with the Vilmanians.
“It’s like a reunion, it’s been years since we last saw each other,” the same elederly woman tells me. Since I professed to be a newbie moviegoer to a Vilma Santos flick, she must have taken it upon herself to orient me in how to become a Vilmanian.
“Oy, umm, Aling Viring kamusta ka na?,” a heavily made-up middle aged woman greets another. I couldn’t help but notice that even if it were a reunion, it surely helped that the t-shirts they were wearing had names in the front, like “Aling Viring”.
It was the 25th anniversary showing of the Mike de Leon classic “Sister Stella L”. And for a laborer like me who just lost his job, disillusioned by the current labor situation, the movie couldn’t have come at a better time. It shored up my faith in just demands of labor in this country, and how we need more of people who care.
People like Sister Stella L.
“Kung hindi tayo kikilos, sino ang kikilos, kung hindi ngayon, kailan pa?”
Yet Another Sad Day (Sad Days Part 2)
A day after the company closed, the place turned into unfamiliar terrain like some B-movie horror film---with the townsfolk all turning zombies. The familiar smiles, greetings and small-talk one encounters as you go inside the factory in the morning were gone. All the cheerfulness, drained. The people just go there to mechanically get their social security certificates, certificate of employment and what-not.
The newly-assigned guards made us sign on logbooks, surrender an ID and wear an ID card that says “GUEST” on it, without even a glance up. For ten years, I saw that place like a home, a stomping ground. And suddenly, I was being treated as a “guest”. Funny, but such treatment never made me really feel like one.
I drag my feet towards the union office. There are a few things the union has to do before it closes shop so the union officers will have to decide and where else could we meet but in the union office which, unfortunately, happens to be located inside Zombie-land.
In the few short years I was a union officer, I bore witness to its exceptional transformation. From being an insular, factory-centered organization, it became more active in regional and national labor concerns (while still maintaining its independent nature). From being a traditional reactionary labor organization that threatens mass action for every perceived labor infraction, the union became mature enough to engage the management in constant dialogue and participative means in dispute resolution thus resulting in industrial peace and having no labor cases nor strike being filed at DOLE. From being dependent on members’ contribution, the union sought alternative means of fund-raising thus enabling it to offer additional services to the union (like memorial assistance) and at the same time raise its fund for the first time in its more than 20 year history to more than a million pesos. The union was also able to form a performance group that sang/performed in big rallies or intimate support mobilizations that lifted the sagging spirits of striking workers.
The union has to audit all its books, disburse the accumulated union funds to all the present members, and dispose of its assets. It was only a few months ago that the management approved the expansion and renovation of the union office. Now it is the union’s job to tear it all down. The union was given 15 days to vacate the premises.
The first two tasks: auditing the books and disbursement is a breeze. The union only had a few accounts and transactions. The photocopies of the passbooks and books of accounts were periodically posted at the union’s bulletin board.
On the disposal of the union assets, I balked at the suggestion that the union officers themselves be given the chance to buy the union office equipments. Some officers reasoned that they don’t have the time to gather the union members for a public auction like what I had suggested. And that even if we can contact some of them we do not have the contact numbers of all of them.
I shot down all their fallacious arguments. Not without small effort, I might add, for it takes an inordinate amount of skill to argue on the floor and, as you catch your breath, still maintain objectivity in writing the minutes of the meeting as it transpires.
It was familiar territory. I was the designated devil’s advocate of the union particularly when it comes to the union’s collective bargaining tactics. Usually, in protracted debates like this one, I am able to convince my closest allies to side with me---the key person being the union president. It was not unusual that my initial apprehensions or disagreement with a proposal becomes the union stand after an exhausting and detailed explanation on my part.
Nobody took my side. At the end of the day (after I have used every trick in the book including delaying the “division of the house”), it was me against everyone else. The union officers shall be allowed to buy the assets (i.e., computer, chairs and cabinets) of the union depending on the salvage price as determined by the audit officers themselves.
I grumbled but could not blame them. It was the union members who first turned their backs to the union officers.
Since the company declared closure, I watched helplessly as the values I hold as a worker, a labor leader, a unionist, all seem to crumble beneath my feet.
Everybody are zombies now. Everyone looks out for number one.
==========================================================
It was supposed to be a night of thanksgiving.
It was the night when the union will gather all its members in one place to reminisce about the good old times. It was a night for happy moments of remembrances of past union leaders and unforgettable struggles. But it was also the night when the disbursement of the union funds were to happen and as one might expect, that part made rent the other parts asunder.
I picked out a most auspicious place. A turn-of-the-century bahay-na-bato that is a favorite wedding reception venue in Marikina. I used my cooperative network contacts to secure the place for a song. A sumptuous buffet table was laid out, with candle lights for every table, even a karaoke machine at the side.
The union president requested that I become the master of ceremonies right before the ceremonies started. At first, I was hesitant but since nobody among the union officers are willing to stand up and address the crowd, I quixotically agreed . The union president co-hosted the event.
The union president and vice-president recalled the history of the union, paying respect to all the past union leaders, even Mr. Sleaze-bag. But of course, Mr. Sleaze-bag wouldn’t have any of it and wanted to have the last say so he grabbed a microphone and basically told the audience that we were all crooks and we divided all the union assets among ourselves.
This didn’t sit well with the other union officers and a shouting match ensued. Soon other union members and officers joined both sides of the fray and I was caught in the middle. As a dutiful union officer, I have to stand by the decision of the majority. I could not even say that I didn’t take part in it.
My more pressing concern was to regain order in the proceedings and to keep the hotheads at bay---one of which happens to be my co-host. As the evening dragged on, it became apparent that Mr. Sleaze-bag orchestrated the whole attack; even the sequence of speeches of the agitators. It was a trap ostensibly to fight for the rights of the members but in reality designed to malign the current union officers en masse.
In the end, I prevailed upon the union members to accept their fair share according to the union’s explanation.
Mr. Sleaze-bag was one of the first to accept his share. By painting us as the evil culprits, he was at last able to divert attention away from the shady dealings he had at the past. In short, he laughed all the way to the bank.
No thanks came the way of the union, only recriminations as if the union officers had not done anything in the past but the reprehensible bidding of union assets.
Still, I held my head high and thanked everyone for coming, shaking their hands as they leave. One member says that it was a good thing, the two of us---including Mr. C, a union officer---did not take part in the union assets fiasco; that we objected and stood by our principles. But it would have been better, I thought, had Mr. C. actually expressed his objection during the debate and not kept his decision to himself. I just smiled; a pained approximation of a smile.
I tried to drown some of my sorrows later that night in a couple of beer bottles but I found the attempt quite unsuccessful.
The newly-assigned guards made us sign on logbooks, surrender an ID and wear an ID card that says “GUEST” on it, without even a glance up. For ten years, I saw that place like a home, a stomping ground. And suddenly, I was being treated as a “guest”. Funny, but such treatment never made me really feel like one.
I drag my feet towards the union office. There are a few things the union has to do before it closes shop so the union officers will have to decide and where else could we meet but in the union office which, unfortunately, happens to be located inside Zombie-land.
In the few short years I was a union officer, I bore witness to its exceptional transformation. From being an insular, factory-centered organization, it became more active in regional and national labor concerns (while still maintaining its independent nature). From being a traditional reactionary labor organization that threatens mass action for every perceived labor infraction, the union became mature enough to engage the management in constant dialogue and participative means in dispute resolution thus resulting in industrial peace and having no labor cases nor strike being filed at DOLE. From being dependent on members’ contribution, the union sought alternative means of fund-raising thus enabling it to offer additional services to the union (like memorial assistance) and at the same time raise its fund for the first time in its more than 20 year history to more than a million pesos. The union was also able to form a performance group that sang/performed in big rallies or intimate support mobilizations that lifted the sagging spirits of striking workers.
The union has to audit all its books, disburse the accumulated union funds to all the present members, and dispose of its assets. It was only a few months ago that the management approved the expansion and renovation of the union office. Now it is the union’s job to tear it all down. The union was given 15 days to vacate the premises.
The first two tasks: auditing the books and disbursement is a breeze. The union only had a few accounts and transactions. The photocopies of the passbooks and books of accounts were periodically posted at the union’s bulletin board.
On the disposal of the union assets, I balked at the suggestion that the union officers themselves be given the chance to buy the union office equipments. Some officers reasoned that they don’t have the time to gather the union members for a public auction like what I had suggested. And that even if we can contact some of them we do not have the contact numbers of all of them.
I shot down all their fallacious arguments. Not without small effort, I might add, for it takes an inordinate amount of skill to argue on the floor and, as you catch your breath, still maintain objectivity in writing the minutes of the meeting as it transpires.
It was familiar territory. I was the designated devil’s advocate of the union particularly when it comes to the union’s collective bargaining tactics. Usually, in protracted debates like this one, I am able to convince my closest allies to side with me---the key person being the union president. It was not unusual that my initial apprehensions or disagreement with a proposal becomes the union stand after an exhausting and detailed explanation on my part.
Nobody took my side. At the end of the day (after I have used every trick in the book including delaying the “division of the house”), it was me against everyone else. The union officers shall be allowed to buy the assets (i.e., computer, chairs and cabinets) of the union depending on the salvage price as determined by the audit officers themselves.
I grumbled but could not blame them. It was the union members who first turned their backs to the union officers.
Since the company declared closure, I watched helplessly as the values I hold as a worker, a labor leader, a unionist, all seem to crumble beneath my feet.
Everybody are zombies now. Everyone looks out for number one.
==========================================================
It was supposed to be a night of thanksgiving.
It was the night when the union will gather all its members in one place to reminisce about the good old times. It was a night for happy moments of remembrances of past union leaders and unforgettable struggles. But it was also the night when the disbursement of the union funds were to happen and as one might expect, that part made rent the other parts asunder.
I picked out a most auspicious place. A turn-of-the-century bahay-na-bato that is a favorite wedding reception venue in Marikina. I used my cooperative network contacts to secure the place for a song. A sumptuous buffet table was laid out, with candle lights for every table, even a karaoke machine at the side.
The union president requested that I become the master of ceremonies right before the ceremonies started. At first, I was hesitant but since nobody among the union officers are willing to stand up and address the crowd, I quixotically agreed . The union president co-hosted the event.
The union president and vice-president recalled the history of the union, paying respect to all the past union leaders, even Mr. Sleaze-bag. But of course, Mr. Sleaze-bag wouldn’t have any of it and wanted to have the last say so he grabbed a microphone and basically told the audience that we were all crooks and we divided all the union assets among ourselves.
This didn’t sit well with the other union officers and a shouting match ensued. Soon other union members and officers joined both sides of the fray and I was caught in the middle. As a dutiful union officer, I have to stand by the decision of the majority. I could not even say that I didn’t take part in it.
My more pressing concern was to regain order in the proceedings and to keep the hotheads at bay---one of which happens to be my co-host. As the evening dragged on, it became apparent that Mr. Sleaze-bag orchestrated the whole attack; even the sequence of speeches of the agitators. It was a trap ostensibly to fight for the rights of the members but in reality designed to malign the current union officers en masse.
In the end, I prevailed upon the union members to accept their fair share according to the union’s explanation.
Mr. Sleaze-bag was one of the first to accept his share. By painting us as the evil culprits, he was at last able to divert attention away from the shady dealings he had at the past. In short, he laughed all the way to the bank.
No thanks came the way of the union, only recriminations as if the union officers had not done anything in the past but the reprehensible bidding of union assets.
Still, I held my head high and thanked everyone for coming, shaking their hands as they leave. One member says that it was a good thing, the two of us---including Mr. C, a union officer---did not take part in the union assets fiasco; that we objected and stood by our principles. But it would have been better, I thought, had Mr. C. actually expressed his objection during the debate and not kept his decision to himself. I just smiled; a pained approximation of a smile.
I tried to drown some of my sorrows later that night in a couple of beer bottles but I found the attempt quite unsuccessful.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Filmore Dalisay (1962 - 2009)
Filmore Dalisay, former chairperson of the PLDT Employees Credit Cooperative, director of the Metro South Cooperative Bank, and chairperson of the United Cooperative Movement (UCM), passed away early this month due to lung cancer. He was 46.
He was coop leader who lived by his principles.
When the Cooperative Development Authority tried to shove the iniquitous Memorandum of Rules and Regulations for Savings and Credit Cooperatives (MORR) down the collective throats of cooperatives nationwide despite having no solid legislative foundation, he was among the first to stand up against it. When UCM organized a Metro-manila-wide mobilization against MORR, he convinced me to emcee the event. I told him, I don’t speak at rallies. “I was a unionist”, he insisted. I can do it. In other words, he left me with no other choice.
He stood up for the rights of the cooperative movement. This is how I choose to remember him. The fight will go on. He left us no choice but to fight.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Bubog in the Inquirer
There are times you realize you have finally crossed the Rubicon. Although I have been busy with a thousand little things for the past few months, I am quite certain one thing will happen: BUBOG: The Horror Anthology WILL be published.
Even Mr. Gilbert Monsanto announced it to the world---to the Philippine Daily Inquirer, in fact. Although I wasn't able to secure a copy because it was shown on the same day the test results for the nurses' exam were released, and thus, the copies of the broadsheets sold out pretty quickly. But take a look at the last part where he mentioned our comix. Hmm, now I got to move my lazy ass to make that a reality.
here's the link to the article
Even Mr. Gilbert Monsanto announced it to the world---to the Philippine Daily Inquirer, in fact. Although I wasn't able to secure a copy because it was shown on the same day the test results for the nurses' exam were released, and thus, the copies of the broadsheets sold out pretty quickly. But take a look at the last part where he mentioned our comix. Hmm, now I got to move my lazy ass to make that a reality.
Make way for the Bayan Knights!
By Ruel S. De Vera
Philippine Daily Inquirer
Last updated 19:22:00 02/20/2009
LIKE any epic tale, this story begins with a secret—a secret stash, that is.
When Gilbert Monsanto was young, his older brother George kept those prismatic treasures—comic books—hidden away.
“Which is actually a good thing because it made me more curious about comics,” Monsanto explains. George taught him how to draw, giving Monsanto a piece of advice he never forgot: “Drawing is about dots and spaces.”
Those dots and spaces came into play early as Monsanto actually got his work published in second year high school, a superhero tale he created with George called “Midgard” for the weekly title For Children Only. “But after just two outings, I decided to stop since I was still just too young, at 16, to seriously think about work,” he says.
In time, Monsanto would work in komiks like Super Fantasy Komiks, lend his art to covers for Psicom’s Philippine Ghost Stories and oversee the art chores for Mango Comics’ Darna revival.
He also worked behind the scenes for foreign comic titles. He self-published titles such as “Exodus: Revelations” and, recently, rolled out his most ambitious project yet through his Sacred Mountain Publications.
Monsanto, 36, has been toying with the title “Bayan Knights” for a while. Coming home from San Diego Comicon last year, Monsanto was on Deviantart.com when he noticed that someone wanted to create a Filipino superhero database.
Reading the entries, he realized this was what he was seeking.
“I actually said to myself, only if there’s a publisher who would have faith in these characters and give these creators a chance to get their stories out there.”
He invited the creators to join him and formed a team of Pinoy superheroes called the Bayan Knights, the focal point of a comic book series that took three months to construct.
Quarterly
Its second issue out soon, “Bayan Knights” is a quarterly series at P60 an issue, about a group led by Monsanto’s own creation, the former cop Sarhento Sagrado who has lost all his brave men.
“He realized he can’t trust anyone at this point, not even the government,” Monsanto explains. “His last hope is to seek aid from a different kind of hero—superheroes.”
Enter the Bayan Knights. “I placed them all in a single scenario or threat that anyone of them can relate to—their extinction. Their purpose in life, to be heroes, is suddenly being challenged. As Bayan Knights, they might stand a chance to get through this alive.”
From Manila Man and Luzviminda to Maskarado and Boy Ipis, it is clear these are Filipino heroes in a team unlike any other.
“It is all about character,” says Monsanto. “Anyone of us can don a superman costume or wear imported clothing, but when we speak, we are Pinoy to the core.”
The jokes and the dialogue—a mixture of English and Filipino—are authentically Pinoy as well. There are the ingenious, myth-based concepts of the Barong Tagalog as armor, the cockroach as terror bug, even a flying banana leaf. “If you look closely, you’ll find yourself in each of these characters, diverse and full of color.”
Flagship
“Bayan Knights” is the flagship in the expansion of the Sacred Mountain line, including the horror anthology Bubog and perhaps even individual Bayan Knights titles. But for Monsanto, it is the first strike in his own knight’s quest, where he seeks to empower a new pantheon of young Filipino creative powers.
“They (the respective creators) get to keep the rights to their original characters and create their own titles without hindrances,” he says. “I hope by giving them the right help, they’ll turn into the next generation of comics makers who will usher new readers into the future of comics entertainment in our country.”
“Bayan Knights” is available at National Book Store, Comic Odyssey and Comic Quest. For more information, visit http://bayanknights.blogspot.com.
here's the link to the article
The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
This video of Dr. Randy Pausch has re-ignited my desire to pursue my childhood dreams---chief among them is to publish my own comix(yet again).
There are a lot of frustrations,true. A lot of brick walls that keep us from pursuing our dreams. But as Prof. Pausch says:
There are a lot of frustrations,true. A lot of brick walls that keep us from pursuing our dreams. But as Prof. Pausch says:
The brick walls that are in our way are there for a reason: they are not there to keep us out. They are there to give us a way to show how much we want it.
Gary Granada Songwriting 102 & 103
Matapos kong marinig ang protesta ni Ginoong Granada sa net, ipinaskil ko ang MP3 niya sa blog na ito at pinadalhan ko siya ng sulat bilang suporta. Bunsod nito, regular na akong pinadadalhan ni G. Granada ng mga 'update' ukol sa kaso. Pakinggan po natin ang binansagan niyang Songwriting 102 at 103.
FREE LESSONS IN SONGWRITING
Dear friends,
Mas marami pa yata ang nakinig dun sa mp3 na "Gary Granada vs GMA Kapuso" kaysa lahat ng taong bumili ng kanta ko sa buong 30 years ko sa music industry hehe. Kaya bilang pasasalamat sa inyong suporta, gumawa ako ng dalawa pang karugtong nun, at para na rin mas liwanagin kung ano ba talaga ang totoong nangyari.
Songwriting 102: Tungkol sa Isang Salita 4:38
Songwriting 103: Tungkol sa Isang Linya 5:51
As you listen to these recordings, please bear in mind that GMA Network insists that the only thing I can claim I (and I alone) did was change one word. Pinalitan lang yung salitang "pagpupursige" ng "pagpupunyagi".
Maiikli lang ang mga ito kaya tiyagain nyo nang pakinggan. Palagay ko rin makakatulong ang mga ito sa mga gustong matutong mag compose. Magandang learning aid din siguro sa mga klase sa literature, creative writing, music and even arithmetic. Wala rin po sigurong subject na ganito sa law school, kaya I dedicate these recordings to all my lawyer friends.
Enjoy!
(at pakipasa na rin pag nag-enjoy nga kayo)
Gary Granada
Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines - (3 versions?)
by Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, "The night is shattered and the blue stars shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all.
In the distance someone is singing.
In the distance
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's.
She will be another's.
Like my kisses before.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
(Ang susunod na salin ay buhat, palagay ko, kay Rio Alma.)
Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalungkot na berso ngayong gabi.
Maisusulat ko, halimbawa: “Mabituin ang gabi
At nanginginig, bughaw ang mga tala sa malayo.”
Lumiligid sa langit ang simoy-gabi at umaawit.
Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalungkot na berso ngayong gabi.
Minahal ko siya, at minahal din niya ako paminsan-minsan.
Sa mga gabing ganito, ibinilanggo ko siya sa aking mga bisig
Ulit-ulit ko siyang hinagkan sa lilim ng walang hanggang langit.
Minahal din niya ako, paminsan-minsan ko rin siyang minahal.
Sino ang hindi iibig sa kanyang mga matang malaki’t tahimik?
Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalungkot na berso ngayong gabi.
Maiisip kasing hindi na siya akin. Madaramang wala na siya sa akin.
Maririnig ang gabing malawak, at mas lumalawak kung wala siya
At pumapatak sa kaluluwa ang bersong tila hamog sa pastulan.
Ano naman kung hindi mabantayan ng aking pag-ibig.
Mabituin ang gabi at hindi siya kapiling.
Ito na ang lahat. May umaawit sa malayo. Sa malayo.
Hindi mapanatag ang kaluluwa ko pagkawala niya.
Upang waring ilapit siya, hinahanap siya ng aking mata.
Hinahanap waring ilapit siya ng aking puso, at hindi siya kapiling.
Ganito rin ang gabing nagpupusyaw sa ganito ring mga punongkahoy.
Kami, sa tagpong iyon, ang nagbabago.
Hindi ko na siya mahal, natitiyak ko, ngunit minahal ko siya nang todo.
Hinahanap ng tinig ko ang simoy upang hipuin ang kanyang pandinig.
Nasa iba. Siya’y nasa iba. Tulad noong katalik siya ng aking mga halik.
Ang kanyang tinig, malinaw na katawan. Ang kanyang matang walang hanggan.
Hindi ko siya mahal, natitiyak ko, ngunit baka mahal ko siya.
Napakaikli ng pag-ibig, napakahaba ng paglimot.
Dahil sa mga gabing ganito na ibinilanggo ko siya sa aking mga bisig.
Hindi mapanatag ang kaluluwa ko pagkawala niya.
Kahit ito na ang huling pighating ipapataw niya sa akin,
At ito ang huling mga bersong isusulat ko para sa kanya.
KAYA KONG MAGBITIW NG BITTER WORDS
Mark Angeles
Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Mag-scribble-skribulan halimbawa: "Ang gabi ay pilantod
at nangangalantutay, bugbog-sarado, ang mga bituin sa malayo.
Paruo't parito ang hangin at ngumangawang parang baka.
Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Labs ko sya, at minsan daw labs nya rin ako.
Sa mga gabing tulad nito, nilalamas ko sya sa aking kandungan.
Nilalaplap ko sya sa silong ng marvelous na kalangitan.
Labs nya ko, at minsan labs ko rin sya.
Panong di ko mamahalin ang malalaki't bilugan nyang mga mata--
parang pugita?
Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Imagine kong wala sya sakin. Ma-feel kong na-lost ko na sya.
Mapakinggan ko ang gabing OA, mas lalong OA dahil wala sya.
At ang talinhaga ay dumidila sa malay tulad ng hamog sa talahib.
Ano pa bang meron dyan, Ineng, kung hindi sya mapapasaakin?
Period. Sa malayo, may ngumangawa. Sa malayo.
Aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala nya.
At para bagang nandyan lang sya sa tabi-tabi, hinahanap ko pa sya.
Hinahanap sya ng puso ko, kapag wala sya sa tabi ko.
Ang gabi ring ito'y nagkukulapol ng dirty white sa mga troso.
Hindi na kami ang dating kaming kami.
Hindi ko na sya labs, pramis, pero labs na labs ko sya dati.
Hinahagilap ng hininga ko ang hangin para bugahan sya.
Nilalaplap na sya ng iba, tulad ng paglaplap ko sa kanya.
Ang boses nya, ang seksi nyang wankata, ang for layp nyang mga mata.
Hindi ko na sya labs, pramis, pero medyo labidabs ko pa rin sya.
Maigsi lang ang lablayp ko pero ang makalimot,
sangkatutak na 50 golden years ang inaabot.
Dahil sa mga gabing ganito nilalamas ko sya sa aking kandungan,
Aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala nya.
Kahit ito na ang last chance ko para magmaasim
at ito na rin ang huling chuminess ko sa kanya.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sad Days (part 1): Lawful Demise
I have pretty much hit rock-bottom the last couple of months starting when I was fired from work.
Actually, it wasn’t just me whose employment was terminated: it was everyone else’s. The Japanese owners of the factory where I work decided that it wasn’t worth saving the Philippine manufacturing plant considering the downturn in the US economy---our main customer---whose consumer demand constitutes about 80% of our monthly exports.
The truth is, it’s not really me I’m worried about. I’m fairly young, sharp, and have re-tooled my skills by going back to school while working full time. There’s a considerable chance I can find employment elsewhere. I’m more worried about my co-workers. Many of them are too old to be considered for gainful employment and most have not honed any marketable skills aside from the factory work they have mastered through the years. As I listened to the spontaneous wails and cries of disbelief as the announcement was being made, I came to realize something which I may have known for years but nevertheless have taken for granted: these people meant more than mere co-workers to me.
They were my family.
Maybe that was the reason why I refused to leave the company (with its pittance pay which I get every week that I have derisively referred to as my “allowance”) even if other employment opportunities abound---like those ubiquitous call centers.
“Anak (son), what will I do,” asks a middle-aged woman. She calls me anak because I happen to be a name-sake of her son. “Don’t you worry, ‘Nay (mom), everything will turn out for the better,” I assured her, not really knowing what I mean. Another woman sidles up to me, tears welling in her eyes and says: “Arnel, both me and my husband work here. What will happen to our children?” Her voice broke and I could not do anything but hug her.
She was, after all, my mother, too.
I may be an orphan but under the roof of my own little factory I have found many mothers and fathers. It took a single day for the company to spring the unwelcome surprise. To bid us all---mothers, fathers, sons, daughters---goodbye and good riddance. The vice-president says they commissioned a third party to compute the severance pay and we could get them on that same day. A battery of lawyers, accountants and Department of Labor representatives suddenly swooped down from nowhere to bear witness to the “lawful demise” of the factory. Don’t worry, we were assured, we can still come back the next day to get our things.
After the announcement, I approached the mic and told the assembly: “Hold your heads high, as you go out of this place. You are workers with dignity, and we have worked for years in this place with grace and dignity.” As a union officer, I also appealed for them not to take the severance pay on that same day. The union will have to meet to plan the next move and we have to remain united in the next collective course of action.
The former union president stood up to declare he’s going to be the first to get “his money” and that I was in no position to tell anyone not to get the money due them. If I were you, he says, I’d get the money since the factory is closing anyway, and the offer may not stand for long.
Everyone knew the real color of that sleaze-bag and that is why he was repeatedly rebuffed during the local elections. But on that day, the people chose to follow him.
As I watched my friends and colleagues, form a queue to get their severance pay, I felt as though a thousand daggers have pierced my heart. I felt numb. Like being orphaned a hundred times over.
It was a sad, sad, sad day for me.
==========================================
The next day, the company allowed us to retrieve our personal belongings. What I took liberally were pictures, instead. Like a madman, I took pictures of every nook and cranny. I was trying to freeze-frame my decade-long memory of the place. The factory, like Willy Wonka’s, had been a special place for me, too.
I took shot after shot even under a light drizzle---something I got to rue later because it ruined the digital camera.
Meanwhile, the rest of the union officers decided to capitulate. The company deviously included the salary for that week into the computation of the severance pay. And since we practically have no more money just before pay day, the check would really come in handy. “Look at it this way,” a fellow union officer opines, “at least the management paid up unlike other companies that closed shop”. Still, I was not convinced.
I was still hurting from the stab wounds I got yesterday.
Then the union president and vice-president talked to me. I, the union secretary, was the last hold-out. They told me it’s a war I can’t win. The people have already surrendered. I knew that, of course. I knew when to accept defeat but maybe, I just needed someone else to spell the same for me.
Finally, as I approach the severance pay counter, I can hear the Department of Labor vultures and their minions heave a sigh of relief as they patted themselves on the back ostensibly, for another job well done. After I signed the check, the Japanese president, sitting at the far end of the table, extended his hand to shake mine.
I turned my back and quickly walked away.
Actually, it wasn’t just me whose employment was terminated: it was everyone else’s. The Japanese owners of the factory where I work decided that it wasn’t worth saving the Philippine manufacturing plant considering the downturn in the US economy---our main customer---whose consumer demand constitutes about 80% of our monthly exports.
The truth is, it’s not really me I’m worried about. I’m fairly young, sharp, and have re-tooled my skills by going back to school while working full time. There’s a considerable chance I can find employment elsewhere. I’m more worried about my co-workers. Many of them are too old to be considered for gainful employment and most have not honed any marketable skills aside from the factory work they have mastered through the years. As I listened to the spontaneous wails and cries of disbelief as the announcement was being made, I came to realize something which I may have known for years but nevertheless have taken for granted: these people meant more than mere co-workers to me.
They were my family.
Maybe that was the reason why I refused to leave the company (with its pittance pay which I get every week that I have derisively referred to as my “allowance”) even if other employment opportunities abound---like those ubiquitous call centers.
“Anak (son), what will I do,” asks a middle-aged woman. She calls me anak because I happen to be a name-sake of her son. “Don’t you worry, ‘Nay (mom), everything will turn out for the better,” I assured her, not really knowing what I mean. Another woman sidles up to me, tears welling in her eyes and says: “Arnel, both me and my husband work here. What will happen to our children?” Her voice broke and I could not do anything but hug her.
She was, after all, my mother, too.
I may be an orphan but under the roof of my own little factory I have found many mothers and fathers. It took a single day for the company to spring the unwelcome surprise. To bid us all---mothers, fathers, sons, daughters---goodbye and good riddance. The vice-president says they commissioned a third party to compute the severance pay and we could get them on that same day. A battery of lawyers, accountants and Department of Labor representatives suddenly swooped down from nowhere to bear witness to the “lawful demise” of the factory. Don’t worry, we were assured, we can still come back the next day to get our things.
After the announcement, I approached the mic and told the assembly: “Hold your heads high, as you go out of this place. You are workers with dignity, and we have worked for years in this place with grace and dignity.” As a union officer, I also appealed for them not to take the severance pay on that same day. The union will have to meet to plan the next move and we have to remain united in the next collective course of action.
The former union president stood up to declare he’s going to be the first to get “his money” and that I was in no position to tell anyone not to get the money due them. If I were you, he says, I’d get the money since the factory is closing anyway, and the offer may not stand for long.
Everyone knew the real color of that sleaze-bag and that is why he was repeatedly rebuffed during the local elections. But on that day, the people chose to follow him.
As I watched my friends and colleagues, form a queue to get their severance pay, I felt as though a thousand daggers have pierced my heart. I felt numb. Like being orphaned a hundred times over.
It was a sad, sad, sad day for me.
==========================================
The next day, the company allowed us to retrieve our personal belongings. What I took liberally were pictures, instead. Like a madman, I took pictures of every nook and cranny. I was trying to freeze-frame my decade-long memory of the place. The factory, like Willy Wonka’s, had been a special place for me, too.
I took shot after shot even under a light drizzle---something I got to rue later because it ruined the digital camera.
Meanwhile, the rest of the union officers decided to capitulate. The company deviously included the salary for that week into the computation of the severance pay. And since we practically have no more money just before pay day, the check would really come in handy. “Look at it this way,” a fellow union officer opines, “at least the management paid up unlike other companies that closed shop”. Still, I was not convinced.
I was still hurting from the stab wounds I got yesterday.
Then the union president and vice-president talked to me. I, the union secretary, was the last hold-out. They told me it’s a war I can’t win. The people have already surrendered. I knew that, of course. I knew when to accept defeat but maybe, I just needed someone else to spell the same for me.
Finally, as I approach the severance pay counter, I can hear the Department of Labor vultures and their minions heave a sigh of relief as they patted themselves on the back ostensibly, for another job well done. After I signed the check, the Japanese president, sitting at the far end of the table, extended his hand to shake mine.
I turned my back and quickly walked away.
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