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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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
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