This is interesting. Quoting from my own article: “This is roughly the amount of time we were able to tolerate our enemies: Spain, 300 years; America, forever; Japan, no margin; China, forever; Marcos, 20 years, GMA, her entire term.” We will never be friends with Spain, but we will be BFF with America, especially with what’s happening now in Central Philippines. We may never go to war with China, well, because we’re part Chinese just as we are part American. But Japan, although we admire it, we will be “ilag” to it because it’s almost our exact opposite. It’s too disciplined for our own tastes, besides it doesn’t like us either. We’re too happy-go-lucky for its tastes. Marcos and GMA we both kicked out, one by street people power, the other by ballot people power. So, going back to PNoy. Why is it that we didn’t give a margin for PNoy’s mistakes? Why ask for his resignation (at least a small part led by Peachy, but since withdrawn) this early? Why the popularity slippage? About popularity, Mahar Mangahas explained that compared to other presidents, PNoy has the highest marks at comparable points of their terms, but no one seems to be listening. So go back, see where he fell. Ah, in terminology! He seemed to have lied about scrapping the pork, he said he did, but people didn’t believe him. That’s where he started to crumble. But Fr. Joaquin Bernas yesterday himself admitted that none of the funds in question lined PNoy’s pockets, perhaps he said that to modify his previous statement that PDAF is indeed unconstitutional per Supreme Court unanimous vote, but hey, let’s be easy on PNoy because after all he’s not a thief. There. So where did “Pork Barrel King” come from?  For that matter where is “who’s in charge here?” referencing Yolanda aftermath coming from? Is it possible that the left (Bayan) and the new activists led by Peachy Rallonza Bretana were either used by Enrile and his cohorts, or did they misinterpret the million people marchers as being anti-PNoy? She’s now saying that the Luneta pasyalan of August 26 wasn’t anti-PNoy, but wait, on the ground, I felt a shepherding towards anti-yellow army (wear white) and politicians keep off (including the one who created the right environment for COA to pursue its 2004-2008 PDAF audit, yes, si PNoy po ‘yun). In fact, a Vera Files reporter who interviewed me asked what I was doing there when I told her that I was yellow army.  So all I’m saying is that the no-margin, show no mercy for PNoy is artificial, uncharacteristic of the people’s history for justice and freedom. A people so pacifistic, so forgiving, so patient as to give Erap and the Marcoses (and yes, GMA in her home province) another chance is willing to give PNoy only a couple of months to shape up, this after gigantic economic and political strides, not to mention stellar political genealogy? Don’t be swayed, people. Somebody cunning, somebody who’s a somebody, somebody who has a track record of playing us, somebody who can change his side of the story depending on the political environment is behind all this. Don’t be fooled. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. We may be patient, but we’re never tanga, or naive. But please give the President some space. He’s trying his darndest. Tayo naman. Tayo naman ang magpalit ng style. Tama na, sobra na. Hwag magpagago.

Can we stop hitting PNoy below the belt?

Uminit ang ulo nang makita ko yung isang comment, hindi daw PNoy, BNoy daw, Bading Noynoy. I mean.

Look if there’s one thing I am thankful for PNoy, it’s that he saved us from Erap II. Stop and think, how would Erap handle the Yolanda aftermath, with lots of photo ops, I’m sure, lots of sound and fury, signifying nothing, because he will drink Johnny Walker Blue in a tent in Tacloban. And appear nonchalant with his several wives. A military officer told me that the first time Erap as President set foot in Corregidor, he didn’t set foot on it to honor the valiant defenders of the USAFFE, he stayed in the presidential yacht, playing mah-jong all night long.

And there’s a new thing we should be thankful for, and proud of our President, it’s the Supreme Court’s 14-0 vote against PDAF. Think this would have been possible in a GMA presidency? Fourteen to zero is as close as we can get to heavenly governance, exactly what PNoy had in mind when he batted for Corona’s impeachment.

I also have a personal issue with the President. Straight to the point: I have no respect for people who smoke in the face of a preponderance of medical research on the harmful effects of smoking, which emit carbon monoxide, found in car exhaust fumes, in addition:

Acetone – found in nail polish remover
Acetic Acid – an ingredient in hair dye
Ammonia – a common household cleaner
Arsenic – used in rat poison
Benzene – found in rubber cement
Butane – used in lighter fluid
Cadmium – active component in battery acid
Formaldehyde – embalming fluid
Hexamine – found in barbecue lighter fluid
Lead – used in batteries
Napthalene – an ingredient in moth balls
Methanol – a main component in rocket fuel
Nicotine – used as insecticide
Tar – material for paving roads
Toluene – used to manufacture paint

Source: http://www.lung.org/associations/states/colorado/tobacco/

Being a former smoker, and now a health and fitness advocate, I cannot imagine a person who cannot control his addiction to the loathsome habit presiding over a country of 100 million ungovernable souls.

If only for that, I would not have given PNoy a second look.

But in 2010, we had to put up someone for candidacy who could be elected. It was only PNoy, and we were right. First he trounced front runner and tv commercial savvy Manny Villar, and in the vote, he overwhelmed Erap convincingly. I couldn’t imagine why people would vote for a convict, pardoned, yes, but convicted of a crime nevertheless, but welcome to the Philippines.

Well, that’s how it is in our blessed country. We don’t vote with our minds. We vote with our hearts, being a forgiving and forgetful people we recycle politicians who have done us harm in the past but look remorseful and kawawa naman, mabait naman, sige na nga.

This is roughly the amount of time we were able to tolerate our enemies: Spain, 300 years; America, forever; Japan, no margin; China, forever; Marcos, 20 years, GMA, her entire term. If PNoy bashers are right, he went wrong with DAP, kulang-kulang two months. PNoy was the first president to move our country to investment-grade, the first president to register successive GDP in the 7% region, the first president to have kicked out an arrogant chief justice left as a booby trap by the previous occupant, the first president to have a Supreme Court who is unafraid to say no to him. And Peachy Rallonza Bretana thought he should resign already?

Look, comment or criticize him for all I care, but could you please be respectful? What this country needs is respect for each other. I was as anti-Marcos as the next guy but I don’t recall calling him names aside from Marcos-Hitler-Diktador-Tuta. We are pulling out all stops in being harsh to our President nowadays, at least in social media. PNoy is working out of his box, are you? You can at least try to be kind in your disagreement.

I will gush.

Our bunso Maud and I jogged around Rizal Park in Manila this morning at around 8:30. It was overcast, and I was amazed by Maud’s stamina. But that is just part of what I will gush about.

In the sixties, Manila was just Manila. There was very little of Makati, Quezon City, Caloocan, almost none of Muntinlupa, Parañaque and Las Piñas. There were no malls, no internet, no gadgets. When people wanted to savor life in the early morning, at night or in the weekends, they would usually go to Luneta, what is now known as Rizal Park. Years later, despite government’s efforts to regain its glory, Luneta fell apart. No one talked about it anymore.

When I visited Bangkok in the early 2000s, I marveled at Lumphini Park, a place dedicated to joggers and other fitness enthusiasts. When I saw it at the break of dawn, it was wall-to-wall runners. The roadways were filled with people, cars were kept at a safe distance. There were pagodas, a lagoon, gigantic shade trees like the arms of God embracing man, woman and child who gathered to delight in the breath of life in exercise. I said we will never have something like that place. I was wrong. When I jogged with Maud this morning in Luneta, I found my Lumphini in Manila. From the Quirino grandstand to the Philippine map beside Taft Avenue, the park was clean and beautiful. Move over Lumphini. I read that Rizal Park was being refurbished, little did I know that it would end up as one of the most satisfying places I would ever see.

I was in high spirits throughout the jog. “Ang ganda ng Pilipinas!” I said to caretakers, photographers, strollers while greeting them good morning. Of course they thought I was mad. When I saw a young couple toting a baby, I told them, “Look, I’m jogging with my daughter already!” And when Maud and I passed the Rizal monument, I cried out, “Dr. Rizal! The Filipino is worth dying for!” I saw the guards stand at attention with more conviction.

So there. Here’s a Filipino who has never left the country even if he had a chance to go and live in Canada. Here’s a Filipino who has attended almost every mass action to fight transgressions, from the burial march of Ninoy Aquino to the confetti rallies in the Makati central business district to the two EDSAs to the wake of Cory Aquino to the anti-pork barrel million people march in Luneta two weeks ago, a bit disgruntled by our politics. But I know that we will not only survive, we will prosper in this beautiful country of ours because we love beauty, we love life, love trees, grass, the breath of life.

An addendum: the Philippines ended up in number 67th in the list of happiest people. The metrics used included a corruption-free government, presence of social services, among other things. Of course we will end up somewhere last. But if the metric were changed to: “Are you happy in spite of external forces such as inefficient government and lack of social benefits? Are you happy just being with family and friends, enjoying your country in spite of those who would rob it blind, even if you seem powerless to stop the greed of public servants?” I’m sure the Philippines will end up in the top ten, even on top.

We are a happy country. Perhaps too happy, to the delight of sociopathic* leaders because we have a short memory, we forgive easily, we vote on the basis of winnability not ideals or potential, but that is another story. Today I will gush, for I have something to gush about: our family’s togetherness, our common love for health, fitness and dogs, our fulfillment in our careers, the beauty of our country, God’s love for us. I will gush.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antisocial_personality_disorder

 
I kept thinking during the Million People March to Luneta last Sunday: “If these same people who are so aghast and raving mad right now at the misuse of the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) get into power by election or appointment, will they be able to get their hands clean?”

I wasn’t.

When I was assigned a vehicle in my stint with the Philippine Information Agency in 1986, my outlook changed. I considered it my own, something I had earned. When my superiors wanted to have my vehicle—because it was fresh—I reacted with imagined hurt.

The nerve of that guy.

I was more than an activist, and up this point in my life, I remain one. I think I will always require idealism, not from others, but in myself, that I will not present anything less than the ideal. But there you have it, a realization, that when power, big or small, ever gets into our hands, we will not let go, no sir. It is human instinct.

Who was it who said that if all men were angels, there would be no need for government? Paraphrasing it to fit in today’s PDAF world, if all leaders were angels, there would be no need for a million marchers. But there will always be corrupt ones, as there will always be idealists. Sometimes their roles change, such as what happened to the impeached and unlamented Chief Justice Renato Corona. He thought it was his time to come out, after all, the rally was anti-PNoy.  He was wrong. Booed after sharing his thoughts, he had to leave the rally area completely humiliated.

But as I said, would the people who booed or shouted invectives be idealists if they were in the former Chief Justice’s shoes? I doubt it. I doubt it because of personal experience. There no saints in the face of wealth, convenience (such as my powerful vehicle, a Toyota Land Cruiser model 1985 or so, standard issue in Greg Cendana’s National Media Production Center).

I’m happy that the million marchers rally happened. It was timely.  But I’ve been in the business of rallying for a long time, enough for me to say that we are all weak, we are all sinners. And so when I shout with the multitude that the guilty ones should be punished, I’m really saying: “If ever I am caught doing the wrong thing, please punish me on earth, so that I can reform. I will consider it a favor if I am corrected, so that I will get a second chance to be good again.”

Such is life, roles will be reversed, the world is round, sooner or later the rich will be chastised, and the poor will be in power. I hope that we will be wise enough to know that we are all sinners anyway, and I hope that we will have time to repent.  Mass actions trigger these thoughts in me, thoughts about the frailty of man and woman, thoughts about the power we have to be good, and our weakness to stave temptation. I thank God that I knew I was wrong about my reaction when my service vehicle was pulled, I thank him for giving me another chance.

He was gay. He was gay in a land that valued manliness. He was gay in a fraternity known for bravery, known for valiant members such a Ninoy Aquino, my ka-batch Mer Arce, and oh yes, Ferdinand Marcos, fallen as he was, he commanded respect just by being an alpha dog.

He was gay but he wasn’t afraid to admit it, wasn’t afraid to flaunt it, wasn’t afraid to make it work for him. But he was a he. He was as manly as they came. “It’s a commitment,” he told me once, “and being committed is being male.”

Picked him up once in Alabang, where his group of marchers made up of farmers had rested for the night. Brought him to my house in Pilar Village, where he had a shower, and we ate monggo, meat and rice. You could talk to him. He was actually a regular guy, unlike his person when he directs, when he is full of fire and vitriol. It’s his passion, or one of his passions, to direct plays, and I was in one or two of them, “Macario Sakay” by Efren Yambot also an esteemed brother, our batch’s Tatang actually, for Efren was I.F. (Most Illustrious Fellow, head of resident brods) when batch ’70 was in initiation. Behn also directed me in a one-act play “Hello Out There,” where I played the one who was in jail, and my girlfriend then played my love interest. “Kiss her, (expletive deleted)!” he pleaded when I was too shy to kiss my girl on-stage. I had to do it, or he would have descended on me with hammer and tongs.

Yes, he was always in command. I was a provinciano from Naga, and when my brods would parade with pizzazz and panache, he was odd, being gay, but he was up front, he defined the fraternity I suppose, the brods loved him, he existed long before being gay was acceptable, he existed in his own world which he somehow made us accept, he was ahead by a half-century, that’s Behn for me.

As we battle with our modern demons, the pork barrel scandal, the floods brought about by climate change and changing minds (“Dynamite the squatters,” says the public works secretary, then “I didn’t say that”), Behn stands tall. He was gay, but he meant it.

Farewell, dear brother. When I meet you in the sun, I shall tell you much.

http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/470597/upsilonians-remember-brod-behn-cervantes

Endemic, meaning sa atin lang, indigenous, native. Endemic daw ang corruption natin. Tutuo naman.

Treysin natin ang puno’t dulo ng corruption:

Gwapo siya. Maganda magsalita. Maaring isa siyang artista, o dili kaya, anak siya ng kilalang tao sa lipunan. Maganda ang buhay. Maganda ang asawa. Malamang heterosexual, malamang magaling sa chikas, mukha talagang panalo.

Tumakbo para congressman, natural, nanalo. Wait, bago nanalo, inispoil na niya nga pala ang mga botante. Hindi lang siya madaling lapitan (translation: madaling hingan ng pera), tatawagan pa niya ang pulis o barangay kapag may problema ka, kaya lusot ka. Pag-araw ng eleksyon, heto na, P500 to P2,000 ang presyuhan, bumoto ka lang. ‘Di ka niya hihingan ng pruweba kung ibinoto mo siya o hindi, ang Pinoy kasi marunong tumanaw ng utang na loob, kaya sure na sure siya na siya nga ang binoto mo.

Nanalo. Umupo. Sikat.

Since naumpisahan na niya ang bad habits of a politician, ano pa nga ang gagawin niya kundi ipagpatuloy ang nakagawiaan, ang nakagisnan. So, imbes na ang nase-serve, eh, ang komunidad o ang bayan, ang nase-serve eh, yung interes ng botante na interes na rin ng hinalal na wala rin naman kung hindi dahil sa botante na wala rin namang matatakbuhan (translation: mahihingan ng pera) kundi ang naihalalal na ‘di na bale kung palpak, basta panalo lang ang botante kahit na mali naman ang direksiyon kasi nga I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of public service.  Ganyan ang simula, ganyan din magtatapos.

Kaawaawang bayan.

Ngayon ito ang tanong, sino ang mas corrupt, ang botante o ang elected official? Sino ang nagumpisa ng culture of I-Me-Mine, ang botante o ang naihalal? Sino ang puno’t dulo nitong kabalbalan na ito?

An example:

Nareklamuhan ang isang bank branch officer, naka-withdraw nang ‘di dapat ang Japayuking asawa ng isang Hapon. Tumawag ng pulis ng lungsod ang Hapon. Ano ang ginawa ng bank officer? Tumawag sa kaibigang nagtratrabaho sa Malacañang, mataas kasi ang posisyon ng kaibigan. Hindi natuloy ang pagdating ng mga pulis. Tumawag ang Malacañang sa hepe ng pulis, at siguro sinabi, “Hwag na po, tao namin yan,” parang ganun. Maganda naman, dahil nagtutulungan ang magkakaibigan. Pero kailan matatapos ang friendship at maguumpisa ang justice and fairness? Saan tatakbo ang walang impluwensyang tao?

Kaya sa ‘Pinas, hindi importante what you know, ang importante whom you know, ‘di ba?

Marami pang example. Yung naglalagay ng calling card ng heneral sa Driver’s License, at lalayo pa tayo, sa Maguindanao, 58 na katao ang pinatay dahil malakas ang leader ng probinsiya sa pinuno ng bayan.

Ngayon, Napoles. Bukas, sino? Kailan pa tayo matututo? Kailan pa natin maiintindihan na may role din tayo sa corruption, na pinalalaki natin ang ulo ng mga pinuno natin para may matatakbuhan tayo, para may backer tayo?

Endemic. Tayo lang naman ang taong ganito. Mag-aral kaya tayo kung papano umunlad ang ibang bayan. Tanggapin kaya natin na sa atin din naman naguumpisa ang corruption, dahil insecure tayo at ‘di makatatayong mag-isa, na magiging independent lang naman tayo sa politiko kung tama ang gagawin natin, that we follow the law and have nothing to fear? That we will work by the sweat of our brow without depending on the giveaways of politicians who will use us to perpetuate themselves in power.

Kailan pa?

I’d like to say I totally disagree with this article (below) but when I reflect on two things that happened to me today, perhaps the writer has a point.

First, at around 6:57 in the morning, Agee was driving and listening to 88.3. It was the program of Harry and Julz. Harry said that he had a pet peeve, that of motorists who do not let pedestrians cross even when they are already using the zebra crossings. I was relieved to know that it was not only I who noticed this. I have the same lament. So far so good, but Julz (or the woman on board at that time) responded, referring to pedestrians:

“But don’t take your bloody time when you are crossing.”

I swore at her, gave her the putang-ina. First of all bloody is still a swear word (consult google), and secondly, pedestrians are dreadfully afraid of crossing the streets and they won’t dilly-dally, so telling them to hurry up is added insult to injury.

To Julz or whoever you are: I pity you. If you’re a Filipina, I pity you more for imitating an American accent of sorts in spite of your identity. It diminishes you. If you’re an American woman, I pity you much, much more because you are a stranger here and you have no right to talk down to us.

Second, I was on Amorsolo street beside Makati Cinema at around 4:30pm, about to turn right to the Skyway. About five people from both sides of the street indicated that they wanted to cross the street from both sides. They were standing in front of zebra stripes. I slowed down. They cross. Just as a couple was about a fourth of the way through the pedestrian crossing, here comes a white Camry (I tried to memorize its plate number, it must be VEN 231) comes from my left side, zooms through the zebra, makes a sharp curve to the right missing the female by a couple of inches, as if he resented that he had to slow down or something like that. It was not only I who noticed it. The male noticed it, checked the female, looked at the Camry but what could he do?

It’s a good thing I don’t like guns.

So is this article right? I want to think that it’s exaggerated, but with what happened to me today, I sadly shake my head and say, “Today the writer is most probably right.”

The Death of Metro Manila
Posted on June 17, 2013 by hechoayer

Is Manila poor because it is ugly? Or is it ugly because it is poor?

Is it poor? Is it ugly?

It is no denying that the capital city of the Philippine archipelago is dying. It is one of the best examples of urban degeneration, one that is disintegrating at record speed. Despite the so-called economic boom the government and the middle class trumpet, the sad and disturbing reality is the capital of the Philippines represents the many contradictions and sad realities this society is facing.

Earlier today, thousands (oh, but Metro Manila has MILLIONS of residents) experienced awful traffic congestion due to flooding throughout the metropolis. For hours, tired students, professionals, workers and perhaps, tourists, were left helpless as the city’s major highways were left on standstill. There was an obvious and disappointing absence in terms of the presence of Policemen, traffic enforcers and members of the usually pesky Metro Manila Development Authority (MMDA). Drivers (and their passengers) were asked to be simply “patient”.

Metro Manila is dying, and it’s dying every day.

With what happened earlier, expect NO CHANGE whatsoever to take place. Both motorists and the government will not change. And this is perhaps the perfect equation for a city to die.

The tremendous volume of vehicles in Metro Manila is appalling, and it is an alarming signal of the values of the people. Thousands of Metro Manila (or Laguna, Cavite, Bulacan, or some nearby province) residents buy cars without (YES! WITHOUT!) considering their cars’ effects on the environment, traffic congestion or even urban plan. Many (NOT ALL, OKAY?!!) Filipinos, upon reaching a particular fortune, the first thing they do is buy a car. Brand new, second-hand, duty-free – whatever. Basta magka-kotse. Some car owners have two vehicles but do not have a single plot of land named to them. Some have four cars but do not have ample parking space for these!

The values of the Filipinos do not facilitate for a healthy urban plan.

First, there is the backward stigma on commuting. For Filipinos, a sign of wealth and prosperity is the car. Commuting is for the poor. Commuting is for losers. Commuting is scary. And to some degree, these are in fact, true. Government has to beef up and do something with regard to public safety in public transport. Congestion in MRT and LRT coaches are horrible, with some coaches not even equipped with functioning airconditioning.

Secondly, Filipinos just love appearances. We are afflicted with the disease of being an impressionable lot. A nice car can impress people, and so it is a necessary asset. We are so conscious of what other people might say that’s why we always buy the latest cars. We’re like the half-brothers of people from Los Angeles.

When we have cars, we want to be fetched by our drivers right at the footstep of the mall, school, hospital or church we are visiting. Who cares about the long queue of cars? I want to ride my car from where I am standing. I won’t walk to my car. The car must make its way to me… and I will ride my car at my own glacial pace.

Thirdly, there is the global disease that is materialism. The materialistic mind-set propels mall developers to continue destroying our cityscape and construct their mammoth developments. Look at SM Megamall. Not content with the chaos it has caused for decades, it is now constructing another horrendous edifice right smack along EDSA!

This materialistic mindset has spawned so many sins in our urban lives: the further subdividing of our cities, distinguishing places for the rich (and feeling rich) and the poor, the worsening pollution, envying one’s neighbor, why our wastage!

This condominium trend too spells the death of once genteel Manila. Are these high-rises all perfectly suited for our geographical needs, the Philippines being located at the Pacific Ring of Fire? And with the trauma the West continues to face due to its real estate crisis, is the Philippines fully-prepared for a possible bubble economy explosion? Are all the rooms in all the condos being built actually PAID?

And then, there is our frustrating government.

People spit anywhere, vendors put up their stalls on sidewalks and roads are not liberated. Our airports continue to employ inefficient staff and do not have airconditioning. Our cities continue to flood and billboards, obscene and pleasing, are everywhere. What are our local officials doing? And where is the national government’s interest in the genuine development of our capital? Where?

Metro Manila is dead. Its wide open avenidas are gone. Its tree-lined streets are nothing more but memories. Its people are so infatuated with the lives of celebrities and the latest gadgets that they forget to notice that their capital is dead. And the apathy of the educated and the elite is disturbing.

Compare Bangkok with Manila and you will find many contrasts amidst the similarity of traffic. They have a river that is utilized and their street foods, at the very least, look edible. The only “street foods” that look safe here are the ones being in MRT/LRT stations or in that UP parking lot. Have you visited our wet markets? Except for Marikina’s, as far as I know, wet markets can be really dim, smelly and well, yes, wet.

I do not know how we can list all of Metro Manila’s problems right now but I am telling you, Manila is facing a horrible end if people and the government do not change. Let us not forget that history tells us that “The Big One” is about to shake Metro Manila any moment now. How prepared our government is, we do not know. How prepared the people are, we also don’t know.

Basta you experienced earlier how our city’s main highways immobilized thousands upon thousands of persons. It gives you the perfect idea how Metro Manila will be when in a crisis hits.

Our city is dying, and nothing major will change. After Ondoy and Habagat, NOTHING has changed. Universities continue to allow thousands of cars to enter their premises. Schools almost encourage their students to cause traffic by allowing them to dismount their vehicles one-by-one at the door’s footsteps. Our heritage buildings are being sold and demolished. Our bay is dirty, our rivers are dead, our cities flood and the air we breathe is poisonous and toxic. There are so many street children and condominiums and malls are being built like mushrooms. Vehicles of all types daily exhaust the cityscape while obscene and materialistic billboards flourish in our ugly city. Metro Manila is dying.

Where is culture? Where is music? Where are our open spaces? Where are the scenic riverbanks? Where are the vistas of Laguna de Bay, of Manila Bay, of Sierra Madre, why, even of the Pasig? We have so many problems in urban planning and cultural preservation that we ought to impose drastic measures to rescue our city.

The state of the nation, while admittedly okay on the macro, is not okay on the micro, specifically with regards traffic management and anti-smoke belching drives.

Last week I complained to the woman in Window 10 of the Las Piñas branch of the Land Transportation Office. Since she was behind a glass window I had to talk loudly. I said why should we present proof of registration again when we have been cleared, and payment made, awaiting stickers, as per Official Receipt? I said why are the people being made to suffer, sweeping my hands—so that she understood—towards the long lines that have formed. I said I thought we were the bosses, so why are we being treated this way? I demanded to speak to an officer, and as I left the lines, this is what happened: the people in the lines and on the benches applauded!

I got my stickers simply by showing the O.R., as it should be. Question: isn’t it a no-brainer that all that’s needed is a copy of the O.R.? Why did I need to bring out sword and dudgeon for them to realize a simple thing that will make the lives of their bosses easier?

I was apprehended yesterday on EDSA by members of the Makati Pollution Control Office.

I could see that the apprehension was arbitrary. They flag down a suspect vehicle, it just speeds up to ignore them, and they do nothing. Besides if they were stopping vehicles why were there no buses which it is plain to see ignore the anti-smoke belching law with impunity? The apprehending officer comes up to Baby in the vehicle. Officer says, it’s really inconvenient if this happens, he’ll have to do this, do that. Wasn’t that a hint for bribery?

Result, this citizen has no peace, because there is no order in the streets. Why follow when you can just as easily escape sporadic enforcement? And if I become a rebel what good does it make? What’s the use of a good law when it will only penalize those who are meek enough to obey, but offers no benefit such as clean air because it is enforced unevenly? There are simply too many little despots lurking around, looking either for a quick buck, not building a country but deconstructing it instead for selfish ends.

So this is the state of this boss. Thank you, President Aquino, I can see that you are doing your job. But when we booted out bad rulers, little did we know then that the cloudburst of departed dictators and egregious thieves resulted in thousands of pakong bakya raining down on the bosses, numberless petty thieves that irk us with their unprofessionalism, asking directly or indirectly for money, unmindful of order which they are supposed to ensure.

Macro, passed but micro, fail.

This afternoon I dropped by the branch of Land Transportation Office in Las Piñas to check on my car stickers which should have been issued in April when it was my turn to register.

A long line snaked around Window 10 for the stickers. Someone said there’s a special lane for seniors, and I went to that window. I thought all I needed to show was the Official Receipt, but the teller said I needed to show her several items, and she didn’t bother to slow down so I could follow. I gave her my LTO file folder, asking her to riffle through the pages and see what things she needed to see. She said she didn’t have the time, but what was I to do, I didn’t catch her instructions because she was speaking inside a counter with a glass divider, she tried to use the mike but she dropped the idea, it only created noise. All I could do was to try to understand what she was trying to tell me.

I said how could we talk when I could barely hear what she’s saying. She said for me to give her photocopies of the docs in my folder but again, I didn’t know what she wanted. She was asking for the photograph of the vehicle being checked at the Smoke Emission Center but I couldn’t find that in my folder. Finally I delivered a little speech in our native tongue:

“I thought we are your bosses,” I said, looking at the throng gathered outside the counters. “But what are you doing,” glancing at the woman behind the counter, “you are making our lives difficult! You told us to return for our stickers, and when we do you ask for the same documents that you already cleared, but how could we have Official Receipts if you haven’t cleared us yet? Don’t you pity these people who have to fall in line all over again, only for you to ask for the same proof of registration, something you have already done when we registered?”

And there’s this man in white uniform brandishing a shotgun, coming to me, looking at me as if I was a troublemaker.

“And you come to me with a gun?”

“Let’s go po to inside.”

“Well don’t come to me with a gun, don’t you know we are your bosses?”

He apologized by lowering his voice.

I went with the guard and turned a corner, hearing clapping behind me. The bosses had applauded my speech.

I waited for the guard who went inside the offices. I told another guard not to speak to me while holding a gun, like I would create havoc, repeating that the people are the bosses of government. “Sorry po,” he said, “but the gun is part of our uniform.”

Inside the manager’s office, I explained that they needn’t require us to show proof of registration other than the O.R. I said I joined Ninoy’s funeral march from Sto. Domingo Church in Quezon City to Manila Memorial Park in Sucat in ’86. I fell in line for eight hours to see Cory in repose in Manila Cathedral. I said I invested so much time and effort so that we will have a government that will serve the people so they had better be careful with the way they treat us.

The manager said okay, could I photocopy my O.R.?

I went to a separate office for the photocopy. The lady manning the copier asked me if I was the man who talked loudly outside Window 10. And without waiting for my reply, she said, “Oh yes, gray long-sleeved shirt! You’re the one!”

And then the people inside the room congregated around me with smiles on their faces. “You’re right, sir,” a woman said. “Those people are unreasonable. We already have many complaints.”

The woman with the copier said, “Were you really angry at that time? Or were you acting?”

“I am a good actor,” I said, and she gave me a high five and returned with my fist.

We both laughed heartily.

I said that’s my style, hit and hug, hit and hug (suntok-yakap).

“What can I do?  They won’t act if I don’t inject drama,” I said.

Going back to the manager’s office, I got my stickers. Yes, that easily.

On my way out, I pitied the people who were still on line. At least, I thought to myself, I showed them how to complain and get results.

Oh, my poor countrymen, when will government employees begin to serve the people who pay their salaries?

I grew up with parents, relatives and neighbors who loved America. I remember taking a stroll down Ermita with my parents and Ate, and when my father saw an American family, he pointed them out to me, saying, “Boy, Amerikano.” He worshiped the ground they walked on.

Until Vietnam, booze and marijuana. I had a good friend and boardmate in Diliman named Tom, a Vietnam vet with a Purple Heart medal who studied engineering in UP under the GI Bill. He was kind, a gentleman, and he would let the whole town borrow his racer bike. He was a good American, exactly how my Tatay pictured them to be. Why he even vacationed in our home in Naga and we trekked up Mayon volcano.

But elsewhere, the face of America was changing. Someone said the best years of America were in the Kennedy years. I literally cried when he was killed, like some great person had died, or that an era was passing. I was only eleven years old at that time, a boy born outside the United States but bred as if American, as were the other adolescents like me, enjoying the same sports, loving their books, their pranks, as adventurous and outdoorsy as them, singing the national anthem in English and trying to copy their English as best we could.

Tom my friend was a rare American, I suppose. In university, I also met other Americans but they had slurred speech possibly because of too much beer, and they weren’t as wholesome as Tom or the Americans my father used to point out to me. Somehow the luster wasn’t there anymore.

They looked ordinary. Certainly, it didn’t help the American image, the America of my boyhood, when Richard Nixon was forced to resign in 1974 because of the Watergate scandal, and when America retreated from Saigon the year after. At the same time, in the Philippines, my boyhood friends were slaying Uncle Sam with their anti-imperialist, anti-neocolonialist slogans. The U.S. initially sided with the most venal, most corrupt, most hated leader of the free world at that time, who happened to be our own President Marcos, so it was really quo vadis America? for me.

Today my mother Aurora Villanueva posted in her Facebook page how America had helped shape her as a person, and the tides flow in America’s favor, because my mother is one of the most selfless and loving persons I know, if not the most, the same with my father Deogracias.

But you know what, I am still as pro-America as I was when I was small, perhaps not as much as my father’s undisguised ardor, but pro-America just the same. Two days ago, the real America of my own knowledge emerged again as I imagined 19 firefighters willingly enclose themselves in their foil coffins when they knew they would be trapped by marauding flames. America does that to you. It awakens deep-seated hatred, yes, as in the Marcos years, but its citizens always pull a surprise. There are so many examples of this point I raise: how they rushed to each other’s arms when the Twin Towers collapsed, how they celebrated the electoral victory of America’s first black president, how the people of Boston said Boston Strong after being devastated by pressure-cooker bombs of two brother lunatics.

Yes, America still astounds. America and Americans will always be there in my personal library of greats. On this their day, on the 4th of July, on behalf of my parents, my relatives and neighbors who loved it, may I say:

America Strong.