19. Make That Change

“Mog?”

“Yes, Yaw?”

“I want to tell you an old Russian folktale about a turnip, from a book I read in a bookstore in Tokyo.”

“What’s a turnip, Yaw?”

“It’s a vegetable that grows underground. You know, Mog, you are nothing until you make something of yourself. Now listen to this story.”

It was a pleasant afternoon. Abayaw and Dulmog were lying on the grass by the river. Beside them were their basket traps and a catch of fish.

“There was once an elderly couple who lived with their grandson, a dog, a cat, and a mouse. One day, Grandmother decided to prepare a turnip for dinner, so she went to her garden to fetch one. But no matter how much she pulled, the turnip would not budge.

“‘Grandfather!’ she called out. ‘Come and help me with this turnip!’ So the grandfather came, and they pulled and tugged. ‘Grandson!’ the grandfather called out. ‘Come and help us with this turnip!’ So the grandson came, and they pulled and tugged. Still, the turnip would not budge. Then the grandson called the dog, and the dog called the cat, and the cat called the mouse. When the mouse came and they all pulled and tugged together, only then did the turnip finally come out of the ground.

“So what do you think of that, Mog?”

“Grandmother should consider growing vegetables above ground.”

“Mog! It means that even the smallest effort can bring change. It means that the only way we can succeed is that we work together. Be involved in making that change.”

••• fin •••

(For a complete and chronological order of this story, please see: Keepers of the Flame, by Daphne Haour-Hidalgo).

 

18. The Weak Link

One evening, coming back from the office, Pia arrived home to find a letter from Max. She was pleasantly surprised because she had lost touch with him. She tore the envelope open and read his short note under the hallway light.

“Dear Pia,” he wrote. “I asked for your address from your mother, and I am writing to you about something that has been bothering me for some time. It’s about the wine account you were handling many years ago. On your next trip to Manila, please give me a call. Max.”

The wine account? Pia stared a hole in the wall in front of her. She immediately went to the telephone and called Mr Lortan at the office. He often worked late, and she asked to be absent on the morrow. Then Pia called her parents to let them know that she was coming to Manila and to call Max at the office in the morning to inform him. She packed a small travelling bag and tinkered about the house, as she waited impatiently for news from Max.

It was a warm late afternoon when Pia arrived in the metropolis, Manila. Her plane had just landed at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport and she was now on her way to meet her former colleague at a restaurant in Makati.

Along the road a common sight greeted her. Barefoot children were begging for coins from passing cars. She sat in the comfort of her mother’s chauffeur-driven old banger and wondered what it would take to make this country the progressive nation it could be, so that its citizens would live a better quality of life.

 

17. The Power of the Powerless

The morning mist hung over the mountaintops and drifted slowly with the wind. A lone carabao stood motionless in a fallow paddy. The dew on the spiders’ webs glittered in the early sunlight. A distant waterfall fed gurgling streams channelled in aqueducts of hollowed tree trunks through the rice enclosures. Plastic bags placed on the ends of pliant bamboo poles made a swishing noise when a breeze passed by, guarding the rice plants from unwelcome visitors. Small children sat one behind the other on a dike, in the middle of the rice terraces. Faded cotton shirts, red and blue, hung on shoulders of trimmed bamboo poles, dotted the quiet landscape, helping the plastic bags with their task.

Dulmog was whistling a gay and careless tune as he ambled down towards the hamlet from a mountain road above. The chickens marked the groovy beat, darting their necks forward left and right. He arrived at the square and squatted next to Abayaw, who was carefully arranging two panicles of precious tinawon sheaves.

 

16. Dubious Promises

Abayaw followed the crowd getting off the limousine bus at the Tokyo City Air Terminal. They crossed the hall towards another set of sliding doors leading outside to a line of waiting taxicabs. A uniformed attendant helped Abayaw load his suitcase into the boot of the car.

“To the Philippine Embassy,” he told the cabdriver. Abayaw had to repeat what he said until the driver understood.

It was a long way and Abayaw watched the fare metre as it clicked every few minutes. He would have to be careful with his expenses, he said to himself. He looked out the window and observed how neat and clean the streets of Tokyo were. He also noted that they were travelling along the left side of the carriageway.

They arrived at a nondescript building whose large black-painted iron gates were left ajar. A man inside a small outpost to the left of the gate wrote down Abayaw’s name in a logbook and gave directions for the consulate section.

He entered a large room with desks arranged in rows, and dividing the room was a long counter just in front of the entrance. There were chairs along the sides of the wall, in front of the counter. He was told to take a number and wait his turn. He sat down and started a conversation with the man beside him.

“I just arrived from Manila this morning,” he said, “and I’m here to look for my sister.”
“You don’t know where she lives?”

“She wrote me from Tokyo and gave no address. I think she’s in trouble.”

A woman next to them asked Abayaw where the sister was working. “She wrote that she works for a family, taking care of their children. She has a friend named Geraldine.”

“I know someone named Geraldine,” the man said. “But she works in a bar in Kabukicho.”

 

15. Western Definitions and Eastern Interpretations

Pia came home late from work, checking the mailbox before entering the house. In it she found some bills and a large manila envelope from her mother. Pia unlocked her door, took off her coat, dropped everything she was carrying on her sofa, and then went to the kitchen to put a kettle on the burner for tea.

She walked back to her sitting room and sat down to open her mail. In the manila envelope her mother had sent was a newspaper issue of the previous week. Her mother had circled a small headline on the left side of the front page. It read: Trading executive killed in a car accident. Pia read the article in dismay. Danny had been going too fast along a country road and had driven off it, falling into a ravine. He left behind a wife and son.

Pia dropped the newspaper on her lap. She stared out through her sitting room window. Without conscious attention, she noticed how the trees in her neighbour’s garden stood staunch and bare against the season’s winter chill. They stood there, with their chins held high, defenceless but resolute, in the face of winds coming from Siberia. They stood there, watching mutely, as life went on around them.

Pia picked up the papers again and read the other 1979 news headlines: Marcos signs the U.S. military bases agreement, guaranteeing the U.S. “unhampered military operations.” Graft and corruption is exposed in the Public Highway Ministry, where investigation uncovered “ghost” employees, fictitious contractors, payroll padding, and bribe-taking. American president pledges US $500 million over the next five years in military assistance and security support against insurgency. Philippine population is 46.3 million, of which 43% are under 15 years old. External debt is now US $9 billion and Philippine credit rating is poor. About 56% of all Filipino families reported incomes below the poverty line, 80% of which live in the rural area. Seventy percent of Filipino children are under-nourished. Widespread famine in Negros where 75,000 children are so malnourished, many of them are going blind and suffering brain damage. Sugar workers in Negros receive less than 80 cents a day, one-third of 1940 wages. The head of the Philippine Atomic Energy Commission issues construction permit for Westinghouse to build a nuclear power plant in Bataan. Bataan is an area known for tidal waves, located 8 kilometres from Mt. Natib, a dormant volcano, and 40 kilometres from three geological fault lines. The Marcos and Romualdez families own that area of Bataan. The floating casino and several buildings go up in smoke–the Light-a-Fire Movement claim responsibility. Hospital bed capacity in Manila is one for every 270 people, and one for every 1,076 outside Manila. The second worldwide oil shock causes further economic deterioration….

Pia tossed the newspaper onto her sitting room table, and stared out the window at those stoic trees, silent witnesses to what man was capable of doing.

Pia remembered hearing from old timers in the provincial town of Ferdinand Marcos that he was the illegitimate son of a Chinese fellow and his domestic. He lived with his impoverished mother, who later on married a local politician.

Marcos studied Law and passed the Bar exams with excellent marks. He possessed a mechanical memory–a quirk of the brain. It was knowledge without comprehension. It was an abnormality also common among the autistic–a deceptive semblance of intelligence. He struck his gullible professors with awe by reciting the Constitution backwards. Unfortunately, that did not make one a proponent of the law. Neither are exemplary scholastic marks the only criteria for good leadership, nor is it a measure of integrity. He was found guilty of murdering his stepfather’s political rival by shooting him while he brushed his teeth; and in a country where something fishy is not only common in fish stalls, he was later acquitted.

Marcos had a devious and unprincipled character and a personality disorder that developed into greed for money and lust for power. He decided to enter politics, and in order to sway voters to his side, Marcos falsified his war exploits, claiming feats of valour that remarkably resembled that of another. It was said that he was into scrap-metal collecting during the War. But he declared he was a one-man army and that he was the most decorated hero of World War II. The Americans awarded him his claimed medals, even though they had no record of his deserving them–making a mockery of those who did.

Credulous simpletons, holding the majority of the popular vote, propelled Marcos into Congress, believing the following election campaign platform: I am rich because I got my war benefits from the Americans; if you want yours, vote for me. And once his foot was in the door, he remained inside to accumulate wealth beyond moderate reason, if one can consider some ounce of legitimacy to wealth accrued from political power. The word ‘rapacious’ fails to describe how much he had amassed and by what means. In Congress, he began by extorting “commissions” in return for approving or granting import licenses, foreign exchange credits, and government permits.

The Americans endorsed Marcos as “the man of the hour.” In exchange for their political support, Marcos offered them not only the country’s natural resources for the continued taking, but also undisturbed intimidation in Asia with their military bases. Like many before him, the U.S. seeks out those who can do its bidding: Quezon takes credit for the Tydings-McDuffie Act that allowed the nation’s political and economic policies to be determined by the Americans. Roxas wrote the Military Bases agreement, and secured preferential treatment for American businesses through the Bell Trade Act. Quirino won the most corrupt and bloody elections in history aided by Americans, and he suspended the writ of habeas corpus on the CIA’s urging in order to imprison “subversives.” And Magsaysay won the presidency by a landslide through American propaganda and CIA assistance.

Then someone, covertly or by proxy, masterminded a series of bombings in Manila. Blaming the terrorism on communists, it gave Marcos the excuse to curtail the civil liberties of the people. Marcos then turned the city of Manila into a paradise for the scum of the earth with prostitution, drugs, arms trafficking, and organised crime. Marcos plundered the country, weakening it irretrievably. His spectacular accumulation of wealth depended heavily on political power.

For safeguarding America’s interests in the country, Washington gave Marcos over $100 million when he declared Martial Law. In total, America’s policy of full support of the dictatorship resulted in America’s giving $2.5 billion and $5.5 billion through major multilateral institutions. The CIA financed the so-called anti-insurgency warfare with $10 million, and they trained a cadre of Filipinos in the art of slow death by sadistic torture. To discourage further dissent, their bodies were returned to their families or displayed in public. The killing of grumbling farmers, making less than one dollar a day, was America’s definition of stemming subversive activities. When news of torture and similar violations of human rights was leaked to the press, the U.S. State Department magnanimously issued a statement: It is not the policy of the Marcos government to violate human rights.

The Filipino economic elite, arrogant and condescending in attitude, profited so much from American business ties that they became contemptuous and brutal with their impoverished countrymen. They employed private armies of these sadistic killers, murdering anyone encroaching on their wealth with notions of land reform and change in government. This slaughter went pitifully unchecked. The international community, waylaid by American misinformation, was unaware of the Filipinos’ desperation or chose to be ignorant of their plight. They only know that the Philippines is a cluster of beautiful islands–but it is a little nook in the Pacific Ocean, where man exploits man in the most ignoble manner.

Pia stood up to prepare tea, the kettle had been whistling for some time. She had come home late that evening because she had some extra paperwork to do. She was going on a business trip the following day. She had dinner, a bowl of noodle soup on her desk. Mr. Lortan was sending her on an exploratory mission to a nation of enormous economic potential, a nation of a great civilisation and culture. Pia was going to China.

While she waited for her tea to steep in the pot, Pia took out a suitcase and started to pack. As she gathered her clothes to fold them, she thought about Confucius and doing business with the Chinese. No one can succeed in business with the Chinese without first knowing about that country’s history, its people, its politics, and its languages. One has to think Chinese to do business with the Chinese, and it is not that simple. They are a disciplined race and their thinking is shaped by their basic guide to morality and good government, a set of teachings called Analects by a Chinese philosopher named Confucius. One of his precepts emphasises that rulers must govern according to high moral standards. Another one is that a well-ordered society has its foundation in the family. And still another is that a ruler serves the interests of his subjects, and if he does not, the citizens have “the divine right to rebellion” and must overthrow him.

Pia had read that in spite of the traditional Confucian outlook–that the political function of the people is to obey their ruler–towards the end of the 19th century, the idea that every citizen should participate consciously to make China progressive was raised. The Chinese reformers decided that in order to acquire the strength they needed, they would have to learn from the Europeans. They also decided that traditional patterns of thought must change in order to emphasise the role of the individual.

The one who pioneered the introduction of Western ideas was Yen Fu, and the reformers idealised it in 1898. One factor that sets China apart from Asia is the importance they give to politics as an integral part of their life. They sent their students to Europe for their education, and the intelligentsia debated on what aspects of the West they could adapt to China’s needs. Their civilisation preserved their sense of pride in their culture, but the political dimension of their existence was also paramount.

When a government has to bridge the gap between the haves and the have-nots, then the ideals of socialism are commendable as they provide inherent stability to a country in an uncertain economic situation. Capitalism only works well under certain conditions, and where there is political instability, the first to suffer are the poor.

So what are the conditions required enabling capitalism to work? Social and economic stability supported by a prosperous middle class. A Capitalist Government cannot work satisfactorily when a social gap exists between the rich and the poor, and the nobility and commoners. Nor can it function satisfactorily where no homogeneity exists in the populace in terms of religion and language, because politics will divide the people along these differences. In the matter of education, a level of literacy is necessary to enable the people to vote wisely and be politically aware of the issues that they have the power to determine in the interest of their country. Where these criteria do not exist, capitalism cannot work.

What may be feasible for the West may not necessarily work for the East. If we have an Eastern form of democracy, why impose a Western definition? These are two sides to the same coin.

Pia finished packing and went back to her sitting room. While sipping her tea, she considered that for her reconnaissance trip she would first find out whether a good working relationship could be established with the contacts the company had made. She would have to check if they were familiar with the government laws relating to overseas business, since less than one percent of the Chinese can do business with foreigners. With a population of 1.3 billion consumers, less than one percent is still quite a lot, but probably not enough to meet international demands on this huge Chinese market. Then she would have to find the best location in a city with a good infrastructure. She would also have to ensure that Mr. Lortan possessed the necessary majority of equity in order to have the right to any final decisions. A business partnership is set up with the government, not the private sector. Chinese financial contribution in the joint venture is in the form of tangible assets, land and building facilities. China’s economy grows at a rate of over 10% a year, an ideal prospect for investment. Pia knew she would have to find out in China anything else it was essential to know. The Chinese are basically closed to the world, and they will not tell you who they are, nor what is China.

It was Saturday and Pia left for Beijing that morning. She decided to leave on a weekend so that she could explore this great city with its rich historical and cultural heritage. She arrived at this former Yanjing to find modern Beijing. The capital is huge. She took a cab to the hotel and noticed many Chinese on bicycles. She dropped off her luggage and left soon after to visit some monuments.

The first monument Pia went to see was the Nationalities Cultural Palace. This large mosaic-tiled structure is dedicated to honour the contributions of the 55 Chinese cultural minorities. Then proceeding to Tian’anmen Square, she walked from the Chang’an Avenue, passing the Great Hall of the People, the seat of government of China. This Hall has over 50 meeting rooms, with each room honouring a particular cultural minority, province, and municipality. On the other side is the Museum of Chinese History. An obelisk lies between the two buildings, a monument to the heroes of the Chinese Revolution. In front of the obelisk on the other side of the avenue is the massive Gate of Heavenly Peace, the Tian’anmen. There is a Chinese inscription on a plaque to the left of the Gate that reads, “Long Live the Unity of the Peoples of the World.”

She had done quite a bit of walking about, and as it was getting late, Pia returned to the hotel. She studied the bus and train schedules and made arrangements with the hotel travel office to visit the Great Wall of China and the Forbidden City the next day. Thousands of Chinese tourists from all over China visit this huge Imperial Palace of the ancient Chinese Emperors. It is believed that the Chinese of old sent terracotta soldiers with their Emperor, to accompany him in the other life. Pia found it fascinating the way civilisations have come to rationalise the mystery of their existence in beliefs of the now and thereafter. And what if Spanish friars had come to China, to destroy their culture systematically, and deprive her of her patrimonial identity….

Together with some hotel guests, Pia arrived at a section of the Great Wall at Badaling. She was astounded. The Great Wall is a remarkable accomplishment of defence. She walked along a span of it and marvelled at the parapets, the beacon towers, and the landscape along both sides. The Wall’s form followed the contours of the countryside’s undulating hills. Pia walked slowly, oblivious to the picture-taking tourists and the cackling of Chinese languages around her.

“Hello, Pia.”

Pia turned round suddenly. She knew no one in Beijing. “Eric!” she exclaimed, as she recognised the tall spectacled man behind her. “How wonderful to see you here! What an extraordinary coincidence! What brings you to China?”

“I’m here on holiday. What about you?”

“I’m here on business, but I’m a tourist today. You haven’t changed! Isn’t this city amazing?”

Eric took Pia’s elbow and they sat down on a protruding ledge. The warm sunshine cast wonderful yellow and crimson hues on the autumnal landscape in front of them. Doctors, Pia knew, are never good at small talk.

“I must say,” Pia said, after getting over her initial reaction of surprise, “that contrary to what you hear and read in the American media, China does not look at all threatening to me.”

“The Chinese government,” Eric replied, “pursues a policy of peace. Their society, more than any other, knows the limits of freedom and the responsibilities that come with freedom. You are free to smoke, but not in my face. You are free to eat, but not from my plate. You are free to be happy, but not at my expense. You have to know what you can and cannot do with freedom. Freedom does not mean that you can do anything you want.
“The Chinese have suffered under colonialism and imperialist exploitation. Their government exerts monumental efforts to extricate their people from poverty and give them a sense of dignity. Their military strategy, similar to that of the European Front and certain Asian nations, is a policy of self-defence as regards the United States.”

Pia, who was absentmindedly gazing at the scenery in front of her, turned to look at her friend from school. “What are you implying?” she asked.

Eric picked up a pebble at his feet and threw it over the wall towards the West. “The United States’ assault against the ideology of communism is an attack against the efforts of a people that wish to transform their nation’s political and economic infrastructure in order to overcome poverty in ways that will not complement the American economy. America’s military machinery is either used as a deterrent or as actual force.

“When Truman signed the Act creating the Central Intelligence Agency, its mandate was to contain Soviet aggression. During the entire history of the CIA, the only two occasions that Russia had ever breached that line was when Breshnev ordered the invasion of Prague, and the Americans were nowhere when that happened. The other was when the Russians invaded Afghanistan, and the CIA bungled the way they helped that country regain their freedom, making worse enemies for Americans instead. How intelligent is their intelligence network when they could not forestall, prevent, or settle by diplomatic means these incursions?

“So we ask: What was the real but secret mandate of the Central Intelligence Agency? Then we see: that the CIA conducted proxy wars to destabilise governments; that they interfered in the internal affairs of nations; and that they plotted to assassinate foreign leaders whose political thinking was not to America’s advantage. So we conclude: The Central Intelligence Agency was not intended to contain the Soviet threat, but rather to protect America’s exploitation of the natural resources of other countries through terrorist acts. These commercial exploitations are euphemistically referred to as “national interests.” Protection of national interests is a paramount objective in that government’s foreign policy.

“In their effort to reduce the world into an American-dominated economic system, anything outside of that must be destroyed. Communism, whose political ideology is State-control of their resources for their own socio-economic development, does not serve the American national agenda. America’s crusade has reduced much of East Asia and the rest of the world to an American-dominated economic system.

“The Americans think that they can do anything they want, and say anything they want. Through sanctions, embargoes, boycotts, and covert operations, and through the IMF and the World Bank, the Americans will strongly endorse the suspension of aid or block multinational loans in countries where they need to safeguard their own national interests. The American definition of democracy is that which is pro-American in orientation. If you are not pro-American, then you are not democratic. American behaviour is akin to a spoiled child who gets what he wants, and whines if he doesn’t. They settle differences and disagreements not with reason, but either with deleterious financial backlash or a gun, and sometimes both.

“Protection of American national interests supersedes and determines all their decisions concerning international diplomacy and relations. American diplomacy demands compliance with an American agenda. So the Americans want to prevent independent economic development by Third World countries because they are heavily dependent on the natural resources of these nations. To maintain their military power, the Americans use the argument that a threat of war exists. While the international community thinks of peace, there is one that is at war–an economic battle supported by military might.”

“But does no one see the Americans for what they really are?”

“The United Nations Organization is hindered and restricted in their work as an impartial and international body merely by being located in the United States. The guest must show deference to the host. The Americans are quick to criticise the Secretary-General because they will support only those they can control. They are capable of maligning anyone or anything that threatens their national interests. There are those in the international community who see the Americans for what they really are, but they are political monkeys who prefer to say nothing.

“André Malraux once expressed the idea that the headquarters of the United Nations should be transferred to Geneva from New York. The Americans have considerably weakened its status as an effective negotiator in international politics. With one hand, the American warden holds tightly onto the tethered organization, and with the other, they create conflicts in “undemocratic” countries and support “democratic” dictatorships around the world, while exhibiting a propagandist façade of magnanimity.

“The United States of America is a young nation. They lack a sense of direction in the arena of international politics. They do not understand the responsibilities that come with freedom and the limits of freedom. Freedom does not mean that you are free to trample on another country’s dignity and infringe on people’s human rights. They unabashedly have abused their power.

“They attribute so little importance to history because they have no civilisation to speak of. They are, after all, a nation of immigrants with no indigenous culture of their own. They still have a lot to learn from the old and great civilisations of the world. That this one young upstart determines the world order… What is America’s interpretation of human rights? The work of the Central Intelligence Agency has created enemies around the world for all Americans. Nations, who have been victims of American abuse and patronising ways, have adopted an anti-American posture that will prevail for a long time.

“The United Nations must impose that they reduce their military arsenal significantly and allow peace to reign. If the Americans are wise, they will agree. The Americans, supposedly in charge of maintaining peace, make $12 billion annually on arms sales. They are the world’s largest exporters of arms and munitions, fuelling the arms race around the world. It is to their financial advantage that instability reigns. Surely, there must be other means of maintaining peace.

“No, the world cannot be led by American supremacy. The American president is elected by popularity—a popularity that can be bought, and therefore, those not necessarily with the capabilities can run for office. A majority swayed by political rhetoric and charisma elects this American president. This one vulnerable man may have a perception that could be humanly wrong, and whose presidential dispositions are at the mercy of wealthy political lobbies. This head of a superpower, the chief of its army, has the capability to wipe out all of mankind. That obviously needs control. That seriously needs to be under check. Power is so easily abused.

“It is not the tiny third-world countries trying to come to grips with their economies, aspiring for reforms, and maintaining a defensive stance against those capable of taking advantage of them–but that country with the largest military power–that is the threat to world peace. The defensive behaviour of those other countries with weapons of mass destruction is a threat to no one else but the Americans. No amount of western propaganda can change that. America’s manipulation of world opinion is criminal.”

“But isn’t the United States,” Pia asked, “the policeman of the world?”

“That appears to be a self-appointed designation. If the conflict does not threaten American commercial exploits, they will not initiate diplomatic discussions. If no one approaches his dish of national interests, the policing bulldog remains in its kennel. When Iraq invaded Kuwait, western commercial interests in the region were threatened. But they have not involved themselves in the plight of some Balkan states and some African nations, belatedly if at all, because they have no commercial activities in those parts of the world. Citizens of some countries unknowingly assist in America’s “meal-dish-protection” policy by paying a national “Gulf war tax.”

“The United States cannot be designated by the international community as the guardian of world peace. Détente is the responsibility of the United Nations, not the Americans. The peacekeeping efforts of the United Nations costs money, and the Americans have the largest outstanding dues owed to them, about $1.6 billion. America’s military budget can be put to better use. So not paying this assures the Americans of the Organisation’s weakness and the United States’ strength. But the United Nations must be decisive when it comes to collective security. They should have learnt this from the devastating results of a lack of leadership at the League of Nations.”

“But why,” Pia demanded, “has the international community allowed this abuse of power to continue?”

“Is it better to be the right hand of a wolf?” Eric replied with a question. “There are some First-World countries who seem to think so. They also think that there are other cats to whip or fish to fry. No one has publicly condemned the actions of the United States, and the United Nations seems only able to slap its wrist. Where were the outrage and condemnations when the Americans violated the human rights of the people of Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam, Guatemala, Chile, and the Philippines? Their crimes against humanity remain unpunished. If the United Nations appears incapable of controlling the behaviour of the United States, then who can? One day, this playground troublemaker will step on the toes of someone capable of challenging him. Resentment can reach a peak, and the Americans are magnets for terrorism. Conflict with the U.S. may include those countries with American military bases. An Arab leader considers any country servicing American military forces, a party to war. Remember, America’s war with Spain gravitated to where the Spanish fleet was located in Asia.

“Many conflicts incited by the Americans have been disguised as missionary work. Their superficial puritanical zeal has also been transferred to their own domestic politics, this zeal so outmoded and so ingrained in their psyche. There is no such person as a puritan and to uphold this is a practice in hypocrisy. The Americans do not know what the important issues are, what matters, and what does not.

“They spout peaceful co-existence and human values, when they are as superficial as their rules on human rights. Their virtual monopoly of the media and their expert use of propaganda, muzzle the voices of truth and justice. This country of gun-wielding citizens and racist bigots, this nation which allows anyone—a wrestler, an actor, a tailor–in the name of freedom, to run for public office based on popularity and not on a civil service qualification, is a tragedy for all mankind. No, we cannot have any one country dominate the world.

“American treachery and deception are pervasive and perfidious. One wonders whether social and political unrest in a country is American-activated or a genuine voice of the people clamouring for political and economic reforms. One wonders how the youth of their nation have acquired the appalling pop culture of the Americans. And one wonders why American-defined and imposed politics and American-defined and imposed capitalism disregards the welfare of the masses, when a government’s raison d’être is essentially socialist in precept. No, the community of nations must not allow this abuse of power to continue.”

The tour leader approached them and informed Pia that they would shortly be leaving for the Forbidden City. Pia replied that she understood and would be coming along.

“Do the Americans know that behind their government’s façade of magnanimity that they, through their foreign policy and the work of the CIA, are the threat to world peace?”

“Can you see the wart on your own nose?” Eric asked. “You need a mirror to see that. In the absence of one, a sympathetic person might point it out to you.

“The Americans helped Europe and Asia in the last War, and we are immensely grateful for that. But the post-War American governments have been doing a very poor job of filling the shoes of their grandfathers. It’s like a spoiled brat squandering his inheritance. What little goodwill remains is now inadequate to reverse the tides of antipathy and disesteem. It is not easy to see your nose when your head is too big.”

“Power has been misused for so long now, Eric,” Pia noted. “Do you think the international community will finally consider doing something about this in the immediate future?”

“No, it will be up to mature Americans to let go the tethers. Hindsight judgment is the easiest, and when all is said and done, foresight would have been the more worthy option. Let’s look at this from an “if-then” scenario: If I had learnt to swim before the boat capsized, then I would be alive today. If I had worn a sheath, then I would not be suffering from AIDS. If only you were tolerant of political ideas and cultures different from your own, then your sons and grandsons would not have to go to war to keep the peace. If the Americans are perceptive, then they will consent to the transfer of the United Nations, and with it, the responsibility of peacekeeping and impartial détente.

“One is always wiser after the event, but there are some mistakes that are impossible to correct. Prevention, as all doctors will tell you, is better than cure, and that is another significant role that the United Nations should play–that of guiding the communities of the world about choosing their leaders. Many autocratic and ruthless rulers were mostly financially underprivileged, with little or no education, and who brook no dissent. I am not saying that leaders should not be poor, but family and educational upbringing are important factors in gauging character. Where each nation attends to its own affairs, the international community suffers when one country has made a serious error of judgment and has voted into office a dysfunctional person who abuses his mandate. Other countries, through the United Nations, end up either trying to keep the peace or fighting someone else’s domestic war. Some end up with immigrants at their doorsteps.

“The United Nations, therefore, has the right to claim an imposition of a guideline of what a country’s leadership should be. Those vying for the post as their nation’s leader must conform to these criteria. Again, in order for this controversial idea to be acceptable to all nations, the United Nations’ headquarters must move to a neutral country in Europe. Likewise, the defence capabilities of all countries should be under United Nations supervision. This Organisation should also set up a system of controls to assist and ensure that these leaders have a continuing sense of community.”

They stood up and started to walk back. The pictures were taken and the loud expressions of admiration spoken. Now there was only silence along the Wall. Pia turned around to behold the sinuous effect of the rippling hills on this Chinese wall of defence of long ago.

“Society needs rules to live by, and freedom carries with it certain limits and principles,” Eric concluded. “There are good and bad in the humanity of any society, so it is pointless to generalise. Not all Americans are bad.”

“What are your plans, Eric?”

“Well, I’ve decided to return to Manila and teach at the University. I have learnt a lot overseas. I will join one of our medical institutions and contribute what I know. I would like to build hospital facilities in the rural areas where the poor have no access to medical assistance. I love my country. I have never forgotten her.

“As for my immediate plans, I’m leaving for Guilin this afternoon.”

“Where is that?

“It is a panoramic area on the Lijiang River.”

“Let’s keep in touch!” Pia said as she joined her tour, and Eric said likewise.

 

14. Perceptions

Pia discovered that the consulate paperwork to work in Japan was irksome, but managed it in the end. She met all the requirements and arrived at Narita airport on a Saturday afternoon. At the airport, the immigration officials also gave her a difficult time. She didn’t know why because all her documents were in order. Mr. Lortan was waiting for her at the Tokyo City Air Terminal but she did not know how to contact him there. Pia was exasperated and tired after her trip. She decided to call Lortan’s office to have one of his employees contact him at the Terminal. She took out Lortan’s namecard, and the immigration official upon seeing it, asked for it, then allowed her to leave. Pia wondered about that and thought to ask Lortan about it.

Mr. Lortan drove Pia from the Terminal to a hotel near the office. He would give her time next week, he said, for her to find a flat. Lortan pointed out some tall buildings and told her what they were. Pia observed that not many monuments had survived the War. Tokyo was a very modern city.

“By the way,” Pia asked, “at the airport, the immigration official had only let me go after taking your namecard. Why was that?”

“A namecard,” Mr. Lortan replied, “tells the other person more than just your name, your company, your position, and your office address. For the Japanese, this information denotes your social status. Their language has different forms of respect and the namecard tells them which form to use. The Japanese are a people bound by honour and the namecard is more than just an introduction.”

Several days later, Pia found a small house made of wood, next to a primary school in Aoyama. An elderly widow, who preferred to live in the country, owned the old Japanese dwelling. The front door opened onto a hallway that led to the living room area on the left, and the one bedroom on the right. The bedroom floor was covered with tatami mats, and she was told that you place a futon on it for a bed. The kitchen had no door and opened directly onto the dining room. With an area of fifty square metres, Pia found it comfortable. She enjoyed shopping for furniture and things to decorate her new home.
She spent her first weekends exploring the surroundings of Aoyama. The cars on the avenues were all brand new. The Japanese pedestrians were all well dressed. A few women wore kimonos. Near her house were two sports shops opposite each other in the street, Ski Shop Jiro and Tennis Shop Jiro. Pia found their window displays beautifully eye-catching. There were modern buildings mingling with wooden Japanese houses. There was Bell Commons at the corner of a busy intersection and across it on the other side, an old Japanese house selling tea.

Pia enrolled herself at a language school to learn French. She found it necessary when dealing with French clients in Tokyo and business associates in France. After all, she was working for a French company. She understood the language after three months but would only speak it when necessary. She did not want to be misunderstood in a language she did not fully grasp. Besides, she knew that the French dislike it when their language is spoken incorrectly. The company had Japanese employees and they took care of the Japanese side of the business.

Pia’s office was located in a building in Akasaka. Commuting took her less than five minutes by the subterranean railway from her house. Sometimes she would leave early and walk briskly to the office, crossing through Aoyama cemetery. Cherry trees line the stone paths of this huge cemetery located in the heart of Tokyo, where land for the living is scarce and priceless. The Japanese hold great reverence for their dead.

On the weekends that she wasn’t treasure hunting in flea markets, she would spend it playing tennis. The sports club membership fees were costing an arm and a leg, over several hundreds of thousands of yen, but she found public tennis courts reasonable. Like other tennis players, she had to reserve in advance, and there were courts where your name was drawn by lottery.

Pia devoted her evenings to the social circuit. She found it necessary to keep in touch with the people they were doing business with and to keep herself in the public eye. She quickly learnt that in this kind of business, good public relations was an advantage.
Pia once attended a cocktail party at the French Embassy and because she spoke French only when necessary, those around her wrongly assumed that if she didn’t speak the language, then she must not understand it.

“Do you see the lady in the blue suit? She’s Miss Delgado. I hear she’s very clever. She works with Lortan. His company is doing extremely well.” “Who is she? She’s so distinguished and elegant. What’s Lortan’s business? He must have an excellent selection of wine. Remind me to call him tomorrow.” Ah, the French–so gallant and so chivalrous.

As Pia stood by the French windows, admiring the large Japanese stone lantern in the garden of the ambassador’s residence, one of the guests came up to her. “Miss Delgado, do you speak Spanish?” he asked. “No, I’m sorry. Spanish sounds Greek to me.” “I have been told,” he snorted, “that the upper class in your society are the ones who speak Spanish.”

“I resent your implication, sir,” Pia snorted back, “but allow me to enlighten you on our language problem.” Pia looked around and directed him towards some chairs in the corner of the salon of the Residence. “You see,” she began, “the Filipinos suffer from an insidious discrimination. It is the discrimination among Filipinos for fellow Filipinos. Our years of colonisation have dispersed us in so many ways, and we create an artificial status symbol to identify ourselves with. We do not have a unifying language, so one class identifies with the Spanish language and Spanish culture; another class identifies with the American tongue and American merchandise; and all the others identify themselves with the region they come from and the dialect of the area.

“Do the Filipinos have a national identity? It is so ambiguous that we quibble among ourselves and create social identity in terms of language: I speak Spanish, I speak English, and I only speak Tagalog with the maids. I am Pampangan, I am Cebuano, and I speak Chavacano in Mindanao. Less than two percent of our population speak Spanish, and they are the descendants of those who came here long ago. There are not many of them left, but they are wealthy because they own huge parcels of land and have created industries from this capital base. The Chinese live in a society of their own, speaking their languages among themselves. They have done very well, too, in their adopted country.

“My nation’s progress depends very much on unity, and one factor of cohesion is a common language. We have between 100 to 150 indigenous languages and dialects, estimates one eminent Filipino linguist. We have eight ethnic groups and 60 cultural minorities. Our diversity is our cultural wealth and we must keep it. But put all these 100 or so speakers of different languages in one national meeting room and you will have a cacophonic discussion that could not possibly lead to anywhere near some kind of understanding of any side. To complicate the whole matter, we are an archipelago of 7,107 islands, many of which are still unnamed. Not only can we not communicate with each other, but we also find it difficult to cross the physical frontiers of our country.

“Elemental nationalists have made Tagalog the dominant language in education. It is a beautiful and romantic language, but unfortunately, with a very limited vocabulary. Filipino society in Manila speaks a horrible mixture of Tagalog and English; not many speak Tagalog eloquently. Tagalog is the language of the capital and is one of the eight major languages in the country, out of 87 considered as languages. But it is not the language spoken by the majority of Filipinos; only 23% of the population are native Tagalog speakers. The Tagalogs are a part of the population, and the language, culture, and customs of this segment do not speak for the entire nation. We alienate other linguistic groups by choosing this indigenous language, only because it is the language of the capital. If we transfer the capital to the Visayas, what would the working language there be? Would they impose the language of the Visayan capital on the rest of the population?”

“I apologise for my ignorance, Miss Delgado,” he said. “But then, what do you think the solution is to your language problem?” “We have three national languages: Tagalog, Spanish, and English. In 1959, the indigenous national language was renamed Pilipino–perhaps to make it sound more a national than a regional language. But the success of that simple modification as a solution to our language problem is questionable. It is essential that we have a lingua franca, a language that we can all use simply to facilitate communication among all the ethnolinguistic groups. There is one such language that we can adopt nationwide.

It is a neutral language, so one region does not disassociate itself from the other. It is a language that has the knack of creating new words and expanding–Tagalog has contributed some words to its vocabulary. It is a language that we are already familiar with, as it was easily grasped through our educational system when used as a medium of instruction. It is a language that will promote our integration with the international community. Adopting this universal language would greatly simplify communication. It would be preferable if it were the noble language of diplomacy and culture, but the Filipinos are already accustomed with the other.”

“The Scandinavian languages also have limited vocabularies, and rely to some extent on English,” he said. “But language is closely linked to culture. You change the language to the detriment of culture.”

“No, sir. We will continue to speak our languages and our dialects. But we will use that universal language as a second language, only to facilitate communication among all Filipinos. Besides, there would be a far worse effect if Tagalog or any other Filipino language or dialect were to be the only language used. You see, without an effective command of English, employment is restricted to the language’s region and whatever possibilities it presents. We would therefore limit our opportunities with elemental notions of nationalism in language. This then perpetuates regionalist attitudes and sharpens social class distinctions.”

“Although English-speakers do not hold a monopoly on the upper social class,” he concludes, “it is highly advantageous and useful if one were multilingual. In Belgium, for example, where the north speak Flemish and the south speak French, the language issue divides their population because historical social class distinctions have been unfairly related to language. The Belgians also speak English, aside from either Flemish or French, and use it as their working language in order to avoid confrontations on this issue.”

The employees at Pia’s new office were very good to her. She often had lunch with them when she did not have a business appointment. They enjoyed practising their English. “Are there other Filipinos you know?” she once asked her Japanese colleagues over lunch. They looked at each other and waited for the other to speak.

“Yes,” one of them said. “We hear about them in the news, but you will not find them interesting.” They talked about an area in Tokyo called Kabukicho, where the yakuza operate drinking dens and illegal brothels. Here, they said, you will find Filipino dancers, singers, and bargirls. Pia was shocked. She was unfamiliar with this world. “But why would they come all the way to Tokyo to do that? Are there no Japanese bargirls and whatnots here, that you would have to import them from my country?” she asked in disbelief.

“Economic development in your country,” one of her colleagues replied, “is the slowest in all Asia, and because of this, there are many Filipinos working abroad. You have eight million compatriots overseas who remit $12 billion annually to the Philippine treasury. Your country’s economy is artificially propped up by all the belly-shaking dancers, domestics, and construction workers around the world. We have such a high standard of living that very few Japanese are willing to get into work that involves the 3Ks: kitanay–dirty, kiken–dangerous, and kitsui–difficult. Your citizens are probably your country’s major export.”

“They are willing to work in these jobs in foreign lands,” another colleague continued, “because your government does not look after their welfare. They come from the rural areas, working abroad to support families back home. It is a big sacrifice on their part to be separated like that. They are one of many unsung heroes of your nation. They have taken the economic ills of your country on their shoulders, sending money home to feed the people.”

“Like Maupassant’s tallow ball…” Pia remarked.

Pia’s first months in Tokyo passed very quickly, and when it was the Japanese holiday of Obon, she thought it was too soon to go to Manila to spend a few days there. She wanted to visit the Asakusa Kannon Temple that morning and then go to Ginza.

Two huge angry-looking statues of deities greeted her at the entrance to the temple. They were in a wire-fence enclosure on opposite sides of the entranceway, with a large red lantern in front. The pathway leading to the temple was lined with souvenir shops. The path was crowded with Japanese and very few foreign tourists. There was a display of bonsai and ikebana to the right. There was a magnificent five-storied pagoda to the left. Pia walked around the Temple, admiring the architecture and the colours used on the designs of the ceiling and columns.

She watched the Japanese throw coins into an old wooden box with narrow beams across the top so that the coins passed through the slats. Then they clapped their hands twice and bowed their heads. There was a braided cord attached to a bell, and they gave that a shake. Apart from certain ritual ceremonies to accompany birth, marriage, and death, temple visiting seemed to be the only other obligation for a believer. The only Buddhist, in the proper sense of the word, is the Buddhist monk. Pia saw some of them inside the temple, and they looked at peace with the world and most dignified.

Pia had read that Buddhism came to Japan via India. Its distinct attribute is its intensely practical attitude. It is a system of thought that teaches the way to perfect peace and happiness. Siddhartha Gautama, the father of Buddhism, was born over four hundred years before Jesus of Nazareth. He was the son of a royal family, in what is now Nepal; the other was the son of a carpenter, in what is now Israel. Buddha developed his philosophy, outlined as the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. Christ did the same, developing his own philosophy and promising eternal salvation to those who believe it. Buddhism, like the Christian philosophy, has evolved through the years with varied interpretations and is now very different from the original. Both have statues and monuments–fantastic representations of human imagination. Both were human beings, symbolising a spiritual principle. One has been elevated to the status of God.

At the bottom of the steps was a large metallic receptacle with burning sticks of incense. The Japanese fanned the smoke towards their face, motioning good luck to come. Just to the side of the incense burner was a rectangular water trough. Pia watched the Japanese as they dipped a tin cup with a long wooden handle into the trough, then holding the handle in one hand and with the back of the other, guided the tin cup to their lips. It was a graceful hand movement.

To the far right of the temple, behind some short trees and tall bushes, Pia noticed a small wooden edifice. She walked around it and approached it from the main path. There was a carved wooden panel of animals on the left. It was a Shinto shrine. From what Pia had read, Shinto is the oldest surviving religion of Japan, dating from prehistoric times. The Japanese worship many deities called kami, which are the basic forces found in nature. It is an animist religion that emphasises rituals. It has no elaborate philosophy. According to Shinto myth, the sun goddess, Amaterasu, created the Japanese islands, and that the Emperor is descended from this divinity. The Japanese conduct ceremonies, the matsuri, that pray for long life, peace, abundant harvests, and good health. Pia was amazed that this modern society still kept their primitive religion, practicing its rituals and observing its traditions.

She continued on foot along the main avenue up to the Sumida River where she watched a sightseeing boat ply along. There were several bridges that cut across the expanse of water, each one different from the other. She bought some roasted chestnuts from a street vendor, and wondered how he could eke out a living from the small profit he adds to the price of his produce. After a few minutes, Pia headed for the underground station to go to Ginza.

There were many shops and department stores, and many more Japanese. There were art galleries, automobile display rooms, bookstores, and eateries. She strolled along, admiring the window displays. She passed by a shoe shop and went inside to buy walking shoes.

On the left side of the shop were women’s shoes and on the right, men’s. It was lunchtime, and business suit-clad customers were browsing around. Even on holidays, Pia observed, the Japanese feel compelled to work.

Pia tried on a pair, which she found too tight. It’s too small, she said, motioning with her hands to the attendant sales clerk, since her Japanese was minimal. There was a Japanese man sitting next to Pia, waiting to try on a pair of shoes. He turned to her and said, “Why don’t you cut the front part off, and let your toes hang out?”

Pia turned her head in his direction and laughed. “Your English is very good,” she said.
“Thank you! I studied English in school and from an NHK programme, our educational and cultural television station,” he replied.

“Your state-run television stations have excellent programmes,” Pia remarked. “They present the arts, discuss literary classics, and they have excellent news coverage and documentaries from the British Broadcasting Corporation.”

“Thank you!” he said again. He then took a leather cardholder from his coat pocket and handed Pia his meishi.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing slightly and giving his namecard politely. “Please call me Keita.”

Pia took her card out of her handbag and did the same. “I’m pleased to meet you Keita-san. Please call me Pia.” The saleswoman returned with another pair for Pia, and Keita tried on his.

“Pia-san,” Keita asked, “have you had lunch?”

“No, not yet,” Pia replied.

“I would like to practise my English,” he said. “May I please invite you?”

Pia looked him over. He looked smart in his well-tailored suit. He was polite. He was funny, too. Don’t talk to strangers, her mother said, but this one looked to be all right. “I would be very happy to,” she replied.

They both paid for their purchases and walked out of the shop together, and as Keita looked left and right, deciding where to go, Pia noted his height. He only reached up to her chin.

“Let’s see,” he said, “there’s a street not far from here that’s lined with restaurants. Let’s go there.” Keita started to walk, and he marched with quick short steps. Pia walked slowly with long strides, looking in at the shop windows now and then.

“So how long have you been living in Japan, Pia-san?”

“I just arrived a few months ago.”

“Are you from the Philippines?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I just love your country!”

Pia looked at him in surprise.

“Your country is so beautiful! The Filipinos are so kind and hospitable! In spite of their hardships, they are always laughing or smiling. When I go to the countryside, I find both young and old playing chess together. That is so fantastic! Either that or they are playing basketball or betting on fighting cocks.

“I have been to Boracay, the chocolate hills in Bohol, the rice terraces in Banaue, and the island of Cebu. I have seen the sailing boats on the seas of Mindanao. I have been to the beaches of Batanes, eating sea urchins on its shores. I have been to other places in your country that you will not find on a tourist map. Really, your country and your people are wonderful!”

Then Keita lowered his voice, and placed his hand in front of his mouth as if to whisper. “You know, I don’t want to talk too much about your country to the Japanese. The young Japanese go to Hawaii or Saipan, but what they don’t know is that the real paradise is your Philippines. If they knew that, they would all come to your country instead. So I want to keep that a secret.”

Pia stopped in her tracks, with her mouth open like a stranded fish. She stared at this man who was so proud of her country. “It’s still a long while from now,” he continued, “but I would like to buy a house beside a golf course in the Philippines when I retire. I think I’m about your age. I’m forty-one.”

Pia walked hurriedly to catch up with him. “Thank you very much, Keita-san,” Pia said, “but I’m only twenty-seven.”

“Oops,” Keita started to look at the sky. “Pleasant weather for this time of year, isn’t it?”
Pia laughed again. “Well, you’re so tall, Pia-san, I thought you were older. Gomen-nasai.”

“That’s all right.” They turned right in an alley of two-storied buildings made of prefabricated material with wooden façades. They decided on raw fish and entered a restaurant where they sat at a counter in front of the sushi chef.

“So how do you like living in Japan?” Keita asked. Pia paused for thought before she replied. She could say so little after Keita talked so glowingly about her country. “There’s still a lot I need to know about Japan. I admire your traditions and your culture. Your people are so honest and polite. The Japanese must be one of the most cultivated societies in the world. I congratulate the parent-State for your excellent upbringing. You have a highly structured society, carefully represented in your language, so it is almost impossible to integrate into your society. You also have a quality of life that must be the envy of Asia.”

“Crime and poverty are not common in Japan,” Keita agreed. “Yes, we have a very high standard of living. Good manners and right conduct, and a moral education are taught to us in elementary and high school. Japanese society imposes strong expectations on ourselves–you see, we have a very strong national identity.”

“But both our countries emerged from the War in very bad shape. What has put Japan in the lead? Ninety percent of your population live on twenty per cent of the country’s territory and you have no natural resources to speak of.”

“Our system of land management was drastically reformed just after World War Two. It has been considered one of the most successful in the history of agrarian reform. It brought a more equal distribution of assets, thereby restructuring rural society. We redistributed land property rights, with the only eligible buyer being the cultivator of the land, thus creating a social class of independent owner-farmers. The property rights of those landlords, whose property holdings exceeded five hectares, were transferred to the tenant farmers through compulsory acquisition by the government. Land property was not confiscated, but was financially acquired. Nevertheless, land reform, in order to be effective, necessitates draconian measures.

“So in Japan, conditions were conducive to the success of this land reform. First, the political situation was favourable and facilitated the undermining of the landlords’ political and economic power. Secondly, we had a group of well-educated people in the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce who were able to tackle the enormous amount of operational work. Thirdly, the government offered a highly favourable credit programme enabling tenants to purchase farmland. And fourthly, government policies regulated land and food prices so as to make land an unattractive source of income for large landholders. The government also enacted other numerous regulations aimed at defending the dignity of man. The reform greatly improved the standard of living of rural people. Please study our land reform programme. Your country, by the way, needs a drastically innovative government to reorganise your society.

“Our economy, on the other hand, is driven by international trade. But the Philippines once had the second biggest economy in Asia, next to Japan. Students from neighbouring countries were going to your universities in order to study your ways. In the early sixties, some ASEAN countries were sending their economists to learn what the Philippines was doing. This was the time before Marcos. After Martial Law, the Philippines is now one of the poorest countries in Asia.

“There is also another issue that your country must tackle. Your countrymen have little loyalty to the government and therefore to the nation. In search of a better life, your first wave of migrants was well-educated Filipinos and skilled workers, later to be followed by the rural people. If you are indifferent to your country’s plight, who then will make the changes? Your government should also be worried about the brain-drain problem.”

“They seem unconcerned,” Pia replied, “because emigration is an open safety-valve to let out social unrest. It is an unsatisfactory solution for the country’s economic problems. The result is that there is almost no one in the country capable of carrying the nation forward. There are 400 millionaire families, of which 40 are billionaires, and they control tightly 90% of the country’s wealth. There are 14 families who each own over 40,470,000 square metres of land.”

“Look at Singapore,” Keita continued, “that nation developed under the extremely capable and responsible leadership of Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew. They also had a colonial past, but Lee Kuan Yew transformed his nation into the thriving economy it is today. The socio-economic development of Singapore is another excellent Asian model.

“There is another difference between Japan and the Philippines, and that is religion. We do not allow religion to dictate how the government runs the country. The major consequences of your overpopulation are your country’s poor standard of living and the strain it puts on your educational institutions. If the masses are not educated, they will never rise above their poverty; nor will they, by holding the majority of the popular vote, be capable of making the right choice as to who is to be their nation’s leader. If the plight of the masses is not redressed, this situation will become a breeding ground for social unrest. You must not allow dogmatic notions lead your country to destruction.”

“Buddhism,” Pia noted, “teaches very practical principles, but there are Christians in your country.”

Keita laughed. “The ones who brought that religion to this country were very often English-speakers. The Japanese love to practice their English. You see, many of us Japanese find it hard to believe, and consider it almost implausible, that there should be some sort of divine creator of man and the universe. Christmas is a commercialised event in this country. We are attracted less to faith but to gift-giving customs, carol-singing, and bright decorations. Like Valentine’s Day, our department stores know a good thing when they see it.”

They had finished their lunch and stood up to leave. “We have a proverb dating back to the Edo period,” Keita said, as they stepped out of the restaurant. “If you want to educate your children, let them travel. Learn from the cultures of the advanced civilisations of today, and see what has made them what they are. Those who do not leave their niche are limited in their perceptions.

“The influence of other cultures is inevitable and necessary, and there is a lot to learn from the cultures of other nations. Keep your traditions and customs, but also, assimilate selected aspects of other cultures in order to move forward and to assume the progress made by others comprising our world community. Progress is a constant learning process of what works and what does not. Learn from those who have learnt better.”

 

13. Leadership Qualities

Pia came home early from work and brooded in the garden. She gazed at the orchids, her mind elsewhere. The housekeeper brought a cup of tea. “By the way, até Pia,” she said, “your cousin, Engie, will be coming for dinner. She called this afternoon.”

Pia thanked her and sipped her tea. Pia was thinking about ethics and character. According to Aristotle, man is a political animal. His behaviour is associated with the social setting in which it occurs. How does a good man act? Moral virtues, he said, are acquired by practice and habit. And what is the measure of goodness? Morals cannot be reduced to a set of principles, but we can make generalisations on what it is to be good men.

Whose task is it to make generalisations? There are those who say that religion is necessary to good conduct. But Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, and other religions are mere conduits, religious moral systems for a code of behaviour. There are other moral systems, and theology alone does not shape man’s behaviour.

Jaime Velayo Ongpin once said that if the individual does not have idealism, the society won’t have it, and thus the nation won’t have it. It has to start with the individual, at home, and spread out from there. The child is modified in mind and character by his relationships with those in his family life, and broadens from there with his contacts outside the home. But the human character of the individual, Pia considered, also depends on his economic circumstances.

But to be a good parent is taught and learnt; it is not innate. Then the teaching of ethics and conduct becomes the responsibility of the State through its educational institutions. The State must teach ethics, not religion, from early childhood. Aristotle also said that a bad moral state, once formed, is not easily amended. The future of the nation depends on how children have been brought up to become leaders and to have principles in life. The good of the individual becomes the good of the community.

Pia considered that there are also norms of society that shape man’s behaviour. Ongpin calls them, infuriating Filipino values: our capacity to forgive and forget, our blind respect for authority, our come-what-may attitude, our naiveté and kindness. We forgive criminals in public office, and forget their crimes. We have a monster as head of state and cannot see him for what he is, but respect him for his authority. We leave everything to God, and make no effort to right the wrong. We, Pia thought, are a nation of credulous simpletons.

Our culture exists because the individuals that compose our society maintain its existence. To create new practices, another way of thought, a different way of life, will be up to the individual to make changes and provide direction.

Pia’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard the front door being opened. She called out to her mother who had just come home. She joined Pia in the garden. “Hello, Mother. Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes, I did, thank you, Pia. I operated on Mrs Hidalgo’s hernia today and put it in its place. I had Mr Cano’s dislocated hip back where it belonged.”

Conchita had brought another cup of tea and set it on the garden table.

“By the way,” Pia said, “I’d like to invite you and Papa out for dinner next week.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you. What’s the occasion?”

“There’s just a problem I want to discuss with you both.”

“Is it serious? Don’t you want to talk about it now?”

Pia did not want to disturb the serene atmosphere of home with unpleasant talk. “No, Mama. I want to talk to you and Papa in a restaurant, not at home.” Pia decided to change the subject. “So what else did you do today, Mama?”

Pia knew that her mother had just come back from a tournament game of bridge, one of many hobbies with which she filled her free time. Pia lived with her parents, like most unmarried working girls of her age. They had a housekeeper to do the cleaning and the cooking, and a chauffeur. The chauffeur was really unnecessary, but Pia’s mother could never manage driving in the congested streets of Manila. A sleepy cabdriver had bumped the rear wing of her car, and she had grown fond of the dent. Mrs Delgado said it let the air out of all the pomp of being chauffeur-driven.

Pia’s mother collected orchids. The garden was full of them. Those that had beautiful blooms she placed on the breakfast table so that everybody in the house would begin their day in good humour, ready to face the world and all its vicissitudes.

And Pia’s mother loved reading and discussing her books over dinner. The experiences of the characters and the philosophy behind the themes, she said, provided a learning ground for those who read them. Literature, she said, enriches and puts order in our lives. Like a mirror, it reflects observations that enable us to acquire knowledge.

“I played a tricky seven diamonds today,” Mrs Delgado said, and started to explain her hand, what the dummy had, and where the significant cards were between the opponents. But Pia wasn’t really listening. Her mind was elsewhere.

What are the ethical values that the State must impart? Integrity, responsibility, moral commitment, honesty, loyalty, social graces, citizenship, intellectual virtues, a sense of justice…. But above all, the State must impart a strong sense of personal responsibility to society. We are shaped by both our upbringing and our education. We are also guided by our conscience. No one is infallible, Pia sighed, but we have to strive to do what is right.

The engine of a car could be heard as it entered the garage. Pia’s father, likewise in the medical profession, was a surgeon with a private practice in Quezon City and, on certain days, saw patients at the Makati Medical Centre. At weekends, he would play tennis early in the morning, and during the week he would take brisk walks within the housing complex where they lived, exchanging pleasantries with the neighbours along the way.

“I’m home!” he announced. “Where’s everybody?”

“We’re in the garden, Papa!”

Pia took her father’s hand and respectfully brought it to her forehead, as she had done with her mother. Conchita came to ask if he wanted some tea. “No, thank you,” he said, “I’m going to change and take my walk.” He made his way back into the house.

“Your daughter has invited us out for dinner next week,” Pia’s mother announced.

“Yes, Papa. Where would you like to go?”

“Are we celebrating something?” he called out.

“No, not really.” Pia sighed again. She turned red with shame as she remembered seeing Max’s jaw drop to the table in surprise when she recommended that the company handle the American wine account at the meeting that afternoon. Danny, without Pia providing supporting arguments, quickly approved it. She didn’t have any. Pia wanted to talk to her parents about her options, possibly go back to school and take her Master’s degree. Pia sighed again.

“I hear Merengie is coming to dinner.”

“Pia,” her mother said, “be polite when your cousin arrives.”

“She’s not related to us by blood, you know.” Pia sniffed.

“Her mother is your godmother, so be nice with your relations.”

“A godmother at my christening does not make her entire family our relations.”

“It’s the custom, Pia.”

“Well then, some customs have to be abolished and new ones adopted. They’re very constraining, these old ways of thinking.”

“You’re right,” Pia’s mother said. “Engie’s mother asked to be your godmother because she was grateful to your father for medical treatment; but a small token of appreciation would have been sufficient. As it is, gratitude has gone beyond gift giving. Now society expects you to express gratitude not with a material present, but in the form of returning a favour. The practice has really got out of hand.”

Pia turned her thoughts elsewhere and gazed absentmindedly at the orchids.

“You look tired, Pia.”

“I’ve had an annoying time at the office today, Mama. You know, like when you feel you are alone in the wilderness, barking at the moon.”

Pia snapped out of her dismal disposition. She pulled her shoulders back and stretched her neck to one side to get the kink out of it. “Will you excuse me, Mama, I think I’ll go and take a bath now.”

Pia took her bag and leather case from the table near the front door and went upstairs to her bedroom. She dropped what she was carrying on her study table and went to the bathroom to prepare her bath. She tossed in her usual bath salts and jumped into the tub. She lay there for some time with her eyes closed, and thought after a while about one of her mother’s storybook characters, Ibsen’s doctor. If she were to stand up to Filipino society’s prevailing orientation, she would make herself unpopular with wolves and vultures. But in the final analysis of this one-sided prosperity that is maintained by those who gain from it, the strongest person is the one who holds the ladle that brings change to the cauldron of social apathy.

There was a light tapping at the door. “What is it?” Pia asked.

“Até Pia, your mother wanted me to tell you that Engie has arrived,” Conchita replied.

“Isn’t she early? I’ll be down in a few minutes. Thank you, Conchie.” Pia hastily finished her bath and got dressed. She went down the stairs, arranging her hair at the same time.

They were in the sitting room, and Merengie was doing a dance step in front of her mother. She stopped and walked towards Pia to greet her. Pia noted how Merengie walked with that slow, ungraceful, flatfooted strut. It was an arrogant walk common to that social class–the calf, not the hip, swaying outwards with every dragging step. The condescending swagger taunted–I can financially afford to take it easy, can you?
Merengie, Pia deduced, was a product of pampering parents. She was irresponsible because she did not know what it was to struggle. She did not have to think to survive. The future of the country was in the hands of its youth, a society like hers whose world was materialistic, superficial, and unreasonable. Their pathetic sense of values was learnt through Western television, which depicted an unrealistic way of life. They had no sense of purpose and they lacked discipline. Leaders were made of rare personal qualities. Surely, they could not come from this miserable lot.

“Hello, cousin!” Merengie greeted. “Como está? Think of me, think of you! I was just showing Auntie the latest disco shuffle.”

Pia could never understand what Merengie was talking about. “Hello, Engie,” she greeted back.

“Did you see that latest movie with Mel Gibson? Chig-a-dig my heart! That Americano is so-o-o gwapo!” Engie spluttered. She sat down and started to fumble through her bag. “Where are my blue seal cigarettes?”

Five more minutes of this, Pia thought as she sat down, and she would return to her bath. She need not have hurried. Small talk was really not one of her strong points. Pia noticed that her mother was just as annoyed.

“Pia,” her mother asked, “will you have Conchita place dinner on the table? I’m sure Engie doesn’t want to be home too late.”

Pia got up with much relief, and arrived at the same time as her father who came in through the kitchen back door. “Papa, we’ll be having dinner very soon.”

“She’s early,” he remarked.

Pia rolled her eyes upward. Conchita giggled and gave Dr Delgado his usual mug of iced water.

“Conchie,” Pia said, “bring all the food to the table. There’s a fire at the lake.”

“Where’s the fire?” Conchita asked in alarm.

“Never mind. We’ll be having dinner now. Just put everything on the table quickly. We shall be in a hurry to finish dinner.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Pia’s father said, “but go ahead and begin without me. The less time I have to listen to her chatter, the better.”

Pia returned to the living room. “We can come to the table now, Mama,” she announced. “Papa will join us as soon as he can.”

“Where’s Uncle? I gotta talk to him,” Engie said.

“Have to,” Pia corrected.

“Think of me, think of you,” she replied, frivolously. “I am spokening American!”

“Speak English, please!”

“Why don’t you sit here?” Pia’s mother directed Engie to a chair.

Conchita arrived with a platter of prawns and crabs. She went back to the kitchen and returned with small saucers of fish sauce and mayonnaise. “So, Engie, how is my ninang?” Pia asked, passing the plate of seafood to her mother first.

“Mommy just came back from shopping at Landmark in Hong Kong. She’s going to Hawaii next month, you know. Believe you me, she’s a real jetsetter.”

“That’s nice,” Pia replied.

“What will she be doing in Hawaii?” Pia’s mother asked.

“I have an uncle and auntie there, so she’ll just be visiting and shopping with my dad,” she said.

“That’s nice,” Pia’s mother replied.

Merengie unshelled her shrimp with her fingers, drowned it in mayonnaise, popped it in her mouth, and then licked her fingers. Pia watched her out of the corner of her eye, as she used a knife and fork. With the conversation being what it was, they dined in silence.

“So, Engie!” Dr Delgado said as he entered the dining room. “How’s your father?”

“Hello, Uncle! He’s fine. He plays golf with the congressman so he keeps himself fit.”
“Which congressman?” Pia asked under her breath, expecting no reply.

“It’s not what you know from edumacation,” Merengie snarled, “it’s whom you know that gets you somewhere.”

Conchita brought some stuffed bellpeppers, a green salad, and white rice. “Conchita, the ketchup,” Engie ordered. Conchita returned from the kitchen and placed the bottle beside Merengie’s plate.

“So that brings me to why I’m here,” Merengie said, turning to Pia’s father, who was just starting to help himself to a coconut crab. “Uncle, I want to ask you a favour. I have a friend who wants to be a doctor at Makati Med. I promised him I’d pull strings to get him in.”

Dr Delgado’s eyes began to squint. Pia and her mother looked at each other knowingly. “He gets in only if he’s qualified to practise, and nothing else.”

“But please, Uncle. I told him I had a bigwig Uncle at the hospital. You wouldn’t want to embarrass me, would you, Uncle? Besides, Dad would do anything for you if you asked him.”

Dr Delgado’s nostrils widened in another sign of annoyance. “And what do you think will happen to the qualified doctor who has no strings to pull or doesn’t want to pull any? You will find him abroad, where his expertise and talents are appreciated. Your influence-pulling practices cause a haemorrhage of the intelligent and the talented from this country. So what do we have left? Those unfit for the jobs they’re in. Instead of advancing, we are being run by ignoramuses who keep us backward with their mediocre ideas and feebleminded ways of thinking. They are common men who do not want to rock the boat because they are content with wallowing in the mud, which is their existence. Progress and development will forever remain retarded, with severe consequences for this country. The government should seriously worry about the brain-drain problem; otherwise, there will be no one left to lead this country to prosperity. Do not ask me to pull strings for you.”

“But please, Uncle…”

Dr Delgado’s anger went into its final stage. His forehead wrinkled, his eyes popped out, and his teeth showed under his taut lips. “Engie, let’s say your friend practises medicine. How many patients would he misdiagnose, mistreat, or even cause to expire before he is stopped? What you are asking me is impossible. Consider the consequences. My answer is an emphatic no.”

Conchita brought a custard pie to the table. Dr Delgado was just finishing his crab. “Would you like coffee with your dessert?” Pia asked Merengie, who was pouting over her ketchup-smothered bellpepper.

“No, thanks.”

The rest of the week was busy for Pia. Goro was unfamiliar with the organisation concerning foreign business associates, so Pia had to take care of Lortan’s arrival and agenda in Manila. Danny had given her permission to attend to him.

She was at the airport to meet the Frenchman and bring him in the company car to his hotel and first appointment in Makati. Pia had informed him beforehand that another decision had been made, and that she would introduce him to another trading house that would better serve him.

“By the way, Mr Lortan,” she informed him after lunch, “I have decided to leave the company next month.”

“I suppose a better job opportunity came your way?” he asked.

“No, it isn’t that. I do not agree with the company on certain principles and it has become a matter of integrity. Danny and I are both on a different plane of intellect. You see, the donkey means one thing and the driver another.” Pia wondered if she would make the same decision if she were the breadwinner of a family with several mouths to feed.

Mr Lortan sat there for a while, deep in thought. He dropped a cube sugar in his coffee and stirred it slowly. “Miss Delgado,” he finally said, “I find you very competent. I would be quite fortunate to have someone of your calibre in my company in Tokyo.”

Pia looked up. “Thank you for your offer, Mr Lortan. Will you give me time to consider it?”

It was a hectic week for Pia. She had business meetings and company conferences one after the other. She had to explain the accounts to the staff who would be handling them, and introduce them to her business contacts. She had lunch meetings and appointments outside the office, and with the oppressive heat and humidity of this tropical city, this was tiring. She would arrive home late, have a quick dinner, go to bed, get up the next morning, and start again.

It was at the end of such a day towards the end of that week that Pia went to meet her parents in a restaurant in Greenhills. Pia was tired and the dinner conversation was laconic. But she did have something to talk about.

“Mama and Papa,” she said, when the desserts arrived, “I am thinking of going to Tokyo. I’ve been offered a position in a French company there.”

“Tokyo…” Dr Delgado pondered. “Isn’t that where they have all those electronic gadgets and women carrying parachutes on their backs?”

“But,” Mrs Delgado asked, “didn’t you just pass the qualifying exams to take your MBA at the University? Wouldn’t it be better for your career to take your MBA first?”

“Yes, I know, Mama. But I think this is also a great opportunity to test my wings outside the nest. I can take my Master’s degree at a later date.”

Mrs Delgado looked at her husband to see what his reaction was to the news. “Who’s going to play tennis with me on weekends?” he asked.

“Will you be serious!” Mrs Delgado uttered. “Your daughter is going abroad–alone!”

“I’ve done a little research on Tokyo,” Pia said as they got up to leave. “It’s one of the safest cities in the world. I don’t think there can be anything to worry about.”

They walked together towards the front door, Dr Delgado’s arm on the shoulder of his wife, with their daughter leading the way to the car. “Pia is young. Let her see the world,” Dr Delgado said. “Let her learn what life is about. We must also teach her to be independent. Pia is a responsible girl. She can take care of herself.”

 

12. Self-Defence Force

The chickens squawked themselves hoarse and went flying here and there, raising flakes of dried mud around the square. The womenfolk looked out their doorways, not knowing what to make of this stranger. He carried a heavy satchel slung over one shoulder, which was slightly lower than the other. He appeared relieved that there were no dogs around. He had never been there before.

Abayaw went out to meet him. He was looking for someone, and Abayaw motioned with his hand to his chest, pointing to himself. The man gave him a letter.

One by one they came out of their huts after he left, and gathered around Abayaw. The chickens sensed some unusual excitement and went scurrying away.

“What is it?” they asked.

“It’s a letter from Nina!” Abayaw exclaimed. He sat down on a log and opened the envelope. “My dear brother, Abayaw,” he read out loud. “It has been a long time since I left for Manila. Don’t worry about me. I am all right. I could not find Berto, but I did meet someone who has helped me find work.

“I am in a place called Tokyo, preparing to work for a family, taking care of their small children. Don’t worry about me. I am all right.

“I’ve made a friend here. Her name is Geraldine. She has shown me how to send my earnings back to a bank in Baguio City, in an account that I have put in both our names. It will be a lot of money so I hope I do not have to work here too long. It will be enough to begin a business of my own. I miss home and want to come back soon. Don’t worry about me. I am all right. Your sister, Nina.”

Abayaw read and reread Nina’s letter that evening. There was something about it that wasn’t right. Because they lived a calm existence, worry was an uncommon word in their vocabulary. Clearly, there was something wrong. Abayaw could not sleep that night.

He rose at dawn and dressed in his school clothes, a pair of blue cotton trousers and a white shirt. Carrying his shoes, he went to his parents’ hut and woke his sleeping mother. He informed her that he was going to Baguio City.

He returned late that evening and headed for the agamang, looking for Dulmog. He wasn’t there. Out gallivanting again, he thought. Abayaw was so tired, not only physically from lack of sleep, but also mentally from anxiety. He dropped down onto his mat and quietly snored.

“Yaw!” Dulmog said loudly, shaking his friend’s shoulder to wake him. “They’ve done it again!” Dulmog announced.

“Did what?” Abayaw asked, slowly getting up from a prone position on the floor. The men in the agamang had already started their day, and knowing that Abayaw had returned late that night, they were careful not to wake him.

“There was gunfire at Bugnay early this morning!”

“What happened?”

“The gunfire was at the new Pangat’s hut. After all the noise, we entered his home and stood around what appeared to be his body. When a torch was brought, we found ourselves surrounding a rolled-up mat. They had shot at a rolled-up mat! So there I was wondering why they came all that way to put holes in a perfectly good mat. Then the Pangat, who was standing around the mat with us, said he was feeling cold and so had slept under his mat, with his arm sticking out, touching the rolled-up mat beside him. He said that the gunman must have mistaken the rolled-up mat for his body. But, Yaw, what can we do to help? We only have spears.”

“Well,” Abayaw said, “we are either dealing with reasonable men or with barbarians. I’ll ask the Pangat if he wants me to talk with the chief in Manila on his behalf. Besides, I have to go to that city anyway and find a way to bring Nina home.” Abayaw got up and had a late breakfast, then he left for Kalinga with Dulmog on his tricycle.

“But we are dealing with barbarians,” the Pangat said to them, after listening to Abayaw’s suggestion. “Only barbarians would come in the still of the night to kill the sleeping defenceless. There is no honour in that. I don’t think talking with barbarians will do any good, but you can give it a try. What options do we have? Would you like someone to accompany you?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Abayaw replied. “I have another errand to do on my own while I’m there.”

“Is there anything we Ifugaos can do to help?” Dulmog asked the Chief. Before he could reply, the Pangat observed something in the distance. “There they are,” the Pangat said, raising his hand to a group of men marching towards them. Abayaw and Dulmog watched them as they climbed down a dike, carrying wooden shovels, bamboo staves, and sturdy strips of rattan.

“Thank you for your concern, Dulmog. Today we are going to lay traps along the paths leading to our villages and hamlets. We shall dig pits and line them with poisoned-tip stakes. We will connect trip wires to large boulders and tree trunks to crush the enemy. We will do what we can with what we have, in order to fight the outsiders.”

The men, from villages in Kalinga and Apayao, arrived. The Pangat began to brief them about the possible locations of traps along the Chico River and the transportation route to the sites where the dam equipment was. Abayaw and Dulmog discreetly left them and made their way back to their own mountainside abode.

Abayaw spent the next few days preparing to leave for Manila. He applied for identification papers for his trip to Japan. He was informed that he would have to do the rest of the paperwork in Manila. He withdrew what he considered he needed from his sister’s earnings. With his new clothes and his recently bought small suitcase, he took the bus that would bring him to that city.

The bus terminal was a three-walled building, the same one, Abayaw knew, through which Nina would have passed. Abayaw stood for a while at the side of the noisy avenue, watching the jeepneys and cars go by. He had asked a fellow passenger where he could stay and he started to walk, heading in the general direction of Makati.

He saw a vendor selling fruit and vegetables across the street. A little girl sat at her feet playing jackstones. He crossed over to buy tomatoes and some bananas for his dinner.

He arrived at the hotel, about several metres distance from the bus terminal. It was a tiny run-down structure. He spoke with the owner of the establishment and asked him for information about what he wanted to do the next day.

The following morning, Abayaw first went to the Japanese consulate and presented his documents in order to get a visa. He was informed that it would take some time. He then went to Malacañang Palace to seek an audience with Marcos. After identifying himself and explaining his mission, he was also informed that it would take some time. He said it was urgent. He was told to come back some days later.

A fortnight later, he was informed by the consulate that his visa application had been refused. He asked to see the consul general to present an explanation of the situation. Abayaw told him that he seriously thought his sister was in trouble, and that he had to find her and bring her home. No, Abayaw said, he was not going to Japan to look for work. And indeed, how could he, with his pronounced physical handicap? He was told to return a few days later.

Several weeks later, he returned to the Palace. He was finally ushered into a room with a judge’s bench mounted on a raised platform. He noted that he would have to look up at the chief, who would look down on his subject. There was something not right about that, Abayaw thought. The relationship is not ruler and ruled, but leader and follower. A leader is at the beck and call of his followers who have bestowed on him the highest position of trust.

Marcos entered the room with a small entourage of what seemed to Abayaw to be thugs. Marcos climbed up onto the platform and sat down. From a short distance, all Abayaw could see was the top of his head. He stepped back a few paces to be able to look at the person he was talking to. A true leader, Abayaw thought, does not distance himself from his people.

Abayaw began by introducing himself, and said that he was representing the Pangat of Kalinga-Apayao to talk to him about the Chico River dam project. “Sir,” he began, “the proposed dams will permanently destroy the ancestral home of over 15,000 families in Kalinga-Apayao and Bontoc–a population of about 100,000. You will cause the extinction of a people dwelling over thousands of years in these mountains. Our culture and traditions are very deeply implanted with our ancestral land.

“I understand there is a power crisis in the country. But there are other means of meeting our energy requirements without having to resort to cultural genocide. We have other untapped indigenous energy resources that have to be explored. These may be low-power density sources, but a higher power density source, such as fusion power, is beyond any one country’s financial means. Making do with what we have, our country is the only nation in Asia with a significant and exploitable source of geothermal energy. Forty sites have been assessed and found to have a combined potential capacity to generate between 2,000 to 4,000 megawatts of power, or 50 to 100 megawatts from a single site.

“Another source is wind energy, which can supply a significant potential source of power. There are wind corridors in Luzon and Mindoro. A wind farm can generate 40 megawatts of power.

“Hydroelectric energy may have the unconfirmed potential of about 12,000 megawatts from 245 sites around the country or about 50 megawatts from a single site, but the life expectancy of a dam is only about fifty years. In the meantime, you will have forever destroyed this nation’s heritage–the culture of a mountain people, a part and parcel of the Filipino’s patrimonial identity–a heritage that belongs to all humanity. In behalf of the people of Kalinga-Apayao and Bontoc, we beg you to stop the Chico River dam project.”

Marcos had been sitting on his podium, alternating his weight from one buttock to the other. He had not looked at Abayaw directly while he spoke. Abayaw waited with expectation for a reply to his impassioned plea.

“Sir,” Abayaw continued, “may I add that when you decided to undertake this project, you did not consult the Kalingas and the Bontocs, nor discuss with them the necessity for the dams so as to reach an agreement on relocating the population. There are many ways of finding a solution to a problem, and violence is the least of them.”

“You are nothing but a mountain hillbilly,” Marcos finally said, “with half a leg.”

Abayaw was taken aback. He thought of something to say, a retort, but then considered that this was the chief of the entire nation. He, on the other hand, was just the representative of the Pangat of a cultural minority.

“Appearances can be deceiving, sir,” Abayaw replied.

Marcos then turned towards his thugs, one of whom jumped to attention and ushered Abayaw out of the room. In less than the time it took to brush one’s teeth, Abayaw found himself facing an empty street.

Outside, Abayaw thought of the human rights that the government is obliged to protect. These rights are life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness. When these human rights are not safeguarded and when it turns a deaf ear to its citizens, then the government loses its claim to obedience. The Pangat was right. This city chief is far from being civilised.

Meanwhile, along the Chico River valley in the Cordillera Mountains, government soldiers were bombing villages and hamlets, using helicopters and warplanes. They randomly shot at those working quietly in their rice fields and anyone coming out of their huts. They engaged in all manner of unspeakable horrors in this peaceful area in the mountains. Thousands in Kalinga and Bontoc were killed–thousands upon thousands of defenceless people.

Abayaw limped to a jeepney stop that would bring him back again to the Japanese consulate in Makati. There he was informed that his visa application had been finally approved. He then went to a travel agent to inquire about the next plane to Tokyo.