

My Ties, Tethers, Anchors and Roots. These keep me grounded but also allow me to dream.
I reprint a Statement I drafted for FLAG three (3) years ago on Human Rights Day, December 10, 2004; this became the guest Editorial of the late, lamented Today newspaper on December 10, 2004.
One day every year, we remember.
We remember years of infamy and days of darkness: when law was perverted to suit the needs of one man, his family and his minions; when freedom was but a myth and a mantra; when human rights and social justice were but beautiful words that stared us in our faces and mocked us.
But we remember also very many shining moments of courage, of inspiration, of unity, of selflessness, of martyrdom: when freedom was no longer a myth but our muse—to spur on struggles for greater freedoms; when human rights and social justice became beautiful words that allowed courageous men and women to stand fast and mock the tormentors of freedom.
One day every year on December 10, International Human Rights Day, we remember for we have cause to remember. Yet we should stop not at just remembering one day every year for the cause for remembering brings with it costs of remembering.
Remembering our freedom and how we regained it carries with it the costs of keeping that freedom:
Vigilance. Constant learning.
Commitment to the cause of freedom, social justice and human rights and all that that commitment entails. Selflessness, courage, inspiration and a love for country that transcends the love for self.
The costs of remembering.
For possibly the same reason I'm ranting.
We waited for this?
What is going on?
After the so-called Basketball Association of the Philippines (BAP), through its self-proclaimed “leaders” Lim, Alentajan and Tan, manage to pull off one of the most cruel stunts anyone could ever think of in this basketball-crazy country—getting us suspended from international competition—the SBP led by Manny V. Pangilinan agree on “unity” with this group. And they’re happy about it?
I don’t know about you—but it’s no longer only in
Can the saner voices in Philippine basketball do something please?
Driving home last night close to
Two exchanges caught my attention.
The first involved both Mike Arroyo and Cayetano exchanging barbs about how their alma mater, the Ateneo de Manila (Arroyo and Cayetano both finished law at the Ateneo, something that I can be proud of--that they did not finish law in U.P.; unfortunately, Tinex Jaraula did, but that's another blog altogether), was ashamed of them. Arroyo brought it up first by belittling what Cayetano was asking and how he was asking them by saying that Ateneo was ashamed to be associated with him (Cayetano); never one to let a barb go by without a riposte, the Congressman retorted with a similar comment.
I’m from the Ateneo (not de Manila, Cagayan de Oro more popularly known as
The second exchange involved another Arroyo with Cayetano: Iggy, the hapless younger brother of Mike, who appears perpetually drunk, dazed, bewildered or something much more intoxicating or all four at the same time. Yes, Iggy—Jose Pidal himself.
When quizzed by Cayetano about relatives using aliases, Mike Arroyo promptly denied any such thing, never mind that right beside him was Iggy, who had publicly and several times under oath admitted that he had used the pseudonym (or alias, if you will), Jose Pidal, in connection with election-related spendings. So when asked by Cayetano, Iggy gave an answer out of the Imelda Marcos (vide “the black hole” in the cosmic plan of thing etc. etc.) and Melanie Marquez (remember "Don't judge my brother, he's not a book"?) school of witticisms —something to the effect that he is not yet the First Gentleman, maybe next year.
In the car, I had to figuratively and almost literally pull over as my jaw had dropped and was in danger of hitting the steering wheel and I was laughing so hard I could barely see; you could hear the “thunk” of collective jaws dropping in the hearing room, the muffled snickers even from Arroyo’s most rabid and asinine (and there are a lot of them; soundtrack to this: Patty Page’s “How much is that doggy in the window?”) sycophants. Such was the inanity of the answer.
Of course, Cayetano, being who he is, would not let Iggy off the hook that easily; quickly he inserted the question, “why, is Gloria Arroyo not going to be the President anymore next year?” Mercifully, I reached home before my jaw could drop any lower from any answer that Iggy would give. (NB. I’m not a fan of Cayetano—never have been, never will be. But with the way that Gloria, Mike, Iggy and Mikey, all surnamed Arroyo, have been going at him, hammer and tongs, and with Cayetano’s typical glibness and occasionally inspired witticisms against a totally inept and inarticulate trio of Arroyos, the possibility is that Cayetano might just end up in the Senate--inspite of Cayetano's efforts.)
I felt like I was listening and watching to a totally surreal and twisted episode of The Three Stooges (take your pick who Curly, Larry, Moe and Shemp are from the Congressman from Taguig, the First Gentleman, Jose Pidal and the 4th-rate "actor" who makes Manny Pacquiao look like Oscar-material), except that I wasn't and didn't feel like laughing.With the finesse of a sledgehammer blow, Gloria Arroyo showed just how much she holds in contempt the rule of law; and just how stupid she thinks Filipinos are.
Spiriting away Mr. Smith in the dead of night on the last working day of the past year smacks of utter malice and deception; it also betrays the cowardice that is inherent in a government and a pretender who, never having been elected to the highest office in the land, continues to wield the prerogatives of the executive office under the shadow of constant fear of being thrown back to where she belongs—in the dustheap of disgraced dictators.
The rape victim in the