Dealing with the monster

When Mayor Rodrigo Duterte admitted that city government is having a difficult time controlling the harbingers of death roaming the city’s streets on board a two-wheel contraption boasting 125 cc of horsepower, I said to myself: finally!

There’s nothing whimsical in that statement because it takes a lot of guts/humility for the mayor to concede that a.) the killings might have gotten out of control; b.) the city government has been helpless in curbing the killings.

Yes, he accepted responsibility for the killings but the heroic(?) gesture rings hollow when he exonerated the Davao City Police Office (which incidentally won the best police office in the country) of blame by claiming that killings are not unique to the city and that he was satisfied with its performance, and in the same breath, challenged his critics to produce evidence on the existence of the Davao Death Squad.

I mean, are you kidding me? For all his vaunted obstinacy, bipolar statements like that just leave everybody confused. I think he has become a victim of his own image. That’s the only explanation I could think of. Growing up, I’ve heard the rumors: of death riding on motorcycles, their scythes shooting .45 caliber of hot lead. To this day, I never heard anybody allegedly belonging to the vigilante group (if there ever was one) arrested, much less incarcerated.

Don’t get me wrong. To think there’s a single organized group out there that’s cleaning the streets of criminals would be a stretch even for a paranoid bastard like me. It would be more logical to think the killings are perpetrated on a hit basis in exchange for a monetary reward. But the paranoid in me can’t help but think the killings won’t last this long without the go signal from the police and, by extension the local government (one of the mayor’s famous words was nobody will fart in Davao City without him knowing about it) and sadly, the public itself.

Why else would the killers insist on using the same M.O. and risk arrest when each Pedro and Maria is already familiar with their methods? Unless they were meant to be a warning, a badge of immunity if you will. Back off, or else.

This tacit approval by the public can be gleaned from the comment made by a Ms. Rosie I. Tan who said:

“True the street maintenace is not something to be proud of. The infrastructure needs a little boost. But I’ll take that anytime knowing that my kids are safe when they come out of school to buy project materials in the malls. I’ll accept that as fair trade knowing that my husband will be safe on his way home from work. Maybe Vigilantism is a monster in a bottle. Maybe it has some casualties. But I’d love to hear a Davaoeno lambast the Davao Death Squad, face a kidnapper and say he forgives him for killing a loved one. Criminals harm and kill ordinary citizens. Vigilantes kill criminals. That’s justice for me.”

I’m not going to belabor her point but for a full text of here comment click here. She is right, however, I have yet to hear a massive outrage from ordinary citizens. Duterte has an explanation for it: the culture of violence that started in the late 1970s and early 1980s — when killings are a daily occurrence and as boring as watching ice melt — still pervades in the city to this day.

I don’t buy it. The killings continue because the public allowed itself to be cowed. In the words of Ms. Tan, the killings are a fair trade to knowing your husband and kids go home safe. She called it a monster in a bottle which presupposes a semblance of control but as I told her, the monster is no longer bottled up. Keeping that monster on a leash gives her a sense of security, but what’s stopping evil men from using that same monster against you and me?

Apart from desensitizing the public, the killings are breeding copycats. And yet the police and the Commission on Human Rights pointed to the lack of witnesses as the main reason why the investigations could not get off the ground. Hmm… ya think anyone likes to get involved if he/she thinks the government is the enemy? Who will protect them then, the criminals?

Let’s get it out in the open. Do I believe the city government is behind the killings? I have no proof to categorically say yes. But the funny thing is it doesn’t seem too concerned about being seen by everybody as a such, apart from the ministerial denial and directives for investigation. At the most, the local government is guilty of being phlegmatic.

The public and even the media have even stopped making the police accountable. After all, what’s the difference between one murder or two?

Now Duterte has directed the police to unmask the killers to dispel the notion that the murders are sanctioned by the state. Even to the point of asking the dying victim who was the triggerman. Knowing the tendencies and bipolar statements of City Hall, I’m going to hold my applause for this one. Let’s see how he can control this multi-headed monster.

Vengeance and mercy

Davao City is abuzz with Mayor Rodrigo Duterte’s revelation that a popular parish priest, the spokesperson of Davao Archbishop Fernando Capalla, was in fact married. It was bannered by the two community newspapers here (for Sunstar’s take on the issue, click here).

Yes, Duterte all but threw the kitchen sink at Fr. Pete Lamata. And for what? Well, apparently the priest was politicking and, according to the mayor, actively blackballing him before the parishioners in his sermons. And horror of all horrors, the priest facetiously referred to Duterte’s daughter, Davao City Vice Mayor Sara Duterte, as Inday Badiday.

Now there’s nothing wrong with name-calling, he said, if used in the spirit of fun but when laced with mockery, that’s a different story altogether. And the mayor’s response? He dropped the bomb on the priest’ marriage during his public service program “Gikan sa Masa, Para sa Masa.”

And so here we are. Some people have been asking why our paper did not carry the story. For two days in a row, newspapers have been having a heyday writing all the angles to the story. The queries beg an explanation: was it a legitimate story?  

I say it is. On any other day, it’s a story that warrants a one-column treatment at the very least. I closed the paper on the day the story broke but I decided we wouldn’t be dragged down in the muck. Sure, a priest being actually married is a legitimate story but there’s something supercilious about the information coming from the mayor with an axe to grind. Duterte’s intentions were clear: to sully the name of the priest not at the public’s interest but to serve as a warning: he’s not beyond kicking you in the balls if you touch any of his children.

True, you wrestle with a pig and you get dirty. And the pig will like it.

I can understand his protectiveness but when you throw your children into politics, you’d expect their immaculate shirts to get dirty, wouldn’t you? Duterte is not even beyond reproach, so how can he expect his children, who are holding high positions in the local government riding on his coattails, to be untouchable? In politics, as in love, everything is fair game.  

What the story would be about instead is the reaction from priests and explanation from the archbishop.
For one, I didn’t know that you can go back to priesthood even if you’re married but apparently, based on Capalla’s statements, you can.

The archbishop admitted that indeed, Lamata as a young man “had gone through a civil marriage with a woman.”

“According to Church law this is a serious violation which brings about an automatic suspension from the priestly ministry. So Father Lamata was suspended.

“According to the same law, to be forgiven and restored to the priestly ministry, there are steps and procedures to be followed aside from humble repentance and separation,” Capalla said.

Now, that’s something I’d expect the public to be interested in rather than the information after the fact, and relayed through very suspicious intentions no less. I wonder though how the Church can accept back a priest separating from his wife in order to serve his parishioners again when it has been savagely denouncing divorce on the argument that marriage is sacred? What about the vow of celibacy then? The priest did dip his peter on somebody’s bush. Doesn’t that count for something?

Of course, my interest is purely scholarly based on the questions above. I could not care less if the parish priest is married or not. Nor am I advocating for him to be banned from practicing priesthood because that’s between him, his parishioners, and their God.

Obamarama claims victim

This news report cracked me up.

Friend stabbed dead
over Obama debate

By Guy Lorenzo Lao

An argument over United States President Barack Obama lineage led to a death of a 36-year-old farmer last Monday afternoon.

Erlinda Revisa, 49, an owner of a ‘sari-sari’ store in Marilog proper, told PO3 Rolando Mitran of Marilog Police that neighbors, Narciso Amban, 36, and alias ‘Toto’ Rondia were drinking when their topic turned towards the new US president.

The police officer said Rondia and Amban argued whether Obama had a Muslim blood. Amban allegedly insulted his friend in the middle of their argument which prompted Rondia to pull out his hunting knife and stabbed Amban in the chest.

Rondia left the scene while Revisa called help from the Marilog Police. Responding members of Central 911 declared the victim dead on the spot due to a single wound on his chest.

Mitran said they are still tracking down the suspect while Amban’s body now lies at St. Peter Funeral Parlor in Calinan.

A simple solution

For most of us, it might be difficult to understand the reason for the downward spin of the global economy but it boils down to overproduction and speculation. While we can point to the highly-excessive US economy and its neo-liberalist policy, which makes it vulnerable to abuse by some enterprising multi-nationals with a lot of grease money to make sure the market forces are artificially stable, we can also cite some countries (led by China), flooding the world with cheap goods and imitations which makes it virtually impossible for small businesses to compete.

Of course, free market forces adhere to the maxim that supply creates demand. What is happening now, however, is not the lack of supply but production is not meeting the demand of quality in products. To put it simply, it’s the case of putting the cart before the horse. There are too many cheap products of the same design but nobody is buying after hearing too many horror stories of toxic poisoning in children, breakable products, and unreliable warranty.

This distrust towards cheap products is further aggravated by the economic downturn which creates a vacuum of demand for non-basic products, which leads to retrenchments and profit loss. It’s no wonder therefore that China is badly-hit by the global recession since it forces nations to cut down on imports and develop local products.

You have the richest family on the block, which becomes the envy of the neighborhood because the parents, who were savvy entrepreneurs, always had the most beautiful cars and clothes, the kids had the latest toys and gadgets, the mansion covers nearly half the block with a 24-hour security detail.

One day, the rich father showed you how he devised a system through maximized use of credit cards, subprime mortgages, and manipulating the market to keep profits soaring. You tried it and saw your bank account expand, you get a new car, renovate your house, send your kids to exclusive schools. Finally, you’re living the American dream.

So what happens when you notice the cars of your neighbor missing one by one? When his kids are now taking buses to school or even transferring to another cheaper school? One day, you see furniture and appliances being wheeled out of the mansion and rumors have it that they are being pawned off. The pool dries up, the dogs stop barking, the security guard goes missing.

You know something is wrong but you’re not sure what. Then you start hearing rumors about banks foreclosing properties, loans getting rejected, markets falling, your friend getting fired from his job, and your center of balance start spinning. You hold on to your valuables and hard-earned money hoping to weather the difficult times. But you know in your heart it’s only a matter of time before you get what’s coming to you.

At work you hear whispers, softly bouncing off walls at first but it gets louder and more persistent. You are next to go.

What do you do?

Our lawmakers found a solution: just add another P2 billion to the pork barrel.

I hope he can

It’s it amazing how just barely 54 years ago Rosa Parks refused to yield her seat in a bus to a white passenger in Montgomery, Alabama and sparked the modern civil rights movement? With that act of defiance, her name is now forever etched in history while the driver of the bus who threatened to have her arrested will forever be relegated to small script and annotated by an asterisk. The driver’s name, by the way, was James Blake.

Nine years earlier, a lesser known act of courage was shown by Irene Morgan, who was jailed in Virginia for refusing to give up her seat to a white person on board a Greyhound bus. She was just 27 years old.

I don’t even remember what I did at that age.

And here we are. Standing behind the podium on the steps of the US capitol, a rather lean man in red silk tie. Barack Hussein Obama. The first black president of the most powerful country in the world.

The storied candidacy of Obama from a virtual unknown to the 44^th US president has been well-played by the media. Obama knows his history and the significance of his victory. For some, he has ceased to be an individual but became symbol personified. It is to his credit that rather than run away from the overwhelming expectations, he welcomed it. This is evident on his speech, which was filled to the brim with symbolisms, as he weaved from one era to another in the history of America in a preacher’s deep voice.

I was impressed by his eloquence but then again, I think part of the reason was watching George W. Bush mangle the English language for the past eight years. That doesn’t take away from Obama’s command of the language but we have to admit, any politician with an ounce of charisma and articulation will sound like Einstein standing next to Bush (I’m not looking at you Newt Gingrich). Anyway, no sense to step further on already flat shit. Moving on.

Throughout his speech (here’s the full text), Obama peddled hope, freedom and responsibility like rare gypsy’s potions. I sat in front of the tube entranced, as I watched the crowd cheer while hanging on to his every word like giddy girls over Edward Cullen pasty-white smile.

Yes, I’m even willing to suspend whatever misgivings I had before about how he dropped his pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright, over his controversial sermons that did not sit well with white America and choosing instead ultra-right Pastor Rick Warren (who himself made inflammatory rhetoric against homosexuals) to deliver the inaugural prayers.

I guess that’s the peril of being a president, you have to please each demographic.

At this point, I really hope he can make good on his promise to reclaim the lost faith of the rest of the world on the capacity of America to lead and erase the image of a bully that wedgies school nerds on a whim.

I wonder though, throughout his speech, did anybody notice the color of his skin other than white, red and blue?

Tatak K…

…is not vitamins I assure you. In fact, too much dosage is probably bad for your health.

Tatak K is the television (he calls it public service, but I doubt that) program of the de facto congressman of Davao City’s first district. The de facto was his father’s words, not mine. His father, by the way, is the House Speaker. The number four most important man in the country. And I ranked what, 88,999,999^th out of the estimated 89 million Filipinos? I think that’s only because I have a skewed sense of self-importance.

That means, ladies and gentlemen, 88,999,998 others are more worthy to swallow his spit.

Tatak K is the brand to sell the son. I would not even guess his political agenda but the word magnanimity was never associated with the father, maybe the son is different? What was the old maxim about the fruit never falling far from the tree or was it shit from the ass?

Tatak K is just the latest venture. There are other indications that the son has a personal agenda. How about his face emblazoned on the side of the multi-cabs donated to the communities in the first district, for example. Or could it be that he inherited his father’s penchant to put the family name on projects built “through his own initiative.”

My, my… kids do grow up so fast.

Another indication: the anointed son visited out office one day wanting to write a column. He hobnobs with the boss so no surprise there.

He was introduced to the people at the office. When the name of our chief editor was mentioned by our boss, he said: I don’t know her. Okay, how about the managing editor?

“My father doesn’t know him.”

Ah.

When my name was mentioned. Well, you could guess the answer. I generally avoid the press conferences they organize like the Black Plague.

Anyway, his request to write a political column was declined. We offered him to write a lifestyle column instead. We all shook hands, I managed a wry grin. Awkward. How about that lifestyle column?Sure, sure, he said.

We never heard from him since.

There’s a word associated with the letter K that any self-respecting kolehiyala can blurt out effortlessly.

Kainis.

Added burden

I wonder why the number of interns have been dwindling?

Before we used to get as many as five interns for training at the same time. Now, we hardly get one. Personally, I prefer it that way because it’s not easy to break a student on the realities of working as a journalist on the field and that job falls on me, being the lowest ranked supervisor on the team.

The hardest part I think is how to sustain student interest in print journalism because it certainly lacked the appeal and luster of being seen on TV or heard on radio. And make no mistake about it, it’s harder to get your copy published in print because it is more demanding when it comes to grammar, accuracy, and accountability.

The professional part of me, however, wishes there were more students who show interest in pursuing a career in journalism. It is a thankless job, especially more so for community journalists who, ironically, are constantly preyed upon by unscrupulous publishers and broadcast station owners. I think we have one of the highest ratios in terms of labor violations than any other industry: that includes non-payment of wages or benefits, long hours, overtime pay, labor contracting, etc.

Exactly how do you hope to attract new graduates to try their hand in journalism without offering a competitive salary package? And because it is difficult, it would be a better investment for the company to take care of employees because pride is the only thing that prevents writers and editors from going the route of the call center industry, where the dearth of competent agents gave rise to pirating employees from rival companies.

This rivalry thing is so ingrained in us that we wouldn’t want to get caught dead working for a rival company that has been the subject of constant ribbing and criticizing during weekly meetings. Right now, however, pride is a luxury that’s quickly waning by the minute. An additional P2,000 to your present salary sounds very appetizing especially when your monthly bills mount or your family expands.

The growing popularity of independent films also changed the whole landscape. More and more students now want to become filmmakers and schools have been prodding them even if the teachers do not posses the filmmaking background to impart knowledge while the equipment and machine leave much to be desired. With all those odds, I reckon the chances of success for a budding filmmaker to break the mainstream, where the moolah is, is one in a hundred thousand.

Now I’m not saying the trend is a bad thing, but it does impact on the number of students who want to be print journalists. That burden, however, is on us. As if my monthly bills are not a burden enough, tsk.

Entitlement

Communist rebels finally released 1^st Lt. Vicente Cammayo on Tuesday after nearly two months in captivity when he went missing (the military version said he was abducted; the New People’s Army claimed he surrendered) in Monkayo, Compostela Valley on November 7 last year.

But I’m not going to write an entry about the circumstances behind his release so for a full report, read here. However, there were some observations that warranted this entry.

We had a correspondent cover the event and it was an interesting experience for him. The coverage was no problem since we had full confidence on his capacity to write in intelligible form whatever transpired during the turnover of the captive soldier from the hands of the NPA, to the International Committee of the Red Cross and finally, to government authorities.

At the Eastern Mindanao Command headquarters, Cammayo was wheeled towards the waiting throng of journalists, government officials, military officers and hangers-on for the ministerial press conference.

During the brief interchange, a military official distributed copies of the NPA statement and being wet behind the ears and because nobody knew him from Adam, our writer was naturally excluded. When he asked for a copy from the writer of a rival paper, he got snubbed instead.

There’s something to be said about entitlement. Our correspondent is certainly not entitled any favors from a rival writer. It’s their nature to compete and to out-scoop each other. In the same vein, the public is entitled to whatever information that NPA statement might contain. I could not blame the writer for his actions and in the same vein I also could not chide the newbie for his reaction. These are the kind of things he will learn along the way.

We all go through these initiations and there’s a good side to that: whatever respect you get later, you are sure you earned it. I just hoped things like these should be taught in schools to fully prepare would-be journalists for what should be expected once they are thrown into the fire, so to speak but how can you expect students to learn when the teachers have not burned a single candle to learn their craft outside of classroom walls? Oh well, c’est la vie.

Novel Idea

Joining trade exhibits could be very difficult. With all the preparations needed to put up a – from lighting materials, banner stands, furniture and refurbishing the booth itself – just where do you begin?

Fortunately, there’s Camelback, a one-stop shop where start-up companies and even A-listers

can scour for everything they could possibly need when they intend to join trade shows, exhibits, expositions, or hold concerts and special events for product exposure.

Consider their display trusses for example, which features aluminum and steel structures that could be customized according to the client’s needs: be it modular, orbital, or box-type. The lightweight materials can also packed into special cases for easy delivery. The store also offers regular or retractable banner stands (which could be set up in seconds!) for outdoor and indoor needs; or life-sized cutouts that will surely catch the attention of potential clients and buyers. How cool is that?

Touchy-feely

Is it just me or something is off about how Richard Gomez is hosting the Family Feud? I know I have better things to do than criticize the hosting style of some actor but I’ve watched several episodes now and the way he practically jumps at the women contestants still makes me uncomfortable.
Maybe I have a dirty mind but it’s like watching somebody being exploited on primetime.

If anything, doesn’t his “touchy” style of hosting must be putting girls at a disadvantage? If he has to be a fair host, shouldn’t he also hug and kiss the guys while they were guessing their answers?

Apparently, this is is first time to host a game show and he auditioned for the role, according to GMA News. I wonder who he had to kiss to get the part?

I mean, common people! Did the original host of Family Feud, where Richard’s gameshow was patterned after, invade the space of the contestants to reduce them to giddy little girls?

I have to stop now lest I’ll be accused of being envious. Just would like to say though I grew up on the original show and the old (dead!) guy, Ray Combs, was much better.

Flu schmoo

This sucks. My throat is feeling dry, my body is sore and I think I’m coming down with a flu. The cans of beer in my freezer this morning beckons and I still have tons to do. I expect the next few days to be pure torture as I tide this sickness over.

I know I need a lot of bedrest but I have a bad case of insomnia so sleeping early is out of the question. In fact, this flu was probably triggered by several days of only two or three hours of sleep each day. Today, my nose started to run. Tomorrow, or the next day at the most, I’d start coughing and the ensuing discomfort would likely rob me of much-needed sleep.

It’s a Catch-22 situation: I don’t sleep, I get worse; I get worse, I can’ sleep.

There’s another problem, I can’t swallow a pill. It’s probably psychological but I’d like to think it’s genetic since my mother is pretty much the same. What we do is drink lots of liquid and, in her case, catch up on sleep.

But what the heck am I thinking? There’s beer on my freezer courtesy of San Miguel Beer (thank God for friends holding strategic positions). As always the case, when you got all odds stacked against you, have beer. It won’t probably help my situation and more than likely weaken my immune system some more but hey, in a liquor-laced stupor, nothing else matters.

Talking cock

I grew up around chickens. I don’t mean the cowards, I’m referring to Col. Sanders’ favorite pet, the one with feathers and go clucking at the first sign of trouble.

My father was a hobbyist breeder and very passionate about roosters, so much that he refused to eat any of the chicken that we brought home from cockfights (hey, each battle has its spoils, some get women or gold but we got dressed and muscled cocks instead). Since my father’s fighting cocks were quite good, every Sunday was a feast since we always get Tinolang manok for dinner aside from the two liters of Coke. Growing up poor, those things were a luxury.

Mornings and afternoons were torture. I was assigned the task of feeding the cocks and the hens at 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. on the dot. Failure to do so earned me a licking. All the cocks insisted on being the top dog of the coop and fight whoever (dog, cat, me) entered that godforsaken, turd-infested (they’re not called fowl for nothing) box. The hostility magnified during breeding period when the cock was all juiced up from pent-up horniness, like the Tasmanian Devil on crack, and any shin or leg was fair game.

And man, you couldn’t believe how some cocks got Kung Fu down pat. If you were lucky, you get only a few welts or scratches but there were cases when my leg was pockmarked by sharp talons and beaks. Though we weren’t really told to not kick or pummel them to death, it was common understanding that a boy always runs away when confronted by a cock. That maxim holds true on both literal and figurative sense. Unless the boy likes cocks and that’s just gay.

As a kid, I did my assignment begrudgingly. I wasn’t passionate about chickens. In fact, I thought the only thing they were good for was when they were covered in barbeque sauce. But when I discovered gambling, cockfighting opened a whole new world for me. Good thing my father was such a sport about his sons gambling. My father was never a heavy gambler. I think he gets more kick of his cocks winning only because it’s a testament to his methods; just like how gambling was a testament to my madness.

It took me years to rid that vice but last New Year’s Day, I went to my first cockfight in years. All the usual suspects were there, the Kristos, bookies, wasted bums, liquors, the adrenaline rush, and even the enterprising man who rents out the metal spurs (also called gaffes or tari in visayan) for a few pesos, and it’s like I never left. It’s amazing how they put up the cockpit that fast when it was just a few months back when authorities raided the placed and booked a few gamblers.

My father brought along one gamecock. So in keeping with the new year, I wagered P500. I thought that was just enough to scratch a nagging itch but not too much to nag at my conscience for falling off the wagon. As luck would have it, the fight was a draw. I wouldn’t have mind losing the money, anything but a draw. I got my P500 back but I was still pissed off. When I handed that money to my father, I already written that off as a lost asset since I learned a long time ago that adopting that mindset helped take the sting off losing. To scratch another itch, the P500 never had a chance. We spent it all on food.

G.C for sale

The long Yuletide holiday brings mixed feelings. On one hand, it gives me the chance to rest from my killer schedule; on the other hand, I expect my purse to be a lot thinner in January.
You see, my main job doesn’t pay much (though I have no right to complain because I knew what was I getting into coming in) so to compensate, I moonlight as a writer for national company or take any other assignments that could net me at least an extra P1,000 a month. My only condition is the task wouldn’t compromise my integrity and that of my office.

As luck would have it, Fridays and Mondays in the last weeks of December were sandwiched between legal holidays and the result was almost two weeks of no extra work for me.  Just showed how the President’s holiday economics sucked big time. A miraculous event occurred for us in December, much more remarkable than the Roman Catholic’s Nativity: we were given our 14th month this year. Even now, I still am not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing. I couldn’t but feel that an incredible episode  portents disaster.

I would have loved to save some of my money for next year but there’s no chance of that now. Spent most of it on gifts, the holiday bug got me and I ended up spending money I do not have on gifts and treats for family, loved ones and friends. What’s new, right? I’m one of those people who could not save money to save my life. And so here we are, two days before the new year and I’m already broke.

All I have left are the free gift certificates given to me by friends and acquaintances. So if we’re going by the tradition of creating your luck through symbolisms (polka dots, round fruits), next year would be a bad year for me: Just how do you survive on gift certificates?

While we’re at it, anybody wanna buy one?
 

Piktyur

 

Stupid is what a stupid does

I just gotta get this off my chest.

But before going to the meat of the story, let me provide a bit of background to better appreciate the gravity of the faux pas.

Last December 7, there was a shootout between a cop and a known toughie (with a name like Allan Tirador, you have to be) in one of the downtown communities. The cop was called around 10 in the evening to check out a report about the ruffian throwing his weight around while his .45 caliber pistol was visibly tucked at the waist.   

The cop had a beef with his neighbor about an earlier incident where the troublemaker allegedly pointed a gun at his father. So he left his house and found the suspect, who appeared to be intoxicated, at the back of the barangay hall.  Upon seeing the cop approached, the suspect drew his gun and fired at the cop wounding his right hand. The cop sought cover and Allan fired two more times at his direction. The cop fired back and hit the suspect on the stomach, apparently a graze wound or so hospital records later revealed.  

In the volley of bullets, a civilian caught one bullet at his lower back and was brought to the hospital. He was just strumming his guitar and jamming with his friends in one of the sari-sari stores when the incident occurred.  
That’s the official police report.

There’s another version however, the suspect’s own.

According to him, the policeman opened fire first, prompting him to defend himself. I have no way of verifying the information of why he was carrying a gun in the first place. Anyway, claiming to fear for his life, he sought assistance from the TV reporter, who obliged by bringing him to the government hospital. Sure, that’s understandable but here’s the thing: possessing wisdom, experience and foresight unmatched in the history of local journalism, the guy picked up the bullets, wrapped them in paper, and brought them to the police precinct himself.

Now, that’s what I call initiative.

Pop quiz hotshot: what do you call a police evidence handled by a civilian? Worth shit.   

I believe the legal terminology would be tampering with evidence or obstruction of justice. Take your pick.

And since they are contaminated, any self-respecting judge will never accept the bullets as evidence now to pin down the suspect, who only needs to get rid of the gun and he’s scot-free. Where’s the suspect, you ask? After getting first aid, he flew the coop.

Policemen will not file a case against the reporter, with the misplaced notion that the whole media industry will come bearing down on them once the shit hits the fan. And the reporter? Just saw his stupid mug this morning, smirking.

Congrats asshole, you just brought me back from the dead.  

‘A flash of light, then nothing’

A booming sound, a flash of light, and the blackness of night.

That’s how an eyewitness, 25-year-old Venerado P. Serafica Jr., described the last moments of the C-130 cargo plane that crashed into the Davao Gulf a few minutes past 9 p.m. last Monday as government rescuers, navy and coast guard personnel continued to scour the Davao gulf in search for any signs of life and debris.

Serafica narrated that he was sitting on the veranda of their house, waiting for the drizzle to stop. Suddenly, he heard a clanking sound from above and when he looked up he saw the plane streaming at nearly vertical angle towards the sea.

“There was no fire and smoke. I only saw the green and red lights and the white tail lights going towards the sea,” he said.
As the plane disappeared behind the row of two-storey houses that blocked his view of the sea, he ran inside to get his umbrella and that’s when he heard the impact.

Whoomph!

“It’s like the sound a driver makes when he hits water. Not like the impact when the plane goes belly up,” he said. “When I went to look at the ocean, It was like nothing happened.”

The stretch of seawall in Bucana lighted by mercury lamps usually draws playing children, singing and gambling fishermen, and gossiping mothers. But not that night as the rain rendered the area isolated, Serafica said.

“There was nobody there. I waited for another 30 minutes for rescuers but there was only a foreign vessel passing through,” said Serafica, who sometimes accompany neighbors fishing in the gulf to earn a little money.

Meanwhile, at around the same time, fisherman Julie Cinco said he was out alone in the gulf, between Island Garden City of Samal and Barangay Lapu-lapu, trying to catch fish when he heard a loud bang. “It was like the crack of lightning but when I looked up, I saw the plane already on fire and bellowing smoke as it fell in front of Samal towards the north,” he told the dxAB radio station.

“This morning, we saw wet papers and some were covered by cellophane,” Cinco said. “I even saw a portion of the skin belonging to a man. It couldn’t have come from a pig.”

Lapu-lapu barangay chief Lito Icoy said they heard an explosion but they dismissed it as nothing more than the sound of thunder. He appealed to residents of the coastal community to turn over any debris or papers they can find to the barangay hall.

The deepest part of the gulf, Bucana residents say, could reach as much as 300 feet while rescuers could not go deeper than 100 feet.

Association of Barangay Captains president Paolo Z. Duterte, an avid diver himself, said he already asked the help of professional divers in the search.

“Maybe they have fish finders and we can use to look for the plane,” he said.

Residents join in

Right after daybreak yesterday, fishermen of the coastal community of Bucana, one of the biggest barangays in the city, towed their outrigger boats from the shore and joined in the search. Several hours of search yielded nothing until body parts and soggy documents started filtering in the barangay hall, which was converted into a makeshift command center.

Col. Isagani P. Silva, commander of the Philippine Air Force Technical Operations Group in the Davao region and crisis management team head, said the plane landed at the Davao International Airport from Fort Magsaysay in Nueva Ecija at around 6:37 p.m. Monday. It took off at around 8:51 p.m. bound for Iloilo to pick up members of the Presidential Security Group before losing contact with the tower 24 minutes later during a heavy rain.

“We lost contact and so we had to wait for them to arrive at their destination to get back the radio contact,” he told reporters outside the barangay hall. “Just this morning, we were still thinking they landed somewhere else.”

The Lockheed Hercules C-130 cargo plane with body number 4593, the favored transportation of poor civilians who could not afford the plane fare of commercial jets, only carried two pilots, seven crew members, and two army personnel.

Based on the flight manifest, the pilot was identified as Maj. Manuel A. Zambrano and his co-pilot was Cpt. Adrian de Dios. The crew members were Tsg. Lobregas Constantino, Ssg. John Ariola, Ssg. Gerry Denioso, Ssg. Felix Patraica; Ssg. Pedronelo Fernandez; Ssg. Patricio Romeo Gaor; Ssg. Aldrin Illustrisimo and two army soldiers who remained unidentified as of press time.

Hope fades fast

Investigators could not ascertain the cause of the crash but Silva said they are still hoping that somebody survived the incident. “It’s a possibility (that they survived) but I could not really tell for certain.”

However, as navy rescuers start bringing in body parts, wrapped in garbage bags, which were carried by the strong currents to Barangay Lapu-lapu in Agdao District, whatever hope left is starting to fade by the minute.

The floor of the barangay hall command center was bare except for the few debris, one pair of combat boots, one pouch, and a litter of documents, including the flight manual.

“We are now focusing our search and rescue operation around this general direction and cancelling other search operations,” he said.

Davao City Police Office Chief Sr. Supt. Ramon Apolinario said a damaged tire belonging to the plane was delivered to the Sasa Police Precinct. “It was too big to be brought here at the barangay hall,” he said.

New media

The week-long Kadayawan festivities in Davao City went on smoothly even as bubbles of skirmishes percolated in some areas in Mindanao. I think everybody can now breathe a collective sigh of relief knowing that we survived the festivity with not a single violent incident especially if it would have been so easy for trouble to spill over into the city.

Being the main urban center in Mindanao, Davao City is always a prime target for attacks from any rebel group or sympathizer. If Davaoenos and visitors ever felt apprehensive mingling in the crowd as they checked out the different activities, they sure did not let on. I might hate Mayor Rodrigo Duterte’s guts but I give credit where credit is due. The reason why people can safely walk the streets is a testament to the management capability of the mayor. And I’m not talking about the Davao Death Squad either who have been very active weeks prior to the Kadayawan but suddenly, like clockwork, the killings stopped. I’m no psychic but I could tell right now that bodies will probably turn up in a week or so.

Like clockwork, I tell you.  

Anyway, on to more important things. During the street-dancing competition, some news photographers  complained about being excluded. Apparently, organizers introduced the green sticker this year for those who want to cover the the Indak-Indak for security reasons. Well, I’m fine with that. Organizers, however, failed to inform each newspaper organization about the new measure and so some news photographers were embarrassed when the police blocked their path. Of course, their media IDs weren’t any help.

Meanwhile, off to your right, where Bolton Street intersects with San Pedro Street, bloggers and camera club members were busy snapping away with their cameras. The green sticker emblazoned on their IDs and camera holsters. Well, apparently everybody knew about the “media briefing” where they gave out the passes except the community newspapers.  

There were many horror stories about how reporters and photographers covering the events were treated and I hate to belabor the point, but when two or more journalists are subjected to the same uncouth treatment, a disturbing pattern emerges about how people really view journalists.

I have the benefit of hindsight and so I’m looking at this objectively but I imagine it’s no fun being shooed away by police officers because they didn’t have stickers on.  Ironically enough, the role of journalists at that point was no different from the intent of Kadayawan organizers by employing bloggers and camera club members – promoting Davao City as a tourist destination.  

Now, reports are circulating that a budget of P5,500 for each photographer and blogger was alloted by the city government. While, I don’t care about the money, it would be good to audit where that fund went because somebody might have made big bucks at the expense of legitimate journalists. It’s funny to me especially when, during events, introducing journalists is always preceded by the phrase “friends from the media.” Indeed!

What’s done is done, I guess. It’s interesting to note however the influence of bloggers by virtue of their presence in this year’s Kadayawan. Of course, it’s absurd to think we might have witnessed the passing of the guards because nobody in his right mind would think that blogging have surpassed newspapers in terms of influence. Still, the new dynamics is interesting when we consider that just a year ago, they were not as widely acknowledged by the city government. In fact, it’s interesting enough for me to keep watch how they will fare in the succeeding events.  

Wait, I’m a blogger, too!  

No news is bad news

It’s been a while since I last visited here and I see that my entry about Jun Lozada struck a few nerves. It’s amazing how some people led credence to my earlier assumptions when they started to vilify the man, instead of addressing the issue.

And what’s the issue, really? It’s the allegations of corruption involving government officials and maybe all the way up to Malacañang. Didn’t the president once admitted that she knew the contract was flawed but she witnessed the signing anyway because at stake is the diplomatic relations we have with China? It’s interesting to note, however, that much later, she ordered the contract rescinded when the noise about the NBN-ZTE deal was too much.

I wonder which is better, diplomatically speaking, not going through the signing or revoking the contract on allegations of corruption while leaving ZTE officials hanging?

And stop using the argument that Lozada also profited from the systemic corruption in the government because it doesn’t lessen his credibility at all. The police know those are the best witnesses, even if they treat them like shit. In prison, they are derogatorily called snitch, rats, or worm not because their information is false but rather they disclosed what was supposed to stay as a secret in the first place.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Lozada as a spectacle as lost his luster through no fault of his own. More than the machinery of the administration, he has fallen into a dangerous vortex where matter and light could not escape. Like so many others before him (Gudani, Balutan, Trillianes) he has become “yesterday’s news.”

The onset of the new media (Online news, journals, blogging, v-logs) has opened the floodgates of information that a nanosecond has been converted into a minute, a minute into a day, and four minutes a decade. One of the drawbacks of these new media is the volume of unverified information it churn out every second: from celebrities to politics (or the interchanging of the two words), from environment to economy, from neighbors to school, from ex-lovers to present squeeze.

Like this blog, for example, I haven’t written anything here and peddled it as gospel truth. That’s one of the reasons why I chose to remain anonymous because my entries, which contain my opinion, to run in conflict with my profession. In contrast, what constitute as news goes through a series of mechanisms and processes to ensure that the articles published has all the elements of accuracy, fairness, and thoroughness.  

The problem arises when people make no distinction between what’s news and what’s information. In one of the newspapers in Davao City, there’s a section which carries rumors and passing it off as more than a rumor and less than news. I don’t even know what the hell that means but the fact that it’s carried by a reputable big-name newspaper is very dangerous because it blurs the line between truth and gossip. 

Journalists should recognize their roles not only to give the public the whole and complete story so they could make informed choices, but also the right kind of story. I write that in the context of what some people are complaining about: that there’s not enough positive news in the media. I’m not saying, however, that we ignore the negative news but we make sure they are reported not at the exclusion of the other stories.

Though I draw the line when the government advises news organizations to forget politics and focus on reporting the positive economy instead. Are you kidding me? The new media is precisely the reason why journalists should be relentless in pursuing the issue to prevent the political machinery from taking advantage of the public’s shortening attention span.

Like the shortage of supply of rice, there’s no better “bad news” that came along the administration way in terms of its timing and scope because it achieved what its machinery could not: relegating Lozada into an afterthought.

I’d commend the government, however, for striking a balance between creating an atmosphere of near-panic, to assuaging the public that it’s actually doing something to address the problem.

The result is so beautiful that nobody is jumping on another issue of corruption in Quedancor, a government-financing institution under the Department of Agriculture, with 1.5 billion unaccounted funds for its swine program.

If you follow the porcine smell, where do you think it leads to?

Oink.

Luckiest Bitch

Did you just hear Joey Salceda call her boss, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, a bitch?

I believe the exact quote was: “She may be a bitch but she’s the luckiest bitch around.”

Ahahahhaha!

Remember, I called it first.

Now run Joey.

Run to the La Salle nuns who coddled Lozada. Fuck, run underneath Luli’s skirt. You could probably convince the people that you were just joking. You are the witty one, right? The funny one who often say things in jest?  

Run Joey. I don’t think your boss, a.k.a. The Bitch, found it funny. Now, let’s see how long your luck will hold out. Let’s just hope you’re as lucky as your boss.  

I was busy laughing my ass off at the television while his briefing was being replayed again and again over ANC that I vaguely heard my male co-worker retort: Just like Ann Curtis.

Huh?

“You know, her famous line in the soap Maging Sino Ka Man?”

Double huh?

“I might be a slut but I’m the best slut in town.”

Uh, okay.  

Crazy Jun

Who does Jun Lozada think he is?

After years of wading through the muck, suddenly we hear him exclaim, “Yuck?”

Was he like the Roman, Saul (five feet tall?), who persecuted and profited from Christians but got struck by lighting, blinded for bit, until he literally saw the light?

Or how about Chavit Singson, the perpetual member of Estrada’s Midnight Cabinet, who proved to be the missing link, er, linking the deposed president to the illegal numbers game, jueteng?

It’s not enough that Lozada should bring his sullied hands right to the doorsteps of Malacañang and dirty up Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s immaculate gown? It’s not enough that Lozada accuse the First Gentleman of making a commission from the NBN-ZTE deal? Can’t he see how sickly the president’s husband is?

I see a pattern here. Lozada has a very nasty habit of bringing his friends down with him. First, there was Romulo Neri. It was Neri who brought him in, taught him the ropes of the bureaucracy, the jargons that honorable men go by. It was Neri who became instrumental for him to hold the position that he once held and the opportunities and perks that come along with it.

Where else could he have gotten the now famous phrase, “moderate their greed?” He doesn’t have the imagination to conjure that. He’s just (as he admitted himself) a probinsyanong instik.

And putting words into Neri’s mouth? Jeez! As the famous phrase above signified, Neri couldn’t have said the President was “evil.” Neri’s got too much imagination on his left pinkie that will blow Lozada’s mind away.

And now this?

Now Lozada has gone too far. Now, he committed the most unholy transgression of all.

His dear, dear friend, Palace deputy executive secretary for legal affairs Manuel Gaite, is now trying to defend himself to the ruthless media before the judgmental public. That’s what he got for commiserating with Lozada.

For what, you ask?

Gaite gave Lozada’s brother, Owe, P500,000 while Lozada was in HongKong. Imagine the betrayal he must feel! Considering that Gaite only receives about P50,000 a month in salaries and allowances but he moved hell to raise that half a million pesos to help out his friend but Lozada butt-fucked him.

"It’s unfortunate that all my efforts at helping Jun Lozada have been twisted by him or made to appear as part of a scheme to prevent him from testifying in the Senate hearing on the NBN-ZTE project, " Gaite was quoted in the papers as saying.

Now Gaite must know how Julius Caesar felt when he was stabbed by his dear friend, Brutus in the name of Rome. But we all know it was more about power and ambition than it was about Rome.

I bet the rest of the 84 million Filipinos would love to have a friend like that. The money came from his own pockets, for chrissakes! That might have been the education fund for his children; or that new car he and his wife are eyeing. Can’t Lozada see the sacrifices his friend went through for him?

(Come to think of it, I’ve got lousy friends. They can’t even buy me a decent meal from Jollibee when I go hungry. Cheap-ass sons-of-bitches.)   

Why would you do that to your friend, man?

Who do you think you are?

You think your voice will be enough to bring the whole system, perfected to be milked by politicians and enterprising aides, down?

Why can’t you just heed our esteemed President’s advice and move on? Stop playing politics. What, you don’t think these investigations and grandstandings don’t have repercussions on how foreign nations look at us?

With your incessant talk and endless exposés, you’re making us all look bad before the eyes of the world.

We have a reputation, see? After all we are the Philippines. 

Home to 84 million cowards, and one bitch.