SABBATICAL NOTES. 30 JUNE 2014. MONDAY. N6.
'Isolate and silence them,' that is what he says.
THIS GUY who is misrepresenting himself as an academic does not deserve that calling.
One of the key requirements of a good academic is his ability to listen.
Another one is the ability to be reasonable and to enter into a dialogue with others.
He does not have those abilities.
His name is David Michael San Juan and is allegedly a professor of Filipino of De La Salle University in Manila.
What he has is poison of the worst kind.
What he has is a venom that is deadly.
Both poison and venom issue out from his misreading of what the 'anti-Filipino article writers' are doing.
Let us produce verbatim the second portion of his post on the wall of Tanggol Wika: 'I think that the best way to isolate and silence them (referring to the anti-Filipino article writers) is to ignore them most of the times, issue formal replies when we have some time, and finally, arouse, organize, and mobilize the Filipino masses in Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao to support the cause of the national language. The war is getting nastier. I'm sure the CIA (referring to the United States Central Intelligence Agency) is funding the anti-Filipino side. The anti-Filipino attacks are concerted and well-planned. Our endeavors to neutralize and isolate these traitors must be concerted and well-planned too.'
Now let us see the logic of this academic.
1. On his proposal to 'isolate and silence' the anti-Filipino writers.
We must issue out a warning that here is a war freak guy who is beyond reason and instead deploys military tactics and languages to 'isolate' and 'silence' his enemy. This is the kind of a false revolutionary in the name of freedom that we all must be cautious of, one heck of a man who does not understand the meaning of human freedom, dialogue, conversation, and rationality. Clearly, he is most irrational, and this irrationality is demonstrated by the kind of language that he uses.
2. He says of the need to reply to his enemies when he has the time.
What kind of an academic is this, someone who is so in love with himself and his own voice that he only grants 'some time' to his enemy when he has the time. He is worse than a dictator, worse than a tyrant, worse than a despot. We have been told that the 'national language' of which he is so abnormally obsessed with inaugurates dialogue, justice, freedom, and democracy, and yet, here is an advocate of the same that is the exact opposite of the the raison d' etre for that 'national language'.
3. He imagine the arousing, organizing, and mobilizing of the Filipino masses all over the land. We say: he has been afflicted with a delusion of grandeur. He has this romantic illusion of the 'Filipino masses,' his own kind of cattle that will follow him when he calls them to follow his lead. We have had rulers who were deluded big time. Here is another case of a naive nationalist who will certainly make it sure that the masses will be sacrificed at the altar of his illusory nation. This San Juan needs some spanking so he wakes to the reality that the Filipino masses have awakened to the fact that they have been deprived of their basic rights to their language and culture.
On a side note, I have always respected De La Salle University for what it stand, and for its commitment to the very issues of social justice, equality, and cultural democracy. La Sallian education is never known for this kind of callousness this San Juan has, the callousness of some so drunk with power coming from his 'national language' small-time victories.
4. The war is getting nastier.
We do not think there is war. What we have is the insistence of our right to our languages and cultures, and our right to emancipatory education. As an educator, he should be the first one to understand what these rights are. Failing to do that, he has no business staying put as a pretending academic. What truths and meaning will he be able to impart to his educands if he cannot even be truthful and fair and sensible?
What we have too is our personal and public act of resistance, a resistance this person does not even want to give attention to.
The non-Tagalog peoples of the Philippines have suffered for so long since the imposition of Tagalog as a national language. Start counting since 1935.
San Juan has selectively forgotten that in ALL the history of national languages of the world, such history is replete with fascistic and tyrannical acts.
He should read up on such history that he probably does not know, that he is ignorant of, or that he refuses to acknowledge. His ignorance will never exempt him from his responsibility.
5. He repeats the same accusation: 'I'am sure the CIA is funding the anti-Filipino side.'
We say: he accuses, he needs to prove. Period.
6. He calls these 'anti-Filipino article writers' traitors.
Come again? Before his Tagalog ancestors mustered the courage to stand up to the Spanish colonizers, other peoples of the Philippines had already staged and waged about 300 uprisings and revolts. He must re-read the real history of the oppressed peoples of the land and not rely only on his own kindergarten knowledge.
Again, we say: he accuses, he needs to prove. Period.
Ah, we can never believe that there is an academic of this caliber at De La Salle.
And he is supposed to be teaching at a premier university, and a Catholic University at that!
FELIPENAS/
SABBATICAL NOTES. WEDNESDAY. 25 JUNE 2014. WEDNESDAY.
Next year is a prelude to 30 years of EDSA I and 30 years of nothing.
BY THE TIME that I decided to leave the life of a religious missionary, the anti-Marcos Movement had grown so strong that the prelude to the D-Day, that February 1986 event of our fear and trembling and boldness and daring, was quite clear.
It was written in the stars. Bethlehem or no Bethlehem, three kings or no three kings.
We knew that the repression had to come to an end.
Somewhere.
And sometime soon.
My vowed life was a journey of ups and downs, with most of the time a life of searching that brought me to Santa Cruz, Ilocos Sur to check the site where Father Zacarias Agatep was felled by bullets.
Other deaths and disappearances and salvagings and arrests would color our bland seminary days, when talk would come loose and we hear, in whispers, which religious convent had been ransacked by the dreaded military, and how Father Nilo Valerio was beheaded, his head and those of two others paraded, their bodies interred in shallow graves only to be stolen, and their heads nowhere to be found as well.
I do not know, however, what was the connection of the days of repression and the days of rallies and demonstrations to the upsurge of bomba films that gave every raging male some time to cool off in movie houses.
Before and after rallies that almost always ended up in Mendiola, were these raging males watching these bomba films so that when they get to the rallies, their rage had subsided and thus no longer able to think straight from the lens of their rage?
I remember that at one point, a platoon of seminarians went to one of these shows after being dismissed from their philosophy and theology classes from Santo Tomas University, and when they went out of the movie house on Aurora Boulevard in Cubao, their Father Rector, an Italian who spoke English like a Don Corleone and who sang the 'O sole mio' like all the tenors of the world rolled into one, saw all of them coming out of that movie house.
Those were the days of chaos.
We heard of a Jesuit novitiate being raided, priests being killed, church workers being salvaged, and activists disappearing like meteors in the dark days of the dictatorship.
I was young when Martial Law was declared, young even to be afraid, but I saw those bold and daring young people painting red slogans on that white capitol that housed the archives of our dream of freedom, except that the dream was but just a fossil, a skeleton, a ghost, a shadow, an illusion.
Or, black magic.
I think of the 28 years of EDSA People Power I.
I think of the memory of that courage millions were able to finally muster to say No! to that one thing that held us back from pursuing what was human and humane in those days.
I think of that wastage.
We elected presidents that did not do their job well, and we put in two presidents of the same last name, and nothing seems to have happened substantially to change this plutocracy that has been our lot since Commonwealth times, since Quezon, and since we imagined we could finally be free to run the affairs of our homeland.
I think of the same problems we have right at this time, the same family names lording it over our lives, the same characters, and the same plot of our story of sorrow and grief.
I think of all the troubles we have in education, the troubles we have in righting the wrong things we have done to our languages, the troubles we have in not recognizing our cultural diversity except as a token for the tourists who are bringing in revenues for those involved in rest-and-recreation.
Thirty years is more than a generation and we have nothing to show even if we had in 2001 another uprising, that EDSA People Power II that showed Erap Estrada the door, that first Estrada who rose from the silver screen to the palace by the filthy river, his rising to political stardom like a megastar courtesy of the votes of the unthinking masses from the rural areas, from the slums, and from the streets, the same unthinking masses that would make it sure that their idol, their Pareng Erap, would get back the glory and the power as Manila's mayor until kingdom come.
So now I ask: Is there hope at all for the homeland?
FELIPENAS/
Feast of Saint John, 25 Jun 2014
Next year is a prelude to 30 years of EDSA I and 30 years of nothing.
BY THE TIME that I decided to leave the life of a religious missionary, the anti-Marcos Movement had grown so strong that the prelude to the D-Day, that February 1986 event of our fear and trembling and boldness and daring, was quite clear.
It was written in the stars. Bethlehem or no Bethlehem, three kings or no three kings.
We knew that the repression had to come to an end.
Somewhere.
And sometime soon.
My vowed life was a journey of ups and downs, with most of the time a life of searching that brought me to Santa Cruz, Ilocos Sur to check the site where Father Zacarias Agatep was felled by bullets.
Other deaths and disappearances and salvagings and arrests would color our bland seminary days, when talk would come loose and we hear, in whispers, which religious convent had been ransacked by the dreaded military, and how Father Nilo Valerio was beheaded, his head and those of two others paraded, their bodies interred in shallow graves only to be stolen, and their heads nowhere to be found as well.
I do not know, however, what was the connection of the days of repression and the days of rallies and demonstrations to the upsurge of bomba films that gave every raging male some time to cool off in movie houses.
Before and after rallies that almost always ended up in Mendiola, were these raging males watching these bomba films so that when they get to the rallies, their rage had subsided and thus no longer able to think straight from the lens of their rage?
I remember that at one point, a platoon of seminarians went to one of these shows after being dismissed from their philosophy and theology classes from Santo Tomas University, and when they went out of the movie house on Aurora Boulevard in Cubao, their Father Rector, an Italian who spoke English like a Don Corleone and who sang the 'O sole mio' like all the tenors of the world rolled into one, saw all of them coming out of that movie house.
Those were the days of chaos.
We heard of a Jesuit novitiate being raided, priests being killed, church workers being salvaged, and activists disappearing like meteors in the dark days of the dictatorship.
I was young when Martial Law was declared, young even to be afraid, but I saw those bold and daring young people painting red slogans on that white capitol that housed the archives of our dream of freedom, except that the dream was but just a fossil, a skeleton, a ghost, a shadow, an illusion.
Or, black magic.
I think of the 28 years of EDSA People Power I.
I think of the memory of that courage millions were able to finally muster to say No! to that one thing that held us back from pursuing what was human and humane in those days.
I think of that wastage.
We elected presidents that did not do their job well, and we put in two presidents of the same last name, and nothing seems to have happened substantially to change this plutocracy that has been our lot since Commonwealth times, since Quezon, and since we imagined we could finally be free to run the affairs of our homeland.
I think of the same problems we have right at this time, the same family names lording it over our lives, the same characters, and the same plot of our story of sorrow and grief.
I think of all the troubles we have in education, the troubles we have in righting the wrong things we have done to our languages, the troubles we have in not recognizing our cultural diversity except as a token for the tourists who are bringing in revenues for those involved in rest-and-recreation.
Thirty years is more than a generation and we have nothing to show even if we had in 2001 another uprising, that EDSA People Power II that showed Erap Estrada the door, that first Estrada who rose from the silver screen to the palace by the filthy river, his rising to political stardom like a megastar courtesy of the votes of the unthinking masses from the rural areas, from the slums, and from the streets, the same unthinking masses that would make it sure that their idol, their Pareng Erap, would get back the glory and the power as Manila's mayor until kingdom come.
So now I ask: Is there hope at all for the homeland?
FELIPENAS/
Feast of Saint John, 25 Jun 2014