tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67922722024-03-14T01:57:58.513+08:00F. SIONIL JOSE : National Artist for Literature, Foremost Novelista blog-tribute by a.a.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-26991467254896459762011-05-17T17:38:00.000+08:002011-05-17T17:40:05.613+08:00OUR ROOTS, OUR RIZALOUR ROOTS, OUR RIZAL<br />Hindsight by F. Sionil Jose <br />Philstar May 16, 2011<br /><br />I have this dubious distinction now of being “the old man of Philippine letters.” I am 86; most of my contemporaries the first post-war generation of writers have gone and I am the last to bear witness to what transpired historically and culturally in the last century and on to this new and uncertain age.<br /><br />The other year, I spoke before literature teachers also here in Santo Tomas as again, invited by Professor Ferdinand Lopez. We honored then the late Paz Latorena who was my favorite teacher here when I was a student in 1946 to 1949. Mila Tanlayco whom we are honoring now was not my teacher I am much older than her. Mila also taught a couple of generations in this university imparting to her brood her vast knowledge of modern and classical literature. Her scholarship was impeccable as was her dedication to her profession. She inherited the mantle which Ms. Latorena had so devotedly worn.<br /><br />I apologize for sounding so patronizing as I will now define what you should do, impressed as I was with Ms. Latorena in the past and in more recent times, with Mila Tanlayco. Bear in mind, too, that I have taught in this university and elsewhere, that I have written criticism but now I am just an old, tired hack. <br /><br />First, don’t make literature difficult. Do not torture your students with too much mind-bending tests. Make literature interesting; enjoyable. Do not overload your students with literary theory, obtuse explications indicating superior academic honing. In the first place, in a high school or undergraduate class of 60 you will be lucky if you will be able to develop five teachers, critics or writers. Impress upon them that only literature teaches ethics, that with it, we get to understand ourselves and society better and in the process we develop into better members of a community and therefore of a nation. Be highly selective in the novels, stories, poems and plays you assign. And avoid boring verbose writers such as those endorsed by American academe, the likes of Henry James, and E. M. Forster. Do not be uppity and ignore crime and science fiction they will reveal to your students the most important element in writing: the narrative technique. Stories are moved forward by their plots not always, but plots hook readers and make them hang on to a book to the very last page.<br /><br /> Literary theory is important if you are also a critic but a teacher does not need to be an expert on it unless you are teaching a Ph.D. or M.A. class on the very subject of theory itself.<br /><br /> Know then our own literary traditions, aesthetics, but not to specialize in them unless, like I said, you are teaching a postgraduate class. Personally, I don’t bother at all with theory; I rarely attend to critics unless they are writing about my work. Then I read them in the hope that I’ll get a wee bit something that might help me. I don’t need critics because I am my own severest critic. You should be, too.<br /><br />The craftsman<br /><br />Craft is knowing the writing tools and using them well. The teacher who can teach craft is a better teacher. Literature workshops are useful when they teach craft and shortcuts to good writing identity, the mistakes young writers should avoid. I never really believed in workshops. The really good that they do is not in the official sessions, but outside it when workshops get writers together and develop in them a sense of communality. And of course, writers and teachers who never earn enough get financial and emotional aid from workshops.<br /><br />The critic<br /><br />Agood writer is both a teacher and a critic. With apologies to Ms. Venus Raj, I borrowed her phrase, “major, major” to categorize writers. These are the categories Major Major, Major Minor, Minor Major, Minor Minor. The Major Majors are at the top; the best, they are all dead. The Major Minors are the next in line they are still living. The Minor Majors are the best of the second raters and the least appreciated are the Minor Minors. This ranking is, of course, personal it is my word as against all others but then, I have the authority of age, of experience. My ranking may be arbitrary and I may change my mind because some of the writers are still very much alive. But for those who have passed away, my rating stands. Practice using these.<br /><br />There is a caveat to this system of rating. No matter how learned or solid his reputation the critic is not the final judge of literary quality. Not even the public which is fickle, whose taste changes as easily as the seasons. Time is the ultimate judge. If after a mere hundred years, or a thousand years, a literary work is still appreciated, then it is truly great it is classic.<br /><br />For this reason, teachers, critics and writers must have a solid grounding in the classics so that they will be anchored on the great canons and will know in their very marrow what is also mediocre. In the Philippines, the absence of a strong critical tradition enables bogus reputations to flourish, awards to be given to counterfeits.<br /><br />Reading some of the new writing in English by the young, I am impressed by their command of the language, their innovative gimmicks, so much so that I lose the narrative thread and I have to go back to pick it up. Reading them brings back my own youth when I was so enamored with the prolix prose of William Faulkner and, at the same time, conscious of the simplicity of William Saroyan. There were no literary workshops in the ’40s but we were being introduced to the New Criticism in vogue in the United States.<br /><br />In my teens, I was weaned on the English classics; in grade school, I was introduced to the basics of American literature, the poetry of Longfellow, the stories of Edgar Allan Poe, the essays of Tom Paine, of Lincoln, and to top them all, the novels of Rizal.<br /><br />In hindsight, I am glad that this was my background for I was to shape my craft with what is aptly defined perhaps as Western technology, while rooted in the mores of my own village.<br /><br />I say this as an oblique comment on our young writers. They have been attending too many workshops and are too bewitched by techniques and neglecting the most important technique of all which is how to tell a story. They have so much love for words but not enough for thought. If they try to be thoughtful as all writers hope to do, the attempt at profundity is drowned in the diarrhea of words.<br /><br />Sometime ago, I was with a young writer who asked why, even if writing does not pay, I have persisted to this decrepit old age. I have never wondered about myself and all the others who wrote to the very last day of their lives. NVM Gonzalez, Bienvenido Santos, and of course, Nick Joaquin, and closer to my time, Carmen Guerrero Nakpil; in her late eighties, she had written three books, a two-volume autobiography, and a historical essay.<br /><br />Going back, there is Jose Garcia Villa, who produced nothing after he was 50 although he created the myth that he had something in the works. In my own old circle, I recall so many who were brilliant but who dropped by the wayside even before middle age.<br /><br />Then there is Yasunari Kawabata of Japan, Norman Mailer and Saul Bellow in the United States they also persevered to the very end.<br /><br />In the ’60s the painter Vicente Manansala and I were talking about longevity in art. He recalled that famous story attributed to Rizal, how the turtle and the monkey fought over the possession of a banana plant. They decided to halve it the monkey chose the upper part because it already had fruit and the turtle chose the lower part. Both planted their choices; soon enough the monkey’s upper portion died while the turtle’s choice lived.<br /><br />Roots our truest, biggest, is Rizal himself they explain why some plants, like men and particularly the artist, endure. Look at the trees some have very short roots and come a strong typhoon, they are soon bowled over. But those whose roots have sunk deep and wide into the earth are not easily uprooted they may be broken, but they survive not just the typhoon but the drought as well.<br /><br />And what strength! We see some cemented sidewalks broken by the sheer power of roots that make the tree grow. Rocks, inhospitable ground these are not obstructions to the upward surge of trees or of the artistic spirit.<br /><br />How does an artist acquire such formidable roots? They adapt the mangrove to the salt of the sea, the cactus to the waterless desert, the orchid to God’s sweet air and, of course to the dead bark which anchors it.<br /><br />And the weeds that die in the dry season, they grow again when the rains start their seeds left on the soil.<br /><br />This is the miracle of life, and of art itself. <br /><br />In history, we see the triumph of the hu-man spirit Boris Pasternak and Anna Akhmatova who shone through the gloom of Stalinist tyranny. These writers’ roots were buried deeply in the sacred soil of their native land.<br /><br />But there are also writers welded to no particular niche in the earth, to a country, or to a place in time. They are the exiles of memory from some trauma of the soul, political persecution; they are tenacious refugees or castaways. Their sustenance and passion whorl from that cosmos called ideal, ideology, religion, faith, whatever that enlivens and perpetuates.<br /><br />The writer’s own life is now his richest material; he must study himself, shed all sense of pride and be naked to his own creative eye. He knows if he is his own critic that art is the most tyrannical and demanding mistress he has to serve with unblemished constancy.<br /><br />Ideals also chain a writer to reality. These ideals are different from ideas although it is very possible that ideas may strengthen or at the same time erode such ideals. They may be so lofty as to be unreachable the perfectibility of man, for instance, or equality and justice for all. Such goals are avidly sought; sometimes those who seek to achieve them give up their property, their very lives. The search for a moral order and social justice is difficult if not impossible. In the context of our own society; writing, articulating the ideal, no matter how eloquently and constantly, is never enough. It is in pursuing such an ideal that many writers are often trapped in that most troubling of dilemmas; the rigid requirements of art are just as stringent as the demands of the ideals artists cling to. Art squeezes so much from the sensibility, the mastery of the craft, as against the need for propaganda, for the political inertia which the ideal compels. In espousing social justice, Rizal was a consummate artist; Jose Maria Sison, in espousing the same, was not he used words crudely to advance his cause. This difference should be ingested by those who write and teach.<br /><br />This year, we mark the 150th anniversary of the birth of our National Hero. His monument is in every town plaza, all the main streets of our towns are named after him. It is to be expected then that even after a century and a half, his novels are still read, his influence pervasive and wide.<br /><br />It should not be just the ideas, or the work of writers that should be embedded in our consciousness and woven with our genes. Indeed, if Homer, Goethe, Cervantes, Shakespeare if these anointed writers shaped the granite foundations of their countries, so did Rizal for what is Filipinas without him?<br /><br />All too often, writers are exalted because of what they wrote. It is not just Rizal’s work alone that inspires. It is his life. He conversed with the highest Spanish officials, the Spanish governor general, the Archbishop; if he was not so highly stationed and was of the common clod, he would have been executed sooner. Remember he belonged to the privileged principalia, well educated, socially groomed. But such attributes did not prevent him from serving his people not just as a writer but as a teacher, a medical doctor, a builder.<br /><br />His class origins did not narrow his perspectives or limit his roots from sinking farther, deeper into the earth. In his novels, he had “two eternal heroes” who suffered, who will always live in memory Sisa in the Noli, and Cabesang Tales in the El Filibusterismo both from the lower classes. I recreated them in my novels, Sisa as Tia Nena the mother of Victor and Luis in My Brother, My Executioner and Cabesang Tales as Ba-ac, the old patriarch in Po-on.<br /><br />We are seldom aware of our own roots, how fathomless and far they cling, until we unravel and identify with them. Beyond this simple identification, we can then belong to the community such roots nourish. Our fealty develops, our commitment deepens and we then learn to love not just the emblems of this community but most important, its Sisas and Cabesang Taleses as well. Thus Rizal instructed us with the literature he wrote. Jose Maria Sison produced propaganda. After a hundred years Rizal’s novels are still read because art endures. Jose Maria Sison’s writings are soon forgotten except by his acolytes because they are propaganda.<br /><br />Rizal epitomized the logic of love sacrifice. <br /><br />Today, the truest heirs of Rizal are not the arty farty poets, not the wayward dreamers who crave awards, or those wishy-washy campus upstarts blindly imitating the bestsellers in the West and imbibing in their innards the transient vagaries of literary fashions. Nor those writers who divorced themselves from their environment. Rizal scorned them.<br /><br />Rizal’s truest heirs are writers like Manuel Arguilla, Eman Lacaba, the engagee in our vernaculars who are the staunchest critics of society, those who tapped into the roots of our native culture like Nick Joaquin, all of them committed to this land so loved and yet so willfully betrayed.<br /><br />In the twilight of Spanish domination, from among the Spanish rulers themselves, there were those who thought that killing Rizal was a grievous mistake. But from the perspective of those who held absolute power, they were correct in doing so. Rizal had attacked them mortally with the most powerful instrument that man has in his handsa weapon which we often do not recognize. This is truth the shining and noble truth that can only be best molded by the artist affectionately rooted in the reality of that truth itself. This truth touches, graces the deepest sensibility of man, his mind, his heart where all emotions start. This truth which art adorns and bears high is made even stouter and permanent precisely because it is the purest quintessence of our humanity.<br /><br />Now, I ask: can this truth be acquired in the classroom by a generation which has ignored Rizal, but is now besieged by the same corruption, decay and apathy which he battled in his time?<br /><br />I am not too sure, but at the very least, those of us who teach and write can try. We must if only to prove that we are.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />F. Sionil Jose delivered this speech at the recent national conference of teachers of literature at the University of Santo Tomas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-48593622106368184112010-10-04T09:05:00.000+08:002010-10-04T09:06:58.156+08:00Defining Greatness<a href="http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleId=617319&publicationSubCategoryId=86">Diokno On Trial: Techniques and Ideals of the Filipino Lawyer Edited, Updated and Supplemented By Jose Manuel I. Diokno<br /></a>Source: http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleId=617319&publicationSubCategoryId=86<br /><br />Jose “ Ka Pepe” W. Diokno: Makatao, Makabayan By Bernardo Noceda Sepeda<br />Diokno On Trial is a complete guide to the handling of a case in court by Jose Manuel (Chel) Diokno, the lawyer-son of Jose W. Diokno, who is now dean of the La Salle College of Law. It is a slim book that should be in the hands of every Filipino lawyer for it includes not just lawyerly techniques but some of his distinguished father’s speeches. It should be read not just by lawyers but by all Filipinos who want to know more about their unhappy country and how this brilliant lawyer and patriot served his people.<br /><br />The new Diokno biography is by Professor Sepeda who teaches at La Salle in Dasma-rinas; he has added insightful information about this patriot. His book is in Tagalog so I haven’t thoroughly read it but Professor Sepeda’s credentials are impeccable; I am sure it is a good book because by some arcane osmosis, the subject is also good. It was launched last week at De La Salle on Taft and present were Mrs. Carmen (Nena) Diokno, her daughters Maris and Cookie and her son Chel. All three are chips off the old block I hope that Maris will be president of the University of Philippines and Chel a future Supreme Court justice. He has revived FLAG the pro bono covey of lawyers originally set up by his father during the martial law years; FLAG defended the victims of martial law oppression in the courts.<br /><br />The truest leaders of a nation are not always anointed by elections or popular acclaim. They do not preen before an adoring populace, or strut in the perfumed corridors of power in fact, they stay away from the sharp focus of media, from the rambunctious pulpits of quasi-religious charlatans. It is in their nature, their sterling character, to work quietly, persistently, often at their own expense and personal sacrifice or discomfort. And some, as a matter of fact, are reduced to penury by their own virtue. What they do is voice the aspirations of the silenced and the silent, and are the pithy conscience of a people often mired in ignorance and apathy. Apolinario Mabini of the Revolution of 1896 was one crippled, poor, but enlightened, he provided the ideological underpinning of that revolution, and though thrust away from the inner councils of the President of the first Republic, Emilio Aguinaldo, he went on to write and speak for the nation that had become an American colony. Jose Wright Diokno is another the truly marmoreal opponent to the Marcos dictatorship, in a sense stronger than Ninoy Aquino because he never aspired to take over from Marcos. And also because he stayed home.<br /><br />I first knew Pepe Diokno when I was in the old Manila Times in the 1950s; I had gravitated to politicians like him Raul Manglapus, Manny Pelaez, Manny Manahan all of whom championed agrarian reform. I really got to know him best after my return from Sri Lanka in 1964 and I opened Solidaridad Bookshop late that year. I often saw him in Joaquin Po’s Popular Bookstore at Doroteo Jose where, in the ‘50s, Manila’s tiny circle of writers/intellectuals often perused Joaquin’s latest books from the United States and the United Kingdom.<br /><br />I was fascinated by Pepe primarily because of what he had done in 1962 the year that I left for Sri Lanka for a diplomatic posting. As Secretary of Justice in the Macapagal cabinet, he prosecuted Harry Stonehill and had the American businessman thrown out of the country.<br /><br />Harry Stonehill came to the Philippines with the US Army of Liberation in 1945 and had stayed on like a few of those GIs who saw opportunities in the erstwhile American colony. He had married into one of the wealthy local families and, with his business savvy, had started a conglomerate of enterprises pioneering and innovative. It included a ramie plantation in Mindanao that would have developed into a major textile industry, glass manufacturing, and whatever else. He had allied himself with Filipino industrialists and was far ahead of so many of them in vision and energy.<br />Addressing a crowd in Manila: Pepe was a very good writer and a brilliant speaker in English and Tagalog.<br /><br />But Stonehill was too loudmouthed, even for Filipino politicians who were adept at boasting. He made it known that he could have any politician in his pocket, and to me personally, he said that one reason for his success was that he diligently followed the 11th commandment: Never get caught.<br /><br />But he did. Jose W. Diokno was his nemesis. Stonehill was banished, the enterprises he started dismantled and taken over by his lackeys.<br /><br />Was the ousting of Stonehill evidence of Diokno’s anti-Americanism? In those many years that I knew Pepe, we had a continuing argument on two issues: his pronounced opposition to the American presence in the Philippines, and violence as a final option in revolutionary change.<br /><br />Many in my generation had opposed the Parity Agreement imposed on us by the Americans upon the grant of our independence in 1946 that they have equal rights in the exploitation of our natural resources. And above all, the military bases the huge tracts of land which they controlled in Clark, Subic and elsewhere.<br /><br /> I had argued that his anti-American stance was politically bad for him because he was a politician in a country whose population is so pervasively pro-American.<br /><br />As for violence as an option in a revolution against a tyrannical regime, I had argued that the state uses “white” violence against its own people when the justice system, which it controls, does not provide even simple justice to the oppressed. The answer to this intransigence is “red” violence which the people must exercise.<br /><br />Pepe was truly a man of the law, of peace. “When you accept violence,” he said, “there is no way by which you can control it.” While he did not accept violence as such, many of those he defended in the courts subscribed to this belief.<br /><br />Diokno’s opposition to the American bases was anchored on nationalist principles. I recall a lunch with the New Yorker writer, the late Robert Shaplen an old Asia hand and one of America’s foremost journalists covering the Philippines.<br /><br />Bob had asked what the root of his opposition to the bases was, why he wanted them out when countries like Japan a very nationalistic country had them and so did Thailand. So many countries had defense treaties with the United States.<br /><br />Diokno said, “We are a young country. We cannot develop without a strong sense of nation. The very presence of the bases here impedes precisely that feeling. You mention Japan, the other countries these are mature countries, they do not need to emphasize the importance of nationalism.”<br /><br />I was in complete agreement with him. The American bases, the tremendous American influence in the country inhibited Philippine development because they perpetuated dependency and the teacher/pupil relationship.<br /><br />Bob Shaplen understood that. Diokno admired America, so many of the egalitarian qualities of American society. He sent his children there to study, and when he was finally stricken with cancer, it was to the United States where he hurried for treatment.<br />From solitary imprisonment: Jose W. Diokno with wife Carmen, upon release from detention. Diokno was among the first jailed by the Marcos dictatorship, but he was never charged of any crime.<br /><br />Diokno’s opposition to the American bases was shared by a vociferous minority. I had worried about it for the simple reason that it was not productive for any politician to harbor such sentiments. Even the New People’s Army could have gotten more mass support if it was not anti-American and pro-Chinese.<br /><br />But later on, I changed my thinking. The Japanese were paying for the American bases in their soil. There were American bases in Korea, in Taiwan, and these countries were forging ahead of us. Verily, the American presence did not obstruct progress. On the contrary, these countries were able to take advantage of the best market in the world the United States.<br /><br />Pepe was a very good writer and a brilliant speaker in English and Tagalog. Wherever it was, at the halls of Congress, a small caucus or a massive crowd at a political rally, his audience listened raptly, attentively for he was no common rabble rouser, spouting big words and hurling bombas as the rabble would call bombast.<br /><br />Recounts Chel, his lawyer son, sometime in 1978 or there abouts, Diokno spoke at Liwasang Bonifacio in Manila. His theme: Marcos and his oppressive regime. The crowd was huge; it hung on to every word that he uttered, and at the end of his speech, as Chel observed, had he urged the crowd to march to Malacañang, he was sure that it would have done so. Was it Lenin who said that “power was in the streets, and all one had to do was pick it up”?<br /><br />But after that speech, he asked his sons to go with him for a cup of coffee and Diokno told them why he had held back his mesmerized listeners: it was the right thing to do.<br /><br />He was also a very good photographer; this not many knew. I saw his pictures, I saw him work in the dark room. He had vision, an artist’s clear and observant eye.<br /><br />I say all these to illustrate the wide arc of his talents. I enjoyed visiting Pepe; for one, his secretary Perla Castillo is a schoolmate at the elementary school in the old hometown. It was also at his office were I often met the late Haydee Yorac, one of the stalwarts of the Free Legal Assistance Group (FLAG) which Pepe set up. And there was Cookie, his ever-helpful daughter.<br /><br />When Marcos declared martial law in September 1972, Pepe was arrested and confined in solitary in Fort Magsaysay in Laur, Nueva Ecija at the same time that Ninoy Aquino was also jailed there. That month during which he was in solitary, he almost lost his sanity. The imprisonment was psychologically designed to humiliate and demean him. The tiny room was bare except for a cot. The window was barred, the door had no knob, and the fluorescent lamp couldn’t be switched off. He was denied reading and writing materials as well as material possessions.<br /><br />He said Marcos was deliberate he released him but he continued to imprison Ninoy because Marcos knew Diokno was not a real threat to him. He did not aspire for the presidency, he did not have the political machine that Ninoy had.<br /><br />He could now oppose Marcos in the open and that is what he did. More than this, he continued to work for the workers and the peasants. There were occasions when I accompanied him to the provinces where he went at his own expense to defend the poor in court trials.<br /><br />He confided that he intimidated the judges with his presence, a national figure, a political and legal luminary, on the side of the peasantry. Almost always, he won the court battles with his presence alone. The peasants adored him.<br /><br />As with most of those who opposed Marcos, Diokno suffered financially. He had to let go of his house in Magallanes to transfer to a more modest and accessible house in Quezon City. But even with his diminished income, he continued his free legal service to the poor. <br /><br />He was already on his deathbed when I last visited Pepe. Nena, his devoted wife, no longer permitted visitors, but because she recognized our long friendship, she allowed me to see him. I almost broke down when I saw him so wan, so emaciated. I did not want to tax his mind any further but I just couldn’t help myself. That Mendiola tragedy had just transpired; President Cory had refused to see the farmers asking for agrarian reform; they had demonstrated and 19 were killed.<br /><br />“Pepe,” I said, “those who were killed in Mendiola how will they ever get justice? Their fate argues for revolution.”<br /><br />He smiled. “Frankie, hindi nag-iba ang isip ko. Once you accept violence, there is no way you can control it.”<br /><br />When he died, his body was brought to that church near his house. I went there one morning and on my way out, I came across them along the sidewalk outside the churchyard, recognized some the farmers whom Pepe had helped.<br /><br />I asked, “Why aren’t you there inside close to him?”<br /><br />One of them said, “We are here because Cory’s security people do not want us inside.”<br /><br />I was so shocked and angry, as I left them tears burned in my eyes.<br /><br />Achievers become popular, famous, rich even. But greatness? This exalted condition is reserved for those who have transcended themselves and given themselves sincerely to others, helped them in their time of need, comforted them in their grief, and lifted them from the sorry drudgery of this world. Jose W. Diokno was not an ordinary Filipino the way most of us are with our passports. He was a great Filipino, like all those paragons who make us proud.<br /><br />My generation, which survived the Japanese Occupation, Marcos and the gross incompetence of the Cory and Erap administrations can make infallible judgments on our history and the decrepit quality of our leadership. History has always tested us the Revolution of 1896 and the subsequent coming of the American imperialists tested our grandfathers. The Japanese Occupation did the same to our fathers and my generation was sorely tried by the Marcos dictatorship. We know now why, alas, we failed.<br /><br />We have honored so many political leaders who never deserved to be even on the shortest of pedestals, men who collaborated with our enemies, men who should be labeled as prostitutes and traitors.<br /><br />Jose W. Diokno has yet to be fully recognized for what he has done, for what he stood for. At long last, there is a street named after him, a stretch of highway not often used, parallel to Roxas Boulevard; if comparisons are to be made, I would say that Pepe Diokno was greater than President Roxas although Diokno never achieved the eminence, the high office which Roxas reached as President of this Republic.<br /><br />What is greatness in a man? Not all famous people to my mind are great in spite of their widespread popularity or fame; greatness presumes more than achievement, which makes an individual famous. Greatness is the essence of a person, the compassion that he exudes, the moral influence that he holds over people and events.<br /><br />The young film director Pepe Diokno, who writes for this paper, has already won several awards for his brilliant work. I would urge him now to do a documentary on his grandfather and in this documentary, juxtapose Apolinario Mabini in it. It is my belief that Pepe Diokno, Sr. belongs to the same breed as the Sublime Paralytic. Like Mabini, Pepe Diokno possessed adamantine integrity; in his fight for the oppressed, he often stood fiercely alone from among his class of politicians. I am sure that among the very young today are many who will inherit not just his vision but the guts to fructify that vision.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-44553851930332643692009-06-15T04:50:00.000+08:002009-06-15T05:04:38.215+08:00A Conversation with Adolf AzcunaA conversation with Adolf Azcuna: His legacy & 'The Writ of Amparo'<br />HINDSIGHT By F Sionil Jose Updated June 14, 2009 12:00 AM<br /><br />Associate Justice Adolf Azcuna of the Supreme Court<br /><br />Since my bookshop is within walking distance from the Department of Justice, the Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court, every so often, my customers are mandarins of the legal profession who, for so many years, have also reinforced my scant knowledge of the law. They include the late Chief Justice Enrique Fernando and, of late, the lawyer Saul Hofileña. During the last few years, however, my frequent mentor has been Associate Justice Adolf Azcuna of the Supreme Court. He has defined for me many vexatious quandaries in government, the wrinkles in the faded fabric of our free institutions.<br /><br />His last Supreme Court decision, for instance, on the American marine who raped a Filipina resulted in the SC ordering the Department of Foreign Affairs to renegotiate the Visiting Forces Agreement with the United States. That treaty, according to Azcuna, did not give enough recognition to Philippine sovereignty. Convicted Americans should be jailed in local prisons, not in American facilities.<br /><br />So once again, one lazy Saturday afternoon the other week, we were at Za’s Café behind my bookshop. Just retired at the mandatory age of 70, he does not look his years. Tall, suave — he could easily pass for a middle-aged movie star. But behind those macho and urbane attributes is, perhaps, one of the keenest legal minds in this country honed in academe, in the murky alleys of the Filipino reality as well as in its perfumed corridors of power.<br /><br />Za’s Café is, of course, an Ermita landmark (this is a free commercial) and is the discreet rendezvous of politicians, government hierarchs and a few writers like Teddy Boy Locsin who journeys all the way from Makati to have an American turkey-style lunch on Thursdays. Adolf and I often settle for chocolate and Za’s gourmet ensaymada.<br /><br />Most of us know that our courts are inefficient and viciously corrupted. Lawyers are known to write favorable decisions for the cases that they have won with grease; people say that such and such judge is “the best that money can buy.”<br /><br />In a society where cynicism and apathy validate and exacerbate malfeasance of government, the ordinary Filipino must trust one — and perhaps the last — institution to provide him haven from persecution. What could that impregnable rock be? It is the Supreme Court, which is not only the final arbiter of the law, but hopefully, the unassailable redoubt of truth.<br /><br />This being so, how may this court retain and fortify its credibility? As the third co-equal pillar of government the SC supervises the entire justice system. All judges and lower courts are its responsibility. It follows then, that it must oversee the system with unblinkered scrutiny, weed out its “crooks in robes.” The justices themselves must be transparent. Like all government employees, they must make public their assets and liabilities. This, Justice Adolf Azcuna has already done.<br /><br />For all this burden heaped upon the SC, it is hobbled by so many obvious problems; perhaps the most trying is its miniscule budget. This is evident in the palpable and ramshackle buildings that pass off as houses of justice. Alas, the budget of the Judiciary is just one percent of the total national budget. To earn additional funding, the courts charge a “filing fee” — that is to say, when a case is filed, a certain fee is paid by the litigants. This fee is contentious because if it is too high, the very poor will be denied access to justice.<br /><br />The Writ of Amparo, as initiated by Justice Azcuna, is perhaps the most meaningful rule that the Supreme Court has adopted to defend us. This is Azcuna’s enduring legacy to Philippine jurisprudence. Broadly, it is a “remedy to protect the right to life, liberty and security of every person.”<br /><br />It strengthens the legal foundation of human rights, the writ of habeas corpus that protects the liberty of individuals by compelling the presentation of the body of a person detained without charges.<br /><br />Amparo — which derives from the Spanish amparar, “to protect” — does more than the writ of habeas corpus because it grants “protection orders, inspection orders, and production orders in cases of extralegal killings and enforced disappearance.”<br /><br />The writ was not legislated. The Supreme Court as mandated by the Constitution can formulate rules for the justice system and the writ is the latest of such rules.<br /><br />The writ originated in Mexico as provided for the Constitution of the State of Yucatan in 1841; it was later incorporated in Mexico’s Federal Constitution in 1857.<br /><br />Shortly after assuming his Supreme Court robe, Adolf Azcuna journeyed to South America to see how the Amparo Writ operates in that continent, notably in Mexico and Argentina. It also works in India and in the state of Minnesota in the United States. In fact, it is now included in the Protocol of the United Nations.<br /><br />As a postgraduate in International Law and Jurisprudence of the University of Salzburg in Austria, Azcuna has long been familiar with the writ and its necessary adoption in the Philippines. In the dictatorships in South America — and, in more recent times, particularly during the Marcos regime, the “salvaging” of so-called enemies of the state and the unexplained disappearance of hundreds — these dictatorial brutalities demanded it.<br /><br />Azcuna comes from Zamboanga. He graduated with honors from the Ateneo de Manila, placed fourth in the bar exams in 1962. He was a member of the 1971 Constitutional Convention and, yet again, of the 1986 Constitutional Commission. As early as the 1971 Convention he already began working for the adoption of the writ in the nation’s fundamental law. He was 32 at the time.<br /><br />From 1992 to 2002, he was a partner in the Azcuna, Yorac, Arroyo and Chua Law Office.<br /><br />Azcuna was spokesperson to President Corazon Aquino and later Press Secretary until 1991 and Presidential Legal Counsel from 1987 to 1991. President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo appointed him to the Supreme Court in October 2002.<br /><br />As Associate Justice, his major decisions illustrate his concerns for the welfare of the common man. For instance, he promoted the Justice on Wheels program of the Supreme Court patterned after the World Bank supported project in Guatemala; the use of mobile courts to improve the access to justice of the very poor and “encourage speedy disposition of cases through the alternative means of dispute resolution.”<br /><br />Azcuna attributes the tremendous backlog of SC cases to the vaulting ego of Filipinos, to their penchant for filing cases when so many of these disputes can be settled by arbitration or dialogue. Then, too, such cases are the bread and butter of our surfeit of lawyers. Lawyering is a growth industry; for so many Filipinos it is the most attractive job — how people love to be addressed as “Attorney”! Our surplus of lawyers is also due to the perception that lawyering is the sure path to wealth — just, as Azcuna says, soldiering is the most glamorous and lucrative profession in Thailand.<br /><br />Adolf Azcuna is married to Maria Asuncion Aunario, dean for the last two decades at St. Scholastica College. They have four children. Aside from being a prodigious author of law books, Azcuna is also a seasoned photographer.<br /><br />On his last birthday — the day that he retired — his staunch ally, Chief Justice Reynato Puno, convened an en banc session of the high tribunal. In that special meeting, Azcuna reaped a rich harvest from his colleagues who unanimously applauded his early and dogged effort to make the “Writ of Amparo” actually work for the people.<br /><br />Unwilling to lose a good man, the Supreme Court appointed Azcuna, Chancellor of the Philippine Judicial Academy, in Tagaytay on June 1. The Academy, with a faculty of 30, trains judges. Slots for judges are not filled fast enough because the salaries of judges are not all that high. Though all judges are lawyers, some are not thoroughly familiar with the workings of the courts. Since decisions are in English, many judges need refresher courses in the language.<br /><br />Shortly after he left the Department of Education where he was Secretary, the brilliant scholar and educator Edilberto de Jesus told me of the gladsome presence of many excellent and diligent men and women in the bureaucracy. He said that, though they often receive dismal pay, loyalty to duty sustains them.<br /><br />So then, this government will eventually be delivered from the quagmire — not by peacock politicians or by mealy-mouthed radicals but by these Filipinos of sterling faith, good will and compassion, working often in anonymous crannies and believing that truth is justice in action or it is not truth at all. Adolf Azcuna belongs to this noble breed.<br /><br />Here are some of the questions I asked him:<br /><br />Philippine Star: In your years as Associate Justice, what did you see as our greatest problem insofar as the justice system is concerned? And how may it be corrected?<br /><br />Adolf Azcuna: The backlog of cases. It can be corrected by a systems approach: computerization, increase of budget for the judiciary, training of Judges, pursuing the Action Program for Judicial Reform (APJR).<br /><br />Is morality, religion, or an abiding faith in God a necessary prerequisite in the making of a judge? Isn’t it enough that laws are interpreted as they are?<br /><br />Probity, integrity, competence, independence are the requisites. A good moral character is part of that. Religious beliefs are left to one’s free choice.<br /><br />You have served under three chief justices, Davide, Panganiban and Puno. There were those who questioned Davide’s decision to legitimize Gloria Arroyo’s takeover from Erap. I asked Chief Justice Davide why he did what he did, as a person and not as an interpreter of the law. He said he was afraid the military would take over. What is your take on this issue?<br /><br />I was not a member of the Supreme Court then so I am not aware of its deliberations except through its published decision. I would rather simply abide by that Supreme Court decision.<br /><br />Should the Supreme Court be activist, as is happening now?<br /><br />The Constitution provides that it is the power and duty of the courts to determine whether or not there has been a grave abuse of discretion amounting to lack or excess of jurisdiction on the part of any branch or instrumentality of the Government. The exercise of this power and duty makes the courts “activists.”<br /><br />It is the president who appoints the Supreme Court Justices. In the United States, the justices serve for life. What do you think of this system? Should judges be elected?<br /><br />I believe our system of appointing judges and justices by the president from a list submitted by the Judicial and Bar Council is all right as well as the mandatory retirement age of 70.<br /><br />There are voices critical of Chief Justice’s Puno moral crusade; saying that, again, the Supreme Court should be deciding on legal issues, not on moral problems. What is your view on this?<br /><br />Chief Justice Puno’s moral crusade is a personal one and is not inconsistent with his position or office.<br /><br />There is criticism that the Supreme Court is intruding into the prerogatives of the legislative and the executive branch in strictly economic matters, in legislating laws that it considers as rules. Is this criticism valid?<br /><br />I subscribe to the philosophy (See, H.L.A. Hart, “Concept of Law”) that law is a fusion of rules and that these rules are accepted by society as having binding force because the people agree on the basic principles of what counts for law in our polity and how law may be changed and enforced. If this underlying agreement unravels we would be in trouble. That is why there is need to recognize and uphold the rule of law in every instance.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1142769114887880312006-03-19T19:48:00.000+08:002006-03-19T19:51:55.186+08:00Filipino English: Literature as we think it<strong><br /></strong><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="acontent"><i>The author delivered this keynote lecture at the Conference on "Literatures in Englishes," National University of Singapore. </i></span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">First, let me thank Prof. Edwin Thumboo for my presence here. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Natives often take for granted the icons in their midst, living as we do with them. It is often outsiders who notice them – and I must now, as that outsider who appreciates Singapore, who has watched this city state achieve its stature through the years, pay homage to Edwin whom I have known since the Sixties. I salute him as Singapore’s foremost cultural guru not just as a persevering educator but as an innovative poet, critic and impresario who has helped put this island nation on the map. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">I will mention several authors and their work. Some of them are universally known. As for the Filipino authors, their currency is no longer limited to the Philippines, for some are published internationally. I also mention some of my work, to illustrate how my reading of English literature affected my imagination. English, after all, has become the lingua franca of the world, and for us in the region, the medium of communication. But more than this, we get to know a people better not through their history books but through their literature. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">A bit of background on our literatures. Before the Spaniards came in 1521, five indigenous scripts were used by the early Filipinos although we were not known by that name for we were then, as now, many tribes on many islands. Two of such scripts are still in use, one by a group on the island of Palawan, and another by the Mangyans on the island of Mindoro. A word about Mangyan poetry – it is not the work of just one poet but a community effort for soon enough, a stanza is added to it, and the new stanza, if accepted by the group, becomes part of the poem that is recited by the community. The Mangyan script, like the other indigenous scripts, is phonetic. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">The major tribes had their own epics. One of the most durable is the Darangen of the Maranaws. She has not been accorded the honor she deserves for what Sr. Delia Coronel did was translate this epic into English – several volumes that will now endure for, like so many folk epics, many are no longer chanted as the old people who know them pass away. It is one of the duties of Filipino scholarship to record them now. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">The continuity in our literary tradition lies in our vernaculars, what is written by the writers in the major language groups, Tagalog, Cebuano and Ilokano. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Our Spanish literature flourished during the 19th century, and all but disappeared in the 20th century when the Americans invaded my country in 1898 and gave Filipinos a universal education in English, which the Spaniards did not with Spanish. The victorious American troops became the first English teachers and we came to recognize the public schools as their best legacy to us. I have been using English since I was six years old. When will it also fade away? </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">I like repeating this story for it illustrates how a writer loses a language and gains another. Like Prof. Thumboo who speaks Teochiu but writes in English, I also speak Ilokano and write in English. I am from the northern part of my country. We Ilokanos are a hardy breed, I like to brag that we are the most industrious of all the Filipino tribes, and like the Scots, we are also the stingiest. My tribe inhabits that narrow strip of coastal plain in Northern Luzon facing the China Sea. We are also known to be very patient, mindful of our own affairs. Because of our limited land resource, many have migrated – about 80 percent of the Filipinos in Hawaii are Ilokano, and the majority of Philippine immigrants on the American West Coast are Ilokanos. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">My story happened some 40 years ago or so. By that time, I had worked abroad for several years, and had written entirely in English four novels and many short stories. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">So here I was in my hometown as the guest speaker at a conference of Ilokano writers. They had asked me to lecture on the craft of fiction. The sponsoring organization — GUMIL — is one of the largest writers groups in my country, with branches in the United States and the Middle East. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">It was very refreshing to listen to Ilokano flowing all over the place, to understand every word, every nuance. Then, it was my turn to speak and confidently, I started with the archaic and flowery greetings which I had not forgotten. But as I went on, although what I wanted to say was crystal clear in my mind, I couldn’t articulate it – the Ilokano words wouldn’t shape no matter how hard I tried. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">I was helpless, enervated by an awful feeling of inadequacy which I had never felt before. I had become a stranger to my own language. I reverted to English which all of them understood for, as a matter of fact, most Filipinos have a working knowledge of English. The words then came smoothly and crisply. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">My early education included the Greek myths, the poems of Longfellow, the stories of Edgar Allan Poe. We were made to memorize Lincoln’s Gettysberg Address, the slogans of the American ethos like "Give me liberty or give me death." Then, on my own, I discovered Herman Melville, Thoreaux, Emerson, and later on F. Scott Fitzgerald, onward to Somerset Maugham, George Orwell, and on to Borges and Neruda, Soseki and Akutagawa, Brecht all in English translation, the whole exhilarating world of literature in English that included Rabindranath Tagore, and of course, our very own, the Ilokano writer, Manuel Arguilla before whom, at our National Library reading room, I used to sit but was too shy to tell him I was reading and admiring him. This was in 1941 when I was a high school senior. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In one generation, by the late twenties and early thirties, we were already producing a literature in English that could equal the best short fiction anywhere – the stories of Paz Marquez Benitez and Paz Latorena, to name just a couple. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">By the thirties, our writers were completely at home with English, and in that period, a major literary debate took place, a debate which dates back to the ancient Greeks – literature, and its social function. This debate continues to this very day although no longer in such hortatory terms. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">As a reminder, maybe we should digress a bit to this vestigial theme. For those of us in Asia whose traditions are different, in our pre-colonial societies, what was the function of the storytellers? The chanters of epics. The keepers of the faith and of tribal memory? Were they also possessors of arcane talismans that gave them power? Were they guardians of morals? Were they teachers? And today, are writers modernizers? Do we believe as some Westerners do that the pen is mightier than the sword? Have we contributed a stone to the skyscrapers of our cities, or as in my country, have we hastened its decay? After all, as our recent past has shown, so many gladly served the dictator Marcos and legitimized his plunder of our country. Ponder these questions for they are central to our existence. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">There will always be writers who are flotsam, adrift and uninvolved with their own societies. We who write in a language not our own, in a sense, automatically become exiles whether we live or not in our own countries. This sense of exile is more pronounced in those who have imbibed in their consciousness those attitudes prevalent in the colonizer, attitudes which condemn the native culture as inferior, which distances them from the affectionate embrace of community and nation. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Rizal who wrote in Spanish was, therefore, a Spaniard, and Nick Joaquin who wrote in English, who said that all the good things in Filipinas were brought by Spain, was an American Hispanophile but both were thoroughly enamored with our country’s history, Nick in the Filipino’s celebration of a pagan past. And NVM Gonzalez and Manuel Arguilla – both wrote in English and reflected in their work the agrarian anxieties; NVM, having spent years in America, was entirely Americanized in his literary views; and Manuel Arguilla, influenced by proletarian American literature of the Great Depression, communed with the Filipino <i>masa</i> in passionate brotherhood. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">The most pathetic of the exiles was the poet Jose Garcia Villa who, in the Thirties, blazed through our literary firmament with his clever and charming poetry which was not Filipino. He was seduced by the cultural exuberance of New York which he refused to leave. And yet others who clamor for a Filipino revolution in the safety of America, wallowing in American largesse. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In 1945, during a brief stint in the American Army, I amassed paperbacks that the Americans discarded after reading. I mulled over the novels of William Faulkner, his prolix prose which I soon imitated. His literary geography, his Yoknapatawpha County impressed me, reminded me of Rizal’s own literary territory<i>. </i>Both gave me the idea for a series of novels, also set in a geography such as Faulkner’s and Rizal’s, but more focused, with characters related to one another not so much by sanguinity, but by plot. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">During the same period, I read the Steinbeck novels; they have a strong sense of place, as did Richard Lewellyn’s H<i>ow Green Was My Valley.</i> Steinbeck’s least known novel, <i>The Pastures of Heaven</i>, is about a small town and how a wayward bus stalls into it. I brought to mind my own boyhood; I could also use my own hometown as a setting for my novel T<i>ree </i>but that the stories should be interrelated. Then Charles Dickens’ <i>David Copperfield</i>, and Albert Camus’ <i>The Plague;</i> they impinged upon me the need for an overriding theme. I looked around, turned inward, to our own tortured past; it was there like sacred parchment – our unending, even futile search for social justice and a moral order. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In citing these readings, I am deracinated, too, just as Rizal, Nick Joaquin, Manuel Arguilla and NVM Gonzalez were. But we achieved kinship with our vernacular writers whose defining work, as the cultural critic Bienvenido Lumbera stated, is characterized by stern social criticism. With them then, we are that continuum which strengthened the fragile pillar of our literary tradition and identifies us as Filipinos and not as aliens in our own land. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">A friend had urged me to write finally a happy story with joyous circumstance and God knows I have searched for that particular milieu, for that fiesta atmosphere that will suffuse my fiction so that my readers will be elated rather than depressed. But everywhere I turn in my unhappy country – although there are smiles everywhere, although we are known for our flamboyance, our vivid and dazzling fiestas – underneath it all is this everlasting sorrow which pervades our very lives. And so, I continue to write what I know, which disappoints those who want joy, escape. I am sorry, I cannot please you. Perhaps I never will. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Exile is also a theme pursued by writers who are themselves ideological or cultural émigrés. This sense of alienation – what a heavy and abused word! is particularly rife among many middle-class Filipinos anguished by the poverty and the injustice with which the Philippines is now afflicted. Their comfortable lives threatened, many are migrating to "provide" as they say, a brighter future for their children. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">This abandonment – for what else could it be – of the native land, can easily be justified of course, not just in its socioeconomic dimension, but even in its spirituality, for this is what it becomes when a literature not just of exile but of escape develops from this matrix of desperation. </span><i><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In whatever language we write, we can profit from the West whose technology we can borrow and use in any way we want, never, never forgetting that we belong to a particular place, that our loyalties are to a particular people, and it is from this particularity that universality starts. It is also from this particular place, this nation which gives our work its identity. We should bear in mind that art always has nationality. What, after all, is Greece without Homer, Spain without Cervantes, England without Shakespeare, and Filipinas without Rizal. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">But the literature of the West today has little thematically to impart or teach us. In these pampered, sybaritic societies, contemporary literature is often surfeited with of the trivia of suburbia – inert, bloodless, lifeless, to name just a few; Tom Wolfe’s, Paul Theroux’s, John Updike’s, Julian Barnes’, the modern I-novels of Japan. There’s nothing heroic or truly melancholy in them. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Surely affluent societies like Singapore throb with ambition, but there is bitter failure, too, and greed, corruption and vengeance lurking in corporate crevices. Death, suicide, passionate love, all these verities, the untenable contradictions, the ingredients for gripping narrative – the writer has to probe deep into the imagination then weave all these conflicts with conscience and with God even to create literature. The rich, after all, also bleed. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Some 50 years ago, J. D. Salinger wrote about one teenager’s anxieties and pain in wealthy America. Catcher in the Rye</span></i><span class="acontent"> is now a classic. And censorship? It is a minor challenge to the artist. Remember, Cervantes wrote <i>Don Quixote</i> under the baleful eye of the dreaded Spanish Inquisitions. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Much of this aridity I surmise, is also due to the numbing influence of an academe that must rationalize its so-called high calling, its "science." </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Literature is entertainment before it is anything else, just as all art should enrich our lives, explicate this dismal world. And these academics make literature difficult and tedious, when their function is to elucidate, to entice more readers not diminish them. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Many of our academics who earned their postgraduate degrees in Europe and the United States have done more harm than good in the development of our literatures. They immersed themselves in the cultures of the West or in countries other than their own. They honed their analytical skills on models foisted on them by their foreign teachers. In coming back, they repeat lessons from foreign literatures, at times transferring without any transformation of the pedagogical formulae they learned abroad. They force upon their students the same often boring literary models, the same analytical techniques without considering how necessary it is to look deeply at their own literature, its aesthetics, its linguistics and context. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">They talk glibly about exotic literary trends and expect their students and colleagues to pay attention to such trends if they are to succeed. They parrot Jacques Derrida, and others – but these neo-fangled critics – study them, they say little or nothing pithy to us–they are new for newness sake. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In referring to foreign models, in alluding to their supposed superiority, we shackle our own imagination, our capacity to analyze on their own merits these aspects of our own literature (or culture) that we need to study, strengthen, and use in the creation of our own art, in lifting our folk culture to a higher plateau of sophistication and modernity. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Attention is now being focused on what the gurus label as post colonialism – the literature critical or emanating from colonialism itself. But is colonialism really over? It has assumed new forms in beguiling and seductive guises, as Borders or Kinokuniya, as Starbucks, as information technology, as globalism. Its worst form, of course, is the native variety when local elites are our own colonizers. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Is our writing useful not only to us, but to a larger community, to a people, to a nation? It is this search for justification, for an explanation of what we are doing, which will then give depth to what we do, not just relevance which we also seek, because we want to belong, because we want to go beyond the confines of our skins, to participate in the larger drama of existence, although in the end, what may happen is that we join the herd, we conform, we are homogenized and we lose that identity which we have so zealously tried to uphold. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In opting to write in English. I have not abandoned my Ilokano, which I love no less. What for do I continue pilgrimaging to the Ilokos where my ancestors came from, but to dip every so often into the hallowed well spring of my past. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">English has strengths and weaknesses. Ditto with our languages which are imprecise in measurements but not in sensual expressions, indescribing attitudes, states of mind. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">To emphasize color, I write mango green, tamarind brown, I use native flora, the landscape as metaphors, our myths, folk tales as themes. A hundred years ago, American soldiers fought our guerrillas in the mountains – <i>bundok</i> in Tagalog. That word has entered the American lexicon – boondocks. And our conversion of the jeep into the omnipresent jeepney it’s Filipino English now. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Our English literature will continue to developing and dominate the cultural landscape – to name just a few fictionists: Charlson Ong, Eric Gamalinda, Jose Dalisay Jr., the late bloomers, Rosario Lucero and Lilia Ramos de Leon, and the younger Lakambini Sitoy, Menchu Sarmiento, Dada Felix, Dennis Aguinaldo the poets Cirilo Bautista, Ricardo de Ungria, Krip Yuson, Jimmy Abad, and the younger Neil Garcia, Paolo Manalo, Angelo Suarez; the women, Ophelia Dimalanta and Marjorie Evasco. From the South, Tony Enriquez, Leo Deriada, and Carlos Cortes, Gilda Cordero Fernando and Gregorio Brillantes were iconized a generation back. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Our linguistic scholars like Andrew Gonzalez and Lourdes Bautista, and critics like Isagani R. Cruz, have recognized the existence of this Filipino English, as apart from English English and American English, conditioned by Filipino usage and vernaculars, which give the language its distinctive timbre. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">For this English variety to flourish, it is necessary for our writers in English to strengthen their roots and withstand the subtle yet pervasive influences from the West. This is very difficult for so many of us look to the West not just for models but as a market and as the imprimatur of our having arrived. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Our literatures in Tagalog, Cebuano and Ilokano will continue developing as the writers in these languages become more facile with craft. Tagalog has truly become a national language. But the minor languages like Pampango, Zambal and Pangasinan will be poorer – there are no novels written in these languages now, and even their poetry is disappearing. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">What we need, which we needed way way back, are true cultural critics, undaunted and contemptuous of the restricting attitudes, of values which render us incapable of making truthful judgements on the quality, the validity of our so called cultural achievements. Many of the awards routinely handed down to our artists are thus glittering inanities. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">But words are just words, meaningless by themselves, until the writer breathes life into them, and moves readers to think, to act! </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Looking back, I deeply regret that I had not acted as much and as well as I should have. I have watched my country sink deeper into poverty and corruption, seen opportunities wasted and lost and no river of tears can resuscitate the fond hopes that were aborted by our own apathy and perfidy. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">At a recent Instituto Cervantes seminar I attended by Filipino and Spanish writers, the perception emerged that neither the Spaniards nor the Americans know us. And Singaporeans? If they do at all, in recent times, it is because of Imelda’s 3,000 pairs of shoes We should ask ourselves – does it really matter if the Spaniards or the Americans, do not know us? </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Far more important: do our neighbors know us, do we know them? How many Singaporeans have read the authors of Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam? Shirley Lim, Lloyd Fernando, Mohammad Haji Salleh of next door Malaysia. In fact, how many Singaporeans have read Christine Suchen Lim, perhaps your best novelist in English today, or Gopal Baratham, the poetry of Lee Tzu Peng, Arthur Yap. How many among us are truly immersed in our own culture so that knowing it, living it, we can then reproduce it not only for ourselves, but for the world to behold. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">It is a writer’s primordial function to explain his countrymen to themselves, to remind them of their past no matter how demeaning, to give them a sense of nation, and hopefully as well – ideals, a destiny. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Language is the vessel with which we carry ourselves, our message to ourselves and to our readers. We must recognize this – that language is not as important as what it carries, our beliefs, our hopes and most of all, our courage. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In a novel, as in a short story, we are propelled to the end – to the denouement as it were – and see in it the meaning of it all. We then judge a work of fiction by the way it ends. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">There are no ifs in history, so it is in literature as well. The text is there, complete, even sacrosanct as the writer had ended it. Given our circumstances today, how I’d like to tamper with these finished texts–but cannot. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Yet, as an exercise of the imagination, here is how I would have ended Don Quix<i>ote. </i></span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">By way of background, 400 years ago, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra published Don Quixo<i>te</i>. And about a hundred years ago, Jose Rizal also published his first novel. Rizal read Cervantes and I read both. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In the end, Cervantes sends Don Quixote home to renounce his madness and to die. His passing is so mundane, so bereft of heroism, of pathos. All that brave posturing, that crusading journey – to end so tritely like this. All this irony is, of course, the simple realism of life itself. How wonderful, how truly romantic – even symbolic – if Don Quixote did not end in such a prosaic manner. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Consider this ending then: Sancho Panza returns to his village, older and perhaps wiser. He is alone, his memory is failing, he had spent time looking for his master. He dimly recalls they were somewhere near the ocean, at some port among seamen about to embark on a voyage to the New World. And that is the last he saw Don Quixote for when he woke up the next morning, the old knight errant was gone. Sancho Panza had looked around, asking, but no one had seen Don Quixote. Could he have gotten in one of those puny ships and sailed to distant lands to wage battle against the perceived ogres that ravage the world? Could be have gone by himself? Surely, he who stands alone is the strongest! </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Rizal told his fellow exiles in Spain that the struggle for the freedom of Filipinas was not in Spain but in the homeland. And the fight was not just against the Spanish hierarchs. The Indios–their apathy, their indolence and incapacity to understand the underpinnings of nationhood were just as important objects of revolution. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Rizal the intellectual equivocated, argued against revolution, as all intellectuals must. But in raising such arguments, he only convinced his Indio readers of the urgency of revolution itself. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In the conclusion of <i>El Filibusterismo</i>, Simoun, the revolutionary, fails; the bomb that would demolish a household of his enemies fails to explode because one – only one individual – loses heart. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Chekhov said, if you bring a gun to the stage, fire it! I would have exploded the bomb. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">If literature is the noblest of the arts, it follows that writers should also be of noble bearing, that we may judge them then not only on the basis of what they have written, their unctuous pronouncements, but also by how they live, and perhaps, even by how they die. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Rizal’s death was sealed even before he returned home. At the Luneta Park facing the sea, he was executed at daybreak on December 30, 1896. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">By then, the revolution against Spain – the first anti-colonial rebellion in Asia – had broken out. His martyrdom was in itself the final Indio approval of the revolution that he doubted and railed against. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">To sum it all up – we were colonized, we use a colonial language which we have transformed and made into our own. This language has brought us closer to our colonizers so we could understand them, and also curse them–to repeat, curse them in the language they handed down to us. But in doing so, do we free ourselves from the colonial baggage that the language has burdened us with? </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">We are now much closer to our neighbors who under colonialism were distanced from us. Do we now know them better than our former colonizers? And most of all, has the colonial language made us more aware of ourselves? Do we use it not so much to free ourselves from our colonial hangover, but to provide justice for our own people – this is the perpetual challenge which faces us, a challenge exacerbated by a harsher and more compact world. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">Earlier in this presentation, I mentioned Manuel Arguilla, the superb Ilokano who wrote equally superb English. The Japanese executed Arguilla for his guerilla activities in World War II. And yet again, that greatest of Filipino novelists, Jose Rizal–two writers who lived their ideals. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">History doomed me to write in English just as it compelled me to leave my village, to strike out for myself and make a living. I knew that I would not go back but that abandoned barrio will always sustain me more than food in the belly can. In accepting this exile, I also recognized and nurtured that enduring bonding with those I left behind, to voice their feeble hopes which they, in their meekness and destitution cannot express. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">In fulfilling this duty, I am reminded of Arguilla, and of that writer who is above us all – Rizal, they whose exemplar lives I cannot equal. I would ask our writers to remember them. In fact I would ask writers everywhere to go home if they can, not so much to where they were born but to remember always where they came from, for by doing so, they will give their work not just its magic sense of place but that universality which art always has. I would ask writers, too, to reach out for the sublime nobility of their vocation by being virtuous as well. </span><br /><br /><span class="acontent">So memory, help us.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="acontent"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->SOURCE:<br /></span><span class="arial"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">HINDSIGHT By F Sionil Jose</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /><span class="arial">The Philippine STAR<br />03/19/2006</span><br /> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /> <!--[endif]--></span><br /><br /><span class="acontent"> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1124963795907997692005-08-25T17:52:00.000+08:002005-08-25T17:56:35.920+08:00Hiroshima and UsHINDSIGHT By F. Sionil Jose<br />The Philippine STAR 08/21/2005<br /><br />Some 30 years ago or so, I was in Kawazaki near Tokyo attending a conference sponsored by the Afro Asian Writers Union–a Moscow supported organization. During the first plenary session, an Indian communist took the floor and started lambasting the United States for dropping the atom bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He made it appear that the Japanese were the tragic victims of World War II.<br /><br />I was so infuriated, I rose from my seat and shouted, "Mr Singh, your country was never occupied by the Japanese Imperial Army! When the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, I called the Americans ninnies for they did not atomize Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto–in fact, all of Japan. This nation deserved to be atom-bombed for the atrocities it committed in my country."<br /><br />That weekend, all the delegates were invited to Kyoto; only my wife and I were excluded from that tour.<br /><br />We mark this week the 60th anniversary of the Japanese surrender. I am not sorry at all–through this span of years–for the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; I just pray though that such a holocaust will never visit any nation in the future.<br /><br />Those who condemn now the atomic bombing of these two cities do so out of the context of those times, ignorant as they are of the feelings of people ravaged by the Japanese Imperial Army.<br /><br />There was no moral barrier when these cities were bombed–it was total war, a response to the Japanese rape of Nanking in China, to the leveling of Coventry in England by the Nazis and their extermination of the Jews, the massacres in Ermita-Malate and elsewhere in the Philippines. No, I will never weep over Nagasaki and Hiroshima.<br /><br />And if any strategic justification is needed, both Hiroshima and Nagasaki were major staging areas for the Japanese Army. The bombings forced Emperor Hirohito to end the war, thereby saving millions of both American and Japanese lives. Just remember that the Japanese were prepared to die for their homeland with every man, woman and child; their suicidal stand in Okinawa was a grim foreboding of what would have transpired if those bombs were not dropped.<br /><br />I was a high school senior in 1941 when Pearl Harbor was attacked but before that attack, war clouds already hovered over Asia. Japan had occupied French Indochina, half of China and Manchuria. Close to us in the North, Formosa was already in Japanese hands. Chunks of Davao were Japanese abaca plantations that produced hemp for the Japanese navy and maritime industry. Gen. Douglas MacArthur, retired, had come to the Philippines to help set up an Army of 21 year olds and Camp O’Donnel in Capas, Tarlac, where the recruits trained–would later become the notorious prison camp for the survivors of Bataan.<br /><br />Air raid, black out and evacuation drills were held in Manila. All of these, however, proved useless when war finally came.<br /><br />The Japanese planes bombed first Nichols airbase near Manila, Fort Stotsenberg in Pampanga and the airbase in Iba, Zambales; MacArthur had an eight-hour advance warning of the debacle at Pearl but the US Air Force was caught on the ground.<br /><br />Classes were stopped. I went home to Rosales, Pangasinan, and was there when the Japanese arrived. They came in bicycles, open trucks, and like most Filipinos at the time, I thought they would not last, that the Americans would come in a massive convoy and drive the Japanese back to their homeland. After all, through all those years, we didn’t expect them to produce those airplanes and battleships. We knew Japanese products were shoddy and easily broken. Made in Japan was inferior. We were, of course, sadly mistaken.<br /><br />The miles and miles of convoys did not arrive; Bataan, then Corregidor fell.<br /><br />The first weeks of occupation in my hometown were quite correct. The Japanese distributed rice, textiles, then, their true nature surfaced. They started slapping and beating up people for the slightest infractions. By the second year, supplies, particularly medicines and food, became scarce. We had to do with ersatz products, castanog (roasted coconut meat), charcoal-fed engines, talinum and camote gardens even in the islands in the streets. Towards the end of the Occupation, the poorest Filipinos wore sackcloth. Without rubber and leather, fancy wooden shoes became fashionable.<br /><br />I commuted between Manila and Pangasinan, bringing rice to my relatives in Manila. The buy- and-sell business flourished, Divisoria in Manila, the center. In June of 1944, I enrolled in preparatory medicine at the University of Santo Tomas walking every morning from Antipolo Street near Blumentritt all the way to Intramuros. The streetcars still ran but they were extremely crowded. The rich had dokars–fancy calesas drawn by retired racehorses. Only the Japanese and their powerful puppets had cars.<br /><br />One morning, while we were having Nippongo lessons, suddenly the anti-aircraft guns atop San Juan de Letran College nearby started popping, then gray, stubby planes with a white star and bars roared over Intramuros. Some flew so low, their canopies open, we could see the pilots waving. Americans! The whole class started jumping, shouting, shrieking. Our instructor–a young Japanese officer with his sword on his side always–slinked away. Classes were permanently stopped. And that afternoon, at around 2, the second wave came, so many planes, they darkened the sky. Anti- aircraft guns spat at them, their black puffs dotting the sky, but not a single plane was shot down. When they came again the following day, the anti- aircraft guns were silent.<br /><br />By this time, there was already very little food in the city. Even gutter rats were trapped and eaten. We stayed on for another month, then in early November, my mother, a cousin and I left Manila with a small bag of rice, a cooking pot, and some dried fish. We walked all the way to Pangasinan for seven days.<br /><br />The highway was deserted in the daytime but for people like us fleeing the starving city. American planes from Leyte ranged the plains, the highways, blasting bridges and trucks–we came across one burning in Angeles, the dead Japanese in it. At night, we slept under empty houses along the highway–their inhabitants had fled to the interior. And at night we could hear the Japanese marching, retreating.<br /><br />In early January 1945, the Americans finally returned to Luzon. From that distance in Rosales we could hear the big guns off Lingayen as battleships pounded the beaches for the landing. That was a terrible waste for the Japanese had all left.<br /><br />When the Americans got to Rosales, at the first opportunity I joined a medical unit of the Combat Engineers. I had one ambition–to go to Japan with the invasion, and once there, first chance I got, I woull kill as many Japanese as I can.<br /><br />That was 60 years ago and thinking back, this is how I truly felt and, I am sure, so did many others, particularly those who lost their loved ones to Japanese villainy. It embarrasses me to recall this objective–a result of my witnessing what they did and in a way, what they did to me which certainly is nothing compared to those who survived Fort Santiago, and the torture sessions with their kempei-tai.<br /><br />Collateral damage–some blame the Americans for the destruction of Ermita-Malate and Intramuros and the death of thousands there. But the Japanese were there, raping, burning, killing. If they were not killed, what would have happened? Was there ever a less violent alternative?<br /><br />We can get sentimental and nostalgic over history in mind and we must restore Intramuros as a reminder of our past and as a tourist attraction. But we must also never forget that Intramuros was the seat of a colonial power that shackled us for three centuries, just as Ermita-Malate–and the beautiful antiseptic Makati today–was the seat of domestic imperialism which keeps us poor.<br /><br />Many aspects of that three-year Occupation need to be studied more for they reveal so much of the Filipino character, of the myriad reasons why this society has evolved into what it is now, almost rudderless, without any lasting memory and therefore, without a sense of nation–this, in spite of the heroic sacrifice of many Filipinos. After all, while much of the region succumbed easily to Japanese blandishments and power, we Filipinos fought them tenaciously, valiantly.<br /><br />But in the guerrilla war, for instance, all too often the guerrillas were not fighting the Japanese alone–they were also fighting each other over turf, over leaderships. Perhaps as many Filipinos were killed by the guerrillas as by the Japanese.<br /><br />It is the height of irony that the best organized, and the most courageous guerrilla group that fought the Japanese–the Hukbalahap–was demonized almost immediately after World War II, to preserve the hold of the landlords and their American allies on government.<br /><br />The Occupation showed how the peasant in such adversity could survive and thrive and as the Huks had abundantly shown; the peasants could also fight and win. If at all, the Occupation strengthened the grassroots movement, infused iron into the peasant’s backbone and his liberation could, perhaps, be this blighted nation’s hope as well.<br /><br />Developments such as these cannot be quantified–they can only be perceived.<br /><br />For a brief period during the Occupation, Filipinos also got to know a bit more about Japanese culture, what an accomplished people they are and, most of all, how they modernized their country in just one generation by adopting Western technology but never abandoning their Japaneseness.<br /><br />And finally, the issue of collaboration, not just with the Japanese but with all the colonizers who ravaged this nation.<br /><br />In looking at this issue, perhaps it is also time that we attended to one man whose unique position in our history is clouded by controversy and misinterpretation.<br /><br />I am now very clear in my understanding of Artemio Ricarte, the Ilokano general who was one of the leaders of our 1896 revolution. He had refused to pledge allegiance to the United States after the defeat of the rag-tag revolutionary army. Steadfast in his refusal to accept American rule, he eventually fled into exile in Japan from 1911 until his return to the Philippines with the Japanese in 1941.<br /><br />He was not given a high position by his Japanese friends. He was too old then–late ’70s–but he served them particularly in their pacification campaign.<br /><br />When the Japanese retreated from Baguio deep into the Cordilleras in 1945, Ricarte went with them. Without his knowing it, the Japanese executed some 20 of his relatives because the Japanese feared that these relatives knew too much. His own grandson, Besulmino, would have been executed, too, had he not understood what the Japanese were saying and pleaded with them to spare his life.<br /><br />Ricarte had no choice but to join the Japanese. He was afraid of the guerrillas who were by then better armed with the continuous arrival of aid from the Americans.<br /><br />In Funduang, in Ifugao, he was afflicted with dysentery. With very little to eat, he fell ill and died. I was able to interview one of the Japanese civilians who was with him to the very end. His aide wrote a book about Ricarte titled Even the Devil Will Weep–for that, indeed, was the tragedy of this Filipino revolutionary and patriot whose undoing was his stubbornness, and his dependence on a foreign power.<br /><br />Ricarte teaches us one very important lesson–a nationalist revolution must never, never seek outside assistance, in ideology as well as in resources. It must triumph with its native genius and sinews.<br /><br />The political ramifications of collaboration with the Japanese extended into the political life and destiny of the nation. Those who collaborated with the Japanese. Claro M. Recto, for instance, was instrumental in developing a post-war inward- looking nationalism that was virulently anti-American, much to our disadvantage. We had a foot in the door to the vast United States market–a market which was exploited by Korea, Japan, Taiwan. We didn’t exploit it. Imprisoned by the Americans in Iwahig for his collaboration with the Japanese, he vowed never to let the Americans forget what they did, claiming that Roxas collaborated more than him.<br /><br />At the very least, those who collaborated with the Japanese were granted amnesty by Roxas. But those who collaborated with Marcos, who helped him plunder this nation, are now openly in power without an amnesty from the Filipino people.<br /><br />What else should we remember of the Occupation? It exacerbated our moral decline. During that period, all rules were thrown out and it was each man for himself. So much of this attitude remains even after the invader had left.<br /><br />Our elites had collaborated with whoever ruled–the Spaniards, the Japanese, the Americans, and Marcos. As a political issue, collaboration with the Japanese died when Jose Laurel, the Japanese puppet president, got elected to the Senate. But as a moral issue, collaboration still rankles, and because we have not collectively denounced and punished those collaborators, does this mean then that we are not a moral people?<br /><br />There is such a huge gap between being 18 and being 80. Today, I now have several Japanese friends and I value their friendships. We do not talk about World War II, about Hiroshima–they know how I feel. But while we do not talk, this does not mean that we will forget. Many Japanese feel guilty over their country’s past, many do not approve of Prime Minister Koizumi’s visits to Yasakuni shrine which honors their war dead, including some war criminals. This issue has no consensus in Japan although it is evident that the swing towards rationalizing and justifying that war is gaining ground.<br /><br />Life must go on and our future, which is bleak indeed, demands our intelligent attention, our hindsight.<br /><br />In 1905, Japan defeated Russia and emerged from that war a Pacific power with vaulting nationalist confidence to embark on an expansion into Korea, Manchuria, China, then the Greater Co-Prosperity Sphere.<br /><br />A hundred years later, today, 2005 we see the emergence of China rivaling not just Japan but America.<br /><br />In 1955, the American scholar Theodore Friend wrote a book, Between Two Empires–that is us–the Philippines–caught between America and Japan. In that book, he concluded: "Could the Philippines accomplish the work of economic diversification and social and cultural unification necessary to make a national community out of an ex-colony? How long would the Philippines remain in confusion between two civilizations, inherent and emergent, as well as in peril between two empires, Chinese and American?"<br /><br />In our relations with China, we must not forget that we have a small but powerful Chinese minority which controls 80 percent of the economy, who are in manufacturing, trade, banking, media, shipping–you name it.<br /><br />These taipans came to the Philippines very poor as all immigrants from China were. Through their industry, cunning and exploitation of elite politics, they built profitable conglomerates, then remit billions made in this country to China, billions that should have stayed here to build industries so our women don’t have to go abroad as housemaids and prostitutes.<br /><br />There is an old Asian saying that when elephants quarrel, the grass gets trampled. A corollary to that is, when the elephants make peace, the grass gets eaten.<br /><br />But this, perhaps, is the subject for another conference.<br />* * *<br />This was presented by the author at the conference on World War II August 16-17 sponsored by The National Historical Institute at UST.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1122327029653794302005-07-26T05:21:00.000+08:002005-07-26T05:30:29.656+08:00F Sionil's Talk on Don QuixoteThe Instituto Cervante's lecture series on the fourth centenary of Don Quixote rounds off with National Artist F. Sionil Jose's talk "A Filipino Writer's Quixotic Adventure" on August 25 at 6PM at the Central Library all of the University of Sto Tomas<br /><br />Call 526-1482 to 85<br /><br />Email: <a href="mailto:icmanila@cervantes.net.ph">icmanila@cervantes.net.ph</a><br /><br><br />or visit<br /><br><br /><a href="http://manila.cervantes.es">http://manila.cervantes.es</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1118811087545094522005-06-15T12:36:00.000+08:002005-06-15T12:51:27.556+08:00Literature as historyHINDSIGHT <br />By F. Sionil Jose<br />The Philippine STAR 06/13/2005<br /><br />(The author gave this lecture at Cubberley Auditorium at Stanford, May 5, 2005.)<br /><br />I am grateful to Stanford, to Prof. Roland Greene and the Department of Comparative Literature in particular, for having me here as writer-in-residence, to Prof. Ann Gelder who is looking after the details of this visit.<br /><br /><br /><br />I am only too aware of this university’s greatness, its trove of Nobel Prize winners. I have a bookshop and I know the distinguished publications of the Hoover Institute. Our best doctors in the Philippines trained here. As for Stanford’s contribution to literature, in the mid-Fifties, your famous writing guru, Wallace Stegner, visited Manila. If I may brag, we have the same editor, Samuel S. Vaughan, at Random House. Mr. Stegner correctly observed that there was yet no literary record of the Hukbalahap peasant uprising that was then winding down. I should have told him then – give me time, for I was conceptualizing a novel on that subject.<br /><br />I originally titled this talk "Revolution as Literature," but my wife said it may not sit well with an American audience. Certainly, it does not sit well with Filipinos. But I will digress into it just the same.<br /><br />When we arrived last month, I was sent to a room where I was detained for about half an hour. When I finally joined my wife at the baggage claim area, we were the last passengers there.<br /><br />I will share with you my conversation with the Homeland Security officer who corrected my immigration form. He asked what I wrote and I said novels and articles on current affairs, politics, history. That started it. He wanted to know more about we Filipinos.<br /><br />First, we are not Asians, like the Chinese, the Japanese, the Indians. The two great religions of Asia, Buddhism and Hinduism, responsible for the civilization and classical traditions of that continent never reached us although geographically, we are there. We are Christians who could have been Islamized if Islam came a few decades earlier.<br /><br />I told the officer we are many islands and tribes. In the past, we were at war with one another. Much of that ethnicity remains in our languages, customs, attitudes. And like the United States, we are a young nation.<br /><br />I am here now to finish a novel which, will help us understand our history better. The novel is about Artemio Ricarte, the revolutionary general who refused to pledge allegiance to the United States at the end of the Philippine-American War in 1902. Yes, there was such a war, which brought America to Asia in 1898 – America’s first colonial venture. We became America’s first and only colony. But not after more than 250 thousand Filipinos, mostly civilians, were killed. In that war, America committed its first atrocities in Asia.<br /><br />I have been working on this novel for so long, the research is flowing out of my ears, shackling my imagination. The English novelist, Robert Graves, advised an Australian writer to write the novel first then do the research afterwards. But I got that advice too late.<br /><br />My five-novel saga is named after my hometown, Rosales. It is framed within a hundred years, from 1872, when three Filipino priests were executed by the Spaniards, to 1972, when Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law. This century is marked by peasant revolts. Through three centuries that we were ruled by Spain, peasant revolts erupted intermittently.<br /><br />A word of caution to those who plan writing historical fiction. Dusk, the first novel in this saga, has a real-life character, Apolinario Mabini, the brains in the revolution against Spain – the first anti-imperialist rebellion in Asia – and later on in the war with the United States. He was a cripple, and I attributed his infirmity to syphilis as told to me by two venerable historians.<br /><br />Wrong! When his bones were exhumed in 1980, as told to me by a much younger historian, Ambeth Ocampo, it was found that he had polio. I confronted the historians and both scolded me for giving credence to what they told me was gossip.<br /><br />According to Ocampo, the upright Mabini opposed a scheme by some of the rich men who joined the revolution to raise money that would have enriched them but would have tainted the revolution. So they discredited Mabini.<br /><br />The second novel in the saga is called Tree after the balete tree, scientifically named Ficus Benjamina Linn. A scholar visited Rosales then returned to Manila to tell me there was no such tree in Rosales. Of course, it is not there but is in many places in the country, in all of Southeast Asia. As a sapling, the young tree is soon surrounded by many vines. The vines grow to be the trunk of the tree itself; they strangle to death the sapling they had embraced. A very apt metaphor for so many of us.<br /><br />Literature is mythmaking. For a young nation, it is necessary. Who can prove there was a cherry tree the young George Washington chopped down and couldn’t lie about?<br /><br />Mythmakers or not, all artists are ego driven, impelled by the human impulse to celebrate themselves in the most personal manner thereby achieving style, originality. They seek originality, although in the end, so many are just plain imitators of life and of other artists, sometimes doing willfully so, sometimes in blissful ignorance. But the self gets satiated with narcissism, so artists attempt to transcend the self and transcendence becomes the motive for a more profound expression. I do not claim profundity; there is nothing deep in my motives. They are moored on the reality of my country, and fiction has difficulty catching up with that reality.<br /><br />I use history to impress upon my readers this memory so that if they remember, they will not only survive, they will prevail.<br /><br />I also present a nobler image of ordinary Filipinos, so that even if we are destitute, amidst the swirling tides of corruption, we can raise our heads. With memory, we can face our grim future with courage.<br /><br />I created in this saga, characters like Istak, the farmer and healer in Dusk, his vagabond great grandson, Pepe Samson in Mass, and a real life hero from the underclass, Apolinario Mabini. These truths are often ignored by historians who focus on momentous events and big men but miss the "little people."<br /><br />Critics call this effort revisionist, the formalists say I mangled the English language because I think in Ilokano – my mother tongue – and write in English. Still others say I romanticize the common, the mundane. I hope I am shaping not just myths and hollow hallelujahs, but literature.<br /><br />In 1955, on my first visit here as guest of the US State Department, I spent an afternoon with the poet Robert Frost at his cottage in Ripton, Vermont. He was in his late seventies but still writing. He belonged to that generation which included Mark Twain. They objected to the American occupation of my country. They argued that America, which won its freedom through revolution, had no right to invade a nation waging revolution for freedom the first in Asia against Western imperialism. The millionaire Andrew Carnegie even offered to return the $20 million the United States paid Spain to acquire the Philippines.<br /><br />Mr. Frost asked how that occupation turned out. I told him were it not for the public schools established by the United States, at that very moment, I would most probably be an unlettered farmer atop a water buffalo somewhere in the island of Luzon.<br /><br />In 1972, I toured this country lecturing under the auspices of the Council on Foreign Relations. I told my audiences, if they did not suffer from historical amnesia and recalled the Philippine-American War, they would have never gone to Vietnam. It was not communism, which they faced in Vietnam – it was that impregnable force, Asian nationalism.<br /><br />To be sure, strident voices in my country are critical of the United States. I sometimes join these out of frustration. Do no get us wrong – many Filipinos consider America our second country.<br /><br />But we must wean ourselves form overpowering American influence, get rid of our American hangover induced by benevolent neglect. Our cultural workers must shed off the American veneer, which stifles creativity, and use the mud at our feet, our folk traditions, our sweat and blood to build the enduring Filipino pillars that can withstand the onslaught of globalism and McDonald’s.<br /><br />I remind our writers about the "flowering of New England," how Emerson, Walt Whitman and those innovative Yankees freed themselves from 19th century European romanticism to celebrate America and give America a granite cultural foundation.<br /><br />It is not easy for us to do the same. History had done its nefarious job. Stanley Karnow’s book, In our Image, sums up the colonial experience. The Americans wanted a democratic showcase and we eagerly complied. The result is a disaster. Your fault and ours.<br /><br />More than 10 years ago, the Atlantic magazine editor, James Fallow’s visited us. After seeing the deadening poverty and the callousness and perfidy of our leaders, he concluded that the obstacle to our progress is our "damaged culture."<br /><br />Back to our Homeland Security officer in San Francisco to illustrate this damaged culture. He had interrogated Filipinos wanting entry. He said flatly: "They are liars."<br /><br />I told him they had to lie, to do anything to escape my country’s poverty and injustice.<br /><br />What had happened to us?<br /><br />After World War II, we were Southeast Asia’s most modern, most progressive. Students from the region came to our schools. When I traveled, the backwardness everywhere amazed me. Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur were villages. The tallest structure in Bangkok was the Wat Arun. Seoul and Taipei were quiet, with horse-drawn carts, bicycles and those low brick buildings left by the Japanese. These cities are no longer recognizable from what they were. Manila has skyscrapers now, but everywhere are the slums that show how we have decayed.<br /><br />Thus, the massive hemorrhage of talent, the diaspora. There is no ocean-going vessel without a Filipino on board, from the captain down to the steward. An American diplomat had heart surgery in Washington performed by what he said is one of the top surgeons in America. He is Filipino. A Boeing executive told me Iran Air wouldn’t get off the ground were it not for the Filipino technicians there. An Indonesian businessman said most of the banks and corporate headquarters in Indonesia are managed by Filipinos. A Singaporean architect pointed to the city’s soaring skyline as the handiwork of Filipino architects and engineers.<br /><br />Here, the United Nations headquarters in New York would stand still if all those Filipina secretaries were absent. And what would happen to your health service if all those Filipino doctors, nurses and technicians left?<br /><br />Indeed, the Filipina is not just a maid in Hong Kong or a prostitute in Tokyo. We have become the proletariat of the world. This is our shame and our pride for as a European executive wryly commented: "You are such a wonderful people, why is your country such a mess?"<br /><br />Is this mess for always?<br /><br />Your Homeland Security officer said he knew of a Filipino retired general who was poor.<br /><br />I said that general should be investigated for unexplained poverty.<br /><br />The "damaged culture" James Fallows pointed out can be repaired. In the Fifties, President Ramon Magsaysay invigorated the Army to defeat the Hukbalahap rebellion. He cleaned up government, made it responsive to the needs of the masses. When he died in a plane crash in 1957, people in the streets wept. When Arsenio Lacson was Mayor of Manila at about the same time, the city was safe, the garbage collected, the coffers were full. A year after he died, the city was broke.<br /><br />The moral decay is a slow process exacerbated by the Japanese Occupation when all the rules were thrown out and each man was for himself. The elite conditioned by colonialism collaborated all through our history with the imperialists. Like most of us, they imbibed the vices – not the virtues of our rulers – the sense of honor of the Spaniards, the enterprise and democratic ethos of the Americans, and the discipline and sense of nation of the Japanese. And like the imperialists, the rich Filipinos send their loot abroad – the Chinese to China and Taiwan, the Spanish mestizos to Spain and Europe, and the Indios like Marcos to Switzerland and the United States. As the Spanish writer Salvador de Madriaga said, "A country need not be a colony of a foreign power, it can be the colony of its own leaders."<br /><br />How then can we accumulate capital to modernize? How do we end this treason? How else but through the cleansing power of a nationalist revolution, a continuation of the revolution the Americans aborted in 1898. It is not only inevitable, it is righteous.<br /><br />In 1985, we finally threw out Marcos in a bloodless revolution. But Cory Aquino who succeeded him turned it into a restoration of the oligarchy – not democracy as she claims. Sure, we have free elections and etceteras but these are the empty trappings – not the essence of democracy. That essence is in the stomach, when the Manila jeepney driver eats the same food served the president in Malacañang Palace.<br /><br />Listen, when I was a child, the poorest farmer ate twice a day but only in the three hungry months of the planting season. Today, the poor eat only once a day. They die when they are sick because medicines are expensive. Millions of grade school kids drop out because they cannot afford to continue. About half of 85 million do not have safe drinking water.<br /><br />Two ongoing rebellions, one communist and the other secessionist, have cost us billions and thousands of lives. If the communists win – and I know they won’t – they will rule just as badly because they are Filipinos hostage to barnacled habits of mind, to ethnicity.<br /><br />The real revolution has to start first in the mind and its wellsprings are not in Mao or Marx. It is in our history, in Mabini, in Rizal, our national hero, whose writing inspired the revolution of 1896.<br /><br />Its creed is articulated by the peasant leader Pedro Calosa who led the Colorum uprising near my hometown in 1935. It is this: "God created land, air and water for all men. It is against God’s laws for one man, one family to own all of them."<br /><br />The American reformer, Wendell Phillips confirms the Colorums. He said, "If you hold land and land is in the hands of a few, you do not have democracy – you have an oligarchy."<br /><br />And this is our curse – an oligarchy that must be destroyed, whose allies are here in this bulwark of democracy. Who, after all, was Ferdinand Marcos’s best supporter but Ronald Reagan? Can you understand now why America is so crucial to us and to those in the poor countries whose despotic rulers have alliances with American leaders? Washington wants peace and stability, and so do we who are enslaved, but that peace, that stability should not be the peace of the grave.<br /><br />When we parted, the Homeland Security officer said I was the first Filipino he talked with the way I did. What I told him, which I have said here, is also what I say at home. It grates the ears. For this, I have been accused of Filipino bashing, labeled a communist, a CIA agent, an opportunist. You name it. In truth, I am just an old writer whose discordant voice is drowned, unheard in the maelstrom that is my country.<br /><br />I end Dusk, the first novel in the Rosales saga, with the battle of Tirad Pass in December 1900. To me, that battle is similar to Thermopylae in ancient Greece. There, Leonidas, the king of Sparta, and his men died to a man defending the pass against the invading Persians.<br /><br />In Tirad Pass, high in the roof of the Cordillera range, the 24-year-old General Gregorio del Pilar and 48 of his men, most of them farmers died defending it against the invading Texas Rangers closing in on General Emilio Aguinaldo, President of Asia’s first republic.<br /><br />I remind Filipinos of Jose Rizal who, at 34, was executed by the Spaniards for writing tracts against them. As Prof. Roland Greene said, he was the first post-colonial writer. In World War II, all of Southeast Asia succumbed so easily to the Japanese invasion. We didn’t. Our valiant stand in Bataan Peninsula, our bitter guerilla resistance – these are forgotten.<br /><br />I repeat – we are a young nation carving our place in the sun. Young, yes, but we have a past which exalts us, which tells us that we have a revolutionary tradition, and that above all, we are heroic people.<br /><br />In our search for social justice and a moral order, in our struggle to build a just society, we must rely on no one else but ourselves, endowed as we already are with a history that shaped our sinews and our genius.<br /><br />And from America, what will we ask of you? Nothing, nothing but your understanding and your compassion.<br /><br />But first, we must remember.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1115423533377864732005-05-07T07:48:00.000+08:002005-05-07T07:57:50.186+08:00AN EVENING WITH FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSE AT STANFORD UNIVERSITYAN EVENING WITH FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSE AT STANFORD UNIVERSITY<br /><br /> ***********************<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Date and Time: May 5, 2005. 7:00 PM.</span><br /> Approximate duration of 2 hour(s).<br />Location: Cubberley Auditorium (School of Education, 485 Lasuen Mall, Stanford Campus) Audience: Faculty/Staff<br /> Category: Lectures/Readings<br /> Sponsor: Division of Literatures, Cultures, and Languages Research Unit<br /> Contact: 650 725 8620<br /> agelder@stanford.edu<br /> Admission: Free<br /> Open to the public<br /><br /> ***********************<br /> Francisco Sionil José is the Writer in Residence in Stanford's Division of Literatures, Cultures, and Languages, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">April 15-May 15, 2005</span>. He will present a talk, "Literature as History," and read from his novels <i>Dusk</i> and <i>Mass</i>. A reception and book signing will follow the event. F. Sionil José is a journalist, writer, and publisher. He was born on December 3, 1924 in Rosales, Pangasinan.<br /><br />In the fifties, José founded the Philippine Center of PEN, an international organization of poets, playwrights, essayists, and novelists. In 1965 he established the publishing firm Solidaridad. His corpus of works includes ten novels, five books of short stories, a book of verse, and a collection of stories for children. The Rosales saga is his five-novel masterpiece, consisting of <em>The Pretenders</em>;<em> Tree</em>;<em> My Brother, My Executioner</em>;<em> Mass</em>; and <em>Po-on</em>. His works have also been translated and published in various languages. Random House has recently released <em>Three Filipino Women</em>, <em>Sins</em>, <em>Dusk (Po-on)</em>, <em>Don Vincente</em> (<em>My Brother My Executioner</em>, and <em>Tree</em>), <em>The Samsons</em> (<em>The Pretenders</em> and <em>Mass</em>) in North America, the latter three in Modern Library Editions.<br /> <br /> José has received numerous fellowships and awards, which include: the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts (1980), the most prestigious award of its kind in Asia; the CCP Centennial Honors for the Arts (1999); the National Artist Award for Literature (2001); and the Pablo Neruda Centennial Award (2004).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1111783477710110832005-03-26T04:43:00.000+08:002005-03-26T04:44:37.720+08:00THE WORKS OF FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSE<h3><center><span style="font-size:+2;color:#af0000;"><b><br />The Works of Francisco Sionil Jose<br />source: http://www.me.uvic.ca/~art/fsjw.html<br /></b></span></center></h3> <center><span style="color:#af0000;"><b>last udated on November 17, 2002</b></span> <p><b>Short Stories</b></p></center> <ul> <li><b>The God Stealer and Other Stories</b>. Quezon City: R.P. Garcia Publishing Co., 1968; Bratislava, 1983.</li><li><b>Waywaya, Eleven Filipino Short Stories.</b> Hong Kong: Heinemann Asia, 1980; London, 1980; Manila, 1985.</li><li><b>Platinum, Ten Filipino Stories</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1983.</li><li><b>Olvidon and Other Short Stories</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1988.</li><li><b>Puppy Love</b>, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1999.</li> </ul> <center>Novels and Novellas (<span style="color:#006600;">The five Rosales Saga novels in green)</span></center> <ul> <li><span style="color:#006600;"><b>Po-on</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1984; Jakarta, 1988 Lisbon, 1990.</span></li><li><span style="color:#006600;"><b>Tree</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1978; Moscow, 1983.</span></li><li><span style="color:#006600;"><b>My Brother, My Executioner</b>. Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1979; Moscow, 1983; Hanoi,1989.</span></li><li><span style="color:#006600;"><b>The Pretenders.</b> Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1962; Moscow (Russian, Latvian, Ukrainian), 1971; Jakarta, 1979; Amsterdam, 1980; Prague, 1981; Tokyo, 1983.</span></li><li><span style="color:#006600;"><b>Mass</b>. Amsterdam, 1982; Manila, 1983; Sydney / London, 1984; Stockholm, 1986; Jakarta (Kompas),1987; Taipei, 1988; Kuala Lumpur, 1988; Copenhagen, 1989; Bonn, 1990; Tokyo, 1991; Seoul, 1993.</span></li><li><b>Two Filipino Women</b>. Quezon City: New Day Publishers, 1981; Bangkok, 1984.</li><li><b>Ermita</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1988; Kuala Lumpur, 1993.</li><li><b>Gagamba</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1991.</li><li><b>Viajero</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1993.</li><li><b>Three Filipino Women</b>. New York: Random House, 1992.</li><li><b>Sin</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1994.</li><li><b>Sins</b>. Random House, New York, May 1996.</li><li><b>Dusk.</b> (Po-on retitled) <a href="http://www.randomhouse.com/author/results.pperl?authorid=14838">Random House</a>, New York, 1998</li><li><b>Don Vincenete</b>. (Tree and My Brother, My Executioner) Random House, New York, 1999</li><li><b>Ben Sinngkol</b>, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, June, 2002. <span style="color:#cc0000;"><b>(Latest)</b></span></li> </ul> <center>Verse</center> <ul> <li><b>Questions</b>. Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1988.</li> </ul> <center> Non-fiction - by and about F. Sionil Jose</center> <ul> <li><b>We Filipinos: Our Moral Malaise, Our Moral Heritage</b>, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1999.</li><li><b>In Search of the Word</b>, Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House.</li><li><b>F. Sionil Jose and His Fiction</b>, Edited by Alfredo T. Morales, Vera-Reyes Publishing, Quezon City, 1989.</li><li><b>Selected Essays of F. Sionil Jose</b>, Manila.</li><li><b>Conversations with F. Sionil Jose</b>. Edited by Miguel A. Bernard, Vera-Reyes Publishing, Quezon City, 1991.</li><li><b>F. Sionil Jose's Rosales Novels: Saga of Social Injustice</b>, Thomas D. K <p> </p></li> </ul> <center>Most of the Filipino editions are available from:<br /><span style="color:#0033ff;">Solidarity Publishing House, 531 Padre Faura, Ermita, Manila, Philippines.</span><br />Tel:59-12-41 or 58-65-81, Fax:(632) 58-65-81, <b>Email: soli@skyinet.net<br /><br /><br /><br /></b></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1111781887965209482005-03-26T04:16:00.000+08:002005-03-26T04:18:07.983+08:00Reactions to F. Sionil Jose's Lecture at the University of the PhilippinesReactions to F. Sionil Jose's Lecture on Revolution and the University of the Philippines<br />Source: http://www.up.edu.ph/fsioniljose_reactions.htm<br /><br />1. ‘Responsibility is a shared burden’<br />Sociology Professor Randy David<br /><br />2. ‘Nagsimula na ang rebolusyon’ (a transcription)<br />Professor Emeritus Bienvenido Lumbera<br /><br />3. ‘The University and how it teaches about power’<br />Philosophy Professor Zosimo Lee<br /><br /><br />1.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">‘Responsibility is a shared burden’</span><br />Sociology Professor Randy David<br /><br />I agree with our distinguished lecturer and National Artist, Francisco Sionil Jose, that mass poverty is the biggest problem of Philippine society today. The poverty of our people, he says, is the result of three factors: the loss of our “ethical moorings,” our lack of a “sense of nation,” and the betrayal by our leaders of the people’s interest. Let’s look at his argument more closely.<br /><br />I have a little problem with the term “ethical moorings,” which I take to mean the same thing as the word “values.” To speak of “moorings” is to suggest that a people’s relation to the world must be fixed. Yet all values change, some faster than others, reflecting the changing circumstances in which human beings make their lives. Frankie would be hard-pressed to define what these basic ethical moorings that have been lost are, and to explain why he thinks we need them in these times. I am quite certain that for every ethical ideal he proposes, ten different others will come to mind. And there would be no objective way of deciding which ethical ideals are more important to Filipinos than others.<br /><br />My own view is that values are in the final analysis a society’s defense and necessity, their ultimate objective being the preservation and growth of the community over time. Some values are worth strengthening, while others need to be discarded – depending on whether they promote or threaten the survival of the nation in changing times.<br /><br />I think that a nation’s core values must help its people not only to survive but also to grow and mature as a community. Two things come to mind when we talk of growth: first, the capacity to feed ourselves and take care of our people’s needs without having to rely on other nations; and second, the ability to govern ourselves and set our own goals as a nation. The first is self-reliance; the second is autonomy. They are interrelated: a dependent nation can never hope to be free.<br /><br />Have our values as a people helped us to grow? Or is it the loss of our ancestors’ values that arrested our growth? If it is the latter, as Frankie suggests, I would be interested to know what these are that we have lost, and how their loss has made us poor.<br /><br />“Sense of nation” is another one of those concepts that are difficult to pin down. I am more comfortable with notions like “national pride” or “national esteem” and the extent to which this is strengthened or eroded in the course of a nation’s history. I also believe that Filipino national pride has diminished greatly since the formation of the Filipino nation. Today this is most manifest in the continuous migration of demoralized and disenchanted Filipinos who feel betrayed and see no hope for themselves and their children in these shores. Not to look back, rejection, anger – these are reactions of émigrés who think they must peel off the history of their nation from their bodies before they can begin an entirely new life in their chosen country. This is a form of violence upon the self that often enough some Filipino immigrants also try to inflict on their children by erasing any trace of the Filipino in their hearts.<br /><br />It is not the simple loss of sense of nation that I worry about, but rather the loss of pride in one’s nation. In the global age, it is no longer unusual to live and work abroad and remain a national of one’s country of birth. There is no need to apologize for leaving one’s country, just as there is no need to reject it in anger as a condition for one’s happiness as an immigrant.<br /><br />A nation is the collective responsibility of all its citizens, not just of its leaders. While it is true that the leaders of a nation must bear a large share of the blame for its failure, responsibility is in the final analysis a shared burden. We must not stop reminding ourselves of this because it is usually easier to blame everybody else but ourselves for the problems of the nation. We blame the country for failing to provide its citizens a worthwhile future, but we seldom ask what we have done or are doing to make it a better country. A nation is not something that exists independently of its citizens. It is something its citizens gradually create across generations.<br /><br />Having said this, I think there is little to gain -- except maybe rhetorical satisfaction -- from blaming the leaders of a country for the problems of its people. Needless to say, it is equally pointless to blame the victims. But we must bear in mind that leaders do not become leaders, or remain leaders, without the consent or sufferance of the people. The more important question therefore is: If the leaders have made a mess of the nation, why do they remain leaders? Why have the people not thrown them out? Why do we keep electing the “wrong” leaders?<br /><br />The answers to these questions point to structural weaknesses and historical conditions that are glossed over when our attention is focused entirely on subjective causes like ethical foundations, sense of nation, and betrayal of leaders. These structural conditions constrain us in what we do or wish to do, even as they provide the opportunities for overcoming our problems. It is in this sense that Marx once said: “Men make history, but they do so under circumstances not chosen by them.” It behooves us to interpret the meaning of these circumstances, in ways that concretely allow us to eventually supersede them.<br /><br />Thus, to Frankie’s argument, I will add: We are poor primarily because our economy has remained stagnant. Our productive capacities have not grown in proportion to the increase in our population and the growing needs of our people. We have not maximized the use of the vital assets of our nation – the talent and industry of our people, the wealth of our soil, the richness of our waters, the beauty of the land, and so on. We are wasting these resources – our people above all. By failing to nurture and educate our young properly so they can become productive citizens, we now confront them as a burden.<br /><br />We are poor because a backward-looking landed oligarchy managed to capture the postcolonial State, and placed it entirely in the service of their conservative interests.<br /><br />We are poor because we have surrendered national planning to the vagaries of global capitalism, wrongly believing that if the State stepped aside to allow private entrepreneurship free rein, the immanent rationality of the market would ultimately bring the economy into the circuit of development. The experiences of Japan, Singapore, and South Korea – economies we most admire – demonstrate the opposite of that. Late developing societies cannot afford to rely on the logic of capital alone because that means giving up control of the nation to the forces of global capital.<br /><br />Where domestic capital is weak, the State has no choice but to strengthen it even if this means playing an aggressive economic role. This is what the Koreans, Singaporeans, Thais, and Malaysians did. This is what Marcos supposedly also had in mind.<br /><br />Of course, this solution carries with it its own inherent dangers. The most important is the danger of such an experiment ending up in “crony capitalism,” where the wealth and power of the State are placed in the hands of favored entrepreneurs who then abscond with the money. The other danger is that when political leaders are too close to business, they end up enriching and protecting the business of a few at the expense of the rest of the nation.<br /><br />Frankie calls for a “nationalist” revolution, yet his analysis hardly problematizes foreign domination. When he says that the vanguard of the future revolution should be the masa, I believe what he has in mind is a democratic or anti-feudal revolution.<br /><br />Interestingly, he also thinks the leadership of the revolution will be produced by the University of the Philippines, as if the UP were exempt from elitism. He seems to forget that a great number of our past political leaders who became servants of the oligarchy are also products of this university. I do not see very many children of the masa in the campuses of our university, since these children seldom get to finish high school. And even if there are, they usually join the ranks of the professionals who serve the elite after graduation, or go abroad to use their minds in the service of other nations.<br /><br />I do believe that the UP’s principal mission is to breed leaders of the nation, hopefully, revolutionary leaders. But such leaders may not necessarily come literally from the ranks of the peasantry, the working class, or the urban poor. They may not themselves be the fighters in the streets or the cadres in the countryside. In fact, they may not even be the political leaders of the future. For me, it would be enough that they nurture an intense pride in their country, care enough for its future to want to spend the rest of their lives building it, have a passionate concern for the underprivileged and downtrodden in our society, and love learning enough to make it a lifelong obsession.<br /><br />You cannot force a revolution. I think the moment of revolutionary rupture comes when it is least expected. The kind of students we breed in this university must be such that no matter who the leaders of a given period may be, they will have no choice but to serve as the worthy pillars of a strong independent nation.<br /><br /><br />2.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">‘Nagsimula na ang rebolusyon’ (a transcription)</span><br />Professor Emeritus Bienvenido Lumbera<br /><br />Nang matanggap ko ang kay Frankie na abstract, ang una kong reaksyon ay bakit sa kanyang pagsasabi na ang kanyang papaksain ay ang University of the Philippines and the Revolution, tila nakalimutan niya na nagsimula na ang rebolusyon na kanyang hinahanap, na sa mga huling taon ng Dekada ‘70 ay lumitaw ang isang kilusan na ang layunin ay agawin ang kapangyarihan mula sa kamay ng mga naghaharing uri upang mabigyan ang mga Pilipino ng tunay na kalayaan at ng demokrasya. Para bang ang hinihingi niya ay for UP to reinvent the revolution dahil sa kanya ang rebolusyon ay tinawag niyang nationalist, at sa kanyang pagpapaliwanag kanina, binanggit niya ang pangalan ni Bonifacio at kanyang sinabi na tila pagkakamali ni Jose Maria Sison na siya ay tumanaw sa Tsina upang humango ng ideolohiya na magiging tuntungan ng rebolusyon na kanyang nilalayon.<br /><br />Ngayon, kung ating babalikan ang kasaysayan ng UP at ang relasyon nito sa rebolusyon, makikita natin na ‘yung tinatawag na First Quarter Storm ay isang panimulang hakbang ng mga kabataang nasa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas kaugnay ang iba pang kabataan sa iba pang unibersidad na simulan ang pag-agaw ng kapangyarihan mula sa kamay ng naghaharing uri, na sa pananalita ni Frankie ay ang elite ng Pilipinas. Sa hanay ng mga estudyante na naging bahagi ng FQS, totoo na mayroong mga lider na bumaliktad at ito ay isang bagay na hindi kataka-taka, dahil sa kasaysayan ng anumang rebolusyonaryong kilusan, habang tumatakbo ang panahon at kilusan, mayroong mga lider na tunay na bumabaliktad, pero ating pakasusuriin ang mga taong naging bahagi ng FQS. Marami sa kanila ang nagpatuloy at hanggang ngayon ay nasa kilusang pambansang demokrasya, na ang kanilang pinanghahawakang mga prinsipyo ay mga prinsipyo na kanilang natutunan sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas bukod pa sa kanilang pag-aaral ng iba pang kaisipan mula sa ibang bansa.<br /><br />So, hirap kong tanggapin na may bagong rebolusyon na dapat harapin ang Unibersidad ng Pilipinas. At ito ay tinatawag niyang nationalist revolution.<br /><br />Ang isa pang okasyon na ipinamalas ng UP ang kanyang rebolusyonaryong orientasyon ay ang Diliman Commune. Totoo na ang Diliman Commune ay naging tampulan ng maraming puna ng mga intelektwal, ng mga lider ng bansa, dahil sa mga kalabisan o pagmamalabis na nangyari noong panahon ng Diliman Commune. Pero iyon ay isang matatawag nating necessary step, necessary preparation for stepping up a revolutionary movement.<br /><br />Matatandaan din natin na noong panahon ng martial law, isang panahon na ang media ay kontrolado ng estado, sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas lamang nanatiling buhay ang tinatawag nating freedom of the press, dahil sa pamamagitan ng Collegian at Diliman Review ay napaabot sa mga tao ang mga kaisipan na hindi pinapayagang malathala sa mga medyang kontrolado ng gobyerno.<br /><br />Ang tatlong bagay na ito ay pagpapatunay na mayroon nang rebolusyon na nasimulan at nilahukan ang Unibersidad ng Pilipinas at hindi na kailangan na umibento tayong muli ng isa pang rebolusyon upang maganap ang pagbabagong hinahangad ng mga Pilipino. Sa pananalita ni Frankie—na medyo hindi kapani-paniwala para sa akin—‘yung kanyang pagsasabi na hindi siya naniniwala na kailanman ay magtatagumpay ang isang rebolusyong pinamumunuan ng mga komunista, dahil aniya, ang mga komunista ay katulad din ng mga liderato natin na may ego at paghahangad na itampok ang sarili sa halip na ang pag-ukulan ng pansin ay ang kalagayan ng masa.<br /><br />Sa palagay ko, mahirap nating tuunan na mayroon na kaagad na parameters na ang isang revolutionary movement ay kinakailangang obserbahan. Ang tunay na rebolusyonaryo ay laging handang baguhin ang pagkilos, baguhin ang mga panukala, upang umangkop sa kalagayan at mapagtagumpayan ang lahat ng balakid sa rebolusyon. Kaya ‘yung inherent prejudice ni Frankie sa kilusan na pinamumunuan ng Partido Komunista ng Pilipinas ay hindi dapat maging pananaw ng lahat ng mga taong naghahangad ng pagbabago sa Pilipinas.<br /><br />Several months ago, mayroon akong ginawang pag-aaral sa isang nobela ni Frankie, ‘yung nobela niyang Ermita. Ang Ermita ay isang nobela tungkol sa isang babaeng naging puta dahil gusto niyang maghiganti sa mga elite na nagtulak sa kanya upang mapabilang sa mga mahirap, ‘yung pamilya ng driver noong mayamang pamilya. Doon sa nobelang iyon, isang pagkakataon, minor plot point pero mayroong isang kabataang babae, anak ng isang dating puta, ang pangalan ay Lily, na bigla na lamang nawala. At ‘yung nanay ng kabataan ay nag-usisa, nagtanong sa maraming tao, pagkatapos ay inireport doon sa pangunahing tauhan na si Ermita, na nawawala ang kanyang anak. Ngayon, alam na noong si Ermita na ang anak ng babaeng ito ay namundok at sumali sa NPA. Ang sabi ng pangunahing tauhan ni Frankie, si Ermita, doon sa nanay, “Alam mo, dapat mong ipagmalaki ang iyong anak kasi ang ginawa niya ay isang bagay na dapat ay ginawa ko rin noong ako ay bata-bata pa.” So, wari, sa tingin ko, nandoon sa likod ng consciousness ni Frankie na mayroong magagawa ang isang rebolusyon na sinapian ni Lily. Ang nobela ay naganap noong martial law—ang lahat ng mga aksyon ay nangyari noong martial law—at ang kabataang ito ay nagsimula bilang aktibista, inililihim sa kanyang magulang ang kanyang pagiging aktibista hanggang magsuspetsa ang nanay na marahil ang kanyang anak ay nagpuputa na rin. Kaya nabahala masyado ang nanay at inireport doon kay Ermita. At si Ermita ang nagsiyasat kung ano ang talagang nangyari sa bata. Natuklasan nga niya na naging aktibista ang bata. Nag-usap sila, sinabi ng bata na siya ay natutong magsinungaling sa kanyang ina dahil alam niya na di siya mauunawaan ng kanyang nanay sa kanyang pagpapasya na sumali sa mga demonstrasyon at mga rally. Ngayon, nang mamundok si Lily, doon nga sinabi ni Ermita na ‘yon ay dapat ginawa na rin niya. Kaya tila sa tingin ko mayroon ding pagkilala sa nobela ni Frankie na mayroong maibubungang mabuti itong pagsali ni Lily sa kilusang rebolusyonaryo.<br /><br />Ngayon, sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas, bagama’t binanggit ko ang tatlong pangyayari na nagpapakita ng kaugnayan ng UP at ng rebolusyon, makikita natin na pagkaraan ng Edsa, nagkaroon ng paghupa ng revolutionary fervor sa hanay ng mga estudyante at ‘di lamang ng mga estudyante kundi pati sa hanay ng mga guro. Ang pinakahuling manipestasyon nito, at palagay ko isang bagay ito na dapat ungkatin dahil may kinalaman ito sa nationalist revolution: Nang magkaroon ng muling pagsisiyasat sa general education curriculum, ang isang kapansin-pansin ay ang pagtatanggal ng mga kurso na siyang pinaka-votive power ng nationalism sa ating Unibersidad, at ito ay ang pag-aaral ng kasaysayan ng Pilipinas at ang pag-uukol ng pansin sa mga usapin na may kaugnayan sa kalagayan ng Pilipinas. ‘Yung RGEP sa tingin ko ay isang manipestasyon—hindi siya mismo ang dahilan ng paghupa ng fervor kundi manipestasyon na nagkaroon na ng pagbabago sa hanay ng mga namumuno sa Unibersidad tungkol sa mga pangangailangan ng isang tunay na makabayang edukasyon. Kaya binanggit ko ito ay sa kadahilanang kung ang hinihingi natin sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas ay isang nationalist revolution, sa kasalukuyang takbo ng mga patakaran sa ating Unibersidad, tila hindi na mangyayari iyon. Inaasahan natin na magkakaroon ng muling pagsusuri sa kalagayan ng Unibersidad ng Pilipinas at sa mga darating na araw ay maibabalik ang pagkilala sa kasaysayan ng Pilipinas bilang isang susing aralin sa Unibersidad upang mapatingkad ang nasyonalismo sa ating bansa.<br /><br />3.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">‘The University and how it teaches about power’</span><br />Philosophy Professor Zosimo Lee<br /><br />Instead of talking about the university and revolution, I would rather share some questions and tentative answers on the concept of power. Power I think is something that the university has, and power is also something that the university can nurture, bestow and acknowledge, or thwart and challenge. I think it will serve to reflect on how we understand the phenomenon of power. ‘Power’ is basically the ability to do something, and the doing here includes the activity of thinking. It sounds better in Filipino actually, ‘kapangyarihan’, merong nangyayari, o merong kakayahan para merong mangyari, o kaya nagdudulot ng pangyayari o patungo sa pangyayari.<br /><br />We exercise power in the university in the way we guide our students, acknowledge their achievements, recognize our colleagues, and distribute rewards or sanctions to everyone within the institution. We also generate power when we build arguments, write original and creative works, construct new perspectives and discover new insights and processes. The power of the superior argument comes from our belief that, first, there are criteria for superior arguments, and second, that we can recognize and bow to those better insights. Should we not be able to recognize the criteria nor be able to recognize the better insights, I think we enervate ourselves and become weak.<br /><br />We also generate power when we are better able to see what is to be done that addresses fundamental questions we raise. There is an architectonic to our mind and we ourselves create the ramparts upon which we are able to see the horizon. The ability to see the whole, and pinpoint where there might be weaknesses or failures, problems or impending disasters, as well as achievements and strong points, is a source of power, even leadership. We hope that through the academic discipline that we practice, we are able to imbue ourselves with this capacity to view the horizon and the whole, and anchor that vision on stable and strong ramparts. That power is something that can energize and guide, inspire and motivate, create and fulfill.<br /><br />I think we seek a certain completeness, depth and breadth to what we conceive of. Even in the creation of small interventions, somehow it becomes more satisfying when we can locate the detail within a larger picture. The rhythm and cadence of our speech and thought, seems to derive from a wider sense of the architectonic we aim to build. The superior insight derives from this more complete sense, that then helps locate the other activities within a meaningful whole. So the exercise of power must arise from this meaningful whole.<br /><br />Finally power can also be oppressive or domineering, when it does not seek common ground, or attempts to build secure argument, but rather is an exercise of prerogative that is not defensible on rational grounds, when it becomes self-serving or self-interested. In contrast, power can be nurturing when it explains or bases itself on reasons that can be accessible to all, and even transformative when it seeks to replace weak or limited thinking, with more robust or rigorous argumentation. When it seeks to transform the inchoate incomplete insight into more robust ideas. Such that when the logic or the way of thinking is improved based on criteria that the individual recognizes and legislates for herself, the individual can rise up to an equality of power because she is able to argue on the best possible grounds.<br /><br />A university that is able to do these is a source of power for the nation, and it can also instruct the nation as to how that power is generated and used.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1109126063251508242005-02-23T10:33:00.000+08:002005-02-23T10:34:23.256+08:00F. Sionil José: Writer in Residence at Stanford University<p><strong>F. Sionil José: Writer in Residence at Stanford University</strong></p> <p>The Writer in Residence Program brings writers from different cultural and linguistic backgrounds for one-month visits to the Stanford campus. The program puts writers in direct contact with students, the Stanford community in general, and the local community as a whole, strengthening the connections between the teaching and the practice of literature. During their residency, writers will give one public lecture and/or participate in panels with other writers and in public interviews; visit language and literature classes; and hold office hours.</p> <p>F. Sionil José, April 15-May 15</p> <p><strong>Public Events</strong><br />Co-sponsored by the Filipino-American Community at Stanford (FACS); <a href="http://www.arkipelagobooks.com/" target="_blank" onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)">Arkipelago</a>, the Filipino Bookstore; and the Stanford Bookstore.</p> <ul> <li>Wednesday, April 27: José's Dusk: A Colloquium. Advanced undergraduates in Comparative Literature present critical statements, to which the author will respond, on one of his best known works, 5:00 p.m., Building 260, Room 113.</li><li>Thursday, May 5: An Evening with F. Sionil José. The author reads from his work, 7:00 p.m., Cubberley Auditorium.</li> </ul> <p>Source: <a href="http://dlcl.stanford.edu/research/writer.html" target="_blank" onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)">http://dlcl.stanford.edu<wbr>/research/writer.html</a></p> <p>(Thanks to Sonny Villafania & Carmen Miraflor for passing this info.)<br /></p> <p><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1107812158725221252005-02-08T05:31:00.000+08:002005-02-08T05:35:58.726+08:00Celebrating Mass OnstageCelebrating Mass onstage
<br />HINDSIGHT By F Sionil Jose
<br />The Philippine STAR 02/06/2005
<br />
<br />This Sunday’s Hindsight is unabashedly self-serving, and I can justify it only because, objectively, it is interesting and newsworthy. When the Cultural Center of the Philippine’s Tanghalang Pilipino curtains open middle of this month to present Mass, I want to assure its audience that they will witness an original and exciting rendition of my novel Mass. It will be original in the sense that the musical Man of La Mancha is new, although it takes off from the Cervantes classic, Don Quixote.
<br />
<br />The comparison may be presumptuous, but it is valid. First, the play is directed by veteran Chris Millado, but above everything else, the play is written by the brilliant young writer, Rodolfo Vera with whom this conversation is conducted.
<br />
<br />Vera belongs to the vanguard of the Philippine stage, the bright playwrights who include Nicolas Pichay, Jun Lan, Vic Torres, Lita Magtoto, Jovy Miray, JB Capino, George de Jesus and Chris Martinez. These playwrights honed their skills with college presentations, their experiences enlarged by the turmoil of contemporary society. They are innovative, committed, disciplined.
<br />
<br />Three seasons ago, the Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA) approached me for permission to transform my novel Tree into a play. The script was written by Rodolfo Vera whom I never met. In the first place, I had ceased attending PETA plays way back when I got bored by their presentations, which were more propaganda than entertainment.
<br />
<br />I was in San Francisco when I was informed that Tree would soon be staged; I had asked to see the script and it was sent to me at the last moment. I threatened to sue PETA if I did not see the play first and approved of it. I need not have worried. As it turned out, Tree, as directed by Chris Millado, with the major role acted by Fernando Josef, was very original and moving.
<br />
<br />I asked the playwright Rody Vera if he wanted to see the setting of the Rosales saga. So, I took him to my hometown, Rosales, and to Ilocos. He wanted to do a multimedia presentation of the saga, and his rendition of Mass is the second of such effort.
<br />
<br />Rody Vera has won many awards, has traveled extensively, including a stint at Bellagio in Italy. He was artistic director of PETA and worked with Asian drama groups. He has translated Shakespeare, Genet and other Western plays into Tagalog, aside from writing dozens of screenplays, radio and TV scripts and more than 20 original plays that have won Palanca, CCP and Centennial prizes.
<br />
<br />It is a great waste that the excellent plays shown in Manila are not shown in the provinces. This should be remedied by the CCP, the National Commission on Culture and the Arts, and most definitely, the Department of Education and the Department of Tourism.
<br />
<br />These institutions should bring the best to the provinces, particularly during town fiestas. Many years ago, I heard the violinist Gilopez Kabayao play before a Negros rural audience for which activity he was honored with the Ramon Magsaysay Award. Such effort should continue to brighten the lives of our folk and make them appreciate the best work of Filipino artists.
<br />
<br />But back to the young playwrights whose views on the Philippine stage must be attended to because they are the future. Rody Vera is the finest among them and here are some of his views.
<br />
<br />Philippine STAR: Rizal is my greatest influence. But Camus, Cervantes, Willa Cather and William Faulkner also influenced me. What are your influences?
<br />
<br />Rody Vera: My first influence in theater is Reijoo de la Cruz, playwright director, who started writing plays in San Beda High School. His Tatlong Manyika, written in 1970, was performed by our class when I was in second year high. Then, Rene Villanueva. I met him when I was in PETA. Al Santos introduced me to concepts in expressionistic drama. Reijoo de la Cruz introduced me to the absurdists Eugene Ionesco, Jean Genet, Samuel Beckett. I became politicized with PETA. Bertolt Brecht taught me many things, since I never really got any formal education in the craft. I got steeped in the classics later when I started translating some of them. Caryl Churchill, Tony Kushner – the Language Playwrights are interesting.
<br />
<br />All too often, our own lives are our own motivation as creative artists. What is your motivation as a playwright?
<br />
<br />The stage has immense power in expressing and mirroring social realities. Theater as a collective endeavor has great impact on the intellect and in the visceral realms of the spirit.
<br />
<br />Theater is also a wonderful space for asking questions, for challenging the complacencies of society. It is the bravest of the arts, for it isn’t afraid of making mistakes.
<br />
<br />I often say that because we have no sense of history, we also have no sense of nation. Does history mean anything to you as a playwright?
<br />
<br />I got from Brecht his concept of historicism, putting each moment in the theater in a historical context that subjects the relationships to the real workings of the world outside the theater. Brecht takes the theater out of the stage into our lives. By stripping illusion from the stage, the audience becomes more concerned with the historical decisions of the characters.
<br />
<br />I always urge our creative artists to draw from our own folk tradition. Many do, but some ignore it completely. The stage today – what are its shortcomings?
<br />
<br />Theater groups have focused too much on being professional, and less responsive to the needs of the artists and the society they serve.
<br />
<br />Some have grown callous and stagnant by producing what they already know, afraid to probe into the unknown, unable to experiment. I lament the lack of enthusiasm of artists in exploring their craft. Artistic vision is forgotten.
<br />
<br />They just keep doing what they have been doing for years. Actors wait for directors to tell them what to do in the name of professionalism. Directors lack the drive to get out of the infringement of conventions. Producers and theater groups merely hope for full house runs, never minding the spiritual and aesthetic impact that theater can have to an audience deadened by television and movie inanities. Writers become secretaries instead of being wellsprings of that vision sorely lacking among Philippine theater companies today.
<br />
<br />What we have are mediocre, safe, repetitious, outmoded vocabularies and dramaturgical strategies. What we have are theater seasons that don’t seem to create any significant usefulness other than feed the internal/parochial egoisms of professional theater companies that see themselves as pioneers of a tired, equally moribund aesthetic vision. In short, theater has become boring, not to the audience, but more sadly, to their own purveyors. Is it because social relevance, that catchword of the radical ’70s and ’80s, has been appropriated and turned into a legitimate, even a corporate advocacy. The poverty of theater is a poverty of philosophy. There was a time when Philippine theater drew its spirit from ideology.
<br />
<br />Philippine theater now is waiting for a new generation, a new movement that will trigger a new enthusiasm. Many are confused about what globalization really means, what world class could really mean in our craft. Hopefully, this new and vibrant movement can come soon.
<br />
<br />I was very impressed with your stage adaptation of my novel Tree for which reason I haven’t even bothered to look anymore at your script for Mass. The narrative line of the novel is linear. What made you select Mass for your next play?
<br />
<br />When I wrote Tree, I included Pepe Samson in the script, hoping that this first script will give birth to adaptations of the other novels of the Rosales saga. I juxtaposed the narrator of Tree, a disillusioned man who returns to his hometown with Pepe, who is just about to leave his hometown, disgusted with everything about his poor condition.
<br />
<br />Given this backdrop for Tree, it only seemed natural to do Mass next, also, stylistically, the collapsing of scenes and juxtaposition of characters are more explored in Mass than in Tree.
<br />
<br />There aren’t many playwrights who work with our novels. But you managed to make something original out of Tree. What problems did you encounter transforming a novel into a play?
<br />
<br />The novel always says much more as it can probe the inner workings of the mind of the characters. Theater can only be external and show positive action. It cannot portray someone as not angry and even the act of sitting down should elicit an action in itself, whereas the novelist can describe and create larger contexts as a reflection/meditation in response to a character’s situation.
<br />
<br />It is this descriptive power of the novel that makes it difficult for the playwright to adapt the written work.
<br />
<br />In short, the playwright is concerned with making the elaborate more compact without, however, losing much of the atmosphere, the metaphorical aspect, and the overall spirit of the novel. The playwright focuses on the dramatic arch, the story flow, and the development of the characters, but playwrights differ in ascertaining what constitutes the integral part of the novel that should be maintained and which might be superfluous for the stage. This is why each version will decidedly be different.
<br />
<br />I have tried to make links, both dramaturgical and metaphoric, to scenes that seem unconnected. I try to go beyond the links that are based on plot and story and dramatize these other links instead. The result is a dreamlike structure that accommodates three scenes in one and arrives at a realization of these links at the end of the collapsed scene. I want the audience to understand my own reading of the novel as well, and not just portray the novel as the novelist had written it. This, I believe, is my contribution to the theater version. I don’t see any point in bringing the novel to the stage without my own reading.
<br />
<br />You have worked abroad with drama groups. What insights did you get from Thailand, from Japan? Can you apply lessons from these encounters in the Philippines?
<br />
<br />Similarities: I have learned that theater all over the world is on the brink of fading away and shall have to reinvent itself specifically to catch up with the changes within its own culture and to keep abreast of the modern/post modern technologies that have, by now, determined the most effective mediums of expression. Some theater groups have decided to embrace these, thus turning performances into so-called multimedia productions. Some have steadfastly remained faithful to the mode of the theater tradition.
<br />
<br />The Japanese groups have had a strong theater tradition. And the modern tradition has been a direct offshoot from the traditional theater. While modern ideas have been influenced by the West, the theater artist reacts to the traditional mode and therefore has provided the continuity of this tradition.
<br />
<br />In the Philippines, the traditional theater has completely had a full gap in relation to modern theater. The setup, the mechanics, the mode of production are completely different from the Philippine traditional theater. That is why the audience response, the economic conditions, and even the aesthetic sensibilities are radically different. This is one of the reasons why our theater is not as well-entrenched as it was before.
<br />
<br />Discipline among the Japanese theater groups is also a deep-set value that goes as far back as the traditional theater forms like the Kabuki and Noh. This may be something that we might have to learn because this goes beyond the notion of professionalism, which for me has taken on an odious notion. Professionalism is touted as the key to world-class talent when I believe it is decidedly not. It is merely a superficial, and hypocritical attitude to discipline and commitment. Professionalism and commitment are two opposing notions.
<br />
<br />This is a cliché but it still matters because so many of our creative people are merely derivative. What does being Filipino mean to you?
<br />
<br />The Filipino as playwright is both a distortion and exciting to be. Distortion because the Filipino playwright is at a crossroads, between being able to reach out to the larger audience, i.e. the masses, who incidentally watch TV and the movies that we often find cheap, as well as advancing their own ideas about life and art – something that the ordinary Filipino viewer does find significant, compared to the dreamy, idealistic intellectual that he usually is.
<br />
<br />How to fill this gap so that the Filipino playwright may represent himself as a writer with a wider audience and at the same time without compromising his own commitments to his craft and philosophy in life between folk/tradition/status quo and modernity, intellectual fulfillment and artistic refinement?
<br />
<br />While we grapple with what it means to be nationalistic as well as world-class, the Filipino playwright, conscious of his being a Filipino, may not succeed being the playwright for the Filipino, and this is a challenge for me and other playwrights, I think: To keep searching for themes, as well as ways of expressing these themes that truly matter to him, as a Filipino and as a human being.
<br />
<br />You are still a great distance away from being an octogenarian. But you have already amassed a lot of experiences, not to say trophies as well. What would you like future playwrights to know, to do?
<br />
<br />First, learn the craft, and learn it well. And then, decide whether this can help them clarify what they deem most important. Each future playwright has every chance to define the direction of theater and drama in the Philippines.
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1102110665685612922004-12-04T05:27:00.000+08:002004-12-04T06:24:21.756+08:00HAPPY BIRTHDAY SENOR FRANKIEMaligayang Kaarawan po sa inyo. Sana'y patuloy pa po kayong makagawa ng obra-maestrang mga nobela at sanaysay. Sana'y patuloy pa rin kayong makapag- bigay inspirasyon sa mga Pilipino, lalung-lalo na ang kabataan.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.traxweb.net/fsj/fsjandcakes.jpg" />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1101729986311579292004-11-29T20:04:00.001+08:002004-11-29T20:06:26.313+08:00REVOLUTION & UP<span style="font-weight: bold;">REVOLUTION & UP</span>
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Speech delivered by the author at the University of the Philippines Diliman on </span>
<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">Nov 23)</span>
<br />
<br />What is an old man like myself doing here, talking about revolution? Hindsight
<br />is the lowest form of wisdom. I can tell you what it was like when your campus
<br />was nothing but cogon waste, when all those trees that line your streets were
<br />just saplings.
<br />
<br />I can tell you also, why we were left behind by all our neighbors when in the
<br />Fifties and the Sixties we were the richest, most progressive country in the
<br />region, when Seoul and Tokyo were ravaged by war; Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta were
<br />mere kampongs; when Bangkok was a sleepy town crisscrossed by canals. I never
<br />was in China till 1979, but I know in the Forties that country was always
<br />threatened by famine. It had a population then of only half a billion. Now, with
<br />more than a billion people famine is no longer a threat, although hunger still
<br />lurks in some of its distant regions.
<br />
<br />Hunger has always been with some of us, too, but not as much as it now when so
<br />many poor Filipinos eat only once a day. Altanghap, I wonder how many of you
<br />know what that word means.
<br />
<br />So then, why are we poor? Why do women flee to foreign cities to work as
<br />housemaids, as prostitutes?
<br />
<br />We are poor because we have lost our ethical moorings, despite of those massive
<br />religious rallies of El Shaddai, those neo-gothic churches of the Iglesia ni
<br />Kristo sprouting all over the country, in spite of the nearly 400 years of
<br />Catholic evangelization.
<br />
<br />How can we build an ethical society? We must remember that so-called values are
<br />neutral -- that so much depends on how people use them. James Fallows' thesis on
<br />our damaged culture, which many of us understand, is neither permanent nor
<br />inherent.
<br />
<br />Ramon Magsaysay infused public life in the Fifties with discipline and morality,
<br />Arsenio Lacson as mayor of Manila cleaned up City Hall. Even today, shining
<br />examples of honesty among in our public officials exist, but they are few and
<br />far between and they are not institutionalized.
<br />
<br />And it is precisely here where the university comes in with its courses in the
<br />humanities.
<br />
<br />Of all the arts, only literature teaches us ethics. Literature presents us with
<br />problems, complex equations that deal with the human spirit and how often the
<br />choice between right and wrong is made. In this process, we are compelled to use
<br />our conscience, to validate the choices we make, and render the meaning, the
<br />pith of our existence.
<br />
<br />The university then is the real cathedral of a nation, and its humanities,
<br />particularly its literature department, the altar. But how many possess this
<br />sense of worth and mission?
<br />
<br />To know ourselves, to make good and proper use of our consciences, we must know
<br />our own history. So few of us do, in fact, we nurture no sense of the past.
<br />
<br />If our teachers know our history, if they soak it in their bones, then it
<br />follows that they also impart this very same marrow to their students.
<br />
<br />If this is so, how come that when Bongbong Marcos visited Diliman sometime ago,
<br />he was mobbed by students who wanted his autograph? How come that in La Salle,
<br />business students cited Marcos as the best President this country ever had?
<br />
<br />
<br />Not too long ago, I spoke before freshmen at the Ateneo and was told that since
<br />so many practice bribery, it must be right, or how could anyone get things done
<br />if palms are not greased?
<br />
<br />In this university are professors who served Marcos. Have they ever been asked
<br />what their role was?
<br />
<br />We are poor because we are not moral. Can this immorality as evidenced by
<br />widespread corruption be quantified? Yes, about P23 billion a year is lost,
<br />according to NGO estimates.
<br />
<br />We are poor because we have no sense of history, and therefore, no sense of
<br />nation. The nationalism that was preached to my generation by Claro M. Recto and
<br />Lorenzo Tanada was phony; how could they have convinced so many intellectuals to
<br />analyze that inward, socially meaningless nationalism.
<br />
<br />Recto and Tanada opposed agrarian reform, the single most important political
<br />act that could have lifted this country then from poverty and released the
<br />peasantry from its centuries-old bondage.
<br />
<br />We are poor because our elite from way back had no sense of nation -- they
<br />collaborated with whoever ruled the Spaniards, the Japanese, the Americans and
<br />in recent times, Marcos. Our elite imbibed the values of the colonizer.
<br />
<br />And worst of all, these wealthy Filipinos did not modernize this country - they
<br />sent abroad their wealth distilled from the blood and sweat of our poor. The
<br />rich Chinese to China, to Taiwan, to Hong Kong, the rich mestizos to Europe and
<br />the rich Indios like Marcos to Switzerland and the United States -- money that
<br />could have developed this nation.
<br />
<br />How do we end this shameless domestic colonialism? The ballot failed; the bullet
<br />then ? How else but through the cleansing power of revolution. Make no mistake
<br />about it -- revolution means the transfer of power from the decadent upper
<br />classes to the lower classes. Revolution is class war whose objective is justice
<br />and freedom.
<br />
<br />Who will form the vanguard of change? Who else but the very people who will
<br />benefit from it.
<br />
<br />Listen, when I was researching for my novel POON at the New York Public Library,
<br />I came across photographs of our soldiers of the 1896 revolution felled in their
<br />trenches by American guns. I looked closely and found that most of them were
<br />barefoot. They were peasants.
<br />
<br />The peasant is the truest nationalist. He works the land with his hands, he
<br />knows instinctively what the term Motherland means. He loves this earth, even
<br />worships it. The Ilocano farmer calls it Apo Daga.
<br />
<br />But never romanticize the poor. Once, a group of PhDs lamented the futility of
<br />their efforts in organizing and motivating them. When the elections came that
<br />year, the poor sold their votes or voted for Erap.
<br />
<br />Understand why they are often lazy, contemptible, fawning, cheating and
<br />stealing. Imagine yourself not having a centavo in your pocket now, and you
<br />don't know if you will eat tonight. There is nothing honorable about poverty --
<br />it is totally dehumanizing and degrading. But once the very poor are roused from
<br />their stupor, they become the bravest, the most steadfast. Remember, those
<br />Watawat ng Lahi followers felled by Constabulary guns on Taft Avenue in 1965?
<br />They believed that with their faith they were invincible.
<br />
<br />It is with such faith and righteousness that our peasants rebelled in living
<br />memory, the Colorums in 1931, the Sakdals in 1935, and the Huks in 1949-53.
<br />
<br />The Moro rebellion, the New People's Army -- the cadres of both are from our
<br />very poor, just like it was in 1896. And now, here is the most tragic
<br />contradiction in our country. Our Armed Forces -- its officers corps -- many
<br />come from the lower classes, too; they go to their exalted positions through
<br />public examinations and entry to the Philippine Military Academy. Our Armed
<br />Forces enlisted men -- most of them come from the very poor.
<br />
<br />When the poor kill the poor, who profits?
<br />
<br />THE IDEOLOGY OF THE REVOLUTIONS
<br />Revolution starts in the mind and heart. It alters attitudes to enable us to
<br />think beyond ourselves, family and ethnicity to encompass the whole nation. If
<br />the communists win, and I don't think they ever will, they will rule just as
<br />badly because they are Filipinos unable to go beyond barnacled habits of mind,
<br />hostage as they always are to friends and family and to towering egos. The same
<br />egos aborted the revolution in 1896, the EDSA revolution in 1986, and now, we
<br />see the same egos wrecking havoc on the Communist Party. We see these egos
<br />eroding our already rotten political system.
<br />
<br />The core belief that should guide us in redeeming our unhappy country is in our
<br />history, in our peasantry. It is not in textbooks, in foreign intellectual
<br />idols, in Marx. And what is this ideology which Bonifacio believed in? Which
<br />those barefoot soldiers killed by the Americans believed in? Pedro Close, the
<br />peasant leader who led the Colored uprising in Taut, Parnassian in 1931, said is
<br />this: "God resides in every man. God created earth, water and air for all men.
<br />It is against God's laws for one family or one group to own them."
<br />
<br />God and country; translate this belief into your own words and there you have it
<br />in its simplest terms the creed with which the unfulfilled revolution of 1896
<br />was based, and which should be the same creed that should forge unity among us.
<br />
<br />Who will lead the revolution?
<br />
<br />Certainly, not the masa, but one from the masa who understands them, who will
<br />not betray them the way our leaders betrayed the masa. Estrada is the most
<br />shameful example of that leadership that betrayed.
<br />
<br />The leaders of the revolution could be in this university who have the
<br />education, but who are not shackled by alien concepts, or the attitudes of
<br />superiority that destroy leadership. Such leaders, like Ho Chi Minh, must lead
<br />by sterling example, with integrity, courage, compassion and willingness to
<br />sacrifice, who know that when the revolution is won, it is time to change from
<br />conspirators to even better administrators, remembering that they must now work
<br />even harder to produce better and cheaper products. And this massive work of
<br />modernization can be achieved in one generation. The Koreans, Taiwanese and the
<br />Japanese did it. It is not the Confucian ethic that enabled them to do this;
<br />they understood simply the logic of government, which is service, and that of
<br />commerce, which is profit.
<br />
<br />By what right do I have to urge revolution upon our people who will suffer it?
<br />What right do I have to urge the young to sacrifice, the poor to get even
<br />poorer, if they embrace the revolutionary creed?
<br />
<br />I have no such right, nor will I call it such. I call it duty, duty, duty. Duty
<br />for all of us rooted in our soil, who believe that our destiny is freedom.
<br />
<br />Not everyone can bear arms, or have the physical strength to stand up, to shout
<br />loudly about the injustices that prevail around us.
<br />
<br />Those who cannot do these, who cannot be part of this radical movement, must not
<br />help those who enslave us. Do not give them legitimacy as so many gave
<br />legitimacy to Marcos. Recognize, identify our enemies and oppose them with all
<br />your means.
<br />
<br />This will then test integrity, commitment.
<br />
<br />Nobody need tell us the exorbitant cost of revolution, the lives that will be
<br />lost, senselessly even as when Pol Pot massacred thousands of his own countrymen
<br />in Cambodia. We who lived through the Japanese Occupation know what hunger, fear
<br />and flight mean.
<br />
<br />Joseph Conrad, Albert Camus and Jose Rizal -- writers I admire deeply, all
<br />warned against revolution because it breeds tyrants, becaust it does not always
<br />bring change. But look around us, at the thousands of Filipinos who are debased
<br />and hungry, who are denied justice. Be shamed if you don't act. And as Salud
<br />Algabre, the Sakdal general said in 1935, "No rebellion fails. Each is a step in
<br />the right direction."
<br />
<br />Revolution need not even have to be bloody. How many lives were lost at Edsa 1?
<br />Not even 20. So Cory goes around telling the world that she had restored
<br />democracy in the Philippines. Sure enough, we know have free elections, free
<br />speech, free assembly but these are the empty shells of democratic institutions
<br />because the real essence of democracy does not exist here. And that real essence
<br />is in the stomach -- as when the taxi driver in Tokyo eats the same sashimi as
<br />the Japanese emperor, or the bus driver in Washington who can eat the same steak
<br />as President Bush in the White House. Contrast these with that jobless Cavite
<br />laborer whose two children died because he fed them garbage. No, Cory Aquino's
<br />EDSA revolution could not even have our garbage properly collected. Worse, 19
<br />farmer demonstrators were killed near Malacanang because she refused to see
<br />them. True to her oligarchic class, she declared a revolutionary government
<br />without doing anything revolutionary; instead, she turned Edsa 1 into a
<br />restoration of the old oligarchy. So today, we are reaping the results of her
<br />negligence, ignorance and folly.
<br />
<br />Yet, even capitalism can be very helpful. South Korea is a very good example of
<br />how capital was formed by corruption, and how a single-minded general lifted
<br />that nation from the ashes of the Koren War, into the thriving economy, which
<br />Korea is today.
<br />
<br />Remember the slogans of American capitalism -- a chicken in every pot, a Ford in
<br />every garage. Money is like fertilizer -- to do any good it must be spread
<br />around. Those robber barons at the turn of the 19th century were rapacious, they
<br />exploited their worker, but they built industries, railroads, banks, the sinews
<br />of American capitalism. And the most important thing - they kept their money
<br />home to develop America. Unlike our rich Chinese, our rich mestizos and the
<br />likes of Marcos who sent their money abroad to keep us poor. They are the enemy.
<br />
<br />It has been said again and again that we are, indeed, a young nation compared
<br />with other Asian countries whose august civilizations date back to 2,000 years
<br />or more. Indeed, so are the Filipinos who shaped this nation --- those who led
<br />the revolution against Spain -- they were all young, like you are, in their 20s
<br />or early 30s. Rizal was 34 when he was martyred.
<br />
<br />How then do we keep young without having to grow old only to see the fire in our
<br />having to grow old only to see the fire in our minds and hearts die? How does
<br />the nation's leading university maintain its vitality, its youth against the
<br />ravages of consumerism, of globalism?
<br />
<br />How else but to keep the mind ever healthy, ever alive by empowering it with
<br />those ideas that nurture change and revolution itself, by ingesting the
<br />technological age so that we can use technology for realizing our ideals.
<br />
<br />How else but to embrace the ideas that make us doubt technology, society, even
<br />revolution itself, but never, never about who we are, what we should do and hope
<br />to be.
<br />
<br />We cannot be beholden to any other nation. Jose Maria Sison doomed his
<br />revolution when he turned to China for assistance; he ignored the "objective
<br />reality" -- the latent anti-Chinese feeling among Filipinos, in fact among all
<br />Southeast Asians who fear a Chinese hegemony.
<br />
<br />We must mold our own destiny, infusing it with the strength of a sovereign
<br />people. The Americans, the English, French, Russians, Cubans, Chinese, and
<br />Vietnamese -- all achieved their unique revolutions. We must have our very own,
<br />defined only by us.
<br />
<br />How to build it, direct it, use it for the betterment of our lives, the
<br />flowering of liberty -- I see all these as the major function of the university
<br />which, after all, shapes our leaders. I pray that UP will graduate the best
<br />doctors, the best engineers, the best teachers, the best bureaucrats. The
<br />revolution needs them all. But most of all, let this university of the people
<br />produce the ultimate modernizer, the heroic nationalist revolutionary -- we need
<br />him most of all.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1101164754588748182004-11-23T07:04:00.000+08:002004-11-23T07:12:46.233+08:00AN EVENING FOR FRANKIEOn Saturday, December 3, following the day-long annual PEN Conference and Ramon Magsaysay Lecture at the NCCA building in Intramuros, “An Evening for Frankie” will be held at the Main Lobby of the CCP, starting at 6 p.m. Dear Frankie, as in National Artist for Literature and PEN Chair F. Sionil Jose
<br />
<br />-- from Krip Yuson's post Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1100476475219162862004-11-15T07:52:00.000+08:002004-11-15T10:33:32.990+08:00F. SIONIL JOSE Speaks at U.P. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">On November 23, National Artist for Literature and Ramon Magsaysay Awardee, F. Sionil Jose will deliver a public lecture at the University of the Philippines on "The University and the Revolution" at the Faculty Conference (FC) Hall, U.P. Diliman at 1:30P.M.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The world renowned novelist was personally invited to speak at UP by outgoing U.P. President Nemenzo, a long-time friend and reader of JOSE. The lecture will be the latest in a series of recent visits to U.P. by cultural icons including ballerina Lisa Macuja-Elizalde, fimmaker Marilou Diaz-Abaya and National Artist for Dance Leonor Orosa Goquingco.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">A distinguished panel of academics will repond to Jose's lecture composed of Professor Randy David, Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera and Dean Zosimo Lee.</span>
<br />
<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The lecture is FREE and open to all. </span></span>
<br />
<br /></span>
<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1100387413765305032004-11-14T07:05:00.000+08:002004-11-15T04:11:41.906+08:00The Best Novelist reminisces about the Best Filipino Writer<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >by Deni Rose M. Afinidad</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Nick, who died on April 29, is our greatest writer. I’m the greatest novelist.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">National Artist Francisco Sionil Jose always taught us to be boastful. Writers are never humble, he always said, to 15 of us who attended the Fifth UST National Writers’ Workshop in Baguio City from April 25 to May 1.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">More than just our panelist, F. Sionil Jose, or Sir Frankie as we call him, provided us with some wine to toast and to toss us up as we painlessly sang videoke oldies during the first three socialization nights of the workshop.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But April 30 was a different day. Almost everyone got up early and woke up without a hangover. Sir Frankie didn’t pour any wine on our glasses. That day, a Friday morning, he sank his grief in a smile. He sat plainly before the panelists’ center table, and humbled himself in memory of a friend.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Looking at the ceiling, Sir Frankie placed his cane over the table and rekindled his first years with fellow National Artist, Nick Joaquin. “I’ve known Nick since the late forties. Having known him, I can talk about him as a human being and a writer.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Like Sir Frankie, Nick wrote history, legends, journalism, poetry, drama, and award-winning fiction. For Sir Frankie, Nick’s greatest masterpiece is the book “A Question of Heroes.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“He knew Philippine History very well. His knowledge of Philippine History helped him very much in his writing. He makes history come alive,” said Sir Frankie, who also shared his admiration for national hero Jose Rizal with his reposed friend. Rizal’s novels laid the foundation for both of them to start honing their career as fictionists.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Nick was a Manileño through and through. Others thought that he was an ilustrado because he came from a well-to-do family, yet in reality, he is strongly anti-elitist. He can’t write about peasants, but he was never detached from the masa. Although he can’t write about peasantry, he felt deeply for them.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Despite having the same interests, Sir Frankie and Nick also had some disagreements. “We had serious arguments about the Philippines and the Filipinos, up to the point that we’ll shout at each other . . . He is very much in love with Spain. I tell him to never forget that it was the Spaniards who killed Rizal.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nevertheless, the arguments that they had did not make Nick less endeared to Sir Frankie. “He is very loyal to his friends,” he recalls, giving as an example how Nick accepted the 1976 National Artist award just to persuade Ferdinand Marcos to free his friend Emman Lacaba, a poet who was then being detained for rebellion.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Filipino writers had a social and economic base during the Martial law years. Some writers enriched themselves during the Marcos regime. They oppressed other writers. Nick has a very strong violent reaction on this. He rarely expresses his views, but I know that he despised writers bound to Marcos . . . Nick perhaps is the most decent Filipino writer I’ve known. When I say decent, it’s just that.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">In defense against the misconception that his friend was a drunkard, Sir Frankie once told one of the workshop fellows that Nick used to pretend that he was drunk to escape media exposure. “He drank a lot of beer, but he never got drunk. He never was drunk. He just seemed drunk but he knew what he was saying,” Sir Frankie reiterated.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Nick showed that it’s possible not only to be a true artist, but also to be a moral person. It’s not enough to have a sense of history or to be loyal to your country. It’s also necessary that you’re a moral person so that you’ll be able to impart a sense of ethics to your readers. Literature is the noblest of the arts. Writers should always have a noble bearing. They should be pious not only in writings, but also in the way they live.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nick’s moral stature is grounded on his deep-seated religiosity, Sir Frankie said. “There’s paganism in his writing, but he’s very religious. Nick has a profound sense of piety as showed in his fiction.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Nick believes that we should have to let go of the American influence and to think first of being published in our own country because our audience is here. We write for Filipinos.”</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Sir Frankie flashed a grin at us as he ended his eulogy. That morning, he was supposed to explore an Ilocos beach with his wife, but this plan was postponed in lieu of a trip back to Manila to see Nick’s wake.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The day before, a sudden heat wave hit Baguio when a workshop fellow burst out of the bathroom and announced to everyone the worst joke she has ever gotten from a text message: Nick Joaquin is dead.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The slumberous atmosphere of April 29 turned hysterical for all writers attending the fourth day of the workshop. A loud “Ssshhh . . .” then tormented the room when one of the panelists, Eric Melendez, tried to slow down the commotion, in hope that Sir Frankie would not be shocked to know about his friend’s sudden death. Sir Frankie sat just after Melendez in the panelists’ table. One of the panelists asked Sir Frankie to go upstairs to have lunch. As Sir Frankie slowly turned his back from the rest of us, the panelists, one by one, broke into tears.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">That day, we watched how professional writers Ophelia Dimalanta and Cirilo Bautista exchanged sobs for the loss of an older writer. The next day, we listened to the sentiments of another veteran writer—F. Sionil Jose.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We, the young writers, don’t know where to pick up the pieces of our emotions. We don’t know whether we’ll remain twirling our thumbs in silence or mourn with the rest of the older writers. I was staring at my fellows as I sucked on a strawberry-flavored candy. Tomorrow, we could be mourning for ourselves.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Source: http://www.manilatimes.net/national/2004/may/09/yehey/weekend/20040509wek3.html na</span>
<br /></span>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1100299480164804742004-11-13T06:42:00.000+08:002004-11-15T06:36:14.266+08:00Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts<p class="PopupItalic">Ramon Magsaysay Award Presentation Ceremonies
<br /> 31 August 1980, Manila, Philippines</p><span style="font-size:100%;"> The life confronting writers and artists who will not compromise their self-expression is at best uncertain. Poets and painters who in times past have been appreciated and honored by courts and a scholar gentry, in the developing world today may receive only passing notice amidst the scramble for wealth, privilege and power. Mass communications catering to the lowest common denominator of taste occupy the public attention. Values most needed are frequently lost from sight.
<br />
<br />It is the hard task of serious writers and artists in this setting to survive and be effective; the quality of their creativity alone is no guarantee. Only by joining in common cause with like-minded men and women can they become significant. This, in turn, requires self-effacing leadership, a stimulating, congenial gathering place and forums for publication or exhibition.
<br />
<br />FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSÉ's role in this many-faceted arena is a product of his wit and formative experience. Born into a poor family in the Philippine province of Pangasinan in 1924, he learned as a boy the hard life of a farmer, following a water buffalo to plow the rice field. After high school he worked with the U.S. Army Medical Corps during the 1945 battles for northern Luzon. Lacking funds for a medical education, he worked his way through school as a liberal arts student at the University of Santo Tomas. There he had his first experience in journalism, working on the collegiate Varsitarian and later on Commonweal, the national Catholic weekly.
<br />
<br />JOSÉ pursued his career in journalism as managing editor of the Manila Times Sunday Magazine, editor of Progress and later Comment, and in Hong Kong as managing editor of Asia Magazine. After two years as Information Officer for the Colombo Plan in Sri Lanka, he returned to Manila in 1965 to open the Solidaridad Book Shop and Publishing House, and the following year launched Solidarity, a monthly magazine of comment on current affairs, ideas and the arts. A year later he opened the Solidaridad Galleries to allow little known artists an outlet for their work.
<br />
<br />Possessed of prodigious energy and curiosity, JOSÉ made himself an authority on land tenure and in 1968 became a consultant to the Department of Agrarian Reform. He had earlier been a founder and national secretary of the Philippine PEN and a moving spirit in the International Association for Cultural Freedom. He continued as a prolific writer of essays, short stories and novels, some of which have been translated into half a dozen languages, all the while lecturing at universities in the Philippines and abroad.
<br />
<br />Although it is difficult to quantify, JOSÉ has probably made his greatest contribution through the guidance and assistance he has offered numerous Filipino and foreign writers, artists and scholars. From Europe, Asia, Australia and the Americas they have come to browse among the carefully selected titles in his bookstore and glean ideas.
<br />
<br />JOSÉ has earned only a modest living through his many activities. He has won instead, for the Philippines, himself, his wife Teresita and their seven children—who all help manage his enterprises—a roster of extraordinary international friends. He has fostered a cultural and intellectual exchange which is enriched by his abiding solicitude for the welfare of ordinary people and enlivened by his vigorous sense of humor. In his writings he has expressed that dimension of caring about human beings that separates trivia from writing of worth.
<br />
<br />In electing FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSÉ to receive the 1980 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts, the Board of Trustees recognizes his intellectual courage and his concern for and encouragement of Asian and other writers and artists, for many of whom his Solidaridad Book Shop is a cultural mecca.
<br />
<br />Source: http://www.rmaf.org.ph/Awardees/Citation/CitationJoseFra.htm</span>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1099737625323885942004-11-06T18:34:00.000+08:002004-11-11T06:07:59.876+08:00<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">The foremost and most-translated novelist, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">FRANCISCO SIONIL JOSE</span>, who has become a favorite [Filipino] novelist since the day I picked up a copy of his <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">THE PRETENDERS</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">MASS</span>,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> <span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">ERMITA</span></span> and recently, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">POON</span> as well as his </span><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">collection of essays, <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 51, 204);">WE FILIPINOS: OUR MORAL MALAISE, OUR HEROIC HERITAGE</span>, among his other works, </span><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">releases his collection of stories for Kids :</span>
<br />
<br /></span> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">THE MOLAVE and THE ORCHID
<br />
<br /></span></span></span>
<br />
<br /><img src="http://www.flickr.com/photos/1183635_38927e2e87_m.jpg" />
<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br />The Molave and The Orchid will be launched at PowerBooks, Greenbelt 4, Makati </span><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">on November 6, 5p.m.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 204); font-weight: bold;">F.Sionil Jose</span> is one of our <span style="font-weight: bold;">National Artists for Literature</span>. He was recently awarded the <span style="font-weight: bold;">PABLO NERUDA CENTENNIAL AWARD</span> by the Government of Chile, which was given to 100 authors </span><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">among 65 countries in commemoration of the 100th birthday of Pablo Neruda, a Nobel Laureate, poet from Chile</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span></span></div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1100644683324085992004-11-01T06:34:00.000+08:002004-11-17T06:38:03.323+08:00NATIONAL ARTIST FOR LITERATURE 2001F. Sionil Jose Literature (2001)
<br />
<br />F. Sionil Jose’s writings since the late 60s, when taken collectively can best be described as epic. Its sheer volume puts him on the forefront of Philippine writing in English. But ultimately, it is the consistent espousal of the aspirations of the Filipino--for national sovereignty and social justice--that guarantees the value of his oeuvre.
<br />
<br />In the five-novel masterpiece, the Rosales saga, consisting of The Pretenders, Tree, My Brother, My Executioner, Mass, and Po-on, he captures the sweep of Philippine history while simultaneously narrating the lives of generations of the Samsons whose personal lives intertwine with the social struggles of the nation. Because of their international appeal, his works, including his many short stories, have been published and translated into various languages.
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<br />Jose is also a publisher, lecturer on cultural issues, and the founder of the Philippine chapter of the international organization PEN. He was bestowed the CCP Centennial Honors for the Arts in 1999; the Outstanding Fulbrighters Award for Literature in 1988; and the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts in 1980.
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<br />SOURCE: http://www.ncca.gov.ph/culture&arts/profile/natlartists/literature/jose.htm
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1109624925428912032004-08-01T05:07:00.000+08:002005-03-01T05:08:45.433+08:00SOLIDARIDAD BOOKSHOP<span style="font-weight: bold;">F SIONIL JOSE's Solidaridad, the Bookshop</span><br />by Leah Guerrero<br /><br />Source: http://bnext.net/Feature/2002/featstory0610a02.html.<br /><br />Along the stretch of Padre Faura street in Ermita, tucked between a restaurant and a run-down building, you will find the Solidaridad Bookshop. Owned and managed by National Artist F. Sionil Jose, considered the foremost Filipino novelist in English, this unpretentious place has been called, time and again, "the best little bookstore in Asia."<br /><br />I stumbled onto Solidaridad by accident. It was during my freshman year in college when I first discovered this gem, but I did not yet realize its worth then. I remember being disappointed during that first visit upon discovering that it does not carry the usual array of fiction novels found in other bookstores. Subsequent visits and a widening of my literary fare, however, soon convinced me of the rarity of such a place.<br /><br />The place seems like one of those ordinary bookshops you see along the alleys of Manila, though this one was brighter and cleaner. But appearance does deceive, as the shop's small interior and almost spartan design does not tell its role, as the Philippine Daily Inquirer put it, as a "cultural beehive where artists and writers gather to discuss literary, artistic, social, and political currents."<br /><br />Even the simple sign outside does not herald the fact that it has been graced by numerous writers from here and abroad. But all one has to do to see the evidence is to browse through their collection of foreign and local books. From history, economy, to arts and sociology to religion and of course, literature, the shop more than lives up to its reputation.<br /><br />Most prominent are Sionil Jose's collection of fiction. They have the original Rosales saga in five books and the condensed The Samsons. Ermita goes for 250 Philippine pesos (US$50 at Php50=$1) and the The Tree, the shortest among the 5 Rosales books, goes for Php95. Fairly affordable prices for Filipino literature such as these.<br /><br />Also available among the shop's numerous collection of Filipino literature are Bamboo Dancers (NVM Gonzales) and Nick Joaquin's Manila, My Manila. There are poems by Cirilo F. Bautista and a collection of short stories by Edilberto K. Tiempo. A collection of Palanca awardees in the 1990s and a collection of Filipino folktales are also available.<br /><br />But literature is not the only selling point of the bookshop, as history also occupies its shelves. Noticeable are Renato Constantino's works and the different books about Joseph Estrada's downfall<br /><br />Contemporary Filipino works are also included in their collection. Eros Pinoy, An Anthology on Contemporary Erotica in Philippine Art and Poetry (edited by Yuson, Cabrera and Aviado) tries to define eroticism, Filipino style through poems, stories and visual images made by the country's top writers and artists. Even Gary Lising's books are available.<br /><br />Craft books, cook books and along with coffee table books of the visual arts can also be found here. Even new-age books are available. Merde, Excursions in Scientific, Cultural and Socio Historical Coprology by Ralph A. Lewin discusses the broad subject of fecal matter (I kid you not!!).<br /><br />Also available are books from China, Japan and the Southeast Asia. Works of writers like Anna Kavan, Vladimir Nabokov (Lolita, Speak Memory), James Joyce and Bernard Malamud can also be bought at decent prices. There are also different newspapers and magazines available. The only concession to ordinariness is their sparse collection of Signet Classics and books from authors such as Tami Hoag and Robert Ludlum, which can be bought at any other bookstore.<br /><br />I think the best thing about Solidaridad is the importance it gives to Filipino writers and their works. It has the largest display of Philippine books anywhere in the Philippines. It introduced me to the treasure that is Filipino literature. It made me realize how the works of Filipino writers and artists are at par with their foreign counterparts. This is where I broadened my horizons to include Filipino folktales and lore. My discovery of Sionil Jose's Rosales saga alone is enough reason for me to recommend the place to everyone. So if you are looking for an alternative to Powerbooks and National Bookstore, try visiting this little corner of Manila where literary treasures await you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6792272.post-1109621263363486852004-03-01T04:02:00.000+08:002005-03-01T04:07:43.373+08:00About Francisco Sionil Jose<h1><span style="font-size:130%;">About Francisco Sionil Jose</span></h1><br />Francisco Sionil Jose has been called a Philippine national treasure. Born on December 4, 1924 in Rosales, Philippines, he was introduced to literature in public school and later at the University of Santo Tomas. While working as a journalist in Manila, he moonlighted writing short stories and eventually novels. In the late fifties Jose founded the Philippine branch of PEN, an international organization of poets, playwrights, and novelists.<br /><p class="MsoNormal">In 1965 he started his own publishing house SOLIDARIDAD, and a year later he began publishing the remarkable Solidarity, a journal of current affairs, ideas, and arts, still going strong today. Jose wrote in English rather than in his national language Tagalog, or his native language Illocano. In 1962 he published his first novel The Pretenders. Today his publications include ten novels, five books of short stories, and a book of verse. His works are available in 24 languages and some have recently been published in North America by Random House. He has been awarded numerous fellowships and awards, most notable being the 1980 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts, the most prestigious award of its kind in Asia.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jose lives and works in Manila where with his wife Teresita and a faithful staff he still runs the Solidardad Publishing House and the Solidarity Bookstore, still considered the best little bookstore in Asia. On occassion he leaves Manila for Japan, US, or Europe, where he finds the peace to write or teach.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In July of 1999, Frankie Jose and Teresita celebrated their 50th wedding Aniversary. Congratulations!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Random House has recently published Three Filipino Women, Sins, Dusk (Po-on), and Don Vincente (My Brother My Executioner, and Tree) in North America. The last two are in the Modern Library Editions, with the remaining of the five volume Rosales saga to follow.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In June of 2001, Jose was awarded the prestigious title of Philippine's National Artist for Literature in an official ceremony at Malacañang.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In March 2002's issue of the Discovery magazine, Jose's book Ermita was rated as one of the top ten English-language novels set in Southeast Asia, along side Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," Graham Greene's "The Quiet American," James Clavell's "King Rat."and others.</p> <!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"> <v:stroke joinstyle="miter"> <v:formulas> <v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"> <v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"> <v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"> <v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"> <v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"> <v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"> <v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"> </v:formulas> <v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"> <o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"> </v:shapetype><v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:113.25pt;"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:/DOCUME~1/ADMINI~1.COM/LOCALS~1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_image001.png" title=""> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What others say about Jose:</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"... <i>the foremost Filipno novelist in English... his novels deserve a much wider readership than the Philippines can offer. His major work, the Rosales saga, can be read as an allegory for the Filipino in search of an identity.</i>.." - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ian Buruma, The New York Review of Books</span><o:p></o:p></p> <br /> <p class="MsoNormal">" <i>Sionil Jose writes English prose with a passion that, at its best moments, transcends the immediate scene. (He) is a masterful short story writer...</i>" - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Christine Chapman, International Herald Tribune, Paris</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"<i> ...America has no counterpart to Jose - no one who is simultaneously a prolific novelist, a social and political organizer, and a small scale entrepreneur...Jose's identity has equiped him to be fully sensitive to the nation's miseries without succumbing, like many of his characters to corruption or despair</i>...- <span style="font-weight: bold;">James Fallows, The Atlantic Monthly</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"...<i>The reader of his well crafted stories will learn more about the Philippines, its people and its concerns than from any journalistic account or from a holiday trip there. Jose's books takes us to the heart of the Filipino mind and soul, to the strengths and weaknesses of its men, women, and culture</i>. - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lynne Bundesen, Los Angeles Times<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0