Doomsday reflections

Doomsday reflections


Updated 04:46am (Mla time) Dec 31, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A13 of the December 31, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


AS we bade 2004 and its many heartaches behind, allow me to share with you an article written by TV journalist Howie Severino and published in the last quarter 2004 issue of "i" The Investigative Reporting Magazine.

Focusing on "Philippines 2015," this issue of "i" seeks to paint a scenario of the future in various sectors, from the media to education to health and the family. Asked to write on the environment, Severino details the many anxieties he and his wife Ipat Luna went through as they awaited the birth of their son two years ago. As Severino points out, it's difficult, if not indeed impossible, for anyone, even the unborn, to "escape" from the environment. In fact, it's our children who are the most vulnerable to the environmental dangers around us today, and who will pay the price tomorrow for our selfishness and indifference today.

Perhaps for 2005, we can all ask ourselves the question Severino posed to himself: Have we just pushed back doomsday to a later date? And what can we do now to ensure that day never comes? Excerpts from Severino's article follows.


* * *

PARANOIA and guilt are among the occupational hazards of covering the environment. I have not had too many moments of ease while learning all I can about the overwhelming threats to the planet.

...(On) the environmental beat, it's hard not to imagine a personal responsibility for at least some of the ills our earth is heir to-garbage, air pollution, or even open-pit mining (oh no, this computer I'm using contains mined resources)...

So it was inevitable that a sprinkling of paranoia and guilt mixed up with the tremendous joy I felt when I heard the news about my coming first-born. My wife Ipat and I had waited seven years for that news, withstanding the family pressures and whispered rumors that accompany such a long wait. But that was time also spent thinking about such things as an intriguing article I once read about a human extinction movement, where people chose not to reproduce until our species just faded away. It was the most radical way I had heard of to save the earth.

Yet I knew no matter how much I wanted to save the planet, I just as dearly wanted to have a kid, even just one. Human extinction was not going to be one of my options.

Still, it seemed like nature had other plans for us for quite a while. So when our fertility doctor finally confirmed on the ultrasound what the pregnancy test told us, we were stunned. That lovely throbbing spot on a black and white monitor was not just our baby-to-be, it was living proof that hey, we really were part of the web of life, along with algae and frogs, and it felt great.


* * *

AFTER THE INITIAL happiness, though, anxiety started setting in. We had long worried about my wife's health, her asthma attacks induced by the thick air pollution around our subdivision, a floating soup of white dust from a nearby cement factory combined with the darker particles from vehicular traffic. Since our advocacy against air pollution had so far been ignored by both government and industry, the short-term remedy called for chemical steroids that enabled Ipat to breathe.

But the ingestion of chemicals was a mixed blessing at best. Chemical poisoning and its effects on animal reproduction, after all, was the subject of "A Stolen Future," a grim book both Ipat and I read while pondering human reproduction.

When pregnancy did occur, we seemed to face a Solomonic choice: the risk to the baby of chemical exposure in the womb, or the threat of asthma from not using the chemicals. In the end, after consulting our doctor, we decided that not protecting the mother would be a greater danger to the baby. But it was lesser evil that still filled us with dread.


* * *

WE did eventually move out of that dusty subdivision to another part of the big city. But Metro Manila is a smorgasbord of dangers to the unborn. Much of our food contained untold pesticides, our water was contaminated by lead pipes, and so on down the line of nightmare-inducing environmental hazards. This was the world our baby would be born in, surely much worse than the earth I inherited in 1961, four billion people ago. It wasn't my fault of course that the world ended up this way. But had I done enough to make it better?

...(O)ne day we took refuge in a movie theater...(but) it was only at the height of the action in "Black Hawk Down"...that I realized that all that realistic mayhem and acoustic warfare could have some traumatic effect on our baby. Add another dash of guilt to the brew of emotions.

After nine months of this roller coaster, which included confidence-boosting Lamaze lessons, we were finally in the hospital for The Moment. We dared not voice our fears, but as well informed as we were, we yearned for blissful ignorance for a change. The Lamaze lessons became useless when the baby refused to come out the natural way and he had to be surgically extracted. My knees were wobbly, but my video camera was rolling when the baby entered the visible world, his eyes wide open, looking at the strange contraption pointed at him without a hint of fear or even surprise.

All his body parts were intact. He cried. He was normal! I suddenly felt relieved, relaxed, and very human.

That was two years ago. The baby has become a frisky, talkative toddler. Alon Roberto Luna Severino eats organic food, has never tasted softdrink, and still breastfeeds. He's healthy and happy, without any evidence of chemical or movie-induced trauma.

His parents' generation has not been able to save the earth, the causes of our paranoia and guilt growing all the time. But now we also have a reason to feel optimistic and grateful. Perhaps this baby is a sign, at least to his parents, that maybe, just maybe, we pushed doomsday to a later date.

Proximity and tragedy

Proximity and tragedy


Updated 11:52pm (Mla time) Dec 27, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A11 of the December 28, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.


JUST when we thought 2004 and the string of disasters and tragedies the year brought us were drawing to a close, it turns out the year had yet another nasty surprise for us.

The morning after Christmas Day, news reports told us about an earthquake that had hit in "Southeast Asia," provoking nothing stronger than curiosity because we hadn't felt so much as a stir when the tremor supposedly hit. Later in the day, the news turned grimmer, as reports of the earthquake causing tsunamis that engulfed coastlines through Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, India and as far as the Maldives brought us images of ruined villages and rampaging floodwaters. As the night wore on, news anchors of both BBC and CNN tried valiantly to keep their frustration in check as downed communication lines prevented their reporters from fleshing out their sketchy reports. Still, the facts that emerged from the confusion and the daze of the disaster were heartbreaking enough. As midnight approached, the death toll stood at an astounding 7,000.

But the news would turn decidedly dark by the next morning. We woke up to even more dramatic footage of the affected areas, and to the ghastly fact that the death toll had more than doubled overnight, reaching, by most counts, a gut-wrenching 14,000.

Fourteen thousand! The figure boggles the mind and cramps the imagination. How does one measure such grief? And how can families and communities, villages, towns, entire provinces and countries cope with such massive loss of life?

The story even had a global dimension. Tragically, the Christmas season, which coincides with winter in temperate climes, brings hundreds, if not thousands, of foreign tourists to Asian beach resorts. Phuket in Thailand is a particularly popular destination, and it was here where hundreds of tourists, who expected nothing more terrible than a sunburn and several days' worth of hangovers from their holidays, ended up dead, missing, injured and for those lucky enough to survive without too much bodily harm, traumatized and bringing home nasty memories.

* * *

JUST when I thought the earthquake and tsunami would just remain a story, far removed from any personal connection, a friend sends a text message asking for prayers for a business acquaintance who had gone to Phuket for the Christmas holidays and ended up with his three sons missing, though he, his wife and daughter survived unharmed. The story has suddenly become personal, though twice removed.

"Proximity" is one of the elements of news, and when I'm giving a talk on news writing, I often use the example of a bus filled with passengers that falls off a cliff. If the accident happens in another country, I say, we may feel fleeting sympathy but unless there's a Filipino aboard the bus, we quickly move on to the next story. Should the accident occur in the Philippines, but in a province hundreds of kilometers away, we feel a twinge of concern, these are countryfolk who died in the mishap, after all, and someone we know may have been involved, but the chances of that happening are slim. But if the bus was on its way to our hometown, and the tragedy took place just outside the town limits, we would certainly be alarmed and may even rush out to visit the site. It's almost certain, after all, that someone we know was in that bus.

But there's another way in which "proximity" works. I was in Morocco, almost 24 hours away by plane from the Philippines, when typhoons "Winnie" and "Yoyong" hit. When CNN first broadcast the news, I was worried and concerned, but after calling home and being assured my family was fine, the worry quickly receded. When fellow travelers condoled with me on the mounting death toll, I thanked them and said flooding and mudslides had escalated typhoon damage ever since deforestation became a major problem.

Only when I got back and saw for myself photos and TV footage of the devastation in Aurora and Quezon did I begin to appreciate the extent of the suffering our countryfolk had gone through. And only after reading accounts of survivors did I realize the depth of suffering and sorrow visited upon them. Distance does have a way of dulling the pain.

* * *

SO WILL "proximity," or the lack of it, affect the way we react and respond to the large swathe of devastation created by the tsunamis of the day after Christmas. I would guess this disaster would elicit more sympathy from Filipinos than, say, the earthquake that destroyed the ancient Iranian city of Bam about a year ago. After all, there but for the grace of the land masses of the Indonesian islands, the deadly tsunami could very well have washed up on our shores, too.

It would be easy to turn away from the extraordinary tragedy that visited our neighbors. After all, we can always say that we are ourselves just recovering from our own string of natural disasters that has in fact taxed our capability to respond to the needs of our unfortunate brothers and sisters.

But I do hope we Filipinos, or perhaps our government, can respond in some way to the crying need of the countries and people swamped by the tsunamis that rippled across the Indian Ocean. However token, our response could symbolize our solidarity with all suffering peoples who share this corner of the globe and a common experience with poverty, with whom we share, in fact, a shared lot as countries on the rim of the "ring of fire," all equally vulnerable to earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions.

It shouldn't take much to make us realize that we are safe, for now, only by the grace of a benevolent God, and that the proper way of showing gratitude for being spared is to feel for those who have not been so lucky.

Re-thinking Santa

Re-thinking Santa


Updated 09:33pm (Mla time) Dec 25, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A11 of the December 26, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


ONE recent evening, while we were driving by our village gate, we espied the huge resin Santa that stands guard over it. Our daughter wondered out loud why, when our house is crammed with my belen collection every year, we don't use more Santas in our Christmas decor. In fact, the only Santas among our holiday trimmings are a few miniature "mutant" Santas my husband won in a 7-11 raffle.

I explained that I never really believed in the Santa myth, since my parents couldn't be bothered to go through the whole gift-giving charade, nonchalantly signing their gift cards with "Love from Papa and Mama." I followed their example when I had children of my own, but that didn't stop the two of them from imbibing the myth, and each year we would find a "letter to Santa" taped on their bedroom door, invariably containing a gift wish list, topped by that one Christmas when our son asked Santa to "give me my own room."

And that's the one thing about Santa that has bothered me all these years. Santa has become a symbol not of generosity and magnanimity, as the story of St. Nicholas is meant to be, but an icon of the worst aspects of the holiday season: materialism, excess and greed.

Maybe that's why I collect manger scenes, being my own individual way of righting the skewed priorities of Christmas as we know it today. Instead of focusing on the antics of a fat old man in a red suit delivering gifts to children on Christmas Day, we should return the spotlight to the origins of this Christian holiday, the birth of the Son of God, who chose to be born to a poor couple in the humblest of places, sharing his Nativity not with the rich and powerful but with shepherds, farm animals and angels.

Beside that compelling story and powerful symbol, I think Jolly Old St. Nick pales in comparison! Who needs Santa, right?

* * *

IT was while watching "Polar Express" that I finally understood the need for Santa Claus.

For those who have yet to see the film, it's the animated version of a children's book about a boy, on the cusp of adolescence, who's starting to doubt the existence of Santa Claus. Despite the signs telling him otherwise, the boy still wants to believe, especially since his younger sister is an ardent believer.

On the night before Christmas, the boy is wakened from sleep by the arrival of the "Polar Express," a train managed by a crusty conductor (Tom Hanks, who also voices the boy and other characters) that brings children to the North Pole for an extra-special treat: meeting Santa face-to-face and paying a visit to Christmas town.

The filmmakers said they wanted the animated movie to retain the "look" and feel of the book, which became a contemporary classic upon its publication. And indeed "Polar Express" brings to life every facet of the Santa myth, answering every question that ever occurred to every child thinking about Santa Claus and his complex operations.

How does Santa "keep" his list? With the help of an army of elves who keep a computerized data bank of the world's children. How are all the gifts prepared and gift-wrapped? With an assembly line that ends in a humongous funnel that drops the gifts into Santa's giant sleigh. And how does Santa know what gifts to give? By reading into the minds and hearts of all those who believe.

* * *

THAT was when it struck me. Santa is a Christmas story for a secular world. We all need our traditions and children especially need a back-story to tell them why, on this one day of the year, we celebrate by getting together, sharing a meal and exchanging gifts.

Santa is especially popular in the United States, in a society where people of all races, ethnicities, faiths and beliefs strive to live together in harmony and to unite around a common culture despite their many differences and religions. Santa is thus a uniting factor, a "harmless" symbol of holiday cheer and generosity who doesn't provoke religious questions or offend religious sensibilities.

Though Christmas is and should be primarily a religious celebration, it is now no longer exclusively the domain of Christians. It has been commercialized and homogenized, true, but it has also served to bring the entire world together in good cheer and company at least one day a year.

Santa Claus, then, is a symbol around whom young people, and people young-at-heart, can accept without question or rancor, a myth easily accessible and acceptable, a symbol against whom we can bounce off our deepest aspirations, yearnings and hopes. It isn't the jolly old man's fault that he has come to mean wish lists and gifts to children, who are simply responding to the signals sent by the adults around them.

Maybe there can be room for Santa in my home at Christmas, after all.

* * *

EVEN the most ardent of Santa fans, though must find this message, sent to me by TV director Ida Vargas, funny and enlightening.

"According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers until after they give birth in the spring.

"Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl. We should've known... ONLY women would be able to drag a fat-ass man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost."

And that would be, of course, because the female reindeer would have first bothered to read the maps before setting off, and when they strayed, they would not have been ashamed to ask directions from utter strangers.

Christmas hopes

Christmas hopes


Updated 09:52pm (Mla time) Dec 24, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A11 of the December 25, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


SHORTLY before my sister Neneng passed away last July, her daughter Dada, who is based in Seattle, found out she was pregnant. This indeed was happy news, for Dada and her husband Todd had been trying for years to get pregnant. But the good tidings were tempered by the news about her mother. Dada was due for her first visit to an obstetrician when she was summoned to her mother's side here. Fortunately, her sister Fani is an ob-gyn, and so took it upon herself to monitor Dada's condition, diet and activity while they were here.

Fani, on the other hand, was still technically a "honeymooner" with her husband Jonathan, having gotten married in Arizona just last May. Since they are both in their mid-30s, and Jonathan is an American, we didn't want to put any undue pressure on them and so refrained from nagging them about any plans for a child, as we would no doubt have done with home-based and younger newlyweds.

At the memorial service for Neneng, Dada read a letter to her unborn child, calling the baby "Babycakes," which was her mother's own pet name for her. A wave of sadness and regret washed over me at that moment, realizing that Neneng would no longer be around to see her daughters' children. Knowing Neneng, and how she hankered for the company of her “apo” [grandchildren] by her sons Rommel and Dennis, I was sure she would have savored being with Fani's and Dada's kids. There's a Filipino saying that goes: "When your son gets married, you lose him to his new family; but a daughter is yours forever."

Just recently, Jonathan sent all of us an e-mail note announcing that Fani was pregnant. There was rejoicing all around. With Dada due to give birth around the first quarter of 2005, and Fani due in July, our extended family suddenly has a bumper crop of babies!

There's a local superstition that when an older person dies, a baby will soon be born to take his or her place. This gives us, Neneng's family, a measure of comfort. Neneng lived life in such a big way that, we like to think, it will take two new people to fill up the void she has left.

* * *

MY own "family of choice," a group of women I have known since college, is also undergoing a life-changing phase. Poti, son of my good friend Sandra Puno, is getting married in January. Poti and his bride-to-be Trisha have been generous enough to include Sandra's friends in the guest list. We have even been invited to the bridal shower! (I wonder, though, if they realize what sort of hussies we turn into once a little alcohol enters our systems!)

Poti is the first offspring of the "Media Girls" to tie the knot. And if knot-tying is taking place, can nappy changing be far behind? The thought fills us with anticipation, though what sort of "Sex and the City" grandmotherly gals we will be is a thought too provocative, or pathetic, to contemplate.

To a woman, we -- Sandra, Peachy Yamsuan, Jess de la Cruz and I -- have declared that we are ready for grandchildren. I remember environmentalist and iconoclast Odette Alcantara declaring that had she known how much fun having grandchildren would be, she would have gone straight to having them and not bothered with having and raising her children. Well, we did and do enjoy our own children, and don't regret a whole lot the hassles they put us through, but the collective feeling is that we've done well enough by them and it's time they reward us with the fringe benefits promised us.

Meantime, even as we contemplate grandkids on the horizon, our friend in San Francisco, Maloy Ramos Barairo, is struggling with day-care and child-care issues with her son Vince, who is precocious and truly precious. Come to think of it, Vince might well be the “kuya” [elder brother] to all our “apo,” and that way Maloy would have her revenge for all the ribbing we put her through.

There is another "media girl" in Los Angeles, Emma Coinco, who of all of us has the biggest right to liken herself to the "S&C" dames, being single. To her credit, she is the most conscientious of “ninang” [godmothers], and may in fact prove to be the best "mother" of us all.

* * *

ANOTHER death that stunned with its fierce suddenness (as if any death were timely!), before those of Fernando Poe Jr. and KC de Venecia, was Arbet Santa Ana Yongco's. Arbet, if you remember, was shot dead in her home last October by a suspected hit man.

I had met her only once before, but she immediately imprinted herself on my memory with her energy and passion. Not all the pictures and video tributes her friends and family in Cebu have prepared for her could quite capture her undeniable presence, which lit up any room she was in.

Maybe that's why in the midst of their mourning and monitoring the investigation of her murder, all those who worked with Arbet are determined to keep her memory alive and honor her life in meaningful ways.

Last Dec. 9, her birthday, Arbet's friends and supporters held the launching and blessing of the Atty. Arbet Santa Ana-Yongco Family and Community Wellness Center (ASY-FCWC) in Barangay Zapatera, Sikatuna Street, Cebu City. The next day, her colleagues in the Legal Alternatives for Women Center Inc. (LAW Inc.), of which Arbet was an officer, launched the Atty. Arbet Santa Ana-Yongco Scholarship Grant for Alternative Lawyering. Indeed, Arbet, who took on what most other lawyers in Cebu considered "hopeless" cases, exemplified the bravery and dedication demanded of an "alternative" lawyer.

To find meaning in a friend's death, and realize that life consists of phases, and earthly life itself is simply a preparation for eternal life. To see that while some doors close, new doors will open and reveal secrets yet to behold. And that even as we sigh with relief and bid an emotionally draining year farewell, a new year dawns and holds out the promise of beginnings. Merry Christmas, dear readers!

Counting down

Counting down


Updated 00:42am (Mla time) Dec 22, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 22, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


TV hosts have taken to counting down the number of days left before Christmas, but actually their count is a day late. For most Filipinos, the "real" Christmas celebration takes place two days from now, on the evening of December 24th, Christmas Eve, when most families gather for dinner and the exchange of gifts. The long and lively celebration is usually capped with a Midnight Mass, and then a midnight repast. Can you blame us if we feel Christmas Day comes as somewhat of an anticlimax?

By this time of the year, too, I'm sure most households would be caught up in a tizzy of preparations. Actually, I'm being kind, for "households" usually means the woman of the house, on whom responsibility for the emotional and social life of the family usually falls. Even if throughout my marriage I've tended to stray from the traditional boundaries of wifely and motherly work, meaning I hardly cook and rely on house help for much of the household maintenance, I've gladly taken on the usual womanly role when it comes to family celebrations. The role of family cheerleader and keeper of traditions is one I enjoy and savor, but sometimes, and this time of the year is a prime example, it can be more stress than it's worth.

These days find us in a particularly crazy state as we're just putting the finishing touches on a home renovation project. It began, innocently enough, with a wish to convert the garage (which we had been using as a storage room for junk) into my office (to free the hubby from having to sleep with the detritus of a busy journalist's life), then expanded into a plan to build our son's bedroom above it. And then, as my sister-in-law and her husband, our contractors, explained it, his old room's walls would be knocked down so we could have a bigger entertainment area. As the weeks passed, we also began nursing dreams of establishing a pocket garden in our walkway, the better to increase what real estate agents call our house's "curb appeal."

As a result, what was envisioned as a month-long project is now nearing three months, with our original budget doubling and then tripling, our wish list and shopping list expanding and lengthening along with our fantasies of a "showcase" home.

* * *

FOOLISHLY, I also volunteered to host our clan's Christmas Eve dinner and program. I admit I was seized by a desire to show off my home's "new" look. But this also means that for the last few days our home has been caught in a whirlwind of cleaning, dusting and hauling out all sorts of household junk. It's incredible the amount of stuff a couple and family accumulates over the course of 26 years!

Digging through a seemingly unending pile of books, to be divided into "to keep" and "to give away," I wondered out loud if I ever had the time to read all of them and why on earth I had bought and collected so many! Distressingly, the black garbage bags of books "to keep" seem to outnumber the bags "to give away." There goes the hubby's fantasies of a minimalist lifestyle!

Still, the craziness will come to an end on Friday evening when, I hope, our home will for the moment be clear of dust and dirt, the floors waxed, the furniture polished. Then these frantic preparations would have been all worth it, as our extended family gathers to re-live a tradition that has sustained us through the years. I just have to make sure no one peeks into our planned "music room" and espies the garbage bags with contents still waiting to be sorted!

* * *

HERE'S an early Christmas gift for you (and me!) that I downloaded from our pagbabago e-group. See how much sense these wacky definitions make, based on the very Pinoy tendency to make fun of our twisted pronunciations of English words. A few laughs to see you through these frantic last-minute preparations for the Christmas bash...

"The pinoy does it again!

Contemplate-Kulang ang mga pinggan

Punctuation-Pera para maka-enrol

Ice Buko-Nagtatanong kung ayos na ang buhok

Tenacious-Sapatos na pang tennis

Calculator-Tawagan kita mamaya

Devastation-Sakayan ng bus

Protestant-Tindahan ng prutas

Statue-Ikaw ba 'yan?

Tissue-Ikaw nga!

Predicate-Pakawalan mo ang pusa

Dedicated-Pinatay ang pusa

Aspect-Pantusok o pandurog ng yelo

Deduct-Ang pato

Defeat-Ang paa (ng pato?)

Detail-Ang buntot (ng pato?)

Deposit-Gripo (Call DIPLOMA if DEPOSIT is leaking)

City-Bago mag-utso; A number to follow 6

Cattle-Doon nakatila ang Hali at Leyna

Persuading-Unang Kasal

Depress-Ang nagkasal sa PERSUADING

Defense-Ginamit ng mga pangsulat sa kontrata sa PERSUADING

It depends-Kainin mo ang bakod

Shampoo-Bago mag-labing-isha (11)

Delusion-Maluwang (kapag maluwang ang damit, eh DELUSION)

Delivery-Walang bayad. Kapag working lunch, eh DELIVERY na ang tanghalian

Profit-Patunayan mo

Backlog-Bacon saka egg

Beehive-Magpakatino ka

CD-ROM-Tingnan mo ang kwarto

Debug-Ang ipis

Defrag-Ang palaka

Defense-Ang bakod

Defer-Ang balahibo

Deflate-Ang plato

Detest-Ang eksamin

Devalue-'Yon ang susunod sa letrang V

Devote-Ang boto

Dilemma-Brownout! a!

Effort-'Dun nagla-land ang efflane

Forums-Apat na kwarto

July-Nagsinungaling ka ba?

Thesis-Ito ay..."

Oustanding Fil-Canadians

Oustanding Fil-Canadians


Updated 00:06am (Mla time) Dec 21, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A13 of the December 21, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


CANADIAN Ambassador Peter Sutherland hosted a lunch last week to honor Filipino-Canadians who were among those recognized as outstanding overseas Filipinos by the Philippine government last week.

Honored in rites held last Dec. 15 in Malacañang were Arturo Viola, currently deputy Lord Mayor of Niagara-on-the Lake; Alicia Natividad, the first Filipino to be admitted to the Ontario bar; and two cultural groups, the Fiesta Filipina Dance Troupe of Canada and the Panday Tinig Chorale Ensemble.

Born and raised in Santiago, Isabela, Viola emigrated to Canada in 1967 and retired in 1994 from his post at the Niagara-on-the-Lake General Hospital. Unlike most folk whose retirement marks a retreat from most involvements, Viola used his free time to volunteer for various causes and this became the natural springboard for a foray into politics. Well-known and liked, he ran for alderman (councilor) in 1994, winning the highest number of votes which qualified him for the post of deputy Lord Mayor.

In the next elections, Viola won a three-way race for Lord Mayor, becoming the first Asian and Filipino to clinch the post. In 1998, he also accepted the honorary chairmanship of the fundraising committee for the Niagara Regional Native Centre, raising $5 million for the center's self-proficiency drive.

Though he left politics in 2000, Viola continued to be involved in civic affairs, deciding to run for public office again in 2003 and making a comeback as deputy Lord Mayor. In recognition of his "significant contribution to Canada, to [his] community or to [his] fellow Canadians," Viola was conferred the Queen Elizabeth II Golden Jubilee Medal last year.

* * *

NATIVIDAD is one of the founders of the Canada Philippines Business Council, which is geared toward promoting trade and economic relations between the Philippines and Canada. Currently the council's president, she has organized business forums, seminars and receptions focusing on economic and trade opportunities in the Philippines. As part of her work with the council, she spearheaded the conduct of business conferences in support of the official state visits of then President Fidel V. Ramos in 1997, and President Macapagal-Arroyo in 2002, as well as visits of other officials from the Philippines.

Aside from her work promoting business and investor relations between Canada and the Philippines, Natividad is also an avowed feminist, devoting her time to volunteer work with women's organizations and to Nelson House, a shelter for women and children survivors of violence.

I also know Alice as the sister of Irene Natividad, who is like her a feminist deeply involved in social and political causes, and who has been quite active in promoting Filipino-American relations, mainly through the Filipino-American Foundation based in Washington, D.C. I guess feminism, civic involvement and ties to the Philippines run in the family!

* * *

COMMENTING on the recognition given the Panday Tinig Choral Ensemble, Ambassador Sutherland noted that "anytime outstanding Filipinos are recognized, we know musical artists have to be among them!"

The Panday Tinig Choral Ensemble is a celebrated Filipino-Canadian choir, whose members are Filipinos based in Montreal and its surrounding suburbs. Though none of the members ever underwent formal training in voice or music, they are all devoted to "refining the art of choral singing," as proclaimed in the choir's name, which combines the Filipino terms panday (craftsman) and tinig (voice).

The choral ensemble was assembled by pianist Editha Fedalizo in 1985 and immediately made a mark in multicultural events and productions such as the Asian Heritage Festival, Chinese Gardens' Summer Festival and Drummondville Choral Festival. Hoping to develop the talents of Filipino-Canadian youth, Panday Tinig also formed Salingsing, a children's choir, in 1991. Panday Tinig has sung for a documentary film for the Canadian National Film Board as well as for an educational CD, an honor that makes all Filipinos in Canada proud. In 2001, the group released a CD recording of Filipino folk songs, "Pinagkawing Himig Pilipino," which is registered and filed in the Canadian National Library. The ensemble has also performed in Carnegie Hall in New York.

* * *

THE FIESTA Filipina Dance Troupe of Canada, based in Toronto, has performed in the Philippines but representatives of the group eagerly agreed with Ambassador Sutherland when he said the embassy should look for means to bring them back again, perhaps together with Panday Tinig, which has yet to perform before a local audience.

Explaining why he decided to host a get-together at his residence, with embassy staff and some media and business people in attendance, the ambassador said it was the least he could do after the Philippine government had honored his countryfolk at a Malacañang reception.

Once again, the awards prove that not only are Filipinos capable of rising to prominence and achievement while living on foreign shores (there were 45 awardees, living in different parts of the world), they are also able to retain their ties to the home country, to use their personal resources to strengthen ties between the Philippines and their adopted countries.

Perhaps we can say that overseas Filipinos, whose wanderlust has brought them to even some of the remotest corners of the globe, are the glue that bind our country to most other nations, proving by their hard work, industry, ability and good nature that Filipinos have much to contribute to the building of their nations, both of birth and of citizenship.

Always a little girl

Always a little girl

Updated 06:43am (Mla time) Dec 19, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 19, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


WHEN my husband woke me up to tell me about the fire in the home of Speaker Joe and Gina de Venecia, and how their daughter KC had died as a result, the first thing I said was: "What?! The little girl?"

My children wondered whom I was talking about. "Mom," they said, "she was 16!" Yes, KC was indeed a young lady when she perished in the fire, but in my mind she was always the little girl whom Manay Gina would summon, together with her older brother Christopher, to be introduced to guests. The Christmas cards the De Venecias would send out each year would chronicle the amazing consequences of time's passing in their family, and most families. While Joe and Gina seemed hardly to age, Christopher and KC quickly, too quickly, left their childhood behind. Perhaps it's every parent's defense mechanism: to keep children forever children in our minds and imaginations, even as we behold the undisputed proof of their maturity.

I won't pretend to have known KC well, for all the time we shared were fleeting encounters in their Dasmariñas Village home and one memorable road trip to Dagupan to celebrate the election of President Fidel Ramos, our kabaleyan. But, dropping by KC's wake at Santuario de San Antonio, I saw a wealth of evidence of the kind of young woman she had been. Friends from the International School and Colegio San Agustin put together photo collages and bright-colored posters on KC: her favorite things, her favorite sayings, the good times she shared with her many friends.

The marble urn containing her ashes nestled in a bower of roses and other blooms, surrounded by framed photos of KC and of her family. It was amazing how, in just a few hours and in what must have been a state of deepest grief and bewilderment, the young woman's family and friends managed to put together a tribute to KC that was both tasteful and calming. Even strangers, who hardly knew the De Venecias apart from Joe and Gina's very public personas, felt for them keenly. There are no words to describe the pain of losing one's child, it is simply beyond imagining.


* * *

BUT those who know the Speaker and his wife and their children, along with their extended family, can gauge the depths of their sorrows. Along with her brother Christopher, KC is the fruit of a second chance at love and marriage of two people who, at their age at the time of their meeting, may have thought they had already put such matters behind them.

Both recovering from failed marriages, they met, as Gina tells it, in a restaurant while she was having lunch with a good friend whom JDV also knew. Brazenly, Speaker Joe had himself introduced to Gina, then invited himself to join them for lunch and the movie afterwards, although, as Gina recounted in a magazine article, Joe slept through the film!

Together, they built a blended family that included not just Christopher and KC and the children from their respective previous marriages, but also their clans and their associates. In JDV's and Gina's case, "associates" covers a wide universe, indeed. For if as a couple they enjoyed a singular gift, it was the gift of friendship and hospitality, opening the doors of their Dasmariñas home to all comers. These could number in the hundreds and thousands when JDV's political sun is at its zenith, then dwindle to a small corps of friends and supporters when he suffers a downturn.

But if they ever felt the sting of disloyalty and betrayal, or were ever crestfallen at the downturns of Joe's political fortunes, they showed no signs of it. Joe is a consummate politician and his resilience is easy to explain. But how to explain Manay Gina's skills at this most difficult of callings, standing by her husband's side while carving out her own public space?


* * *

PART of the explanation lies in her upbringing, in the belly of the show-biz beast, as one of the daughters of "Doc" Perez and Mama Nena Vera Perez of Sampaguita Pictures, the pre-eminent star builder and major film studio that had its heyday in the 1950s up to the 1970s. It was no big thing for her, Gina once recalled, to wake up and find Gloria Romero or Susan Roces asleep beside her, since her father would rather put up his female stars in his home than risk their safety when they had to go home late at night.

"This is nothing to me," she remarked, when I observed how difficult it must be to be married to a politician and find your home filled with strangers so early in the morning. "In our home, we got used to dealing with actors, crew members and fans all hours of the day."

Ever the producer's daughter, Manay Gina also has a "nose" for public fortunes, be it in politics or show business. Her predictions about the future of personages attempting public careers often prove uncannily accurate, though sadly not accurate enough when it came to her own husband's presidential ambitions.

But it is not all politics with Gina. Asked why she chose to so publicly and wholeheartedly embrace the cause of Melissa Mercado Martel, who is suing her husband Robbie for attempted parricide, she said simply: "Because I have known Melissa since she was a baby, and because no woman deserves to be battered by her husband."


* * *

TO GINA and Joe, there are simply no words we can offer to ease your pain or heal your hurt. All that those who care for you can do at this point is to pray that God grant you the grace of reconciliation and acceptance, at a time when you will need it most.

Right now, you are surrounded by a multitude of mourners, stunned by the sudden turn of fate and wishing comfort as much for themselves as for you. But the time will come when you must confront the reality of KC's absence from your lives in silence and in private. Our prayers fly to you for strength at that moment.

The 'new' Susan Roces

The 'new' Susan Roces

Updated 01:22am (Mla time) Dec 18, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 18, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


ONE of the biggest treats during my childhood was to be invited by my parents to watch the "last show" at one of the movie houses in Manila. We lived in Cubao, and at that time there were no cinemas yet in our part of the metropolis. Movie lovers had to travel all the way to downtown Manila, to movie palaces like Odeon, Ideal or, much later, Cinerama, if they wanted to catch a movie.

There were nine of us siblings, but my parents could bring only two or three kids at a time for a movie outing, unless it was for a blockbuster like "Ten Commandments" or "Sound of Music." A special birthday treat, in fact, was to be brought along to watch a movie of your choice with a sibling of your choice. An approaching birthday gave you tremendous power, if only temporarily, though if you were wise, you could extend the perks by stringing along your expectant siblings.

If you were one of the chosen ones, the anticipation would build all through dinner, until, at a signal, you rushed up to your room and grabbed a sweater, necessary because air-conditioning was still a rarity and you could come down with a cold from the chill. Then, with Mama and Papa, you walked out to the street corner to catch a bus to downtown. The bus ride was an integral part of the experience, for looking out of the high window at the darkened streets made you feel all daring and grown-up.

Being movie buffs, my parents went on a movie outing at least three times a week, but only to see Hollywood movies. They never quite developed a taste for Filipino movies, or at least I can't remember a time when they bothered to make the trip to catch a local film.

* * *

THIS presented quite a problem to a homegrown movie fan, like me. Weaned on early-afternoon Filipino movies on TV, mesmerized by those flickering black-and-white images, I became early in life a fan of stars like Nida Blanca, Nestor de Villa, Charito Solis, Rosa Rosal, and later, Nora Aunor, Tirso Cruz III, Vilma Santos, and a young, luminescent Hilda Koronel.

But no one, or no love team, had quite the hold on my heart and imagination as the pair of Susan Roces and Eddie Gutierrez. At the time, the only theater that showed Filipino movies downtown was Life Theater. Beyond the strip of movie houses along Rizal and Recto Avenues, all other cinemas around the country showed local movies. But only Life was deemed "decent" enough for middle-class folks. And so, when a Susan-Eddie flick was showing, I had to cajole movie money from my Mama as well as convince one of our yayas to make the trip with me to Life Theater.

The biggest threat to the popularity of the Eddie-Susan pairing was that of Amalia Fuentes and Romeo Vasquez. When Amalia and Romeo ended up a couple in real life, I was driven to hopeful fantasies that Susan and Eddie would fall in love and get married, too. So when the movie press started reporting that Susan ("Swanie" to her friends) was going out with Fernando Poe Jr., already a big star then, but whom I hadn't seen onscreen since I wasn't a fan of action films, I resented this interloper in our idealized vision of life imitating movie art. I'm sure many Eddie-Susan fans' hearts broke like mine did the day it was revealed that our wholesome, sweet and innocent "Swanie" had ended up not with tall, suave, gentle Eddie but with Daniel Barrion.

* * *

WATCHING the blanket TV news coverage of the wake of "Da King," one was brought back to those days of fandom. It was the anniversary of the elopement of Swanie and Ronnie, and the TV screen was filled with images of their younger days, especially of their first movie together, "Perlas ng Silangan." Again, one beheld Susan Roces in her prime, and even just a glimpse of her face, regal and serene, brought one back to the days when she ruled the box-office and reigned as well in her fans' hearts.

But it was a different "Tita Swanie" on TV Thursday evening. Where before, during her husband's campaign and in the first days of the wake, she was all tact and composure, and at times teary and rueful, on the day of her "real" anniversary, she seemed to have broken out of her regal cage. "The Visayan side of me is showing," she warned interviewers. Now that her husband was no longer around to caution her and prevent her from airing her views, she felt free to express her thoughts and feelings, she said.

And boy did she let 'em have it! She let go of a mouthful about how much she resented the way she, but especially her husband, were insulted and vilified in the course of the campaign. She told off Karen Davila of ABS-CBN (who thankfully kept her cool and her professionalism) for their, in her view, "biased" reporting. She chided government officials for belatedly and perhaps hypocritically offering all sorts of honors to her late husband, if only to appease his followers. And then she offered up her views on national problems, from kotong cops to the prices of agricultural goods, from the lack of income opportunities for rural folk to lousy weather forecasting.

* * *

I DON'T know if Ms Roces had always been this ballsy. To the movie-going public, her image had always been that of a sweet, put-upon heroine who prevails mainly through goodness. In contrast, Amalia Fuentes was always the harridan, sharp of tongue and blunt-spoken. Where Amalia exuded sensuality, Susan was all sweetness and light.

Maybe it's maturity, or grief, or the harsh exposure of a killing political campaign. My own take on this sudden emergence of a "new" Susan is that she had always been her own woman, though cloaked in an image far more palatable to a conservative public. She had always been a woman who pursued her own dreams and plotted out her own life, even if it meant breaking the hearts of her fans.

Policy is also to blame

Policy is also to blame

Updated 01:11am (Mla time) Dec 17, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 17, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


ALMOST forgotten in the wake of the nation's mourning for "Da King" of Philippine movies is the ongoing suffering of our brothers and sisters in Aurora and Quezon, and in Nueva Ecija and Mindoro previously, due to floods and mudslides brought on by typhoons and heavy rainfall.

These natural phenomena may have been the proximate cause of the disasters, but as everyone, from the highest officials of the land to ordinary citizens, assert, the deaths and destruction are really attributable to the wasteful and wanton exploitation of the forests.

There's still some controversy whether it was "illegal" (or legal) logging that is to blame for the loss of our forest cover, or the slower but incremental destruction caused by the encroachment and settlement of landless folk on the mountain slopes. Little mentioned in the course of the debate is the role played by national resource policy in the uncontrolled exploitation of natural resources, including the forests.

The issue is discussed in great detail in the introduction to the book "Communities at the Margins" by editors Germelino Bautista and Hiromitsu Umehara in their introduction, excerpts of which are quoted below. (Many thanks to Maricor Baytion of Ateneo Press for the excerpts and commentary.)

* * *

THROUGH particular postwar policies, the postcolonial state maintained and promoted the country's specialization in particular natural resource and agricultural exports. As a case in point, it allocated most of the public lands to the forestry sector for purposes of resource extraction rather than conservation. Apart from granting permits for mining, livestock grazing, and industrial tree plantations, the state issued timber license agreements to private individuals and corporations for commercial logging purposes. Thus, from only 802 thousand hectares (ha) of forest lands released to logging concessionaires in the 1951 to 1960 period, the area under timber license agreements expanded threefold by an additional 3.2 million ha from 1961 to 1970, and another 5.5 million ha from 1971 to 1980. By 1990, the government had granted a total of 10.2 million ha, or about 68 percent, of classified forest lands to timber license agreement holders.

State incentives were given to exporters of natural resources. To boost the production of wood for export, for example, among the incentives were "liberal annual allowable cuts, zero export taxes, low and declining forest charges that amounted to only 2 to 6 percent of log prices from the 1960s to the 1980s, and high protective tariffs on imported processed wood products. State functionaries also provided incentives indirectly by inaction, through the non-enforcement of penalties against logging damages, failure to undertake replanting and forest rehabilitation, and illegal logging practices.

* * *

SIMILARLY there were no policy restrictions for the export of mineral and marine resources. Except for a low permit fee, commercial fish catch and the export of exotic aquarium fish species, fish fries and fingerlings were not taxed. The mining industry was also subjected to low taxes. With the lobbying efforts of the Chamber of Mines, the tax imposed on the industry even declined through time. The mining ban was also lifted in particular reserve areas. Moreover, mining companies received subsidies in the form of price supports, funds for stabilization, and tax amnesty for distressed companies, in addition to the benefits they obtained from government infrastructure projects.

Thanks to these incentives, the wood and mining industries experienced phenomenal growth in the 1950s and 1960s, consequently increasing the flow of people to resource extraction and processing areas in the frontiers where logging-sawmill and mining operations were established. The entry of migrant workers in these frontier areas in turn pushed indigenous communities out of the extraction areas, deeper into the uplands.

* * *

APART FROM THE unsustainable, unmindful levels of natural resource use, extractors did not plough back their rents for the reproduction of the resource base. Despite the high economic rents effectively realized by commercial logging, fishing, and processing industries from the combined effects of a tax regime and the favorable movement of demand and prices, the incomes were not reinvested in reforestation, tree plantation development, fishery management, and marine reserves protection. Instead, extractors converted their rental incomes into consumer durables, luxuries, real estate, and financial assets in the Philippines and abroad.

(Such an economic structure has led to the creation of "core poor"): indigenous communities in the uplands who have been pushed into the interiors by loggers, miners, and lowland migrants; former workers of logging concessions who engage in subsistence production; municipal fisherfolk displaced by commercial fishers; the farm or non-farm workers who have been displaced from a declining sector-industry like wood or sugar; farm households in calamity- or drought-prone areas; farm workers without adequate water or functioning irrigation system; and landless workers who have moved to the coastal areas, towns or cities but remain unemployed by the informal economy.

Indeed these groups have been the most vulnerable to disasters, both natural and man-made, as the horrific tragedies in the recent weeks have shown.

State authorities and various interest groups -- which have controlled policy making and implementation as well as the allocation and use of the country's resources-must be made to answer for these crimes that they repeatedly commit against communities who only emerge from the margins when attention is dramatically called to their plight, often a little too late.

The man who would be king

The man who would be king


Updated 02:23am (Mla time) Dec 15, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service


Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 15, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


HE was and will forever be known as "Da King," but Fernando Poe Jr. could have really been "king" in these parts, where the president commands extraordinary powers way beyond even the scope of the political office, as the exploits of his "best friend" Joseph Estrada would prove.

He was "the man who would be king," the man who sought to turn the place he had earned in the hearts of the Filipino people, especially the movie-going public, into political capital. Or perhaps a better way of putting it would be that he was a man whose image and persona others had sought to mine for political gain. Up till the day he announced his candidacy, most everybody believed that FPJ had neither the heart nor the stomach for politics. And he would show this distaste for the nitty-gritty of partisan contests during the heated campaign, when he refused to meet with the media until his reticence began to take a toll on his poll numbers, and when he allowed his temper to get the better of him, most famously with a TV reporter.

By most accounts a regular nice guy, the only one in the crowded retinue of Joseph Estrada, it is said, who refused to exploit his closeness to the new President or even accept a justly-deserved reward, Poe would see his carefully guarded image tarnished in the course of his campaign. Intensely private, and protected from prying eyes by the entire movie industry and a compliant and adoring entertainment press, FPJ would see his most intimate secrets bared wide open, his family history and even the circumstances of his birth scrutinized and speculated on. He would be lampooned by those scornful of his lack of academic preparation, vilified by those who predicted doom for this country if ever he would win.

If anyone ever needed an object lesson on the perils of politics for the neophyte, Poe's electoral experience provides a sterling example.

* * *

IT WAS his wife Susan Roces who best articulated the sacrifice that Poe's political advisers were asking of him.

They could have both just faded into a comfortable retirement, she told the media soon after that tumultuous announcement of his candidacy at the Manila Hotel. They could have both retreated into private life and enjoyed the fruits of decades of hard work and courting the fickle public. Instead, at a time of well-deserved respite from their labors, Poe, as well as his wife, would be drawn into an arena that was alien to them and would call on all their energies, resources and fortitude.

True, they had both been public figures for most of their adult lives. True, they were not exactly political virgins, since FPJ had been embroiled in the campaigns of Estrada from mayor to senator to vice president and then president. But always, his role was that of loyal supporter and staunch friend. Now, as his career was fading and after many years of service to an industry and profession he loved and that loved him back, he was putting his life and reputation on the line, chasing after the highest office of the land.

* * *

IT DOESN’T take a medical degree to see the links between his failed run for the presidency and the resulting frustration and perhaps depression, and his stroke some days back. He may not have felt the physical signs, and might even have been in denial about the blow to his ego, but the stress of the campaign and then the contentious counting as well as the ongoing electoral protest would have surely taken its toll.

It's really sad that a man who was looking forward to a life of ease and comfort had to forsake that to heed the call of politics. Whose call was it? Was his candidacy the result of a blinding revelation or an inspiration? Or was it merely an accommodation to vindicate a lifelong friend?

Close friends of FPJ say he decided to cast his lot with the opposition after the "FPJ for President Movement" held its first rally, filling up the Cuneta Astrodome with avid supporters who did not need to be paid to show up, paying for their own transportation and toting their own packed meals. He was moved by this show of support, and felt he could not disappoint the thousands who had shown, in the most concrete way, their commitment to his cause.

With his death, the legions of FPJ's followers would surely have only cemented their loyalty, admiration and love for this icon of Philippine cinema.

And with his death, Poe himself has assured his immortality. If he had lived on to a gracious old age, he would not live as long in the nation's memory as he would today, dying all of a sudden, while the memory of his candidacy was still fresh, and his cinematic legend had yet to be enshrined.

* * *

STILL, spare his family. Spare his widow, the still lovely and gracious Susan Roces, the slimy back-splash of partisan opportunism.

I would not blame her for feeling that it was precisely her husband's entry into politics that caused his death. It seems the height of insensitivity, then, to even suggest that she take up the fallen banner of her husband. In the first place, it's said that it was Susan who most firmly stood in her husband's way when the politicos were ganging up on him and holding out the temptation of becoming president. In the second, now is the time for grieving and for remembering and celebrating the memory of the man. Don't tarnish that memory by bringing politics into the picture when it is absolutely uncalled for.

If fate is merciful, what Filipinos will remember of Fernando Poe Jr. will be the actor, director and film icon-not the tragic politician. They will remember him as “Ang Panday,” the man who embodied in his carefully nurtured image and body of work the underdog who bears his suffering stoically but prevails in the end. The man who was -- is -- the Filipino for all Filipinos.

Teens, sex and parenthood

Teens, sex and parenthood



Updated 02:05am (Mla time) Dec 14, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service


Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 14, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.


TALKING about sex and teenagers is like shouting "Fire!" in a crowded movie house, American columnist Ellen Goodman once wrote. Acknowledging their children's sexuality can be a painful wrench for parents, who must from that moment surrender their illusions about their children's innocence. Indeed, every parent's nightmare is to be told by one's adolescent child that she is pregnant, or that he has gotten some girl pregnant. Even if intellectually parents know that there is no way they can monitor their child's every move and be entirely responsible for his or her behavior, a child's untimely motherhood or fatherhood still provokes overwhelming feelings of guilt, shame and self-recrimination. Indeed, in this case, the "sins" of the child are visited upon the parent.

The current talk of the town, or at least of the segment that takes show business gossip seriously, is the pregnancy of actress and TV host Rosanna Roces' 15-year-old daughter, with the actor-son of Sen. Bong Revilla, himself an actor, as the "culprit."

What struck me about the interviews with both Roces and Lani Mercado, mother of the father-to-be, was that, while Roces was all calm assurance and support for her daughter, it was Mercado who was shedding tears and expressing remorse and regret at her son's early fatherhood.

This flies in the face of the conventional view. Usually, teen-age pregnancy is seen as primarily the girl's -- and the girl's parents' -- problem. It is the girl and her parents who must bear the greater share of the emotional and even physical and material burden. Not only is it the girl who must go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of labor (and given her youth, who must put her life on the line as well), it is also she who bears much of the shame, blame and sacrifice.

* * *

HOW often have we heard parents of boys declare, for instance, that they have nothing to worry about their sons' sex education since the boys "will not be the ones getting pregnant"? As if pregnancy were the only unwanted consequence of casual, unprotected sex.

And how often does it happen that when a pair of high school students confront an unwanted pregnancy, it is the girl who must stop schooling and even go into hiding, while the boy continues with his usual activities, like nothing happened? The argument of school officials is that a pregnant teen walking the halls of school is a constant "bad example" to other students who might be tempted to emulate her. But what of the young father? Is he not, by blithely carrying on as if he didn't face new and serious responsibilities, also setting a "bad example" to his peers?

Indeed, this was the case with the young celebrities. It was Roces' daughter who had to stop going to school, feeling her friends and classmates were gossiping about her. The young Revilla, as far as I know, continued with his usual activities, including an active career on TV. As the interviews revealed, his parents even requested Roces to keep her daughter away from public view, mainly to protect the young Revilla's budding acting career.

* * *

I DO agree with Lani Mercado that it is still "wrong" and worrying for two adolescents to be taking on the responsibilities of parenthood at so early an age (both her son and Roces' daughter are to be parents at 16).

But I was gladdened, in some way, by Rosanna Roces' attitude -- or at least the demeanor she displayed on "The Buzz" -- that neither she nor her daughter had anything to be ashamed of. Instead, she chose to view the impending arrival of her grandson as a blessing, a gift, even.

Still, I noted that neither Roces nor Mercado, nor any of the hosts of "The Buzz" saw fit to mention contraceptives, or the need for sexually active young people to protect themselves from the unwanted consequences of early sexual activity, be it an unplanned pregnancy, a sexually transmitted infection, or heartbreak-on their part or their parents'. After all, such a situation need not have come to pass. While there is much to be said against 15-year olds engaging in sex, the situation need not have escalated into an unwanted, unplanned, mistimed pregnancy-and its consequences such as the interrupted schooling of the mother and the nipped-in-the-bud career of the father-if only the young people had known about and cared to use protection.

* * *

ALONGSIDE this bit of sizzling showbiz gossip are news bits about young mothers, most of them poor and ignorant, facing charges for their attempts to kill or abort the child in their wombs.

One mother expressed "shock" when, while sitting on a toilet seat after suffering stomach pains, she found a baby shooting out from her. Too late did she remember to catch the infant before it landed headfirst in the toilet and then, fearing the baby dead, she tried to stuff it in a garbage bin.

The situation would have been funny were it not for the fact that the baby nearly died from its mother's ministrations, though fortunately neighbors rushed both mother and child to the hospital just in time. The TV news footage then showed a repentant young mother, now claiming to love the baby she had nearly killed.

How could someone be so ignorant or naive? we might ask. The painful answer is that the clueless young mother is typical of young Filipinos, who as surveys show muddle along with little knowledge about sex and sexuality, given our reticence about such matters and the paranoia of moral guardians who feel sex education will produce a generation of “disgrasyadas.” News flash: Unless we change this situation of willed ignorance soon, we will be putting at risk even more such young mothers and their innocent, blameless offspring.

Morocco's 'revolution'

Morocco's 'revolution'

Updated 10:41pm (Mla time) Dec 09, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 10, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


RABAT, Morocco -- Receiving the "Global Leaders Award" in the 2004 Global Media Awards, held in this capital city of Morocco last Sunday, was Nouzha Skalli, a member of the Moroccan Parliament. A member of the House of Representatives since 2002, but a politician and public servant for over 30 years, starting with her initial exposure in campus politics, Skalli, according to the Wall Street Journal, has become "a major force behind major changes in the Moroccan Parliament, working all her life (on advocacy for) gender equality and human rights."

She is credited with leading the struggle for the successful passage of the New Family Code, which, as she put it in her response, "grants women equality and co-responsibility and considers women at long last full-fledged citizens, a truly revolutionary move." The focus on the links between democracy, human rights and gender equality, said Skalli, "are so vital, like air and water" for achieving sustainable development and equality for all people.

Skalli dedicated her award to "my country and my King," who she said "supports the rights of Moroccan women." A symbolic but nonetheless significant step forward for gender equality, she added, has been the public role given to the King's wife, Princess Selma, who has become a role model for young Moroccan women, an unprecedented development for the monarchy.

* * *

BUT revolutionary change doesn't only take place in parliaments or the royal family. For change to take root, it must be embraced by individuals and families, and if Skalli's family life is anything to go by, then it seems there is no turning back for Morocco's march toward modernization.

Mohammed Bennis, Skalli's husband of 26 years, has been solidly behind his wife's political career even if, he admits, "it's embarrassing at times, especially when people address me as Mr. Skalli." A professional simultaneous interpreter and language teacher, Bennis says that when he first told his parents about his marriage plans and they wanted to meet his fiancée, he told them, "You can see what she looks like in the posters on the streets since she's running for office." They have two children, both of whom are young adults and studying abroad.

Apart from Skalli, the other Moroccan awardees recognized at the Awards Dinner graced by the Moroccan ministers of health, information and social services and some parliamentarians, were, as I mentioned in an earlier column, the Ennakhil Association for the "Gender Equity Award," and the Moroccan Family Planning Association which received the "Country Award."

* * *

THE OTHER winners of this year's Global Media Awards are no less accomplished. Awarded for "Best Individual Reporting Effort" was Zubeida Mustafa, assistant editor of Dawn, a daily newspaper in English published in Pakistan. An editorial writer on social issues and international affairs, Zubeida was recognized for her articles highlighting initiatives contained in the Program of Action of the International Conference on Population and Development which marks its 10th anniversary this year.

Recognized as "Most Conscientious News Service" was Inter Press Service (IPS), represented by Ramesh Jaura, Euro-Mediterranean coordinator for the agency. Asked by a Moroccan journalist what award "gives him the most pleasure," Werner Fornos, president of Population Institute, singled out IPS, which has made reporting on issues confronting the developing world a priority. "Their work shows us that social development is a great investment," said Fornos, "cheaper than investing in war."

Radio Tanzania was awarded "Best Radio Programming," particularly for two of its programs: "Twende Na Wakati" (Let's Move with the Times), a very popular radio soap opera, and "Mambo Bomba" (Cool Things), a show for young people. Both shows focus on family life, while addressing population issues, including sexual and reproductive health and HIV/AIDS. Martha Swai, the program coordinator and my roommate on this trip through Morocco, won the award previously in 2000, receiving her plaque from former President Joseph Estrada the day before he was forced to vacate Malacañang.

The Worldwatch Institute's World Watch Magazine, a bi-monthly journal concerned with environmental issues, was awarded "Best Population Journal" for its special issue on reproductive health and population concerns, "Population: Beyond the Numbers." Danielle Nierenberg, who authored many of the articles in that publication, represented the magazine.

* * *

CITED for "Best Population/Environmental Reporting Effort" was Centro Centroamericano de Poblacion in Costa Rica, for its publication "Poblacion y Salud en Mesoamerica," which examines potential relations between fertility and the access to and use of natural resources in Peten, Guatemala.

Winning the award for best team reporting effort was "Salud Publica de Mexico," a bi-monthly journal published by the National Institute of Public Health of Mexico.

The "Best Combined Media Effort" award went to the Bangladesh Center for Communication Programs, cited for "Know Yourself," an integrated communication campaign aimed at Bangladeshi youth.

This columnist was cited for "(writing) tirelessly of the Philippine society's unmet need for access to reproductive health services and information ... and consistently (standing up) to reproductive health advocacy detractors ... (being) at the frontlines of the continuous struggle to inform and educate people."

Much of the credit for this honor goes to my family -- in the broadest sense of the word, to include my loved ones, my colleagues in the Inquirer, my sisters in the women's movement, my friends in sexual and reproductive health and rights advocacy, and all of you, faithful readers.

The heart of Morocco

The heart of Morocco

Updated 00:53am (Mla time) Dec 08, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the Dec. 8, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


FEZ, Morocco -- Driving in from the southeast, down from the Atlas Mountains, one enters this former royal capital through the "new towns," or as the former French colonizers put it, the "villes nouvelles." These are typical suburbs, with wide roads, gated communities, lively commercial areas in modern dress.

But the real heart of the city, and indeed, the "symbolic heart of Morocco" is the medina, the old walled city that lies in a valley.

The major Moroccan cities were all built around such old walled cities, a cluster of buildings, shops and houses protected by massive thick earthen and clay walls, all of which are pierced by holes which, so our reliable guide Aziz claims, were used both to look out for approaching strangers as well as to speed up the drying process of the clay walls.

Still, the old medina of Fez is widely regarded as the most magnificent of these walled cities. It is one of the "largest living medieval cities in the world," marked for preservation by the Unesco as one of the world's greatest treasures.

And indeed what a treasure of a living city it is! Walking through its narrow passageways and cobbled streets, one's senses are assaulted by a bewildering array of sights, sounds, smells -- the aroma of spices mingling with the tang of freshly picked oranges, bright woven scarves, jellabahs and caftans waving in the wind alongside raw cuts of beef and mutton, slabs of pink and lemon yellow nougats, studded with almonds and pistachios, alongside lamps and intricately carved candles.

It seems everything created by human hands and nature as well, save for crass appliances and cars, are sold here. One member of our group yelled in astonishment as he passed a small wooden shop: "Hey, they sell violins in there!" A university professor ducked into a store to buy a Berber drum for his 9-year-old grandson. I had set out on a mission to buy dates and walnuts for my husband, and came upon a shop selling such a wide variety of dates I had to taste each one of them, of course!

* * *

ONE never knew what would be coming from the nearest corner. Rounding the bend, one might suddenly confront a donkey dragging along a loaded cart, the only form of transportation allowed within the medina. While walking, one kept one's ears peeled for shouts of "Atencion! Atencion!" a signal to quickly stand off to the side unless one wished to be trampled on by a smelly donkey or a heavy wheelbarrow.

Turning into a corner, we were startled by a construction worker in a bright yellow raincoat, a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. We saw schoolchildren coming from or just going to school, old men in tattered jellabahs and filthy turbans, touts and amateur "guides" in leather jackets and jeans, and most incredibly, a young girl of about 6 with a pink backpack, strolling along with us as she sang to herself, smiling about secrets only she knew, then turning into a narrow alley and entering through a wooden doorway.

Some 200,000 people still call the medina of Fez home-"too many for a city that needs preserving," commented Aziz. And for them, it is a real neighborhood and not just an exotic showcase or relic of the past.

Aziz, who was born and grew up in the medina of Fez, though his family has since moved out to the new villages, brought us to a neighborhood baker, to whom families brought loaves of unbaked bread and picked up the warm, baked loaves after 30 minutes or so. In the few minutes that we stood in the doorway, about six people arrived with wooden trays bearing pale dough shaped into the customary round loaves and covered with towels. Some bore markings to tell the baker to whom they belonged. "No problem," said Aziz, "even if a loaf comes without markings, the baker knows to whom it belongs."

* * *

THE NEIGHBORHOOD baker is a trusted person in the neighborhood, and one who knows, just by counting the number of loaves one brings, how many people there are in the family, and if one is expecting visitors. The baker is also the local center of information, and if one is looking for a resident, one goes to the baker for his or her address, not to the police station.

A visitor can never know, judging from the outside with its narrow alleys, high walls sometimes topped with reed coverings, and imposing wooden doors, what lies behind this secretive exterior.

After winding our way down through the cobbled alleys, we turned into a small courtyard guarded by a wrought iron gate and entered into a larger and truly beautiful inner courtyard with a silent fountain in the center, planted with fragrant roses and strewn with rose petals.

We were at the Palais Menebhi, the former residence of a prominent medina resident who had served as finance minister to two kings. The Menebhi family later sold the palace to a wealthy businessman who decided to convert it into a teahouse and restaurant (upon the urging of tourism officials) and open it to the public. The Palais Menebhi is decorated in typical Moroccan fashion, using the usual elements of tile mosaic, cedar and stucco "worked in place," that is carved on site in intricate and delicate filigree patterns.

In the dining room, seated on low-slung couches and low chairs, we rested our weary feet and feasted on Moroccan fare, the most outstanding of which, I must say, was a “tajine” of lamb and prunes. The meat was so tender, with the prunes lending a piquant note of sweetness, that I ate more than was properly my share. So full was I that I had no more room for the next dish, a more traditional tajine of chicken and vegetables on a bed of couscous.

Fortified, we set out once more for the alleys and backways, shops and factories, sights, sounds and aromas of the magnificent medina of Fez.

A night on the desert

A night on the desert

Updated 11:33pm (Mla time) Dec 06, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A13 of the December 7, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.

FEZ, Morocco -- One thing I did not expect of Morocco was the cold weather. As our bus drove into this ancient city last night, I looked out the window to check what people were wearing. To my dismay, everyone was wearing a jacket or coat or the Moroccan “jellabah,” a long woolen robe with a pointed hood that makes the men look like creatures out of "Star Wars." At this time of year, Morocco can be chilly, especially once the sun sets, and out in the Sahara Desert, it can be downright freezing.

Every school child knows that out on the desert, the days are searing hot and the nights freezing cold. But even when our itinerary indicated that we would be spending a night on the Sahara, sleeping in Berber-style tents, I couldn't quite believe it would be necessary to pack winter clothing, and so made do with pajamas, thick socks and a sweater. Boy, was I wrong.

We left Marrakesh Wednesday, drove southwards following the "Kasbah Trail," spent a night at the magnificent Hotel Berber Palace in Ouarzazate, then drove further south to Erfoud. From this town, we got off the bus and boarded 4x4 vehicles for a bumpy, winding drive through the desert to the sand dunes of Merzouga where our encampment lay, just 15 km from the border of Algeria.

Our guide Aziz worried that we would not make it to our camp in time to travel by camel up to the highest dunes to catch what he promised would be a breathtaking sunset. Instead, our dusty convoy made a brief stop on a sandy hillside, just in time to allow us to alight and catch the setting sun wash the nearby dunes a golden amber.

* * *

BY THE TIME we arrived at Merzouga, the wind had turned the air near-freezing. There was hardly time to appreciate the Berber musicians who welcomed us by the entrance to the encampment, all dressed in white and each playing an instrument consisting of rows of brass plates which they shook in syncopated rhythm.

Our tents were low and dark inside. They consisted of heavy woolen rugs held up by wooden posts, and to my relief I found our beds were fairly thick and firm, and came with heavy woolen blankets stretched snugly across the mattress. The tents were arranged in a semicircle, the open area likewise covered by rugs. At one end lay our roofed dining area where a bonfire mercifully blazed. At the other end were the outhouse, two chemical toilets and an improvised washstand. Welcome to the tourist version of Berber life!

We shuffled our huddled forms to the dining area for dinner, which consisted of round Moroccan bread, lentil soup, couscous and chicken, a “tajine” (the Moroccan cooking implement with a pointed cover that makes for excellent stews) of lamb, potatoes and carrots, and dessert of apples, oranges and the tiny, sweet oranges called clementines. All the while the Berber troupe continued to serenade us, after first putting on a show of music and energetic dancing, which could be called the Berber version of hip hop.

* * *

CHILLED to the bone, most of us headed straight for the tents and our warm beds. Over dinner, I found out that "all the Asians" -- meaning Zubeida Mustafa from Pakistan, Mohammad Shahjahan from Bangladesh, Ramesh Jaura who is from India but has lived for decades in Germany, and even my roommate Martha Swai from Tanzania -- had decided that camping was not for them and elected to sleep in a small hotel about a kilometer away. Not knowing I had an alternative, I had ended up as the only person from a warm climate braving a night on the desert.

Hastily putting on my pajamas, layered over with whatever pieces of clothing I had brought with me, I crawled under the heavy blankets. I wondered if I should take time for my nightly rituals, but once cocooned beneath the blankets, I couldn't summon the will to jump out of them into the cold air.

I would come to regret this later in the night, as I tossed and turned and tried to cover every centimeter of raised blanket that somehow allowed fingers of cold to come creeping in. I also had to pee -- desperately. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I said to hell with it and threw the warm covers off me. It was three in the morning, and, armed with a flashlight and a full bladder, I sped across the rug-covered ground. Were those sinister cats lining the path to the outhouse? No, they were Moroccan lamps, which had been lit to guide our way but were now dark, cat-like shapes.

* * *

AT DAWN, I found the other occupants of our tent had all signed up for the camel ride to the highest dunes to catch the sunrise. Ever since a traumatic horse ride in my childhood, I have shunned getting aboard any animal taller than me, but I did want to have a picture taken with a camel.

The camels were simply marvelous, placid and regal, and bore their burdens with a quiet dignity. "Madam from the Philippines, are you afraid of camels?" inquired a Berber guide. "Yes! I am afraid!" I replied, setting him off on a torrent of amused guffaws.

Those of us who stayed behind contented ourselves with viewing the sunrise on a dune beside the encampment, catching our breath as the sunlight sent shadows chasing across the undulating sand. As we shivered in the bitter cold morning air, the same Berber murmured: "You feel cold? But it is only for one night. I have lived here all my life!" That must have been his bid for sympathy, because he later tried to sell us overpriced fossils.

When the camel riders returned, they were just in time for our Berber breakfast of bread and fried Moroccan pancakes (closely resembling chapattis) taken with fragrant honey. We all agreed it was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I have spent a night on the desert, and while I'll never forget it, it's something I have no wish of doing again.

Women of Marrakesh

Women of Marrakesh

Updated 02:18am (Mla time) Dec 04, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 4, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


MARRAKESH -- The winner of the Gender Equity Award, which is being given for the first time this year as part of the Global Media Awards, is the Ennakhil Association for Woman and Child, a nongovernmental organization founded in 1997.

"Ennakhil" is the Arabic word for "palm tree," which is also the emblem of Marrakesh. In its brochure, the association uses the palm tree to illustrate the interlocking relationships among its various fields of activity and advocacy, which include education and training, social development, health, justice and politics.

Meeting with the delegation from Population International, as well as the other Global Media Awards winners, Dr. Zakia Mirili, the association's president, outlined Ennakhil's scope of work, which is broad indeed. Its most basic mission, she said, is to reach out to the 65 percent of women in Morocco who are poor and illiterate and are thus in no position to know and defend their rights. "In the last five years, we have worked with about 10,000 women," Dr. Mirili said, providing basic literacy classes and holding consciousness-raising sessions, as well as establishing income-generating projects, such as a women's handicraft cooperative.

Ennakhil also provides counseling and care to survivors of domestic violence, and refers them to lawyers that will handle their cases pro bono. In the field of reproductive health, they conduct training and orientation on the prevention of sexually transmitted infections, including HIV/AIDS.

Hand in hand with providing necessary and urgent services, Ennakhil also engages in legal and legislative advocacy, counting among its most prominent victories the passage last year of the new Family Code that addresses many of the more blatant manifestations of gender inequity in Moroccan society. It's said that the new Family Code was passed, despite the stringent opposition mounted by, as Dr. Mirili enumerates, "the Islamists, traditional-minded politicians, police, judges and parliamentarians," mainly because King Mohammed VI strongly supported its passage.

* * *

AMONG THE "REVOLUTIONARY" changes ushered in by the new Family Code, said Dr. Mirili, are: raising the minimum age of marriage from 15 to 18; making polygamy "very difficult" for men after many conditions were imposed before a man could legitimately found a second, third or fourth family; allowing a woman to report abuse by her husband with no need for male witnesses; making it possible for a woman who divorces her husband to keep custody of her children; and giving single women with children legal recognition as mothers even without having been married.

But, says Dr. Mirili, "so many other laws still need to be changed." Which is why another major plank in Ennakhil's crowded menu of programs is expanding the role of women in politics, supporting legal measures meant to encourage more women to run for office and training young women in politics and gender orientation.

Listening to Dr. Mirili's presentation, I had a funny feeling that I'd heard it all before. Of course, the issues they hope to address are quite familiar to Filipinos, or at least to those interested in gender issues. But in our country, the issues that Ennakhil hopes to address are assumed by quite a number of women's organizations. Ennakhil, said Population International president Werner Fornos, is the first of its kind in the Arab world, and is taking on the whole plethora of gender inequities all by its lonesome.

* * *

STILL, the women of Ennakhil might not be fighting a lonely battle for long. Next on our agenda was a visit to the Lycee Aouda Saan, a government-run all-girls' high school, the only such school in the Medina or old city of Marrakesh.

We visited the school to look into the activities of their Health Club (Club de Sante), which runs a peer-to-peer reproductive health counseling program, known as Jeunes por jeunes, or Youth for Youth, with funding from the United Nations Population Fund.

Standing proudly beside posters they had obviously slaved over were teenage girls, some in long robes and veils, others in denims and white coats, explaining their many activities, from educational theater to group discussions, workshops on various aspects of health (including rather grisly illustrations of the wages of smoking and drugs), and discussions on matters like sexually transmitted infections, including HIV/AIDS (called "SIDA" in the European fashion).

Aside from hosting discussions on health concerns, the members of the Health Club, with their faculty advisers, also help manage a counseling center, which includes a "listening room" where, as one teacher assured us, "any girl with a problem can come in and talk to us about it, without fear."

* * *

ONE of the things that struck us visitors about the school was how it illustrated the way a multicultural Islamic society works. English teacher Mr. Elcadi quite proudly told us, "You can drop by any classroom and you will see girls in veils and girls without veils sitting side by side and working together, taking no notice of their differences."

The school has no policy on veiling, said the teacher, and no uniform is imposed. "It is their choice," he added.

Interestingly enough, the all-girls' high school (there are also "mixed" high schools, we were told) is named after one of Morocco's early women leaders, a suffragist who campaigned for women's rights. "She is buried within the school grounds," Mr. Elcadi volunteered.

As we exited the school, passing a phalanx of young women who had been let out of classes precisely to meet the visitors from abroad, I couldn't help thinking what Aouda Saan thought about them, if she wasn't thinking that finally her life's work was bearing fruit.

Remembering Bibot

Remembering Bibot

Updated 10:55pm (Mla time) Dec 02, 2004
By Rina Jimenez-David
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 3, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


MARRAKESH -- When you're abroad, the mere mention of your country on CNN or BBC is apt to send alarm bells ringing.

I was digging through my suitcase when I heard something about the Philippines on the TV. "Rina, your country is on CNN!" exclaimed my roommate, Martha Swai, a radio producer from Tanzania.

Immediately, I rushed in front of the set, impatient for the commercial break to be over so I could listen to the news in full. It turned out to be news about the devastating floods and landslides that have killed almost 500 people in Quezon and Aurora. The footage aired on CNN showed floodwaters and mud, the color of coffee, inundating houses and what looked like fallen trees.

"Denudation has always been a problem in Luzon," I explained to Martha, while I felt sick to my stomach, realizing that such a death toll, meriting a mention on CNN, has become "routine" in our country. And not just because we're going through a late typhoon season, but also because our own neglect as a people, particularly the destruction of our natural resources, magnifies the impact of what should be but a seasonal occurrence.

The Philippines seemed to be very much on CNN's mind, since the news of the deaths from the floods was followed very soon after by a weather report predicting another typhoon to hit the country in the next few days, if not hours. Even the weatherman was moved to express his concern for the country still reeling from earlier floods and typhoons.

My sympathies to the families of all those who died everywhere devastation has hit, including Mindoro which was in the headlines the day I left. There is something about being away from your country and your loved ones that focuses your attention on them. For which I can only offer my thanks for this timely "heads up."

* * *

ANOTHER bit of shocking news that came my way, by way of an early morning text message, was that of the passing of Zeneida "Bibot" Amador.

I'm sure that by now the media would be full of encomiums about Bibot's role in the development of Philippine theater, particularly the way she trained and honed to the heights of professionalism current luminaries in theater and the arts, including Lea Salonga and Monique Wilson. But I prefer to remember Bibot in her many incarnations on stage, TV and even the movies.

For most Filipinos, our introduction to Bibot was on a TV show, "Santa Zita and Mary Rose." Here, she played a mean, naughty but big-hearted housemaid, and she was one reason my sisters and I religiously followed this show that tracked the many joys and sorrows of a middle-class family and the parallel lives of their house help.

Such was Bibot's impact, though, that I can't for the life of me remember any other cast member, even if, as I write this, their faces float before me. So uncannily did this household drama reflect our own concerns in those more innocent times that we felt it was a story of our lives. Though looking back, I now recognize that it took a somewhat naive view of the social divisions that still bedevil Philippine society.

* * *

FROM "SANTA ZITA," Bibot would move on to found Repertory Philippines, which is notable not just for producing the majority of Filipino artists tapped by Cameron Mackintosh for "Miss Saigon," though come to think of it, name any theater notable in these parts and chances are he or she had at one time or another gone through the wringer of Bibot's direction.

Repertory's bigger accomplishment, I believe, is creating and sustaining an audience for theater in this country. Some decades ago, there was this controversy over the "proper" content of theater. Some, who called themselves nationalists, felt a theater company like Repertory which preferred to stage imported material, mainly from Broadway, was squandering its talents and resources on meaningless "fluff." Never one to shy away from a fight, Bibot retorted that Repertory would put on a Filipino production the minute she found "quality" material.

Looking back, one realizes the silliness of the dispute. Because what this country needed, and still needs, is a theater-going tradition, a habit of thought and inclination for theater, so that, while searching for entertainment and enlightenment, one would think of watching a play or a musical.

* * *

IT TURNS out that there are not just two kinds of theater in this country, but many streams and audience niches. And it is only because of the dogged dedication of champions like Bibot that theater has survived here, though theater companies, even the well-established ones, still struggle to keep their heads above water.

One memory of Bibot stands out. We were both taking part in "V-Day," the annual fund-raising and consciousness-raising event spawned by the "Vagina Monologues." When I arrived, I found Bibot sitting cross-legged near the door, smoking. When I inquired whether New Voice Company, which stages TVM here, would be providing us with makeup artists, Bibot laughed heartily. "We're doing this for free! If they could afford makeup artists, they could pay us!" Then she added, with trademark insouciance, "I don't care about makeup. I've always known I'm ugly, and there's nothing that makeup can do to change that."

She would later appear onstage in the same shorts-and-T-shirt outfit she was wearing when I met her. But Bibot's performance of "Beneath the Burkha," a newly written addition to TVM, blew away playwright Eve Ensler, who would later say that she found new insights into her own words just by listening to Bibot read them.

That was vintage Bibot, one of the best (if unheralded) actors we have produced, who mothered Philippine theater as best she could.