Of Desserts and Character

By Rolo B. Cena

Hushed Poppies

Dumaguete Star Informer

16 September 2012

Cebu City, Philippines – With the 2013 Mid-term elections drawing near, anybody who has articulated his plan to run for public office can be a staple over everybody’s table.  With the advent of plug-and-play media, everybody can be an easy prey to character assassination.

In one of her radio programs, Korina Sanchez commented that “dark and small malignant spirits” wanted to take over the post of secretary of department of interior, following speculations on who shall relieve Sec. Jesse Robredo who died in a plane crash off the waters of Masbate.  This solicited inquiry, if not investigation, among political rivals, friends and allies.

And high-profile Jejomar Binay, the country’s second highest elected official is no exemption to this.  He believes he is the “dark and small malignant spirit.”  Arguably though, he can be; thanks to Ms. Sanchez for suggesting if not indicating, but is he?

He is dark – yes; but he is not small, literally and figuratively.  Is he a spirit? – No!  He is not elemental; you can see and feel him anytime.  So what’s the point?  Let’s take a ride!

Without hesitation at all, Binay expressly revealed his plan to run for presidency early this year.  God bless him!    

Character assassination happens anytime, anywhere, to anybody.  This is realistically true!

It happens in the clan:  When former President Corazon Aquino was new to Malacanang, a lot has been told about her brother’s close and unwavering allegiance to the former dictator Ferdinand Marcos. It was said that all the economic and political excesses of Martial Law benefited not only the first family but also the cronies.  And this includes Danding Cojuanco of the San Miguel Corporation fame, among others. 

It happens in the team:  When the Philippine Dragon Boat Team won half a dozen of gold medals in Tampa, Florida, the Philippines Olympic Committee chaired by Pepeng Cojuanco was urged to recognize them as a national team.  Clashes ensued.  The worst was:  The POC leadership demanded that they be subjected to drug tests for seemingly lame and unacceptable reasons.  Soccer Team Azkal was at the height of their commercial and commercialized popularity then, but never has won any gold for the country.  Cobra stays strong:  Milan World Championship was another feat for a half-dozen gold medals despite character assassination.

It happens in the corporate world:  When one Biology professor from UP accused her boss of sexual harassment, her credibility was mocked and integrity as a professor questioned.   While she won the case, she lost the renewal of her contract.  The chairman of the committee was her boss, whom she accused.  To date, she was hailed as the foremost local and international scientist in her field.   

It can happen to even the most ordinary of people:  In your organization, in my organization. In can happen to you, it can happen to me.  And it is chronically happening now.  Beware!

When it was announced that Jejomar Binay is running against Mar Roxas for the vice presidential slot, much have been told against him by the same media personalities; Roxas was the darling of the crowd.  Earlier in the race, Binay was even speculated to lose.  But with the twist of fate, he won!

Evidently, victims of character assassination stays; assassinators don’t:  Danding stays; that UP Professor waves; the Dragon Boat Team sails; and Binay flies.  

                            

Regardless of how grandest, festive or sumptuous the meal is on the table, not everybody can be very happy to join the banquet; not even all those who are invited are blissfully and healthily filled.  And do not be surprised:  Sometimes, not all desserts are sweet. 

Of Dinner and Flash Floods

By Rolo B. Cena

Hushed Poppies

Dumaguete Star Informer

09 September 2012

Cebu City, Philippines – A festive dinner has been agreed by Roxanne and I just to push with our plan to personally meet.  She is a colleague in the industry who happens to be the wife of my distant and yet-to-be-acquainted-with cousin from Bantayan Island, Cebu.  The plan to meet has been postponed several times due to conflicts in my schedule.

At exactly six in the evening, while I was wrapping up and preparing to depart from the seemed-to-be eternity tiring office works, she phoned in to say that she and her husband cannot proceed due to flash floods along the vicinity.  She stays and works in Mandaue.  The long and short of it is:  the planned dinner date wouldn’t push through courtesy of the plaguing monsoon rains, once again.

I joined with my team and dropped by Colon, the oldest street in the Country nestling central to all thoroughfares in downtown Cebu with the hope of finding a cab for me.  Upon sight, I recall Manila streets drowned in commercially infected flashfloods, motorists banging their horns in the hope of getting out of the traffic, pedestrians running after passenger jeepneys and taxi cabs for a seat.  Everybody is wet; everybody is pressed to get home.  And so must I!

Frustrated for almost one hour, I took another jeepney ride to the nearby mall as my perceived fear of the risks associated with the area of Colon was mounting.  In the mall, a long queue at the taxi stand added fuel to the fire.  I had to hire a street kid to fetch a cab for me for twenty pesos; it didn’t work out, though. 

Thinking that a place of worship can be a safer place for me, I hurriedly scurried towards Sto. Rosario Church nearby unmindful of the downpours that soaked my physique; everyone in the street immersed in the fortuitous torrents:  kids paddling through the high floods; annoyed and irritant citizens wading towards all directions for protection and ride.  For almost two hours I reluctantly stood at the church door posting like a sentinel trying to protect the Holy One.  It would have been a good idea to do my rituals inside but the nuisances of the freaky night consumed my passion and reverence.

It would have been a night for me:  a sumptuous dinner with a couple whom I had wanted to meet to establish my genealogical connection to the past fast forward to the present.  For decades, we are detached from my paternal family although recently the phenomenal trends of Facebook and Twitter, emails, Skype and yahoo chats pave the way for our terrestrial and virtual 24/7 trysts. 

But it was a night planned to be good that went sour:  sumptuous dinner ticked out, flash floods ticked in; dry and comfortable atmosphere marked off, wet and inconvenient night marked in; easy and opportune travel checked out, difficult and ill-timed search for a ride checked in.  It was such a very messy four-hour Tuesday night that turned out to be my first milestone in Cebu.                

Soaked, shivered, and starving, from the church I decided to walk to the area of Ramos with the end in mind of finding one decent ride back home.  At least in this area, only a few would have chosen to stay to seek for fast and comfortable ride, I thought.  Lo and behold, the area is also flooded, this time with people, not by torrential rain waters.  Fortunately, I found one taxi cab but with an American challenger.  The good thing was, the cab driver chose and not the tourist.  And I wondered why. 

Most often, personal plans do not really find favors with the Almighty; rushed activities do.  Like the torrents that paralyzed the city last Tuesday, things do not happen by chance.  Not everyone get the premium overnight!            .      

Through the smoke

By Rolo B. Cena

Hushed Poppies

Dumaguete Star Informer

August 26, 2012

Manila, Philippines - They came in throng; in fact, about five buses were commissioned to ferry them from the farms of northern and central Luzon to the far flung imperial Manila for the planned and politically-designed move purportedly to thwart the session.  Orchestrated by the prime movers of the industry, the trip was made in such a way that no one would ever forget it; much less, regret he had joined.   

Apologies but they disturbed the night with their sheer naiveté and ignorance of the troubled flesh-controlled commercial district of Ermita.   They attacked the still of the night everyone was enjoying since it had fallen including my somber sleep and of those who have been in the hotel ahead of them.  They arrived in the middle of the night supposedly to cut through the painstaking land trip to a different road show ever re-invented for them. 

They were made emissaries whom their handlers believed they could articulate the statements in their behalf by their mere presence in the session.   It was not by happenstance; it was a planned participation, one that is controlled by their respective biases and sentiments.  There were about three hundred of them whom their organizers believed they could declare their own sense of nationalism more than their extensive share of the issue at hand or patriotism more than economic condition their respective families experience at the moment;

Arguably, extensive wasn’t in fact the appropriate yardstick to measure the thing; it was their scant share of the issue at hand that mobilized their intentions more than their need or their curiosity more than their desire to be listed.  I said scant because taking the whole picture into play their participation is actually smaller than what they believed to be.  The masters of the game, whose objective is always anchored at the bottom figures this commercial world were made to produce, wanted one and only one thing from them:  business.

To put it bluntly, the major players of the tobacco industry used and mobilized the ordinary tobacco farmers to appear and participate in the Senate hearing of the bill that would stop cultivating tobacco and consequently discontinue the tobacco industry.

Bad as it has labeled, smoking kills; and smokers, or those who produce filtered sticks with tobacco shreds are actually killing them:  Killing in the sense that their modest means of living was interrupted with temporary economic relief of joining the rally-for-a-fee with the perks of staying at the four-star hotel in the suburbs of Manila. 

In the post-modern Philippines, where reality shows take control of the mindset of the people, stealing the sixty-second spotlight from others in the show is already an achievement.  Whereas, to the organizers, having these farmers moved from their modest mid-country farms to the portico of the Senate just to deliver a clear and concise statement of objection is gaining the first stronghold of the battlefield.  Whereas to the farmers, having participated in the once-in-a-lifetime event that could even make unfavorable twists and turns in their socio-economic lives is already winning the battle.

Talking to the farmers at the hotel lobby sans the smokes around twitted one and only one question from an insider:  How can these farmers survive if farming is stopped?

For the sake of argument, assuming that the bill is passed into law, the land these farmers till would always lay flat on the surface of the earth.  It goes without saying then that it is always at their disposal; they can always plant anything that can grow and be a source of living.  Assuming further that this is going to happen, the tobacco industry will be a goner and the social and medical diseases smoking brings into humanity will literally and figuratively be stopped.

Conversely, these farmers don’t have to worry; the industry players do. This is precisely the reason why these farmers are commissioned to appear behind the picket fences to make it appear as if there is a potential problem on the part of the farmers.  But obviously, there is none.  Tobacco manufactures definitely do have!

Very evidently, there are dreams that are built on smokes; and these dreams obviously lead to one and only one thing:  People die.  No matter how stringent the law would be, for as long as there are players, at the end of the day, smoking still kills.