The National Anthem

I have a difficult time explaining to some Filipinos why I write behind the Joe America nametag. It fundamentally comes down to my belief that the Philippine standard of free speech is considerably different than that found in America, and, as a visa holder, not a citizen, I am vulnerable to being tossed out of the country if I happen to run against the grain of some official with power based on some wayward utterance. Or even one that is intentionally offensive, for the sake of sparking a brain to think.

The clearest case in point is the Philippine view that the National Anthem MUST be sung in a militaristic march cadence. I was stunned when, oh, a year or so ago, Martin Nevera was required to apologize upon his return to the Philippines after having interpreted the National Anthem as something other than a march at a Paquiao fight. I personally found his rendition inspiring, and was proud to be living in the Philippines.

But Martin Nevera, a talented, globally recognized artist who did the Philippines proud with his rendition, apologized for doing this. If he has to bow, can you imagine how powerless I and my plastic visa card would be?

Somehow, my definition of patriotism differs from that of legislators. They view patriotism as militaristic, and they draw off from the National Anthem the stanzas referring to invaders and tyrants, not mindful that they, themselves, are tyrannical when they hold the only legitimate singing style for the Anthem is a march.

I draw off something different, sacrifice. Giving of one's life to the country. I see nothing that requires this be done in a military uniform. Indeed, I see the millions of working poor and OFW's as sacrificing their muscle, tears, life, and family to try to scrape out another plate of rice by fishing all night long or pedaling a pedicab all day. They are the backbone of this country. The legislators are perhaps not familiar with this kind of sacrifice.

My English translation of the first stanza reads:

Land of the morning

Child of the sun returning

With fever burning

Thee do our souls adore


Now that is plain beautiful, poetic, inspiring. Alas, I would sing it to a blues beat, with a touch of sadness and as much courage as I could get into the tune. I see no guns, no grenades, no uniforms, no saluting, no bowing to tyrants who say "sing it my way" or go home.

Patriotism is where the heart is, not where the gun is.

Freedom means not having to sing it "your way". I would sing it with my heart, loyal to the Philippines, true, willing to give my life to the Philippines. As I am, in my way.

Therein lies the reason I write behind the bushes.

The militaristic legislators, the people with power, don't get "heart" unless it rides on a bullet. How would they ever comprehend that an opinion that differs from theirs can also be patriotic?

Remind me again, what does the Anthem say about tyranny?

Tea Bags

The US elections show how fickle trends are in the US, where sound bite deceits are more profound at changing minds than facts or reason.

The main gripe from voters, of course, is jobs. Also fueling the anger is a lot of financial pain, with people sitting on homes worth less than the mortgage, or retirement accounts worth about 70% of what they were worth in 2008. I think the Obama camp got roasted because Mr. President was ineffective at explaining how brutal the economic collapse was, and that fixing it was a long term deal. It is easy for corporations to fire people when they are in a panic survival mode, and they will add people back only when their root growth supports it.

That is not a short-term deal, and the response should have been couched in the beginning of the President's term as a "Five Year Plan". In other words, he should have clearly tempered expectations on the job front. But he did not, and he got a bat on the knees for the failing (thanks UP nn grad for the nice visuals that emerge in my mind with that description).

And I love that Fed, with money presses smoking, giving China a brickbat across the forehead.

Mr. Toad's wild ride.

Hey Doc, ya got any pills?

It has come to me of late, as I strain to recover from another bout of mystery illness, that the Doctors in the outlying reaches of the Philippines, or at least the male doctors that I have rummaged through to (fail to) find one I respect, are mainly bullshit artists and pill dispensers. I wish that just one would, upon hearing that I have a pain here or there, get out from behind his desk and actually place a hand on the painful area to see exactly where it is. He can poke and prod anywhere he likes, as I can assure you my former American doctors displayed no reticence about being thorough in the physical part of the physical. Let us say, I have been probed thoroughly, the most interesting being a bone marrow extraction to see why I evidently have water in my veins instead of red and white cells. Now this extraction is done via a 8 inch needle about a quarter of an inch thick which is ground through the hip bone to find the marrow. As the doctor cranked away, jamming it through the bone, he asked, "where do you work?"

"Uh, California Bank."

"Oh, they declined my request for a loan."

Perhaps it was just my imagination that he started cranking harder.

The routine in the Philippines is almost assembly line in its absence of thinking. Patient in. Hear complaint. Order a lab test or 25. Get the results. Concoct a diagnosis; it doesn't matter if it is right or wrong. Write up a prescription for at least 3 pills. Pay P250. Come back next month and pay again.

If I did what the doctors here said, I would be dining on chemicals, my guts full of capsules and pills and liquid medicines.

I get more information from the internet than from the bullshit artists who are, like so many hereabouts, mainly interested in preserving their egos, not caring for the patient. Dispensing a pill is not what medicine is about. It is about discovery.

I told my wife I want to see a woman doctor next time. Maybe they have more of a care-quotient. Maybe a woman is more inclined to search for medical truths.

Miners in a Tube

Like most, I am fascinated by the drama of getting 33 miners out of the ground through a tube. I am claustrophobic, and every time one of those dudes climbs into that can I get a severe case of heebie jeebies, and am sweating by the time they emerge 15 minutes later.

The aspect that amuses me is that everyone immediately thanks God, rather like a quarterback does if a pass reaches the end zone to win an important game. I think the thanks should be given to the Chilean government for barring no expense at ensuring a successful rescue, and to the US commercial animal, oft criticized, for incenting the kind of productive technology that allowed that huge drill to dig a half-mile through rock.

If God is to be thanked, it is for gifting us the brainpower to achieve.

Upward Bound . . . and a Bump

This morning in my half-sleep whilst sipping my strong Philippine coffee, Seven Flavors, if I get the translation correct, it struck me that I somehow feel more secure in the Philippines this year. It is nothing tangible, really. It is just a sense that the government is honorable rather than ruthless. It may not be competent, always. Who is? But it is not totalitarian and manipulative in the guise of sweet concern for the public, the sense I had of things under President Arroyo.

I also think President Aquino generally thinks about the well-being of the Philippines first, and his own gains second. That, too, is a reversal. It is inconsistent with how so many think here, where self-gain is all that matters. Principles like honor and integrity and compassion and generosity hold little stock. The "trade of favors" that underlies corruption in the Philippines is deeply and broadly rooted, and is essentially the foundation of self-dealing that undermines high-standing principles.

My wife and I were driving along a narrow road; we came upon a crowd of motorcycles, the owners of which were gathered at a cock-fight about 25 paces away. One of the motorcycles was parked in the road, blocking it. I honked. No one responded. My wife got out to try to get the attention of the owner. 50 guys turned and looked and someone told told her to move the motorbike. She is 4'9" and the bike was big, but she struggled to get it out of the road. Not one guy was gentleman enough to step over to help.

It is a frame of mind. You think of helping others, or you don't . . .