Thursday, May 29, 2008

Busal

It all started with my mistake of thinking that the death of a certain activist just two days ago when it fact two years have already passed since it happened. I was just about to skim through a blog site of a certain local newspaper in order to assess if I could apply to them as a writer or at least as a contributor (money matters you know). I just don’t why I overlooked it. But it’s pretty much the same: late days of the month of May. Although I’m not the type of person who would allude such experience to something supernatural or spiritual, there’s still a germ of thinking in me that perhaps, that mistake was allowed to happen on purpose. For what, I am yet to find out.

And since I have already saved a number of related stories and websites about it, I continued anyway reading through the murder of this particular man. (I choose not to discuss the facts surrounding the incident for some personal reasons). Despite being connected the church works and community services he was not spared from being yet another victim of what they term as…well…politically-motivated stuff, I know dear reader that you would know what that means.

It is just now that I feel the mixture of the blood of those who have died in the streets, in the rice fields and haciendas for fighting for their rights, for fellow Filipinos’ rights; the angry shouts of the thousands taongbayan, students, workers who have rallied in the streets, schools and universities to voice out the oppressions they experience, justice for the unfair things done to them; the unnerving sounds of the bats, shields, and placards hammering on each other, on the familiar riot scenes where the authorities and the common tao clash when differences between them are not negotiated well; the cries of pain of those who have lost their loved ones who have chosen to fight and express their dismay in the way things are governed, wetting the coffins with their tears hoping that love can still bring them together as one. And add to that the other thousand cries of suffering due to hunger, poverty, hopelessness, disappointments, and rage for having found themselves in a country where most of the time, those who are in the pedestal gets the best of life while those who are trapped below – like in the infamous lower deck of the Bapor Tabo in Rizal’s novel – are just waiting for their own deaths.

Coldness, I believe, is what one would feel upon realizing such a thing. It’s like having a serial killer in your house. In our present situation, the saddest fact is that we are upholding the dirty and ugly business of crab mentality. And there is something more disgusting than that. Filipinos enjoy ‘killing’ (metaphorically used here) their fellow Filipinos.

My initial reaction was fear which turned into a huge disappointment and then to a bitter resolve to take a part in making things in the country more than just a better one. And I know there are more than a million ways into making it come true, aside from rallying out in the streets. Not that I detest those things. I’ve been there once or twice. Perhaps we could use our own industries, our owe careers, in contributing to the betterment of the Philippines. And most importantly, vote for the most deserving leaders. So that we don’t have to deal with the buwayas, or with whatever there are in the public offices. This thing can’t be that easy of course. Let us just be more vigilant I think when dealing with those supposedly public servants.

And finally, I realize that the deaths of those who struggled directly with the “p.monsters” are but just testaments of the ceaseless courage of the Filipino people in fighting what is right for them, that one cannot forcibly put a gag – a busal – into the mouths of the Filipinos, wherever they are. History has been one of the greatest recorders of those things. And I have this in me so that I may not stray far away and get distracted by other things not unrelated to our national progress. Being nationalistic to large extent is not a corny and is never a boring thing.

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