Evil

I don’t mind if Romulo Neri confirms or denies that he called Gloria Arroyo “evil.”  At this point, annotations on GMA’s morality are irrelevant.  In fact, almost every opinion on GMA being embroiled in the biggest scandal to rock the country is rendered irrelevant: it seems to me that people just don’t care anymore.

Apathy is evil.  If by now you still have nothing to say about the NBN-ZTE fiasco… connect the dots.

Benny Areola, a TV personality here in Baguio City, says, “Evil triumphs if good people do nothing.”  This is exactly what Mr. Neri did: he did absolutely nothing to confirm or deny a hand in the NBN-ZTE deal.  Right now, Mr. Neri’s possible testimony is all that stands between Lozada’s word and justice.

I would, like John Nery in today’s issue of PDI, hazard to guess why Mr. Neri refuses to talk about the NBN deal: it’s because Mr. Neri is a man with nothing to gain, and everything to lose, if he speaks out against the President.  Mr. Neri’s silence over the issue is something I could understand: had he done things like his friend Jun Lozada, he would have faced the very grim possibility of being kicked out of Administration circles, effectively losing his job in the process.

While Sen. Alan Cayetano could get away with his rather showbiz-zy ad-libbing in the NBN-ZTE hearings, Mr. Neri cannot: without a job, without political clout, and his name being dragged along the proverbial septic tank of corruption, saying anything at all about the NBN-ZTE deal will probably spell doom.  John Nery is right: among many Malacañang insiders, Mr. Neri is considered the “weakest link.”  Silence, right now, is golden.

But if Mr. Neri rises up to say something – anything at all – to clarify the NBN-ZTE issue, then he should do so the soonest.  I can’t say I will support whatever he says, but right now, that’s one thing we all need.

Evil triumphs if people – in this case Romulo Neri – do nothing.

Village Whores and Multiple Roles

I was reading a friend’s Friendster blog when I came across an entry on “competing role conflicts.” Multiple roles are an important aspect of modern society: we all have to go through about a dozen roles every day. At the very moment that I’m writing this blog entry, I am going through six roles:

  1. Man
  2. Blogger
  3. Young adult
  4. Filipino citizen
  5. Computer shop customer
  6. Anthropologist-in-passing

At any given day, this short list of roles expands to a larger set of roles: taxpayer, employee, passenger, pedestrian, commuter, son, uncle, godfather, cousin, and so on and so forth. I may have six roles at this very moment, but I would add to to that whenever I feel like smoking a cigarette (smoker) or whenever I feel like running in place and quack like a duck while prophesizing the Apocalypse (lunatic).

Among premodern societies, there’s such a role as a “village whore:” the community’s resident sex slave. The village whore’s tent is on the far edge of the hamlet, where her only job is to pleasure the menfolk either in ritual ceremony (like rites of passage), or just for the libidinal desires of a man looking for some action. Yet even a role as low and base as the communal prostitute is not exempt from multiple roles: the village whore is the community’s taboo, the tribe’s pariah, is afflicted with sexually-transmitted diseases. She also happens to be a woman.

While we won’t be voting for whores anytime in 2010 (although I beg to differ, if by “whore” we mean a more general term), my small example of the multiple roles of a village whore can be exponentially increased in modern life. In Republic, Plato abhors the idea of multiple roles, at least from the perspective of an auxiliary becoming a philosopher-king, or of a shoemaker (an artisan) expected to defend the State.

Why that didn’t happen, I do not know.

Kalokohan

   I have no qualms with people like former Rep. Prospero Pichay, who is a staunch defender of the President.  Just as well, I hope that they understand people like me who grind axes against the President.  But what really bugged me today is that Mr. Pichay, in a press conference broadcast over NBN this afternoon, said that we should even be “thankful” that President Arroyo cancelled the NBN-ZTE deal: to him, the deal never happened in the first place.

   While I agree that the government should focus on “more important things,” NBN-ZTE falls under that general category.  While government officials can vehemently deny the existence of meetings and talks with one Jun Lozada, they really can’t deny that NBN-ZTE existed.  That is plain and simple kalokohan: a sick joke.  This is not the time to sing praises to Gloria Arroyo for having very few words to say about NBN-ZTE.

   GMA’s silence on the NBN-ZTE fiasco bothers me: to be honest, it is nothing short of kalokohan.  Silence may be golden, but the last person I expect to keep mum on the NBN-ZTE issue is the President herself.  If my memory serves me right, the National Broadband Network was her pet project a couple of SONA’s ago.  She, along with First Gentleman Mike Arroyo, seems to be the common denominator to the story, taking the testimonies of Lozada and Joey de Venecia into consideration.  In most other places, we would have let go of Lozada by now and we would invite the President over for an idle chit-chat in the Senate, or perhaps sent her a subpoena.

   Kalokohan, that the Senate didn’t even think of doing that.  Plain and simple kalokohan.

Camera Lucida

   I had extremely good reasons to beg my parents to buy me a new phone.  When I was in Ortigas, my seven-year-old Nokia 3310 had problems with receiving calls and sending messages.  I offered to pay them back when I can, as long as I have a phone suitable for my needs.

   Because I’m an idiot when it comes to mobile technology, I laid out my specs: my phone must store music, it must have one helluva powerful battery, and it must not have a built-in camera.  My sister, the resident expert in mobile phones, said that such a phone doesn’t exist: whether I like it or not, I have to have a camera in my phone.

   So my mom called me up awhile ago to say that until such time that I can pay them back, I am now the proud new owner of a camera phone.  Which basically means that like many camera phone owners, I will be taking pictures of myself in every conceivable park and comfort room in the country, and post the images on my Friendster account.

The Seven-Minute Hobby

   We all engage in rather strange, inane hobbies.  Girls don’t understand why boys spend hours playing online RPGs, boys don’t understand why girls spend so much time at Marcella buying barettes.  Men have sticky handkerchiefs, and women have those handy neck massagers at the back of their underwear drawers.  But gender aside, the oddest hobby of them all has to be smoking.

   It takes me two pesos and seven minutes to smoke a cigarette, which robs me blind of two pesos and seven minutes off my life.  Like many smokers, I have lost touch with my seven-minute hobby: I don’t know, and I don’t care for, why I smoke.  All I know is that a cigarette is a good way to kill seven minutes.

   As a hobby, smoking is extremely strange and completely inane.  Drug addicts can justify snorting cocaine: family problems, personal setbacks, depressive episodes.  Nymphomaniacs can blame their perverted sexual behaviors because they have hyperactive strata in their id complexes.  Smokers don’t… no wait, smokers can’t.

   Some smokers give all sorts of reasons for smoking, and to be honest, I don’t buy into them.  Flavor-wise, cigarettes are extremely unappealing: there is no “flavor” to speak of when it comes to sucking a burning rope.  We smokers have diminished oxygen capacities, which means that we easily get tired.  The myriad health problems associated with smoking makes tobacco a biological weapon in itself.  More people have died from cigarette smoking than from World War II.

   But for every reason that there is to stop smoking, there is no good reason to continue smoking.  The only problem is that I can’t quit just yet.  I could care less.

Exit, Stage Left

   Yesterday, my good friend Bernard threw a despedida bash, before he heads off to Singapore.  Just this morning, my good friend Nash texted me to say that it’s her last day in the Philippines before she moves to Canada.  For the first time in my life, I felt all choked up: in a few short days, even I would have to say goodbye to people close to me.

   It doesn’t have to be this way: had I not been confronted with the realities of life, I would have absolutely no reason to say out loud my least-favorite word in the English language.  Every goodbye is a life-changing experience that requires you to start over.

   And over.  For every “goodbye” you make, you have to say “hello” to at least ten other people.