On May 2, much of the Twitterverse – and the free world – went abuzz and agog over the apparent death of Osama Bin Laden.  Save for the occasional reflexive online press releases on how social media had something to do with it, there was a somewhat glowing tinge of triumph, that the death of Osama meant a new dawn, a milestone, a very important moment that the “free world” (emphasis on the quotes) should celebrate.

There’s one less bad guy in the world, as the author Nicholas Sparks wrote on his Twitter account.  We can now be free from the clutches of a man who, in many ways, had the single most murderous and twisted interpretation and implementation of a sick and sadistic ideology that he can rightfully claim to be his own.  The war is over… or so we think.

There’s celebration in Washington, as there is co-celebration here in Manila.  It may “matter less” here, yet our familiarity with the pain and toll of terrorism should justify a reaction from these shores.  But there’s something unsettling about rejoicing about the death of enemies or even terrorists: not the earnest self-reflection that comes with the reality that Osama’s death isn’t “victory,” but a cold, hard reality of a protracted war.

Not that terrorists shouldn’t die in a War on Terror – this is, after all, a global purge against them – but it somehow reinforces the idea of “one man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter.”  There’s a sort of obvious juxtaposition: those who dance because Osama died do so at the expense of his supporters, who mourn for the death of an ideologue.  And the seeds of terrorism often grow from the nourishment brought on by emotions.

For all its military might, the United States can learn a lot from us here in the Philippines.  We’ve killed many terrorists of many different sorts in these islands: international terrorists, community terrorists, so-called terrorists.  Yet there was never a feeling of closure when a terrorist passes on, for terror – and the ideology that perpetuates terror – outlives guns, bombs, and terrorists.  Sure, there’s one less bad guy in the world, but that never meant having one less bad idea.

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In his 25-minute long tirade on national television, Willie Revillame somehow claimed a monopoly of practice in helping the poor.  Nina Terol-Zialcita rightly says that it is a diversionary tactic to shift the issue from abuse to class war, but at the same time, Ina Stuart-Santiago rightly says that in our criticism, we reveal our class.

Much has been said about the tasteless, vomit-inducing behavior of Willie, but I’d like to take up Willie’s gauntlet on class war.

Class distinctions may be easy to invoke, but the argument is extremely powerful.  The captive audience of Willing Willie is that segment of the Filipino population in dire need of emancipation from poverty.  But more than being denied of wealth – as Willie would trot, highlight, and underscore over and over again – they are denied of opportunity.

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BRB, busy, kthx

On issues not relevant to street children as it is to the blogiverse: the National Bloggers’ Association. Before reading this, I recommend first reading the thoughts of Carlo Ople, Jayvee Fernandez, Aileen Apolo, Manuel Viloria, Regnard Raquedan, and Juned Sonido on the matter.

Some eight-nine years ago, I became part of this community by signing up for a blog. I’ve seen many blogs come and go, many bloggers go and grow. I’ve seen bloggers get rich, I’ve seen bloggers get awesome jobs. For me, blogging helped me grow up: the stories and messages I read in the blogosphere helped me mature. Blogging helped me cope with the storms in my head: it gave me an outlet where I can be heard.

I didn’t need the formalities of an association to do that, I just blogged. Like thousands of others in the blogosphere today, blogging has always been something personal to me.

I’ll be the last person to tell any blogger in the Philippines not to participate in an association of their choice, or to form one. Now I may not agree with the idea of a National Bloggers’ Association, but Janette Toral and Tonyo – or anyone else for that matter – are free to do that.  I am absolutely sure that those who support this cause have good intentions. Though I’m not going to join one, or create one of my own, at the end of the day my blog – my voice, my writing, my opinions – will be represented by this association, should it be formed.

That, to me, is the problem.

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I’m not entirely sure if my two cents would bring something meaningful to the growing online literature – supportive, critical, and outright seething – on Jim Paredes’ less-than-flattering opinions about “armchair revolutionaries on Facebook and Twitter” – a must-read is Ina Stuart-Santiago’s piece on the matter, but nevertheless, I’d like to contribute to it.

I like that word, “revolution.”  I like that phrase, “Viva la Revolución.”  It rolls off the tongue with a heroic note.  It makes saliva taste like triumph.  It speaks of something grand, noble, important, and meaningful.  It turns things upside-down over its head, reverses the cycle, and changes things for the betterment of human society.  It is something so fundamental, so organized, so close to the core of what makes our society.  Yet even that isn’t above the kitschy candor of marketing: everything is a revolution nowadays.  Everyone is a revolutionary nowadays.

It’s trendy to be part of a revolution.  So much so, that we have appropriated the grand gesture of revolution to our more droll and ordinary pursuits.  I drink very revolutionary water from a revolutionary mug, as much as this post is part of a revolution.

This post is not revolutionary.  I am not a revolutionary.

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If we take former Sec. Angelo Reyes’ death along sociological lines, his alleged suicide was anomic.

The death, as things seem now, was characterized by moral confusion, emotional perturbation, social dissonance.  When you’re in the middle of a corruption scandal that reaches the upper echelons of government and the military, those descriptions are themselves inadequate.  It would be, as how Dostoyevsky termed it, a deep-seated feeling of toska: that someone so powerful, someone who built his career by the spirit of military integrity, would fall dead by his own hand.

Whatever reason forced Reyes to die allegedly by his hand is something we leave respectfully and with much reverence and deference to his memory.  What he left in the way of testimony and public interest, however, is something we should not leave in peace.  Justice should never be obscured by the veil of mourning.

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