Private Sector Disaster Relief: Altruism and Business Do Mix

I was in Iloilo City when Typhoon Yolanda/Haiyan hit, but the city itself had been spared. Not so the surrounding municipalities, some of which are just an hour’s drive away.

A few days later I was at the Iloilo Sports Complex packing used clothes and canned food into boxes as part of our company’s relief drive. One of my co-workers cracked that he would stick his picture on one of the boxes. This was a reference of how some politicians were distributing relief goods with their mugs plastered on the packaging or grinning out of streamers at the distribution site, and how these brazen heavy-handed attempts at self-aggrandizement were drawing the ire of the denizens of social media.

This made me think of the relief efforts of both government and private companies. To be sure, the Department of Social Welfare and Development did the best they could, but they were hindered by a system riddled with poor infrastructure and politics.

Then I read of the efforts of the MVP Group of Companies for Yolanda victims. When I was stationed in Manila many years ago I volunteered for one of their relief efforts as a favour to a friend. I am certain that Manny Pangilinan’s face did not appear in any of the relief packages. And why should it? Unlike with politicians, there would be no point.

I brought this up with someone, whose only response was to sneer that big companies use this as a tax write-off. Well, if it gets help to disaster victims, I have no argument with that.

But is Corporate Social Responsibility motivated by pure altruism?

The private sector certainly seeks to improve its corporate image, motivate and retain employees and break into new markets, states a study by IRIN. The same study also says that companies regard disaster risk reduction as an investment essential for the business community.

So there you have it. But the most important questions is this: Is that so terrible?

The problem is that we see any gains by corporations as nefarious activities by blood-sucking, greedy, grasping, money-grubbing capitalists. As a Third-World country, this old chestnut is further inflamed by our entertainment media which inevitably features that cliché of the Wicked Rich villain cackling behind a wall of goons.

The plain truth is that companies need to benefit if they are going to survive. Former US President Bill Clinton said: “We want healthy companies because only they can invest in our communities.”

 If a company goes under, they won’t be much help to the community during times of normalcy, let alone disaster.

Ask yourself: Is ANYTHING motivated by pure altruism? When you dropped P50 into the collection box, did it make you feel good. Some may have done it to gain favors or to assuage a feeling of guilt. We are doing it to serve our own needs, too. Why should companies be exempted? Whether it is a poor widow dropping a copper into the poor box or a major corporation donating a planeload of goods to a storm-stricken people, everyone benefits from helping people out.

The Price of Being the Good Son

The event was a minor one, the circumstances of little significance. Though it happened when I was in high school I remember all the details. I was at a stamp exhibition at Broadway Centrum. It was starting to get dark so I called home to tell my parents that I would be late for dinner. (This was before there were any cellphones.)

That pretty much characterized my  youth. I was Lawful Good, following all the rules as my parents, school and media preached. When one of my siblings erred in their responsibilities, my parents used me as an example of behavior appropriate for a son.

Then the inevitable happened: I got a life. In college I attended more parties and went out drinking with friends. Naturally, by that time I was 'too old' to report when I'd be coming in late. And my parents hammered the guilt trip into me.

And yes, I was guilty: I was guilty of setting unrealistic expectations. They expected me to be the Sonny Boy as long as they were alive. I now regretted that I wasn't a bit more of a jerk back then. Maybe then they would have resigned themselves to 'boys will be boys'.

But alas, loyalty and obedience to family was too deeply ingrained in me. When my father started to get older, he made it clear that he expected me to carry on the business. This, again, was natural. My siblings had chosen to work elsewhere, some moving abroad. I tried teaching at a speech center, but as my father made clear, this was only to be a sideline.

Let me hasten to add that my parents were far from dictatorial. It was my decision to be my father's successor. I could have easily worked as a permanent teacher at some school, but again filial piety made me ride in to the rescue of a business of two generations that could not die.

The result was an unmitigated disaster. The job carried a lot of responsibility, and I possessed none of the aptitude or temperament needed. I continued to slack off until the business nearly went under.

I ended up leaving the business and moving to Iloilo. My brother who handled the Iloilo side of the business took over the Manila main office as well.

Now when everybody was assuming that I was reflecting on my sins, what I was really tossing about in my head was that I was too dependent on letting my parents pronounce what was best for me. I had been a total schmuck to not consider the possibility that my talents lay elsewhere, simply too lazy to look for a different job just because there was one already waiting on a silver platter.

I had always been a lazy weakling, letting others do my thinking for me even though my intelligence was something others said they admired, and not bothering to speak up for myself. (Some would say 'rebel'.) I remember how part of my dad's grooming process was to insist I dress like he did: short sleeved polo shirts, dark gabardine pants and leather shoes. (He would drag me along to shop for these.) When I asked if I could get a long-sleeved shirt he actually got irritated.

Today, I am fortunate to have found my niche, even though I am still paying for my past sins. But now I have learned that if I ever have a child of my own, I will certainly instill discipline in him or her. (As my work mates will attest, I can be a pain of a stickler sometimes.) But I will certainly make sure that he grows up with some guts, to speak out without being insolent. That will mean constant communication with him without badgering him. I will respect his privacy if only because my own are constantly being violated. In short, I will make him WANT to work with me.

Not too long ago, I had to deal with an infuriating person who was lazy, deceitful and totally lacking in personality. Now I realize that my disgust was because I was seeing myself in that individual.

But I will make sure that I will not see that in my child. Because then, he or she will truly be A Good Child.   

  

The Measure of Heroism

Although the recent earthquake was felt here in Iloilo, I was mobile at the time, and a jeepney ride can rival the San Francisco quake of 1906. I only knew something was up when I saw crowds standing outside the different buildings I passed.

In the days that followed I read and listened to the various reports of the horrendous damage in Bohol and Cebu. On the one hand, I felt blessed to have escaped harm. But there was another, less savory feeling overcoming me: One of impotence. I would read how various private organizations like Tulong Kapatid would send relief missions to the hard-hit areas. And here I was, stuck in Iloilo. With every aftershock we felt, my desire to join Kapatid's army grew. Had circumstances been different, I would have tapped into my amassed Vacation Leave credits and enlisted. But alas, I was unable to leave Iloilo, and I literally had no money to spare.

This made me think how a disaster can create the feeling of helplessness on so many levels. Primary of this, of course, are the victims themselves, sheltering inside ruins that may come down on them any time. Then there are the frenzied workers of Tulong Kapatid forever worrying that they may not be moving fast enough, chomping at the bit whenever they got held up not just by earthquake damage but the sorry condition of our infrastructure. Lastly are people who want to lend a hand but are manacled in place for various reasons and have no resources to spare. I fantasized helping the Philex miners by lugging whatever cleared rubble I could carry, or lending my more than passable cooking skills at the soup kitchen. I would be the compassionate yet stone-faced monitor maintaining iron discipline to make sure the desperate crowd didn't rush the call stations set up by Smart Communications. Hell, I'd even lug cables for Meralco or maybe PLDT's plastic bags of relief goods and Maynilad's water to and from a 'choppa' or maybe up and down a gangplank, ignoring the pleas of my compatriots to take it easy, or I might have a heart attack.

(Yes, I admit it's not all altruism. I just love shattering people's expectations that I am a frail, slow moving old fart with my agility, stamina and quick thinking and coolness under fire - I hoped. I pride myself in never crying AY!! when surprised.)

I envy those relief workers and wish I could have joined them. They must be so proud of themselves. But something tells me that they would be so overcome by the tragedy around them that they would have no time to feel pride.

Yes, I would leave my cushy work station and get down and dirty, like these heroes. This is when I came to the conclusion that the measure of heroism is how badly ordinary people want to emulate someone.

The Making of a Grammar Nazi

"WITH!!!"

Heads turned at my outburst, but I was used to it. After three years in customer service, my ears still curled when I would hear a phone representative say: Is there anything else I can help you? Like hunting for the lost piece in a nearly-completed 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, I found it excruciating not to supply that last word aloud.

(Of course, since I didn't even know the perpetrators of this gaffe, I could not very well march up to them and bellow in their ear holes. Yet I find it fun to be able to express my outrage even if they have no idea what's up with me this time.)

But there was a time I was able to correct teammates. That led one to ask me how I had become so fanatical about getting the correct grammar, syntax, pronunciation, etc. (We worked for a US-Based client.) I would just tell them it was the English teacher in me (which I had been at one time). Little did they know the dark secret I harbored.

The truth is, my applications at English tutorial centers for Korean students and at the Speech Training departments of the previous call centers where I worked had been continually rejected. Apparently, I was the wrong age. (The tutorial centers minced no words revealing this. Not surprising, since many of them are little more than friendship clubs at best and escort services at worst.) It was the old prejudice against older employees.

But what really ground my gears was that the very people who rejected me - the Filipino interviewers at the tutorial centers and the speech department heads and trainers at my previous call centers - were themselves guilty of multiple counts of Pinoy English. This is the brand of English (grammar, pronunciation, syntax, context and what have you) that many here have come to regard as the standard. The help you with example is one such. To be fair (note that I don't say In fairness or even worse Infairness) my interviewers did not say that, but they did commit such atrocities like taken cared of and the unnecessary article, as in That's a good news. They are so convinced that this is correct because 'everybody' is doing it.

(Apparently, the entire population of the Philippines represents 'everybody', and never mind that we comprise just 1.37%  of the world population.)

So these young punks who feel I'm not good enough to be a speech instructor feel justified saying in-TER-val instead of  IN-ter-val and As what I have said instead of As I've said.

Thus I go into a frenzy whenever I hear this Fag English, and correct it every chance I get. Rightly or wrongly, it's my way of vicariously rubbing their noses in the shit that they are full of.

(Lest I be accused of gay-bashing, let me say that Fag English is committed by people of any gender or sexual orientation. I came up with this name because I associate it with loud, shallow, pretentious and showbiz-obsessed aforementioned young punks, which I call fags, faggots or gaffots. See also my article: Dulling the Gay Blade. I guess that it was loud was the main reason I have come to connect it with these types.)

It is ironic that both the historical Nazis and this Grammar /Syntax/Pronunciation/American English Nazi were products of perceived injustices committed against them.

SOCIAL MEDIA DAY FOR THE CLUELESS

There’s an old writer’s axiom that goes: Write what you know. But I’ve been doing that so long it got boring (Translation: I don’t know much), so I decided to try writing on a subject where I am a relative noob. That opportunity presented itself in Social Media Day in Iloilo. Not only am I technologically retarded, but my first exposure to social media was when I wrote a letter to a newspaper editor on a typewriter and sent it by snail mail. My equivalent of Facebook was scrawling messages on washroom walls at school.

This year’s SM Day (using hashtag #fwdPH our hosts pointed out repeatedly) took place on June 30^th in a pizza restaurant open on two sides. Next to the Central Philippines University, it was your typical student hangout. In fact, most of the audience consisted of that group. Social Media Day began in 2010 to ‘recognize the digital revolution happening before our eyes’. (Mashable)

Proceedings began (only 30 minutes late, a positive sign hereabouts) with Community Manager Yen de Felipe introducing the Google Business Group, the first in Iloilo.

The GBG is mainly a community of business people who are passionate about Google products and continually do networking on it with the rest of the group. But don’t let the word ‘business’ scare you. It is open to everyone, and is free. There’s no sales pitch, and if you’re a non-techie like I am, you’d be welcome, because discussion is strictly non-technical. (Tech discussions are on another Google forum.)

So how do I sign up? Well, as soon as I registered for the event by giving my email address, I joined GBG.

The next speaker was Franz Sarmiento of Bacolod, one of 19 Google ‘student ambassadors’ in the country. Just as I was wondering about the perks of Google products now that  GBG had drafted me, Franz answered my question. After a brief demo on the traditional use of Google Maps (finding his way from the pier to SM City), he revealed how Google Maps was integrated with Google Plus by locating branches of a famous chicken house in Iloilo, then linking it to his Google+ account. That way he was able to check out all the reviews of this restaurant by other members of the G+ community as well as writing his own. (Clicking on the restaurant’s +1 button is G+’s version of a Facebook Like, he tells us.) Now anyone interested in that restaurant will be able to read your reviews. And it goes beyond food reviews, of course. You can post your rants on any topic available. He also sent a Check this out message of a restaurant to a friend. 

So what does Google Plus have that Facebook doesn’t? Well, seeing as how Facebook helps you connect with people you already know, the downside is that like any normal interaction with friends, clutter tends to build up. Thus we often see our Facebook page littered with selfies, duckfaces, Instagram food, posts that inexplicably over-use the word Mode, posts describing every bodily function, and so on. In short, stuff that makes you want to scream: “Who the eff cares???!” Few are willing to wade through this garbage to see if anyone out there has similar Likes. Google Plus, on the other hand, concentrates on just your interests and more importantly, draws other people – friends or not - with similar interests: It connects you with people you want to know. It also has a feature to filter out the – uh – over-enthusiastic users.

Finally, keeping in mind that social media’s role is for social responsibility and social good, Franz showed how Google Plus’ Crisis Response Team was used to locate shelters during Typhoon Pablo. Other features shown us were Storm Signal Indicator and Precinct Finder for election periods.

Our break consisted of a viewing of an Illongo gag video that went viral in 2007: Benjo kag Ang Batalyon Pitbull, a redubbed scene from the movie ‘Troy’ (helped along with free Lourlour pizza and their filling thick soup – shame I didn’t get my Tag Your Tea drink). Yen pointed out that the video’s creator had revealed that he didn’t even have a script at the time, showing how even something so slapdash can have wide appeal on social media.

Next up was Prim Paypon, who – living up to his name – is loathe to follow anyone who continually posts selfies and other detritus. (I can relate). He spoke on The Dream Project: When Social Media Makes a Dream Come True. He reminded us that in the distant past (my time) kids would answer the question: What would you like to be when you grow up? with the traditional responses: Doctor, lawyer, etc. But with each succeeding generation the answers became more diverse like mathematician, president, beautiful  etc. (I’m not making this up).

The Dream Project, then, was established to make these dreams come true. It has its origin right after Typhoon Pedring when pictures of the catastrophe went online. The project almost withered on the vine when after more than a week, no response was forthcoming. Then on the tenth day a Swiss NGO informed them that they were willing to donate a large amount ‘no questions asked’.

That windfall gave heart to the project organizers who used social media to reach out to schoolchildren across the country, organizing Dream Workshops to get these 3^rd and 4^th Year High School students to acknowledge their dreams, and then to nurture in them a fire and the know-how to chase after these dreams.

It is shocking, Prim disclosed, that Filipinos who made it big abroad are barely known in their own country, so part of the project sought to inspire these children with these heroes who – like them - started with nothing and turned it into something wondrous, like Reese Ruiz who is literally a rags-to-riches success story where she was able to transform our lowly ‘trapo’ into high fashion.

       

(One of the success stories, Eric Divinagracia, founder of The Little Theater, had dropped in unexpectedly and was good enough to share an impromptu speech.)

After a series of quickie talks given by a diverse group of speakers (from a gym instructor to an advocate of using SM for long-distance courtship) the session wrapped up.

Today’s seminar proved an old adage that there is no such thing as a boring subject. If the speaker has enough passion and the skill to relate to their audience, then any topic is enjoyable, as this one undoubtedly was (even if they rarely touched on Facebook and YouTube). The speakers call themselves ‘evangelists’ but unlike their cosmic counterparts, they did not proselytize on the strength of blind faith alone, but answered the question: What’s in it for me?

I began writing this right after I set up my Google Plus account. I was also heartened to hear that many wanted to join the Dream Project. (Pity that as of this writing, they generally take only volunteers from Bacolod to prevent dilettantes.) One can only – uh – dream they open an Iloilo branch.

(From L to R: Yen de Felipe, Prim Paypon and Franz Sarmiento)

Kudos to the speakers and organizers of Iloilo’s Social Media day. You’ve inspired us to see the true role of Social Media for the betterment of our society.   

Denizens of the Jeep

In the old days the first thing one did when boarding a jeepney was to pay the driver. Today, as soon as one’s behind touches the seat, we start texting. For most people, the entire trip consists of that single activity. This is a shame because there are some interesting sights in your fellow passengers.

Interesting and sometimes damned irritating.

I have attempted to categorize them and when possible, share what steps I take. I stress this is what I would do. I do not necessarily recommend it for everyone. You will need a special brand of douchebaggery to follow through with some of these steps.

The Walking Deadma: This is the one who ignores you when you ask him/her to pass your fare to the driver. If the person is elderly, they probably figure they’re exempted. If it is a woman, it may be their long hair blocks their peripheral vision. But most of the time the person is just lost in his/her little world.

If the WD is texting, I shove my hand holding the fare in front of the cellphone screen.

If the person has simply zoned out or feels it beneath him/her to pass your fare, I ‘accidentally’ nudge them.

(When I'm in a nasty mood I call out: Yo! Walking Dead!)

The Tukô: For one of my size, entering or leaving a jeepney is like crawling through a sewer pipe. I have to bend over almost double, and to keep my balance, I have to slide my hand on the handrail as I move along. But even if the vehicle is at a full stop, the Tukô passenger will continue to hang on to the rail with a death grip, blocking your progress, even when your hand is already squeezing their fingers. Short of bellowing ‘Let go, goddamit’ in their ear hole, you can only hope the sound of their fingers cracking will penetrate the fog around their brains.

 The Space Hog: The Hog is the one who continues to sits at a 45-degree angle, taking up two spaces, even when the jeepney is starting to fill up. Personally, I find it more uncomfortable to twist around and plant my elbow on the window frame just to be able to stare out the window. (The SH, by virtue of his/her position, sometimes turns into a Walking Deadma, too.) This is where my size – or more accurately -  mass, comes in handy. When a passenger boards, and the Space Hog remains immobile, I make space for the new passenger by hurtling myself sideways at the Hog, compressing them into the space entitled them. (This also works with Manspreaders.)

Leadbottom: Maybe it's just me, but I prefer to sit near the exit. That way I can disembark with less difficulty. But if the jeep is full, I don't always have that luxury. However, as more passengers alight, more and more space is available. Unfortunately, sometimes the person beside me nearer to the exit won't skooch over to the vacancies left. If I nudge them they creep iceberg-like maybe a few inches. There's not much that can be done about this other than to stand (relatively speaking) and creep over to the seat near the exit. If you're in a particularly nasty mood you can mutter an audible bigat puwet on the way there.

The Sadako: They are the women (and men) with long flowing tresses that blow into my face as the jeep rolls. While it is tempting to whip out a pair of scissors (or a lighter), the most one can do is make annoyed, spitting noises until they get it. And if they don't, whenever a hair touches my face I slap the point of contact, usually my cheek. This has the effect of trapping one or more hairs, whereupon you twist your head in the opposite direction sharply to deliver that firm tug on their hair. That will certainly get their attention. Rub your face a few times to impress upon them that you are the aggrieved party. That is a sure way to get them to tuck their hair in, if not out of courtesy, then out of a fear that they will be plucked bald.

The Buffalo: An able-bodied passenger who shoves past the elderly and the pregnant so he can board first. If I am one of those boarding I block the mofo and motion the disadvantaged forward. (The Buffalo is not normally agressive and will simply put on the usual 'I didn't notice' nonchalance.) If I am on board and seated at the rear I block him also from my seat.

Ninja Turtles: They have humongous backpacks which they don't remove on boarding. Either the thing smashes into you or it takes up additional space as they assume the Space Hog position. (see above). I just shoulder the blasted thing like I do with the Space Hog.

The Human Barricade: They try to board the jeepney even though you are clearly getting off. Did you know that if you angle your head just right, a headbutt won't hurt so much? (Not your head, anyway.)

The Ghost Rider: No roster of irritating jeepney habitues would be complete without mention of the Ghost Rider, the jeepney driver who seems to have a head made entirely of bone. Aside from being invariably as deaf as a fencepost from his roaring diesel engine so he doesn't hear passengers asking him  to pull over, he either cruises easily along like a carnival float trawling for passengers (and ignoring what's in front of him), races along bumpy roads as though his passengers were a cargo of gravel, or he forgets that he has a rear-view mirror, causing him to make the jeepney jerk forward when a passenger is getting off or when one is about to board. Not much you can do here but flip him the bird when you're at a safe distance.

After reading this, I note with frustration that most of these 'me first' types share the same characteristic. In fact, it is the same characteristic shared by many people I have encountered on and off the road. How did we Filipinos, once the paragon of charity and solicitude, suddenly transform into inconsiderate, self-absorbed boors? Does this stem from our people’s state of resigned futility, of poverty, of hunger that deadens the mind? I leave that to the sociologists and psychologists. Whatever it is, it’s gotten worse with cellphones and portable music players.

This brings to mind an old joke: What do you call a person who gets run over by a pison (steamroller)?

Tanga.   

(Thanks to Jackjack C. for her jeepney war stories that made me realize it's worse than I thought.) 

Suffering In 'Silence'

Are right and wrong absolute, or is it relative to a) who is committing the act, or b) who is adversely affected by it?

Imagine this now: You are upset because some company has screwed you royally out of what is rightfully yours. (So it feels to you.) So you ring them up and complain to the customer service rep. As you are detailing your grievances you hear someone laughing like a hyena in the background. (This is not a cliche; this guy's laugh really does sound like the beast.) Now as that customer, would you take this company seriously? You might, if you could make out what the rep was telling you, but now there is squealing and hooting on the other end that sounds like something out of an American Idol audience. Would this improve your already boiling-point temper?

This is what I have to deal with at work as that rep. Our company values team morale very highly (as they should), awarding prizes to top performers. Understandably, there is much rejoicing when the winners are announced. Unfortunately, said jollity takes place while other reps are still taking calls.

(Worse, there seems to be some sort of custom that when one group of reps applauds, the entire floor feels the need to participate, not so much out of  camaraderie, but more to relieve the boredom. It wouldn't be so bad if this was mere clapping, but many feel it necessary to smack their palms together as hard as possible like they were hailing a ride.)

So why not tell 'em to shut the hell up, I can barely hear the profanity this customer is hurling at me? In truth, I did that once. The silence lasted until the end of the day, but the next day, it was back to normal.

Bring this up to management? Well, there are two things wrong with that. First, I fear that I will simply come across as the grouchy old fart who wants to spoil everyone's fun. Secondly, the team leaders (who you'd think would know better) are often in the middle of the tumult, contributing to the squealing, guffawing and yelling. We have a Manager who tells reps to quiet down, but she herself cackles madly and yells at us in this palengkera shriek.

So going back to the original question: Is professionalism at the workplace relative? Does it matter if it is the professionalism of a 25-year-old supervisor or a grunt representative?

My job performance relies on the evaluation of out Quality Assurance department. Well, what if one day other agents suddenly gets tired of the perpetually complaining curmudgeon and takes his QA auditor aside for a few words?. I'm just saying.

So am I the only one affected by all this? I think not. One other agent told me she was glad I yelled out. She had wanted to do the same herself when her customer complained about the racket.  So I'm certain there are others too who choose to say nothing, either because out of pakikisama or because they see that their superiors are involved, and that their job security may be imperiled.

(In my last job, there was a rumor - just that - going around that there were such 'assassins' in QA.)

It is my belief that the Pinoy employee has no concept of 'inside voice'. I've had many a customer complain about the noise. That is the point I hit the 'Mute' button and holler at those concerned. I imagine other agents just rattle off the formulaic and insincere: I do apologize for that.

Yes, it's more fun in the Philippines. Even when one should be getting serious work done.

Vox populi indeed.

Under New Management?

In our disaster-prone nation, it's safe to say that the average Filipino has at least a passing familiarity on how to respond to a catastrophe. So see if you know the answer to this question.

There is a sudden natural disaster at your place of business, and lives may have been lost. Do you a) Inform the proper government agencies immediately; b) call on every available assistance to begin rescue operations, or c) prohibit media, government agencies and rescue teams from entering the disaster site for several hours?

If you answered a or b, then you do know what to do. But if you answered c then you might like to consider applying at the Energy Development Corporation (EDC), because this is exactly what their Mahiao power plant did after the landslide of March 1, 2013.

The death toll stands now at 15, yet the Aquino government is strangely silent. Considering that this is the season for grandstanding, this silence is even more telling. Yet just a few days ago the Senate called a hearing to investigate the Philex Mining tailings spill, an accident that happened almost a year ago and was hashed over repeatedly. Why are our politicians so vocal over old news but mum over this latest mishap?

Why are our officials, who utter the line there will be an investigation so often it's become a cliche, suddenly non-committal about the fact that the Department of Environment and Natural Resources and the Department of Energy gave the go-ahead for EDC to operate despite DENR's very own Mines and Geosciences Bureau stating that the ground surrounding the site was unstable, especially after heavy rains? What charm did the Lopezes (owners of EDC) cast to escape scrutiny despite heavy-handed moves that only delayed rescue and investigation?

And speaking of old news, what of the Lopez's Makati West Tower and its gas leak? Unlike Philex, this was never resolved, and the condomimium and surrounding Barangay Bangkal still reek of gasoline. Residents refuse to return, despite the owners' pleas for them to do so. (To give an illusion of resolution?) UP professor Dr. Carlo Arcilla noted that West Tower officials first denied any leak, then later admitted it when the signs were indisputable. 

Now hold this up next to their behavior at Mahiao.

And speaking of the Lopezes, what about Gina Lopez, head honcho of environmental group Bantay Kalikasan? You know: Those folks who jump on every perceived attack on the environment by big business.  Anyone with a molecule of integrity would say: "Yes, I know this is our family's power plant. But human lives and the environment are more important than anything else, so I can assure you we will pursue the truth." Even pitiful platitudes like that would have at least meant something. But not a word from Gina or her group. Or from Kalikasan PNE and their partylist. Are they related to the Lopezes in more than just a similarity of name?

Every day that the Aquino government stays mum on this is a spit on the face of Daang Matuwid. EDC must be fined to the hilt like they did other companies. The West Tower leak needs to be re-evaluated and re-investigated.

PNoy says we are his bosses. Well, sometimes I wonder if PNoy is under new management.   

  

Dulling The Gay Blade

My College professor posed to us the classic Lifeboat Scenario. You know the one: You're the captain of a sinking ship, and you have to decide which passengers to save in a lifeboat of limited capacity. Passengers were like a heart surgeon, an 86 year-old woman, a teacher, etc. One student chose among her survivors a gay man. Her reason: He can make the children on the boat laugh. To this, my professor replied rather icily: I didn't say he was a stand-up comic.

This happened back in the eighties. Today, the Filipino's view on gay people has changed little. To be sure, we have many gay folks in positions of responsibility. I personally have worked with many and have come away respecting them greatly. Yet mention the word 'gay' to the to the average Pinoy, and chances are, s/he will think not of a dignified Sir Ian McKellen, but of someone like Vice Ganda.

Yes, the Pinoy may respect gays (with may being the operative word), but they simply love them when they present the caricature of popular cinema, the loud, crude, shallow, stupid, sexually obsessed parlorista. No Filipino movie, be it action, drama or romance is complete without the obligatory gay character for comic relief.

Frankly, I cannot understand why the Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual and Transsexual community is silent on this travesty. If I were among their ranks, I would slam anyone who perpetuates the very stereotype they are trying to live down. (Worse, we have gays who actually encourage this caricature.) I would hang Roderick Paulate in effigy. They may say it's 'all right' since it's harmless, but I disagree. These caricatures are saying: This is what a real gay is like. And the audience is comfortable with such clear labeling. But a gay who doesn't behave like this (that is, behaves like a straight person in all but sexual preference) becomes an object of suspicion, like s/he was trying to hide something. How often we hear the reason for one's distrust being: Eh, bakla kasi.

By all means, if you want to sashay, mince and squeal, (in short, be a fag instead of being just gay) then do so. But don't go around promoting it as the norm. You're ruining the respect that others are fighting so hard for.