Last night, I had a few good laughs as I stumbled across my first debate portfolio – a blue envelope containing the first set of debate-related papers that I acquired in last year’s Visayas-Mindanao Championships held in Cebu. Back then, I only had a month’s worth of experience as a debater, so during the tournament, I had to put on a confident front and convince everyone that I knew my stuff, even when in reality, I did not understand the juxtaposition of the words ‘paradigm’ and ‘tokenistic’ to the issues surrounding Wowowee and its apparent nature of being exploitative rather than beneficial to the toothless mothers and desperate garbage-pickers who account for its massive fan base.

I felt silly over my adj exam results (pardon to those who are not familiar with debate jargon):

Question number 4: An OO that doesn’t challenge a squirrel may be penalized.

My answer: Yes, he should be penalized but only minimally – after all, everything still hinges upon the prerogatives of the LO, and enduring the aftermath of his lack of dynamism should be enough penalty for him.

Question number 9: Once the OO has accepted the definition of OG, the closing teams may no longer challenge the definition.

My answer: Of course not! (with such enthusiasm mind you J) If the parameters/issues/clashes prove hard to work with, then the closing sides may present a counterprop – it’s the adj’s call later on, depending on what he feels is right or appropriate.

Hahaha!

And by a bizarre twist of fate, and however revolting and downright scary, I got a relatively high score in the adj exam – which catapulted me to the position of adj chair in the first round. Imagine my horror when the teams were already in their seats, waiting for the round to start, and I was panicking inside because I did not know how to formally begin the round with the PM’s speech. Good thing a panelist sensed my apprehension, and so he scribbled these words (that I also retrieved from my debate portfolio, haha) for me to read: I call this house to order on the motion that this house will ban all forms of animal experimentation. I had to refer to his note during the next few rounds because I had to solo adj in the subsequent rounds. Haha! J

Then my adj notes – aah, my adj notes. In retrospect, I was an asshole adjudicator back then. See, I have this ‘personalized’ style of adjudicating, whereby I scribble down notes in the local vernacular – even when a debater says that a certain development is bad, I scribble it down in bisaya, such that it becomes ‘makadaot ni siya’. Haha! Because personally, I understand it more when the language is more intimate and easily comprehensible. But on the downside, I had several comments which I would rather not share because they were downright condescending – yes, I also write down my feelings towards the debater as a person, and his arguments as well. Evil, I know – but then again, this is my way of personalizing my adjudication notes. J

And, just to satiate my strong urge to share some of the highlights of the tournament back then, I will share some of my adj notes which will surely stay with me for the rest of my debate life.

Motion: This house condones anti-drug vigilantes

PM’s Speech: the mechanism will consist of the following: (1) the proper packaging of medicines; (2) how to look for the perfect ingredients; (3) how to disseminate the information that these herbal medicines are available for consumption.

Definition of term: vigilantes – tasked to distribute these herbal medicines.

Arguments: (1) economic development since these products will be distributed to the grassroots; (2) promote a healthy lifestyle as these vegetables can be grown in school backyards; and (3) poor people will be acquainted with the healing power of vegetables.

Hahaha!

So little time, so many debate motions. Cheers guys and see you all in davao!

to all those who were unduly burdened with what had happened, my sincerest apologies. (especially to A)

it was not my intention to muck up that bad, and now, i will need to face the consequences for that night — and i seriously mean it when i say i hope it does not ruin my chances to push thru with davao this october.

but perhaps, this was a much-needed jolt to my uber-indulgent lifestyle, and my penchant for not thinking certain things through.

rest assured, i will now try to temper my impulsiveness with doses of reality, however disruptive (yuck feeler), and not be as adventurous as before.

goodluck clyde — and again, thanks my dear old friends.

I have always dreaded the first day of class for the past three years or so – not because I am concerned with how likeable my classmates will turn out to be, or how horrendous my teacher will be for the entire semester.

My reservation, as a matter of fact and outright concession, actually comes from answering this question during the first day: what is your year, and how old are you?

The first part of the question, I have an easy time answering – as a matter of fact, I have mastered the art of confidently telling people that I am in my senior year, that I am expecting to graduate soon. But the second part of the query, the part where I divulge my age, I get anxious – because as I have managed to do so in past introductions, I often get mixed reactions, from people who try to feign their curiosity and say that I don’t look my age, to those who are less subtle and instantly insinuate that I am a school junkie, a degenerate who has managed to extend his college years unreasonably longer when I should be out in the real world milking big companies dry and, as my good friend RJ put it, doing damage to the world.

I do realize that there is something glaringly odd with the fact that I am aging inelegantly in school while my classmates are getting younger (most of them now were born in the 90s, sheesh, talk about being a dinosaur in college), but if only they ask me why this came to be, I am more than willing to let them in on my life and share snippets of my life story so they will understand, so they will know, and so they will, hopefully, come up with better decisions in their own lives.

Fact is, I am not alone – there are a good number of students who have also extended in college, and if only you spare them a moment to ask what their life story is, I guarantee you that there is a story behind the seeming delinquency and the assumption of them being fatalistically destined for mediocrity – for it is never easy to, day by day, face people who have given up on you and are convinced beyond reason that you will never change and that you will inevitably spend the rest of your life wallowing in misery.

But is it not that life and life decisions are enmeshed in a context where there is constant struggle? Is it not that college affords you that extra shot, that extra chance, when every dream you have starts to fade into obscurity and you desperately try to guard your sanity from slowly dissipating?

I have not always been like this.

In high school, I was considered as one of those who were destined for greatness, and I was convinced as well that I was meant for greater things – but in retrospect, I was not a child of the universe back then. I was confined within a world that was so comfortable and familiar, the kind that was so hard to let go.

Life, back then, was all about getting good grades, adhering to an early evening curfew, and condemning those who did not conform to what was acceptable behavior in society.

Now, I can only cringe in shame for being so sheltered and unquestioning back then, for being so fatally submissive and dismissive, for feeling contented over being a mere observer when I can possibly initiate ripples of change to a society that is plagued by hypocrisy and undiscerned exclusivism.

For in the course of my genuine college exposure, I have learned that sometimes, it’s not about sleeping early at night and savoring scrumptious breakfast meals with your doting and uberly-proud parents, but it is about drinking heavily with your friends after the midterm exams and nursing a head-splitting hangover the next day; that it’s not just about memorizing the prophets and reciting all the virtues in your religion class, but it is about joining an outreach program and extending assistance to those who are marginalized in society; that it’s not just about being safe and foolishly submitting to your teacher’s every whim, but it is about asserting for what is rightfully yours and ensuring that those who belong to the upper echelons of power do not remain unchecked nor unmitigated in their propensity for abuse.

College breaks you and thrusts you into the world in the hopes of altering your predispositions and situating you in a world that throbs with life; it introduces a reality that digresses significantly from the lethargic and oftentimes dehumanizing worldview of resumé-whores who perceive it as trivial and easy.

Fact is, living is not rosy all the time and loving is not always exhilarating – both can scathe you, sometimes irreversibly, and college is where you accept this bitter and disconcerting truth.

And, no matter how some people might take this against me, I am thankful that I have been broken to the world, its intricacies and complications included.

And I am convinced, beyond reason, that no grade can ever quantify my painful acceptance of this gut-wrenching and palpably painful version of what is real – for even if I may have overextended in college, I know that I now have, more or less, what it takes to battle it out in the real world when, hopefully, my formal schooling officially commences this October.

I am Clyde – I am twenty-four, and I am proud of being twenty-four.

hey, i want to see how i write when i’m drunk.

do i forget the comma, or do my conjugations suck? or do i forget my subject verb agreement? or is my spelling wrong?

i honestly don’t give a shit — i just want an honest opinion of how i degenerate when i’m drunk — or how i show snippets of my humanity and fragility when i’ve had too much alcohol. but seriously, i do not fuc*ing care — because no one cares — no one really gives a sh*t — and no one is sincere. haha

mwahlavyah!

as i write and will ramble about my mundane life experiences for the past few days in the next few paragraphs, my parents are on their way to korea — and they will be staying there for a week or so.

and with this, i should be ecstatic; i should be looking forward to more intensive tanduay sessions with a bunch of people whose instincts are dictated by, and whose sole purpose of existence for the time being is, this perverted need: alcohol. my friends who are also battered by the uncertainty of the future; by the inconsistencies of fate; and by the deception of temporary bliss.

i should be — but fact is, i am not.

for once in my life, i want to be invisible — to be in a room where no one notices me, or they choose to ignore me — and for once in my life, i long to be somewhere where i am not expected to be enviously happy nor pathetically optimistic, brimming with feigned bliss and affection, a superficial and lethargically-conjured poster boy for makulay ang buhay sa sinabawang gulay.

i want to be miserable, and i want people not to care — or at least be happy for me and my misery. i want to be in a crowd which looks at me and senses that i am in a bad place, an awful place, but they are not compelled, nor do they force themselves, to reach out and say, with a deceptively ingenuine heart buried deep under the willed, pathetic show of concern and gesture: i know what you are going through — you will be okay.

fact is, you do not know what i am going through — and i will not be okay anytime soon, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

deep and turbulent currents of doubt and despair brew inside my mind — and for once, i want to wallow in MY misery, and i want people to understand that like their individual shit, i too, am hard to understand.

In the Eyes of a Child

by Alvin Clyde O. Gregorio

‘Innocent Voices’ is a poignant story of innocence, carnage, and idealism in war-torn El Salvador during the 1990’s, just as the country was gripped by a military dictatorship, backed by the United States of America.

It chronicles the travails of an eleven-year old child, Chava, as he desperately lives up to the expectations of his mother and younger siblings of being, quite ironically, the man of the house – this, after the original man of the house, her husband and their father, had abandoned them, in hopes of seeking greener pastures abroad.

With its unapologetic treatment of the storyline, and with hints of humor to couch the thick mist of dread underlying the film’s tone in its entirety, the movie is both unsettling and engaging, serious yet candid, sordid but captivating, and revolting however redemptive.

The movie’s central irony, and one which mystifies and lures the viewer into watching the film even if it’s theme verges on incomprehensible carnage and butchery, is the juxtaposition of unadulterated innocence with the recklessness of man’s anger and spite – and it is this juxtaposition which tugs at the heartstrings, the wretchedness of war made more atrocious by the glaring disparity of a child’s worldview vis-à-vis the general foment of hatred that had so consumed his countrymen –

For all that he needed was a solace, a place where he can strike a balance between claiming his childhood and asserting his raw and newfound authority as the man of the house; an affirmation that his existence meant something, anything.

As I was watching the movie progress, I was perplexed and revolted by the conflation of circumstances that stripped Chava of his innocence, seething with rage over the adeptly-orchestrated deception of Western-constructed freedom, the superficiality of the American notion of liberty, the temporariness of bliss, the incomprehensibility of war, the unjustifiable encroachment of poison in the minds of men, the vulnerability of the young, and the helplessness of the innocent amid the incivility of a world that is so deeply-entrenched in hate, remorse.

For in the aftermath of any war, its justifiability or superfluousness notwithstanding, and when the rubble of violence and despair has settled, how are you to address the questions of a child? How do you get him to understand that war is both inevitable and humane?

No war is ever justified – not to the architects of war, nor to the innocent lives that are, in an instant, thrust into the crossfire.

For in the mind of a child, the rhetoric of eventual freedom and military victory is a hazy concept, an alteration to the natural order of things, a rupture to the societal and social fabric – for in the heart of a child, he can only see the devil masked in a military uniform, consumed with the dark and sole intent of perpetuating evil –

And sometimes, it is essential that we find wisdom in viewing the world from the lens of innocence – to counter the ubiquitousness of evil, and temper the unbridled proliferation of mayhem and madness.

No Neutral Ground

by Alvin Clyde O. Gregorio

Neoliberalism, Harvey-style

Perhaps, David Harvey’s great contribution to political science, in his book, A Brief History in Neoliberalism, is his contention that in this world, there are no trivial concepts, nor do neutral spaces exist.

Apparently for him, all state decisions – may they be radical changes, or shifts which eventuate into mere incremental political erosions – are for a purpose; and that sometimes, fortunately or unfortunately, the perceived ends of opportunistic countries are sugarcoated with (the) universally-appealing notions of democracy, individual justice, and freedom.

Therefore, to the unthinking, undiscerning political observer, the world is pictured as a haven for freedom, a utopia where the state’s behavior is regulated by the collective yearnings of the citizenry; its general thrust geared towards attaining the most ideal state – citizen-centered, and insulated from exterior, ulterior motives.

But Harvey exposes this dismissive fatalism and questions: Are there really neutral concepts?

Harvey goes the extra mile and in fact asserts that these widely accepted values – freedom, democracy, justice – are relative concepts, such that several countries, especially those who nurture hegemonic ideals and are out to subjugate the rest of the world, skew the innate ambiguity of these values, and forward their own interpretation of these celebrated attributes to secure their place in the world order – to concretize their hold on international politics and sustain their unhampered perpetuation in the global set-up, under all circumstances and beyond any condition.

He moreover adds that the threat of subjugation, either in its directly perceivable form or through its altered and/or newly-constructed variety, is sometimes heralded as eventual emancipation that every self-respecting government ought to nurture, in its quest for reinforcing sound governance.

But Harvey stretches this analysis further, and he inevitably asks: But whose freedom is the state fighting for?

Freedom, after all, is a dubious concept – however, owing to its liberal undertones, and the democratic implications for utilizing this oft-abused concept, people have the natural tendency to mistake freedom for farce substitutes to its real and genuine thrust. And this manipulative encroachment can best be seen in the US aggression against Iraq after the September 11 terrorist attacks.

The United States of America, invoking its supposed moral ascendancy in the aftermath of that unfortunate incident, waved the flag of freedom and rallied the people behind its rhetoric of establishing a free world – and it is this assumed leadership which justified their sudden invasion of Iraq, promising freedom to the Iraqi people and vowing to break the shackles of despotism that, they claimed, was characteristic of Saddam Hussein’s reign of terror in that desolate Middle Eastern country.

However, let’s see how this supposed ‘freedom’ was eventually articulated, and examine if indeed, the world’s only superpower was, and still is, within bounds in the course of its unilateral and arbitrary administration of international justice.

It is ironic and glaringly suspicious to note that presently, Iraq is gradually transforming into a Western-constructed democracy – Western-constructed mind you, because we see that right after the Americans were successful in neutralizing the resistance efforts of Hussein, it proceeded to partitioning the country into several lethargic compartments, opening up its rich oil markets to foreign exploitation, because, Bush claims, this is where individual freedom of Iraqis lie: in the liberation of the market and the insulation of the same from direct state maneuverings.

Bear in mind that once Iraq exhibited the minutest semblance of order since the start of the invasion, Bush’s war architects almost instantaneously proposed that they secure the oil rigs and consolidate their hold over the major oil sites in Iraq – and observers then speculated that this move was strategically meant to quell the insuppressible packets of protestations that erupted back in the US, and to silence those who constantly asked: Who is to pay for all the expenses incurred in the war?

Right at the onset, we see two glaring incongruencies within the framework of the Bush plan, relative to their supposed moral high ground, their supposed justification for assuming the role of global police.

First is the establishment of the link between market and individual freedom, no matter how far-fetched and overstretched the link may initially impress, and thus the fiscalization of individual emancipation; and second, is the institutionalization of foreign exploitation over these domestic industries, by virtue of deceptive and to a certain extent, coercive, market trade-offs and the subjugation of local self-determinative initiatives to the whims of the invading, arrogant Western power.

Harvey pounces on this blatant perversion of freedom, and inevitably makes us think: If freedom, a ubiquitously-accepted ideal, can be thwarted for selfish motives, what value then, is safe from being co-opted by these opportunistic elements?

Apparently for Harvey, and to a large extent I agree with him, there is none.

Moreover, his book unearths several myths and exposes a number of orchestrated lies about the sincerity of democracy, as peddled by American strategists. He specifically and extensively discusses the foreign policy of the US and demarcates, quite successfully, the fine line separating the established rationale of American foreign policy – which is hinged on expediency really, realistic and practical spoils, and self-serving motives – and its superficial exterior, a carefully-constructed façade which trumpets its unwavering commitment to maintaining international democracy and worldwide solidarity.

To drive home this point, Harvey ticks off the shared experiences of several countries which were led to this path, and he moreover asserts that these conditional similarities did not just happen out of mere sporadic coincidences, because fact was, and presumably still is, they were thoroughly planned out even before they materialized.

This provides for a perfect segue to my attempt at localizing the neoliberal experience in our country; an alternative historical analysis of how, during the Martial Law years, we were embroiled in the neoliberal encroachment that was spreading like wildfire across the world, unhampered and unregulated.

Neoliberalism, Pinoy-style

Ferdinand Marcos, during the dark ages of his military rule, was a ruthless dictator. Together with his wife in their so-called conjugal dictatorship, they bled the national coffers dry with their lavish and flamboyant lifestyle, their shared penchant for plunder and kleptocratic practices beyond comprehension, and their unregulated political power and clout which, to an obvious extent, they used to exact revenge over the opposing forces to their Bagong Lipunan.

More than these perceived excesses of state power, it was during his ‘reign of terror’ that several dissenters to his arbitrary impositions were gagged and silenced in dark and cold solitary rooms, their human rights trampled upon because they chose to defy the dominating powers, because they opted to resist the devil who was lurking underneath the veil of a strongman, a draconian leader who justified his every abuse with the promise of instilling discipline to a society that was, according to Martial Law-peddlers, in shambles.

However, in the course of reconstructing Philippine society in accordance with the newly-propagated values of his Bagong Lipunan , Marcos made the bold move of suspending individual freedom in the hopes of, quite ironically, upholding social and societal freedom. This, naturally and metaphorically, opened the floodgates of hell and solidified his position as a strongman who was neither checked nor regulated in his executive discretions. And as can be predicted, this ushered in an era of oppression and suppression unparalleled in history, widespread corruption and institutionalized nepotism, and the normalization of abuse in the collective sensibilities of the Filipino people.

Predictably, this resulted to social foment among the ranks of Filipinos who were, in an instant, roused from apathy – they questioned the legitimacy of the military regime and demanded that the democratic mechanisms for checks and balances be reinstated to mitigate the propensity of the dictator for sustaining his atrocious rule – and, in the midst of desperation and desperate times, they collectively cried out: Where was the international beacon of democracy, the US, when it was most needed?

It is quite ironic to point out that while the Filipino populace was seething with rage over Marcos’ fascist rule, he was widely celebrated in the United States as an indispensable agent for democracy in Asia; as his constituents were mired in deep squalor, consumed with anguish, and barely maintaining their fragile sanity, he was hailed as the champion for freedom, by President Ronald Reagan no less.

He, after all, enjoyed steady American support throughout most of his tenure – and to some commentators, this may have been the reason why his dominion over the country was sustained and assured for nearly three decades. The American penchant for deodorizing inhumane regimes provided for legitimacy to his dwindling charisma as a leader –

But it does not commence here, for the crucial question thus becomes: why the unflinching support for someone who clearly bastardized democracy?

Bear in mind that during Marcos’ rule, the battle between communism and democracy was still raging – and considering the desperation of America to secure its victory in third-world democracies, it turned a blind eye each time Marcos committed a crime against his people, for in weighing the trade-off that ensued after these instances of unhindered executive excesses were complacently allowed to happen, this obviously translated into Marcos’ unconditional support to, and unquestioning subservience towards, the American democratic propaganda.

As they coddled Marcos and prodded him on to keep up with his flamboyant ways, there came a point when the institutionalized misprioritisation of the national budget, compounded by the apparent lack of a viable government direction to jumpstart the local economy, compelled Marcos to borrow heavily from supranational entities just to augment the deficits that he incurred, and to sustain his and his family’s extensive philandering of hard-earned taxpayers’ money.

Moreover, owing to his blind submission to the whims and caprices of the United States of America, it was during his time that the influx of foreign, mostly American, investors were encouraged – spelling doom and death to local industries that were still in their infancy years, unable to battle it out in a playing field that was virtually leveled out to accommodate foreign intrusion and interference.

In an instant, we invariably pose the question: What has become of the core value of freedom?

Conclusion

The Philippine neoliberal experience, its intricacies and inherent contradictions notwithstanding, has revealed to us first-hand how the expedient foreign policy of the world’s sole superpower, the United States of America, places more premium on what can be gained than what can be attained.

Because by invoking a legitimacy that is couched on moral soundness and an appeal to what is universally noble and ideal, it can get away with its exploits.

But let us break free from complacency and see the world according to its real characterization – because in essence, there are no neutral concepts – only temporary deceptions, juxtaposed with permanent interests.

perhaps, when things seem too good to be true, and when the stars deceptively conspire to make you believe that you have so much brilliance in you, there is something that lurks within the periphery: a rupture that is inconspicuously veiled underneath the promise of sudden prominence.

last august 4, i celebrated my yearlong marriage to debating — and it was both mind-blowing and exhilarating, celebratory but mournful, and beautiful yet incomplete.

i understood the decision of the judges; that we were only second best in that round — but deep within the recesses of my heart, i feel the trappings of a man that has been, in an instant, broken.

but i don’t argue against this natural impluse, for my justification is simple: how can one temper the proddings of despair from a solitary heart?

it needs to be ruptured, brutally if need be, because it is this unguarded and uninhibited admission that will lead to genuine recuperation.

it was a bittersweet moment — a disconcerting experience that has broken me to the complexities of the human emotions, and the uncertainty of the stars.

i am happy and sad; gratified yet unsatisfied;

complete, however broken.

*written onboard the ferry to bacolod, just as the strong waves against the helpless vessel were fanning the sadness that was brewing inside.

we live in a dog-eat-dog world — a savage land deceptively hidden beneath the exterior of a pleasant world. but sometimes, owing to the superficiality of this consensually-constructed facade, the surface gets ruptured, as glimpses of the truth betray the discomforting truth that we live in a land where neither civility nor respect for human dignity abound — for what we merely have is a semblance of order, an attempt at tempering man’s incivility by willed and orchestrated optimism.

this morning, i received a text message from paul, a forwarded message from an NGO worker who was scouring for moral and financial support to the most recent victim of child abuse in our province — a four year old girl who was, after being raped by a still unidentified man, thrown off a cliff and was left to die.

she however, managed to survive, and after wandering for six days in the forest with neither food nor water to sustain her, she was seen by locals who took her to the hospital to have her treated. reunited with her parents, she is presently in the negros oriental provincial hospital where she is being diagnosed for post-abuse trauma, that is, after she had undergone rectal vaginal repair in the fourth degree.

worse, her wounds, because they were untreated, had maggots and she would be needing a special kind of medicine which will prevent the infection from spreading to other parts of her body.

in an instant, text messages were sent and resent, asking sympathetic hearts for any kind of donation or support that they may extend to the young girl who was, in an instant, robbed of her innocence and was viciously abused. a budding life that was ripped just as it had started to open up to the world.

to anyone willing, let us help her. let us make her feel that amid the proliferation of evil in this world, there are those who still care; there are still those who have hearts that throb; deeds that are selfless; and kindred souls who will continue to resist evil and reinstate goodness in a desolate world that is ours.

most people who do not know me that intimately often get surprised when they see me drunk — when I hold a bottle of liquor with my one hand, a cigarette on the other, and a silly smile is painted on my face.

they wonder, and in amazement at that, why I don’t spend the rest of my time in the library to scour the circulation section for contemporary sociological criticisms to structural functionalism. or hang out perhaps with the rest of the geeks, as we would chatter endlessly about the star wars epic, and bask in our exclusivist but shared affinity to foucault or some other renowned thinker.

my personal take on this constructed dichotomization of identity is simple: i refuse to submit to convention. society, after all, is the reason why people think this way – it’s either you’re witty and a loser, or an airhead but a tanduay marathon varsity.

giving in to societal standards, for me, is similar to allowing yourself to be carried away by the multitudes of people who impose upon you, no matter how subtle it seems, your own identity. and some of us, owing to our constant exposure to these accepted standards and the ubiquitousness of these established prototypes for categorizing people, do not question why society is constructed the way it is.

we inevitably surrender our individual perception to accommodate the imposing and intrusive interference of societal persuasions – thereby impairing our own capacity for free-thinking and personal judgment in the process.

i’m just trying to rationalize really, so help me here. lol

admittedly I am a geek, but my tendencies are, thank goodness, tempered by my other exploits.

because if a self-confessed geek would stay secluded in his dark and cold basement room and read up on geeky stuff, shun daylight because it exposes his face and makes him an easy prey for ridicule, and adeptly masters the art of being anti social, then that would so cliché.

society, with all its upheavals and in its steady progression, has inevitably configured the necessary conditions to facilitate the emergence of a new breed of people: the modern geeks. Hahaha! J