Sa Paggawa Nakikilala

Kamakailan lang ay napabalita muli ang mungkahi ni ret. Chief Justice Artemio Panganiban na ilipat sa wikang Pilipino ang mga court proceedings. Isa sa mga dahilan ay ang kawalan ng comprehension o pang-unawa ng pangkaraniwang tao; mas madali daw kasi na intindihin ang kaganapan kung ito ay hindi nasasaliw sa wikang banyaga - o Ingles.

Ayon din sa kanya, ang mga court stenographer ay nahihirapan din at hindi makasunod sa mga proceedings. Kadalasan ay hindi nila makuhang ulitin ang mga arguments ng mga abogado at fiscal - kahit na trabaho nila na itala ang bawat salita na nasambit sa proceeding na iyon. Dahil dito, kanyang iminumungkahi na ilipat na lang sa Pilipino ang pamamaraan sa korte, mas lalo na't ito ang wika ng mga karaniwan.

Marami ang sumasangayon sa kanya. Oo nga naman, Pilipino tayo, may sariling wika at sambayanang diwa na ating maitatangi. Bilang Pilipino, ito ay dapat natin gawin. Ang paggamit ng Pilipino sa pananalita ay isang makabayang gawain. Bakit natin ipipilit ang isang bagay na hindi naman likas sa atin?

Wikang Pambansa laban sa wikang banyaga. Magandang adhikain ang pagtangkilik ng sariling atin; sino pa nga ba ang magmamahal sa ating sarili kundi ating mga sarili din.

Ngunit ano ba ang batayan ng pagiging makabayan? Ito ba ay nababatay sa wika lamang? O ang paggamit ba ng wika ay ang pinakamalaki at pinakamahalagang bahagi sa pagiging makabayan ng isang tao?

Ayon sa Saligang Batas ng Republika ng Pilipinas, ang wikang Ingles ay isa sa dalawa nating Wikang Pambansa. Kung gayon, ang wikang Ingles ay hindi banyaga sa atin. Ito ay bahagi ng ating pamumuhay.

Ang mga paaralan ay naatasang ituro ang at magturo sa wikang Ingles. Maraming banyaga ang nagtutungo sa Pilipinas upang mag-aral ng Ingles. Marami ang humahanga sa kakayahan ng ating mga kababayan na gumamit ng wikang Ingles. Ito ay hindi iba sa atin. Isa itong advantage ng mamamayan, mas lalo na kung ihahalintulad mo ang Pilipinas sa ibang bayan.

Tama, ang kahalagahan ng wika ay nasa pag-unawa ng mga tao. Ngunit hindi kasalanan ng wika ang kahinaan ng tao. Hindi kakulangan ng wika ang kawalan ng pang-unawa ng tao; ang kaledad ng pang-unawa ay nasa nagtuturo, at hindi sa itinuturo. Iba-iba ang mga tinuturuan, marami ang pamamaraan ng pagtuturo, ngunit ang nilalaman ng itinuturo ay iisa.

Huwag nating balewalain ang kaalaman na dapat nating natamo mula sa pag-aaral. Karamihan sa atin ay nakapag-aral, mas lalo na kung ikukumpara mo sa panahon ng ating mga magulang. Nasa atin ang kakayahang mamuhay ng maayos, matiwasay at makabayan, at hindi ito batay sa wika lamang.

Ating intindihin ang tunay na diwa ng pagiging makabayan. Bukod pa ito sa pananalita at panlabas na anyo. Ang Babel ay hindi hihinto, at kung matigil man ay matagal na panahon pa bago ito mangyari. Sa paggawa nakikilala ang puso at pag-iisip ng isang tao, at hindi lamang sa wika.

February 13, 2007

Purpose

While driving around town one afternoon, I noticed the prevalence of gated communities, homes and establishments. It is common practice in this day to have a gate, whether a cute, white picket fence, or practical metal interlinks, or thick, high walls. Even building doors act as gates – if you don’t have your ID or electronic pass you can’t get through.

Which led me to ask: Are gates meant to keep people in, or to keep them out?

Much later, someone remarked why I asked, and where did I get the question from? My response was, I formulated the question and that it came to be because of what I saw. But does that matter, I asked again, since I believed the answer is more important than the question itself.

So what is the answer?

The answer is both! Its job is to allow limited passage; its purpose, to demarcate the land. Those who are inside are meant to be inside and should stay inside, while those who are outside are not meant to be inside and should not come in. And the gate tells us where “inside” begins and “outside” ends. That is why a gate exists.

More often than not people take for granted the things that they see and use in their daily lives, not realising the impact that those things have on their person. Frequently the whys and wherefores escape us, and over time the compounded incomprehension rears its ugly head and confronts us.

Take, for example, the lowly jeep. What is the jeep’s purpose? To move people or goods from one point to another. It can also generate income for its operator and/or driver. But it is a conveyance; that it can also be a source of income is an added benefit, and not its primary purpose. Put simply: Will the jeep create income if it does not fulfil its purpose of transporting you to your destination? It can’t, because it’s not designed to make money in the first place. People pay for the ability to reach their destination, regardless of vehicle. If it is, in fact, costing more to maintain and run a jeep then it isn’t a cost efficient means of transport, even more so as a means of income.

Purpose is not readily seen nor understood. Purpose is that “hidden agenda” that requires some questioning on one’s part in order to surface. Ask yourself, without prejudice and presumption, why something is the way it is. You’ll be surprised at the answer.

Just Like Us

If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh?

Shylock, Act 3 Scene 1,

Merchant of Venice

The night blanketed the sky in silky darkness, and prompted the insects to sing their vesper song. Chinks of warm yellow light seeped through the slats in the walls of neighbouring homes, casting golden slivers against the dark ground. Children have since been herded in, and the carabaos have come home.

Smells permeated the air: the chickens in their roosts, the unwashed dog, and the night’s dinner sitting over the roaring fire in the wood stove. Smoke clung to everything, and it gave everyone a musky scent. Otherwise everything is clean.

It was a typical night in the sitio; the evening repast common rustic fare. The advent of stable electricity led to later bedtimes for all, after watching TV. Doors are simply closed when people go to bed; there are no locks, not even a latch, on anything. But each household sleeps peacefully and deeply, assured and comforted by its community.

In the morning soft daylight broke over the ridge, and gently teased the slumber from the fields. People went about their daily routines, sweeping their homes and making breakfasts, feeding chickens and leading cattle to pasture. Far off a woman readies her laundry basket for the day’s wash, the freshly laundered clothes to dry on the wire fence later on. An easy morning.

Our household ran a small stall of halo-halo and banana cue. A pabunot board hung on a branch nearby. Clean calico sheets were strung on a line to keep out the sun while resident men folk sat on rough benches, idly watching the world go by – waiting for the next exciting event to happen.

In the hot noonday sun the warm wind made the bougainvilleas dance, the red flowers simultaneously hypnotising you and lulling you to sleep.

How simple the good life is in Sitio Maalyabon!

Yet exists the other side of “easy livin’” urbanite dreams.

In Sitio Maalyabon you need to be up early and beat others to the nearest spring – or else end up trekking much further to get the day’s water ration for the household. Just like any urban employee who fears being late and leaves early for work.

You need to work hard to make a living: You need to be in the fields at daybreak to pick vegetables, or to be by the marsh to gather snails. You need to go to the mountains to gather banana hearts and then sell them by the sack to the middleman for a piddling price. Just like the city salaryman who toils hard for his pay.

You need to prioritise and budget your resources carefully. Just like the urban mother worried for her brood.

You need to learn your lessons and study and become a productive member of your community. You need to find your own way and pick yourself up when you fall down. Just like any youth the world over.

And in their hardship there is pride, pride in being who they are. Joy in the simple life they live. And in each gleaming face lie great hopes, and plans, and dreams for the days to come.

Just like us.

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Sitio Maalyabon sits on a hillock in Crow Valley (in Capas, Tarlac), at the base of which lies Sta. Juliana. Sitio Maalyabon is also referred to as Sitio Ye Young, after the most significant structure that is currently standing there.

Although Sitio Maalyabon existed (albeit sparsely) before Mt. Pinatubo erupted in 1991, many of the present residents settled there after the eruption. The community is now comprised of Ungey and Abilin Aeta subtribes, and lowlanders.

Currently the beneficiary of the Caravan Mission to Indigenous Peoples program, the residents look forward to assisted long-term development and self-sufficiency.

Forms and Dehumanisation

A common practice nowadays is filling out a form for just about anything you can think of. Schools, banks, contests, potential employers – just about anything will require you to complete a form. Even in emergency rooms everywhere, if you are lucid and able you most definitely will be filling out a form before you can continue with your treatment.

Understandably, you want to know more about the person in front you hence the need to fill in a form. The fields in forms typically request your usual personal information: Your name, gender, residence, date and place of birth are just some of the few facts one has to provide. Sometimes recent medical history is included (have you been hospitalised in the last six months? If yes, why?), and some companies ask outright about your criminal life (have you been apprehended for any crime in the past? If yes, please explain why in detail). Forms standardise data, telling us who you are, and who you’ve become. And, according to behavioural psychology, where you’re potentially going.

Yet at the same time it is a depersonalisation process. Your life and experience becomes merely a stat in someone’s demographics file. Sad, isn’t it? Your lifetime of efforts and joys and tears condensed into Please tick the appropriate box.

Then is the form truly objective in its assessment of who you are, being as it is dependent on tables and questions that are designed to place you in your particular box. What happens if you don’t fit their mould?

The far end of this adherence to forms would be the movie “Gattaca”. The protagonist begins life as a naturally-created being in an age where genetic perfection (through manipulation) has become the norm. As he does not fit the genetic bill he is deemed as a lesser member of society, worthy only of subservience to the genetically pure.

This scenario isn’t too far off. To a lesser extent it is already happening today. In many places paper meritocracy is in play, and in the struggle for commensurate livelihood many are left by the wayside. Many are found wanting if they do not fit the form perfectly – simplistic as that sounds.

Since we are using forms to measure one’s merit, would it be fair to state that a clear, standardised definition of true meritocracy is lacking? As objective and just meritocracy wishes to make itself it is still subject to who is deciding what is meritorious and what is not. If merit is subject to the interpretation of any one person, then culture also plays a big role in the constitution of merit.

Granting that there is a valid need to level the proverbial playing field, over-dependence on one aspect does not paint a fair assessment of any individual. More importantly, the assumption that stellar paper merit will limit your risks is false: Personal qualities will still dictate the long-term suitability of this candidate for the position at hand.

I don’t disagree with the basis for forms, but where are we taking it to? And where is it taking us?