A memorable decade: Writers before the war

A book burning incident occurred sometime in the early 40s when younger writers led by Alejandro Abadilla and Teodoro Agoncillo cast into a bonfire the works of the so-called traditional and balagtasan writers. This was unfortunately reminiscent of the book burnings in the fascist world where books of Communist or Jewish writers like Thomas Mann were consigned to the flames. 

By Elmer Ordonez

The thirties may well be my favorite decade. Born at the start of the Depression, I began to be fully aware of the world around me when the family moved to a house in Paco in 1933 prior to my schooling in 1935. I remember my mother telling me in a calesa in Bustillos about the presence of “Sakdalistas” in the Sampaloc plaza. In 1936 I began to follow on radio and the Tribune the outbreak of the “guerra civil” in Spain. There were also heard marching songs of the Falangistas. At San Marcelino Church I saw young mestizos in uniform in formation and giving the fascist salute. I would read later in Renato Constantino’s histories about the parades of “Franquistas” in Manila joined in by students and faculty of elite Catholic schools. By late 30s I was primed for the outbreak of the war in Europe and local preparations for the Pacific war like the building of air raid shelters (models shown in UP Padre Faura, and the practice blackouts (mentioned in NVM Gonzalez’s The Winds of April).

Maybe: Incidentally, The Satire of Fedrico Mangahas, ed. by Ruby Kelly Mangahas and James Allen’s The Radical Left on the Eve of the War rekindled my long-standing interest about a historic decade.

Another book Komunista (Ateneo University Press, 2011) by Jim Richardson has provided more context to the period – particularly the involvement of writers and intellectuals in what was essentially a working class enterprise.

Writers who figured in the first half of the 30s were founders and early members of the UP Writers Club (1927)—Fred Mangahas, Jose Garcia Villa, Gabriel Tuason whom I have always believed tried to humor their foreign advisers with the avowed purpose of the club which is “to elevate the English language to the highest pedestal.” Shortly after, Fred Mangahas began his satirical columns in the Tribune. Salvador P. Lopez, Jose Lansang, and Arturo B. Rotor followed the steps of Mangahas and Villa in establishing themselves in the literary community. Villa left in 1929 for New Mexico to make a name as a poet in the United States but at the same time influenced Filipino writers by sending his annual “honor” and “dishonor” rolls of stories and poems to the Manila press.

In 1936 James Allen arrived in Manila he made a note about the young writers whom he found problematical. He cited one who wrote a story satirizing the intellectuals who visited Central Luzon for a solidarity meeting with the workers and peasants. Interestingly Manuel Arguilla’s “The Socialists” has always been considered part of the proletarian writing during the Commonwealth. Allen’s reading of the story may well be different. Arguilla went on to write more stories “Epilogue to Revolt” and “Caps and Lower Case” for a volume titled How My Brother Leon Brought Home a Wife and other stories which won the first prize (in short fiction) in the Commonwealth Literary Contest.

The “young” writers at the second half of the decade would constitute the Veronicans led by Francisco Arcellana some of whom pursued the “art for art’s sake” doctrine of Villa as against the “literature with social content” of the Philippine Writers League whose prime movers were Villa’s colleagues Mangahas, Lopez, Lansang and Rotor.

A parallel but not similar conflict was seen in the Tagalog writers community. A book burning incident occurred sometime in the early 40s when younger writers led by Alejandro Abadilla and Teodoro Agoncillo cast into a bonfire the works of the so-called traditional and balagtasan writers. This was unfortunately reminiscent of the book burnings in the fascist world where books of Communist or Jewish writers like Thomas Mann were consigned to the flames.

The debate over textual and contextual criticism, balagtasismo and modernism, formalism and historical criticism has persisted to this day in the academe. The more popular but banal issue is called “literature (art) and propaganda.”

On campus, the young writers that would have interested James Allen were Renato Constantino, Angel Baking, Sammy Rodriguez, Juan Quesada and other young intellectuals, mostly from UP, calling themselves the Phylons. Alfredo V. Lagmay and Felixberto Sta. Maria later moved on to become scholars in academe. Allen left the country in 1938 but I wonder if he had occasion to meet them, perhaps in the Ivory Tower café in Malate, run by leftist writer Ma. Gracia de Concepcion, or at the People’s Book Center in Escolta.

As a grade school student I could only feel the vibrations of intellectual ferment and social unrest (especially after reading “We and They” by Hernando Ocampo in my Grade VI class) which would only make full sense after the war—doing research on the Filipino short story in English from 1935 to 1955 and meeting the writers themselves.

A literary clash between Fred Mangahas and a Spanish- tradition bound Nick Joaquin occurred in the pages of Philippine Review (during the Japanese Occupation) with the article of Mangahas critiquing the essay of Joaquin waxing lyrical about the La Naval celebration in chilly October. Otherwise the class struggles and aesthetic concerns of the writers during the 30s were shrouded by what Jamias called “total intellectual blackout.”

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dolphy, media, awards

… the circus that is happening at the Makati Medical Center is not only intrusive but also hints of disrespect. I was at the MMC Friday and Saturday for some medical procedures and I witnessed for myself how media people have camped out in front of the main building 24/7. The media networks have set up satellite units, generators, and multiple camera set-ups. There is no denying that, pretty much like those black birds in Africa, the media people are there in anticipation of bad news. If we truly want Dolphy to survive this latest challenge to his health, perhaps we shouldn’t act like we’re on a deathwatch.

that’s bong austero in “Dolphy, the stereotypical Tatay.”  actually i have nothing against a deathwatch.  when the signs are there, it’s only human to fear the worst, knowing na doon tayo lahat papunta, and medical science can extend life only so much.  but yes, the media can and should keep their distance naman.  konting class naman.  a daily press release should be good enough for the nonce, stop with the vulture-like camp-out, stop harassing eric quizon for medical updates or questions like kumusta si zsazsa, si ganito, si ganoon.  most us have been in a similar situation, we know what it must be like for zsazsa and the sons and daughters, including maricel aka shirley.  the personal details are really none of our business unless or until freely shared by zsazsa and maricel et al, and that won’t be soon.  for now let’s just pray for whatever’s best for dolphy and let’s allow the family what every family, showbiz or not showbiz, deserves — the private space to make the decisions that have to be made, and to deal with the uncertainties and the sadnesses, far away from intrusive cameras and insensitive media who don’t make it easy, rather make it worse, in truth, for a family in crisis.

as for the national artist award, it’s a farce, this clamor for the president to confer it on dolphy ora mismo.  my question is not, bakit ngayon lang ang award (kung i-award man), kungdi bakit ngayon lang ang clamor?  where were all these people and orgs 10 years ago when such an award would truly have mattered to dolphy, and would truly have made a difference.  i’ve said the same of ishmael bernal who was named national artist 5 years after he died.  ten years too late.  why not at the height of his powers, like soon after Himala, by which time he was already recognized as one of the best filipino filmmakers, if not the best, of all time.  in dolphy’s case, ten or so years ago would have been soon after Markova: Comfort Gay, a brave controversial film that wasn’t a box-office hit but which told us in no uncertain terms that there was more to dolphy than the stereotypical this or that.  he was a national treasure by then, and he could have have been more than a comedy king, had we truly appreciated him enough.

so really, this hysterical call for a national artist award, it’s not really as much for dolphy anymore as it is for us who now can’t extoll him enough, trying to make up for our neglect, trying to make ourselves feel better.  sorry, but we don’t deserve it.

Unsettled questions #cj trial

By Ismael G. Khan Jr.

In his keynote speech at the launch of the book “History of the Supreme Court” to mark the Court’s 111th anniversary on June 11, former Chief Justice Reynato Puno decried the “spiritual slump” and apparent disarray in the judiciary in the aftermath of its “collision with the political branches of government,” as well as the widespread confusion following the conviction of now ex-Chief Justice Renato Corona by the Senate impeachment tribunal. But because of Corona’s decision not to appeal his removal, we will never know for sure how a “severely wounded” Court would have dealt with certain questions the answers to which were left hanging in the course of his impeachment trial.

If these issues remain unresolved until the next impeachment case, they would be equally unsettling, especially to the 31 constitutional officials whose fame, fate and fortune could be held hostage to an uncertain and, worse, partisan political environment. Let’s go over the more important unsettled—and unsettling—issues.

1. The most crucial is the Supreme Court’s power of judicial review. Article VIII, Section 1 of the 1987 Constitution states clearly that it is the Court’s duty “to determine whether or not there has been a grave abuse of discretion amounting to lack or excess of jurisdiction on the part of any branch or instrumentality of the government.” Note that the Constitution makes this a “duty” of the Court. Precisely, this is what it did in dismissing the impeachment case filed against then Chief Justice Hilario Davide in 2003. But Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile, as presiding officer of Corona’s impeachment trial, sternly warned the Court not to entertain that notion on the premise that it is only the Senate that has “the sole power and authority to try and decide all cases of impeachment.” Recall that neither the 1935 nor 1973 Constitution mandated that “duty,” which would have made it both easy and expedient for the Court to dismiss any such appeal as a “political question” that fell outside its jurisdiction.

2. What offense, criminal or otherwise, has Corona been convicted of? Note that even as he voted to convict Corona, Enrile strongly insisted that “the Chief Justice does not stand accused of having amassed any ill-gotten wealth before this impeachment court.” He went so far as to state that “the Chief Justice had justifiable and legal grounds to rely on the Supreme Court’s procedural and policy guidelines governing such disclosures as embodied in a resolution promulgated way back in 1989 when the respondent was not yet a member of the Court.” Enrile even conceded that Corona believed in good faith that the timely and periodic filing of his sworn statements of assets, liabilities and net worth complied with the guidelines of the Court, the law, and the Constitution.

However, the fine distinction between Paragraphs 2.2 and 2.4 in the Articles of Impeachment obviously got “lost in translation.” It was not at all appreciated by a majority of the senator-judges—and certainly not by an already cynical and disbelieving nation that was bombarded for five months by a media blitz about Corona’s lack of character and probable culpability. It is important to emphasize that the impeachment court had earlier disallowed the introduction of evidence in support of Par. 2.4 which pertained to ill-gotten wealth. Par. 2.2, on the other hand, accused Corona of failing to file accurate and complete SALNs. And his belated revelations and admissions concerning his substantial dollar and peso bank deposits, as well as his self-serving interpretation of confidentiality laws, were what finally proved fatal to his defense.

3. Corona was convicted on the basis of the second Article of Impeachment for culpable violation of the Constitution and betrayal of the public trust for his failure to file accurate and complete SALNs. Most of the senator-judges considered the enormity of the amounts in pesos and dollars that Corona neglected to disclose as having established a prima facie case of ill-gotten wealth under the Anti-Graft and Corrupt Practices Act (RA 3019) and the Code of Conduct for Government Officials and Employees (RA 6713). Actually, the term used in RA 3019 is “unexplained wealth,” which “refers to assets which a public official has acquired during incumbency, whether in his name or in the name of other persons, consisting of property or money, which are manifestly out of proportion to his salary and to his other lawful income.” On the other hand, the term “ill-gotten wealth” is specifically related to the crime of plunder, a nonbailable offense, under RA 7080. It is important to bear this in mind in the event that criminal charges are filed against Corona, a definite possibility intimated by no less than President Aquino.

4. If “unexplained wealth” can be explained away, as the term suggests, the failure to file a complete and accurate SALN may justify nonprosecution for the offense. This appears to be the reasoning behind the votes to acquit by Senators Joker Arroyo, Miriam Defensor-Santiago and Ferdinand Marcos Jr. In simple terms, Arroyo’s argument was that there was no such crime as failure to file an accurate or complete SALN until the impeachment court made it so for the first time. Santiago, on the other hand, contended that such a crime, even if it did exist previously, was not an impeachable offense since it could not be equated in terms of scope, nature and gravity to “culpable violation of the Constitution, treason, bribery, graft and corruption, other high crimes, or betrayal of the public trust.” Marcos was of the same mind, and argued that Corona “must be presumed to have acted in good faith … and that not all omissions and misdeclarations in the SALN amount to dishonesty.” Arroyo and Santiago are held in high respect for their expertise in the law, and Marcos must have consulted his wife, no mean legal scholar herself. Their reasoning surely deserves a more in-depth examination before the next impeachment case comes along.

In the impeachment trial, legitimate questions were raised in relation to substantive and procedural due process, the quantum of proof required to establish or verify a fact and its admissibility in evidence, the degree of respect due impeachable officials and their right against self-incrimination, the scope and extent of the rules on sub judice and trial by publicity, principles of statutory construction, and reconciliation of seemingly inconsistent laws. These remain unsettled even as they are bunched in the layman’s eyes under the rubric of legalese and technicalities. To ensure that the rule of law and impartial administration of justice are not sacrificed in the future, a focused and sustained effort must be made to resolve these quandaries, particularly where they involve amendatory legislation or policy reformulation.

Ismael G. Khan Jr. was the Supreme Court’s first spokesperson, assistant administrator and chief of its Public Information Office from 1999 to 2007.

 

The fate of our mother languages

By Randy David

This school year, when public school teachers begin using 12 of the country’s mother tongues as languages of instruction in the first three years of grade school, they may find that employing the local language for writing and reading won’t be as easy as speaking it. They have to persist and not give up easily.

Our languages have suffered immensely from our failure to regularly use them for written communication. One can imagine how difficult it must have been for the Department of Education to produce mother tongue-based teaching materials overnight for the new K+12 basic education program. This is not the fault of our languages. It is, rather, the result of the confused language policy of a political system torn between two social tasks—the building of a national community and rapid economic development. Except for the rare writers and culture-bearers who continued to express themselves in their mother tongues, hardly any educated Filipino today uses the local languages in their written form.

Tagalog has survived as a written language mainly because it had been mandated to be the base of Filipino, the national language. Even so, it can hardly be regarded as the principal language of the literate Filipino. That place belongs to English. Proof of this is the almost total absence of foreign books translated into Filipino. It is bad enough that only a few literary and scholarly works are published in Filipino or in any other Filipino language. Worse, not one of our local languages is used as a medium for transmitting the knowledge and literature of other cultures.

Compare this with the situation in other countries. While English has become the world’s most widely spoken second language, everywhere in Europe, people prefer to read English and American works in their French or German or Italian or Dutch translations. In bookstores in Germany or France, newly released novels originally written in English exist side by side their translations in German or French, but the market clearly favors the translations. The logical explanation for this is that, while they speak good English, Europeans also think they don’t know it well enough to grasp its idioms and nuances.

In an essay in the New York Review of Books, Tim Parks offers a different explanation for the preference for translations. He says that “in most translations there will usually be some memory or trace of the original language, which, for those who are familiar with it, will reinforce their sense of knowing that other world…. But rather than feeling persuaded as a result to give up on translations and tackle the novels in their original language, they seemed to take pleasure in criticizing the translator for having allowed this to happen…. Again, the reading experience reinforces self-regard.”

We find this, by the way, not only in Europe but also in Southeast Asia, where one would stumble upon translations of, for example, Mario Puzo’s “The Godfather” or Max Weber’s “Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism” in Bahasa or in Thai. Again, this is hardly surprising in countries where home-grown academics and writers themselves regularly publish their works in the local languages rather than in English.

It is typical for educated Filipinos to take pride in their command of both spoken and written English. This, no doubt, has come about largely because English is the only language they learn to read and write. But one must wonder whether this is necessarily a good thing. “When you learn a language,” says Parks in the NYRB article, “you don’t just pick up a means of communication, you buy into a culture, you get interested.” For many English-speaking Filipinos, who have lost their mother tongues, there is no other world against which they can compare the one they read about in English. This could partly explain the great cultural gap that divides educated Filipinos from the rest of the Filipino nation.

But, as significantly, the great haste with which we embraced English as our lifeline to the modern world made us throw away our own languages. Many of these languages had already acquired formal structures when the Americans came at the turn of the 20th century—thanks to the Spanish friars who, rather than teach Spanish, had taken pains to prepare vernacular dictionaries and grammar books in aid of religious instruction. It may be true that the persistence of this Babel of languages made it difficult for the Filipinos to unite against their Spanish oppressors. But then, the resistance against the American colonial power fared no better after America made English the language of instruction in the public schools.

Today, in the age of globalization, the Babel of local languages, or what remains of them, might be the last refuge of the ethical. This is a point made by the renowned scholar of postcolonialism, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak in her most recent work, “An aesthetic education in the era of globalization.” She writes: “Even a good globalization (the failed dream of socialism) requires the uniformity which the diversity of mother-tongues must challenge. The tower of Babel is our refuge.” Much of the ethical component of a language is what usually gets lost or distorted in translation—“as the unaccountable ethical structure of feeling is transcoded into the calculus of accountability. The idiom is singular to the tongue.”

In a previous column, I have written that perhaps of the various components of the K+12 program, it is the use of the mother tongues for the early learning years that may yet prove to be the most important. I have a strong hunch that the recovery of what is ethical in our culture begins from this.

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