Pen and Ink - China Chronicles

There is an oration piece I remember so well from grade school that still lingers in the deepest hollows of my memory. I was in 4th Grade then at the Iloilo American School when I set out to memorize it and etch it in my mind. When the big day came, I found myself standing onstage in front of a few hundred curious faces and felt like the late UN General Assembly President Carlos P. Romulo beating the podium with a fist while saying:

“I am a Filipino - inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future… I am sprung from a hardy race of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the mighty swell of hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever… This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promise a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me…”

After almost three decades since my juvenile chords proclaimed that piece I still tremble at the message of hope. I can understand Romulo’s optimism when he first wrote those words. The Philippines in the 60’s had a booming economy and was ranked among the most progressive nations in Southeast Asia. The country was obviously cashing in on the enormous “goodwill” of the Americans who took it upon themselves to help rebuild the shattered economies of their closest allies during the Second World War. We knew it was all part of a grand plan to re-consolidate America’s position in the Asia-Pacific region. We were also aware that foreign fiscal aid always came with a price tag. But good old Juan de la Cruz was willing to trade his aces for a shot at economic glory.

So Romulo could not be faulted if he sounded optimistic. The nation’s coffers were full, agro-industrial production and building construction were at a peak, the arts were flourishing, and the citizens were happy and prosperous. It was the golden age of our newly-independent nation and the future looked very bright indeed.

But looking at our country now, I don’t see the same brilliant future once held by the great statesman. I can’t even understand how we’ve managed in the last three decades to drive our country to the brink of socio-economic collapse. Was it our lack of national unity or our ineptitude in self-governance? Was it because of the bad habits we conveniently claim to have inherited from the Spanish? Did our naïveté and deeply-rooted provincial nature keep us from coming out of our shells and be more open to progressive thought? Were we too hung up on foreign help, relying too much on foreigners to think and initiate for us, and failing to learn to do things by ourselves? Did our “hacienda” lifestyle get the better of us and romance us all into corruption? Did we always like to be second best in everything, bystanders who never took the initiative to lead, to speak out and be heard? Was it all or a combination of these little catastrophes that completed our destruction?

Sooner or later my inquisitive 9-year-old son will start asking these same questions “in the present tense” and I’m worried I won’t be able to offer him concrete answers. I can already see him sense my eventual lack of optimism at such a subject. I can only assure him that there is always hope, hope that now rests in him, that someday our nation will rise on its feet and catch up with the rest of the world. Otherwise Papa, who has been working abroad for 5 years now, can never come back home, work in his own country and provide sufficiently for the family.

There is no telling when our impotent system will recover and take off. No hope can be derived from the actions of our current politicians who’ve officially become a media circus and the butt of endless jokes. Rizal and our national heroes must be stirring in their graves at the appalling lack of honest statesmanship in our leaders today. Their heroic sacrifices have amounted to almost nothing after more than a century. Our police and military have well turned themselves into criminals, hooligans and private armies of the rich protecting their own self-interests instead of the people’s welfare. What’s left of our taxes is misappropriated by the taxman in broad daylight, while hungry contractors and local officials fight over the spoils, effectively stifling down the flow of project money into a pathetic trickle. Our economic infrastructures – roads, water, power and transport facilities and government centers are so dilapidated, unreliable and corrupt that no investor would ever risk investing his money in our country. Our cities are so dirty, congested, slum-infested, devoid of trees and parks it makes Gotham City look like a gag. The list goes on and on and I take no pride in saying all these, but that’s that. We have to face the fact that our country is going downhill and unless there is overriding change in the system we’re all going down with it.

I doubt that in my lifetime I would be able to see the country recover from its social malaise. This is particularly heartbreaking for us architects, who design and build big time for foreigners overseas, but only get the chance to build a few houses at home. It’s a pity our country can’t make full use of our talent, but what is there to build? Same thing goes with the rest of our best minds, our millions of skilled professionals who have to forage elsewhere to realize their dreams. It is understandable. If the EDSA revolution of the 80’s, a supposedly system-changing event for our country, has failed to effect change on our disintegrating political conscience and whip up our green-eyed monster of a government into real positive action, what else is there to look forward to?

Whenever I say “I am a Filipino” Romulo’s strong message of hope always comes to mind, reminding me of the past. It keeps me focused on the future whatever the present. But still, in my moments of weakness, when my resolve to make sense of my heritage begins to crumble, I look at a picture of my smiling son, my daughter and my expecting wife, and wish against hope I never stop hoping…

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008 at 1:46 am and is filed under Weblogs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.