Remembrance and deliverance

This old man has every reason to celebrate this past week, together with all Kapampangans, Bacolor residents especially, and set aside his rage, at least temporarily.  No, it’s not all about our 113^th Independence Day, although this historic event, on its own, merited lots of jubilation from all of us.  This annual celebration though had made the past week doubly ecstatic as we also commemorated a milestone in our collective triumph over the twin disasters that seriously threatened to wipe out Pampanga from the country’s map and nearly deprived the Kapampangan race the cradle that nurtured its distinct social and cultural development that started long before the Spanish conquest took place.

I remember writing the following in one of my short papers in my Urban and Metropolitan Development and Administration course to describe my town: 

“Bacolor was founded in 1576 by local landlord Guillermo Manabat based on an ancient settlement called Bakulud.  It was among the first towns in Luzon that the Spanish colonialists recognized when they started the occupation of Manila.  They were on the lookout for areas that would support their sustenance and the other material bases of their occupation of Manila and the various prosperous communities along the riverbanks of the great Rio Grande (Pampanga River) proved ideal for this purpose. The Pampanga Socio-Economic Profile (2001: 2) claimed that the conquest of the province by the Spaniards began in 1571 right after the defeat of Rajah Soliman in Tondo.  That early, these communities were already food self-sufficient, had a functioning and well-adjusted system of self-governance (Ibid: 1) and were trading in various merchant capitals overseas (Mallari, 200_: 26).   These obviously fit into the scheme of things of the Spanish conquistadores.”

“Bacolor, because of its strategic location, its high and level well-irrigated land by a river that led to the sea, and its “material prosperity that allowed its people to devote time and wealth to things spiritual and artistic “ (Tantingco, 200_: 7) was chosen over the other pre-Hispanic settlements of Lubao, Betis, Macabebe, Candaba, San Luis (Pinpin), Arayat (Cabagsac), Apalit, Sasmuan, Mexico, Guagua and Porac (Ibid) as the provincial seat of the colonial government not only for the above cited purpose but also in the subjugation of the rest of North Luzon.  In 1762, this importance further became more pronounced with its declaration as the capital of the Philippines when Governor General Simon de Anda had to escape Manila to avoid capture from the invading British forces and declared it the seat of the colonial government.   From Bacolor, Anda directed efforts by the Spanish forces, beefed up by the highly skilled Kapampangan soldiers, to retake the city.  It remained the country’s capital until Manila was returned in 1764 to the Spanish throne (Zaide, ____ cited in Buenviaje, 1968: 43) with the signing of an agreement with the British crown.   The town, though, was the province’s capital as early as 1755 and “remained so until 1903 when the capital was transferred to San Fernando”.  (Ibid)  Pampango historian, Mariano Henson however claimed that the town was the provincial capital as early as 1746.  (Gaillard, 200_: 24)”

Obviously, Bacolor and, of course, Pampanga, existed long before the Spaniards came and the Kapampangans were far from being barbaric and ignorant.  (Western historians would want us—conquered people—to believe that our country had to be freed from ignorance to rationalize their aggression and occupation of our land.)  What was not present, and which the Castilian conquerors unwittingly hastened to develop, was our collective identity as Kapampangans.  This they accomplished when they supplanted with their own the native baranganic form of government for easier administration and supervision of these pre-colonial communities and for smooth exaction of tributes and forced labor—polo—to further advance Spanish conquest of the islands.  The commonly experienced abuses from the Spaniards proved fertile ground for these independent communities, which Filipino historians likened to nation-states rather than to local governments we now have, to forge unity and develop social cohesion towards the evolution of the Kapampangan race.

This rich history and tradition was the one almost consigned to oblivion when Mount Pinatubo awakened on 15 June 1991 from its almost 600-year quiescence and vented the fury that had been slowly sweltering in its bosom.  In this day and age, many would laugh at the explanation our Aeta brothers and sisters offered on what caused the eruption.  The drillings for geothermal energy by the National Power Corporation (NAPOCOR) in their deity’s, Apo Namalyari, idyllic lair caught his ire, thus, the eruption.  Whatever the reason is, the undeniable truth is that the flare-up was among the most destructive volcanic explosion recorded in recent history.  It was so huge that it was said to have altered the global climate.

At the micro-level, the immediate surroundings of Mount Pinatubo bore most of the brunt of its eruption and its more vicious aftermath, the lahars.  But the locality that really hogged and lingered in the national, even international, attention was Bacolor as it helplessly lay prostrate along the path of the smoldering mix of volcanic debris and rain water until 1995 when 20 of its 21 barangays had been inundated by varying depths of lahars—some were buried by as much as 10 meters.

Mainly because of our perseverance and resilience, the Kapampangans have successfully overcome all odds and risen up from the ashes of Mount Pinatubo, like the mythical bird, Phoenix.  We not only contented with the physical challenges posed by the twin disasters but by the initial bureaucratic disregard of the national government, which, at the onset, considered to just allow the province succumb to the harshness of the eruption and resultant lahar flows.   Our organized collective actions made the national government to reconsider its initial stance and undertake massive infrastructure intervention to contain the destructive lahars in Bacolor and spare the rest of Pampanga.

Specifically for Bacolorenos, we can cull a lot of learnings from this which will go a long way in confronting the tougher challenges that our town faces as it treks to reclaim its lost glory and esteemed stature among the municipalities of Pampanga.  One, the disasters had created so much goodwill that was there during the critical stages of our ordeal and contributed a lot to our triumph over these catastrophes.  It is therefore prudent that we wisely utilize the remaining goodwill to complete our rehabilitation.

Two, then as now, “vultures” are hovering over us to pounce on our weaknesses and apparent helplessness to advance their selfish interests.  These had become common fixtures in any actual- and post-disaster phases of disasters.  I’ve also seen them worked while supervising a post-landslide community-based disaster risk management project in Dingalan, Aurora in 2005 up to 2006.  Evidently, these have not left us but unlike real vultures with their unmistakable appearance these have mastered sartorial dressing and mouth pro-people utterances to disguise their real intent.  We should therefore be always on the lookout that these will not deplete the residual goodwill that we needed so much to complete our rehabilitation.

It is also indispensable to bear in mind that it is not enough that we carry out remembrances but undertake this, more importantly, in the context of our deliverance from the obstacles that caused our downfall.  Moreover, may we be able to fashion the same, if not surpass, the unity that made us triumphant over the twin disasters as we trudge the path towards the comprehensive rehabilitation of our town.  The same unity forged by our forebears to make Bacolor the greatest Kapampangan town in the olden times.  (30)  

White elephants

I was seething in anger in my last blog over events surrounding the rehabilitation of my volcanic eruption- and lahar avalanche-ravaged town.  This hasn’t ebbed and felt the same rage mounted as soon as I started writing this one.  The construction of a building of the Ricardo P. Rodriguez Memorial Hospital (RPRMH) on its original site, I’ve realized, was just a symptom of an evolving social malaise that first gained national notoriety during the Marcos conjugal dictatorship.  This was particularly what they labeled the high profile projects of Imelda Marcos.

Bacolor is now beginning to teem with its own “white elephants”; these though are definitely not as grand and imeldific.  And they might overpopulate the whole municipality if the town’s P4.6-billion Comprehensive Rehabilitation Master Plan is realized.  But unlike Imelda’s “elephants”, these were not designed to project and showcase the good and the beautiful and mask urban blight from visiting foreign dignitaries. Instead, they were adroitly planned to camouflage the opportunists’ and schemers’ real intent of milking the country’s coffer dry for fast bucks to line their pockets some more and, at the same time and  more importantly, in presenting their selves as champions of my town’s rehabilitation. 

Studies on corruption, including ones conducted by the World Bank and other international financial and development institutions, revealed that as much as 40 percent of the government’s annual appropriations ended up in the pockets of corrupt government officials and their private sector cohorts.  It’s no wonder therefore that they're tripping over building all these “white elephants” in Bacolor for the right over what is now euphemistically referred to as standard operating procedures (SOPs).  Even if the SOPs are pegged at just 10 percent (of P4.6 billion), local political leaders and their principal/s could further solidify their ranks in the list of the nation’s richest politicians—they might even end up unseating the gentleman from Saranggani, who earned his billions fair and square atop the international boxing ring, from the top of the heap. 

If it’s any consolation, at least Imelda’s “elephants” are still utilized as venues of cultural shows and social gatherings even if mostly by the “good and beautiful” crowd.  This will most likely not be the case with the projects in Bacolor.  Take the case of the Bacolor Public Market.  With funds mobilized from the pork barrel of Sen. Juan Flavier, it was rebuilt in 2001(?) on its original site where Governor General Simon de Anda also held court when he took refuge in the town to avoid capture from the invading British forces from 1762 to 1764.

With hardly any people around, which reminded me of the newly rebuilt RPRMH, it never operated.  It never generated a single centavo for the municipal government.  But early this year, portions of it were ordered demolished by the new town administration to widen the stalls, which were allegedly too narrow, to attract stall owners to start doing business.  With the enlargement, will the public market operate soon? 

My conjecture, it will not.

I based my inference from what I learned surrounding the San Simon Public Market while overseeing a social development project of an NGO in that municipality from 1999 to 2004.  The original structure was formerly built at the town’s poblacion, close to the old municipal building.  With the transfer of the town hall along the Mac Arthur Highway, near the North Luzon Expressway San Domingo Exit, the local government found it wise to transfer the aging market there, too.  Using the town’s Internal Revenue Allotment (IRA) as collateral, which some claimed went against the pertinent provisions of the 1991 Local Government Code (RA 7160) and other relevant laws; the local government unit was able to secure a P33-million loan from the Philippine Veterans Bank to build the new market.  The market however merely had a “soft” opening as only a few stalls opened, albeit only briefly.  Business failed to pick up as local residents still persisted in procuring their daily consumer goods from the bigger and more stacked public markets of Apalit and San Fernando. 

In the case of the Bacolor Public Market, it will not only contend with the nearby more established public markets of Guagua and San Fernando but also with the latter’s giant malls.  Market stall and supermarkets owners in San Fernando’s old commercial district have been decrying their dwindling incomes since the opening and continuous expansion of the operations of these malls.  Our solace, when compared with the people of San Simon, is we’re not directly paying, at least at the moment, huge debts for a “white elephant”, a lemon. 

Other examples are the two-classroom buildings that were put up before the construction ban of the 2010 national and local elections was enforced.  I’ve seen one of these at the San Antonio Elementary School and another in my barangay, Potrero. Although classes are already held in Barangay San Antonio, the new classrooms have yet to be used until the end of the past school year.  But their doors had already been replaced! 

The situation is different in Barangay Potrero where population of school aged-children could not rationalize the holding of classes locally.  Our elementary school children, therefore, have to attend classes at the San Antonio Elementary School to continue their education after their families had resettled in the barangay.  If these children are lucky, they could hitch rides from trucks hauling sand from quarries in our barangay, otherwise, they have to wake up early and walk at least four (4) kilometers to be at their school in time.  This reminded me of my father and other children who braved walking at least seven kilometers to attend the only public school in Bacolor—at the poblacion—during the pre-World War II years.

When I ranged this development—idle school buildings—against the alleged lack of classrooms especially in far flung villages, nay, even in the rich cities of Metro Manila, I cannot help but rage some more.  Who says there are no monies for additional classrooms?

The last examples are the barangay roads I have to pass through in going to Potrero from the Olongapo-Gapan Road.  Despite just more than a couple of years since their construction, portions of the few concreted roads are clearly already cracked; the worst are crumbling like the famous puto seko of Barangay Cabalantian when you put them in your mouth.  I don’t want to imagine how these roads would look once their projected use by trucks hauling sands from Porac town—now banned from passing through Angeles City—becomes reality.  But more worthwhile to anticipate are the additional roads to be constructed from the Bacolor Comprehensive Rehabilitation Master Plan.  Would they be able to withstand the wear and tear from these huge cargo trucks after the SOPs had been deducted from the allocated project costs?

Against this backdrop, isn’t it more practical if these “animals” from the comprehensive master plan be the freely roaming kinds that dotted the safari lands of Africa or the sand dunes of the Middle East?  These could have been more valuable and contributed much more to Bacolor’s revival and in bringing back its glorious past—maningning nang bukas ning balen Bakulud—as they could be additional attraction to the half-submerged historic San Guillermo Church and the “Santino” mansion to lure in more foreign and local tourists.  These sightseers could have the times of their lives appreciating these animals as they gracefully trot the expanse of lahar-covered farm lands.  And with the influx of additional visitors, local people could put up enterprises and other livelihoods that will meet and cater their needs. 

Or, would it not be better if the bulk of the P4.6-billion rehabilitation fund could go directly into the development of the people’s sources of sustenance?  Like pursuing an honest-to-goodness animal dispersal project which, of course, will not include elephants!  The proposed P9.5-million Agricultural Lands Development Project—that included P3 million for pasture development and where funds for animal dispersal would be sourced—is too miniscule to impact on the revival and improvement of the primary source of income of most residents before the eruption.   Moreover, what’s the use of the proposed farm-to-market roads in another component if local farms remain underproductive?    

Although a brief scan of the voluminous master plan would show projects sorted into social development, economic development, infrastructure development, environment and natural resources development, land use, and institutional development sectors, a scrutiny into the details will reveal that many of these are basically construction projects.  That is, construction of roads and bridges, of drainage systems, of school buildings, of day care centers, of barangay halls, etc.  We don’t need to be Harvard graduates to know why they prefer such projects and not ones that would directly put money in the pockets of ordinary Bacolorenos.  And it would be as clear as the cloudless noonday’s sun that only the scum bugs’ pockets would be bursting at the seams with their SOPs at the conclusion of the implementation of the master plan.  That is, if we continue to act as if we’re still dazed from the tons of lahar that cascaded from the slopes of Mount Pinatubo and inundated our town 15 years ago.  (30)

Where’s the rage

I came in late but their haircut and deportment gave them in.  The stiffly-seated, crew-cut men occupying the front row of the auditorium were obviously young military officers.  And my strong inkling, they were graduates of the Philippine Military Academy (PMA).  The attention of the rest of the crowd was on them as the comment of the professor handling the orientation of new students, including us, graduate students in public management, was obviously chiefly directed to them.  “Why did you take public management?  It would only add to your disgust and fuel further discontent as you come to grip with the ins and outs of the government and governance,” he’d declared something to that effect.

To understand his comment one has to revisit the event carried out almost a year earlier by mutinous soldiers led by then Navy LtSG, now incumbent senator, Antonio Trillanes, and Army Captain Gerardo Gambala.  The group now popularly known as “Magdalo” took over the Oakwood Premier Ayala Center on 27 July 2003, the country’s allegedly finest serviced apartments, to show the Filipino people the supposed corruption of the Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo administration.

The first sign of the possible truism of that comment was manifested two years later.  An early evening TV news broadcast reported the graduation of some incarcerated Magdalo soldiers from their master’s program at the University of the Philippines (UP) Open University.  It might just be coincidental, but obviously some of the Magdalo soldiers were indeed enrolled in public management at the time of their covert adventurism.  But the more compelling proofs of this truism were of course the ones I had personally experienced as I struggled to finish my own program.  (Sadly, it now looms that the UP diploma that I was hoping to earn all these years would again elude me—as it did during my undergraduate program at the UP Los Banos—as I wrestle anew with the maximum residency requirement of the university.)

I was doing my short papers (tutor-marked assignments—TMAs) on my Rural Administration and Development and Urban and Metropolitan Administration and Development courses this past academic year when I met anew these proofs.  As in the past and in my other courses, whenever the opportunity is offered and the situation permits, I always make my hometown, Bacolor, the subject of these short papers, thus, the use of the adverb personally.

Bacolor bore the most brunt from the eruption of Mount Pinatubo and the resultant yearly lahar avalanches that practically wiped it out from Pampanga’s map.  We had to abandon the comforts of our homes and were forced to seek refuge from the various highly congested resettlement sites in the province—some even went as far Surigao and Mindoro—to escape the wrath of these twin disasters.  The town that’s steeped in noble tradition and pride born out from the recognition as the primus inter pares of all the towns of ancient Pampanga that included localities that are now parts of the surrounding provinces of Bulacan, Nueva Ecija, Tarlac, and Bataan and from being the seat of Spanish colonial rule from 1762 to 1764 when Governor General Simon de Anda had to escape Manila to avoid capture from the invading British forces, had been reduced to rubbles.  And some of the once proud residents of what many considered the “Athens” of Pampanga had to swallow their pride and depended on dole-outs to tide them through the ordeal and survive.  A Benedictine nun I was working with in coming out with an alternative rehabilitation program of their religious order for lahar survivors could not believe that such an enterprising people would morph into beggars upon seeing some residents asking motorists for alms along the Olongapo-Gapan Road.

But like the proverbial mythical Phoenix, Bacolor has slowly risen from the ashes of Mount Pinatubo. This, though, gave the opportunists and schemers another opportunity to line their pockets anew and, more importantly, project themselves as caring politicians who take to heart the interests and welfare of their marginalized and downtrodden constituents.  This development offers them to repeat what previous opportunists and schemers did during the height of the eruption and lahar onslaughts when they capitalized on the compassion not only of other Filipinos but also of other nationalities and fund raised that ended up in their pockets instead of easing the miseries of the disaster survivors.   I am reminded of the story told by another lady, former Fil-Am Washington State House Representative Velma Veloria, who helped my group pursue a development project for Agno River bank communities in Pangasinan, her parents’ and my wife’s home province.  As a labor organizer then, she successfully spearheaded various fund raising activities, including a $1,000-per plate dinner, for Mount Pinatubo survivors.  They forwarded the more than $100,000 (am not sure if my recollection is right) they mobilized to the Philippine consulate, which could not make an accounting of the funds when Ms. Veloria’s group requested for one.  This was the more compelling reason why she opted to work with my social activist group in pursuing social development projects in the country, particularly in Pangasinan.

In cognizant of the evolving events, the Bacolor Rehabilitation Council Act (BRCA—Republic Act 9506) was signed into law in record time by Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo on the birth date of her father, former President Diosdado Macapagal, on 28 September 2008 at Far East Asia’s oldest vocational school bearing the name of the latter’s benefactor, Don Honorio Ventura College of Arts and Trades (now Don Honorio Ventura Technological State University).  The national government has initially earmarked P1.5-billion to effect the restoration of my town’s glory:  “ibalik ing maningning nang bukas ning balen Bakulud” as the slogan of a local politician went.

With this enactment, infrastructure projects materialized in record time.  President Arroyo practically started the ball rolling, so to speak, by committing P350 million for major projects and development identified in the BRCA  master plan, whose cost has since ballooned to P4.6 billion in the plan commissioned to and prepared by the UP Planning and Development Research Foundation (UP Planades), Inc.   The fastest, of course, was the rehabilitation of the Ricardo P. Rodriguez Memorial Hospital (RPRMH).  The construction of the P26-million hospital was so fast that it was finished even before the required pre-construction documents, e.g. building permits, etc., that usually accompanied regular private and public construction projects have yet to be accomplished!   What’s more, even before its catchment—meaning, the people it’s going to serve—are nowhere to be found in the town!  

The Chief of the Hospital, a high school classmate, was the one “harassed” into producing the required documents immediately after the conclusion of the 2010 local and national elections and effecting the transfer of operations of the RPRMH to the new hospital building from its present buildings at the Bulaon Resettlement Complex, where its catchment includes not only the more than 4,000 resettled Bacolor families but also villagers from the northeastern barangays of the City of San Fernando and the northwestern barangays of Mexico on its peripheries.   My former high school classmate, had to perform as many as seven Caesarian operations—a no-no in standard hospital practice—out of necessity on extraordinary busy days. 

Even the lowly jueteng-cum-STL (Small Town Lottery) collectors know that the planned immediate transfer and its downgrading to a birthing station, allegedly being initiated by the provincial government, would be detrimental to meeting their and other basic sectors’ needs not just for primary but more advanced health care and services.  The National Economic Development Authority (NEDA) and Local Government 2008 joint population count, showed that 41,955 (58.26%) of the total municipal population of 72,016 are residing in various resettlement complexes in the province.  While 30,061 are listed as actually living in the town, a sizable number are in reality not full-time residents as they would return to their houses in resettlement complexes after tending their farms and other livelihoods in their home barangays at the end of the day.  Only those residents who are left with no other choices, those forced to sell their houses in resettlement complexes out of dire necessity, are practically the only full-time residents of the town.  These are the tangible catchment of the hospital being revived at the cost of P52 million in its original site at the town proper.  It cannot claim the residents of nearby barangays of Guagua and San Fernando as catchment as these are already and better served by the Diosdado Macapagal Provincial Hospital and the J.B. Lingad Regional Memorial Hospital, respectively.

This does not mean that I am neither against rehabilitation of Bacolor, in general, nor the revival of the said hospital, in particular.  What I am really against is the manner in which the rehabilitation was designed and how it is now being pursued and implemented.  What really makes me seethe in anger is the gall these scum bugs are using us, twice disaster survivors, to make fast bucks and then passing themselves as saviors of Bacolor.  Had I been a Magdalo, I would have staged my own Oakwood Mutiny or the more recent Manila Pen Siege!  The more I would stage one if the rumor I’ve heard will become fact.

The rumor was that it will be the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) which will bid out the remaining P26 million, out of the total P52 million allocated for RPRMH rehabilitation, for the hospital equipment. Hospital equipment and DPWH! Is the DPWH now manned by health professionals?  These scum bugs posing as public servants are pushing their luck!

In the midst of all these, there was only deafening silence as if everything is normal; as if this is way things should be.  Nobody dares to raise a voice.  Where is the media?  Had they been gagged?  What happened to the true leaders of Bacolor?  More importantly, where are the erudite Bacolorenos we are all proud of?  And, why is it that it is only this angry old man raging? (30)