About this site

Tumbang Preso (meaning, knock down the jail) is a game of arrests and escapes where each player's life
chances depends on the toppling of a tin can watched by a tag who plays guard.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Isang Araw sa Buhay ng Isang Baklang Pa-Girl-Girl sa Bituka ng London










photo by
anne shane baluca


Kumikita ka nga ng pounds pero gumagastos ka rin ng pounds. Lalake lang ata ang libre dito. Paminsan-minsan may mga cute. Natatawa na lang ako. Sa loob-loob ko, hah, hindi lang nila alam.


Jeanne Claudine Lardizabal


Autumn na naman sa London. Nalalagas na ang mga dahon at nagkukulay pula dilaw at orange na naman ang paligid. Pero malimit malamig, maulan, at makulimlim ang panahon. Sa wakas ay nakakita rin ako ng trabaho bilang isang waitress sa isang five-star hotel sa may Marble Arch. Kaya alas-siyete palang ng umaga eh rumarampa na ako sa kalye papuntang tube station. Para akong lumpiang balot na balot mula ulo hanggang paa dahil hindi ko pa rin makasanayan ang ginaw dito. Yung hangin para akong sinasampal.

Sasakay muna ako ng regular train sa West Ealing station tapos magko-connect sa Ealing Broadway tube station papuntang Marble Arch. Marami nang tao sa train ng ganung oras. Siksikan na rin kaya pumwepwesto ako malapit sa pintuan para madaling makalabas.

Umagang-umaga eh nakasimangot na ang mga commuters. Bored na bored ang mga expression nila sa mukha. Kanya-kanyang eksena rin sa loob ng train. May nag-aalmusal, may nagkakape, may nag-a-apply ng makeup, may naglalampungan sa tabe, may nakikipagchismisan sa cell phone, may nagko-crossword, sudoku o nagbabasa ng libreng diyaryo. Kung gabi meron pang mga lasenggong nagtatagay. Kulang na lang dun na rin sila maligo at magsepilyo, no, kung pupwede nga lang. Nakakatuwa silang panoorin habang pasikot-sikot ang train sa loob ng madilim at mahabang bituka ng London

Walang pakialaman ang drama dito. Walang tititgan. Walang ngitian. Walang pansinan. Walang bigayan ng daan. Walang chikahan. Lahat ng tao nagmamadali patungo sa kanilang pupuntahan.

Pagdating sa Marble Arch, lalakarin ko na lang papuntang hotel. Minsan namimiss ko rin ang mga jeepney sa 'ten kasi ititigil ka nila sa gusto mong babaan. Pagpasok sa hotel, magbibihis agad ng uniform sa locker at magsisimula na ang isang mahaba at nakakapagod na araw. Minsan aabutin ako ng dose oras para matapos ko lang ang trabaho. Dahil napakamahal ng labor dito eh sinusulit talaga nila ang bayad sa yo. Kahit masakit na ang likod ko eh iniisip ko na lang na hindi ko naman kikitain ang ganitong pera sa Pinas.

Iba’t ibang nationals ang mga nagtratrabaho sa hotel. May mga Brazilian, Portuguese, Spanish, Colombian, Chinese, Mongolian, Italian, Russian, African at siyempre mga Pinoy. Kanya-kanyang drama at malulungkot na kwento sa buhay. Walang British na nagtratrabaho sa low-ranking jobs. Puro supervisory lang sila. Lahat kaming rank-and-file nagrereklamo sa bigat ng trabaho pero nagtitiis na lang kasi kailangan. Mahirap palang kumita ng pounds. Pawis, sakit ng katawan, at sama ng loob ang kapalit ni Queen Elizabeth sa bulsa mo. Lagi kong naaalala yung kantang "Kayod Kabayo, Kayod Barya". Mas swerte pa rin kami ritong kumakayod kabayo dahil kayod pounds naman. Hindi yata mga OFW ang mga bagong bayani kundi ang mga kababayan nating nabubuhay pa rin sa kakaunting kitang barya araw-araw.

Nagsimula akong mag-yosi ulit dahil sa stress sa trabaho. Pero pakonti-konti lang dahil isang kaha ng Marlboro lights dito eh limang daang piso na sa 'ten. Ayan naman din ang kapalit ng malaking sweldo – malaking gastos. Dito sa London, lahat ng bagay mahal. Walang mura. Kumikita ka nga ng pounds pero gumagastos ka rin ng pounds. Syempre po. Lalake lang ata ang libre dito. Paminsan-minsan may mga cute na lalaki sa tube na nakikipagtitigan sa akin . Natatawa na lang ako. Sa loob-loob ko, hah, hindi nila alam halimaw pala ang ina-awrahan nila.

Pagkatapos ng shift, sasakay na ulit ng train pauwi sa flat. Ayos lang kahit pagod at medyo mainit ang ulo. Manonood na naman kasi ako ng libreng sine. Ang sari-saring mga eksena ng mga Londoners na nagsisiksikan patungo sa kanilang mga pupuntahan.

Friday, December 18, 2009

BLOGSHOT: CHRISTIAN SETTLER, NOT MORO










No one has ever asked me, how I feel as a woman living in Mindanao, land of promise and land of contesting and contestable land and territorial claims, being presumably chauvinist and privileged, which very likely I am, but I will take liberty anyway in asking and answering my own questions.

It got me, when I saw at Facebook that so many of my friends recently joined Bangsamoro and it felt like, This girl, does she know what Bangsamoro country is? That modern chic of an artist, doesn’t she have some shame in her? She has strong atheistic tendencies, a prejudiced shithead, and has certain notions about the tribes and the mujahideens, how could she???

I know it is I who ought to be ashamed for saying this. Being what I am, conscientious objector, NGO egghead and loyal compatriot of Mindanao Republic, that in the last three decades have been gathering its citizens around the so-called tri-people unity banner, I more than any of them, ought to be supporting Bangsamoro nationhood as duty and conscience demand of me. It is the best expression of recognition and respect for their struggle for self-determination, as they say in the church and NGO circuit, it is the best manifestation of Christian solidarity with our brothers and sisters in the aforming Bangsamoro Republik.

But I don’t even feel loyal to the Philippine Republic. I didn’t really truly thoroughly feel this country was ever mine or owns me as its own beloved daughter, how much more the emerging nation Bangsamoro Republik or the Lumad Republik, for that matter.

Not being overly dramatic about my national or pseudo-national identity, dear reader. I have gone through all that since the day I was born, you know, singing Bayang Magiliw and reciting Panatang Makabayan, and there must have been a time in my life when I would have willingly died for what I then thought was country and liberty, but  right now I just feel like your cynic fag of a dyke and would rather listen to Edith Piaf’s Non, je ne regrette rien, je ne regretted rien, or Cheryl Crowe’s rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah than wax nationalistic – it be democratic or Islamic, pardon me.

I did have my moments, though, when I did think of it: How or where am I to stand as a woman, Christian settler, liberal, nationalist, feminist, lesbian, and whathaveyou. It began way back in the 1980s when we were in this Moro NGO engaged in human rights work and self-determination advocacy and some of our Moro friends and colleagues would accuse us of being Christians and as such should not be there intercepting solidarity and funding that should be going directly to Bangsamoro and Muslim organizations, and by God I would say they were partly right, except that. Except that while we were in that organization we had this pledge that we would work there for what we then called PDOES (the poor, the deprived, the oppressed, the exploited and struggling), which at the time happened to be Moro, Christian and Indigenous people.  That was the first time when I really felt acutely the conflict, the tension, or in our wonderful vocabulary then, the contradiction. And some of my Moro and Christian colleagues would explain to me that this contradiction is ethno-religious, although the ones that I believed most and served me most was those who said that no, it’s class-based.

I believe that I have grown overly conscious since then and have had many spurs of rebellions against both these Christian- and Moro-informed configurations of the conflict and had at one time or another demanded that it’s about time we make a stand, too, what we think about all this Bangsamoro self-determination campaign we so much uphold and support, because then as now, we Christian crusaders were a little unwilling to say our piece. To say that one is a Christian and be proud of it, too, beside all the sins of the Inquisition, was to be on the wrong side of history, to be politically wrong, in the terms of the day. So when the Moro nationalists (represented then by the Moro National Liberation Front and later by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, even by the now defunct Moro Revolutionary Organization) issued manifestoes that said Christians can be part of the struggling and emerging Bangsamoro Republic too by taking on the “Christian Moro” citizenhood, we stood by that. Or at least did not speak up against it. To do so was tantamount to betraying and undermining the much besieged and the greatly outnumbered terribly disadvantaged and already much divided Moro struggle. 

I mean, we don’t have to be too etymological about it, only a sense of history or a little of it will do. Didn’t they say they are Moros because their brave forefathers resisted the Spanish colonizers and we are Christians because our forefathers were wimps and cowards who vowed to the sword and the cross of the frigging friars and were conscripts to the anti-Moro wars, too? Now if later we rebelled against this historical participation and against these hundred years of Catholicism and chose liberation theology or tri-people unity and other such more popular and more politically attuned religions, does that immediately make us eligible for Bangsamoro citizenship?

I know of friends whose grandfathers and uncles were pioneers and they have stories of hard work behind them enough for you to believe that the now productive lands really belong to no one else but them. And if you so much as broached the notion that these lands could have been ancestral lands of Lumads or Moros, they would jump to the nearest Ilaga detachment, if there existed one, to enlist. But most of the families in my hometown are poor peasants like us who might have been the last in the line to have inherited a parcel to what was once a five- or seven-hectare resettlement grant. And these very same families are the very ones who are constant victims of guyod karbaw (carabao rustling) which they blame on the Moros at the other side of the river. Try hard as I might, there is no way of selling to them the idea of granting autonomy or Bangsamoro Juridical Entity to brother Muslims living in Midsayap, Carmen, or Alamada. They would rather be recruits to the politicos to whom they are heavily indebted. Sad. But if the Moros have benevolent warlords, we Settlers have our own ideas about benevolent landlords, too.

But to go back to the Bangsamoro question: It is hard enough to admit to Ilaga landgrabber status, but to deny one’s own history which defines one’s identity? And aren’t we all migrants across different times in history? Leave the 1940s and 1950s, fast forward to the 1990s and on to the present decade. The Sama Dilaut and the Sama Muslims in Tawi-Tawi, are losing hold of their traditional island and water territories as Tausug families move in, to escape the munduh (the “bad elements”) and the endless violence in Sulu, as well as to take to agar-agar farming after the copra industry first went down in the islands in the 1980s. Smaller scales, of course, because they do not have the backing of the state. But in many other provinces similar movements of people happen all the time, whether backed or not backed by government edicts.

Am I asserting the supremacy of migrant status over native status? I don’t know what I am asserting. I think I am just piqued at all this bloody drama; piqued at all this romancing of the past; piqued, most of all, at being guilt-tripped for being born into a Catholic Christian Settler oppressor identity.

ABORTION RIGHTS: ESSAYEZ DE CHOISIR POUR MOI!

























More compassionate medical practitioners who bloody know from the mess of the operating tables the terrible guilt and pain that women undergo try to comfort their patients by lying to them, telling them that even if they did not choose to get an abortion, they still would have had a miscarriage.


IN DEFENSE OF JULIANA TERSOL
SB Alojamiento

I read with dread and indignation Mindanao Times’ September 23, 2009 story about the Regional Trial Court’s ruling that sentenced one named Juliana Tersol to a maximum of 20 years jail term. Her crime: "intentional abortion with homicide.” RTC likewise ordered Juliana to pay an P50,000 indemnity to her victim’s next of kin. The rape victim, Carmelita Uray, died in November of 1998, from complications (acute renal failure and sepsis) resulting from the abortion she underwent.

“As between the detailed accounts of the prosecution’s witnesses, and the denials of the accused Juliana Tersol,” Mindanao Times writer Nef Luczon quotes the verdict, “this court gives more weight to the former.” At large is Jeraclio Tabaranza, the man who raped, impregnated and brought Carmelita to the house of Juliana.

The case has reduced Juliana to an “abortionist” which, if the CBCP-led discourse on reproductive health issues is to be believed, rings like “murderer,” and for that she is going to jail among common-law criminals.

I do not know Juliana but I must have seen enough of the country to know that she is our neighborhood hilot or mananambal, maybe sometimes called community health worker, or quack doctor, depending on how we momentarily need or can dispense of their skills and services. But of course we can also say that traditional midwives and neighborhood hilots are far more reliable, beside being more affordable, given their years of training and education in real-life emergencies to fuck up in a thing like abortion, but then again, sepsis is as sepsis goes, and when you perform an abortion on command of a man with an emergency in hand, competence flies out of the window as the man’s blunt instruments go in.

I always fault the man? Sure. Especially when he has gotten away and someone else he dragged in has to pay for his time in jail.

The story of Juliana Tersol is of course far from being an isolated case. A visit to the women unit of the Davao Penal Colony in Davao Norte, and maybe elsewhere, would inform us that the rape and murder convicts there were mostly wives of men who actually initiated and perpetrated the crimes. Whether the women actually participated in the commission of these crimes, or they just tried to protect their men from going to prison after the crime had been committed, is not as important as the fact that at the conclusion of the jury’s grind, the women go to jail too. Even in rich countries such is the case. Studies show that in France and other parts of Europe, women with long-term sentences are all involved in crimes that were committed by or at the initiative of a man.

I hold a strong kinship with Juliana and Carmelita because in a country where artificial contraception is not allowed by powerful religious institutions, and where abortion is criminalized, women like them are highly defenseless before God and man. More compassionate medical practitioners who bloody know from the mess of the operating tables the terrible guilt and pain that women undergo, a doctor friend related to me, try to comfort their patients by lying to them, telling them that even if they did not choose to get an abortion, they still would have had a miscarriage owing to that or this abnormality in this particular pregnancy. How comforting that lyings like this can go a long way in helping women reclaim their healthy minds and their right to their bodies and their precarious lives.

Still, this is no substitute to squarely facing the issues. In the face of the crimes that are committed daily against women and the bodies of women, when will our country ever start to bravely and sensibly address reproductive health rights issues? When, for instance, will women groups bravely speak up and speak back to priests and bishops who get away with accusations of murder?

Data on abortion is underreported in the Philippines, but Guttmacher Institute estimates that around 400,000 abortions occur each year in the country. Some 80,000 women, the same report states, are treated each year for complications arising from induced abortion. Behind these cold statistics are back alley and hospital dramas and maybe court dramas that will have one woman’s incriminating words used against another, as in this case we have above.

And no one sees how maybe someone has only been forced to provide a much needed social service which health and medical institutions are prohibited from providing due to socio-religious and legal sanctions, not to mention curtailed federal budgets to Safe Motherhood projects in Third-World countries, thanks to right-wing lobbyists in the US.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

WHY FEMINISM IS NOT A PICNIC
















Today, of course, where German women may refuse to bear children,
German men may rely on import-quality Filipino wives to impair German women’s abortion rights.


This article is a rip-off from a pamphlet published by Rote Zora, probably a now disbanded armed group. The manifesto was signed ATS (for Arm the Spirit). Tumbang Preso is running it in the spirit of debate and discussion as it joins all those who try to grapple with questions related to women’s participation in liberation projects throughout time.


Throughout time, women have struggled in armed groups, but for the most part the reality of the contribution has been suppressed. The contribution of women in the guerilla has been so large that this mechanism no longer functions. The division of labor has also been undermined: women assume the responsibility for the infrastructure, men do the actions. Subversive women groups like Rote Zora are still few, but things are changing! We do not want only to carry out some actions, but also to describe the apparent reality of the ossified relationships we are forced to live with—even if we don’t find this easy.

The analyses of imperialism for the most part restrict their investigation to the political, economic, and military power structure of imperialism, neglecting to analyze the strategy as regards women both in the capitalist countries and in the Third World. For us it is not sufficient to say: On the basis of the analysis of imperialism, it is clear that NATO is the target for attacks and in as far as women attack NATO, the women’s struggle gains its pointed revolutionary direction. The liberation struggle remains, in this way, only as an attack against the central power structures, leaving aside the daily contents of violence, through which destruction, oppression, and exploitation are experienced.

For us it is also part of liberation if we set a small fire under the ass of a piggish landlord or his handyman, of the Atomic mafia, or the local warlord and his politician cronies. The problem we have with this is that we want to do more than we can in practice do, at this time.

However, that will also change! As well, the actions against the daily violence are already understandable, not only for the majority, but for all those who have not allowed their brains to be ripped off. In this way, attacks against the central State power have greater difficulty. They must be planned and thought through so that the political line is clear. Basically, we think that there are no “targets for attack” that can “overthrow” the State. The chance for a revolutionary movement lies much more in attacks against the unified, State-organized living conditions. The attacks against the central State institutions is only part of this. It is also illusionary—with all the revolutionary slogans in action—to seize upon a single target of attack. The organization of continuity in an armed group is more clearly the way to open a perspective of hope and victory.

Another point which we have reflected on is the women’s movement. We want to find out more clearly why the women’s movement has lost its revolutionary explosiveness and taken the path of the “new inwardness”. The one and only women’s movement doesn’t exist. There are many forms of women’s struggle, and in each individual one there are even more elements in motion, apart from the gender question, the class position, nationality, and the concrete situation.

Understanding sexism and racism as integral components of the patriarchal ruling system often remains in the stage of pious lip service. In the popular analyses of imperialism, sexism as a means for dividing and ruling is barely mentioned. If we now write about sexism and the gender-specific division of labor, it is not so as to say a word about us women, but on the basis of the knowledge that without concrete investigation about sexism, the condition in the Third World and in the metropoles, as well as in the Women’s Movement, cannot be understood. The oppression of women is older than capitalism. One of the roots of this lies in the function of her physiology. To have or not to have children isn’t understood as a conscious act—as an interaction with nature—and as such as work. This was not so for the activities of the breast and uterus of a woman. Marxist theory did not abolish this perspective about work. Accordingly, this perspective treats the so-called biological nature of women as a natural resource. They are thus exploited according to varied economic needs. In the Third World women are forcibly sterilized, in the metropoles they are made material promises to encourage them to have children. Abortion is described as mass murder. The economic element of the exploitation of women’s capacity to give birth is expanded through racism. In rich capitalist countries, the media whines about "sinking birth rates". In the US, the attacks against “welfare mothers” indicates that only white middle-class may perpetuate the race. This was so in Germany in the late 1980s when only superior races German women were encourage to bear children and women from Turkey, Spain, Greece, etc. were forbidden and sterilization recommended or even decreed. Today, of course, where German women may refuse to bear children, German men may rely on import-quality Filipino wives to impair German women’s abortion rights.

No wonder that up to this time, even the ruling class still haven’t gotten the answer, and whatever research had been undertaken in the area of test-tube babies and gene manipulation signals the attempt to snatch from women their sole disposal over the capacity to bear children. The exploitative, non-reciprocal relationship with nature, according to which first women, and later other classes and peoples, were made part of nature is characteristic of all male styles of production—in particular capitalism. This exploitative relationship to nature has brought us today to the edge of ecological catastrophe. On this basis, they developed the sexist and racist division of labor in which they consolidated production conditions in which cultivating sugar cane and rice isn’t work for whites and housework isn’t for men. This division of labor is no superstructural phenomenon. It is not based on false ideas and false thinking that the woman or man only must recognize, so as to change it; it is the economic basis of the extreme exploitation under capitalism. In all serious analyses of imperialism, we’ve read that in the Third World, backward pre-capitalist methods of production exist side by side with intense monopolization. On the one hand it is discovered that the concrete development, with growing capitalist development, doesn’t cause these “backwards” methods of production to disappear. In reality, the opposite occurs: they are and will be constantly reproduced. It is conspicuous that the problem of heterogeneity of methods of production are almost only examined in the Third World. In the metropoles, on the other hand, homogenous methods of production are accepted.

Those who see it from the other side wonder why the question of heterogeneity for the First World is not dealt with. Here, homogenous methods of production ostensibly rule. This assertion is not only Eurocentric and glorifying of capitalism. It is also sexist, because it covers up, in fact completely denies, that also at home labor power is extremely exploited, as such engaged at less than its reproduction cost. In fact half of all work hours – housework – is in general unpaid.

Who, then, are the non-capitalist producers?

They are the housewives of the entire world; the subsistence farmers of the Third World; male and female marginals, particularly in the Third World. It is they who produce surplus value. As Rosa Luxemburg wrote: It is clear that surplus value is neither produced by workers nor by capitalists, but by that social stratum that engage in non-capitalist production.

So for us, the following facts are clear: sexism and racism are not something of the mind, not a case of false consciousness, that clarification and good will alone will change. It is economic conditions that produce sexism and racism ever anew. They are above all necessary so that imperialism can function. That they, on the other hand, are political instruments that divide the oppressed doesn’t speak against this. Imperialism is the stage of capitalism in which “the rationality” of capitalist methods of production—using people so as to exploit their labor power—has validity for very many people in the Third World. The majority are squeezed dry, without any perspective for health or an acceptable lifespan. And if there are too many people, the strategy is annihilation. Barbarism is no vision of the future, we already find ourselves in it.

In the metropoles the conditions of violence are veiled. The economic violent force of capitalism has already established itself as acceptable violence in the heads of the people. The direct physical violent force, through the State with its organs of repression wins, but as such, makes the significance of social conflict apparent. It is clearly established that the extension of capitalism in the metropoles has not led to the replacement of direct forms of violence by something else, but has led directly to increased violence.

Women have been exposed to every level of violence, the indirect, structured forms of violence of this social system that ossify all possibilities of life, and the brutal, personal violent conditions at the hands of men. Open use of violence of men against women have become clear in their proportions in the last years as a result of the work of women’s shelters and emergency call lines. Women experience violence daily in different forms and qualities. The decisive factor of the structure of violence is the abuse of women in the family, rape, threats of rape, and the aesthetisization of violence against women in the media, advertising, and the cultural industry.

Violence against women, not as the exception but understood as a universal ruling principal, has led to the knowledge that the struggle against the personal experience of sexist violence cannot be separated from the struggle against every form of violence of the system. The increase in physical violence is a general social reality, along with the increasing senselessness of life and the anonymity of relationships, and women find themselves in the role of the social sacrifice. The covering up of this violence by the police and the justice system clarifies the embedding of the violent relationships between a man and his wife through marriage and the family in protecting this system is indicated by the increase of open violence. The contradiction between the claim of the full equality of women and the necessity of their clear oppression for the security of the ruling class is for this system an irreconcilable contradiction.

Women live in exile because the socially organized institutions, like the government, the economy, education, culture, the media, the church, the police, and the military are shaped and ruled by men. They are characterized by the principle of hierarchy, power, and power struggles. Therefore, men are also affected by power, violence, and oppression. They must subordinate themselves to these principles if the predominance of “male rule” is to be preserved. Our oppression is based on this. Women will always and above all be oppressed and confronted with violence either open or veiled in a patriarchal society.

Women must bow to this to avoid an open confrontation with power and violence, as long as this system exists—remaining in exile as a survival technique—but also remaining in a sacrificial posture. This sacrificial posture leads to an evasion of the responsibility for social conditions, therefore making them partially to blame. The fact that women experience violence is no excuse for passing on the violence to their children.

The internalization of this by women as the most effective form of securing power occurs through subtle forms of preventing the development of self-consciousness through education, morals, and love, to enforce the established norms and to enforce conformity. Power will certainly exert non-open forms so that without the use of open violence, women will take on and tolerate their social functions and will identify with them.

The women’s movement
made the personal oppressive situation of women into the starting point of their political practice. The division between private and political practice was abolished. The personal was political and the political was made personal. Explosive revolutionary force lay in the consciousness of the direct connection between the abolition of personal suffering and the necessity of a social transformation. The idea of radical social change—much more revolutionary in the change of the consciousness of people than all previous revolutions—produces a deep power among women. New forms and contents can lead to the separation from the general left movement, to the organizational autonomy of the women’s movement. Autonomy introduced important processes, calling into question the value structures of male society, not looking for any perspective within the social power structure, not wanting to participate in influencing power, not defining women’s liberation through male roles. This can also lead them to construct liberated space to escape patriarchal structures. This is important, because no movement has as much to struggle for a separate identity from the oppressor as the women’s movement!

In the attacks against all oppressive structures lies the hope of not being integratable, and the hope of producing and developing the core of revolutionary subversion. On the basis of the overemphasis of subjective experience, which was the consequences of the taboos in the left groups, and the difficulty of converting the knowledge of personal oppression into direct acts of resistance, an “internalization” came out of the politics of subjectivity: personal change without social change. The route into this new “internalization” was favored by the class position of many of the women in the women’s movement. For women with good vocational training, there were and are real possibilities of finding a niche in this society and of seeking a little subjective happiness. The powerlessness with respect to social relationships wasn’t raised. This approach proved to be a deadend. The yearning for happiness was pursued without ever being achieved.

In the 1980s, in countries like West Germany, the resistance of the women’s movement developed almost exclusively to the point of confrontation with the individual man. Women set up self-defense groups, rape crisis lines, and, above all, women’s shelters. State repression was thoroughly analyzed and described. However, their behavior was hardly political. The coinciding of two experiences, violence as a daily attack and violence as a specifically directed oppression by the State, were not connected to each other. Abdicating the necessity of establishing the connection between capitalism and social oppression, abdicating the necessity of establishing who the enemy is, led as a result to the development of a tendency in the “self-help” projects (women’s shelters, crisis groups, women centers) to only soothing women in crisis. At the point when women limit themselves to remedying the distress of women without taking up and attacking the social causes when they let opposition to the State drop, the radicalism as regards the male gender of the police and defense forces is at an end. Negotiations with the cops and the justice apparatus to help a woman who has been attacked to imprison the rapist can’t replace the strength which is lacking and can only degenerate into complicity with the State. And clearly, at this point the massive State attempt at integration exhibits its effectiveness. The goal of this attempt at integration was and is to destroy the explosive revolutionary force of the women’s movement, to turn women into badly paid administrators of misery. In the Philippines and many countries where the feminism had been routed by counter-revolutionary forces, these self-help projects make a parody of the movement’s former strength as even the most “radical” and “gender-sensitive” male-led organizations institutionalize and propagate these parasitic women assistance programs.

A similar contradiction exists in the area of the women’s lesbian culture. The radicalism with which many lesbian women have broken with the male gender which expressed itself equally in a blossoming creativity in the area of theatre, music, literature and painting, which precipitated a new beginning for women’s culture, did not prevent it from becoming part of a State-tolerated subculture. Lesbian dreams are very radical dreams, but in the metropoles, they find a place: a privileged minority who had the will to engage in social bargaining. With the hope of setting all women free, they too have transformed the autonomous women’s project into an illusion of the achievement of personal happiness.

The autonomy of the women’s movement, organizationally and as regards content, as well as its external boundary, had to be established. There is no causal connection between autonomy and the external boundary. The autonomy of the movement can and must be developed, without reducing women’s politics to woman-specific problems. For self-organizing projects, provocation and not the avoidance of confrontation must be the goal: to break the social rules and not to be turned into a little functioning cog.

Women in the women’s organizations have expressed their unease about the political exile of the women’s and lesbian’s movement. Not many have broken through the ‘clones’ covering the women’s islands. What is clear is that the women’s project can’t do without the organization of subversiveness and counterviolence. The women’s movement has already written enough analyses about how women are educated to endure violence, but to not protect themselves. Women are trained to accept the powerlessness and psychological destruction which this system uses her emotionality to bring about. The sympathy of women for the oppressed is strongly developed but the hate for the oppressor, the enemy, is not developed, even suppressed. Hate has something to do with destruction and destruction scares women. To stop at describing these conditions means nothing other than to accept the condition of powerlessness, to accept the role this society offers women. They myth of peace-loving women is the legitimation for remaining in the condition of sacrifice.

But every woman who has ever thrown a stone, who didn’t retreat after being struck by a man, but attacked back, can comprehend the feeling of freedom women terrorist groups had experienced when they destroyed sex shops or set off bombs. In our society, freedom has something to do with destruction, destruction of the structures that want to chain us to women’s roles. And these structures can only be destroyed if we attack the conditions that attempt to destroy us. Attacking in the most diverse forms but always in connection with our unreconciliable hate for the society. The armed form of attacks is for us an unavoidable part of the women’s struggle. This position, as we have outlined, is barely developed in the women’s movement. Therefore, we have organized together with men in the guerilla. But here the contradiction between the struggle against sexism and class struggle can’t be resolved either. Our status as an autonomous women’s group has to be determined on the basis of the current political situation of women which at the moment is at its knees. Ours should not be a supplementary form of struggle with which organizations can decorate themselves. We are not the solution to the fundamental problems, only one way. Our feminist way bases itself on the perspectives of the women’s movement and the international revolutionary struggles and not only on our perspective.


Arm the Spirit, 2009

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

BLOGSHOT: The Center Cannot Hold




















What’s your religion? someone on his way to church asked me one Sunday morning of doing my laundry. Must have noticed I don’t go that way at least once a week.

Because he was to my mind just another bastard son of a gun who worships his bike more than God, I had insouciance enough to say Oh I believe in myself I believe in my life amen aren’t you going yet? to which he just said “that’s cool”. I really didn’t feel cool. In fact, I was feeling sore because I was beginning to dislike that compound. Not because the laundry area was getting slimy and the drainage clogged with cellophanes: It was looking like I was on my way out again because people were once again beginning to ask questions about my life and I never like lying about lived lives, least of all mine, and if I shut up people would think I have ugly secrets or that I was getting on like I’m not one of them. But if I talked, I would be saying something repetitious or frivolous and thoroughly out of the way to be immediately comprehensible and appreciable. I hate asserting my difference because the effect is always an assertion of my superiority over a beleaguered majority; a setting of one’s self apart from the daily grind of the groveling humanity; and humanity generally don’t like freaks of nature. So when I can’t avoid talking to people, I lie, I learn to lie, a way to survive, and I'd say yeah, it’s a fine day even if it wasn't.

But religion is something hard for me to lie about and there’s no asking me to smile ever so sweetly around someone who thinks himself the mullah. So if I want to keep the friendship of someone in the compound, I try to keep him away from the subject of my religions. As I said, people generally are bigots, even in their own yards, and all they often care about is to beat you down to it, there’s no other way of seeing it. And whoever it was that said that the most violent wars are fought up there in our heads, in the ideological plane, he was damn right. If people don’t see things your way, there’s little hope they will soon, unless you’re a community organizer slinging an Armalite or a badge of some success story like Obama.

When I was in Silliman I had this Greek for a Religion teacher who was Protestant, but I had a hunch he was Pagan. He liked to dwell on the seedy intrigues of the Old Testament and every now and then he would break into a mock rant yelling praises for the much slandered many gods of the Old Testament as against the One God that New Testament Christians have pledged their lives to. I did enjoy him. He liked this idea of an old temperamental Grandfather God who went berserk in the vicinity of the temple, cursing and whipping merchants and moneylenders and toppling cashboxes and shouting Frauds! Hypocrites! One day someone in the class said that she doesn’t see much sense in all this propaganda about Eve and sin because if the story in Genesis was true at all, then we all of us owe it to Eve’s disobedience and the little help of her serpent friend that we are here at all procreating or just lovemaking.

“Besides, Sir, I could not imagine living in a state of bliss forever and ever like creation stopped there?”

His blue maybe green eyes shone lights. Yes, yes! he said. Oh there is hope, there is hope for this country. Most days he feels like his life is over, he said, that he is decomposing, right there in the middle of the room, but he has faith, he has faith, yes, because every once in a long while he always finds one, some out-of-the-way Religion Class student, some fine mind who always surprises him.

How profuse was his praise one somehow thought if them white men generally think of the benighted Filipinos brain-deficient or just brain-dead, but he and his wife soon left Silliman for Greece and we hadn’t heard much about him since, but if there was anything I appreciate a lot about him, it was not the worship of wine and women (which I doubt he indulged in as much as I do now), but William Butler Yeats. His favorite poet, he said, is Yeats, how about me. At the time it was “But I don’t and couldn’t read or write poetry, Sir! I find most poetry books hard to comprehend!” I thought then that I was just a fictionist and that my talents and imagination wouldn't go further that there. So I just told him, thinking of Benilda S. Santos and Fatima V. Lim and Jason Montana and Emmanuel Lacaba and Don Pagusara, the slew of Latin novelists and African poets and playwrights, and the rather overrated clump of critics and writers of Manila that I’m more into contemporary poetry, can’t appreciate old English, which was really a sham because I was getting straight A’s in my Shakespeare class, and he said, looking all his 70 years of disappointment that William Butler Yeats is a contemporary poet, no poet is more contemporary than William Butler Yeats! Impromptu he recited Yeats’ The Second Coming, that part that ran turning and turning in the widening gyre the falcon cannot hear the falconer things falling apart the center cannot hold, down to the last two lines about the shape of a beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born.

Wherever he is now I wish to tell him that because of him, I dug Yeats’ bones up, and had read most of his poems but understand better his plays. That I had shed most of my presumptions about what I then thought as old-fogey universal-truth poetry. And that today I’m not going to either Heaven or Hell, I’m not seeing any woman or taking any white wine; I’m just on my way to the city library to see if they’ve got a copy of his Princess Kathleen, a satire about preachers and soul chasers at a time when people were dying from famine in God-stricken Ireland.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Alice in Wondertracks Wheezes By


I think everything's fair in a race track.
The rest of your life is definitely not.





Jessie De Paula Baylon


Running around an oval track, High Priestess, the solitude of it all exhilarating. You have no idea who's chasing who, you're all catching each others' backs. I think everything's fair in a race track. The rest of your life is definitely not just. Which reminds me I'm ready to make a run for your online mag. I'm scared though. The lesbian ed there I know might bash me for being too girlie-girl and I find my concerns in life are petty, what am I spoz to do with those floods, those massacres, those catastrophes??? I'm scared to complain my steak isn't done "medium well" and could I care if the waiter or the cook is a flood victim? Or my pedicure isn't "square-toed" enough, should I now concern myself if my pedicurista has a relative in Maguindanao?? I'm ashamed to make my quarterly rounds over at the Greenbelt shops where my retail therapists reside. Every time I see a sales attendant I just silently go off in my head: Hey, Jess, what about the flood victim, the landslide resident, the marginalized underpaid, the massacred? You should be ashamed of yourself, Jess, don't buy anything!!! Oh and oh, and I have no clue as how to upload something over at your website, I'm a dufus when it comes to online tinkering. Wait, isn't this a piece already? A monologue! I rest my case, oh High Priestess of the L-worLd, I curtsy as I leave and run back to the tracks to catch some butts...

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Poetry by Daniel Ong












Himutok ng Isang Nanakawan
(Para kay Teng)


Kung nanakawan ka’t nagising
Na wala na ang iyong pitaka, relos o singsing
o dili kaya’y ang nakasabit na pantalong mamahalin,
Saan ibubunton ang hinaing?
Sa aso bang di man lang tumahol at nanggising,
sa bombilya bang antukin
o sa bakod na kay daling lundagin?
Sino ang sisisihin?
Ay! Sana’y di na ako nagising
at ngayo’y parang torong sumisingasing
Ay! Ayaw ko nang muli pang malasing!


2 BUKIDNON

Wala na ang dating lamig.
Naglaho na ang gubat.
Subalit may naiwan pa ring halina
at kulay ang kalikasan:
Sinusuyod ng makapal na hamog ang hita’t dibdib ng kabundukan
Habang banayad na naglalakbay ang puti-abuhing ulap
sa ibabaw ng amoy-pinipig na palayan.
Sa pagitan ng maalikabok at pakiwalkiwal na daan
Nagpapaligsahan sa pag-aagaw ng pansin
ang mga ligaw na sanplawer
sa malawak na plantasyon ng tubo, saging at pinya
At sa makikisig na kabayong sa kaburula’y
Waring mga tanod ng Bathala sa lupa.


3 MADALING ARAW KUNG DUMALAW ANG KALUNGKUTAN


Madaling araw kung dumalaw ang kalungkutan
Sumasabay siya sa marahas na haplit ng hangin
at ragasa ng ulan
Katabi mo siya sa iyong paggising.

Muli,
Hahagilapin ang mga lumang larawan,
Bubuksan ang baul at babasahin muli
ang mga lumang liham,
Dadampian ng malamyos na halik
ang mga alaalang naiwan.

Madaling araw kung dumalaw ang kalungkutan
Mapipilitan kang magtimpla ng kape’t
Almusalin ang agam-agam.