Render unto Caesar what he owns. What bears his image. His property.
But never, ever, render unto Caesar what he does not own. People. Each one bears God's image. People are not property.
Reading the Bible inside a Jeepney: Celebrating Colonized and Occupied Peoples' capacity to beat swords into ploughshares; to transform weapons of mass destruction into instruments of mass celebration; mortar shells into church bells, teargas canisters to flowerpots; rifle barrels into flutes; U.S. Military Army Jeeps into Filipino Mass Transport Jeepneys.
Blog Archive
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Saturday, October 21, 2017
JEEPNEYS AND REVOLUTIONS
Jeepneys,
according to the Philippine Daily Inquirer, best represent the Filipinos’
on-the-spot survival instincts conditioned by centuries of desperate
situations. Lest we forget, the “people” in People Power are the millions
who face the violence of hunger every day, those who barely get the minimum
wage. They are the “bakya” crowd, the “masa,” the “ochlos” in the Gospel of
Mark. The late Luis Beltran, popular radio political commentator, called them
“bubwit.” These are the millions who are underpaid, who are overworked, and who
will never get a bank loan approved for a small house, a second-hand car, and
yes, a 1.6 million electric jeepney!
These
are the masses who patronize the 600,000+ drivers who drive over 200,000 jeepneys
throughout the country every single day. Yet, these are the masses who
overthrew Marcos and “Erap.” According to Teodoro Agoncillo, Renato
Constantino, and Reynaldo Ileto, the “Revolt of the Masses” that overthrew
Spain was exactly that—a revolt of the masses!
“No
uprising fails. Each one is a step in the right direction.” Ileto
memorializes this famous saying of peasant leader Salud Algabre in his Pasyon
and Revolution. Algabre was one of the leaders of the anti-American Sakdal
uprising in 1935. For me, what Salud Algabre ultimately does with that
short yet profound statement is memorialize all those unnamed legions of
freedom fighters that have been victimized by the violence of institutionalized
forgetting. These include the indigenous communities of Igorots and
Lumads, forcibly driven out of their ancestral domain, in the name of
development, that now find themselves displaced in their own homeland. These
include rural “messiahs,” like Hermano Pule and Macario Sakay, who led
anti-colonial movements against Spain and America yet are
marked as bandits and thieves in Filipino and American history books.
(Incidentally, if you know your Greek, the “lestes”—rebels or freedom fighters—crucified
with Jesus are called bandits and thieves in the English translations.)
And
these would include jeepney riders—farmers, fisher-folk, students, women, those
whose only hope is God—collectively struggling to dismantle structures of
exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and
systemic violence in all its forms.
Since
the late 40s, jeepneys have been integral to the lives of many Filipinos who
are not full participants in the economic system. Albert Ravenholt’s case study
notes that jeepneys “relate so intimately to the daily life of Filipinos
throughout the archipelago” yet government and financial institutions do not
provide support of any kind to their manufacture and/or sale. Jeepneys are the
masses’ response to the ravages of war. They are the most concrete expressions of a people's capacity to beat swords into plowshares. Unfortunately, the Philippine Government has basically
left public mass transportation systems in the hands of the private sector.
Jeepneys, tricycles, pedicabs are the masses’ response to the government’s
impotence and indifference.
Why
is it that there’s practically no traffic in Metro Manila during Holy Week?
Because public roads are free of private vehicles that cause all the traffic in
the Metropolis. Heck, 80-90% of public roads are used by private vehicles, most
of which have one passenger. Why was there heavy traffic during the October
16-17 Nationwide Strike against the jeepney phaseout? Again, because jeepneys
do not cause traffic. Private vehicles do. And everyone in the LTO, DOTC, and
LTFRB know this as true.
Raveholt
continues, without establishment support, manufacturers, which are usually
family operations, work on the kumpadre/kumadre system and seal deals with a
handshake and palabra de honor. Young people who learn how to drive on jeepneys
see jeepney driving as the best option for livelihood, given their very limited
opportunities to find work elsewhere. With no credit schemes available from
banks, these young Filipinos have no choice but to approach private money
lenders who eventually, because of exorbitant interest rates, get to own the
jeepneys themselves. Many work as OFWs and, after saving enough, come home to
get their own jeepneys.
Ravenholt
notes: “Jeepney drivers are so influential as molders of public opinion that
successive attempts seeking to bar them from Manila’s main streets have
been thwarted…In the twenty years or so that I have been involved in social
activism in the Philippines, I have observed that the only thing that can
paralyze the country’s business and government infrastructure, literally
bringing everything to a halt is a jeepney strike.”
No.
Actually, there are two: a jeepney strike and a “People Power” uprising from
the masses that ride jeepneys.
No
other public vehicle is better equipped to navigate the Philippines’
narrow and dimly lit streets at night. No other person is better equipped to
drive a jeepney at night than a Filipino. The people’s revolt that overthrew
the US-supported Marcos dictatorship in 1986 began and ended at night. I was
there, with about two million other folks, most of whom ride jeepneys. Clifford Geertz reminds us: “Some of the
greatest revolutions occur in the dark.”
#NoToJeepneyPhaseout
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
The Parable of the Talents
A rich man entrusts his property to three of his slaves. To one he gives five talents; to the second, two; to the third, one. The one with five traded with them and earns five more. The one with two, doing the same, earns two more. The third, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.
After a long time, the master returns and settles accounts with them. The first and second slaves are found trustworthy and put in charge of more things and invited to enter into the joy of their master. The third who returns the one talent he received is thrown out into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Why?
Because he was not willing to become a party to the ways of his master who was harsh, reaping where he did not sow, and gathering where he did not scatter seed. Moreover, his master expected 100% returns on his property which the other two slaves did.
Lest we forget, a talent is 15 years' wages. At minimum rates, in Philippine pesos that is about 3 million pesos. The first got 15 million and earned 15 million. The second, 6 million and earned 6 million.
The third slave was brave enough to say no to a system that was built on profit, greed, and violence. And he was punished for doing so.
My friends, this parable is not about one's talents in singing, dancing, leading Bible Studies, teaching Sunday School, and other "talents." It has never been about these.
His parables got Jesus executed.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
The Prodigal Son
There was a man with two sons.
He was rich. He had property. He had land. He had slaves. He had two sons. The younger asks for his inheritance and squanders it. He goes back home and is welcomed back by his father. With a feast, a robe, sandals, and a ring. The older is angry, feels slighted, and left out so the father reminds him that “you are always with me and all is mine is yours.”
In the end, everybody lives happily ever after. Father and sons. Still propertied. Still landed. Still slaveholders. Still rich.
My friends, we should stop identifying rich fathers, rich landowners, and rich slaveholders with God. Parables of Jesus were subversive speech. They indicted the status quo. They challenged Pax Romana.
They were the reasons Jesus was executed.
He was rich. He had property. He had land. He had slaves. He had two sons. The younger asks for his inheritance and squanders it. He goes back home and is welcomed back by his father. With a feast, a robe, sandals, and a ring. The older is angry, feels slighted, and left out so the father reminds him that “you are always with me and all is mine is yours.”
In the end, everybody lives happily ever after. Father and sons. Still propertied. Still landed. Still slaveholders. Still rich.
My friends, we should stop identifying rich fathers, rich landowners, and rich slaveholders with God. Parables of Jesus were subversive speech. They indicted the status quo. They challenged Pax Romana.
They were the reasons Jesus was executed.
The Centurion and his Beloved
Palestine had been under
Roman Occupation for almost a century during the time of Jesus. With the death
of Herod the Great, direct control was put in effect. Thus, a Roman Governor, Pontius
Pilate, run Judea by the time of Jesus’s ministry.
Historians tell us that
most Jews hated the Romans. They hated Roman Centurions more. And the feeling
was mutual. Hatred for centurions was especially pronounced because the
centurion, not the emperor nor the Roman senators, served as the face of the
empire for majority of the occupied peoples. In other words, centurions were
the enemies; the concrete presence of the occupying forces; the oppressor; the
colonizer. Moreover, a centurion led
the detachment that executed Jesus.
If we agree with the
historical argument that Matthew and Luke shared a source that predates both
gospels, then we have a Jesus tradition that
celebrates inclusivity at its finest.
The narrative, especially
Luke's version, introduces Jewish leaders that defy our stereotype. They love
the centurion. It also presents a centurion that defies our stereotype. This
centurion loves the Jewish people, even building a synagogue for them. Finally,
it presents a Jesus who makes many uncomfortable. He heals the centurion’s
younger male lover or boyfriend who was very ill and close to death.
Many of you here know that two
words play important functions in the narrative. Doulos and pais. Doulos is
always translated slave. While pais is usually translated servant. But we also
know that pais can be translated servant, son, daughter, child, child servant,
or younger male lover or boyfriend. Or beloved.
Caesar Augustus, probably because of
the debacle the Legions experienced in Germany because there were so many
wives, children, and slaves with the soldiers decreed a ban on heterosexual
marriages for members of the Roman Imperial Forces. The ban was still in force
during Jesus’s time. The ban lasted until 197 CE. Thus, it was not uncommon for
Roman soldiers to have same sex relationships, especially with younger men.
The Occupied Jews knew this meaning of
pais, Matthew, Luke, and their source knew this meaning of pais, Greek writers
and philosophers spoke of pais this way, I’m pretty sure Jesus did as well. And
when the centurion came to him, most probably at his wits end looking for
healing for his ill and dying beloved, Jesus healed him.
Jesus did not heal him because he loved
the sinner but hated the sin. He healed him because he was sick and close to
death. Lest we forget, the Jewish elders, the centurion, and Jesus were united
by one objective, the healing of the Centurion's younger partner; his beloved.
Jesus
did not care whether the centurion was a Gentile, an enemy of his people, and
uncircumcised. He did not care if he had the right religion, the right creed,
the right skin color, the right sexual orientation and gender identity …
What Jesus saw instead was this enemy
who loved the Jews so dearly that the Jews loved him back. He only saw the love
of the centurion for his ill and dying boyfriend, a love that transgressed
borders in order to seek healing and restoration for the beloved.
This love is akin to the love that
feeds the hungry, gives drink to the thirsty, welcomes the stranger, visits the
sick, proclaims good news to the poor, liberates the captives, clothes the
naked, and sets the oppressed free!
This is the love that believes that
hope is greater than despair; that faith is stronger than fear; and that life
will always conquer death. This is the love that transforms the
world.
Wednesday, November 09, 2016
#MarcosNoHero
Jose Rizal is not buried in the Libingan Ng Mga Bayani.
Nor is Antonio Luna. Not Claro M. Recto. Nor Gabriela and Diego Silang. Not Macli-ing Dulag!
Nor is Antonio Luna. Not Claro M. Recto. Nor Gabriela and Diego Silang. Not Macli-ing Dulag!
Nobody really knows where lie the bodies of thousands of Filipinos—heroes and heroines—who offered their lives fighting against the Spaniards, the Americans, and the Japanese.
Nobody really knows where lie the bodies of countless students, church workers, laborers, farmers, fisher-folk, comrades—heroes and heroines—who disappeared during the Marcos Regime. And the countless more who have disappeared during the Aquino, Ramos, Estrada, Arroyo, and Aquino regimes.
Philippine soil from the Cordilleras to Mount Apo is nourished by the blood of fallen sisters and brothers in unmarked, mass, shallow graves. Just like Andres Bonifacio, the First President of the Philippines, who at 34 was executed with his brother, Procopio, and whose bodies were robbed of garments and then thrown naked into a hastily dug grave.
Heroines and heroes, all of them. And each of them are alive. In our collective memories. In our shared history of struggle. In our hearts. In the visions of justice, peace, land, and liberation for all that their sacrifice offered us.
Marcos, on the other hand, is no hero. A hero’s burial does not make one a hero. Never has. Never will.
#MarcosNoHero
Jose Rizal is not buried in the Libingan Ng Mga Bayani.
Nor is Antonio Luna. Not Claro M. Recto. Nor Gabriela and Diego Silang. Not Macli-ing Dulag!
Nor is Antonio Luna. Not Claro M. Recto. Nor Gabriela and Diego Silang. Not Macli-ing Dulag!
Nobody really knows where lie the bodies of thousands of Filipinos—heroes and heroines—who offered their lives fighting against the Spaniards, the Americans, and the Japanese.
Nobody really knows where lie the bodies of countless students, church workers, laborers, farmers, fisher-folk, comrades—heroes and heroines—who disappeared during the Marcos Regime. And the countless more who have disappeared during the Aquino, Ramos, Estrada, Arroyo, and Aquino regimes.
Philippine soil from the Cordilleras to Mount Apo is nourished by the blood of fallen sisters and brothers in unmarked, mass, shallow graves. Just like Andres Bonifacio, the First President of the Philippines, who at 34 was executed with his brother, Procopio, and whose bodies were robbed of garments and then thrown naked into a hastily dug grave.
Heroines and heroes, all of them. And each of them are alive. In our collective memories. In our hearts. In the visions of justice, peace, land, and liberation for all that they shared with us.
Marcos, on the other hand, is no hero. A hero’s burial does not make one a hero. Never has. Never will.
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