Tag Archives: poverty

If You Can Buy Some Land

Photo by Kitty Bantayan

If you can buy some land

surely you can buy some time?

 

 

If you have enough money for the lot

surely it won’t mean a lot

 

 

to let the lot

in your lot

move out without

 

 

a drop of blood?

 

 

If you have enough cash

to purchase that land

and land people with cash

in condos of lush;

and employ a lush lot

in businesses that encash,

grand and with brands,

 

 

then surely you shouldn’t gnash

your teeth when the lot

of people in your lot–

as poor as sewer rats,

as rotten as rotten rots–

refuse your will

 

 

for their shanties to be smashed?

 

 

For surely

you wouldn’t die

in a week or in a month,

in a year or even longer

–far longer than that–

 

 

if your businesses that encash

and your condos that land

lush people with lands

fail to materialize

before your eyes

as quickly as you would like?

 

 

For surely

you cannot die

of hunger

like this lot

of people in your lot

ragged as rats

rotted and rots,

barely human and humane,

living in your land?

 

 

For surely

the absence

of splintered bones and homes,

of shattered dreams and hopes

 

 

is infinitely more valuable

than cold hard

 

 

cash

 

 

and

 

 

buildings that encash

and condos that land

landed people with lots

and a home for your lot

secure for years with brands,

as grand as grand

can get grand?

 

 

If you can buy a title

surely your tail

won’t rattle

 

 

if it takes years for the battle

to end without even

 

 

a scuffle?

 

 

For how can a man

watch his fellowmen

get clobbered and hammered

by the police

like pricey wooden sidings

of encashing commercial buildings?

 

 

How can he sleep soundly

when mothers weep loudly

through cold nights

in streets that are

as deathly cruel

as condos are

stylishly cool?

 

 

How can a man,

indeed,

be capable of such deed,

just to satisfy a whim

 

 

to urgently plant

a residential unit or

a manufacturing plant

on land so soaked in grim?

 

 

How can a man do that–

it’s impossible, IMPOSSIBLE!

Unless

he sees the lot

of people in his lot

as nothing but

a nest

of two-legged rats?

 

 

So I ask you again,

you proud legal buyers,

you stash of cash stackers,

 

 

if you can buy some land

surely you can buy some TIME?

 

 

For “time is gold” they say

and these rats their gold

is just that

 

 

enough time to pass their stay,

time to play an unwinnable game

 

 

time to move out of your way,

finally–oh at long last–

 

 

and waste away,

 

 

waste away.

 

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Filed under Life, Poems

Cut the Bullshit: The Sanctity of Toil

It’s always been one of my greatest fears that by some twist of fate (not really that strange and even much closer to reality when I think about it) that I’ll end up a beggar on one of the many footbridges of Manila.

That even with all the education and the job experience I have, I’ll end up being one of those subhuman creatures barely distinguishable from the dirty concrete on which they crouch and lay festering with all the grime and soot of the city.

Then one day, my educated and well-off friends from the university will pass by my footbridge and happen to identify my face among the faceless. And they’ll be shocked to their wits’ end. They’ll cry. And they’ll be afraid to talk to me for fear of what I have to madly rave about the world, about life, maybe even about them.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that that fear is one of the many reasons why I strive daily to make something for myself. I want to be able to tell people I’m ok–in fact, that I’m doing great and I have a future. Like many of us who have actually finished our studies, I’ve always wanted to send a crystal-clear message that, so far, my life was worth it.

But what if I fail?

What if the devil whips its cruel tail and this nightmare of nightmares by some not-so-strange twist of fate comes true and I become, by tomorrow, a hapless beggar on a bridge muttering insane?

Would I not be worth considering a worthy friend and schoolmate?
Would I not be worth considering a productive and honorable citizen of this nation?
Would I not be worth considering a good son to my family?
In other words, would my life not be “worth it?”

Let’s cut the bullshit. You and I both know the answer and we don’t have to sugarcoat it just to defend our conscience currently being questioned. When I say “burger,” you instantly think of the object “burger.” And so therefore, just to be honest right here, right now, don’t stop that burger from appearing in your mind. The easy, simultaneous and honest answer, stranger, is that “Yes, your life would not have been worth it. Your life would’ve been a waste.”

It would’ve been an utter waste because I failed to make something for myself. All that learning and toil for nothing. Networks of useful people down the drain. Hopes extinguished by a terrible, inescapable destiny when an unspeakably shameful, shabby and fearsome monster came out from the skin of a former, now forgettable, human being.

What this means to me is that my life’s worth is in my toil–in my hollowed place in the market, in economics.

Stripped bare naked without my education, without my networks of friends, without my career, without my money, I am not worth it. To cut the huge pile of bullshit again, I don’t deserve to live.

No, it’s not that harsh of an idea and this is definitely not just the ramblings of another depressed soul who’s overflowing with sappy melodrama. Make no mistake about it. This is a rational proposition you should think about.

The squalid people in the streets, they don’t deserve to live.
Our pathetic, uncivilized, dirty neighbors, they don’t deserve to live.
Our farmers who barely earn anything, they don’t deserve to live.
The 925 million people who are suffering from hunger in the world don’t deserve to live.

For if these people deserve to live, how come they’re dying? And how come it is within our conscience to let them die?

I tell you the day I join these people is the day I lose my right to live. That is the day everyone who is in their right mind would leave me to rot and be another heap of meat for the city’s voracious host of parasites, the worms, the flies.

If someone has the right to live, we do everything to allow them to live. Or to be more precise, if someone has the right to live, then he has the MEANS to live. What is right but freedom and what is freedom but the means to achieve an end? For instance, if someone says he has a right to education, that could only mean that he he has the power to access education. Otherwise, that right is nothing but an empty word spoken by a lunatic to a brick wall.

To have the right to live is to deserve to live. And to deserve to live is to have the means to live. No more, no less.

And here we arrive at a question of conscience: since it is within our conscience to let other people die of extreme poverty while some of us live in obscene luxury, do we then concede that it is within our conscience to say the majority of the people in the world just don’t deserve to live?

Do we then concede we our complicit to this setup that agrees some people should just die?

Why? Because these people haven’t found their hollowed ground in toil, in the market, in economics. Therefore, they deserve their lives extinguished.

For if these people deserve to live, then obviously, we should have already acted in a decisive way ages ago to save their lives and keep them from dying a slow, terrible death brought about by hunger and sickness. If your mother got sick, wouldn’t you spend every bit of your savings to send her to a hospital and provide her with all the medicines she needs to get better? Heck, if your puppy suffers a stomachache you would surely send it (Him? Her?) to a vet if the fee is within your resources. Your mother, your puppy, and other beloved human beings and creatures in your life–they clearly deserve to live because we have the means to make them live.

But those others I mentioned earlier, they clearly deserve to die.

Oh, don’t feel so guilty. We’re all in this together. We are stopped by the same obstacle and arrested by the same fears. We’re not so bad.

Aren’t we?

This is not a new proposition at all. On the contrary, this is something deeply ingrained in our consciousness, manifesting in our most automatic judgments and decisions. We affirm it everytime we say and we agree that “The poor are poor because they don’t work hard enough. They deserve what’s happening to them.”  We proclaim it every time we cheer the MMDA who clear away shanties, leaving the poor howling and thrashing on the ground in front of their “illegal” dwelling places. They don’t deserve such places. Some people who have already bought those spaces deserve them. They alone have the right to build dwellings and buildings or maybe even leave those spaces growing nothing but tall grasses for years. Curiously, this is the economic equivalent of that karmic belief in Buddhism and Hinduism that underprivileged people deserve whatever they have in life because they have been unworthy in their past lives. They haven’t reached Enlightenment. And in our case, this means our poor haven’t reached economic Success with a capital S. In that country we so find it righteous to follow in institutions, culture, and in many other aspects of life, that karmic enlightenment, that Success is known by another term–the American Dream.

Without toil, we are nothing. We aren’t human beings. Let me correct that.

Without toil that makes us a significant amount of capital, we are nothing. We aren’t human beings. After all, the beggar on the footbridge still captures capital in a cup. It’s just nowhere near “significant.”

And so I go from day to day, struggling to keep all my armors and weapons of life in tact–my education, my networks of people, my career. These are my chain mail, my iron shield and my great sword forged in the fires of bourgeois upbringing. I wear them always and polish and sharpen them everyday lest they crack in the midst of the often merciless battle of the global market. I wouldn’t want to be stripped of them and die suddenly, do I?

I’m sure you’ve heard of that term, the “inviolability of life,” the “sanctity of life.”

Well, it is clear to me these beautiful phrases mean nothing but the “sacredness of toil,” the “the holiness of the market.”

———————————————————————————

From my former professor, Gerry Lanuza:

“If all the food produced worldwide were distributed equally, every person would be able to consume 2,760 calories a day (hunger is defined as consuming fewer than 1,960 calories a day). Food entitlement differs from food availability in that it indicates what a person can command with income and thus consume, rather than what is available in the market.”

He said it on Facebook, if that means anything.

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Filed under Life, Random Thoughts

Some Kind of Freedom


Who cares what others think about how we think, how we speak? Why must we play along with this web of rules and standards they have set upon themselves? Why must we feel pressured for the correctness, righteousness or validity of what we have to say? Why must we tremble in our own bedrooms, afraid of their cold vengeance? Can’t we shout “We’re not part of it! I’m not part of it! I refuse to be defined by it!” Have we really been plugged into this monstrous machine of dreams and sleepwalking since the day our unknowing mothers set us free in this shackled world? Isn’t there a means for an uncontroversial escape? Is there a way to live without agreeing to the term “responsibility?” — therefore, without agreeing to any “term” at all?

——————–

Yesterday, I saw two boys lying on the steps of a footbridge. They can’t be older than 7. They were fighting because the younger boy seemed to take up the space of the older one. All the while, we were passing before their sleeping space as hundreds of vehicles disturbed the dust on the paved roads underneath. Continue reading

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When Care Becomes the Fad

Genuine care for others — I think that’s one of the things people must really have to be more prepared for another disaster like Typhoon Ondoy.

The headline on a local newspaper yesterday said that donations for typhoon victims are overwhelming. That’s great. That’s awesome. That is perfectly how it should be. Many of us feel proud for showing our fellow Filipinos that the spirit of “bayanihan” can still be revived in this modern age. I take my hat off to that.

But it’s easy to get over melodramatic over our present achievements just by watching the endless TV marathons about the typhoon donations and heroic acts many of our fellow Filipinos have done to try to fix the disastrous situation. We are riding a surge of patriotism so powerful that every corner conversation, every TV station, every Facebook update and every tweet is all about volunteering and sending out donations to victims. But we must ask, “Where did all that care come from?” Continue reading

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