Hello, 2008!

New beginning in a few hours.

I promise to behave. I promise to get rid of some things and some people that have become unnecessary appendages that make things slow or heavy.

I'll gain new friends who will give me wind.

I'll give love another try.

All the time pushing forward and laughing.

It'll be light and glorious. I see me buying my piece of land that holds the promise of a robust mango farm, putting my finances in order, travelling to the good 'ol USA again this time to see CJ and make him miserable for a couple of weeks, writing some memorable reports, settling, settling, pursuing happiness and gaining a huge volume of it, tons of it, and learning more.

I will be fine. I will be great.

Happy new year, friends! I wish you all the best in 2008.

Anchors and closets

"I'm gay. I'm in the marines so please be quiet about," he says. He's donning a very skimpy trunk which provides a glimpse of what it should be hiding when he's not careful.

He never met his mom. When he was born, tired of the husband's womanizing, she packed her bags and left husband and four kids behind.

His father suspects he is gay. When he was in grade school, when he let his fingers move at an unmanly angle during dinner, his father used a spoon to set his hand aright. The force made the spoon function like a knife, and he showed me the scar he's been sporting since then. A lengthwise cut along his brown wrist.

Another brother is "not careful," he says, "because he sits with his legs crossed like a lady and dad beats him up because of it." His brother sports a scar on his left eyebrow, caused by their dad's ring, which traveled at the speed of sound at the sight of his son's "unmanly manner."

His dad is in the marines too, and advised him to "drop his anchor" at every port. He grimaces at the thought, for he lived with a succession of three evil stepmothers who refused to let the anchor go, even when the ship has sailed.

He hates his dad. He loves his dad. He wants to be an artist, he wants to paint. But he took the course that consigns him to ships, aiming to be a captain, the way his father wants. But he remembers, with lips trembling, when his dad and stepmother did not show up for both his grade school or high school graduation, even with the title "valedictorian" as bait.

He will graduate in March. He vows he will paint some more before boarding a ship.

Funny what happens when you take your eyes off a book and talk to people
around you.

The man of La Mancha

(picture courtesy of Signet Classic)

Just then they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that rise from that plain, and no sooner did Don Quixote see them than he said to his squire: "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them. With their spoils we shall begin to be rich, for this is a righteous war and the removal of so foul a brood from off the face of the earth is a service God will bless."

"What giants?" asked Sancho Panza.
"Those you see over there," replied his master, "with their long arms; some of them have well-nigh two leagues in length."
"Take care , sir," cried Sancho. "Those over there are not giants but windmills, and those things that seem to be arms are their sails, which when they are whirled around by the wind turns the millstone."
"It is clear," replied Don Quixote, that you are not experienced in adventures. Those are giants, and if you are afraid, turn aside and pray whilst I enter into fierce and unequal battle with them."

Uttering these words, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, his steed, without heeding the cries of his squire, Sancho, who warned him that he was not going to attack giants but windmills. But so convinced was he that they were giants that he neither heard his squire's shouts nor did he notice what they were, though he was very near them. Instead, he rushed on, shouting in a loud voice:"Fly not, cowards and vile caitiffs; one knight alone attacks you!" At that moment a slight breeze arose and the great sails began to move. When Don Quixote saw this, he shouted again:"although you flourish more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for it!"

Saying this and commending himself most devoutly to his lady, Dulcinea, whom he begged to help him in this peril, he covered himself with his buckler, couched his lance, charged at Rozinante's full gallop, and rammed the first mill in his way. He ran his lance into the sail, but the wind twisted it with such violence that it shivered the lance in pieces and dragged both rider and horse after it, rolling them over and over to the ground, sorely damaged.

(Courtesy of Signet Classic. Don Quixote translated by Walter Starkie.)

I have never laughed so hard like this in a long time, albeit alone, looking like I've lost my marbles, drawing stares from people around me. I'd like to thank a good friend, DeXTer, for granting a Christmas wish.

Si Max at si Trixie

Mabigat sa tiyan ang almusal sa Heaven 'n Eggs. Nagiging ritwal na namin ni bes prend Bunny ang kumain dito kapag Sabado o Linggo. Umaabot kung minsan ng tatlong oras ang asaran at kuwentuhan namin bago kami tumayo.

"Gusto ko ng mango farm. Malapit sa lighthouse. May rose garden. May mga manok. May German Shepherds na gumagala," sabi ko. Madalas akong mangarap nang ganito bago ko simulan ang isang bagay, at mahaba naman ang pasensiya niya.

"Saan mo naman itatayo ang farm mo?" tanong ni Bunny.
"Sa Ilocos Norte," sabi ko.
"Tangna mo, Bro. Huwag kang umasang mapupuntahan kita roon," sabi niya.
"Hindi naman malayo iyon. Kaya mong pumasyal doon, Bro!" sabi ko.
"Tangna mo ulit, Bro," sabi niya.

Hindi man namin natapos ang debate kung saan ko dapat itayo ang farm ko, dahil kunsintidor siya, "pinlano" namin ang farm ko. Mula sa lawak, sa mga tanim, sa mga hayop na aalagaan, at sa itsura ng farm house.

"Dapat may gardener ka, iyong maganda ang katawan, guwapo, matalino, at single," sabi ni bes friend.
"Sige, ano'ng pangalan niya?" tanong ko.
Makalipas ang ilang minuto....

"Max!" sabi ni Bunny. "Pangalan pa lang, lalaking-lalaki na," sabi niya.
"Teka, paano ang kontrata niya? Magkano ang suweldo?" tanong ko.
"Hmmm....madali na iyon. At para sumaya ka, lalagyan natin ng clause na pabor sa iyo. Bawal siyang magsuot ng t-shirt," sabi ni Bunny.
"Gusto ko iyan!" tili ko sabay high-five kami.
Tinitingnan na kami nang masama ng mga kumakain sa restoran.

Bago nagtapos ang tatlong oras na almusal, napagkasunduan namin na bibilhin ni Bunny ang lupa sa tabi ng farm ko. Mag-aalaga siya ng mga kambing at manok.

Magkakaroon siya ng mala-starlet na hardinera cum kasambahay na pinangalanan kong "Trixie." At bawal siyang magsuot nang mahabang shorts. Bawal din silang mag-date ni Max.

Tanghaling tapat. Wala pang alkohol sa sistema namin niyan, ha?

My sister and I on Christmas day

ME:
Ate, sabihin mo kay Santa Claus hinahanting ko siya!

Ate Jaidee
Bakit wala kang regalo?
GOD BLESS!

ME: wala. salbahe siya. mga officemates at friends nag-regalo. iyong galing sa mga politiko, ipinamigay ko.

Ate Jaidee
Oh well. sila ang santa mo.
GOD BLESS!

ME:
bakit ka ba god bless nang god bless?

Ate Jaidee
Tange. signature daw yon.
GOD BLESS!

ME:
hahahaha! read how funny our conversation thread reads. bwahaha!

Writing about writing

I sometimes wonder why I chose to write. Everything in my life has been about writing. It feeds me, clothes me, bought me my car. In the next few years, I know it will buy me my farm near the sea.

I read about writing, even. I even used to have nightmares about the pressures of newswriting, back when I was a working student. Writing enabled me to have those precious few years of college education. (Yes, I am a college dropout. Deal with it!)

In high school, I was able to get a scholarship in a Catholic school (Yes ICA. Deal with it!), allowing me to leave my barangay high school which I often escaped from out of boredom. (How many times do you have to explain pollination to me, who read my aunt's biology and zoology books as a kid?)

Even in grade school, I wrote poems, which my mother pretended were good. Bless her.

I've been writing a lot, but never for me, except for what you read in this blog.

I think I should start writing for me. More for me. Pulitzer, here I come. Hmmm, wait. Nobel, here I come.

Haaay...depressing

Christmas depresses me. I've been trying to be brave about it but I surmise it's better to admit than deny it.

What makes Christmas depressing?

Ang mga magsasaka ng Sumilao

Tuwing makikita ko sila, gusto kong maiyak. Sila na naglakad ng 1,700 kilometro at pumudpod ng ilang pares ng tsinelas para ipaglaban ang lupaing inasahang magiging kanila. Sila na nakatali sa lupa ang buhay. Sila na apo ng ilang mga henerasyon ng mga taong nagbungkal sa lupa na kinagisnan natin.

Niloko sila ng ilang buwitre sa gobyerno. Tinanggalan ng karapatan sa lupaing ugat ng kanilang pangarap, na dinidiligan ng pawis at dugo tuwing panahon ng pagtatanim at anihan.

Makikita sa kanila ang payak na pamumuhay. Hindi sila nasisilaw sa mapuputing polo ng mga nakagayak-banyaga sa palasyo. Simple at iisa lang ang kanilang pakay: ibalik ang lupaing amin.

Marami pang mga magsasakang tulad ng sa Sumilao. Di lang pumapasok sa radar natin ang kanilang mga kuwento.

Sunugin sana sa impyerno ang kaluluwa ng mga taong nagnakaw ng tahimik nilang buhay. Sunugin sana sa impyerno ang kaluluwa ng mga taong gagamitin lang sila upang mapag-ibayo ang mapang-sariling motibo.

My sister and I

The first email I opened today came from my sister who sent me pictures of her home-baked pandesal and chicken cacciatore, whatever that is. She's chief of the food and beverage section of a famous hotel chain somewhere in Florida. Her kids are forbidden from eating fast food fare because she can whip them up herself more healthily.

You can tell the big diff there between my sister and I.

She goes to work in high heels and make-up TO COOK, she smiles a lot and is a social animal. Her reading fare is limited to cook books and fashion magazines.

I often go to work in sneakers and jeans and made-up bandanna to run after people who don't really want to be interviewed and take pictures. And even when I'm dead, I've made arrangements so I won't be seen in them damn face paints. I'm a party pygmy. I'd rather be alone with my books on weekends. And you won't find cook books and fashion magazines at my place.

Anyway, the email had the effect of reminding me what I did not have last night.

Ate,

You are mean, big sister. You are mean.
I went out to buy books last night and it turns out all the BPI ATMs were out of service. So I paid for the books in cash (whew!) and found out I had not enough money left for dinner.

So I called up Concon (another wash and wear kid) to demand that she feed me, and she says she had no money too, because she used up her cash shopping and BPI was offline.

So I went home, drank what was left of my apple juice, curled up in bed and read my book.

Ganda ko, di ba?

I will survive.

Ading JJ

I was nice...so I deserve these

I often recycle or throw away some gifts because they are either too expensive or too damn pink (read: too damn girly) for my taste.

Hey, I was nice this year. I behaved. Except for that time in...whatever. Thing is, I tried real hard to be nice. And I was okay 97% of the time except for that time in...whatever.

Anyway, here's a list of things I want this Christmas, which I promise not to junk. For the sake of world peace, and for your sake, keep within this list. Or else!

1) Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes (after that trip to the windmills of Bangui, I want to read about the crazed man. Did you know that the windmill phase was just half a page? Di ko alam iyon.)

2. All Aunt Hagar's Children by Edward Jones

3. The Dream Life of Sukhanov by Olga Grushin

4. After this by Alice McDermott

5. Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart

6. Alentejo Blue by Monica Ali

7. Apex Hides the Hurt by Colson Whitehead

8. State of Denial by Bob Woodward

9. The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman

10. The Road by Cormack Mccarthy

11. Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

12. What is the What by Dave Eggers (Oh, I love this guy!)

James Blunt encore: Goodbye, my lover

This one's for my friends who are breaking up with their husband/wife and/or lover. Bakit ba sabay-sabay kayo at bigla-bigla? Nevertheless, I wish you happiness and may you find that great love and great bed partner we all damn deserve. Pronto!

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.

So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.

You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.

I've kissed your lips and held your head.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be

I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.

I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

Something old

birds polishing their beaks, brushing it against my window.
they wake me up with their chirping,
incessant and demanding.
they never rest, they never tire,
in my sleeplessness, they catch my ire.

streams of sunshine warming my face...
warning me of a wonderful hour i am laying to waste.
i try to rise, my knees agree, my eyes argue.
the colors are nice, so calm, of sober hue.

mornings are a blessing, no matter how short the night.
i watch it grow fierce, then get back to sleep.


(written october 1, 2001, 2:53-2:56am)
all rights reserved
beware: plagiarists are always found out
something i wrote for my friend who lives near an eternally freezing lake in michigan

The Don's Batotoy

CJ to his Lola: Nanay, shake my batotoy so I don't get pee on my jammies.
Lola to CJ: Ay, okinamon!
CJ: Ay, apo!



(Maiinggit si TK kasi wala PA siyang little boy. Bwahaha!)

Titi! Titi!

"Titi! Titi! Come down heey. I had five bananas heey, now they gone. You eat them oy. Titi! Titi!"

(Translation: Tiggy! Tiggy! Come down here. I had five bananas here, now they're gone. You eat (sic) them all. Tiggy! Tiggy!)

That's CJ, in a very shrill voice, demanding that his Kuya Tiger explain why his "turons" in the fridge are gone.

Tiger is 18. Nickname is Tiggy. CJ is a "buyoy" three-year old with a temper, which my sister says is as explosive as mine.

Reading for kids

Just got back. Brain still not working. Still in dodo mode. This will do for a post.

This means junior high kids can understand my blog. Which probably means my blog can deceive. I know my blog is just about pictures, mostly of my nephews, mostly of CJ.

I yield this space to Randy David

PUBLIC LIVES
The silence of the camps

By Randy David
Inquirer
Last updated 03:12am (Mla time) 12/01/2007

MANILA, Philippines -- Brig. Gen. Danilo Lim and Sen. Antonio Trillanes IV, a former Navy lieutenant senior grade, are two of the smartest officers in the Armed Forces of the Philippines. They are highly regarded by their men and by their contemporaries in the officer corps. Few senior officers in the Philippine military today can match their popularity among the soldiers. It is significant that they have also led repeated coup attempts against the government of the day. They are not novices in the art of military mutiny.

Knowing this, one is hard-pressed to understand why they would venture into something like Thursday’s standoff at the Manila Peninsula Hotel, with hardly any arms to defend themselves, only to surrender without a fight to the police forces sent to arrest them. It just doesn’t make sense. The two detained officers, together with their fellow officers and security detail, strolled out of the courtroom during a break in the hearing of the 2003 Oakwood mutiny. They had no fear of being re-arrested. Only a handful of civilian supporters accompanied them in their unhurried walk to the five-star hotel in which they were to make their statement. If this was going to be a coup, it was rather unusual if not suicidal. They came virtually without arms.

While they called on the Filipino people to join them in their bid to oust President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, they didn’t sound like they were desperately waiting for people power to pick up the cause they were espousing. If they were banking on popular mobilization, then they were one day too early. They should have stretched their stay at the Peninsula till the following day, Bonifacio Day, when huge rallies were expected. In fact, this possibility was what worried the government forces. So why did Trillanes and Lim give up so quickly?

We can only speculate that their action was meant to spark a mutiny that they thought was waiting to happen. But because we did not see troops marching in the streets or moving in trucks and choosing sides, we are now led to think that the Magdalo officers badly miscalculated. In fact, the spokesmen of the Arroyo government lost no time in assuring the public that the military chain of command remained intact and that the rebels were totally isolated.

But, if indeed they were alone in this doomed and foolish adventure, how do we explain the fact that, at the height of the standoff, no military commander, apart from the chief of staff, Gen. Hermogenes Esperon Jr., came out or was presented to reiterate support for the Arroyo government? Why did the government rely exclusively on police forces to deal with what was openly declared as a bid to remove the existing government? Was Ms Arroyo afraid that, if compelled to declare their loyalty, a good number of the nation’s soldiers might actually side with Lim and Trillanes?

In short, what did the silence of the camps during this six-hour siege signify? I doubt if General Esperon or Ms Arroyo knows. Perhaps if they know anything at all about the state of mind of the soldiers in the camps today, it might be something that is likely to give them sleepless nights in the next few weeks or months. Could this be the real reason for the sudden imposition of a midnight curfew -- that they are seriously spooked by the possibility of troop movements quietly taking place in the coming days?

For it is hard to believe that the soldiers barricaded in their barracks would not care less about what was going on in Makati City last Thursday. If they saw what the rest of the nation saw, and they remained silent, I would consider that a meaningful silence. In a time like ours, when images from live media pack more power than the most stirring statements, what might the silence of citizens and soldiers possibly indicate? Are their senses stunned and their will paralyzed? Or are their souls shaken and courage awakened in their hearts? Who knows?

Who would know what it means for a soldier or a citizen to see a young senator of the republic, filled with idealism, being shackled and handled like a sack of potatoes by his captors as he is led to a waiting police bus? Who would know what it means for any viewer to see an 81-year-old prince of the Catholic Church, hobbled by age, his left hand tied to the right hand of another priest, being led to a waiting police bus after having just said a prayer of hope? Who would know what it means for someone to see a whole line of media people, their hands bound in plastic restraints proudly held up above their heads, being led to a waiting police bus for “processing” as suspects? Such were among the most memorable images from Thursday’s episode.

I only know that one would need to be blind and insensitive to view these snapshots as achievements of the rule of law. You take one look at General Lim and Senator Trillanes side by side General Esperon and Colonel Bacarro -- and you can tell at once who among these soldiers have their ideals intact. You take one look at Bishop Julio Labayen and former Vice President Tito Guingona side by side Interior Secretary Ronaldo Puno and Press Secretary Ignacio Bunye -- and you know at once who the liars are.

There is a mutiny in the making not just in the camps but in the hearts of the rest of us. We were beginning to forget what social anger is all about, and what it means to take responsibility for the nation our heroes bequeathed to us. Thursday set us on a new path. We are starting to see what General Lim meant when he said: “Dissent without action is consent.”

I yield this space to former Justice Cruz

SEPARATE OPINION
‘The Hero of the Hotel’
By Isagani Cruz
Inquirer
Last updated 01:20am (Mla time) 12/02/2007

MANILA, Philippines -- Utter disgust -- that is what I felt when I watched the foolishness that happened at the Peninsula Hotel last Thursday. It left me nothing but contempt for the Armed Forces of the Philippines for its overbearing, abusive, illegal and stupid conduct. It was unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, the usual accusatory language in court martial proceedings. The generals and soldiers who participated in that putsch all deserve death by musketry for the murder of the Bill of Rights.

This is no defense of Sen. Antonio Trillanes IV and company, who again acted characteristically as in the Oakwood mutiny four years ago. They rashly walked out of the court trial, marched to the Peninsula Hotel as if they were conquering heroes, made it appear that they were making a last desperate stand to the death against the cohorts of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo in defense of their principles. But they in the end acted as usual as defeated malcontents and meekly surrendered to the soldiers.

The men of the questionable President stood loyally behind her and spouted invocations of the rule of law that they pontificated should be observed in this land of the free. Lito Atienza, Ignacio Bunye et al. were dutifully garrulous but Angelo Reyes, the former general, was meekly silent. Perhaps he knew that his colleagues did not know that the rule of law they were invoking was being violated by their own Red Guards.

AFP Chief of Staff Gen. Hermogenes Esperon, who was in charge of the military operations, was the expert in the overkill. His misnamed intelligence people must have informed him that the rebel group holed up in the Peninsula consisted only of some 30 unarmed persons, including Brig. Gen. Danilo Lim who was probably their commander by reason of his rank. Not Trillanes, who was only a resigned and indicted lower officer although he is an inactive senator.

Given such a small group to conquer, Esperon who should now be hailed as the “Hero of the Hotel,” chose to send Marines fully-armed and in frightening numbers (about one battalion?) to subdue the outnumbered enemy. More than this, and absolutely and foolishly needlessly, he commanded several tanks to support their attack as if they were fighting in Iwo Jima. One tank in fact actually barged into the undefended Peninsula and destroyed one of its doors.

Meanwhile, as Esperon waited for the rebels to hoist the white flag against the overwhelming odds of the AFP, he ordered the arrest of the media people who were covering the little war for the information of the nation. The TV cameras and other equipment of the technical people were confiscated, together with the cell phones, laptops and possibly also the lighters of the reporters. All these were considered dangerous propaganda material against the AFP that should, therefore, not be allowed. Worse, not only their possessions but the reporters themselves were prohibited as threats to the national security. They were all arrested, their hands tied like the Magdalo rebels, and taken to Bicutan for investigation and detention.

Realizing that they should defend the Alamo another day, Trillanes and his defiant group threw in the towel and meekly submitted to their captors. Somebody said that GMA had issued the needed warrant, but the Cabinet was quick to piously announce that even the President herself could not do this because the power belonged only to the courts. At any rate, the rebels were all silent and unassuming as they joined the smiling former Vice President Teofisto Guingona in the barred bus to Bicutan.

In all the confusion, which should be comical were it not for the violation of the Bill of Rights by the clumsy and authoritative behavior of Esperon and his flunkies, the expertise, courage and savoir-faire of the lady reporters who were covering the event stood out and deserve cordial admiration and congratulations. Especially commendable were Karen Davila, Korina Sanchez, Ces Drilon and Pinky Webb of ABS-CBN and Sandra Aguinaldo and Susan Enriquez of GMA, as well as others whose names I did not catch and to whom I extend penitent apologies. They are all worthy members of the Fourth Estate and deserve to be “First Ladies” in the future.

Briefed in Laguna about the happenings in the Peninsula, President Arroyo rushed back to Malacañang and was pleased to know that her questionable title was still intact. As expected, she took the floor, i.e., the mike (not her husband) and informed the nation in fluent extemporaneous Tagalog that all was well, she was safe, and Trillanes and his men would be dealt with according to the rule of law. The television stations switched to their regular programs, and the media people were probably fed a late dinner of sorts at last before they were released.

This is not the end of the incident as there are still many matters to be settled, such as the occupation and the damage caused to the Peninsula Hotel, which must be wondering whom to sue. But the more important question is the gross violation of the Bill of Rights that was brashly ignored by the Armed Forces the Philippines and their hypocritical masters in the Cabinet who sanctimoniously pleaded the rule of law that their minions were desecrating.

I yield this space to MLQ

THE LONG VIEW
War freaks

By Manuel L. Quezon III
Inquirer
Last updated 00:41am (Mla time) 12/03/2007

MANILA, Philippines - Victory has a hundred fathers, but defeat is an orphan. Galeazzo Ciano, Mussolini’s son-in-law, famously wrote that in his diary. Writing in his own diary, Ferdinand Marcos put it another way. “There is nothing as successful as success!” he crowed, two days after he engineered the coup known as martial law. If we tend to adore winners, regardless of how they win, the most contemptible among Filipino traits is our tendency to kick a man when he is down. As soon as Antonio Trillanes IV bowed his head in defeat, the hooting began.

I find it interesting, though, that the hooting took place the moment the government proclaimed victory, and not a moment before. As soon as Trillanes said he would once again go into captivity, the kicking, accompanied by hooting, began. Text messages of a mocking nature began to fly thick and fast, ferocious comments began to be made in the blogs, and all were of the same frame of mind: Trillanes should have been shot, or failing that, he should have shot himself rather than surrender.

This is the same sort of behavior we see on the news, every day: a snatcher is apprehended, and only after the culprit is in the hands of the authorities do suddenly indignant citizens parade before the cameras, taking turns slapping the suspect (who sometimes turns out to have been a hapless bystander).

Because it’s worth a thousands words, this column includes this picture. From the moment I saw this man on TV, I sensed the Peninsula takeover was doomed. Coups can’t involve clowns. And this is why I think the best description for the whole thing was that it was a caper, “an activity or escapade, typically one that is illicit or ridiculous.”

Whether or not Trillanes and Danny Lim honestly believed, that Romulo Neri would suddenly show courage and join them in order to spill the beans on the President; or that the senator and the general had reason to think their bolting their trial would trigger defections within the Armed Forces; or if they actually thought people would throw caution to the winds and join them in the hotel, before either men had made it clear what, exactly, they wanted: fact is, the moment this man in the wig made his appearance, the whole thing was obviously destined to be a farce.

But the capering wasn’t solely the doing of the rebels. I’d have said that the biggest damned fool in the country last Thursday was Senator Trillanes, except there was a bigger damned fool, and that was Vivian Yuchengco. If Generalissima Yuchengco were calling the shots, we would have had a blood bath courtesy of that stock market virago. Curiously, the real soldiers in the Armed Forces washed their hands off the whole matter: never have so many generals been so obviously tongue-tied as they were that day. Even the police, true to form, decided to restrict their bullying to unarmed civilians from the media, while treating the holed-up senator and his companions with kid gloves.

I do believe Trillanes crossed a line a mature appreciation of his being a senator should have prevented him from crossing. But what now? Should he resign, or be removed from the Senate?

On what grounds? For being a brat, when he got upset because he hasn’t been allowed to do his work and serve in the Senate? Lito Lapid and Bong Revilla have all the freedom in the world and have nothing to show for their being in the Senate anyway, except their continued affiliation with the administration. Or is Trillanes a bully, and thus, no longer qualified to be senator? Maybe, because he doesn’t do his bullying in lawyerlike fashion like Juan Ponce Enrile or Joker Arroyo.

Trillanes has been judged lacking in judgment, in being ill-tempered, ill-mannered and brash—a lunatic. A Miriam Defensor-Santiago. And yet Santiago is there, so obviously allegations of lunacy per se can’t be an obstacle to continued public service or promotion to international bodies. Party affiliation is the difference between eccentricity and lunacy.

Should he remain in office, because he has a mandate? But Juan Miguel Zubiri is there, so obviously 11 million genuine votes mean nothing, anyway. So, we are left with President Macapagal-Arroyo’s favorite line, “let he who is without sin, cast the first stone,” and her favorite loophole: if you are affiliated with the administration, throwing stones is perfectly legal and to be encouraged.

So maybe this explains why those scared to death between 1 p.m. and 3 p.m. on Thursday, ferociously demand blood, now. It’s a numbers game, and never mind if the numbers seemed missing for those crucial few hours, because nothing succeeds like success!

As the government prepares to throw the book at Trillanes, maybe that man with the wig was far less ridiculous than he seemed at first blush. What’s a man in a wig compared to the officials and their friends, who wanted it all to end, not with a whimper the way it did, but with oceans of blood and as much destruction as possible? What’s an incoherent, posturing senator compared to the parade of government Tarzans whose chief regret is they weren’t able to atom bomb Makati?

Where's our lynch mob?

When I was a cub reporter, I was first assigned to the police beat. There, I developed something that grew stronger as the months (and the parade of suspects) went past: suspicion. There was one time a limping suspect in a rape case was presented to us. I asked the policemen presenting him to media why he was injured. "He jumped from the fourth floor window," said the cops. "He jumped or was pushed?" I asked. Laughter from everyone. I hoped raising the question would somehow make them careful the next time they arrest someone. Or they probably waited until the suspect healed before they are brought before the media. Probably the latter.

This is a reality in our police system. Human rights, civil rights, are routinely trampled upon, mostly because arrests often happen away from the glare of television camera lights.

The Manila Peninsula siege has elevated civil rights violations to a higher degree, and we all forgot to raise our voice against it because we were so busy demanding a state-sponsored human rights violation - the killing of Sen. Antonio Trillanes and his supporters. We even heckled the media for crying foul over their arrests. Crybabies! Wimps!

We all lost our freedom to travel for five hours (or imbibe alcohol till the wee hours on a Friday night), and none of us complained.

Former University of the Philippines president Francisco "Dodong" Nemenzo says he saw Trillanes and his men manhandled in a roomful of men by a police general. Later, NCRPO chief Geary Barias was photographed dragging a manacled Trillanes by his belt. If the motive was to humiliate the man, Barias certainly achieved it, and the picture certainly immortalized it.

Mediamen and women were "invited" to Camp Bagong Diwa in Taguig for "processing." The "invitation" included being restrained and herded onto a bus, arms raised. Women included. No Miranda rights were read, no charges were mentioned.

And all these happened in front of TV cameras, broadcast live, all of us watching in our homes.

When the time comes one of us is arrested for some real or imagined charges, when we are humiliated in front of our family and paraded in manacles for all our neighbors to see, when we are "invited" to a police station and roughed up along the way, remember it has happened before.

It happened before, in public, in front of TV cameras, and we all did nothing.

We all did nothing because we were so busy demanding we form a lynch mob, urging the death of a handful of misguided soldiers. We let an unpopular leader snatch away our civil rights, with nary a legal basis. What rights can we invoke in front of an ordinary policeman or soldier, when we let their generals and commander-in-chief chalk up a precedent like Friday night's?

We've allowed them to set a precedent, which they can repeat at their convenience (or when they feel threatened again).

So, anyway, don't let those thoughts interrupt us from forming our lynch mob. Where were we? Where are the pitchforks and torches? Let's all hope drawing some blood will give us some form of consolation as a nation.