Slaughter of the Innocents

It is clearer than daylight that Israel’s retaliation on Gaza is horrible. It is a horrendous crime. Yes, I strongly believe that Hamas should also be punished. But Israel’s disproportionate use of its military arsenal has killed hundreds of civilians, many of whom are children.

And Israel hopes to achieve peace with this? Bludgeoning your enemy and pointing missiles and gun nozzles at him? Is it peace or temporary security?

I am reminded of how USA ‘liberated’ Manila from the Japanese during WWII. American forces bombed and shelled and shocked and awed Manila, because the Japanese were too slow to surrender. And the results? 100,000 plus civilians killed (that’s a very conservative estimate), 20,000 plus Japanese soldiers killed and wounded, 2,000 plus American soldiers killed and wounded. Of course, the Japanese also went berserk and killed a good number of Filipino civilians, but most died from shelling by the Americans.

In the old testament, Israel was the chosen people of Yahweh, who was always with them against the different tribes. Now that the old law is perfected in the New Commandment, who plays God working alongside Israel, the US?

What is more ghastly is that the international community has not even condemned Israel’s rage that killed innocents.

Surviving Taft (1st stop: Baclaran Terminal Station)

The Light Rail Transit Line 1 (or the yellow line) runs from Baclaran, Paranaque to Monumento, Caloocan. The whole line traverses the cities of Paranaque, Pasay, Makati, Manila, and Caloocan.  In my intro blog about survival in Taft I mentioned a few survival tips on crossing the street. This time I will mention how to fight for your dear life in Baclaran. No wonder it’s a terminal station of the LRT. Only one of you will survive.

Baclaran is, of course, not known for baklas, but as a source of cheap clothing and all kinds of wares from China and the Philippines, ornamental plants from Tagaytay and Laguna, deceptively delicious palabok, and statues of Sto Nino with his signature peace sign. I think the descendants of the doomed Tower of Babel are breeding in Baclaran right now. The place is teeming with people. Go there and life, literally, will suffocate you. It should be an event in Survivor.

Anyway, if Quiapo is empty without the Black Nazarene, Baclaran is meaninglessly cruel without the Our Lady of Perpetual Help, shrined in the Baclaran Church (run by the Redemptorists). My mother would often bring me there, whether to instill some piety in me or to block off potential snatchers, I’m not sure now. But Wednesday is the Novena Day to the venerated image, and wow, the place really bursts at the seams, without the testosteronce-charged procession of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo. The church is more contemplative. As a kid I would stare at the high ceiling of the Church, and count all the balloons accidentally released by stupid toddlers. Sometimes I counted them. I also tried to count bats hanging out in the ceiling. There is now a small house right outside the Church with a replica of the image. Devotees would light candles and put them in long receptacles. On a Wednesday, the whole place is lit with candles, and yes, it was like going under the launghing pad of a NASA rocket during lift-off. As a kid i often participated in this ‘lighting’ contests– I prayed to God that my candle would outlast the ones beside it, haha. I’m thankful that my mom brought me there: now I appreciate Church architecture (although I miss the balloons).

After mass or novena, my mom (my dad worked abroad) would bring me to the palabok station, inside a tiangge across the Church. That is if I managed not to lose my mom in crossing the street.  The palabok was inside a palengke, so the  3M rule (malinis, masarap, mura) was at work! That is, you can only combine 2 out 3 adjectives (kung masarap at mura, hindi yon malinis). I never got typhoid or disentery but I think my cranial capacity got reduced to writing blogs.

I went there two months ago and there have been major improvements. There are now CCTVs in almost all pillars inside the Church so that people attending mass or the novena can follow the prayers and songs. There are now more guards at the entrance. And of course, a lot more devotees, praying for work abroad, family reconcialiation, or Manny Pacquiao. Interestingly enough, at the end of the Novena (I visited there on a Wednesday) the lector mentioned statistics (as in hard data!) of prayer intentions: work, family, exams, personal peace, forgiveness, etc. It was flabbergasting! She even read a chosen ‘thank you’ letter from a devotee.Towards the end of the novena a missionary nun shared about finding her vocation and answering God’s call. I think it’s a good practice, so that more people find and answer their vocation to the priesthood and religious community.

Yeah,  life is taft. But Our Lady of Perpetual Help (Ina ng Laging Saklolo) is here with us.

Surviving Taft, intro.

If you want to appreciate Taft, you have to survive it first. Pithy enough! The US Navy Seals offers one of the toughest survival training in the world. No other training comes close to it, except perhaps the British Special Air Service, the Royal Marine Special Boat Squadron, and the Philippine MMDA. They say most Seals would rather be deployed in Iraq rather than cross a major street in Manila.

Filipinos cross the street in very funny ways. The most common is, one foot at a time, until you see a mass of people occupying half of the road, looking at oncoming traffic, and just letting that last zooming car past before they actually flood the intersection. Several invaluable skills:

1) Establish Visual Contact. When crossing the street, look at the driver, look at his eyes close enough to leave your breath on his windshield. Doing so will make him stop and give way to you, unless his fender has already slammed your legs.

2) Appeal to pity. When crossing the street, walk beside a lola and use her as a shield against an 18-wheeler running at 60kph.

3) Appeal to innocence. Or if there is no lola, look for a mother vainly restraining her kids from turning an intersection into a patintero playground.

It’s also good to know the meaning of some traffic signs. Green light means vehicles are ready to stop. Start crossing the street to facilitate their full stop. Yellow light is actually a very shy red. Red light is a district in Malate, which you have to avoid. So, actually, anyone can cross the street anytime. A big letter P encircled and with a line slash is actually a No Peeing Zone (kaya nga letter P eh..the..). You may pee anywhere outside the zone. Ped Xing (pronounced ‘ped sing’) is not a Chinese national, but you guessed it right! It’s a ngongo pronunciation of Fencing, ergo, you can fence on it. So this brief traffic knowledge will help you go a long way in surviving Manila. Maybe 3 days, before you get a traffic ticket, get broken ribs and femur, or get the hell out of it.

Next week, my best teachers in life…

Life is Taft.

Joker couldn’t have said it any better: “I believe that whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stranger”.

I am about to leave Taft Avenue and head off to a quiet place in Quezon City. So I’d like to dedicate a series of blogs about my ‘womb’ of three and a half years. I have a love-hate relationship with Taft. I love it but it hates me! I still remember my earliest memories of Taft. My mom would bring me to Libertad public market on weekends. The LRT construction was in full swing. So I don’t find any romance in cement dust hugging every inch of my body and the stench of rotting fish dancing in my nostrils. Now I couldn’t tell the difference between casu marzu (maggot cheese) and a decaying sewer rodent.

I found Taft Avenue suffocating, ugly, dark. That was 15 years ago. Now I find it choking, mad, desperate to kill its last inhabitants. So it’s really an irony of ironies that I ended up living in it for the past 3 years. And so, did it kill me? Almost. In fact I can now cry with the creation of Dr Victor Frankenstein: “I’m alive!” Too alive in fact that, 3 years of pollution has made my body a favorite vacation spot for boils, carbuncles, and upper respiratory track infections. I am not complaining. I’ve learned several pedestrian skills that will make a New Yorker blush. I’ve visited little known cultural and historical places near or along Taft Avenue. And most important, I know where to find the best banana-q in town. So, here is a street-by-street account of Taft Avenue. Buckle up and experience strange things in your life!