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THE YEAR

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ISSUE 105

CONTENTS Dec e m b e r 2 0 16 - Ja n u a r y 2 0 17

FEATURES

98 DEAR MANNY, There was a time that traffic simply disappeared for him—but since he suited up and took his fights out of the ring, Manny Pacquiao has been regarded with, at best, some awfully mixed feelings.

Former fan Joaquin Sisante writes a letter in the hopes of getting through to a former champion of the people.

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CHRISTIAN PETERSEN / GETTY IMAGES

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75 THE ROGUE ROAST We’re wrapping up 2016 by recognizing every trend, personality, and meaningless institution that’s helped make this whirlwind of a year exactly what it is: the absolute worst. Cheers!

84 BLOOD FROM A STONE As the controversial war on drugs rages through the country, all eyes are on the man behind every move of police operations: PNP Chief Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa. In a Rogue exclusive, broadcast journalist Jeff Canoy gives us the behindthe-scenes look into the life of the President’s not-so-secret weapon.

92 THIS MEANS WAR With an unpredictable spitfire for Commander-in-Chief, the concept for this year’s foreign affairs seems to have been the fast-paced burning and building of bridges.

We get ready for the inevitable invasion headed to our shores with this survival guide presented by Jessica Yang.

100 THE PASSION AND REDEMPTION OF DING GERROUS While no stranger to the brutal realities of his photographs, Ding Gerrous has since softened upon moving to France, aided by an archaic technique. Devi De Veyra listens in as the artist relates the pains of his past.

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PNP Chief Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa suits up

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THE THINGS THEY CARRIED Scarred by the reality of gunfire, Basilan finds itself on the headlines for clashes against the Abu Sayyaf. Some encounters, however, just don’t make it to the news.

Criselda Yabes tells the stories of two young survivors who find that the struggle doesn’t end in the refuge of safety.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JAKE VERZOSA, COURTESY OF THE PHILIPPINE NATIONAL POLICE

ISSUE 105

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SECTIONS

Harumi Yukutake’s Paracosmos at Singapore Biennale 2016

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AGENDA Burlesque PH is breaking into the mainstream of Manila nightlife with a daring art form; Chotto Matte blends the art of Japanese whiskey with the even finer art of the afterwork buzz; Tom Wolfe’s notorious work on the realities and illusions of the flower power era returns in a striking reissue.

THE EYE Low-key local brand Fino Leatherware gets ready to celebrate 25 years of luxury skins this 2017; Lucerne managing director Emerson Yao gives the lowdown on what makes an iconic timepiece; comfort is king when it comes to the cutting-edge footwear of British label Harrys of London.

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SPACE Powerhouse Dutch designer Marcel Wanders shares a few of his favorite destinations in his beloved Amsterdam; Maserati swaggers into SUV territory with the go-anywhere, do-anything Levante; we make a case for the armchair as the key piece to building the abode of the modern man.

THE SLANT From the city he shares with the president, John Bengan explores the pros and cons of rooting for Rodrigo Duterte; Ninotchka Rosca takes the pulse of two countries with some 1300 kilometers between them; Ian Rosales Casocot shares a conversation about hopes and fears.

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PHOTO COURTESY OF SINGAPORE ART MUSEUM

Executive Editor JEROME GOMEZ Deputy Editor JONT Y CRUZ Design Editor DEVI DE VEYRA

Managing Editor JACS T. SAMPAYAN

Associate Editor PAOLO ENRICO MELENDEZ

Agenda Section Editor JAM PASCUAL Founding and Contributing Editor JOSE MARI UGARTE Editorial Assistant PATRICIA CHONG

Editor at Large TEODORO LOCSIN, JR.

On the Cover Digital imaging by Khalil Albuainain Art Direction by Karl Castro

Online Editor PHILBERT DY

ART Senior Art Director KARL CASTRO

Junior Designer MARK SANTIAGO

Photographer at Large MARK NICDAO

Photographer STEVE TIRONA

Contributing Writers JOHN BENGAN, JEFF CANOY, IAN ROSALES CASOCOT, MANDY CRUZ, ELBERT CUENCA, A J ELICAÑO, KARL ESTUART, EMIL HOFILEÑA, CARL JOE JAVIER, STEFAN PUNONGBAYAN, NINOTCHKA ROSCA, ALIE UNSON, CRISELDA YABES, ANGELICA Y. YANG, R. ZAMORA LINMARK Contributing Photographers & Artists KHALIL ALBUAINAIN, K.T. BAUTISTA, ANDREA BELDUA, PATRICK DIOKNO, JL JAVIER, JOSEF NICOL AS, CENON NORIAL III

PUBLISHING Publisher VICKY MONTENEGRO / vicky.montenegro@roguemedia.ph Associate Publisher ANI A. HIL A / ani.hila@roguemedia.ph Publishing Assistant MADS TEOTICO / mads.teotico@roguemedia.ph Senior Advertising Sales Director MINA GARA / mina.gara@roguemedia.ph Account Managers VELU ACABADO, DENISE MAGTOTO Marketing Manager TRIXIE DAWN CABIL AN Advertising Traffic Officer & Production Coordinator MYRA CABALUNA Associate Circulation Manager RAINIER S. BARIA Circulation Supervisor MARK ROLAND LEAL Circulation Assistant JERICO ALDANA

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Dispatch Supervisors ERIC GARCIA, JIMUEL TATAD Controller EDEN G. ARGONZA Credit & Collection Officer DODGIE OCAMPO Finance Analyst JEMMALYN LUCERO HR Supervisor RUSCHEL REYES Administrative Supervisor DEANNA GUEVARRA

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WHATSOEVER WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS.

ISSUE 105

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The things that brought us here

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this issue puts it, is now leader and decisionmaker of the most powerful country in the world.

“Worst year ever, after all,” I remember noting on the Viber thread.

Still, we wanted more evidence, which the opening essay for our Rogue Roast 2016 provides, citing figures that resulted from the terrible things we do to nature, and the terrible things we do to each other.

And we also wanted a differing perspective which we are fortunate to have gotten from the always entertaining Dick Joaquin. Because there are silver linings despite the recent New York Times reports on the war on drugs: more trains now run during peak hours at the MRT, and more are set to arrive by late 2017; the Philippine economy posting a 7.1 percent rate of growth in the third quarter, making it the fastest-growing in Asia. But Mr. Joaquin, bless his heart, has more entertaining, life-changing arguments on why he thinks 2016 was a fabulous year.

This issue is an exploration on that question: best year or worst? But also it’s an exploration of our roles in the scheme of things. I am usually averse to essays writers write about why they write because of its self-indulgent nature. But the times call for it, an estimation of the power of words, a reevaluation of our roles as writers in a time of social and political upheaval such as the one we find ourselves in. Writers, after all, often seek to reflect the sentiments of a people. Check out this month’s Slant. You will never find a more sober and sobering collection of essays that touch on

the present national climate in a local magazine this month. I found them oddly comforting, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Reading them was like plucking myself out from the stress and bile and arrogance of Facebook and stepping into a garden.

Speaking of Facebook, it just reminded me recently of a post I wrote around this time last year: it was quite an emotional outburst on the Pnoy administration and how I felt it ignored the travails of the common working man, our pleadings for tax reforms and improved basic services. I used the word “nilalapastangan” just to let you know the extent of my anger. I’ve never used that word since, nor posted anything as terribly desperate-sounding. Was 2015 my worst year ever? In any case, this year was bad for most of us, the worst for some—especially those who’ve lost loved ones. And since this is the year when symbols meant so much to us perhaps more than any other time in recent memory, those balloons on the cover? We are only too happy to let them go, and watch them disappear into the far, far distance.

Je ome Gomez Executive Editor

PHOTOGRAPH BY JR AGRA

N

o other part of this issue sparked more contention in the office than those three words on the cover. Worst Year Ever. The idea came from our new hire, deputy editor Jonty Cruz who, having been a colleague at the local Esquire during its first four years, knows a thing or two about provocation by way of the magazine cover. But was it really the worst? I asked. Surely one from the Martial Law era, or even from the post-Ninoy-assassination years would paint a darker portrait of the country’s history, with its stories of unwarranted arrests, tortures and disappearances. “I disagree,” our design editor Devi de Veyra said about the cover idea. “If you want to provoke, wouldn’t it be smarter to say it’s the best year ever? That would spark a discussion.”Worst Year Ever, true, wouldn’t quite get the same results because it sounds like its already made up its mind. Besides, its already the general sentiment online—or at least the general sentiment of the people who appear on our feeds as a result of Facebook algorithms. That was in early October, and the discussions would jump from the conference room to the Uber rides home, from official office threads to threads quietly, privately created just to make sure voices are heard and points taken into account.

And then November 8 happened: former dictator Ferdinand Marcos can now be buried in the Libingan ng Mga Bayani. And then November 9 followed: Hillary Clinton lost the American elections. “An angry, ill-mannered idiot millionaire from New York,” as one of our writers

ISSUE 105

THE GUEST LIST Dec e m b e r 2 0 16 - Ja n u a r y 2 0 17

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Khalil Albuainain is a freelance 3D artist and designer living in Quezon City. He also takes street photos of “The Blacks and Whites of Everyday Life” in Manila on Instagram. In this issue, he created the digital imaging on the cover.

Ian Rosales Casocot is a creative writer and journalist who hails from Dumaguete.

A correspondent for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, he has won several Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards and an NVM Gonzalez Prize for his fiction. This month, he shares a serious conversation he had with colleagues about taking a stand.

Cenon Norial III is a freelance fashion photographer based in Manila. He is also the editor in chief and creative director for ADHD Magazine, which covers art, music, and fashion. His photos have appeared in Preview and L’Officiel Manila.

Carljoe Javier discovered his love for all things geeky when he migrated to Southern California as a young boy. Since his return to Manila, he has also taken to writing about the psyche of the diaspora, the Fil-Am consciousness, and other matters of the heart.

NINOTCHKA ROSCA PHOTOGRAPH BY ELMAR PHOTOGRAPHY

Criselda Yabes has published five books, including Sarena’s Story: The Loss of a Kingdom. She worked as a correspondent for the international press in Manila, covering politics, coups, and other major events overseas. She often travels to Muslim Mindanao to complete a book on the military’s approach to conflict.

Jeff Canoy is an award-winning reporter who’s been working with ABSCBN News since 2007. Based in Manila, he currently covers the Philippine National Police and the government’s war on drugs. In this issue, he gives us a behind-thescenes look into the life of PNP Chief Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa.

R. Zamora Linmark was born in Manila, educated in Honolulu, and has lived in Madrid and Tokyo.

He is a poet, novelist, and playwright known for the novels Leche and Rolling the R’s. He recently completed his first young adult novel, These Books Belong to Ken Z.

Ninotchka Rosca is a Philippine-born, New York-based writer of seven books, including the modern classics State of War and Twice Blessed. She is also a journalist, an uncompromising activist and advocate for women’s liberation, a lecturer and teacher, a yoga practitioner, and a frustrated guitar player.

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E DI T E D BY

JAM PASCUAL

AGENDA F O O D + E N T E R TA I N M E N T + C U L T U R E + T R AV E L

TAKE IT OFF Sure they strip. But the performers of Burlesque PH, who treat their craft as an art form, go beyond the erotic WORDS BY MANDY CRUZ AND JAM PASCUAL PHOTOGRAPHS BY JL JAVIER

ISSUE NO.

105

AGENDA NIGHTLIFE

IT’S 7 IN THE EVENING and the boys and girls of Burlesque PH are stretching their limbs, getting a feel of their given space at Finders Keepers. This is a special gig—firstly, it’s rookie’s night, which means this is the night the newest members of the troupe finally get to take their routines out of the realm of rehearsal and into the gaze of an actual audience. Secondly, it’s the birthday of performer and Burlesque PH co-founder Leslie Espinosa A.K.A. Lucky Rapscallion, so of course everybody wants to make it good for the queen bee slash mother mentor.

“Company call!” Espinosa beckons to wrap up rehearsals, and everyone momentarily sheds their

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sultry personas to properly assess their routine.

“If you’re afraid to make eye contact, look at the wall. If you’re afraid to look at the strangers in the room, look at each other,” Espinosa advises. There is a proper way to do burlesque, after all, and this is serious business.

Originally a kind of musical theater parody popular in England during Victorian times, burlesque has since evolved into a more sophisticated form of entertainment, mostly in the US. In the Philippines, there’s an entire troupe dedicated to bringing a more contemporary iteration of the art form into the nightlife mainstream. So, word to the

uninitiated: it isn’t just corsets and Richard Strauss cabaret you’ll find here.

Founded March of this year by Espinosa, Joyen Santos, and Giselle Tomimbang, Burlesque PH began as an outlet for performance art, self-expression, and Filipino talent. “There is a need and want for [a variety] of entertainment.

Burlesque is an art form that is open to all kinds of performers, body types, and music genres,” says Espinosa. This diversity in talent and entertainment is apparent in Burlesque PH, whose members include men and women, straight and LGBT, each with a unique style and persona to bring to the stage.

“People still find it risqué.

Some still confuse it with a red light district show. It’s not,” says Tomimbang. Sure, stripping is involved, but the difference lies in the power play between performer and audience.

LET’S GET PHYSICAL

Clockwise from left: The Star Ore rehearsing her routine for Burlesque PH’s show at Finders Keepers; The Erisdoll, one of the newest members of the troupe, during her routine; before her routine, The Erisdoll is introduced as “The Goddess of Awkward Sexuality.”

In a culture as shame-based as that of the Philippines, contemporary burlesque is widely misunderstood: anything remotely sensual is immediately labeled pornographic or scandalous.

Tomimbang wouldn’t be surprised if people couldn’t tell the difference between a burlesque show and a striptease at a girly bar: “People still find it risqué. Some still confuse it with a

red light district show. It’s not,” she says. Sure, stripping is involved, but the difference lies in the power play between performer and audience.

With stripping, the power is “in the hands of the hungry male audience,” as Santos puts it; with burlesque, it’s the performer who’s in control.

Burlesque is known to have one major rule: during a show, performers are allowed to touch members of the audience—but they cannot be touched back. This emphasizes the power burlesque performers have over their work and their audience. Notice the way a male audience member behaves at a burlesque show. He’ll scream and cheer but keep his hands to himself.

VISIT BURLESQUE PH ON FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM FOR WORKSHOP AND PERFORMANCE SCHEDULES

He isn’t even allowed to touch the garments the performers throw away.

In such a controlled environment, the rookies of the show don’t have to feel like rookies, but masters and mistresses who get to hold dominion over the audience for as long as their routine allows. On a November night like this, you watch all the co stumes before you slowly come undone and you think maybe Halloween stayed a little longer than it should’ve. Then everything comes off and all you’re left with are the pasties, and the night takes on a different tone of revelry. You can tell. Both the boys and the girls in the crowd are going nuts.

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AGENDA FOOD

GOOD VIBRATIONS

In Papa Loa, Chef Iñigo Castillo introduces a whole new TikiJapanese culinary experience WORDS BY ANGELICA Y. YANG PHOTOS BY PATRICK DIOKNO

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UNIQUE IS A word synonymous with Papa Loa. Chef Iñigo Castillo’s first restaurant in Bonifacio Global City (109 Forbestown Heights, Rizal Drive near Burgos Circle; 511-7638) is a tiki bar whose selection of food is a marriage of Asian and Caribbean cuisines. “My partners and I wanted an Izakaya style of dining, but with tropical flavors,” he says, referring to the unusual harmony of his Tiki-Japanese dishes.

While the Filipino palate is no stranger to Japanese food, it’s less familiar with tiki or Polynesian cuisine. For an introduction to the latter, start with the concoctions of Papa Loa mixologist Kath Eckstein Cornista: the Little Grass Skirt and Lost Twang are harmonious blends of light, zesty, and punchy flavors, recalling

hot summer days on sandy beaches and escapades in a tropical paradise.

We move on to the cuisine, a seamless blend of Japanese and tiki cookery. The crowd favorite, the Eggplant Skewer, is a Stella Artois-battered dish drizzled with miso dressing, while the Poke is a delightful combo of tuna, avocado, chili, and crispy wontons. The Beef Skewer, grilled soy-glazed US beef belly with crispy rice and plantain mash, is a filling afternoon meal. Their special noodles, which are made from a bevy of ingredients—pork belly, katsuboshi, rice noodles, pickled ginger—melds into a symphony of flavors that will make you believe, even for a moment, that you were dining in the streets of Harajuku, Tokyo. For dessert, there’s the Beignet, a twist on

The crowd favorite, the Eggplant Skewer, is a Stella Artoisbattered dish drizzled with miso dressing, while the Poke is a delightful combo of tuna, avocado, chili, and crispy wontons.

TROPICAL HOUSE

Clockwise: The Beef, Eggplant, and Fish skewers are favorites of frequent customers; Papa Loa’s take on the Poke; the Beignet is caramelized bananas, chocolate, green tea ice cream and puffed rice. Opposite: Papa Loa’s second floor interiors.

the classic banana split: green tea ice cream with caramelized bananas, puffed rice, and chocolate.

Upbeat reggae music plays in the background as raindrops pelt the glass windows. Even on cold and dreary days, there’s always a warmth and vibrancy to Papa Loa. There is that welcoming vibe the minute you walk through this restaurant’s doors: brightly colored furniture meets reggae iconography superimposed on famous Japanese woodprints. Picture Bob Marley sharing wall space with “The Great Wave off Kanagawa.” Papa Loa habitués can groove to the sounds of ska, reggae, and rocksteady music on weekdays, but on some Friday and Saturday nights, you’ll find DJ Skratchmark manning the turntables. Imagine Irie Sunday at B-Side, but with fushion cuisine to pair with your cocktails.

Having been in the cooking industry for 16 years (10 of them spent working in Australia), Castillo says he had time to experiment before launching Papa Loa, his first restaurant. The secret to success, according to this chef, lies in perseverance, and not in the prestige of the cooking school. “You are only born with so much talent. If you don’t work on it, people will overtake you,” he says, remembering the early years of his career in the catering business. “It’s a hard job. It’s a lot of long hours and you work when everybody’s off. If you work hard, chances are you’ll make it.”

That he did. So while Castillo does his thing in the kitchen, we’re free to party the night away, Little Grass Skirt in hand.

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AGENDA MUSIC

JACK OF ALL SOUNDS

As a producer and frequent collaborator, Nick Lazaro is the unseen force behind many of the local music scene’s biggest acts WORDS BY KARL ESTUART / PHOTO BY ANDREA BELDUA

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NICK LAZARO IS an outlier. Born in the US, he was raised

by Filipino parents and the liberal counterculture of underground San Francisco. When he was 12, he picked up a guitar for the first time to try and mimic something he’d heard on TV—two years later his band Animosity would bring the deathcore genre to the San Francisco music scene.

Four years on, Lazaro would find himself burned out and in need of a job, having dropped out of school, Animosity, and music in general.

Now, his studio—a room in his family’s real estate office—is decked with recording devices. In one room is a well-worn band set. “Since February,” he says, “every single day, I’ve had a person in here, recording.” Noting the egregious lack of music in his life, his father invited him to the Philippines in 2007, to which Lazaro was ambivalent. “I thought it was like where I was, but an island,” he recounts.

“But this is a crazy island.”

Lazaro describes himself in dualities—producer and performer, thrasher and composer, deliberator and liberator.

Down to thrash yet always up for another take in the studio, he’s made a career as a musician whose work ethic has proven impressive for anyone who’s enlisted him for help and collaboration. After garnering attention as a producer on local artist BP Valenzuela’s “Pretty Car,” he’s worked with numerous artists—from Oh, Flamingo! to Peryodiko—to help refine their sound. “I could dig being a slave to music,” he says.

Although perhaps “expert” would be just as precise a term as “slave,” considering Lazaro’s proficiency. Take for example the layered, thrumming riffs of Twin Lobster and the fluid, colorful, effects-laden melodies of Moonwlk.

Stumble upon either act and you might feel the way Lazaro did when he discovered Mew and Bjork’s confounding artistry—“Björk’s my second mom!” he exclaims—amazed by a dimension to music that is explorative, liberating.

Consistently engaging with the new does not keep Lazaro distant from the old, as he incorporates in his performances the ferocity from his Animosity days.

“Though the music isn’t metal, my attitude is metal,” he says. With his full band, Lazaro sheds all instruments and barrels onto the stage, urging everyone to get on their feet. Beside him in spirit are his heroes—James Hetfield, Michael Jackson, Freddie Mercury, and of course Björk. On stage, he takes his music and sets it aflame.

“Put them in a blender and put my balls into it, and that is what I channel when I perform,” is how he describes it.

“It’s aggressive, but it’s art.”

AGENDA DRINKS

BURNING MOONLIGHT

Chotto Matte is where BGC’s business class goes to decompress WORDS BY ALIE UNSON / PHOTO BY ANDREA BELDUA

THE FIRST THING you notice about Chotto Matte is the light: a warm amber casts a glow on its wooden furniture and spills out the windows, turning the bar into a beacon of subdued browns and golds against the array of neon and fluorescent that surrounds the perimeter of Net Park Building, Bonifacio Global City. This, coupled with the high ceiling and minimalist adornments, grants the bar a warm ambiance, where the mixed crowd of young BGC workers and Japanese businessmen enjoy a calm and well-deserved unwinding after a grinding day’s work. This relaxed atmosphere is inherent even in its name—in Japanese, chotto matte roughly translates to “wait a moment,” the informal phrase a gentle beckoning to friends and colleagues. In this context, asking a coworker to stay for drinks.

Inside, tables are loaded with dishes from Izakaya Sensu, the adjoining restaurant headed by Chef Yuki Haruo, in which Chotto Matte works as a sort of speakeasy. What catches the eye immediately are the Chirashi Sushi and the Oyster Chawan Mushi, dishes as postcard-perfect as a Studio Ghibli movie. The former is a beautifully arranged bowl of deconstructed sushi, bright seafood, and tamago resting on a bed of soft Japanese rice; the latter a little more unusuallooking, the darkness of fresh oysters against the red of a flavorful egg custard. In large groups, one can spot the more

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ostentatious Omakase being shared around the table, 11 kinds of sashimi overflowing from a large plate.

Gleaming atop the bar like prized possessions are golden bottles of Japan’s oldest whisky—Suntory, essential to Chotto Matte’s highlight drink, the Suntory Kakubin. A classic highball drink in Japan, the Kakubin at Chotto Matte strives for authenticity, never straying from the traditional mixture of Suntory Special Blended Whisky, soda water, and fresh lemon.

Describing the crafting of his cocktails, head bartender Kit Uy says that they’re all made from the heart—from Chotto Matte’s signature spins on the traditional Kakubin to its fancy dessert cocktails, every drink is a work of passion.

Outside, men in suits smoke leisurely while picking at cups of crisp Katsu Fingers, or a bowl of fried chicken hearts known as Sichimi Age, littering their table with bread crumbs and cigarette ashes. Loose-limbed yuppies chatter idly over plates of sesame-crusted Chicken Kara-Age and glasses of Sakura Smiles, the cherry-lychee garnishes bobbing in small pink pools of lychee-infused sake and cherry vodka.The roads begin to empty, and bright lights from the Fort Strip across the street begin to dim, but within Chotto Matte (G/F Net Park Bldg., Bonifacio Global City, Taguig) the warmth never wavers, and patrons stay well into the night.

AGENDA BOOKS

HIPPIE TRIP

A visually stunning reissue of Tom Wolfe’s acclaimed work on America’s most notorious proponents of LSD takes us further down the psychedelic rabbit hole of the flower power era

JUST BEFORE GOING on a cross-country trip with the Merry Pranksters, hippie king and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest author Ken Kesey encountered psychology student Vic Lovell.

It was through him that Kesey learned about Sigmund Freud and the experiments going on in one of Menlo Park’s hospitals, where volunteers were paid $75 a day to take weird pills. One of the pills Kesey took was LSD: suddenly, his hospital bed was no longer a hospital bed, his white room was no longer a white room, and Kesey’s mind was altered forever.

This was the man Tom Wolfe followed for his book The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, which wasn’t so much a profile of Kesey as it was a profile of a generation fixated on the effects of psychoactive drugs. Published in 1968, the book, which is known today as a triumph of the

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New Journalism genre, sees new life as a special Collector’s Edition from Taschen (taschen.com).

Signed by Wolfe, this edition comes with several features that take us deeper down the rabbit hole of 60s psychedelia: among them, reproductions of Wolfe’s original manuscript pages, photos by movie director-screenwriter Lawrence Schiller, and even Kesey’s jailhouse journals. You’ll even find photographs by renowned Beat generation poet Allen Ginsberg, one high profile name among many who bore witness to an example of counterculture gone awry.

The “acid test” in the title refers to a series of parties that Kesey would hold in the San Francisco Bay Area to get the gospel of LSD out to the people. Posters that read “CAN YOU PASS THE ACID TEST?” would be put up— invitations that would convert regular sober folk

ACID COUNTRY

Above, from left: A page from Ken Kesey’s jailhouse journals, which date back to 1967; psychologist and LSD advocate Dr.Timothy Leary.

IMAGES COURTESY OF TASCHEN

WORDS BY JAM PASCUAL

Wolfe was partly to blame for transfiguring Kesey into a Christ figureandblowingup theLSDmovement.

VISION QUEST

From top: The Merry Pranksters’ schoolbus, nicknamed “Further”; the author at Cape Kennedy, in 1972.

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into the next wave of hippies. Kesey would have to scrap his fantasy of hosting these parties in a Buckminster Fuller-inspired geodesic dome, and hold them instead at his farm in La Honda, California. But despite this minor setback, the acid tests would win over their fair share of true believers. The effects of the drugs would be amplified with sensory stimulation—live music, movies flashing on walls, strobe lights—and the effect would be, as Kesey envisioned it, “an enormous enrichment of human experience.”

One could say that Wolfe, along with Kesey and his band of Pranksters, in their psychedelically tricked-out school bus, found themselves smack dab in the middle of a turbulent zeitgeist while on their cross-country adventure. Along the way, they encountered the Grateful Dead, Hells Angels bikers, even psychologist and LSD advocate Timothy Leary.

By the time Wolfe began writing Acid Test, psychedelic drugs were not just an underground, niche fad but a topic of national interest.

Ultimately, Wolfe and Kesey weren’t just part of history: they were making history, too.

When Acid Test was first released, however, reception was mixed at best. Some immediately saw the long term effect Wolfe would have on American literature at large—taking nonfiction to more artful heights by capturing a side of the 60s that had mostly been described in hysteria. Others panned the book, attacking the believability of Wolfe’s accounts (understandably so—you wouldn’t put your complete trust in someone who spent an extended amount of time surrounded by drug-using delinquents). Despite the polarizing effect the book had on critics, it greatly impacted the cultural landscape, taking Kesey and his minions out from obscurity and into the national spotlight. One wouldn’t be wrong in saying that Wolfe was partly to blame for transfiguring Kesey into a Christ figure and blowing up the LSD movement into something bigger and stranger than it already was.

The modern reader, however, can set themselves at an ironic distance from the imagery and delusions of the flower power years. Given that, they might see in Wolfe a mind that manages to empathize with the hallucinations of the company he keeps without sacrificing his sanity to the creative process. In this new edition of Acid Test—which should be placed alongside other great literary drug books such as Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Aldous Huxley’s The Doors of Perception—we’re escorted deeper into an era, with all its proposed truths and crazy, mind-altering states. It’s a hell of a trip.

TOME WOLFE IMAGE FROM GETTY

AGENDA BOOKS

AGENDA HUMOR

TL

DOOM PROPHETS CELEBRATE THE END OF ALL THINGS The hottest festival of the epoch is guaranteed to give its attendees the full experience of despair

TH E LI TE R A L E N

ora Temp (The s you t invite

The

ral Lite

and

DOOMSDAY PREPPER

i i dially of r o c re h You a ating deat i c u r c ex

Rogue received an ominous-looking press kit detailing the date and program flow of the Apocalypse.

We take you through its contents WORDS BY AJ ELICAÑO

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End

MANILA, PHILIPPINES—The society of undead Mesoamerican doomsayers and events managers known as the Temporarily Resurrected Union of Mayan Prophets (TRUMP) confirmed today that its long-delayed music festival, The Literal End of the World, originally announced with a 2012 showdate, will push through on December 31, 2016.

TRUMP spokeszombies met with major press outlets and gutturally assured that the event would be worth the wait. “This has been more than 5,000 years in the making,” a leading undead prophet said in a mix of English and Ancient Mayan with a touch of Pangalatok. “We’re very excited to bring The Literal End of the World to you, with the Antichrist headlining, as a capstone to the productions we’ve brought you this year.”

TRUMP’s announcement comes on the heels of a series of events launched by the group this year, many of which have received rave reviews from audiences. Most prominent was the series of concerts by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“We’re viewing all of 2016 as one massive apocalypse festival,” a TRUMP spokeszombie explained. “The Four Horsemen are our opening act; The Literal End is our showstopper.”

The Horsemen’s well-reviewed events have included Conquest’s MAGA, an inspiring anti-immigrant country music extravaganza set against the backdrop of a gigantic Mexican-funded brick wall; N which recapped hit songs from the Horseman’s War’s OBOSEN screamo albums War: On Drugs and The Facebook Comment Section; and Death’s ongoing #SalamatApo performance art piece, in which the corpse of a dictator from a small island nation is continuously dug up and reburied atop a diff ff rent hero’s grave every day.

Less popular was Famine’s opening tour Stop 2016, which the Horseman claimed was an attempt to symbolically starve humanity by killing pop culture icons like David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, and some gorilla, but TRUMP maintained that Famine’s act was necessary for The Literal End campaign.

As expected, TRUMP did not comment on the well-attended concert by unofficial “fifth Horseman” Pestilence, who infected human consciousness with several thousand renditions of “Closer”

by The Chainsmokers featuring Halsey.

Amidst claims by critics that the event was “far too abrupt,” “disastrous for all mankind,” and “morally unconscionable,” a TRUMP spokeszombie said, “We don’t know why you’re surprised.

We announced the Apocalypse as early as 2012 and you didn’t pass any laws against it. We are only doing what is legal.

“Besides,” he added, “it’s not like we’re saying the Antichrist is a hero. We just think he’s a great performer.”

Tickets for The Literal End of the World are on sale at TRUMP’s official website (www.theliteralendoftheworld.com).

D ece m b e r 2 0 16 - Ja n u a r y 2 0 17

E DI T E D BY

DEVI DE VEYRA

SPACE

ISSUE NO.

1105 05

DESIGN + INTERIORS + ARCHITECTURE + TECHNOLOGY

PHOTO COURTESY OF FOAM

MARCEL WANDERS’

AMSTERDAM The Dutch design powerhouse tells Rogue about his favorite stops—galleries, food haunts, bars, museums, stores—that lie beyond the city’s hash cafes and lurid sex shops.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF SHOPS, RESTOS, AND MARCEL WANDERS

SPACE TRAVEL

NO MODERN-DAY Dutchman flew higher or dreamed bigger than designer Marcel Wanders. His prodigious and dazzling oeuvre captivated a worldwide audience drawn to his whimsical style. Part of his success can be attributed to his adventurous spirit which was nurtured early on by his father, who urged his young son to explore the world beyond his hometown, Boxtel, in the South of the Netherlands.

Despite his success, Wanders remains rooted to his beloved Amsterdam where his design company, Moooi, is currently based. He sent a list of mustvisit places (which includes galleries, museums, a flower shop, among others) that might inspire and rekindle a desire for adventure and lofty dreams.

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DUTCH TREAT

Wanders sent Rogue his list of places he frequents. Clockwise from top left, opposite: The Duchess (the-duchess.com). The interiors of the Taiko Asian Restaurant at The Conservatorium Hotel (conservatoriumhotel. com). A sampling of the dishes served at Moon (restaurantmoon.nl). Previous page: HyenaJackal-Vulture, 1976 by Hiroshi Sugimoto at Foam (foam.org)

SPACE TRAVEL

On the unique quality of his city What I love most about Amsterdam is our open-minded and imaginative culture.

There is a history of creativity that has fueled every generation since the beginning. I published a book about it called Amsterdam Creative Capital, Highlights of An Ongoing Creative History. In this volume, I explored more than 100 examples of creativity and innovation that date back over 700 years. The legends of our past are still relevant today as their influence is seen throughout our city—one that places no limits on creative exploration. What we are today as a city is founded on their creative achievements.

The legends of our past are still relevant today as their influence is seen throughout our city – one that places no limits on creative exploration.

TOP PICKS

Rembrandt’s self-portrait which hangs at the Rijksmuseum (rijksmuseum.nl). Marcel Wanders designed the Andaz Amsterdam (amsterdamprinsegracht.hyatt.andaz.com).

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On where to shop Shopping is something Amsterdam offers a great deal of. There are craftsmen, designers and retailers all over the city. For that unique exclusive gift, I would recommend de Bijenkorf. It offers a wonderful assortment of souvenirs, apparel, seasonal gifts and that one-of-a-kind outfit that fits your lifestyle perfectly.

More than a fashion store, byAMFI is part of the Amsterdam Fashion Institute. It is both an outlet and a showcase featuring designs made by students, teachers and alumni. All of the clothing and accessory designs they produce are fresh and surprising.

As it is students who create the clothing for the marketplace there is a delightful experimentation to everything they make.

On how to take it all in When traveling around the city, don’t blink! There is so much to see and do and experience here that when you leave, you will not be the same person who arrived.

Creativity and inspiration can be found around every corner. Do not rush through our city. Enjoy the smallest moments and be open to anything, because you’re about to experience everything.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF ANDAZ AMSTERDAM AND RIJKSMUSEUM

On where to eat and drink For a nice, fresh lunch, I choose to dine at De KAS. From their own nursery, they bring their harvest to the table. With fresh produce, and meats and fish provided by local suppliers, Mediterranean-inspired dishes are created daily. In the evening, I enjoy going to the W Hotel Lounge for cocktails. They offer an extensive and unique menu specially created by W mixologists against a 360-degree backdrop of the city.

It is an electric atmosphere that reenergizes me for the night ahead. One of my favorite places to have dinner is Moon. The revolving restaurant located on the 19th floor of the landmark A’DAM Toren offers scenery as breathtaking as its signature cuisine. Classical dishes with a modern twist highlight a menu crafted with local seasonal ingredients.

SPACE MOTORING

DRIVING FORCE

Maserati enters the SUV market with the Levante, a cocky model that bears the car brand’s signature swagger, inside out

NAMED AFTER AN easterly wind in the Mediterranean, the Levante is Maserati’s first-ever SUV. The news of its arrival comes with a great deal of expectations. And the Italian manufacturer’s premier model does not disappoint. The Levante is an elegant creature that bears the famed car brand’s DNA—a seamless blend of luxurious style, superb engineering and power encapsulated by the iconic Trident badge.

It starts with the head-turning body, with its strong yet sleek lines that convey fluid motion even while at a standstill. The assertive front grille is a reminder of the Maserati’s illustrious sporting legacy, which has captivated motoring aficionados through the years.

But there’s more to this SUV than just a fabulous shell. Inside, fine Italian craftsmanship and sophisticated technology elevate the driving experience. This include the ample room, the hand-stitched leather that is wrapped around the seats, dashboard, and steering wheel, and the Alcantara hide that lines the car’s ceiling.

Wood panels, available in a variety of shades

40 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

and grains, in natural or high-gloss, add warmth and accentuate the doors, center console, and dashboard with alloys used for door handles and some of the control knobs. Any plastic sparingly used is made from solid polymers.

At the center of the dashboard is a highresolution 8.4-inch touchscreen display that serves as the main control for the Bowers & Wilkins-designed sound system with Apple CarPlay and Android Auto compatibility. In addition, the Maserati Touch Control Plus (MTC+) allows control and configuration of the car’s systems and devices in a very intuitive and user-friendly manner.

Thanks to an adjustable air suspension, the Levante can tackle different road conditions.

Setting the car to either of the full off-road modes will raise the car by up to 40mm from its normal height, making it a very capable 4x4.

Switching on its sport mode will lower the ground clearance to 35mm, stiffen the suspension and add some weight to the hydraulic steering, keeping the car confident during spirited driving. In normal mode, the

ride is firm but comfortable, maintaining its luxurious feel.

The unit we tested, the Levante Diesel, was equipped with a frugal 3.0-liter V6 variablegeometry turbo Diesel engine with a rated output of 275hp and whopping 600Nm of torque. Its power delivery feels subtle with not a hint of drama, reaching 100kph from standstill in under seven seconds.

The other two available models have a 3.0-liter V6 gasoline engine. There’s the Levante, which produces 350hp/500Nm, and the Levante S with 430hp/580Nm; the former goes from 0 to 100kph in 6.0 seconds, the latter in 5.2 seconds. All three engines are designed by Maserati (Formula Sports Inc. 32nd & 4th, Crescent Park West Bonifacio Global City Taguig; 856-2277; sales@maseratiphils.com) and manufactured by Ferrari in Maranello, Italy.

All things considered, this is one hardworking SUV; The Maserati Levante offers plush comforts, impeccable style, power and performance and certainly lives up to its pedigreed name.

PHOTO COURTESY OF MASERATI

WORDS BY ELBERT CUENCA

SPACE ART

ART ATTACK A cemetery of charred tree trunks, curated garbage, and a not-so-dirty finger. This year’s Singapore Biennale is not lacking in art showstoppers waiting to be gawked at and examined

THE SINGAPORE BIENNALE 2016 opened last October 26 with works from over 60 Southeast, South and East Asian contemporary artists on show. For the uninitiated, the event is, in layman’s terms, a bonanza of paintings, drawings, videos, audio recordings, sculptures, installations, performances and also, rubbish.

Rubbish by Japanese artist Kentaro Hiroki is easy to miss. A few pieces of reconstructed urban waste—in this case, food wrappers found in the streets of Singapore—lie scattered on the floor behind a velvet rope that I presume is a precautionary measure lest a janitor sweeps the pieces into a dust pan.

The curator’s note explains its place in the biennale. Hiroki combed the streets looking for garbage, a challenge in a city obsessed with order and tidiness. He would mark his “muses” and leave them where they are, returning once in a while to check if they’re still there. The hardy ones, mostly trash hidden beneath and behind shrubbery, or urban camouflage as Hiroki called it, served as the models for Hiroki’s work.

Rubbish invites a deeper examination of a city’s discards, and how through his reworking of the found trash, they assume new meanings and value. Is it art? Depends on who you ask. I honestly can’t tell, but I don’t care. It certainly is provocative, and perhaps unintentionally so, drawing questions about the relevance of his art (or non-art as proclaimed by a media representative from India) and the institution that presented it, especially in this time of roiling global turbulence.

Today’s audience, rattled by the seismic shifts rambling through a destabilized world demand tendance to more urgent, challenging problems.

Art or not, do the works draw light to critical issues and help effect change?

That question was in mind as I viewed Singaporean Lim Soong Ngee’s giant sculpture of a hand, its index finger pointing upward.

The curator’s note said: “In proposing myth on myth, Lim extends our sense of history beyond historical records. Meanwhile, our imagination is left to run wild; we ponder what lies in the earth beneath as indicated by this lone left hand.”

While standing in front of the work, I did let my imagination run wild, and thought that the sculpture could be more relevant (to me, at least) if the middle finger was raised instead as

42 D E C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

a commentary on the rising tension between Singaporeans and foreign workers.

There are braver, more sensitive and ambitious works that confront current socio-political dilemmas. Fear of Falling from History, an installation by Nobuaki Takekawa, presents reminders of Japan’s forgotten past to his country’s young, Korean-hating generation.

It’s easy to simply aestheticize his playful works which include woodblock prints, a glass sculpture and board games. But Takekawa cleverly embedded icons that reference Japan’s past atrocities to insinuate histories that were obliterated from the Japanese’s collective consciousness. “I want to present history,” Takekawa said, “so that the Japanese will understand why Koreans are in Japan. And to stop the hate.”

Malaysian Azizan Paiman’s Putar Alam Café is a rusty cube where the artist serves drinks and

For the artist, media, which he deemed “possibly the biggest charlatan of all,” shapes our thinking and actions.

Above: Rubbish (2016), by Kentaro Hiroki can be found at the Singapore Art Museum, one of several sites where artists’ works are installed for the Singapore Biennale 2016, titled An Atlas of Mirrors.

PHOTO S COURTESY OF THE SINGAPORE ART MUSEUM

WORDS BY DEVI DE VEYRA

SPACE ART

food amidst a setting decorated with his recent works, as well as a radio and a TV monitor (its sound muted) broadcasting news. For the artist, media, which he deemed as “possibly the biggest charlatan of all,” shapes our thinking and actions. In his café, the artist invites discourse and critical dismantling of the so-called truths blasted by the news channels.

Inside a dark room, Martha Atienza’s video and audio installation, Endless Hours at Sea takes you to the depths of loneliness with its oceanic footages and audio recordings. Shortlisted for the Benesse Prize, her work resonates with the Philippines’ seafaring human exports that face the same bleakness for months on end.

Singapore Hang Sae Por’s apocalyptic Black Forest 2016, an eerie tableaux of charred tree trunks set on a bed of charcoal, sends a chilling and direct message that forces the viewer to consider wanton consumption and its dire aftermath. Bangladeshi Munem Wasif ’s Land of Undefined Territory is a series of his country’s barren landscapes photographed near the border to India. He explores identity and how it is defined and divided by politics, religion, and culture when in reality, there are more commonalities than differences.

Three days wasn’t enough to see everything, but it’s enough to leave anyone all “arted out.” “Is this art?,” asked a Malaysian editor while pointing to a ravished buffet table, “The Empty Buffet Table?.” We were sniffing the blackened walls of one installation when the curator informed us that the cloying fruity scent wasn’t part of the work on show, but was just the floorcleaning liquid used on the floor.

The Singapore Biennale runs until February 26, 2016. This is a rare gathering of Asian contemporary artists. It is also a landmark edition since this will the first time the Benesse Prize will be awarded in Asia. If you find yourself in the city, visit the exhibitions scattered around town and try to take in what you can. read the notes and whatever literature is available, engage the curators and artists, or even the person next to you.

There are works that will leave you breathless, enlightened, angry or even disappointed, but you will walk away anything but the same.

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From top: Aftermath (2016), Pannaphan Yodmanee, at the Singapore Art Museum. History Repeats Itself (2016), Titarubi, at the Singapore Art Museum.

PARTNER PROMOTION

HOLIDAY FEAST

Sapporo is the perfect companion for your upcoming holiday celebrations WORDS BY JAM PASCUAL

Roasted Turkey with Sotanghon

F

or as humankind has learned to make an art out of making meals, the dining table has been a place for loved ones to convene. Friends and family gather to eat, and in the process, share an experience defined by love.

Of course, it certainly helps that the food laid on the table is good, the kind that keeps you coming back for seconds, the kind that with one look let’s you know that it was prepared in consideration of good company. This is where Sapporo, the internationally acclaimed landmark brand for high quality noodles comes in. And with the Christmas holidays just around the corner, let Sapporo be what lifts the occasion.

Each of Sapporo’s products are always made with quality in mind. Take for example, the Long Kow Vermicelli, which has a place in any Filipino home. You're also free to take your pick from other options, such as the Spaghetti and Pancit Canton— considering their wide selection, Sapporo has something for everybody.

What’s interesting about Sapporo’s products is that each of them are specially made for aspiring home cooks to test multiple recipes. Each noodle variant is easy to prepare, and has great potential in terms of just how many dishes you can lay out on the table. Unlike most other affordable products you can find in stores, Sapporo is adventurous, and open to multiple flavors and methods of preparation. It values creativity, and culinary daring, and is bound to reward any amateur in the kitchen willing to give cooking noodles a try. Not to mention that each pack comes in different sizes. Whether it’s taste preference, how manyy people you’re serving, or how diverse you want your holiday feeast will be, Sapporo has made sure to cater to as many of your culiinary needs as possible.

Christmas and New Years Eve are the occasions to watch out for, and you’ll want to be prepared. If you’re planning h how to best prepare the table for your loved ones, Sapporo has you covered.

For more recipes you can log on to www.sapporoproduucts.com.ph or visit the Sapporo Products Inc. Facebook Page.

Spinach Pesto Spaghetti with Grilled d Spiced Chicken

Vietnamese Lemongrass Beef and Vermicelli Noodle Dish

SPACE FURNITURE

SEAT OF POWER

TOP PICKS The good news is that there’s an armchair to suit every personality.

Take a look.

The armchair is the key furniture piece in the home of the modern male WORDS BY JAM PASCUAL

YOU DON’T NEED a trend forecast to tell you that an armchair is an absolute necessity—it’s been a constant in the home of the design-conscious male since boardrooms and man caves were a thing.

It cuts an imposing figure in every space it inhabits. It looks good in practically any situation that calls for masculine bonhomie, from whiskey over a game of cards, to getting the full experience out of your custom entertainment system, to even just lounging about with a fat cigar in your hand.

If there’s one thing we need to convince you of, it’s to make the armchair the first piece you buy for your personal space-in-the-making. Let it be where you reflect on where everything else goes, how to put things in order. And let it be your assurance that the space you inhabit is truly yours.

NATURAL EASE Swing armchair by Giorgetti at FURNitalia

CUSHY CATCH Plumy armchair by Ligne Roset, at MOs Design

GRUNGE GAME Prince armchair by Minotti, at Living Innovations

BACK TO THE FUTURE Imola armchair by BoConcept, available at MOs Design

INTO RETRO Gimme Shelter armchair by Diesel for Moroso

46 D E C E M B E R 2016 - JA NUA RY 2017

Lady armchair by Marco Zanuso for Cassina at FURNitalia

PARTNER PROMOTION

Collar Mao

Duplex

Pion

Nap

Tortuga

Sunny Disposition Luxury purveyor MOs Design proudly announces the arrival of Sancal from Spain

STYLE AND SUSTINABILITY are the pillars of Sancal’s design philosophy, but its exuberant spirit is what gives its products soul. One of Spain’s leading furniture brands, it embodies the country’s sunny disposition with its vibrant color palette, playful shapes and unexpected scale. The brand’s values are further elevated with Sancal’s commitment to both quality and sustainable practice. Sancal offers a smart, stylish and conscientious choice—a perfect fit for the contemporary home.

Make space for Sancal as MOs Design launches the brand in January 31, 2017.

TipToe

BO CONCEP T AVAILABLE AT MOS DESIGN AT G/F MOS DESIGN BLDG., B2 BONIFACIO HIGH STREET, BONIFACIO GLOBAL CITY, TAGUIG

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 6 - JA N UA R Y 2 0 17 / I S S U E 1 0 5

THE ROGUE ARENA Promotions and relevant items, direct from our partners

The hotel's interiors remain faithful to its elegant past with random vintage objects enhancing the nostalgic experience.

Below: A luxuriously appointed suite.

RESTORED GLORY The Luneta Hotel’s restoration revives the magic of Old Manila

The Luneta Hotel (414 Kalaw Avenue, Ermita, Manila; 632.8758921; lunetahotel.com) is one of Manila’s most gorgeous edifices, as well as its most resilient, if not extremely lucky.

Built in 1917 in the French Renaissance style, the structure survived the ravages of World War II, years of neglect that led to its decay, and near demolition by a realty developer.

In the hands of its current owners, the building has been meticulously rehabilitated and adapted for modern use. Its revamped façade, emerging from behind a temporary perimeter wall, created online and media buzz, and when it finally reopened in 2014 after seven years of restorative work, its old-world elegance made it a standout next to the slew of new developments. But its breathtaking

shell is just one facet in a massive and complex effort to revive the building, which included retrofitting its electrical system alongside the structural components.

Luneta Hotel’s fine, classic bones remain intact, as do most of its delicate, romantic details. The hotel’s interiors attempt to recapture the buoyant spirit of its glory days, while modern amenities and features cater to the needs of its present-day guests.

It is a storied space that has welcomed a long list of illustrious figures (American President Dwight Eisenhower among them) and stood witness to great historical moments.

The Luneta Hotel awaits those who wish to revisit the past and bask in the splendor of a forgotten era. —DEVI DE VEYRA

PARTNER PROMOTION

Curated Series Garden Barn assembles a collection of perfect holiday gifts meant to be used and cherished THE BEST THINGS in

life may come in small packages, but they’re certainly big on impact. Garden Barn’s curated array of thoughtfully designed objects offer not just straighforward functionality but pleasing aesthetics too that instantly lift the look and mood of the spaces they occupy. This make each and every piece from the specially curated showcase the perfect holiday gift that will be used as well as cherished by those who receive them.

There’s a good range to choose from, starting with the classic, elegant handmade glass objects from LSA that look great in just about any environment. Dress up kitchens with an article or two from Joseph Joseph. You can bring mirth to your home with Umbra’s delightful decor.

With these brands, you’re sure of a great gift that delivers special experiences.

Clockwise from left: Anigram Giraffe in copper, Umbra.

Fotobend in nickle, Umbra. Elevate Carousel, Joseph Joseph. Anigram Bunny in nickle, Umbra. Ribbon wallclock in copper, Umbra. Anigram Reindeer in nickle, Umbra. Elevate Carousel, Joseph Joseph. Anigram elephant in nickle, Umbra. Below from left: Bar Whisky set, Bar Champagne set and Bar Cockatil set

UMBRA IS AVAILABLE AT DIMENSIONE, OURHOME, TRUEHOME AND RUSTANS JOSEPH JOSEPH IS AVAILABLE AT DIMENSIONE, TRUEHOME AND RUSTANS LSA IS AVAILABLE AT DIMENSIONE AND RUSTANS

BE

A N LD U A

E DI T E D BY

D be ecid lu hi e re xur y nd-t dly l vs b h ow IN up ra e-s -k PH T E fo nd ce ey R O r i Fi n e a n TO VIE ts no s, d W G R B A 2 5 L Fi PH Y J th eat lipi S AC

BY S ye he no T. A N SA ar rw D RE MP are A AY

JACS T. SAMPAYAN

IT A STA LL W I T RT E LEA H D THE R

D ece m b e r 2 0 16 - Ja n u a r y 2 0 17

THE EYE ISSUE NO.

105

FA S H I O N + S T Y L E + G R O O M I N G

THE EYE STYLE

You are celebrating your 25th anniversary in 2017. How has Fino changed over the years?

I think we started to think of change some three to four years ago, when we realized our 25th year was just around the corner. We are a very traditional company, low-key, quiet, and out of the radar. It was also around this time that we finally thought of setting up our website and eventually developing our social media presence.

52 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

I would say we have more selections now; collections were added and we started exploring other materials. Now that we are more connected to our customers, we note a shift in direction as well.

We realized we wanted to create a more unique brand.

Can you tell us a bit about how the brand began?

It all started with leather. We just love it. In the early 1990s, only branded items carried quality leather goods here.

That was the time when new malls were opening in Metro Manila, and it felt right for us to start something. We first joined a retailer group that put together different start-ups. Initially, we had five items and although they were limited, people started taking notice of them. Eventually, a big developer took notice as well, and we were able to join its new concept wing, which became our first standalone store.

Why do you think you lasted this long?

The products we have are nothing extraordinary. Leather goods can be very basic. But the effort and attention to detail that we put in them is what our customers appreciate. They see the value we put in each and every product we have. It’s a long and tedious process, from selection and production quality to customer care. And we want to stretch ourselves even more.

What's your creative process?

It’s very specific to our tastes. We have always leaned toward classic looks. Even the designs of our first stores were inspired by old London street shops: we used darkened hardwood, brass hardware, and furniture that captured the feel of a traditional, luxury lifestyle. This came about from our travels, particularly our honeymoon in the Old World.

How's the working dynamic between you and your husband?

We share the same aesthetic, more or less. We both veer toward the same lines and styles. My husband, being a doctor, works at a faster pace. We do differ from time to time.

I can be more playful with designs, while he tries to keep us grounded and true to our brand.

HORN OF PLENTY

Fino Leatherware bags, organizer, clutch and wallet among pieces from lifestyle stores at The Alley at Karrivin Plaza: Zacarias 1925 silver cornucopia and hand woven leather pillow, Pablo Capati III Bottles with Head, and Jacob Lindo's The Great Watcher, available at Aphro Living Art and Design; Quaint and Quality silver bell, available at Lanai. Previous page: Fino Leatherware organizers and bags with Pablo Capati III Bottles with Head, available at Aphro; Quaint and Quality magnifying glass and letter opener, available at Lanai.

Why do you think people have such a deep connection to leather?

It caters to our sensibilities, whether for fashion or lifestyle. It appeals to most of our senses: sight, smell, feel, and touch.

What inspires you?

Right now, we’re drawn to Philippine culture. We are able to push boundaries with a new creative director. And a few of these unique collections have been featured in the recent Manila Fashion Festival.

What are some of your most iconic and memorable pieces?

Our Retro handbag and Ring bag from the early 2000s. Also, our Millenia Handbag, that won a Katha Award given by Manila FAME. How about your personal favorites?

I find myself constantly using totes.

I also like structured and unique bags like our Peddle Bulge, Pin lock collection, and Curragh saddle.

Going into your third decade, what's the challenge now?

I think the main one was being current and relevant, especially to the youth. That's how our brand could live on for generations.

SEE SHOPLIST (PAGE 122) FOR STORE INFORMATION

SHOT ON LOCATION AT APHRO LIVING ART AND DESIGN

“I ALWAYS ENJOY seeing families or individuals going to our shops and telling us their stories. There are those who grew up with us, buying their first piece with their first paycheck. Some have treated themselves to one of our items as their prize for passing the bar exams,” says Rose Ann Bautista, coowner of Fino Leatherware. “We’ve maintained a lot of longstanding relationships with our customers; women who started buying from us years ago are now shopping with their daughters.” These anecdotes are a by-product of having been in the business, albeit quietly, for a quarter of a century by 2017.

The interior designer is one half of the duo that brought the Filipino brand to life (the other half being her ophthalmologist husband, Rommel).

Since opening shop in 1992, the label has presented itself as a competitive option against its international (and more expensive) counterparts.

Working with leather made complete sense to the couple who believe that Filipinos have an affinity to the material. “We love shoes, and having leather goods and bags comes as a second nature. It’s a natural material that works for us,” Bautista says.

According to the proprietor, the Fino (Power Plant Mall, Rockwell Center, Makati; 898-1456, 898-1457; finoleatherware.com) aesthetic has always been inventive yet traditional, and they stock their stores quarterly with collections that reflect these traits. Over the past two years, they have been inspired by local history and culture, starting with 2015’s “Artisan Braids” collection (based on ancient Philippine weaponry) and continuing with this year’s “Rizal” collection, products which bear the likeness of the national hero.

SKINNED DEEP As Fino has come to realize over the years, our love for leather will never go away. This is especially true as temperatures drop as the year winds down

SEE SHOPLIST (PAGE 122) FOR STORE INFORMATION

I LOVE ROCK 'N' ROLL

First row: DKNY cardholder; Diesel jacket.

Second row: Kenneth Cole boot; Linda Farrow sunglasses; Piquadro cabin trolley. Third row: Hugo Boss workbag; Givenchy gloves; Coach backpack. Fourth row: Saint Laurent belt.

D E C E M B E R 2016 - JA NUA RY 2017 53

THE EYE ACCESSORIES

WORTH THE WEIGHT With its minimalist bent and universal appeal, Le Gramme's deceptively simple jewelry is as complex as they come WORDS BY PATRICIA CHONG

IT WAS ONLY A FEW MONTHS after Adrien Messié first encountered designer Erwan Le Louër, that they decided to co-found and launch their men’s jewelry brand in Paris. A mutual desire to venture into the bourgeoning world of men's accessories saw the two draw on a common source of inspiration: the gram.

“What we found inspiring was to return to the fundamentals of the object,” says Messié of the unit of measurement, “an essential unit that could be multiplied in order to create an entity: an assembly of bracelets or rings.”

“Minimal” is a word many, Messié included, use to describe the structured

56 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

lines of the wares behind the aptly named Le Gramme.

Each deceptively simple creation is the result of a complex process. It begins with a choice of raw materials— premium sterling silver 925 or gold 750—before deciding on the weight of the piece. Rings range from 7g to 19g, while cuffs and bracelets weigh anywhere from 7g to 107g.

Jewelry can be given a brushed, matte, or polished finish and even made slick or printed with a guilloche pattern before it is engraved with its weight, the brand logo, the metal standard, and its batch number, then displayed on corian and marble in the Le Gramme shop.

“We really want our jewelry to

be universal yet customizable and timeless,” says Messié.

The label’s upcoming project continues on the theme of simplicity and meticulous attention to detail.

Naturally, Messié and Le Louër picked an object that reflects their fixation on precision: the graduated ruler.

Not surprisingly, this gentleman's jewelry is finding favor with women, as its understated aesthetic fits seamlessly into any style, “from discreet to dandy to rock’n’ roll,” says Messié.

Le Gramme is available at Homme et Femme, East Tower One Rockwell, Makati; 553-6811; legramme.com

PARTNER PROMOTION

IN THE DETAILS

The Bossa Nova collection is a luxurious take on the classic RIMOWA polycarbonate design WORDS BY PATRICIA CHONG

The newly renovated RIMOWA Greenbelt 5 branch highlights the simplicity and strength of their iconic luggage.

A

luminum and polycarbonate are toughness incarnate. This is probably why they are the top choice for a luggage brand with lightweight invincibility woven into its DNA. It may not then come to the surprise of many that the notion of introducing fine leather into the mix came to RIMOWA only recently, a new face of the luggage showing itself with the introduction of a new element — and a refreshed setting, with the renovation to their branch in Greenbelt 5.

The renewed elegance of the store shows off the new development in RIMOWA: the Brazil-inspired and Brazil-made Bossa Nova collection, taking on the iconic grooves with a twist of some comfortably padded (and equally durable) cowhide trimmings.

The very color of the Bossa Nova collection is a nod to Brazil, with the highquality polycarbonate done in a lush jet green recalling the forests of the Amazon.

It’s harmoniously offset with robust leather on the handle and the luggage corners,

either in the same color or in beige. The cowhide remains attractive even as it endures the toughest stresses and strains, more so with the distinctive stitching produced only on a rare vintage Pfaff sewing machine.

The precise workmanship continues after you unzip the luggage to get to its plush interior, kept perfectly organized with a Flexi-Divider system and covered in a diamond quilted lining as resilient as parachute silk.

With sizes ranging between 32 to 94 liters, the collection also brings back the patented Multiwheel® system (complete with color-coordinated wheels), the everconvenient TSA combination lock, and the Add-a-Bag Holder integrated into the exterior to secure an extra item of luggage directly to the case.

High quality from top to bottom, the leather luxury of the Bossa Nova collection isn’t quite what one would expect from the signature toughness of RIMOWA — but from the meticulous attention to detail that brings it to life? Absolutely.

THE EYE WATCHES Omega g Speedmaster

Breitling Navitimer

Jaeger--LeCoultre Reverso

TIME-TESTED Lucerne Managing Director Emerson Yao shares his thoughts on what makes an influential timepiece last generations, and which features make a watch worth his purchase WORDS BY EMIL HOFILEÑA / ILLUSTRATIONS BY K.T. BAUTISTA

Panerai Luminor

Patek Philippe Nautilus auti

HOROLOGY CAN BE intimidating and exhausting. There’s a lot of ground to cover if one wants to educate oneself in the art of making timepieces; poring over countless resources, attending events, and speaking with experts can only provide so much information on one among many brands.

For novices just beginning their horological studies, learning from the industry’s greats is always a good place to start. Emerson Yao, the Lucerne managing director who curates almost 30 brands locally including Longines, Breitling, and Tudor, identifies 10 groundbreaking watches from different ff brands over the past century of watchmaking. They are: the Rolex Submariner, Omega Speedmaster, Breitling Navitimer, Patek Philippe Nautilus, Audemars Piguet Royal Oak, Chopard’s Happy Diamonds collection, IWC’s Pilot watches, the JaegerLeCoultre Reverso, Panerai Luminor, and A. Lange & Söhne’s Lange 1 model.

These pieces are considered iconic the world over not just because of their association with famous celebrities or historical feats, but also because of a combination of factors: longevity, popularity, and marketing, among others. For Yao, however, the key to a watch standing the test of time is its innovation in design and technology. Watchmaking is an art very much driven by technological advancements, and the contribution a watch makes to the evolution of the entire industry is the most important aspect to consider.

Yao is quick to add that not all luxury watch models succeed upon launch. When a watch fails to make an impression, it’s usually because of a disconnect between the target audience and the function of the piece itself—a sign of hurried production and marketing. But this doesn’t always mean that watches only have one chance to make an impact; many manufacturers will take their failed models back to the drawing board, and released them again to great acclaim.

“When people buy into new innovation, they accept the risk that comes with it,” Yao says.

Thus, while manufacturers have the most control over dictating trends in the industry, customer response is also crucial for a piece to attain that coveted iconic status. As a customer nd fan of watches himself, Yao looks for three things in a timepiece: (1) the watch’s movement ust be precise and unique, (2) the dial should reflect the brand nd appeal to his own onal taste, and (3) simply, the case must fit his wrist and haa practic features—proof that ry watchmaking isn’t always about extravagance.

IWC Pilot

A. Lange

öhne’s Lange 1

58 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

Rolexx Submariner

Audemars Piguet Royal Oak

Chopard Happy Sport

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HOLIDAY DELUXE Let 8 Rockwell be the first place you go to when you shop for your loved ones this holiday season

F

WORDS BY JAM PASCUAL

or years, Rockwell Center has been one of the best places to shop, both for those living within and outside of Makati. But 8 Rockwell, which joins the city as one of the newest, world-class commercial buildings built in the area, with its high class brands and products, might just be the best place for the power set to do their Christmas season shopping.

If you’re looking for tasteful clothing and leather accessories, try Balenciaga and Lanvin. For gowns, there’s the infallible Vera Wang. If youth culture is the theme you’re going for this holiday season, Homme et Femme is the perfect place to start.

For gastronomic options, 8 Rockwell also has you covered. You might want to consider the Christmas packages of Solstice, which take Noche Buena feasts to the next level. On the sweeter side of things, you might want to drop

by Laduree for French macarons, jams, or a new tea set, or perhaps 8 Coffee Bar by UCC for their available brews.

THE EYE ACCESSORIES

STEP ON IT Formal shoes get a sneaker feel with this cutting-edge British label INTERVIEW BY JACS T. SAMPAYAN

he wants to take the company, and what he thinks makes a damn good pair of shoes.

How would you describe the brand's aesthetic?

I would say we’re very much design-led. I would say you could see some of the designs where we have something which is quite formal and traditional. Again, made in Italy, designed in London. But then it is very much “classic with a twist.”

Is that a global trend these days, that hybrid?

It’s important. In our case, we look at it as a design leader. When it comes to our sneakers, we will always have a technical enhancement to it. Or like with our Windsurf with Vibram, which is waterproof, preventing you from slipping in wet surfaces. It’s a shoe with a trainer feel, so it gives the wearer comfort and confidence. Like, you know what, I can wear this all day from the office to a restaurant, and still feel like I’m in casual wear.

Kevin Martel, your creative director, described your pieces, such as the Downing, as somewhat like an iPhone. It evolves.

We do. You have to stay one step ahead all the time or you’ll be left behind. We’re always pushing the technology side of the business because it’s an important part of our DNA. We’re constantly working with Technogel and Vibram to improve on lightness and comfort.

How would you describe the Harrys man?

I would say he’s a confident guy. He knows what he wants. He’s someone who probably travels a lot for work, or he’s a business guy who’s running around. He’s got a busy life.

He’s an active man. And he wants go-to shoes that are comfortable at the end of the day. And that’s what we’re all about. That’s what we try to achieve, and it works well for us.

THROUGH ITS 15 YEARS of business, British shoe brand Harrys of London has built a name for itself by presenting a fantastic fusion of classic style and technology. Thanks to its longstanding partnerships with Vibram and Technogel—Italian sports brands that have the wearer’s comfort at heart—the leather footwear maker has fitted its plush-looking slip-ons and loafers with ample cushioning, something that formal shoes lack.

60 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

“In the last 18 months, we’ve been able to take Technogel to a diff ff rent level, keeping your feet cool for up to eight hours. Every couple of seasons, we change the technology inside the shoe, to give you more comfort and customize it to each individual,” shares Steven Newey, Harrys of London CEO. Newey, who came on board as head of the business on June 2015, was in town recently to talk about the label’s latest collection, where

So comfort is key?

Totally. I don’t know any guy these days who will wear a pair of shoes just because he looks good wearing them. You need to have both, and we do. We combine the technology with the design and aesthetic.

Harrys of London is available at Rustan’s Makati, Courtyard Drive cor. Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739; rustans.com.ph

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 6 - JA N UA R Y 2 0 17 / I S S U E 1 0 5

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D ece m b e r 2 0 16 - Ja n u a r y 2 0 17

THE SLANT STATES OF THE NATION ISSUE NO.

E DI T E D BY

PAOLO ENRICO MELENDEZ

105

OPINIONS + IDEAS + PERSPECTIVES

IF 2016 IS ANYTHING TO GO BY, THE NEAR FUTURE WILL BE ONE OF UPHEAVAL. SIX WRITERS TAKE STOCK OF THE YEAR, AND THE PERSONAL EVOLUTIONS IT HAS SET IN MOTION

Paolo Enrico Melendez ON WRITING 2016

20/20 Change truly is here, except it’s not in the form many were expecting. This section’s editor takes stock of his evolving role as witness and reporter

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nd so ends 2016. Two events that happened during the first half of the year are most memorable to me. The first is the massacre in Kidapawan City of farmers, who were shot by police for mounting a peaceful protest to seek government aid for their farms badly hit

by El Ni o.

The second is one of the strangest presidential campaigns in my personal memory, in which each candidate stood for an increasingly shrinking public space, but dressed their populist messages as anything but, to the delight of an electorate ravenous in its uncritical participation.

At the time, I didn’t think in terms of things getting better or worse. And yet here we are.

The rest of the year rolled in and it proved to be a more hysterical version of its first half.

Take what happened in Tanauan City, Batangas.

In an event called “Flores de Pusher,” drug suspects sans due process were paraded in the streets. They were in flip-flops and sando.

Nowhere was the roiling, quiet anger of the hardened criminal cornered and shamed.

Just a slump on the shoulders that spoke of a running audit of poverty and humiliation. Mere symptoms to a larger sickness. Much like the Kidapawan farmers. And just like the campaign season, all around this sordid scene: a ring of rubberneckers, pacified like children sat in front of a loud television.

My family is from Tanauan. I experienced its worst drug-related era, as a young adult. I lost three friends in total; one to suicide, two to homicides. One case will sound familiar to most by now: murdered outside the city, hands bound with wire, shot through the back of the head. At the time, it was a rare story beyond the provinces. In Manila most of my other set of

friends cared for little but boy bands and grunge.

“What’s a writer to do?” I asked myself then.

Stupidly, I resolved to write. Embarrassingly realist fiction, which in my mind was a powerful condemnation of the apparatuses that propped Tanauan’s particular limbo.

Spoiler: I didn’t make any difference. The city went on its merry, murderous way, until it reached a tipping point almost a full decade after my friends’ deaths. A popular mayor was killed, the people were outraged, a protest vote was cast against the old order.

Things in Tanauan are different these days.

He prattled on. Another senior writer fell asleep. The students toward the back began to chat. Even the guilty delight of scoring my notebook every time the writer talked about his own prominence as a critic soon grew boring.

“Last paragraph,” he eventually said, as though relieved himself that his talk was about to end.

Another panel, on protest literature, was more relevant. Playwright Mixkaela Villalon pointed out that protest lit never went away, it just evolved beyond the view of organizations like the PEN, which she called out for ignoring poets such as the former political prisoner Ericson Acosta.

Afterward, media figure Lourd de Veyra responded to that call out by very pointedly talking about Acosta, who as it turned out was included in De Veyra’s exhaustively and conscientiously written lecture.

It was a great panel, ruined only by its moderator, who later told the audience that they—a protest literature panel!—would take questions only, not feedback. And when one participant, a Visayan, complained that she missed all that was said in Tagalog, the moderator, in an astounding act of cynicism, merely summarized in one motherhood sentence all that was said by his companions before him, without a care to all their complexities, contradictions, and calls to action.

Thank heavens then we have writers like Villalon and De Veyra, and the five featured in this issue of The Slant. They all display an inspiring level of what, in my own estimation, are the most called for characteristics in a writer today: empathy and reflexivity. Two of these were written before the underhanded burial of deposed President Ferdinand E. Marcos in the Libingan ng mga Bayani; three were written in the aftermath.

Thank heavens too that we have a writer like Zeno Denolo, who blew away the PEN conference crowd. The winner of the inaugural Cirilo F. Bautista Award for the Novel, the young Denolo delivered his talk in Taglish, with

“What’s a writer to do?” I asked myself then. Stupidly, I resolved to write.

64 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

Commerce is up and so is density. Naturally, so is crime. But of the burglary kind; the “Flores de Pusher,” that radical move to counter an imminent and ever-present threat, happened a full 15 years too late.

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re we writers doomed to forever overestimate our own relevance? I attended the annual conference of the Philippine Center for International PEN. The venue in an exclusive university on Taft Avenue was carpeted, and the A/Cs were on full blast.

The vibe was formal, business as usual. I was perhaps the best proof of the contagion of self-importance: like a schmuck, I was wearing a fancy wool sport coat.

On the front row of the conference, reserved for the more prominent PEN members, a few writers sat snoozing. On stage at one point was a film critic who admitted that he couldn’t attend his own book launch the next day; thus, he would talk about his work now, as part of a panel with a different topic.

a pronounced and unapologetic lisp. He was funny, self-deprecating. His talk—about how to write—was in listicle form, using the language of memes. He spoke not from a position of expertise but from a distillation of his own surprise at success. He alluded to superheroes in a way that did not alienate non-fans. Most endearingly, he didn’t care about the faux pas of giving writing tips to a room full of awardwinning writers. As he spoke, relief washed over me like water from a cannon at a rally dispersal.

GETTY IMAGES

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n Denolo I found the best complement to a new mindset that had begun to emerge after I had joined the many anti-Marcos mobilizations in UP, Katipunan Road, and Luneta, in a throwback to my days as a University Belt student leader, except this time as the only schmuck with an Asian Development Bank umbrella.

There was an electric thrill to those events, a sudden weightlessness in my legs as soon as I heard the faintest sound of cracking loudspeaker, the first sight of waving flag. In those mass actions, I was awed by the presence of martial law victims, strength, and resolve etched on their leathery faces, as they are once again roused by this latest travesty against history. And I was humbled by my own small role in all of this: one single person lending energy to an inevitable history, one I will not live to see, much less reap the social capital from.

I realize now that in writing about Tanauan’s own tussle with drugs, I was under the very wrong impression that the art that arises from a time of turmoil and repression such as today would be, in itself, a response. It is not.

“Have I lost my job to a sexy star?” I once wrote in this very section, following the elections and Mocha Uson’s prominent role in them. I had not yet realized then that my individual job isn’t to influence, but to bear witness. I am now ashamed to have written so.

What a schmuck.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 65

Carljoe Javier ON WRITING MANILA

Requiem for a Year As violence punctuates life in the capital with increasing regularity, a fictionist takes stock of his hopes and fears as an artist and new husband

66 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

One of my closest friends when I was a teenager was killed in the War on Drugs. People would ask, was he involved in drugs? I wanted to answer, should it matter? The War on Drugs and the way it is being waged is itself against the law, and therefore criminal. The news reports said that my friend pulled a gun and engaged in a shootout with the police. They only had police accounts because apart from the cops in the shootout, there were no witnesses. How do we know what really happened? When the president has encouraged killing, when he has talked about planting evidence, how is anyone safe?

I did not visit any of the ceremonies held for him after his death.

In the neighborhood where we grew up together, we were known as the rock n’ roll kids, the kids who would get up to crazy stuff. I wonder, were cops after him because someone in the neighborhood reported him as suspicious?

Would I have been reported? I’ve moved from there, moved to a much nicer place in a different city, and here I feel generally safe. But I am afraid of going back to my old neighborhood, because I just don’t know. If I go back there, will I be on some list that I don’t even know about?

If I had gone to the ceremonies, would there have been “intelligence officers” taking note of attendees?

If my name were on a list, would I ever know? Would I ever have a chance to defend myself? Or would I just get grabbed? Killed?

In writing this now, do I put myself at risk?

Sometimes my wife will turn to me and say, “Be safe. Nothing can happen to you. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you.”

And I say, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. We live where we live, so no one’s going to mistake me for a criminal here.” I believe this to be mostly true. I write a lot of stuff online in protest, my feed reads like a wall of resistance. And I’ve written a collection of short stories that attempt to humanize the War on Drugs. I sometimes

*Editor’s note: It’s back.

THERE WILL BE BLOOD Police process a crime scene in Navotas. The war on drugs has claimed the lives of over 5,000 Filipinos in the past six months.

Sometimes I fear that I am too brave. And other times I fear that I am a coward.

JES AZNAR/GETTY IMAGES

S

ometimes I wonder if I’ll live to see another day. A younger version of me would have romanticized this idea, dying young, an artist with a body of work and promise.

But today, there is no romanticizing that thought. I’m a newlywed.

I want to live a long, happy life with my wife, to grow old, to keep working, to contribute to society. But in the dark days at the end of 2016, I fear for my life as I have never had to before.

Why should I fear for my life? Am I some kind of drug addict or criminal? No, but then neither was Lauren Rosales, whose corpse my wife (still fiancée then) and I drove by when we were heading to Makati City Hall for our wedding seminar. Seven in the morning, two blocks from City Hall, we didn’t hear the gunshots but we saw the crowds running in terror and we were just a car behind the jeepney that she died in. Her brother JR was no addict or criminal either, but he was shot dead in the street. And all the children who’ve been called collateral damage and necessary sacrifices, I’m pretty sure they didn’t feel like they had anything to fear on the days they died.

How many more of the 5,000 and counting believed they had nothing to fear? Did they even have time to process the threat to their lives? If a motorcycle rolled up in front of me, would I think he were after me? Or would I just feel the bullets drive into me? Or would I be shot in the head and it would all happen so fast I would not even have time to process it?

And what of those who are drug addicts and petty criminals? As far as I know, drug use isn’t a capital offense. Then again, I believe the drug problem is a public health concern, so I’m probably a minority thinker here or out of touch.

We supposedly don’t have the death penalty (though there’s plenty of push to bring that thing back)* and yet we have people being killed regularly in “police operations.”

fear that maybe those who seek to silence dissent will come after me because of these.

I reassure my wife, “Besides, people don’t read. No one reads literary fiction. Heck, my writing amidst all of this is insignificant.”

I hope that this is not true, because I hope that when I write to resist wrongs, to speak truth to power, that other people might hear and might be inspired to do the same. I am sure that others will have better voices, others will have better skills, others will just plain be better than me at making the world a better place. After all, all I have at my disposal are words.

At the same time, I hope this is true. I hope that in case the crackdowns begin, that dissent is silenced using state power, that my writing will have been ignored. My writing will have mattered so little that I won’t be worth silencing.

Sometimes I fear that I am too brave. And other times I fear that I am a coward.

At the end of 2015, I never imagined I would be doing the things that I do now. We were planning a wedding, dorking out on Netflix, imagining the home we would make together. The biggest threat to our lives was some uncontrollable natural disaster. Now someone could tell someone the wrong thing, our names could wind up on some list, and it could all be over. What baffles me is that this could happen to any one of us, and most people, if surveys are to be believed, are okay with this.

This year, along with all the political shakeups, has been a year of revelations. We have been shown the weaknesses of our institutions. Our democracy has been eroded and it’s becoming clear that not as many people as we believed are committed to the project of democracy. People believing in post-truth like memes, fake news, revisionist history, and versions of news that conform with their worldview have revealed just how broken our educational systems are.

Perhaps most crushing has been the revelations about our relatives and neighbors.

When we consider not only the Duterte administration, but also Trump’s win in America, we learn what those around us believe on a moral-ethical level, and that knowledge can destroy relationships. Because now we have to ask ourselves, “How can I stay friends with a person who believes that it’s okay to kill people in the street? Or that you can harass women because of what they are wearing? Or that the LGBTQ do not deserve the same rights? Or that human rights are garbage? Or that martial law was a golden age? Or (insert some other contentious issues)?

All kinds of fascism, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, and plain hate have been empowered and given voice. And sometimes it’s people who are close to us, who we imagined would never believe such things, that are trolling people on our feeds or are preaching these ideas at the dinner table.

I suppose the question is what does 2017 hold for us now. 2016 has taken so much from us. Great artists? Yup. Our sense of safety and security? Check. What we imagined the world to be? Ditto. And yet, while people hate on 2016, I can’t hate it totally, because it is also the year that I got married. I want to think that for all the bad, there had to be good. And I want to focus on that good.

That’s what 2017 must be. A keen awareness of all the bad, but also all the good that we must fight for. There is still good in the world. There is love and hope. And it’s when things seem hopeless that we must hold onto these things, and struggle, and fight, and live.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 67

John Bengan ON WRITING DAVAO CITY

Rooting for Rody Straight from the city that made the president, a writer reports on hope and disappointment, change and stagnation, and the character required to weather them

O

ne evening last September, a man left a bag at the bustling night market on Roxas Street, Davao City. Then, from a distance, he used a cellular phone to set off an improvised explosive device inside the bag. The blast claimed 15 lives and wounded several individuals. The attack, which came three months after Rodrigo “Rody” Duterte was elected president, punctured Davao’s aura of safety, reminding residents that the city was never truly shielded from what continues to trouble other places in Mindanao.

These days, people are flocking to the night market again. The streets are filling up.

Elsewhere, bars and restaurants are seeing more of their regulars return. Suspects linked to a newly formed terror group have been arrested. As with the aftermath of attacks in 2003, the community is bouncing back. Some semblance of order has been restored.

At the Matina Town Square, a popular food and entertainment arcade, a large banner that reads “Stay Strong Davao” hangs over the entrance. The sign has replaced another banner that used to welcome patrons during the election period, an old banner that read “Duterte Town Square.”

Meanwhile, more security checks have been installed across the city. While crossing the street outside city hall some time last month, I was approached by a soldier who asked me to open my backpack. The “state of emergency on account of lawless violence” that President Duterte declared shortly after the explosion on September 2 has yet to be lifted.

In his public appearances, the president continues to swing from rage to comedy.

One moment he’s scolding inept officials, the next moment he’s cracking a racy joke.

Foreign observers have often remarked that Filipino humor is a balm that prevents us from confronting our problems. Here now is a president who uses humor to disarm and, at the same time, spur people to action. Who else

could joke about kidnapping and dynamite fishing in front of a crowd in Basilan and in the same breath, ask them to protect the environment and help the government attain lasting peace for the nation?

The same Visayan humor—dark, earthy, self-deprecating—has gotten President Duterte in trouble. His rambling, code-switching, stream-of-consciousness style of addressing the media has exposed a dangerous impulsiveness, which is amplified tenfold by constant coverage.

His speech swerves from lucidity to murkiness in a turn of a phrase, sporadically jolting listeners with invectives lobbed at individuals and organizations that others curse only in secret or under their breath.

Like many in Davao, I’ve been inured to this belligerent style of speech. We could easily dismiss the mayor’s outrageous statements. It

But I know that rooting for Rody comes with a nauseating drawback. Now that President Duterte is responsible for the entire country, his words have become more brash, and his methods, particularly in the campaign against illegal drugs, more severe.

Davao is no longer his only audience. A number of people here—from university professors and cab drivers to market vendors— would rather turn off the TV or radio whenever he slips into another tirade.

On the one hand, President Duterte’s denunciation of Philippine-US relations is a revelation for many Filipinos shaped by an American colonial education. His outburst over the atrocities committed by American soldiers against Muslim groups in the Philippines in the early 20th century is a refreshing position in the face of a complacent Christian majority.

On the other hand, President Duterte endorsed the burial of Ferdinand Marcos at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, angering victims of abuse and effectively boosting what until now was a slow but gradual rehabilitation of the dictator’s image. Never mind Davao’s own history of struggle against violations during martial law and its spiral, years later, into vigilante violence, which was supported by Corazon Aquino in her attempt to win the support of a Marcostrained military.

On the other, other hand, whether or not inadvertently—but surely carelessly, foolishly— President Duterte compared himself to Adolf Hitler in his desire to eliminate a hypothetical number of drug dealers.

President Duterte’s image of a punitive enforcer doesn’t help dispel suspicions over his alleged ties with vigilantes whose targets are drug pushers and petty criminals, the same type of persons he publicly condemns. But his subsequent denial of the existence of death squads casts an air of uncertainty that seems to enhance, instead of tarnish his reputation.

Is he or is he not doing it? He could be brutal, we tend to think, but he has our best interest at heart. This is perhaps why, over the past 20 years,

His outburst over the atrocities committed

by American soldiers against Muslim groups in the Philippines in the early 20th century is a refreshing position in the face of a complacent Christian majority.

68 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

was his way of saying he means business: we better follow rules. This is why people in Davao have grown to value how the Dutertes run the city. Abusive practices are quickly corrected.

Strict implementation of policies is observed to keep wrongdoing from happening again.

Take, for example, the attempt to monopolize stalls at the night market. In August, Mayor Sara Duterte had ordered for the temporary closure of the market after a vendor rented several stalls and leased them for a higher price to other vendors. After the matter was settled, the market reopened and city hall imposed a one-stall policy for the 700 stall owners. The market had only been back in business for a few weeks when the explosion happened.

I support this administration’s progressive programs in labor, social services, health, the environment, and the peace process. The president’s fabled political will has so far made possible early signs of progress in those areas.

WU HONG-POOL/GETTY IMAGES

EMERGING ALLIANCES

President Rodrigo Duterte while on state visit to China—his first since assuming office in June of 2016.

in spite of fierce criticism from civic groups in Davao, many aren’t so troubled by how the president’s rhetoric inspires killings.

Perhaps the boldest attempt to discredit President Duterte came when Edgar Matobato, a self-professed member of a death squad, accused the president of ordering the deaths of several individuals—one of them allegedly fed to crocodiles—when he was still mayor of Davao City. Most people I’ve talked to don’t trust Matobato. His tales are familiar, and almost embarrassingly so now that they’ve been shared on national television. Those who are not readily dismissive of him await the conclusion of what his testimony has begun.

There are very good criticisms of the administration and of the hypocrisies of the opposition. But they hardly rise above the din of spin, if they aren’t entirely swallowed by it. Public discussion has largely been split between the anti- and pro-Duterte camps, a binary that tends to seize any form of disapproval or approval and therefore needs to be rejected. Both factions are equally guilty of bigotry and sensationalism, their worst exchanges taking place daily on social media where outrage is cheap and credibility scant.

Many citizens, instead of critically engaging the administration, seem to remain in this combative mode. Those who are in the best position to offer criticism often trip on their class biases. Those who are passionately supportive of the president seem to be always defending him, no matter the leaps in logic and reason, while those who are vehemently against him resort to grotesque caricatures, which to be fair, President Duterte doesn’t make very difficult for them.

It’s not surprising that the president remains popular in Davao. This is the city where he crafted his progressive policies. Many still hope that he could make a difference. Not even a year has passed.

But my position as a writer has never changed. Since 2004, I’ve been publishing work critical of summary killings in Davao.

What I write—fiction in English—may be obscure compared to what journalists report on and risk their lives for. I wrote and continue to write freely from the city I share with the president. The need to record and question is always clear and critical. The day this is taken away is the day when faith in his leadership is betrayed.

Now that a man whose specter continues to haunt the nation has risen again in popularity, mostly astride the current president’s wagon, I am compelled, more than ever, to never be indifferent, to closely watch, and whenever the need arises, to do something.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 69

Ian Rosales Casocot ON WRITING DUMAGUETE CITY

Dialogues of Disquiet

I

t would have been so much easier if the world ran with the literalness of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth—the coming pervasiveness of evil seen as creeping dark clouds, a red eye glowing in the sky, the massing of orcs overrunning a world. But the world doesn’t work that way. Even when evil persists, the sky will still be blue, the hours will still be slow, and laughter among friends getting together will still resound.

I once watched a YouTube video of 1930s Berlin, and it amazed me for its seeming ordinariness: it showed people in a café conversing at leisure as they watched the traffic flow by, as they went about the perfect mundane details of their day. It would have been an ordinary scene—save for the flags with swastikas on them proudly flying here and there.

This is how I see the world around me now under the Visayan sky. Dumaguete in Negros Oriental—a university town—hums. Life goes on bustling still since a popular president took office and single-handedly unsettled us all in mere months. Some of us called it change for the better. Some of us were horrified by what we saw, the systematic and very subtle dismantling of democratic ideals.

So life goes on seemingly unperturbed—on the outside, at least: Hibbard Avenue is still chocked with schooltime traffic, Rizal Boulevard teems with tourists and joggers and tempura eaters, and old Qyosko reopens with a shabby chic makeover and a scaleddown menu. But the battle rages on online, often pitting friends against friends.

Because friendships have been broken.

Someone I know is horrified that a Belgian professor she used to respect had become so rabid in his online posts attacking people defending human rights. Someone I know now crossed the street to avoid saying hello to the pro-Marcos eventologist he used to write glowingly about in the local papers. Someone I know recently had his cousin abducted by policemen— and no one knows where he is to this day.

Life goes on, the cracks like tiny fractures almost invisible—but palpable and groaning on rainy days.

70 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

My best friend, the novelist Kristyn MaslogLevis (author of The Girl Between Two Worlds) is from Cagayan de Oro, but is currently a resident of Sydney, Australia, and she chats me up regularly over her concern for my “activism.”

In November, I had organized in Dumaguete an indignation assembly over the Supreme Court decision regarding a dead dictator’s burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, and the trolls had been merciless in their crucifixion of me. “How are you getting so many insane comments in social media?” she asked.

I told her I’ve been somewhat in the public eye since all these happened. “Didn’t you see Sass Sasot’s list of despicable people? I’m in there,” I said. My other best friend, Al Jazeera journalist Ted Regencia of Dipolog, chimed in: “Sometimes I am tempted to just shut myself off from social media.”

Kristyn replied: “I can understand the need to express your opinions but it can’t be good for your mental health having all these trolls all the time.”

“I guess that’s the price you pay for taking a stand,” I said.

“I understand but don’t push it too much.

Your mental health is more precious to me.”

“But I’m fine, really. I’m psychologically ready for this.”

“Just make sure you are,” she said. “But you also need to think if you’re part of the solution or the problem. If your actions make things worse or better. If your words end up perpetuating hatred and anger instead of peace.”

“But when was being silent being part of the solution, ever, in history? Am I wrong for calling for justice and for asking for equality? Should we stay quiet because the world has gone mad?

Must the mob win? I ask myself: What is the role of the writer in times of crisis? Should I be spineless? When you live in horror, shouldn’t you fight the bogeyman?”

“Your cussing at those who don’t agree with you, that’s not helping. Yes, by all means, organize an assembly—but if you insult and swear at those who don’t believe the same things as you do, all you’re doing is adding fire to the flame. You can’t change people’s minds by insulting them.”

“That’s the problem with tolerance: it has a paradox. I’m reading Karl Popper’s The Open Society and Its Enemies, where he writes that unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance.”

“Think about who you’re trying to reach with your message. Even someone educated like me just dozed off reading that.”

“Then that’s your problem, isn’t it? Because you shouldn’t doze off. Not if so much is at stake.”

“Are you trying to reach the intellectuals who agree with you? Or the masa? Or the government?”

“I didn’t say this was going to be easy.”

“It won’t be.”

“I’m aware of the fact that no miracle will happen overnight—but silence is not the best

ATOMIC IMAGERY/GETTY IMAGES

In a time when opinions are better left unsaid, a writer from Dumaguete boldly says his piece in a serious conversation with colleagues

way to go. Rizal wrote a novel in Spanish that the masa of his time didn’t read, and he died for it—but it nonetheless created a nation.”

“But at the same time you need to think about your status in society. You’re an intellectual elitist who has a tendency to be intolerant of the stupid or uneducated and that comes across in your message. You won’t reach people that way. Just think about it. I’m not saying you stop. I’m saying you should educate instead of make a sermon.”

“But I am trying to educate. And the ‘sermon’ is always in the eye of the beholder.

I write short stories about current events to make them more metaphorical, and perhaps more accessible. I teach about martial law in my classes at university. I do my bit of extension work. How am I not contributing?”

“Keep doing that—and get off social media. That’s the real contribution.”

“But why should I get off social media?

This is a powerful information platform, and they—the people behind the Marcos machinery—are using it quite well.”

“I’m just saying you make bigger changes through real-life contributions than online.”

“But I don’t believe it’s an either-or proposition. Think about this: during Marcos’ time, the equivalent of all this social media opposition was the so-called mosquito press. It was small, it was clandestine—but in its own subversive way, it was very effective. But trust me, I know I cannot change people’s minds just like that, most especially if they’re set in their thinking, their views of the world as it is. I had an argument once with a former friend, and my frustrations led me to quote the American poet Paul Engle: ‘You can’t make hair grow out of a billiard ball.’”

“It’s your choice. I think it’s ineffective.

You create more change with the people you’ve reached in real life.”

“Then why did we even study mass communication in college—the three of us, Ted, you, and I? Why are we even writing books and doing journalism for Al Jazeera?

Media is ineffective man dagway. Why is Ted breaking his ass covering stories in the Middle East, and now all the extra-judicial killings here in the Philippines? And it’s not always about the masa: a concentrated

amount of voices can lead to changes in public policy. All of history is a chronicle of that.”

“A cousin who is very close to me died a couple of weeks ago,” butted in Ted. “That’s why I rushed home. While here, I learned the news about Marcos’ burial and the election of Donald Trump in the US. It has been a pretty devastating two weeks.”

“I know the heart of all this is that you care for me, and you don’t want me hurt.

Right?” I told Kristyn. “But I didn’t come to this fight not thinking about things. I could be Imee Marcos’ ‘accidental incident’ any time. Who knows? It scares the shit out of me, but I’d rather not go down being silenced.”

“You both take care of yourselves,” she replied.

“I’ve been trying, in my own little way, to fight the current trend, with my reporting,” said Ted. “And that’s the thing I‘m trying to do: something in my own little way,” I said.

“I really don’t expect grand things and grand results. But what I’m thinking is this: What can a termite do?”

“My main fight is the extra-judicial killings,” said Ted. “So I am writing some stories of the victims. I am working on another one now.

I’ve also written about the victims of Martial Law. But many times, I do wonder if what I write is making a difference at all. It is my constant struggle...”

“I feel like that 10,000 times a day, Ted! But eventually, I make myself get up at 7 A.M. every day and I say, ‘There’s work to do.’”

“I really don’t make fun of your activism,” said Kristyn. “I’m just scared for you. Just please, please be careful. Take care of yourself. My parents were both activists.

Dad was an anti-Marcos spy during his student days.”

“On a last note, though,” I said, “did you guys even think we’d live through something like this when we were in college in Silliman University? I never imagined myself an activist, and I’ll bet Ted didn’t think he’d be following up on stories about EJKs. We had no idea at all anything like this could happen.”

It took a while for Kristyn to reply. She was driving. After a while, she said: “No. We thought we were okay.”

Were. Past tense.

I ask myself: What is the role of the writer in times of crisis?

The Dictator En Route To His Burial They fly me in a helicopter inside a bronze casket that sells at bestpricedcaskets.com for twelve grand. A real steal compared to the U.S. government Federal Trade Commission’s market price. It didn’t have to be majestic; my wife knew better.

I don’t care for pearly things, velvet interiors, gold handles.

Plywood would’ve sufficed.

Anything to get me out of that freezing hell and push my death forward.

Finally, my dummy in a glass case can rest in peace.

It’ll be hard.

He’s had the spotlight for over a quarter of a century, chilling out with tourists inside a stonewall mausoleum, taking Selfies with socialites while pipedin organ and choral music played in a loop. He’ll miss eavesdropping on Stephen King’s morbid fans, pondering over the shiny forehead, wrinkleproofed smile.

Yes, folks, it’s all wax. Not moisturizer or Botox, as my daughter Imee confided to a group of gullible reporters who peed in their pants, laughing, convinced the joke was on me.

After today, the truth will spread like late-stage cancer: the corpse they gawked at and reveled in was pure wax sculpture, a Tussaud creation straight from Strasbourg.

As I slowly make my descent from ten thousand feet, I hear Bach’s cantata 156, Ich steh mit einam Fuss im Grabe (“I stand with one foot in the grave,” my anthem since 1989).

I look out one last time at the skyline I started, serpentine roadways I dug out from the gutters. I spot my wife’s collection of cultural D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 71

Ninotchka Rosca ON WRITING THE FILIPINO EXPATRIATE

buildings, the mile or so of sea I buried, Imee’s set of basketball courts, Bongbong’s petting zoo, Irene’s piano recital halls.

And I cannot help but weep at what’s become of my republic— neglected, filthy, tattered, abandoned for my memories to recoup.

And yet, I have to go.

I’m already twenty-seven years late for Judgment Day. Which explains the shotgun ceremony.

My wife wanted a cortege as long as Roxas Boulevard that stretches from the American Embassy to the fish ponds of Cavite.

She said the country owes it to me.

I gave them a heart center, crimeridden streets. I rekindled their love for the nation, restored order and steel-like discipline my yellow critics sensationalized as fear, the way they mistook culture for extravagance.

Sometimes, I think they know my wife better than I do.

I don’t want a parade.

It’s in my will.

A twenty-one gun salute will do.

Now is not the time to wake up people’s wounds.

They need to save their revolution, not for petty things like this.

They know they can’t turn back time but must learn to accept that history repeats itself with variations worse than mine.

I am prepared for the desecration.

“Here lie lies,” they’ll write on my epitaph.

They’ll piss all over my marbled name.

They’ll take their rage to the streets, exhaust their hope fighting the Supreme Court and the president they’d elected.

Exhume him, they’ll shout.

I say, Let them unearth me.

I already paid my dues.

God told me so.

So go ahead.

I dare you.

Open my grave.

I won’t be there.

R. Zamora Linmark 11.20.2016 72 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

As Time Goes By In this piece that moves through the slipstream between essay and fiction, poetry and opinion, a veteran activist captures the synchronicities between two histories

O

ne of the great pleasures of the last 30 years, the time after the overthrow of the Marcos Dictatorship, was watching friends emerge from life interruptus. Everyone rebuilt existences smashed by the dictatorship—or tried to: resumed careers, resumed loves, had children, went back to school, and wrapped themselves in a semblance of the simple patterns of what, in normal times, constitute the necklace of days for human beings. Those who had lost spouses, children, and friends sought newer elective affinities and rebuilt their network of love and care. Even the friend who still limped from the violence and number of rapes she suffered in military hands smiled—tentatively at first, a little broader day by day. I witnessed this. I took great joy in it.

We had moved on. We are still moving on.

Unfortunately, the Marcoses have not. I have said and written about saudade—the Portuguese word for “nostalgia for a past that never was.” But even I failed to see how seriously afflicted the Marcoses were, with the longing for a past as fake as the wax statue cum alleged corpse held up for the gullible’s veneration. They. Had. Not. Moved. On. And plunged, as soon as the burial was complete, into sehnsucht—that German word for “nostalgia for a future that will never be”; dragging, once again, in the tow of such madness, nation and country, from which, both as a Filipina and as a writer, I am unable to disentangle myself.

Being quite accessible to the public (an inevitable feature of being an activist and organizer), I find myself receiving messages from compatriots of my generation: messages of pain impossible to plumb, as reconstructed lives were re-set to the moment of destruction; of loss, of hurt, of anger. Impossible to fathom the depth of their sense of betrayal. At their heels come little notes from the very young, saying how sorry they are, imagining how those of us who held this arid day at bay must feel.

One deals with these, even as one hears the thunder of jackboots in the horizon, because the US elections had failed women once again and worse, had chosen for president as stark a misogynist, racist, and capitalist as one could imagine. An equally loud moan of pain rises from the women I know, particularly from those who had anticipated the weakening of one of the three strands of Capital in this country, of gender inequality and oppression at the very least, even if racism and classism continued unabated, such a weakening hopefully becoming a Almost 30 years after his mother rampart from which one could assault the other two had collected him and his sister from with renewed strength. Alas, it was not to be and so the peasant family with whom they many were left feeling like Gertrude Stein’s pigeons had been left in those days of the on the grass. dictatorship, he received a query via How does one deal with this? Move the pain Facebook, asking if he had been that to the attic and close the door to it, I tell myself, kid, indeed, who had spent time in and in a mindset as cold and clear as an Antarctic the far North when his father was landscape, proceed to respond the best way one wanted by Marcos’s military and his can. Send messages of encouragement to former mother was underground. He wasted detainees shivering in post-traumatic stress disorder no time; packed bags and crossed a ague; thank all the young ones and assure them we continent and an ocean and drove can still fight again; map out tactical defense for pell-mell for nearly a day to throw the young women around you—because the white his arms around a stranger family he supremacist racists (that’s their name, not the fancy thought he had lost forever. Thus was alt-right re-branding) are surfacing in the spaces you a broken narrative mended and the all once considered safe: the #7 train of the subway goodness that had sheltered him and line of diversity, running into the neighborhood his sister renewed and it seemed then where 182 languages are spoken; the Chinese soup that everything would be all right— dumpling place; even the coffee shop. They scream himself, his family, his other family, “go back where you came from” and move swiftly the town, the nation, even the sea…

Move the pain to the attic and close the door to it, I tell myself, and in a mindset as cold and clear as an Antarctic landscape, proceed to respond the best way one can.

from verbal abuse to physical violence.

I was born in 1998. I am not a martial law victim. But I A Trump supporter punches a woman have been angered by the loneliness in my grandmother’s in the face after an argument over the eyes. My two uncles, Elmer and Eduardo, disappeared; elections (and she’s white, mind you); their bodies were never found. My grandmother passed another snatches the hijab off a young away in March 2015; my grandfather had passed away in woman’s head; and yet another lets loose 1999. Throughout those years, they never had any justice. a torrent of foul names at a Chinese All they had was this award, “A Man For Others,” given American. You prepare your own people to my uncles by the university they had attended. to deal with this. And you spend every extra time creating replies to every post of hatred, ignorance, narrow-mindedness, vileness. And of course, you get ready to march: 30th November against the resurgence of one fascist order; 21st January against the installation of another fascist order. Between those dates, you do what you can for every stratum of the population rejects the Borg’s declaration that “resistance is futile.” No, it is not; you affirm that by fundraising for Standing Rock where tribal America is drawing a line on water.

The writer is filled with clouds of gratitude, hearing this thunderclap of the grand narrative of humanity defining the objective of its journey even as it journeys. I have considered it ever my responsibility to weave the disparate tales of my own people into one epic narrative of national self-actualization. Now, I find many Philippine themes echoed and re-echoed in what is happening on this continent, among men, women and children who are my “other” people. I am getting to know all of them. I learn from them, as I learn from the students, the organizers, the tricycle drivers, the haircutters, and many more of my native land. There is much joy in learning—and having thus learned, in acquiring the clarity of mind and intuition to pierce through the Maya of illusion of a society built on divisions.

I do not make light of the task at hand nor do I believe I will live long enough to witness the finale of these times. Knock on wood. However, this too is an adventure of both body and mind; the possibilities for storytelling are limitless. In populations of such diversity and numbers, there are always those who love a good story—one in which we all are the lead characters.

And yet beneath this joy is the dread—one which can only be learned from a sojourn with evil of tyranny. Occasionally, the dread bubbles up and leaves these words in their wake.

Loathsome Times Almost impossible now to tell the difference Between daylight and night dark loathing As the worry beads of time slip without cease Through gnarled fingers, counting ...

The moments before someone jackboots open the door And rounds up all within, in the name of rights And freedom (for the few) Echoing through the air, reaching even Cheng’e and her rabbit An endless fool’s rants of verses from dead men’s books Of thoughts Of worship

DREW ANGERER/GETTY IMAGES

• • • • •

PERSONALITY POLITICS A Trump Tower employee, wearing a Donald Trump t-shirt, gives a fist bump in the service elevator

For the black smoke eating the blue of sky For the bears of unhealing wounds dripping bile For the toxin-heart of the grain grown in petri For the black snake defecating on the green of the land For the brown and the black bleeding red

Because the historic mission must be We who pride ourselves in knowing (history) Conspire in righteousness With the deranged To hide in the bowels of Earth itself A dynamite ball with as short a fuse as we can make it.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 73

Pop the champagne and get smashed!

Welcome to our year-end awards where the biggest joke is actually on us

ANDREA ANG, JACS SAMPAYAN, JEROME GOMEZ , JONTY CRUZ , JAM PASCUAL, PAOLO ENRICO MELENDEZ , AND STEFAN PUNONGBAYAN DIGITAL IMAGING BY KHALIL ALBUAINAIN

WORDS BY

Lilia Cuntapay died in 2016.

For nearly all of her active life in film, she was a caricature for indolent deployment, either for a quick scare or a cheap laugh. Yet very late in her career and life, she unexpectedly blossomed in the eyes of moviegoers as a fully formed, complex, beautiful person when she starred as her fictional self in Six Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay, arguably the funniest Filipino movie of this century. She became the actress we wanted to see more of, a person we wanted to know. Before we could, she died, not unexpectedly perhaps, but before we wanted to let go.

One need not further invoke the litany of this year’s dead to know that a lot of inspiring lights were snuffed out, legends were nailed shut inside their eco-friendly coffins. It seems that more individuals that we cared for or admired died in 2016, leaving a more palpable sense of loss. The statistic that emerged as the largest signpost of doom was reported in October by the World Wildlife Fund. The worldwide populations of mammals, birds, fish, amphibians, reptiles— every animal group save for humans, insects, and bacteria— plunged by almost 60 percent. Mass extinction is upon us, and it will come sooner than we think, thanks to those humans who refuse to acknowledge the signs. The same humans we keep electing into public office. The same public officials who authorize environmentally dubious practices like fracking in places such as Oklahoma, which saw 375 earthquakes measuring 3.0 or higher in the first six months of 2016 (as opposed to two in 2008).

In October, obituaries for the Great Barrier Reef were being tweeted. Prematurely, as it turned out, even as the world’s largest coral reef ecosystem was acknowledged to be dying. Twitter, though thousands of years younger than the Great Barrier Reef, was also imperiled. It put itself up for sale in September, yet few willing buyers have surfaced, bringing down Twitter stock by 20 percent. But don’t cry for Twitter or social media: in 2016, they finally harpooned an even more venerable white whale than the Great Barrier Reef, none other than Truth itself.

Truth, in fact, has never been the object of veneration in the wider public discourse (the artist’s struggle to distill the

76 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

human condition having never really been part of the wider public discourse, excepting Shakespeare). That witchcraft was banned, and accused witches burned to their death in past centuries, indicates humans’ lack of respect for objective truth rather than the subsequent dissipation of a world full of magic. The concept of “truthiness” was crystallized by Stephen Colbert not in 2016 but in 2005. Yet 2016 was seemingly the year when the threshold was crossed, when it was proved beyond reason or doubt that in the general context, the truth actually does not matter.

Perhaps, like the Internet, we exaggerate.

Facebook and Twitter promised to crack down on fake news, joining a coalition that includes The New York Times and CNN dedicated to that end. Still, so many other elections in 2016 ended with such awful results, and dazed survivors are left with two options to blame—fake news, for having misled voters; or fellow voters, because other people in the end are truly stupid and vile. Because we choose to retain faith in humanity, we blame fake news.

It was faith in humanity that informed the reorganization of the world order after the horrors of World War II. The United Nations was formed, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights asserted “the inherent dignity and equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice, and peace in the world.”

The International Criminal Court was created to prosecute crimes against humanity, especially when domestic courts would not do so. In 2016, South Africa—land of Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission—announced it was withdrawing from the International Criminal Court over the question whether incumbent genocidal dictators should be immune from prosecution. South Africa sided with the genocidal dictators.

It is worth mentioning at this point that in 2016, the Philippine Daily Inquirer inaugurated “The Kill List,” which is updated daily, and which, as of December 8, lists 1,775 dead men, women, and minors—casualties of the Duterte administration’s war on drugs. The number is conservative compared to the figures of other news organizations—The New York Times claimed over 2,000 in early November; others cite over 3,000. The local Catholic Church, the institution most likely to raise holy hell over the killings, has

2016

yet to raise hackles beyond the occasional statement of regret.

And Jesus wept.

“Why are you Americans killing the black people there, shooting them down when they are already on the ground?” asked Duterte. At least incidents of police brutality in the United States have been the source of protests, paralyzing protests that play out on CNN and inevitably give ammunition to those who believe that America has become a more violent place. The past murders of pre-school children in their classroom did not lead to the enactment of gun control legislation. The Gun Violence Archive has recorded over 12,000 gun deaths in the United States in 2016. A very small fraction of those deaths happened at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida, the site of the worst mass shooting in American history, and the worst single incident in world history of killings targeted at gay men and women.

Mass murder happened on a daily basis in Syria in 2016, as it did in 2015 and in 2014. Syrians died in their bombed homes, their gassed streets, or on foreign seas aboard sinking boats. The criminal enterprise Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) also aspired to mass murder in 2016, as it did in 2015 and 2014. In March, Brussels Airport and the nearby Maalbeek metro station were bombed, leaving 32 civilians dead, the horror played out live on international television.

Four months later, Istanbul—that bridgeway between Europe and Asia—saw its own busy airport bombed; 45 civilians dead. Those attacks, which were meant to strike the fear of international terrorism in the hearts of otherwise hearty travelers, were claimed by ISIL. Less heralded were the other attacks claimed by ISIL in 2016: 346 killed in a series of bomb attacks in Iraq ( July); 175 executed cement workers in Damascus (April); 77 dead, mostly lawyers, in Quetta, Pakistan, slaughtered as they assembled at the hospital where the body of the just-assassinated bar association president lay (August). In April, news reports emerged from Northern Iraq of 250 women executed by ISIL for refusing to serve as sex slaves.

In 2016, violence seeped into corners yet unblanched. In June, British Member of Parliament Jo Cox, was stabbed then shot dead by one of her constituents who reportedly screamed “Britain First!” as he committed the murder. Cox was the first British MP in 26 years to be assassinated, and the first felled by

someone other than an Irish freedom fighter in 204 years. Her killing took place one week before the so-called Brexit vote, a plebiscite that had already inflamed passions and feelings of hatred against immigrants to Britain. Some thought that Cox’s murder would buy sobriety, give reason for the public to step back from their feelings and vote dispassionately. But one week later, feelings won.

One ignores feelings at peril. Income inequality, or at least the perception of it, fueled populist revolts in many parts of the world. In the United States, that populist anger catapulted an angry, ill-mannered idiot millionaire from New York to presidency.

One could argue whether the election of Rodrigo Duterte was empowered by a similar populist rage, but by election day, many people whom the other campaigns presumed to be content, were angry enough to vote for the angriest man.

Considering that Duterte expressly campaigned on a platform that promised to reorient democracy to order, it could be said that the people exercised their democratic right in favor of less democracy.

And yet, the traffic remains shit.

There was at least one adorable result gifted by voters in 2016. Taiwan elected its first female President, Tsai Ing-wen— unmarried, no children but with two cats named “Think Think” and “Ah Tsai.” Overcoming the stereotype of a conservative Chinese culture, she has unexpectedly supported LGBT rights, including the right to marry. Her career has been devoted to supporting the disadvantaged in society.

This ray of hope for liberal democracy emerged from a country most other countries even refuse to officially recognize.

Maybe 2016, however terrible it felt and seemed, has more of these Lilia Cuntapays—gems that need time before they shine.

2016 was seemingly the year when the threshold was crossed, when it was proved beyond reason or doubt that in the general context, the truth actually does not matter.

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While most would rather forget the year that has passed— or at the very least remember only the good— Rogue offers a celebratory middle finger to the year that was. From pop culture to politics, showbiz to social media, we burn the worst of 2016.

POLITICS To Serve Man Award. President rodrigo duterte, speaking to an audience in Laos last September, while referring to extremist members of the Abu Sayyaf, “I will really open up your body. Just give me vinegar and salt, and I will eat you.” We believe this method is essentially kinilaw, really, or in the coastal parts of Central America, the more sosyal-sounding l ceviche. The latter suggested to be consumed with a raised pinky.

Runner Up. Losing presidential candidateturned-lifestyle expert mar roxas, for recommending we douse waffles in spaghetti sauce.

Richard Nixon’s Ghost Award. To voters around the world, for once again proving Nixon right. “People react to fear, not love; they don’t teach that in Sunday School, but it’s true,” he said.

Worst Child Actors, Campaign Edition Award. To the the kids in that campaign ad against Duterte (featuring children repeating his words) which came at the eleventh hour of election season, and which nonetheless proved ineffectual ff since voters do not trust children who behave like 19thcentury scolds.

A Justin is Not Justinian Award. To Duterte Campaign Spokesperson peter laviña, who promised a Duterte cabinet that was similar to the young and diverse cabinet of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. The actual Duterte cabinet has an average age of 66 years old, and only six of the 28 members are women.

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Last Man Standing Light a Single Candle Award. To the pdp-laban, which saw only one member get elected to the Lower House in May 2016, but is now the dominant majority party in the House of Representatives.

juan ponce enrile > David Bowie, Muhammad Ali, et al.

Why You Should Never Believe Campaign Promises Award.

To rodrigo duterte. Months after convincing Filipino voters he would jet ski to the Spratlys to plant the Philippine flag, the since-elected president finally admitted he did not even know how to swim.

Runner Up. To rodrigo duterte, who promised to kill 100,000 criminals and dump their bodies in the Manila Bay. Of the estimated 2,000 dead so far, none have been dumped in the Manila Bay. Brexit Explained Award. To the london school of economics, for admitting Sandro Marcos.

Isumbong Mo Kay Mocha Award (Posthumous). To philip graham, former publisher of the Washington Post, t who once explained that “every newspaper has to have at least one shit columnist.”

The Who Run the World Award. We all thought leni robredo was going to be our Beyoncé. Sadly, Duterte made her a Kelly.

The Gone With The Wind Award. Given to DOJ Secretary vitaliano aguirre.

The Hugs Not Drugs Award. Given to Senator miguel zubiri who consoled a crying Bato dela Rosa, reminding us once again that the statesman is dead.

The Comedy and Tragedy Award. It took a couple of years but we finally got Cormac McCarthy’s sequel to The Roadd in daang matuwid.

Miss Congeniality. It’s been a joy to see Senator

sonny angara’s outfits these last few years.

The sartorial lawmaker with his trendy yet sophisticated ensembles and his movie-star smile almost always makes us ponder: is his idea of public service exclusive to spreading goodwill with his good looks and making pa-cutee on Twitter?

The Dying Wish Award. To the idea that if only

miriam defensor-santiago won last May, we’d now have President Leni Robredo.

The Ilustrado Award for Knowing Words and Stuff. Congratulations to manolo l. quezon iii, edwin lacierda, and the rest of PNoy’s communications group, for trying to accomplish in six years what Mocha Uson was able to do in 10 months. Maybe you can all move to the first-world privileges of New York and write op-eds on what it’s really like in the Philippines.

The Death of a Salesman Award. We congratulate jose e.b. antonio of Century Properties, the new envoy to the United States, for continuing the tradition of business tycoons suddenly getting government positions abroad.

PORTRAITS BY JOSEL NICOLAS

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Mocha Uson

2016

Greater than any Palanca or Pulitzer is this year’s Philippine Fiction Prize and the trophy is awarded to dancer and Philippine Star columnist Mocha Uson, whose invaluable contributions to contemporary Philippine literature are lauded by her thousands of ka-DDS. Uson’s whimsical tales can be read via her renowned Facebook page, Mocha Uson Blog.

Your success in condominiums and townhouses gives all of us without ff hope and track records in foreign affairs inspiration.

The Get Off ff My Batasan Lawn Award.

To the house justice committee, for pushing the revival of the death penalty, at a time when truly progressive states are reexamining their capital punishment apparatuses.

TV Worst Election for Jon Stewart to Sit Out. the us elections 2016. We sorely needed Stewart and Stephen Colbert to help us navigate through this particular(ly insane) American election season. Trevor Noah, who got the torch from Stewart as host of The Daily Show, had a rough start as the new face

of Daily, and wasn’t quite the voice of biting sanity that people were looking for.

Worst Blue Balls. the walking dead, for withholding the identity of a slain comrade until the premiere of Season 7, months after the Season 6 finale cliffhanger. ff At this point, it’s clear that the show is only recycling a single storyline. That is, “We’re finally safe! Oh no, wait…”.

Most Unwelcome Presence Foisted on Us. Naturally, donald trump. It was impossible to avoid him the last 18 months.

NBC in particular may want to do some soulsearching about how it groomed The Groper into a mainstream celebrity through its The Apprentice series, then allowed him to host Saturday Night Live, and finally let Jimmy Fallon play with his hair (at least Late Night’s t Seth Meyers gives him the business).

The Worst #Trend. reporting about twitter. You can always tell when TV news doesn’t have enough content: it slips in a segment on what’s trending, or tries to beef up an actual story by getting reactions from “netizens.” We’ve already got the Internet; show us what you can do.

Worst Thing to See on Local TV at one in the morning. a live presscon from the commander-in-chief. Because no one likes to go to bed angry.

The SOS Award for Reinvigorating Careers.

And you thought this beautiful bunch of glamazons from 2011, the era of gung-ho self-marketing, have given up their blings and big hair for baby diapers and the quiet bliss of family life away from Mark Nicdao’s camera.

Thank heavens for E! for coming up with It Girls—for giving us a chance to see another side of belle and sos and george and liz: the scripted side.

CULTURE Most Closely Studied Navel Award. To the philippine literary coterie, for its continuing rigodon of awards, grants, and fellowships. Inside a very small room. With the doors locked. From the outside.

The Literary Nine-Dash Line Award.

To all the big-name publishing houses that support the Filipino reader

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Perfecto Yasay

The loss that his fans felt when Secretary Albert del Rosario left his Foreign Affairs post was more than doubled when Perfecto Yasay Jr. was appointed to fill the position.

Yasay is the choppy feedback loop to all of Duterte’s proclamations. His recent speech at the United Nations General Assembly in defense of the current administration reminds us less of Carlos P. Romulo’s time at the podium as the head of U.N. and more of amateur hour at the nearest girly bar. But to Secretary Perfecto Yasay, please don’t think you need to take any of this literally; like you do every time the president makes an unwanted remark. Just use your creative imagination to interpret this special citation. What ya say? (See what we did there?)

by holding reading material hostage through predatorial pricing and copyright policing.

Whoever said irony was dead?

The Service Economy Wet Dream Certificate for Ideal Employee Creation. To the proponents of k-12, who have doomed our future generations to a childhood of vocationalized education and an adulthood of fumbling for the office best practices guide.

Proactive!

The Nick Jonas Award for Longest Sustained Flat Note. To mainstream philippine rock journalism, which has been stuck in a hagiographic free jam of 20 guitars with all the strings tuned to C, ever since Jinglee and Herald X folded up.

The Sleeping with Your Ex Citation for Creepy Reunion Gigs. For bands like urbandub, that hold expensive farewell concerts one year, then continue to gig with a modified lineup the next. Turns out you can look street andd act boardroom.

The Modest Art Collector’s Blueballs Award.

To the vernissage set, for conducting a yearlong cock block of art purchases by people with deeper appreciation yet humbler means.

Some of us have dilettante dreams, too!

The Backed Up Stadium Shower Citation.

For the moneyed sport clubs that book

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prime field and court time slots two full years in advance, leaving smaller teams scrambling for residential venues they can’t even access without the right contacts— proving that, even in sports, Capital doesn’t play fair.

The Art Fair Award for Deepest Instagram Caption. Do NOT drag martha atienza into your car crash of a Kanye caption.

The Stanislavsky Award for Championing Method Acting. Given to the consummate actor baron geisler for making the act of peeing on another person less act of domination but more acting flourish, like Meryl Streep affecting ff an accent. Proving once and for all why Geisler is the ultimate go-to-guy when it comes to filling up the shoes of villains in indie flicks: he is not only an ass, he’s also a prick—one always ready to spring a golden shower.

SOCIAL MEDIA Small Talk, Big Problem Award. To Miss Philippines Earth imelda schweighart, who is reportedly in the process of publishing a slam book that asks all the right questions, such as “Is Hitler from Austria?”

In Fitness and in Health, Till Death Do Us Part Award.

To Senator leila de lima, whose previous romantic affair ff with her former driver Ronnie Dayan is being held under scrutiny. She’s sexy and she knows it—she walks out!

DOE Prize for Sustainable Energy. To martin andanar, presidential communications secretary and apparently a dynamo enthusiast, for spinning so hard he could power the entire archipelago for a day with posttruths alone.

Budget Efficiency Award. To model gil cuerva, who— aside from being the poor man’s Borgy Manotoc—is a bit too fond of tweeting his two cents, for which he still manages to get ample change.

Independent Spirit of Christmas Award.The trophy goes to Regal Films matriarch mother lily monteverde, for reminding us that Christmas is no time for indie films. Let’s not lose sight of what the holidays are all about: empty commercialism and decreasing the average Filipino moviegoer’s IQ. Feed the World Award. To stage, film, and television actress agot isidro. We here at Roguee sincerely hope she finds those sacks of rice she’s been looking for. (Note: Probably in the US? Who knows?)

Don Juan Memorial Award. To Presidential Son baste duterte, the unlikely media heartthrob who as of late has been spotted having a pecking session with The Ellen Adarna.

Ivan Pavlov Memorial Award. To actress bea binene, for her portrayal of a feral child in GMA 7’s drama series Hanggang Makita kang Muli. Acceptance speech is optional as veterinarians can only understand canine grunts and body language so well.

Sample King. To economist, professor, and online statistician war veteran david yap ii, for his analysis of an alleged electoral fraud. That he wasn’t able to provide any data set to substantiate his theory is only a minor detail.

2016

That Thing Called Tanda Mo Na Award.

The trophy and Skelan gift pack go to lawyer, former journalist, and United Nations Ambassador teddy boy locsin, jr., whose sudden bouts of hostility are the stuff ff of online lore.

Silence is Golden Award. To politiciansiblings alan peter and pia cayetano, whose unusual silence over the Marcos burial and President Duterte’s misogyny— issues which are supposed to concern them, respectively—is palpable.

Face of the Night. This special award is given to Philippine National Police Chief ronald “bato” dela rosa, for stealing the scene at the presidential inauguration, having his own mascots and standees, photobombing Manny Pacquiao after a recent match, starring in Brillante Mendoza’s upcoming film, etc. He was born to seize the bright lights. Star Magic should just hand him a contract already.

Twister Prize. To transgender advocate and International Relations scholar sass rogando sasot, for her elegant use of

diplomatic parlance and academic credentials to legitimize President Duterte’s well-publicized blunders, as well as for promoting antagonism via a distorted perspective on the Philippine political landscape.

FOOD The Overrated Fad Food Award—

avocado. In 2016, everybody body started putting avocado on toast, liike it was the onlyy kind of toast you coould have. Increased demand this year has resulted in an avocado shortage (good grief!) and price hikes. We’re not saying you should quit guacamole forever. But if you’re looking ng for another photogenic edible thing, try ube.

And if superfoods are more your concern, try malunggay, whose nutritional properties are actually worth the hype.

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Pantaleon Alvarez

Pantaleon Alvarez must not like it when he’s referred to as the Speaker to what is uncharitably called The Lower House. After all, it can be argued that the Senate or “The Upper House” (which almost no one refers to these days) can challenge them in who can go lower. But never one to be outdone by their friends in that chamber, they can surely up their game. After all the current Speaker is truly old school (since 1987 y’all) and as an MC he’s as badass as they come. (He’d certainly take down his counterpart, Senate President Koko Pimentel in a rap battle, even without saying a single taunt.) He’s also got a posse of OG’s in Rudy Fariñas, Fredenil Castro, Lito Atienza behind him to grab the mic at calling out bitches and dirty ass-hos.

As the circle jerking in the recent committee hearings show, these bad boys aren’t straight outta Compton, they’re just straight outta misogyny.

Worst Way to Appeal to an Audience—

donald trump and the taco bowl.

Remember when American President-elect Trump tried to appeal to the Hispanic electorate by tweeting a picture of himself smiling with a Trump Tower Grill Taco Bowl? It didn’t work the way it was intended to, but he won anyway.

Taco Bowls for everyone!

Worst Way to Ruin Two Perfectly Good Things—sushi burritos. The sushi burrito was supposed to be a joke. And then a sushi burrito place popped up somewhere in Magginhawa Street, and the abomination becam me widespread and normalized. That’s how w institutional violence works, man.

Caapitalism is evil enough, don’t make it woorse with crappy food.

Wh hitest Food Trend Award. Ever had to expllain the diff fference between taro and ube to an international food crowd? Pray you never.

If you have to keep your fingers crossed that ube doesn’t fall to the same fate as the cronut, ramen, kale, or poke, but a Thrillist article has already declared “purple bread” as the next big hipster food trend. Protect the nuns of Good Shepherd!

The Robert Baratheon of Food Award. Preparations are underway to usurp erwan heusaff’s throne as Manila’s food industry heartthrob. Its foundations were laid down years ago, when people would quietly whisper to each other their true feelings about Hatch-22, but the revolution’s legs really started to take shape after his particularly disastrous take on halohalo on Tastemade.

The Award For Pa-Edgy Food Reviews. To pepper.ph. It’s a cheese tart. It’s PhP600. Get over it.

Commit To Your Shade Award. In honor of every post-hipster who perpetuates critical and edgy during the day, but goes Instaho on the very thing they thrashed two paragraphs earlier. Tell us how you really feel.

Really.

The Down and Dirrty Award in Poblacion for Cool People. To the guys who think there’s nothing cooler than driving all the way from the South to shed your Opus Dei alter ego by hanging out at the red light district… and going to Smokeyard.

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monotone staples. Meanwhile, others who either didn’t get the memo or decided to become the beacon of sartorial hope set starkly against the commander-in-chief ’s corduroybarongg ensemble, rebelliously terno’d the hell out of the congressional red carpet.

Pera-Pera Lang Yan Award. In the last 18 months, chaos has ensued in the world of luxury fashion, with a slew of creative heads from different labels resigning one after another. Are these individual protests to the grueling global apparel schedule each label must not subscribe to (seriously, why do we live in a world where Pre-Fall and Pre-Resort exist?), or is it simply a matter of corporate musical chairs?

Stuff. The California cool eyewear brand has sprouted locally both a design movement defined by very, very specific shades of pink, and a sea of very, very dedicated copycats.

Heads up: there is only one Martine Cajucom.

The Stranger Thingss Award for Most Obvious Halloween Costume Ever. Also featuring the most obvious drinking game: take a shot everytime you see someone dressed as eleven. That second season is taking way too long to get here.

Salvador Panelo

Salvador Panelo likes to say that Rodrigo Duterte is fond of hyperbole. For once, we agree.

He was of course referring to the time that the president was asked what he thought of Panelo’s dress sense. But his boss could very well have been also describing his chief presidential legal counsel’s career. The list of his former clients is even more colorful as some of his outfits. To list but a few, he represented Mayor Andal Ampatuan Jr. in the probe for the slaughter of 58 people in the Maguindanao Massacre, former Senator Ramon “Bong” Revilla Jr. for his alleged role in getting millions of kickbacks in “pork barrel,” and the Marcos family on the ill-gotten wealth charges against them. It’s been said a smile is the best fashion accessory, and Panelo has all the reasons to show off his.

FASHION You’re A Hard Habit To Break Award. To the style rebels at the last SONA. Sticking to the script that won him a six-year stay in

Malaca ang, the new President tried to break many-a-solon’s-spouse’s heart with the wellpublicized dress code for his first-ever State of the Nation address, which he ordered to be strictly “business attire.” Some kept it relatively simple, opting for basic pantsuits or well-worn

The Kylie Jenner Award for, Like, Realizing Stuff. “But it feels different!” ff Then came that moment when it was revealed the $29 kylie lip kit not only had most of the same ingredients but were also created by the same ff a $6 + $5 version Oxnard company that offers under a different ff brand name.

The Ugly But Cute Award. It’s okay— —you can admit you overpaid for those Yeezys.

The Every Little Thing He Does Is Tragic Award. kanye west added fashion exploitation to his packed resume with the launch of his brand Yeezy. His Season 4 collection had throngs of non-professional (eventually underpaid) models in various shades of beige wilting under the scorching New York sun.

and finally...

THE ROGUE AWARD FOR JOURNALISM To the magazines and websites who either put any and all Marcoses on their covers, or gave them glowing features on their feeds, in the process turning them into society sweethearts (they’ve been popping up in events as of late, as if its just another lazy Sunday in Batac). While you didn’t do as many Martial Law nostalgia era stories as we did, your compatriots here at Roguee can’t wait to read your upcoming listicle on the “Top 5 Things To Do While Making Usyoso Near Apo’s Tomb.”

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2016

Thinking that 2016 was the worst year ever is a failure of the imagination.

Even worse, it’s boring.

In the same way that the venerable spokesperson—once evangelical pastor—Ernesto Abella expects us to use our creative imagination to interpret the words of our president, we can and perhaps should apply the same methods on everything that has happened in this what the imagination-challenged would refer to as a supremely terrible year.

Pax Americana may be coming to an end and taking down the ideals of democracy down with it. But is that really as bad as it is made to sound? In watching these developed countries selfdestruct, aren’t we just setting the stage for revolutions yet to come?

In watching Donald Trump rise to power, in seeing Great Britain leave the EU, we are witnessing the established world order being turned around. The seemingly invincible nations of the world are self-imploding, and in that vacuum, perhaps we will enter a true post-colonial age, where the remnants of imperialism can finally wither away so that we can all be finally free.

Much has been made of this post-fact age, how by people are no longer convinced by what’s true. Well, fuck facts. Here’s a fact: people have never really been compelled by facts. If they were, documentaries would be at the top of the box office every year, instead of the latest package of madeup nonsense that we call superpower movies . This is a wake up call. You can’t just throw numbers at people and expect them to change their positions. In finally accepting the uselessness of facts, maybe we can start talking to each other.

The legendary icons of your youth died? People die. And when these geriatric sacred cows get off the stage, it leaves room for new, more exciting artists to step into the spotlight. If people can take a break from worshipping Bowie or Cohen for just a second, maybe they can finally appreciate the artistry of Katy Perry. Or the vocal acrobatics of Darren Espanto.

The outrage over Ferdinand Marcos being buried in the Libingan ng mga Bayani is righteous, but misplaced. Jose Maria Sison was right (and maybe for the first time since the First Quarter Storm.). The interment of the late dictator at the location

puts him in good company, Sison said. “Yung tatlong nakalagay diyan siguro sa tatlo pinakamagaling diyan si Garcia. Puro t** yung dalawa... Wala naman sila ginawa kundi kontra sa interes ng mga mamamayan. . . Bagay na magkakatabi-tabi ang mga taksil na yan!”

Let Marcos transform the very soil itself, so that we can finally treat that plot of land as the plot of land it essentially is: a cemetery.

Because let’s admit it, this whole #MarcosNoHero thing has finally brought to light a very simple fact: it’s us old farts that still worship the Apo—or at least drool over the latest posts in Facebook’s Manila Nostalgia about the good old days, i.e.the 70s, when Sean Connery discoed in the palace and Bonget was doing the line dance with Ate Imee in the old Where else? Meantime, the Millennials, long derided for not knowing shit about Martial Law, took to the streets to take part in our increasingly absurd tradition of making a lot of noise at people who don’t want to listen. These temperamental brats have a long way to go before being worn down by the intractability of corruption in this country.

With any luck, we’ll be dead before we sap all the hope out of them completely. And then maybe we can be buried beside good ol’ Ferdie.

The one turd I can’t really polish is the fact that we have a president who likes to say “Patayin ko kayo” as if he’s just asking Inday Sara to please pass the hot sauce—and that under his reign, thousands of people have already died. There is no silver lining to this particular strain of shit, other than to say that 2016 will likely be the best of it. Things can only get worse. And as it does, 2016 won’t feel like the worst year ever anymore. We will look at it, years from now, as that quaint time when only 5,000 people were killed.

That isn’t so much a silver lining as its poor cousin whose idea of fine dining is Kuya J—but it’s there all the same. And in eschewing the hyperbole of self-pity that is “the worst year ever,” people can brace themselves for the horrors yet to come, steel themselves for the fight that is inevitably coming. For once, the specter of Marcos and Martial Law may actually serve a purpose. With the memory of his evil finally brought to the surface, maybe we can get taking down a tyrant right this time. Maybe we won’t let the next one get away. Or at least maybe local magazines will stop putting his children on their covers and asking them, “What’s the one thing you can’t live without?”

Not that I’ll have anything to do with however all these things turn out. I’m old. And this missive is being sent from Taiwan which, in bizarre defiance to the marching orders of the world at large, has elected a first female president; a true progressive that promises to take the traditionally conservative nation to new heights. Or not.

We’ll see. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like the world even acknowledges that Taiwan exists.

I shall be fiddling in this limbo of a nation, a glass of Japanese whisky in hand, watching the world burn. I’ve seen it all before, and nothing has really changed. What I’m really worried about now is the impending shortage of Japanese whisky. How am I supposed to cope with the noise of Taipei with anything less than an 18-yearold Yamazaki? These are the things we really have to worry about.

Humanity has encountered every conceivable evil in its cosmically short history, but we’ve all managed to get through a lot of it thanks in part to the wonders of distilled spirits.

As you are likely reading this piece in the middle of Metro Manila traffic, take a moment to give thanks for the fact that traffic is giving you time to catch up on your reading.

ck in Diq u Joa

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On some nights, he likes to trade in his badge for a microphone. And on a particular August evening, in a dark and dingy videoke bar in Davao, he did.

He fits the bill of a tough-as-nails, doesn’tgive-a-flying-fuck police chief. Like the kind you see in films chomping on cheap cigars for breakfast, bashing the heads of recalcitrant suspects into two-way mirrors, and cursing over things just because he can and just because he wants to. He’s the guy who looks permanently pissed off, wrung out, and exasperated.

He’s the guy you don’t want to mess with.

His barrel-like physique suggests he can survive a knife fight in a deserted alley behind a bar or in a prison gang death match. His bald head hints of world-weariness but screams sheer badassery. He is the alpha male, the ultimate man’s man.

So when Philippine National Police (PNP) Director General Ronald dela Rosa picks a Celine Dion power ballad as his go-to videoke jam, you can only imagine the shock in the room.

For the record, the man can carry a tune— hitting high notes with the same precision as his target practice shots at the firing range.

And no, he wasn’t drinking scotch or any other potent liquor you’d usually associate with strongmen of his type. The toughest guy in the room’s poison of choice was Cali Shandy. Jaw, meet floor.

This has always been Dela Rosa’s modus operandi: subverting expectations.

B

efore becoming the 21st chief of the PNP in July, Dela Rosa was both nowhere and everywhere.

He was the cop who was always standing behind another general more famous and vastly more important than him. A silent extra.

But now, all eyes are certainly on Dela Rosa. He’s become the face of the country’s controversial drug war—one which has taken the lives of at least 4,700 people in legitimate

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police operations and alleged extrajudicial and vigilante killings. Filipinos both cheer and fear it. The bloody campaign has been heavily criticized by a plethora of human rights groups and advocates of the rule of law. The United Nations, United States, and the European Union have all expressed concern over the war. International media are now a constant fixture in the local night beat, covering police operations, all while familiarizing themselves with Tagalog words like patay and nanlaban.

For Dela Rosa, however, the buzzword is “selfie.”

The drug campaign remains popular in the country, turning Dela Rosa into an instant celebrity. Anywhere and everywhere he goes, he’s flanked by people—his own uniformed men and women included—just dying to take a photo with him. Airports, hotels, port areas, and cemeteries—take your pick—Dela Rosa is greeted with ready smiles and cellphone cameras. In Iloilo, for instance, it took him almost an hour just to go from his seat to the buffet table at a restaurant because of the sheer number of people who wanted a moment with the chief. In Cagayan de Oro, where Dela Rosa visited a cop injured in a shootout, the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit seemingly shut down as doctors and nurses rushed after him for a photoop. Fandom at its finest.

Dela Rosa’s charm offensive on media has certainly helped. Previous national chiefs have mostly projected a quiet, disciplined authority— mild-mannered, stoic, and guarded. It’s not surprising, since all of them are products of a military academy where knowing when to shut up is a virtue.

But Dela Rosa likes to talk. A lot. Really.

He’d invite reporters to his home in Davao City for dinner, sharing hilarious anecdotes from the first few years of his career (one involves him and a colleague in search of a restaurant, unwittingly ending up in a gay bar). He’d often

joke around with members of the media right before a press briefing, with some jokes spilling over to policy discussions.

Reporters in Camp Crame rarely see police generals with their guard down, without the put-on facade. It’s a cause of celebration in the press room when generals show their cards and offer glimpses of emotions.

Dela Rosa embraces the feels. He’s cried on national television (in an interview with talk show host Boy Abunda over a letter he wrote to his parents, and recently in frustration over wayward cops during a Senate probe on selfconfessed Leyte drug dealer Kerwin Espinosa) and has unleashed absolute fury on alleged narco-cops during a live news coverage.

“Putangina! God damn it! ‘Di ninyo alam kung ano ang buhay ng Chief PNP!” “Puwede niyo akong patayin ‘pag civilian na ako... I am ready. Basta hangga’t ako chief PNP hindi ako papayag na kayong mga putangina nakikinabang sa pera ng droga. Putangina.

Hinding-hindi ako papayag. Hinding-hindi ako papayag. Kahit na aabot tayo sa impiyerno, hindi ko kayo aatrasan.”

Dela Rosa is not your dad’s PNP Chief.

With emotions on full display, Dela Rosa has been pegged in vox populi interviews as “relatable,” “human,” and “just like us.”

B

ut his newfound fame is not lost on him.

“Ako, nagugulat. Confused pa rin ako hanggang ngayon na ganito ang kanilang reception. Hindi mo naman ito mama-manipulate itong reaksyon ng tao. Kusa nilang naramdaman. I don’t know what kind of phenomenon this is,” Dela Rosa said in an interview back in August during a visit to his hometown.

Surrounding him were the people he grew up with, who were apparently not immune to the Dela Rosa fever. On that day and for

many more days in the future, Dela Rosa is the hometown hero.

Born in Sta. Cruz, Davao del Sur, he is the second of nine children in a low-income household. His father was a pedicab driver while his mother was a homemaker. He got his nickname “Bato” from the name of his barangay.

During his homecoming, he gave a tour of the house where he grew up in—from the small kitchen where he used to cook for his siblings (his favorite is maruya or banana fritter) to the pig pen where his father told him to hide when communist rebels tried to recruit him.

A few steps away from his house is the elementary school where Dela Rosa graduated as a valedictorian. Even at an early age, he already showed signs of a textbook over-achiever.

After graduating from the Philippine Military Academy in 1986, Dela Rosa tried to join the Special Action Force—the PNP’s elite unit. He got top ranks during the recruitment phase and expected to be a shoo-in for the unit. Instead, he was deployed back to Davao where he met the man who would forever change his life.

RIGHT PHOTO: RENE LUMAWAG

T

hat man was Rodrigo Duterte, who at the time was appointed vice mayor of Davao City in the aftermath of the EDSA Revolution. Dela Rosa was a young lieutenant of the now-defunct Philippine Constabulary.

The year 1986 was the beginning of a long professional and personal journey for both Duterte and Dela Rosa. Duterte, Davao mayor for over two decades, would push for a strong campaign against crime and illegal drugs in the city.

Before Dela Rosa’s very eyes, the “wild wild west” of Mindanao turned into what locals and outsiders perceive to be the “the safest city in the Philippines.” But it came at a price. Duterte,

known for harsh and sometimes bombastic pronouncements against criminals, was tagged “The Punisher.” For years, the future president was hounded by allegations of human rights violations and extrajudicial killings under his watch.

At the same time, Dela Rosa rose from the ranks in different regional posts—becoming provincial director of Davao del Sur and eventually police director of Davao City.

“DU30” and “Ba2” (as fans would call them) developed a close and personal relationship, with the former serving as principal sponsor in the latter’s wedding. When Duterte ran for President in 2016, Dela Rosa called his ninong “the greatest leader on earth.”

So it’s no surprise that Duterte called on his main man to fulfill his campaign promise of eliminating illegal drugs in the country.

It was a shock, however, to many in Camp Crame. Not only was he an outsider, but his appointment meant skipping three PMA classes for the top spot. And while having a young officer as PNP chief was not unusual, it was a tough pill to swallow for many senior officials in the police force.

Once again, Dela Rosa defied expectations.

But with the new post came bigger expectations. The “war on drugs,” many said, was impossible to accomplish.

ONE-TWO PUNCH

From left: Dela Rosa in his younger days; and with Davao vice mayor Rodrigo Duterte who Dela Rosa met in 1986. Together they dove head first into a decades long war against crime

I

n his first State of the Nation Address, Duterte said that there were about “3 million drug addicts” in the country “two or three years ago.”

He pegged the current figure at 3.7 million—a far cry from the 1.8 million based on a 2015 survey by the Dangerous Drugs Board.

The national police was tasked to dismantle the illegal drug trade in the country and reform users.

At first, they had six months to do it.

In July 2016, Dela Rosa formally introduced “Oplan Tokhang” (a portmanteau of Bisaya words toktok and hangyo, which literally mean “knock”

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88 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

WORLD TOUR

Bato Dela Rosa’s career has gone global, with the chief showing off his shooting prowess with a rifle at a Colombian firing range (above) and attending the Royal Thai Police’s anniversary with his ASEAN counterparts (below).

PHOTOS COURTESY OF PNP

and “plead,” respectively) to the rest of the Philippines.

It’s a campaign he started in Davao where cops visit alleged drug users and pushers, initially identified by local police and government units, and ask that they turn themselves in.

As of early November, police say over three million houses have been Tokhang-ed (yes, it’s now a verb). Seven hundred fifty thousand people have voluntarily surrendered. But that’s still nowhere near the 1.2 million target of the PNP by December 2016.

But it’s the 4,700 deaths—attributed to legitimate operations and apparent vigilante killings—that have alarmed many. Police say that over a thousand drug personalities have been killed in legitimate operations. Cops have also fallen victim to the drug war, mostly because they didn’t have the right safety equipment for operations.

The spate of killings has received condemnation from other governments and different organizations around the world.

Diplomatic relations too have been uneasy, particularly with long-time ally the United States, because of differing views on the war.

Many, including a newly elected Philippine senator, claim that the killings are statesanctioned. Dozens of grieving families have defended their relatives killed in police operations, saying they were gunned down even if both their hands were already up in the air.

But Dela Rosa continues to stand by his work husband. Till death do they part.

“Sabi ng Presidente, he is willing to risk his life. Sino ba naman ako para hindi sumabay sa aking Pangulo? I may sink or swim with my President. Whatever happens, I must be with him,” Dela Rosa said in an interview.

“You cannot satisfy everyone. Mayroon talaga mag-cri-criticize na outcome ng kampanya.

Sabi ni [Duterte], there’s no stopping us. We have to continue. Tuloy-tuloy lang ang laban.

You must stay alive. Sabi ko rin sa kanya, you should stay alive also, Sir. Kailangan buhay tayong dalawa. Walang malagas sa atin. Kailangan natin pagpatuloy ang giyera.”

In the first three months following his appointment, Dela Rosa made it a point to visit all 18 regional police camps in the country, delivering variations of a stump speech meant to inspire policemen in the midst of a bloody war.

It was a grueling schedule for anyone. But Dela Rosa said that he wanted to do it to make sure that his men and women toed the line while knowing how to fight back. Once the dust settled, he would tell police, the cop better be the one still standing.

“You have to fight properly. You have to fight valiantly with the criminals. You have to

“You have to fight criminals and make sure that kayo ang buhay. Huwag niyong hihintayin na kayo ang mamamatay. Walang magaasikaso sa pamilya niyo, walang magpapakain sa pamilya ninyo kung patay kayo.” fight criminals and make sure that kayo ang buhay. Huwag niyong hihintayin na kayo ang mamamatay. Walang magaasikaso sa pamilya niyo, walang magpapakain sa pamilya ninyo kung patay kayo. So that’s my word to all my PNP personnel all throughout the Philippines.

That’s my advice to you: Stay alive. Stay alive.

Stay alive.”

T

wo months into the trail, in Baguio, Dela Rosa was visibly exhausted. The long work days—sometimes up to 18 hours— had clearly taken their toll.

“You can just imagine. Two months pa lang kami pero pakiramdam ko two years na yung trabaho namin. Talagang lack of sleep, lack of rest. Hindi na nakakapawis. Yung kain mo… basta…nakakapagod talaga. Pero kapag nakikita mo yung taongbayan na natutuwa sa ginagawa mo, nawawala pagod mo. That’s what keeps us going.”

He continued on with ceremonies where he was declared by local police as “the bravest of bravehearts.” He then received a replica of the sword used in the war movie Braveheart.

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that he’s a policeman and not a politician on the campaign trail—encouraging Filipinos to buy what he’s selling.

But the truth is he’s neither. He’s a rock star making a pit stop to meet fans. He’s a Hollywood leading man in his prime. He’s Mel Gibson before the weird, anti-Semitic, racist tirades. He’s also the character Gibson played in Braveheart, rallying troops with a rousing speech and leading them to war.

But for Dela Rosa, the mission is not so much a war but a crusade.

“Maybe this is God’s plan. Maybe it was God’s plan to make sure Mayor Duterte wins the presidency. This is God’s plan. Maybe it’s also His plan to make Bato the chief PNP. I never dreamed of being chief. I never made an effort to be the chief,” Dela Rosa, speaking in Bisaya, told a crowd in General Santos City.

“I’ll admit this: I’ve killed many. I have killed many. But in legitimate operations, not cases of salvage. Because that’s the thing… even if you’ve committed grave sins, just ask forgiveness from God, always ask forgiveness from God and maintain your relationship with God. Because these people addicted to drugs, they’ve forgotten God. There is always emptiness in their heart. And that emptiness is where the devil comes in.”

The crowd listened intently, like mass-goers in the Church of Dela Rosa.

And then, the charm offensive.

“A policeman or a pastor? I’m confused,” Dela Rosa said as he laughed with the crowd.

But critics weren’t laughing when during a visit to Bacolod, Dela Rosa gave a crowd of selfconfessed “surrendered” drug users an order he would later regret.

Reporters on the scene thought Dela Rosa was merely delivering his stump speech, barely paying attention to his oft-repeated lines. Same shit, different province.

“Mamamatay talaga kayo. It’s either mamamatay kayo sa baril ng pulis kapag kayo’y lumaban, kapag kayo’y na buy-bust… pero pinakasiguro ko, mamamatay kayo sa kakagamit ng shabu. Walang mapupuntahan iyan. Kaya dapat magbago na kayo. Okay?”

After weeks of semi-veiled threats against drug personalities, lines like these were, in some ways, no longer news. It was Dela Rosa’s “normal.”

But then came the unexpected: “Kaya nga gusto ninyo… kilala niyo sino drug lord dito, ‘di ba? Puntahan niyo. Buhusan ninyo ng gasolina. Yung bahay, sindihan ninyo. Pakita ninyo na galit kayo sa kanila. Itong mga taong ito matagal na nagpapayaman. Kayo, ano? Lumiliit ang inyong utak, natutunaw ang inyong utak, natutunaw ang inyong mga ngipin, ang inyong mga jaw, ang inyong mga gums. Natutunaw sa kagagamit ng shabu,” Dela Rosa said.

Needless to say, it sent reporters into a frenzy. (“Did I hear that right? Oh my God. No way.

Seriously? Putangina, oo nga.”) After all, it’s not every day that the country’s top cop encourages citizens to commit arson.

Dela Rosa certainly felt the burn on social media—with many calling out the police general for encouraging violence and vigilantism.

It’s not the first time Dela Rosa has courted controversy for his pronouncements that seemingly incite violence.

Senator Leila de Lima, one of Duterte’s staunchest critics, called out the police chief in a Senate hearing just a few weeks before his Bacolod speech. De Lima reminded Dela Rosa that his jokes—as funny as they were—could be misconstrued as orders by his men on the ground. And a more ominous warning: his public statements could later be used against him should the International Criminal Court investigate the “war on drugs.”

The next day at Camp Martin Delgado in Iloilo City, Dela Rosa backtracked.

“Kahapon, pasensiya na kung ano nasabi ko na hindi kanais-nais. Maraming nagre-react. I am very sorry; tao lang po ako na nagagalit lang.

Nakikita ko ang mukha ng mga taong kaawa-awa talaga. I don’t know kung mase-save pa natin sila.”

“Sa sama ng loob ko, kaharap ko ‘yung mga pobreng tao, yung mga user at pusher na mukhang

zombie. Kaya sa sama ng loob ko, galit na galit ako kaya nasa biko ‘yun,” he said.

Dela Rosa learned a hard lesson that day: With great popularity, comes great responsibility.

In a self-waged drug war, words can be used as weapons. In the succeeding trips to other police camps in the country, Dela Rosa was more careful, more mindful in his choice of words.

F

or a man who hates flying, Dela Rosa has made a home out of airports in the first few months of his year-and-a-halflong term.

Aside from his tour of police camps, he’s flown to other countries that have waged drug wars of their own, like Colombia and Thailand.

In Bogota, Dela Rosa met with Colombian police to learn more about their best practices and how he can apply them to the Philippines.

He even ended up in a jungle near the Panama border to study cocaine production and check out the weaponry.

“Napakaganda yung Colombian model na sinasabi natin dahil napaka-glaring yung similarity sa nangyayari sa atin sa Pilipinas.

Before naging ganito ang Colombia ngayon, nagiging ganito ka-successful sila. Ang experience nila pareho sa atin. Problema sa drug trafficking. Problema sa rebellion.

“So whatever they did during their time, we hope we can get something, we can learn from them at makopya natin sa Pilipinas yung applicable lang dahil nga pareho din tayo ng sitwasyon sa kanila,” Dela Rosa said.

The Colombians’ decades-long war against drugs is the stuff of Netflix legend. At its height, drug lord Pablo Escobar and the infamous Medellin Cartel smuggled tons of cocaine each week into countries all over the world from Colombia. The cartel also made sure to get rid of thousands who were in their way: policemen, members of the judiciary, and even a presidential aspirant.

Today, Colombia is relatively peaceful and safe—a far cry from the gangster’s paradise that is often depicted on film and television. Plata o plomo, Spanish for “silver or lead” and slang for “your money or your life,” is a phrase you don’t hear much anymore.

Yet for many of Colombia’s policy experts, one thing is clear: the country failed in its war on drugs.

Almost 30 years later, the drug business is still booming. Based on a July 2016 report from the United Nations Office of Drugs and Crime, coca cultivations continue to rise in the country, which is already the world’s number

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 89

THE MULTI-HYPHENATE

With Dela Rosa’s rising popularity came a slew of titles and monikers. Above are just two of the many roles he has played, such as puppet PO1 Bato speaking to journalists and as Santa Claus giving gifts at a Christmas event for children of Oplan Tokhang surrenderees and police operation casualties.

90 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

one producer of cocaine. Drug consumption rates too are rising. The old cartels may have been dismantled but in their place are smaller organizations.

Even the Colombian President Juan Manuel Santos proposed overhauling global narcotics policies to put focus on human rights and a premium on rehabilitation and treatment.

Still, Dela Rosa is convinced that Colombia won its war on drugs. And so will the Philippines, and he’s willing to debate anyone who claims otherwise.

In October, Dela Rosa visited Bangkok to celebrate the Royal Thai police’s anniversary with his ASEAN counterparts. He was welcomed with open arms by fellow generals, with the Indonesian police chief dubbing him a “celebrity.” Dela Rosa was even coaxed into

singing several ditties during a welcome dinner.

“Sabi nila very popular daw yung President Duterte ng Pilipinas, kaya among the police chiefs, ako raw ‘yung kilala na tinatawag na Bato. Puro biru-biruan,” Dela Rosa said in an interview at the Royal Police Cadet Academy in Nakhon Pathom province.

Dela Rosa also wanted to learn more about Thailand’s own drug war.

Thailand launched its fight against drugs in 2003 under then Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. In three months, 2,800 were killed.

But a 2007 investigation into the war revealed that half of those killed weren’t linked to the drug trade at all.

Currently, the Southeast Asian country is dealing with rising drug consumption rates and a soaring prison population. Policy experts in Thailand are calling it too: their drug war was a failure.

But back home, Dela Rosa insists his own war was, is, and will be successful. Proof of its success, he says, is Indonesia’s apparent plan to copy the Philippines.

“Yung commissioner ng Indonesian National Police chief, gustong matuto ng war on drugs sa Philippines. Pine-pressure daw siya ng Indonesian people na gayahin tayo kasi malaki raw problema nila.”

Dela Rosa may claim success now but there is still much to be done.

The target set by President Duterte is fast approaching. The PNP recently launched the second phase of its drug war, focusing more on bringing down high-value targets (drug lords, protectors, suppliers) and pushing for rehabilitation in a country that lacks the budget for it.

Over a thousand deaths related to illegal drugs are also waiting for closure, as families seek justice for apparent extrajudicial killings.

Dela Rosa also wants an upgrade of police gear after several fatalities from their trenches.

It’s a tough job, being the Philippines’ police chief.

D

epending on who you ask, Ronald dela Rosa is either a hero or a villain; messiah or a butcher. But for him, it’s easy: he’s just doing his job.

“I’m not a politician. I’m a police officer. I have to enforce the law. And I have been given the mission to eradicate the drug problem in the Philippines. I must accomplish the mission.”

Yet on that particular August night, in the dark and dingy videoke bar in Davao, `the war, the mission, the crusade were the last things on Dela Rosa’s mind.

That night, it was just him and Celine Dion’s version of “All By Myself.”

PHOTO BY TOTO LOZANO / PPD (TOP) AND JEFF CANOY (BOTTOM)

“I’ll admit this: I’ve killed many. But in legitimate operations, not cases of salvage. Because that’s the thing… even if you’ve committed grave sins, always ask forgiveness from God and maintain your relationship with God.”

The superpowers are taking over. At least that’s the word on the street. Arm yourself with relevant information— and while you’re at it, appropriate fashions. JESSICA YANG models the looks for when they come marching in.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY CENON NORIAL ST YLED BY SAM POTENCIANO PRODUCED BY JONT Y CRUZ

THE

AMERICANS

Fifty years of prior experience; prior use of atomic weapons on Asians; the most expensive military in the world; thousands of celebrities willing and able to do USO tours and mass ballad-singing in support of the troops.; English-speaking.

STRENGTHS OF INVADERS:

DISADVANTAGES OF INVADERS:

President Donald Trump.

Record in non-atomic land wars in Southeast Asia merely a draw—1 win, 1 loss. Future President Donald Trump, Jr. The Electoral College.

OFFICIAL JUSTIFICATION FOR INVASION: Making the world safe again for democracy.

Friendship—friends don’t let friends do drags. Or drugs?

DON’T BE FOOLED BY: Blue seal yosi; Hershey’s chocolates; SPAM kiosks; exhibition games starring Kobe Bryant and the All-World All Stars; dropbox visa renewals; the Gettysburg Address; democracy; the sanitation; the medicine; education; wine; public order; irrigation; roads; a fresh water system; and public health.

EXPLOITATION POINTS: Globalwarmed tropical weather; polluted Baguio; tiresome P. Burgos; tiresome Bruno Mars; short attention span; idiot voters in Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin; the quotations of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. slung back through the parabola of the moral arc of the universe.

WE WILL SURVIVE BECAUSE:

White AFAMs love our women (and men).

LIKELY OUTCOME: Tactical withdrawal the moment the sun sinks Florida beneath the sea, ending the era of Pax Americana.

“I am no American puppet. I am the president of a sovereign country and I am not answerable to anyone except the Filipino people… Son of a bitch, I will swear at you.”

—Rodrigo Duterte on his war on drugs and the U.S.

94 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

“I will go there on my own with a jet ski, bringing with me a flag and a pole and once I disembark, I will plant the flag on the runway and tell the Chinese authorities, ‘Kill me!’”

—Rodrigo Duterte on China and Scarborough Shoal

THE

CHINESE

Infinite supply of soldiers with a highly adaptable diet; infinite supply of advance scouts disguised as fishermen; imperviousness to world opinion; improved construction techniques; budget-friendly Disneylands; choreography, generally.

STRENGTHS OF INVADERS:

DISADVANTAGES OF INVADERS:

The historical inability to invade another country that isn’t headed by a pacifist monk; withheld passions; weakened national ties due to easy acclimatization; easily susceptible to the charms of Elvis Presley and Western rock.

OFFICIAL JUSTIFICATION FOR

Living space.

Hao flakes; Ma Ling kiosks; Piano Tiles 2; discounts in lieu of warranties; faster internet; newer trains.

EXPLOITATION POINTS: The racism of their would-be subjects; the racism of the allies of their would-be subjects; it’s more fun in the Philippines.

INVASION:

DON’T BE FOOLED BY:

WE WILL SURVIVE BECAUSE:

Our Jollibee is able to buy out their fast-food chains.

LIKELY OUTCOME: Actual invasion unnecessary: investing in local political allies a wiser and cheaper strategy.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 95

THE

RUSSIANS

Duterte is in love with Putin. Statesponsored performance-enhanced soldiers. All-weather military.

The absence of the need to smile.

Patience at inconveniences.

DISADVANTAGES OF INVADERS: The Sun (the morning sun, not the British tabloid). Less-sturdy local horses. Historical pattern of one great Tsar followed by 20 terrible ones. Patience at incompetence.

STRENGTHS OF INVADERS:

OFFICIAL JUSTIFICATION FOR INVASION:

Stalin was betrayed by Hitler: Putin will make sure history won’t repeat itself.

DON’T BE FOOLED BY: Space travel; 50-foot monuments; dancing bears; glorification of hacker culture; better embalming techniques; vodka Masses.

EXPLOITATION POINTS:

Incomprehension of mockery; irritation at having to sift through volumes of forwarded spam e-mail; the KGB always loses in the end.

WE WILL SURVIVE BECAUSE: Gin bulag is stronger than vodka.

LIKELY OUTCOME: They leave once they realize they could never wipe the smile off our faces.

“I want to be friends with [Putin]. I just want the two countries to be the best of friends. This is an economic world. If there are things we can sell them or export sa kanila, mas maganda.”

—Rodrigo Duterte on Russia and future BFF, Vladimir Putin.

96 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

“They’ve burned 20 young girls for refusing to have sex.

Anong—’pag pinaharap mo ako ng gano’n—alam mo, kaya kong kumain ng tao.

Talagang buksan ko ’yang katawan mo, bigyan mo ako suka’t asin, kakainin kita.

Sinong puwedeng magpresidente? Gawin mo ’yan.

Kaya nila ’yan, kumain ng tao? Oo. Ako, ’pag galitin mo ako, sa totoo lang, I will eat you alive. Raw.” —Rodrigo Duterte on ISIS

ISIS Movie villainy in a post-villain world; sophisticated social media army in a post-fact world; core beliefs in a post-truth world.

STRENGTHS OF INVADERS:

DISADVANTAGES OF INVADERS:

Sheer unlikeability.

OFFICIAL JUSTIFICATION FOR INVASION: We are the only Christian country in Asia.

DON’T BE FOOLED BY: Hipster beards; home-made bombs for any day use.

EXPLOITATION POINTS:

Our undiscovered yet unapologetic bigotry.

WE WILL SURVIVE BECAUSE:

Filipinos are the chosen race.

Bernardo Carpio will finally arise to defeat these invaders.

LIKELY OUTCOME:

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 97

Dear Manny, He was a people’s hero until he suited up. Erstwhile fan, JOAQUIN SISANTE, pens his heartfelt regrets

C

ongratulations on your recent win. I feel like I need to come And while we used to complain about congressmen skipping work clean: unlike your fights over the past several years, I didn’t before, you just took it to another level. In your six years in office, you were catch this one live. I just didn’t feel like spending P5001 at the congressman with the most absences. In the third and final regular the theater for this one. To tell you the truth, I’m still a bit session of the 16th Congress, you showed up at the Batasang Pambansa just miffed about spending P750 on your bout against Floyd once in 23 times the roll was called. 6 Mayweather for him to just keep hugging you. So yeah, for this fight with Along the way, you found time to continue fighting, to play and coach in Jessie Vargas, I was okay with just the ultra-delayed GMA-7 coverage. the Philippine Basketball Association, find God, and host a television show.

I felt it wasn’t worth the money. I felt you weren’t worth the money.

It’s all fun and games, of course, until we remember that Sarangani, the It’s funny, as a fighter, I’ve always loved you—which makes it perhaps province you were supposed to represent, remains among the 10 poorest inevitable that I love you less now when you’re much less of a fighter than provinces in the Philippines. It’s a place that needed all the representation it you used to be. Vargas was a tomato can, a patsy, and you couldn’t even could get, and you couldn’t even give your people that. knock him out.

That didn’t stop you from running for a Senate seat, even promising to But there’s more to this than just your diminished skills. You didn’t retire from boxing. Conveniently, you fought against Timothy Bradley in always make it easy to like you as a person,2 but you never made it hard to April, right smack in the middle of the campaign, and the exposure from love you as a fighter. You always made it worth it. You jumped into the ring the victory perhaps gave you enough cachet to win in the elections—even and you made us proud, because you were one after you embarrassed yourself, and us, when of us. your comment that same-sex couples who I still remember how, walking into the movie get married are worse than animals made It’s all fun and games, of theater to watch you fight live in 2009, I was worldwide headlines. course, until we remember wary of your opponent, Ricky Hatton, a boxer Conveniently, too, you walked back on that who looked like he came straight out of a Guy that Sarangani, the province statement soon after taking office, fighting Ritchie movie. Thousands of drunken English Vargas mere months after you promised you were supposed to fans descended upon Las Vegas that weekend to to retire. cheer on their Mancunian champion. “There’s After your fight, a minor controversy broke represent, remains among only one Ricky Hatton, one Ricky Hatton,” out over the presence of Philippine National the 10 poorest provinces they sang. “Walking along, singing a song, Police Chief Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa in Las walking in a Hatton wonderland.”

Vegas. You defended him, saying you paid for in the Philippines. It’s a his whole trip and he didn’t use government They even booed the Philippine place that needed all the funds. Never mind the fact that there was national anthem.3 more important work to be done back home.

Hatton got his comeuppance moments later, representation it could For him, and for you too, Senator. in what had to be the worst beating for the get, and you couldn’t even Now? I don’t know anymore. Just the British since the early days of World War II. A other day, you were on the news again, this minute into the opening bell, you sent Hatton give your people that. time defending the burial of the late dictator to the canvas with a lightning right hook.

Ferdinand Marcos at the Libingan ng mga The British bad boy got up, only to taste the Bayani, telling victims to move on and forgive. floor once again moments later. He was saved It would be a sanctified position, except, of course, you are also pushing for by the bell in round one, but he wasn’t long for this world. You knocked the shit out of him in the second round with a booming left, and that was the the death penalty while thumping the Bible.7 end of Hatton.4 At this point, though, should I still be surprised? These days, whenever I After, you went on a live interview on CNN, where host Anjali Rao see your name in the headlines, I always brace myself. Like, c’mon, Manny, peppered you with questions in English. You still struggled with those back what is it this time? What new piece of information would make me lose a then, remember? She left your nose more bloodied than Hatton ever could. little more faith in you?

But drunken English fans weren’t the only ones who descended upon I would wish you’d stop fighting; it would be the least you could do Las Vegas that weekend. Remember how some 50 congressmen from considering you’re a senator now. But I would wish you’d be a better senator the Philippines—including House Speaker Prospero Nograles—were too, and I don’t know how much my wishing could help. in attendance? They were there on what may or may not have been Once upon a time, you jumped into the ring and you made us proud, government dime.5 Never mind the fact that there was much work to be because you were one of us. done in Congress at the time.

That’s no longer the case. It’s become clear, more so as your skills Of course, less than a year later, you would become one of them. You diminish and you are no longer the fighter you once were, that you’ve even changed party allegiances after winning, joining Noynoy Aquino’s become one of them.

Liberal Party after campaigning for Manny Villar in the 2010 elections. It Or maybe I was wrong all this time. Maybe I just didn’t see it because would happen again when you became a Rodrigo Duterte die-hard after of the way you dazzled us in the ring. Maybe that’s what you always were: a the elections that saw you campaign for Jejomar Binay. terrible person disguised as a terrific fighter.

ARAYA DIAZ / GETTY IMAGES

Sincerely,

1 Sayang din ’yung P500, limang jumbo na Potato Corner din ‘yun.

2 People have always loved you as a boxer; as other things, not so much. In 2009, you starred in Wapakman, your entry at that year’s Metro Manila Film Festival.

The opening day box office grosses read: Ang Panday–P16.9 million; Ang Darling Kong Aswang–P16.8 million; Shake, Rattle, and Roll XI–P16.2 million; I Love

You, Goodbye–P11.7 million; Nobody, Nobody but… Juan–P8 million; Mano Po: A Mother’s Love—P6.9 million; Wapakman—P750,000. So people may love you, but apparently not enough to pay for a ticket to watch you act.

3 The fuckers.

4 Like, literally. The defeat at your hands devastated Hatton so badly that he checked into rehab to treat

his depression and drug and alcohol addictions. He came back for one more fight three years later, a loss to Vyacheslav Senchenko, which only confirmed that he was done in the ring.

5 They denied spending the people’s money for the trip, naturally. No one believed them, naturally.

6 It was so bad that on February 20, 2015, GMA News Online ran an article with

the headline: “Rare occurrence: Rep. Pacquiao attends House plenary session.”

7 Of course, you’re far from the first public figure to cite the Bible in political matters.

There were awful government officials, and awful people, too. Quoting Bible verses, a division of the Commission on Elections rejected LGBT Partylist Ang Ladlad because of “immorality” in 2009.

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THE PA S SION & R E DE M P TION OF DING GER ROUS Photographer Ding Gerrous employs an archaic technique to soften the hard realities of his imagery.

The lensman talks to DEVI DE VEYRA from his studio in Chatillon, France

“M A H I R A P I K AWI N G ANG SADNESS...

HINDI KO A L A M PA A NO L AGYA N NG R EDEMPTION,” DING GER ROUS SAID. This explained the photographer’s reluctance in recounting his life story, knowing it meant revisiting the pains of his youth. The self-portrait he sent over—a collage of four tight shots with the photographer wearing a crown of thorns made of metal—is more telling. It shows a deeply wounded man.

In creating the collage, Gerrous exploited the wet collodion process, an archaic photographic technique that he has favored since moving to France in 2005. The method gave the portraits their delicate softness, rich texture and tonality. But the image’s emotive power and integrity emanated from Gerrous himself, who as both subject and photographer, unhesitatingly conveyed and captured a personal sadness that could have easily broken and defeated men of lesser mettle.

In between one of our online chats, Gerrous posted a photo of a hand defiantly holding up the metal crown of thorns, his take on the human struggle and a response to the news that rocked the whole nation.

Blindsided by deposed President Ferdinand Marcos’ burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, the country staged protests at various sites. “You cannot imagine how I wish I was there,” he said. Gerrous’ activism started during his college years at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP) in the 80s, where he was deeply engaged in the anti-Marcos movement.

“Hindi ko matatakasan ‘yan kasi ‘yan ang nag-mulat sa akin. Hindi ko malilimutan na isa ako sa malinaw na tinutukoy na resulta ng social injustice.

Iyan ang nagbigay kahulugan sa pagkatao ko.”

Born in Manila 53 years ago, Gerrous was two, his deaf-mute brother, Deo, a year younger, when their father—a martial arts pioneer who tutored 60s action stars Tony Ferrer and Roberto Gonzales, among others—died under mysterious circumstances. Some say he succumbed to a self-inflicted gunshot wound while others believed he died during a gun battle while moonlighting as a political warlord’s bodyguard.

With their mother forced to work as a line-sewer to support her young family, the siblings were passed on from one relative or friend to another, or left on their own when they were a bit older. Innocence spared them from despair. “I was no different from the other kids I played with; same playground, same games, same fantasies, same misery,” Gerrous explained.

“Wala kaming magpa-kumparahan. We didn’t know kung unfair or unjust ba iyon, kasi pare-pareho lang kami. And like most kids out there, we really didn’t have much time para mag-mukmok or accommodate negative

emotions. Ang consciousness namin ay limitado lang ng tinatanggap ng limang senses.” But the loneliness crept in at night when he would wonder why his mother was not with him. “At dahil hindi mo alam ang sagot, iiiyak mo nalang at pipiliting matulog.”

He was just a wisp of a boy, nine years of age, when he started gathering human bones from La Loma Cemetery’s tombs to make way for another burial. “Sidekick ng sepulturero” was how Gerrous described the chore.

During the rainy season, he would catch catfish that mysteriously turned up inside flooded tombs, then sell them at the nearby market. “I wouldn’t really call it work, like a 9-to-5 job. I just needed to earn what I would eat for the day. Ang isang bowl ng champorado, bentesingko sentimos, ang isang serving ng dinuguan ay singkuwenta, sa isang puntod na lilinisin, kikita na ako ng piso . . . that’s enough for a day.”

For Gerrous as well as the other less privileged kids he hung out with, his illusory world gave way to the brutal truths toward adolescence. He demanded answers: “Bakit yung kaklase mo may baon, ikaw wala? Siya maputi lagi uniform, ikaw minana mo lang na pinagkaliitan ng pinsan, at madilaw na ang kwelyo nang matanggap mo? Bakit sila may sundo, ikaw naglalakad pauwi?”

Gerrous was kicked out of school during his sophomore year in PUP, after which he continued to live in what he calls the spirit of progressive, radical culture. “Nagsimula ako ng tunay na matuto sa laban ng buhay, na nakuha ko naman sa labas ng eskwela.” He worked odd jobs, which included gigs with a street theater group that exposed him to the production of collaterals and ultimately, photography. “I already felt that the printed image was an extremely powerful medium of expression, so I dreamed of being a photographer someday to narrate my stories and share my truths,” Gerrous explained. It was during this time that he developed basic photography skills by tinkering with borrowed cameras.

A friend from his theater group, Benjie Felipe, told Gerrous about job openings at the newly opened Manila Chronicle. It was there where the two friends worked as “copy boys” or gofers. The stint gave Gerrous decent, regular pay as well as the chance to hang out with some of the country’s best photojournalists. As copy boys, Gerrous and his friend monitored the news spouted by international wire services through a telex machine, sorted out mail and press releases, took calls from field reporters. He also

ROMANTICIZED EXPRESSION

Opposite: Writer/editor Hana Bolkonski’s portrait was taken during the live sitting sessions at a photography festival. Previous spread: Gerrous’ self-portrait titled Easter Reflections, taken during Holy Week of this year. The hand clutching a crown of thorns is titled Resurrection. Shot in 2014, it is Gerrous’ take on the human struggle.

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“Being pictorialist is to see and show things in an unabashedly escapist manner; ‘only the beauty in things and things beautiful,’ according to the artistic tendency of the era.”

FORMAL SITTING

Gerrous set up a studio in his home where he took most of the photographs commissioned for this story. Above: Artist Gaston Damag in tribal regalia. Opposite, from left: Designer Kifu Augousti photographed in her parents’ Paris apartment; Hemp Republic lead vocalist Bunny Liwanag.

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developed a special bond with the photographers who at times let him tag along during assignments, gave him pointers and materials such as leftover film that he could use.

In about a year, Gerrous was promoted to editorial assistant for the broadsheet’s lifestyle section while still doing photography on the side.

With a steady job and a young family, life wasn’t all bad. But nobody really walks away from a childhood like Gerrous’ undamaged. He and his wife, a fiery fellow activist, would separate.

“Strangely, although I had a much tougher life as a child as compared to life as an adult, I had a big crisis leading to my resignation from the Manila Chronicle. Siguro dahil na rin sa awareness na may kargada ka na ‘pag adult.

Not only are you responsible for your own survival, but also for others who depend on you. Dahil dysfunctional din naman ang experience ko sa pamilya as a child, wala akong reference ng paano ba ang mabuting ama. Awkward ako as a father. Isama mo pa iyong pagkalagalag ko na dala na rin ng pagiging photographer. Lagi akong wala sa bahay.”

He would meet his second wife, a French social worker, on her first day in the country in February 1999. They spent eight years living together around the country before deciding on moving to France just before the birth of their second son. It was the beginning of a new chapter in his personal life as well as his journey as a photographer.

“I was terribly lost when I got here, culturally shocked, if you will. I don’t speak the language, I’m lactose intolerant so cheese doesn’t mean anything to me, and it’s cold. I walked a lot around Paris trying to find anything that I could relate to photographically. Paris is like a dream city to photograph but it is precisely that notoriety that makes it more difficult, even intimidating. Wala ka nang bagong anggulong maiisip.”

Gerrous then explored various techniques, but it was the old processes that appealed to him the most, particularly the methods that involved manipulation to romanticize the images captured by the camera.

“Na-excite ako sa prospect kasi nga, I can present my work in direct contradiction sa prosesong ginagamit ko. Being pictorialist is to see and show things in an unabashedly escapist manner; ‘only the beauty in things and things beautiful,’ according to the artistic tendency of the era.”

His new works in portraiture are softer and more romantic as compared to the gritty images he captured while still in Manila. There is lightness to the mood too, perhaps reflecting the photographer’s coming to terms with his past. “Wounds I have accepted and carry not in pain.

I don’t go around flagellating myself just to relive where life has failed me. On the contrary, it’s where I draw strength,” he said. Guilt is a totally different monster that Gerrous hasn’t tamed, though. “That’s another ‘thorn’ I’m not ready to pluck out yet at the moment.”

I asked if he thinks he’s become a better father. “Dedicating five years to fatherhood almost exclusively must have earned me some points, at least in terms of the time spent with my kids. This on the other hand, also adds to the guilt that it’s something I was not able to give my other offsprings. Double-edged sword talaga.”

For now, he has settled into his life in France taking care of his sons while his wife, Elodie Caton, is kept busy running what Gerrous describes as a “semi-NGO” that provides service to the elderly and handicapped.

He has learned the language too, proudly admitting that he “is fluent enough in French to order kebab.”

Gerrous takes portraits and shoots still lifes when he gets homesick. “It has never left,” when told that he left part of his heart in Manila, “kaya nga masakit . . . ang layo ng puso sa katawan,” he continued.

He plans on coming home to finally resolve the gnawing guilt that’s burdened him all these years. Gerrous also wants to photograph the minors he has worked with (back when he was a street educator for NGOs and charities such as the National Red Cross, Virlanie Foundation, etc.) as well as the new generation of street children, “to come up with both parallel and contrasting experiences.” A pedicab will be used as his mobile laboratory where he can process the wet plates in situ.

“I have a bunch of images na gusto kong ilayo sa traditional na paglalahad at paglalatag na dark, gloomy, and depressing black and whites on paper. Lalo na kung ang tumitingin ay wala namang kinalaman sa tinitingnan niyang realidad. Sa madaling salita, gusto kong i-present ang bitbit kong realidad na pwedeng isabit sa dingding at hindi ka mapapangiwi sa guilt.”

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Chef Victor Magsaysay has known Gerrous for years and describes him as a visualist.

Paris-based hat designer Mich Dulce sat for Ding in his studio earlier this year.

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Thailand-based photographer Nico Sepe is one of Gerrous’ closest friends.

Roman, 11, is Gerrous’ second son from his marriage to Elodie Caton.

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the things they carried Returning to Mindanao, the land of her youth, CRISELDA YABES tells the stories of two young women who survived less-publicized but nonetheless vicious gun battles in Tipo-Tipo and Al-Barka during the Erap and PNoy years. Since confined to an interior triage of trauma and survivor’s guilt, they reveal—through their own personal writings—that the toughest battles are sometimes fought outside the combat zone

The song, when she hears the strains of it, catching her unaware at any time, taps on her nightmare. It sings to her again, I’m forever yours . . . faith-fully. That song that she had to plug into the ears of a dying soldier, a song he could have been humming, casually, in his lonely outpost on duty.

Tiffany Tagudin had to keep him alive. Blood was all over her from his gunshot wounds. While the song played like a lullaby, she had to stab the soldier’s throat with the tip of a ballpoint pen slightly melted with the fire of a cigarette lighter. She plunged it like a dagger into his throat to keep him from choking in his own blood.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She was following orders from an American doctor. They were in a jungle.

There was an ambush. She survived. Three years later, she could still hear that song, crooning, faith-fully…

May 6, 2013. The longest day of my life, my destination not just any other confl nflict area.

Flew down to Mindanao, to an island south of Zamboanga City, famous for kidnappings, beheadings, crossfire. An island called Basilan. It was Monday. My itinerary was packed. Three soldiers greeted us when we—me and a colleague— got off off the plane. From there we went to the port for a slow, two-hour ferry ride to Isabela City, Basilan’s capital. The waves were not cooperating but I tried to get some sleep.

It seemed the soldiers were taking so long. I felt a problem brewing but I just shrugged it off o Then we were escorted to our vehicle, taking us to ourr first stop, Barangay Ungkaya Pukan, where the 18th Infantry Battalion was led by Army Commander, Lt. Col. Cristobal Juan Paolo Perez. His friends called him Tiny and I never asked him why. He used to work for the same offi o ce as I did and he was my main contact for this trip. He welcomed us warmly and ooff ffered us cooffee. We were going to AlBarka. It was our idea to pick this town for a peace campaign, to talk to the community and feed the children, and possibly build a schoolroom. We’d been discussing this for months and we were both excited.

After coff offee, Lt. Col. Tiny introduced me to a man who would be an importantt figure in my story, Major Alin Kannung, a former commander of the Moro National Liberation Front who had integrated into the Army and was now working with Lt. Col. Tiny. His guerrilla name was Commander Blossom.

He was a tall, slender man in his forties. Lt. Col. Tiny described him as a man of principle. He said they used to be enemies burning each other’s houses and now they were very good friends fifighting side-by-side in Basilan. I thought it was an impressive story. Lt. Col. Tiny informed us that Major Kannung would be joining our convoy to Al-Barka. I was quick to ask about the security of the place and they assured me that since the 2007 beheadings, it was safe and the community was nothing but cooperative.

It was a good start, I thought, although the ride was pretty long. We had to cross a river to get to 112 DE C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

This is it. We might die today. We were trapped.

There were more rebels coming from behind.

I heard Lt. Col. Tiny screaming, “Protect them!”—meaning us—“protect them from the Abu Sayyaf!”

SURVIVING BASILAN

Tagudin ((top photo, left), while at work on former President Benigno Aquino III’s project for the peace process, was caught in a crossfire between the military and the Abu Sayyaf Group in 2013. At that time, she had just met Lt. Col. Tiny Perez, (below) w who would figure in the same encounter. “He was the reason I was there and why I remain alive to this day,” Tagudin wrote.

that part of the island, and then we had to take a motorcycle to get to that part of town. It was a little bit exhausting but the scenery was stunning.

We went straight to work as soon as we got there.

We had lunch at the house of the barangay captain.

We had rice and fresh seafood. I had plenty of time before our 7pm fl flight out of Zamboanga. Upon heading back to the port, Lt. Col. Tiny asked me if I’d be willing to take a detour. He wanted to show me a USAID project they were doing, a joint military and rebel project. That’s a good story, I thought.

Bohe Piyang in Al-Barka was not a familiar site and it seemed quite out of the way. I fell into a nap and woke up to laughter in the car. They were laughing at the army tank in front of us unable to get through a puddle of mud. Major Kannung was seated beside me. He asked me to hold onto his bag as he left the car to check on the problem ahead. I was about to nap again when my colleague asked to borrow my perfume. What for? There were American soldiers around the vicinity. I remembered laughing at the silliness of it. I got out of the car and Lt. Col. Tiny introduced me to the American soldiers who were there to supervise the activity. Then, in just a few seconds, we heard gunfi nfire. I saw someone drop, and then another. I heard someone shouting “Dapa! Dapa!” and I was shoved to the ground.

I felt a staggering pain at the back of my neck. We crawled our way back to the car.

In the car, I heard Lt. Col. Tiny’s voice on the radio, yelling at our driver to keep us alive no matter what. The driver’s name was Alfred. Did he have a gun with him? Alfred said over the radio, “I have a .45 with two bullets left.” My colleague and I both looked at each other in fear: This is it. We might die today. We were trapped. There were more rebels coming from behind. Again I heard Lt. Col. Tiny on the radio screaming, “Protect them”—meaning us—“protect them from the Abu Sayyaf!”

I’ve been around armed men before. I have worked with the military and have spoken to rebel groups, but this one, this one was different. Alfred gave us a determined look, telling us that if we were to get out of here we would have to hide in the mayor’s house. My colleague started panicking. I needed to stay calm. It took us about an hour to find the mayor’s house. We could hear the gunshots coming closer. All I could do was hold on to my colleague, and we were going to be okay. We’ll bee fine. If it’s time, it’s time. Taas-noo.

There was no signal on my cell phone and the battery was going low. A truck suddenly came to park near us. There was silence. I could hear Alfred and the mayor talking about someone. I got curious so I went toward them too find out what was happening. Inside the military truck was the lifeless body of Major Kannung. Just a few hours ago he was with us. Then he was dead. I still had his bag.

I held it tightly, feeling my stomach turn upside down. Alfred turned me away, instructing me to wait at the back. I remember the sight of another dead soldier being carried in. How many had we lost that day?

After an hour or so, the mayor came to tell us that we couldn’t stay there any longer. It was getting dangerous and the gun fifighting was drawing near.

Alfred said it was time to go. We were going to a safe house where we could get help. I said, “Okay,

PEREZ PHOTOGRAPH FROM ZAMBOANGA FREEDOM WALL ON FACEBOOK / PREVIOUS SPREAD: DAVID GREEDY/ GETTY IMAGES

ff ffany will tell you what appened in Basilan when the bu Sayyaf Group (ASG) pened fire on an army onvoy. She was there on a ect for the president’s office on Lieutenant Colonel Tiny had is men on a detour to another have known better the risks; g call. Here on this island, h its history. It can sneak up on recent years, there was TipoMarines killed, 11 of them ka in 2011, 19 Special Forces leaving Al-Barka when the rebels attacked. Nine out of 50 in the convoy survived, she among them, but it was not talked about unlike the others that made front-page headlines. This one, the nightmare that preys on Tiffany, ff was a news blackout. It happened in May 2013 and for every year that passed since then she would consider it her birthday: for making it alive.

WAR IS OVER

JONAS GRATZER/GETTY IMAGES

The helicopter of then president Noynoy Aquino takes off after the government signed the peace agreement with the MILF in 2013. The Bangsamoro region, then just newly created, was at that time about to be drawn in the Philippine map.

but we are not leaving Lt. Col. Tiny.” I lost Major Kannung that day, and I didn’t even know him.

I didn’t want more men dying. Alfred told me we couldn’t stay. Lt. Col. Tiny had to stay and fight.

I had no choice then. We left the mayor’s house for safety elsewhere. And then we were at a safe house standing by a cliff. I could see the beautiful sea and feel the cold wind from the east. It felt like it was embracing us away from our fears. I did not cry until then.

Having the luck of getting a feeble signal on my phone, I called the office in Manila. “Hey Tiff, how’s Basilan?”

In our line of work, going to the most dangerous places is one of the most fulfilling parts of the job.

I was in Basilan and I was given the opportunity to make a difference in development work. It was supposed to be a privilege to be down south.

“Hey, Tiff. Are you okay? How’s Basilan?” my colleague at the other end of the line repeated.

I felt my body shaking. I felt exhaustion and pain. I asked her if she could move our flight, because well, it didn’t look like we might be able to make it.

What happened, she asked. I couldn’t answer. She said my voice sounded funny. So I told her. “We got ambushed,” I said, and my phone went dead.

Wounded soldiers were being rushed into a tent. There were two American soldiers helping them out. The other American soldiers we had seen earlier had left the scene of the fighting, they had

to withdraw, they had to stay out of our internal fighting. The Americans in the tent were doctors, one of them patching up our soldiers who were shot, and the other was holding an MP3 player that was crooning “Faithfully.” I know this song, I know the band that sings it: Journey. But at first I couldn’t understand what was happening. It was like a scene from a movie, doing whatever they could to save a soldier’s life.

It isn’t just the song that reminds her of that time. It seems as if her entire senses could assault her too. There was the strange fragrance of certain food that made her nauseated, dishes with traces of meat blood. Coppery, she said to me. Or the stench of public markets when the memory of it gets really bad. Sometimes she’d also smell it in the coins when she opens her wallet. It gets worse on New Year’s Eve, the burst of fireworks shaking her being, the rat-tattat of machine guns of men wearing fatigues, both sides of the fighting; but she could tell them apart and one of the soldiers had shielded her, the gun battle coming too close. She dreads the celebration of a new year, she locks herself up in a room to quiet down the noise of Basilan.

She remembers leaving the island on board a rescue chopper, watching the sun descending on the water, the ethereal panorama from a hill where she had been in a makeshift hut trying

to keep the wounded soldiers tuned in to, I am yours, faithfully, before their last breath.

The American doctors asked me to help. I knelt beside the dying soldier, pushing my hands on his wound. It was to put pressure so that blood would not flow out as fast. I’d never done such a thing in my life. I knew a thing or two about first aid but I never thought it would come to this in real life. I had no idea what I was doing.

At that moment, while I was putting pressure on the soldier’s wound, I realized the purpose of the song. Dying was not like dying in the movies. It’s not quiet and it’s not peaceful. It’s chaotic. Blood was coming out from their mouth and the soldier was trying to gasp for air. There was a lot of panic and fear. I could see their eyes rolling, their hands trying to feel or touch the ground. My job was to talk to them and tell them it’s going be okay, that they’re heroes for our country, and that they’re going to go home to their families. That was when I realized, the song was not there just because they needed music: the song was there so that they could calm down. So that when they die, they can die peacefully.

I saw one soldier after another, leaving this world to the last song in their ears. One of them even asked me, in his last breath, if I was okay.

I can’t describe how I felt then, of a dying man thoughtful about me. Trust me when I say that everything I hold dear in this world, every dream, D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 113

back again. It took away something that cannot be replaced. We were trained to go to places like this, but we were never trained how to go back.

We landed at the base of the Western Mindanao Headquarters. We had to stay in the hospital and spend the night in the camp. That was the safest place for us. We could not sleep that night, me and my colleague. We just stared at each other in silence until fatigue got the better of us. We didn’t know what else to do. We just stayed there until it was time to go, to fly back to Manila.

TRAINING DAYS

A tricycle passes a US military convoy in Isabela City in Basilan. Around a thousand US soldiers were in the Southern Philippines in April 2002 for a training exercise with the Armed Forces of the Philippines, especially designed to eliminate the Abu Sayyaf. Opposite: Amina in front of the Bangsamoro Development Agency where she was community organizer.

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every aspiration, was meaningless. Everything that I thought important was reduced to nothing. Only life and life alone was important at the end of the day. Being alive was what mattered. Living was what made life matter.

There was a lot of chaos and a lot of fear that day, but there were also signs of hope. I found it in Alfred, who stayed with me no matter what happened, who lifted me from danger and onto safe ground. Rescue had come and we were airlifted back to Zamboanga. It was my first time on a helicopter. The wounded were put at the back, my colleague and I sat near the pilot. I asked Alfred to be with us. He said he couldn’t.

I pleaded. He said he had to stay and fight along with the others. His job of having kept us safe was done. We were safe and that was all that mattered.

As the chopper flew up, I had my last look of Basilan. It was such a beautiful sight, the pristine waters, and the vast green forest. It’s hard to think that in that beauty was also violence. I left something of me on that island, and I will never be able to get that part of me

It’s been more than three years since that day.

Everything seems so different to me now. The things I used to enjoy don’t seem that interesting anymore.

My morning coffee doesn’t taste the same, my favorite books become boring.

I stopped laughing at jokes. Nothing felt the same. Nothing was making me happy. It was hard to find meaning in anything that I did. I had to find meaning as to why I survived. I wanted to forgive myself for surviving.

After the struggle for help, I found myself finally opening up to people around me. I decided to travel and meet different people. I told my story to strangers and felt liberated. I decided to learn how to cook, to do the plumbing, to learn how to light a fire like a girl scout. I went to support groups and met people who went through similar circumstances. Little by little, I was finding the courage to live again.

On June 20, 2016, which was Father’s Day, Lt. Col. Tiny was gunned down outside his home in Zamboanga City. He was shot several times. A friend texted me the devastating news. I didn’t know how to react. He was, by all means, one of the most important men in my life. He was the reason why I was there and why I also remain alive to this day.

And I wasn’t even able to thank him for that. I went to his wake a few days later, my hands trembling and my eyes filled with tears. Saying my farewell, I remembered every single moment of that day in

DAVID GREEDY /GETTY IMAGES

When she made it back home in Manila, she cut her hair short, a boyish short. She went on AWOL, fleeing to Boracay, wandering about anonymously, her kind of place.

She smokes a cigarette, Marlboro menthol, unburdening her story of what happened. I light one too. I listen to her tell me her story from the beginning, from the time she woke up on that fateful Monday morning to get on a flight to Zamboanga. She narrates the day as calmly as she blows her cigarette smoke into the humid air, and when she takes a break, I let her deal with her thoughts quietly. Once she trembles, her eyes refusing to divulge the pain of her memory, holding back as I try to comfort her.

In the summer heat, she twists her hair, longer now, flowing down to her breasts, up to a chignon. She had her hair just like that when I first met her at a Christmas party, and later she said, yes, she would let me know when she was ready to talk about it.

When she ends her story in silence, we sit over tea on the balcony of her high-rise condominium where the evening air is cooler, and in brief moments watch the cadence of a scene below, of passengers getting on buses heading for the provinces for the holiday.

Basilan with such clarity. He was a hero too to his country and a savior too to many people he had worked with. There at his wake, I found peace and for thee first time reclaimed myself from the pain that Basilan brought to me. I looked at his wooden casket and expressed, finally, my gratitude: a silent thank you.

This is my second life. In Basilan and elsewhere in Sulu and Mindanao people die every day.

Families are displaced, women are raped, tourists are taken hostage, Muslim children are forced to take up arms, and our soldiers die for our country. Have I moved on? Probably not yet. But I am ready to tell my story. I am ready to face the world and go back to the work that I was so passionate about. A part of me was left on that island, and I know I will never b the be he same s again. I have accepted that. Lt. Col. Tiny’s death de reminded me that I will have to do my best in my m inconsequential life. I’m still trying.

COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR

n Basilan, a mere half hour ride on a fast craft from Zamboanga City, there was an ambush yet again in early April this year. Eighteen Army soldiers killed in Tipo-Tipo, honored as “The Fallen”—the term carried over from the 44 police commandos killed in a bungled police operation in Maguindanao province that tu urned into a national tragedy in January 2015. O One of the fallen from the recent Basilan clash aagainst the ASG was a Muslim soldier, a sergean nt whose name Amina Aban recognized.

She was getting ready to ride on a shuttle van on her way tto Cotabato City for a workshop when that name—Sergeant Usman—and his mug shot popped up on the Facebook feed on her cell phone. She scrolled the screen of her phone again to see if she had gotten it right. She turned numb.

I was stunned and caught myself in tears. I saw a photograph with the face of the man who killed my father. He was among the men in the Basilan encounter. He was one of the 18 Fallen Soldiers that got into an encounter with the ASG. Sixteen years after my father died in that encounter between the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and the military (44th Infantry Batallion), justice wass finally served last April 9, 2016. But was it really justice?

I thought about the ones Sgt. Akmad Usman left behind. His wife and children, and the rest of his family. They are grieving now like we grieved then. I know what it’s like to lose a father. I know what it’s like to lose a husband, because I saw how d fficult it is my mother cried. Until now I see how di for her, working to support all of us. I am more than familiar with the taste of salt because that is what we used to have with rice, when it was all that my mother could aff afford to provide us. She became the family’s breadwinner. We may not have the same standard of living with the ones Sir Usman left behind but I am sure in my heart their loss is as great as ours.

Because of these recollections rushing back to me, I didn’t notice that it was already four o’clock in the afternoon. I had to rush. I slid the phone back into

I thought about the ones Sgt. Akmad Usman left behind.

I know what it’s like to lose a father.

I know what it’s like to lose a husband, because I saw how my mother cried. my bag and almost fell trying to catch a motorcycle.

“Kuya, saa IBT po,” I told the driver. I didn’t even ask how much the fare was going there. It didn’t even occur to me if I could make it to the last trip.

Then I realized it was hopeless. I’ll never make it to Cotabato. I’ll just wait for the 1 am trip. With my backpack, cell phone bag, and shoulders that have given up, I rode a tricycle back to the boarding house.

I went straight to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. A small consolation and stress reliever.

I sat beside the small table, legs stretched, my back resting on the wall.

The years had gone by, there had been a war.

The Muslim soldier who died in Basilan was the same Muslim soldier who killed her father, Kumander Aguila of the MILF. She counted the years it took the wheel of justice to turn. Sixteen.

It was in the All-Out War of 2000 when the Muslim sergeant killed her Muslim father in one of the many battles raging around the provinces

of Maguindanao and Lanao. Her father had been the rebel leader in the hinterland of Zamboanga del Norte, the tip of the peninsula connecting to the mainland of Mindanao.

My thoughts return to the sound of the cannon, the explosions that fought with the sound of bad weather: thunder, lightning, wind, and the intermittent rain. It was the day I lost my father.

The year 2000 was a year I will never forget. The year of the all-out war that left a stain in my being, changed the course of my life, created a new cycle for my future. That was the year I was sent to the Arabic Orphanage, which would raise me away from my siblings and my mother, with the hope that I would continue the good deeds my father had started. It was there that I grew up and became a young lady. It was where I studied Arabic until I was able to read the entire Quran. It was at the orphanage where I learned to humble myself even to reason, that anything could be resolved with diplomacy and understanding.

There I experienced being an outcast, not having people on my side. Hence, I had to contend with the consequences of other people’s choices and decisions.

I became quiet and always sat in a corner. If my opinion was not sought I kept silent, focused only on my studies: Arabic in the morning, English in the afternoon, and in the evening memorizing the Quran for a test the next day. I would spend sleepless nights just memorizing. It was the only way I could continue to study English.

My English studies stopped when I entered the orphanage where we were barred from leaving the campus. That’s why when the orphanage’s president visited once, I gathered all my courage to talk to him, even if I knew it wasn’t done. I cried in front of him, pleaded to be allowed to continue my English studies if only until I graduate from senior year. I could study it in college, yes, but he didn’t need to know that. I pleaded until we came to an D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 115

COMMAND RESPONSIBILITY

In September 2000, then president Estrada (here with then General Angelo Reyes) arrived at the Edwin Andrews Airbase near Zamboanga to attend a command conference for a briefing on the military operation in Jolo against the Abu Sayyaf.

Amina sat in my writing class at the threestorey office of the BDA in the outskirts, overlooking scattered fields and hills afar.

Because the Facebook feed was so fresh in her mind, she unleashed her story with the courage of someone in group therapy. She spoke as if it

116 D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017

This old man who used to be a comrade of my father told me of my father’s trips to and from camp, carrying his backpack loaded with sardines, clothes, salt and writing materials.

He also carried 25 kilos of rice and RPG and his weapon.

were yesterday, her words unspooling the thread of her personal loss, dabbing her eyes from time to time but never succumbing to drama.

Her emotions simply took her back to Camp Salman, the isolated village where her father had taken up his insurrection. She was barely in her teens when he died. She had only seen him three times in the course of his underground life.

She wanted to be a teacher. But she wound up being a community organizer for peace, turning her father’s village into one of cohabitation between Muslims and Christians. Revenge did not suit her.

In the three years I was a community organizer in Sirawai, through the help of the BDA and its allies, its longtime problems were given solutions.

Like the water system project of Barangay San Vicente, the People’s Organization composed of Muslims and Christians whose source was my father’s old camp when he was still alive.

During the thick of the project’s implementation, I heard a lot of negative feedback, one of them being that I disgraced the memory of my father. Why would I get the water from that source? What if there’s an encounter? Where would his old comrades hide and take refuge? It was like leading the enemy to their whereabouts. I felt guilty. But I knew I had to continue doing what I thought was right.

We went to the water source. Crossed four rivers and climbed three tall mountains. In each climb, I couldn’t count the times when I would stop to rest my tired body on the ground. We were soaking in sweat, our shoes caked with mud. Until finally

LUIS LIWANANG/GETTY IMAGES

agreement: I could study English but only if I didn’t leave my Arabic studies. I was first year high school when I entered the orphanage, but the principal said I could go straight to fourth year.

I finished my Arabic and English studies in 2011. As a graduate, I disciplined myself using the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. I could practice teaching but chose not to. Instead, I applied at the Bangsamoro Development Agency (BDA) as a community organizer and was first assigned to my hometown, Sirawai, in the province of Zamboanga del Norte, in a far and hidden area modern technology has yet to reach. The roads were rugged, and you could see naked plots of land where trees once stood. There, you could still see groups of people who manifest anger on their faces at the sight of a soldier. Where you could see the divide between Muslims and Christians. The Muslims are located on the left, and the Christians on the right.

Returning to my hometown as a community organizer, I was able to conquer many challenges, which I used to strengthen myself at my young age.

I thought it would be easy, especially since I was familiar with the place. But it wasn’t easy at all.

Each day was like a challenge I was to prepare myself for. In the early days, I cried many times and thought of giving up. I plodded on.

ALWAYS ON GUARD

JES AZNAR/GETTY IMAGES

MILF armed forces take a position on the lookout for Bangsamoro Freedom Fighters in North Cotabato, April 2016, in Mindanao.

we reached the water source, right at the peak of a mountain where one could see the vastness of Sirawai, its seas surrounded by green mountains.

On the way down from the peak, our companion, this old man who used to be a comrade of my father, told me of my father’s daily trips to and from camp, carrying his backpack loaded with cans of sardines, clothes, salt, and his writing materials.

He only made it to third grade but my father loved to write and loved reading. He would also carry with him 25 kilos of rice and RPG (RocketPropelled Grenade) and his weapon. Compared to me who didn’t have to carry anything but was short of breath anyway. Nangliit ako sa sarili ko.

This pushed me to do my job really well. Not as a community organizer but as a daughter imagining the trails my father went through. Coupled with determination and love for what I do, and the support and reconciliation of Muslims and Christians, I managed to help solve what was once a problem of the municipality that had spanned decades: enabling a water source to supply 34 barangays. What was once a camp of the MILF is now a source of development.

In Barangay Balubuan you can see the traces of a cruel past. The flat lands that grow no plant life, the chopped trunks of trees like human legs missing the rest of a body. They were chopped that way by soldiers following the leads of their crooked officials, only because these are lands owned by an MILF combatant. Land left to parch for years. Instead of serving as land for coconut trees, its only use now is a parking lot for carabaos.

The BDA helps not only in giving projects but

also in reinstalling the community’s determination, and widening the constituency’s understanding.

This is what happened to the parched land in Barangay Balubuan: it is now an area of development. A People’s Organization was born.

They were able to build the Solar Dryer and Warehouse in the abandoned lot, and the lot is now farmable again. Today, the organization has a steady source of income and livelihood through the agency and its farm machineries.

On Facebook, she typed a hasty comment below the picture of the Muslim sergeant who had killed her father: “Akmad Usman is a Muslim killed by a Muslim.” She deleted it after comments rushed in, not wanting to attract attention to her own family, their own quiet grief. Is this justice? she asked in her essay. Of a Muslim soldier who killed a Muslim rebel—her father—himself killed by a Muslim rebel of the ASG in Basilan, in this unending saga of the Muslims in the south.

To use the pain of the past is not to exact revenge but to right a wrong.

It is sacrifice and principles that strengthen us.

We may pursue things in different ways but we are all working towards the same goal: to give justice to those who need it, and to fight for those who can’t.

We can achieve anything through patience and selfcontrol. This is my story based on the trail of footsteps my father left behind.

After the writing class I saw on my online

feed that Amina had gone to get a massage at the Cotabato hotel where she was staying. Checked in at EM Manor, Cho’t Choi Thai Massage.

Amused, I wrote on the comment line that I could have joined her. Oo nga, ma’am, sayang po, she quipped in her reply. In my private moment with her earlier, I asked her to remove her tendung veil, watching her fingers comb her long hair. She was prettier without the veil, I thought, but I couldn’t tell her that. Charot! she would have exclaimed and giggled in that very girlish way of hers after she had unburdened the story of her family. But she had been weeping silently over the fate of her father, suddenly recalling the man that he was, unlettered but principled; and the years that followed, the many years of fighting for Mindanao.

Amina taught me the Arabic word sabr, which in the Quran speaks of patience and endurance, moving forward under the will of Allah. I have seen much of this war since I was a girl growing up in Zamboanga City in the 70s—Basilan nearby, a place I had gone to for picnics with my family and later again to army camps talking to soldiers about the conflict, revisiting the white sand beaches, seeing the clear water in my mind when Tiffany was trying to describe to me the haunting beauty of it in the vortex of violence, the last paradise she had seen before her future upended.

The Mindanao war as they call it has been summoning my conscience through the decades, asking the question resounding of triteness over time: when will this be over? The answer may be in the eloquence of sabr, through which I have found the voices of these two young women.

D E C E M B E R 2016 – JA NUA RY 2017 117

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THE ROGUE ARENA Promotions and relevant items, direct from our partners

TRACK RECORD The Porsche 718 Boxster and Cayman take victory from the racetracks to the road

The Porsche 718 Boxster

Porsche Asia Pacific managing director Martin Limpert

Porsch Philippines president Roberto Coyiuto III

If there’s one thing Porsche doesn’t let you forget, it’s its racing roots. 718 is the name of a pretty little race car with a four-cylinder engine that snatched victories in speedways all over Europe.

It is this legacy that the 718 Boxster roadster and 718 Cayman coupe inherit.

Though the sporty two-seaters take after the Porsche 911 in looks (note their contoured silhouettes and iconic Porsche wings, which extend at high speeds to reduce lift), the Boxster and Cayman pay homage to their predecessor with the efficiency of all the four cylinders in their 300hp 2.0L turbocharged Boxer engine.

Capable of reaching up to 275 kph and accelerating from 0 to 100 kph in 4.7 seconds, the new 718s can reach torques as high as 380 Nm—all while using only 6.9 liters of fuel for every 100 kilometers.

With the retuned chassis and a six-speed manual transmission, the Boxster and Cayman afford the adventurous driver more agility, stability, and driving fun—all in the comfort of a redesigned interior complete with comfortable seats and a new dashboard paired with the Porsche Communication Management. This control center consists of a standard seven-inch multi-touch screen, mobile phone preparation, Apple CarPlay, and Sound Package Plus.

“What makes a Porsche stand out,” says Joachim Meyer, 718 chassis product line manager, “is that the driver, the vehicle, and the road are one in a certain kind of harmony. It does exactly what I, as the driver, tell it to do.”

Be it through the speedways of Sicily or the roads of Manila, Porsche (201 EDSA, Mandaluyong; 727-0381 to 85; sales@porsche. com.ph; porsche.com) guarantees this: power and control like no other. —PATRICIA CHONG

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SCREEN TIME Devant uses its giant TVs to bring people together

Devant's curved HD TV wonder, the AVC 400.

There’s no denying the appeal of having the world at your fingertips. With a smart phone, you don’t need to leave the house to see someone living halfway across the world, or spend days getting answers to burning questions that keep you up at night.

But as technology connects, it also divides.

Couples seem more interested in the trending topics on social media rather than on what their partner has to say. Children spend hours immersed in the games on their tablets instead of playing outdoors with their friends. And family members are more inclined to chatting virtually instead of having meaningful conversations together.

In an effort to unite people through technology, Devant recently launched “7:30 pm TV Get Together,” a campaign designed to help family and friends get closer through the simple

habit of watching television.

Imagine cheering for your favorite basketball teams together, binging on entire seasons of the latest hit TV series, or vegging out on a movie marathon featuring flicks chosen by each member of the family. Such bonding experiences are made more memorable with Devant’s big-screen, highdefinition TVs, all boasting crystal-clear images, crisp colors, and surround sound to make each viewing moment all the more enticing.

In the era of earphones and personal devices, Devant (Manggahan Industrial Park, Amanag Rodriguez, Manggahan, Pasig; 835-6701; devanttv. com) wants you to share one big screen—and a memorable experience—with those you love.

Connecting with family and friends begins with making the commitment; what better time to start than at 7:30 pm? —PATRICIA CHONG

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KEG PARTY Schnitzel, sauerkraut, and beer overflowed at this year’s Oktoberfest by Sofitel and the German Club Manila

Traditionally observed from the third weekend of September to the first Sunday of October, Oktoberfest was first held on October 12, 1810, the day Crown Prince Ludwig exchanged I dos with Princess Therese of Saxony-Hildburghausen.

Munich’s revelers converged on the fields fronting the city gate to celebrate the happy occasion that was capped with a horserace attended by Germany’s Royal Family. The festival drew more and more people as the years passed, and since then, Oktoberfest has spread beyond Germany and Europe to become one of the world’s most beloved events.

With 500 kg of German sausages, 1,000 kg of pork knuckles, 200 kg of sauerkraut, and 7,450 liters of beer, the German Club Manila’s 78th celebration of Oktoberfest in the Philippines drew Germans and Filipinos alike to the expansive Harbor Garden Tent of the Sofitel Philippine Plaza Manila (Cultural Center of the Philippines Complex, Roxas Boulevard, Barangay 76, Pasay; 551-5555; Sofitel.com).

German Club Manila President Bernd Schneider, Sofitel Philippine Plaza Manila General Manager Adam Laker, German Ambassador Designate Dr. Gordon Kricke, German Embassy Charge d’Affaires Michael Hasper, and San Miguel Corporation’s VP-National Sales Manager Debbie Namalata tapped the first keg open to kick off the celebration.

Over the two-day event, more than 4,000 guests enjoyed traditional Oktoberfest fare by Sofitel’s seasoned artisans. Goulash, schnitzel, various wursts, Apple Strudel, Black Forest cake, and obatzda, a Bavarian cheese delicacy, were washed down with endless glasses of cold beer.

Men sporting traditional lederhosen and women donning colorful dirndl danced to the lively renditions of Oktoberfest anthems and polka music performed by the Bavarian Sound Express. Back by popular demand, the German party band marked its 13th visit to the country this year.

Crossing oceans and cultures, Oktoberfest in the Philippines never fails to bring merrymakers together for days of good food, lively music, spirited dancing, and, of course, beer. —PATRICIA CHONG

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WE'LL DRINK TO THAT Medal winners all, San Miguel Lifestyle Brews are the perfect drinks to elevate your dining experience

The simplicity of an ice-cold San Miguel Beer has resonated with lager lovers from all walks of life for generations, gracing the tables of friends on nights out and folks cooling down after hours under the hot sun. San Miguel Lifestyle Brews, however, have been making waves beyond our shores; these artfully crafted beers recently took home medals at the prestigious 2016 Monde Selection, hailed by some as the Michelin star of consumer products. Consider these beer variants more than just happy-hour drinks; paired with the right food, they instantly elevate the dining experience.

Perhaps the most versatile and well-loved is the San Miguel Premium All-Malt, which won gold for its full-bodied malty flavor and hoppy notes. Its balance of bitter and sweet enhances the gentle flavors of seafood and white meat (try it with sea bass spiced with

lemon or scallops sautéed in butter and white wine), while the citrusy and fruity notes of the beer’s choice blended hops and Pilsen malt brighten and lift the taste of fresh vegetables in salads and mains.

Also winning gold was the dark lager beer Cerveza Negra, a special brew made with select roasted malts and hops and boasting a roasted caramel flavor. Have it with rich desserts of chocolate, fruit, and crème anglaise.

Meanwhile, the powerful San Miguel Super Dry took home silver for its distinct bitterness, which cuts through the strong flavors of red meat dishes, rounding them off with a crisp, dry taste and an elegant finish to be expected from its aromatic hops and malt.

Medal winners and ideal food partners? Now that’s reason to celebrate. —PATRICIA CHONG

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SHOP LIST Where to buy the products featured in this issue

SEAT OF POWER, PAGE 34 Diesel for Moroso Casa Bella Home and Living, G/F MDI Corporate Center, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 819-1887.

Giorgetti Furnitalia, 30th St., cor. Rizal Drive, Crescent Park, West Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 819-1887; info@furnitalia. com.ph.

Ligne Roset G/F MOs Design, B2 Bonifacio High Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 856-2748.

Minotti G/F Units 106 and 107 Fort Victoria, 5th Avenue cor.

23rd St., Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 830-2230 or 506- 5068; minotti.com.

BoConcept G/F MOs Design, B2 Bonifacio High Street, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 856-2748; boconcept.com.

Casinna Furnitalia, 30th St., cor. Rizal Drive, Crescent Park, West Bonifacio Global City, Taguig; 819-1887; info@furnitalia. com.ph.

IT ALL STARTED WITH LEATHER, PAGE 52 Aphro Living Art and Design The Alley at Karravin Plaza, Pasong Tamo Extension, Makati; 0918-899-2698.

Lanai The Alley at Karravin Plaza, Pasong Tamo Extension, Makati; 802-5427.

SKINNED DEEP, PAGE 53 DKNY Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 898-2405.

Diesel Greenbelt 3, Ayala Center, Makati; 757-4573.

Kenneth Cole Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 757-4581.

Linda Farrow Linda Farrow Gallery, The Shops at the Boulevard, Upper Ground, City of Dreams, Manila, Paranaque.

Piquadro SM Aura Premier, McKinley Pkwy, Taguig; 8082759.

Givenchy Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center, Makati; 890-8424.

Coach Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center, Makati; 757-6295.

Saint Laurent Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center, Makati; 757-6294.

BRING BACK THE SWAGGER, PAGE 54 PAGE 54 Superdry Central Square, Bonifacio High Street, Taguig; 625-4463.

Ayala Center, Makati; 729-0949.

Hugo Boss Boss The Scent Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

Visconti Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

Ray-Ban Eye Society, G/F Avant Building, Jupiter Street, Makati; 553-7660.

Kenneth Cole Bonifacio High Street, Taguig; 856-5858.

Babette Wasserman Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

Gucci Guilty EDT Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

L'Occitane Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

Eden Park Estancia Mall, Capitol Commons, Ortigas Center, Pasig; 631-3172.

Bally Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 757-1269.

IWC Schaffhausen Bonifacio High Street, Taguig; 478-2557.

Givenchy Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center, Makati; 890-8424.

Bulgari Greenbelt 4, Ayala Center, Makati; 728-5061.

Loewe Rustan's Makati, Ayala Center, Makati; 813-3739.

Tumi Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 728-0117.

Fred Perry x Nigel Cabourn Fred Perry Laurel, Greenbelt 5,

Kiehl's Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 728-9561.

Michael Kors Greenbelt 5, Ayala Center, Makati; 728-6132.

PAGE 55

122 DE C E M B E R 2016- JA NUA RY 2017

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HARDER, BETTER, FASTER, STRONGER The Toyota 86 raises the bar for sports cars everywhere

Toyota has a long and impressive history of producing top-of-theline sports cars. Consider the 2000GT, the Sports 800, and the AE86, all known for their superb handling and ability to cut an imposing figure on the road. And yet, it isn’t surprising that Toyota would someday outdo itself.

Enter the Toyota 86. The best term for the Toyota 86 is waku-doki, a Japanese expression which generally refers to the adrenaline rush one gets before doing something exciting, the sound of the term similar to that of a heart beating rapidly. It’s an apt description for a sports car equipped with a powerful 2.0-liter flat-four boxer engine, superior steering wheel controls, and sleek

capacitive touch screen display.

Aesthetically, the 86 does a good job of announcing its presence on and off road. Designed with a lower bumper profile and wider front grille, it looks like it’s ready to tear through whatever road it finds itself on. The 86 comes in seven colors: Crystal Black Silica, Crystal White Pearl, Dark Gray Metallic, Ice Silver Metallic, Lapis Blue Pearl, Orange Metallic, and Pure Red. Fortunately for Filipino gearheads, Toyota (819-2912; toyota. com.ph) has just made the 86 available to the Philippine market.

If you’re looking to burn rubber in a new sports car, this mean machine might just be the ride for you. —JAM PASCUAL

The revamped Toyota 86 in ice silver metallic.

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FAMOUS ROGUE

“A revolution is a struggle to the death between the future and the past.”

FIDEL CASTRO, politician

GETTY IMAGES

MET WITH GRIEF and celebration from high and low around the world, his death has proven to be as polarizing as his 90 years of life.

To some, Fidel Castro was the revolutionary marching into Havana with the promise of independence; to others, a reviled dictator with a list of crimes as long as his blood-soaked reign. As the man is put to rest, one can’t help but remember how he once declared history would absolve him. This too is still up for debate. But if there is one least contentious point in Castro’s life and death, it is that no ideology monopolizes oppression. Any unjust leader’s passing deserves no nostalgic eulogy. Death, after all, does not absolve our transgressions, nor should it guarantee forgiveness. As recent events in our nation have taught us, the sins of the iniquitous dead should not be so easily buried.