Using BLOG articles

I started blogging last summer when a friend encouraged me to attend the first Baguio Bloggers conference in the town. After about a dozen posts in the web, I observed that ‘blogging’ did not only become a trend for this generation’s youth, but also to numerous professionals including lawyers, doctors and other experts who wanted to share information to the world wide web. It became the new tool to inform, to influence, even to entertain. Among lawyer-bloggers are Atty. Harry Roque with his law and legal opinion blog, Atty. Fred Pamaos’ “AttyatWork” and Atty. Manuel J. Laserna Jr.’s ‘Philippine Laws and Cases’. For most of them, ‘blogs’, or the social media in general, are the new vehicle to share ideas and communicate, aside from serving as a personal journal to things that are close to their hearts.

Just recently, Philippine netizens reacted over Senator  Sotto’s “plagiarism” of the work of an American Blogger named Sarah Pope. It was first denied by both Sotto and his chief of staff, Atty. Henry Villacorta. The Senator maintained that he did not plagiarize anything saying in the news that;

“Itong blogger na sinasabi nila, eh pareho kami ng pinagkunan eh. Ang pinagkunan namin si Natasha Campbell-McBride. And in my speeches, even in my first speech and my second speech, I’ve always said, every now and then sinisingit ko, hindi po ako nagdudunong-dunungan ha. Hindi po galing sa akin ito.” (This blogger they’re mentioning, we got it from the same source. Our source is Natasha Campbell-McBride. And I’ve always said, I’m not pretending to be wise. This does not come from me.)

“Bakit ko naman iko-quote ang blogger? Blogger lang iyon. Ang kino-quote ko si Natasha Campbell-McBride.” (Why should I quote a blogger? She’s just a blogger. I’m quoting Natasha Campbell-McBride.)

In a surprising twist after, his chief of staff finally admitted that parts of the Senator’s speech against the RH bill indeed were copied from a blog by the foreign author who calls herself the “Healthy Home Economist”, to the dismay of the blogger. "Let me say that after asking my staff, indeed your blog was used but only in quoting also from the same book of Dr. Campbell-Mcbride." Atty. Villacorta maintained.

Sarah Pope responded to Villacorta in her blog's comments section saying, "I don't like the fact that my blog was used without my permission against the education of the women of the Philippines and their reproductive rights.” The blogger further explained that the issue in question is plagiarism.

“My blog was quoted, not Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride. I put her work in my own words and you copied my words." Sarah Pope concluded.

As most bloggers were not amused by this ‘Sotto fiasco’, social media like facebook, twitter and blogs were bombarded with internet memes which made fun of the Senator and the plagiarism issue. Senator Sotto, in his defense, maintained that he did not plagiarize anything because Sarah Pope’s work was not copyrighted.

So are blog articles protected by copyright?

We think so.

A (literary, artistic, or scientific) work is protected by copyright at the moment of its creation. The Berne Convention, which the Philippines is a signatory of, also provides the principle of automatic protection. This principle emphasizes that a work is protected by copyright at the moment of its creation hence protection needs no formality. It means that one may not register a work in order to be copyrighted unlike patents or inventions.

Hence, as work is copyrighted the moment it is created, the author of such work is vested with rights which include, among others, “attribution rights”. This means that no one, not even a Senator, can just take a work or a piece of it and  use it for its own without asking permission or acknowledging the author (Fair Use of Copyrighted/Protected Materials).

So, was there a violation of copyright in this incident?

We also think so.

In determining copyright violation, Sec 185 and Sec 184 of the Intellectual Property Code must be considered;

(Sec 185 defines what "Fair Use" is, and Sec 184 creates the instances when no infringement can be claimed when using these "Fair Use" materials)

"184.1. Notwithstanding the provisions of Chapter V, the following acts shall not constitute infringement of copyright:

xxx.

(b) The making of quotations from a published work if they are compatible with fair use...... : PROVIDED, That the source and the name of the author, if appearing on the work, are mentioned".

The provisions of Sec.185 and the passage found in Sec. 184 guarantees “attribution rights” to the original author. Failing to attribute can still make one liable for copyright violation under Sec. 184, even if it complies with all the requisites of Fair use under Sec. 185.

In Habana vs Robles (310 scra 511, 1999), the Supreme Court said that it is not merely copying but 'copying which results to injurious effects', further pointing out that 'there can be injury even if "economic harm" is not proven'. The court said that, "Petitioners’ work as authors is the product of their long and assiduous research and for another to represent it as her own is injury enough." Clearly, Atty. Villacorta and Senator Sotto can not assert that there was no “harm” done.

Since Sen. Sotto refused to attribute the materials he appropriated for his Turno en Contra, he cannot clearly hide under Fair Use because attribution is still one of the requirements in that principle. Similarly, non-commercial use of copyrighted work does not automatically remove any chance for copyright violation.

For what it's worth, simple acknowledgement would have sufficed considering that, after all, the literary pieces were used while in the exercise of legislative privileges.

(sources: Star Publications, ABS-CBN, Filipinolosophy, Philippine laws and cases )

Another teacher's day

My student headed immediately to her seat with that stiff and noticeable heaviness. I gave her an 80 and I sensed that I have to do the ‘drill’ again. “Class..”, I waited for them to tone down, “…if you think that you deserved more than what I’ve given, please talk to me…”. This is just one of the ‘teacher’s drill’ that I try to avoid as much as possible; giving grades comes next to grading their papers. “If we have to adjust them because your scholarship depends on it…perhaps you can talk to me so we can come up with a way to adjust it…although, you have to invest extra hours on it”. I was consciously searching for a loophole in teaching ethics to justify what I just said, to no avail. “I’m so kind..”, I whispered to myself -  I wish that I was my instructor in college. I encountered heartless teachers; teachers who will fail you because you were unlucky enough to be 'targeted' in their 'dart-grading system', or because your haircut simply irritates them, and I came to the conclusion that indeed, I am still ‘nice’.

What happened with being contented with 75? I recalled that I even failed my Statistics subject, dropped two other subjects because the teachers are "mean" (plus my college-rock-and roll-habits and absences), and 80 is a depressing grade? Back in our days, we celebrate 75 like how we celebrate birthdays. So what is it today? I decided to finish giving the rest of my class their good/bad news before I resume my ‘lecture’.

“Grades are just numbers”, I continued, trying to recall random lines in drunken debates I had with college friends. “You know,  I can give you 98 or even 99, but can you justify it?” For three seconds, I let them absorb what I said. Their puzzled looks hinted me to continue, “Let us say you apply for work and they are impressed with your grades. They call you for an interview, a demo of some sort. Can you do it with the standards of a student who gets 99 as a grade? Most heads finally nodded to my relief; I don’t know if I can continue with the lecture anymore. It is time for another ‘life-story’ telling (which may be inspiring to some, and annoying to...many). I can show you my transcript tomorrow and you’ll laugh at it. It is not really a good sight to see…But, I am surprisingly here as your teacher…why? Not because of the grades, but experience, and not merely experience, but the skills you gain from it. Before we graduate, most of us are tutoring already. It means that when we graduate, may edge na kami. We get excited in job hunting and before we know it, madami na pala kaming napagdaanan. I realized that I am already 25 years old.

“Sino ba kasi mga working students dito? I’ll give plus…direct to the grade”. Their eyes finally gleamed and six proudly raised their hands. “I want certifications before I give it, and don’t ever think of faking one because I’ll call your boss.” Who am I to talk that way anyway? With all my past mistakes, I realized that it is all by duty as a mentor to encourage righteousness even if I am far from being righteous.

We have yet to dismiss our class after ten minutes but I decided to call it a day. I rushed to the faculty room avoiding eyes to hide my suspicious ‘early arrival’. I turned my laptop on, pulled my drawer and grabbed the thick yellow papers I failed to grade a week ago. Being a teacher really demands most hours of your life, especially the grading part. Two hours to prepare lessons, Five hours to draw X-marks and ‘check’ marks, another hour to advice students – I let out the usual sigh. Add your graduate school requirements and it usually and mysteriously forces one to go 'sleeping' or go 'facebooking' instead. I was heading out of the school when I realized that irony. "Kamusta ka naman buhay-teacher hehe" , I reflected as I walked away from the building.

Money, Politics, Death and 'Simple Jesse'

When I ran for a Barangay Councilman position two years ago, after a short contract at UC, I expected a lot of criticisms – that I was ‘too young’, ‘too inexperienced’…just another restless kid armed with inapplicable idealism to the ‘real’ world. “Just who is this young guy who opted for an elective office? ‘Why not work abroad?’ ‘Why not join big corporations?”  There are a lot of questions, and why would I not, if everything is about money. But then, it is never all about money. The death of our heroes, or even our very own Sec. Jesse Robredo shows that it’s not all about the money. It will not always be the money.

When my father died about a year ago, I was suddenly confronted with a big challenge. Certainly, I’m not a brat anymore; I am already an adult and I have a degree haven’t I? My friend, Howard, made it to the top of the class and yet he did it with working his ass off to pay his tuition fees, so why can’t I do it too? There should not be a problem, “my dad already left me a tool to live”, I told myself. Then, it hit me; I did really need the money. I needed money to finish my law school, to continue my Masters, to help in the house, to sustain my personal allowance, to maintain my damn car which is still being paid through a salary deduction in the first place. I now face the inevitable, without the help of someone, no one to call and ask for a little extra money, no more, “Pa, agdawatak man ti pangnayon ti kastoy”.  In short, I am really my own man now… I choked, admittedly,  but then surprisingly after, I  can only grin.

I am not that scared because I have a plan.

They often say that, “Education is one of the things that they can’t take away from you” , and indeed, it is true. Equipped with my teaching license and some significant experience, I returned to teaching with a growing college in La Trinidad. It is near my home, my workplace, and my graduate school. I am starting to learn how to save some money by cutting my choice of travel. This is logical since I do have an alternative and I have to finish at least three degrees more. However, what complicates it is the position that I am still holding;  although the law provides that local elective public officers (legislative in nature like sanggunians) can engage in other profession provided that it doesn’t interfere with its sessions and meetings, there are still a lot of times in which I have to literally split myself to the demands of two professions. Fortunately, I was able to manage it. What I detest however, is when some persons decided to use 'these'  as ammunitions to their political mudslinging against my poor self.

What I mean is; when my father died, I have to face this war by myself – a newbie against a legion of old timers who felt that I am in the wrong place. Ordinances I forwarded were junked into the piles of 'unstudied' documents in the municipal committee on laws without any action because I guess, they think that I’m just a kid ( and for what he really is; the councilor who heads the Committee on Laws is a piece of sh*t) . Although some were approved, the unapproved solid waste management ordinance of Pico, or even the Boarding House ordinance lay there unattended by councilors contribute to our waste problems and municipal offenses. Resolutions are ignored by higher offices. Example, the road repairs and drainage at the Bayabas road we personally made to both the provincial representative and governor lay there untouched, although it is obviously a priority project. I’ve exhausted the powers and responsibilities we can utilize for goals like these, but sadly…I can only do so much, especially with my current schedule. I’m not making an excuse, but it does sound that I am and I hate it. These situations are just to give you a glimpse of my life. .

Why am I suddenly writing this? Is it to lift some guilt that I feel from a few of my absences in the community because I have to attend to my students? Is it because I felt that I have not done so much? Is it to criticize the game of politics? I don’t know. Nope, on the second thought,  I want to outline how money shaped my decisions. In this case, I refused to quit school hence I have to teach, which may prejudice my other job BUT not for a long time. I believe that when all of these extra baggage are done, I’ll be more qualified to take on tasks which are heavier than what I am presently holding. These are simply prerequisites to becoming the real men which are expected of us. Hopefully, when this time comes, we have already rid ourselves of the self-indulgent vices we frequent, like overgrowing the toys we had in our childhood.

Or I guess, I just dream of following the Robredo Legacy. How could a man have lived more than how he died? As a co-cabinet member said “Nakakahiya kung hindi ganito ung burol natin…”. Our mayors would only dream of the awesomeness of ‘Simple Jesse’. What if people only attend your funeral because of the free biscuit and coffee, the ‘chismis’ and the simple noise? Perhaps that would be the real tragedy. Now, if anything good can come out of this heartbreak, it would be his legacy to current and would-be public servants. Sec. Robredo Legacy is not a ‘trapo’, he does not own mansions (have you seen his unfinished house?), he does not employ bodyguards, he detested putting names on government projects, he is not used to putting his face on tarpaulins just to indirectly launch a campaign ( I know a councilor who has the habit of always putting his not so handsome face in tarpaulins on almost every occasion). Further, he knows his priorities; where money and luxury matters and where it is not - he died in his way NOT to a trip to a casino or another sin city, but a trip to attend to her daughter and family. Money is not always everything.

So how do I relate my topic about money on Robredo’s legacy? It makes the difference. When he took the post as Secretary of DILG which has control over LGUs, he introduced policies and measures which will avoid red tape, corruption, and delay of service. His goals are intended to fair and responsive governance…without the ‘money-making stop-overs’ in the government bureaucracy. He introduced a lifestyle of slippers and bicycles, far from the Porsche and Fortuners of many politicians, hence, the name ‘Simple Jesse’. All of the good things I must say will not render this blog sufficient. I decided that he is my hero.

When my father was dying, he gave me an advice which I plan to hold on until I die. ‘Okay en dayta nga biag; teacher ken public service tapos asideg pay ti balay ken ilim, mayaten dayta’ he told me in a convincing tone. What he meant that time is that I be contented, if not happy...for there is joy in simplicity and in living in a community where your existence is valued.

Certainly, not everything is all about the money.

Remembering my Father

A week from now will mark the first year since my father lost his battle against cancer. It was an afternoon of tears and heartbreak – I can still remember my two siblings holding his arms, my mom watching us as she was being comforted by friends and relatives – and we can only cry on the sight of him, weakened…dying. I remember his pale yellow skin as he shivered even with some heavy blankets, and the memories of our childhood as he carried us in his mighty shoulders flashed in my mind clearly.  I remember how I rebelled against him as a confused teen, and arguing with him endlessly to claim that I am smarter than him. I was an arrogant fool, and the time to show him how sorry I am had ran out. For the hundredth time, I asked myself if I  did something that made him happy, something that made my existence worthwhile for him. Sadly, I can only concede that most of the time, I was a pain in the neck. Regrets can pierce your heart so deep, especially in the face of loss, of death.

My father belongs to the traditional ‘Mt. Province family’ discipline although he was half Ibaloi. It can mean that he belongs to the school of warriors where the head of the family cannot really express emotions of connection. You can distinguish this by observing the ‘lambingan’ culture of the people from the lowlands, and comparing it to the family setting of the highlands. For most of us, hugging and kissing our family members becomes an awkward sight at a certain point of maturity, even though we actually love and care for them – most cannot even verbalize what they feel to their love ones. Such upbringing had put an invisible barrier in expression and communication in our family, but that afternoon was different. We told him that we love him, that, we will always do. We want him to understand that he will always be special and important to us. We assert forgiveness for any indiscretion, misunderstandings, from him, and from us, and even with grief…we told him that we will be okay. As he nodded in understanding, he gasped for his last breath – to say goodbye to this world – we gathered around him; his family, and his friends, then... he was gone.

I heard from many people that we can only realize the value of a person when that person is already gone. Indeed, it is true, and many times I cursed myself for not giving him more of my time when he was in his death bed. I was a selfish asshole, and I truly regret it – if only there is a rewind, a time machine of some sort, I could’ve changed things for him. Since his death, I’ve always dreamed of him, and no matter how logical I want myself to appear, I want to believe that he is visiting me, even in sleep.

This event in my life changed everything; my views, my ideologies, my tendencies. I don’t have a father to run to anymore. No dad who saves me from the bullies as a fat kid. No dad to bail me out on difficult situations. No dad to save me from trouble. No dad to give me a different perspective. No dad whom I can turn to for advice. I will be on my own from now on…and it is hard.

My father gave his last breath because we promised that we will be fine in this life. Hence, it will be wrong to give up because we weren’t raised as losers who give up. My father succumbed to the fight because he knew that we can manage to continue living – that, something will live on…that it is okay to die already.

I have seen his struggle with cancer; how he stayed awake for nights because of the pain, how he deliberately took more painkillers just for relief, how he became frail, how he lost his strength…how he died. Dying at 50 is almost unacceptable, especially when things have started to get better for the family. He could’ve been more, he could’ve done more.

It’s easy to say that; ‘life is short’, that ‘there is no permanence in this world’, that ‘everything is temporary’. However, it is hard not to be attached to the beautiful existences in this world. How can I not long for my father again? How can I not wish for that simple joy of his rare approval no matter how imperfect our relationship was? How can I not wish to see my father again?

I miss my dad…

Blues of June (Fiction)

It was in the rainy evening of June. He parked his car beside the gasoline station not too far away from the bar where he consumed his fifth beer. He turned the engine off but decided to keep the stereo on – he needed the DJ’s voice, at least the rare hit on good jokes to kill the boredom. After damaging his car in five identical occasions, he had learned to always give himself a few minutes to sober up before going home. The rain and that non-cooperating shield-wiper convinced him all the more that he needed every ounce of alertness to survive the road. At least, just for that night.

The DJ started to dedicate a love song; somehow, she was already finished with her last caller. “Another Chicago song”, he thought on the few opening notes he recognized from high school. He was not aware that he was smiling on the thought of it. Those memories of his high school life had succeeded in tempting him into playing with them again – it was already almost twenty years ago. He saw flashbacks of his few friends, his teachers, some events, and of course, the memorable people with it. They were good memories – the recurring image of his awkward self with a guitar, his club activities, his classmates, his stressed teachers…and of course, Myra.

 That thought of her almost drained the alcohol inside of him. He needed another drink, but he decided against it – it was still Tuesday, and he has yet to complete three designs for a client. At 33, he was a junior architect for ECO-house designs, a young company which specializes in ‘green-designing’. He was not sure if there is a bright future with it, but he was contented – he will own his little home after twelve years of salary deductions, and perhaps start saving for his old Pajero’s replacement. He remembered that his boss will have his chemotherapy next month, and the thought of a possible retirement that will advance his career made him feel guilty – ‘a man’s loss, will always be another man’s gain’. He sighed - again, the stress of it made him thought that high school will always be one of the best parts of his life.

The song switched to another ballad after another love quote from DJ Hillary Johnson - the best Side A classic, and he smiled. Old songs, bring back old memories indeed. He was ready to sing along with it.

“There are times, when I just want to look at your face, with the stars in the night…there are times, when I just want to feel your embrace, in the cold night…I just can’t believe that you are mine now…You were just a dream that I once know..I never thought I would -” he paused to check his phone, and continued,  “ …anything in this world, you’re all I need to be with forevermore..”

Slowly, he deliberately relived the memories of the first woman he truly loved. Myra was his classmate in high school, although she was first stricken by her endearing laugh in his first year. She was his team mate in scrabble, where he intentionally delayed their games just to spend more time with her. From there, a certain kind of friendship blossomed – he started a routine of visiting her in her mother’s clothing-store for years. She was the first girl whom he had truly loved. Too bad, Myra only considered him as a friend. Friend-zoned, you can say. She was the first girl to have given him the drowning feeling of hurt, of pain.

This event in his life changed him. His fear of the same kind of rejection forced him to reinvent himself; changing his awkward appearance with the cooperative stage of puberty and maturity, and developing an image that was easily acceptable for his new friends.  Eventually, he became the playboy he abhorred in highschool. A disguise he made to project desirability, or perhaps for Myra to notice him.

They met again in college and they dated. He guessed that somehow, his transformation helped. As young hearts then were easily swayed with doubts, they did not become an official couple until after they graduated from college. It was easy and difficult at the same time. Easy, because they have known each other since highschool. Difficult, because both are convinced that they are entitled to new things in their lives. More difficult for him because Myra was his first love, actually his only love.

Eventually, Myra went abroad leaving him the promise that if they are meant to be together, then they will always end up in each other’s arms – yes, that overly-used quote again. For a couple of years he submerged himself with work. It is the only way to make him forget that he actually misses someone. It did not take any longer for him to receive the news that she is already back in the country.

It was unbelievable for him when they spent many days together again. He thought of proposing to her after he will earn some money, perhaps in a year or two. Yes, he actually thought of marriage – she will be 26 or 27 when that will happen, which is perfect for her expectations. It was that easy for him to imagine, until Myra told him about ‘it’. She told him of what happened to her and her friend, or lover, abroad. And after the rush of tears, the words "I'm sorry, I don't love you anymore" sunk him deeper into the void.

He remembered that moment well, and he felt the pang again – he never truly moved on. “Why? .... Why?” Is it loneliness from being away? He did not really ask. “You promised…” is all he can mumble. Funny, how he expected too much. “I know,  I didn’t have a choice…” Choice? He pondered on what it really meant that day. It was not something that is not forgiven overnight, not after the feeling of betrayal, not after broken promises.

But, It was about three thousand nights since then, and they never talked again– not after he banned her name on his Facebook account, or after Myra went back to her work abroad. There were many nights like this, when he ponders on what could have been if he had forgiven her that time. However, that wasn’t the first time she did that – there was highschool, there was college, and even when they’re already working. He was just scared on what he will feel if she will hurt him again. It is not easy to let go of things - memorable things, beautiful things - but he worries on what will happen to his world. He cannot afford another heartbreak, especially from her, that is why he decided to let her go. He concluded, actually convinced himself, that some things are not really meant to be.

Just like his failures and inabilities, his desperation and loneliness...just like the rain which will always be there to drench him, he will always be haunted by the memories which he, ironically, holds dear.

He can't move on.

There were many nights like this, especially in June.

Sagada Love Story (Fiction)

 Would it be something that you would want to feel? Even if it’s this late? We could have had it all.

Five, no, about six hours.  Do you remember? The bumpy trail, your head on my right shoulder to show you proudly all the 'views' - an Ibaloi girl with an Ibontoc boy who is proudly showing Mountain Province? A young guy introducing his world, or perhaps attempting to confirm a part of his life to that woman who won his heart?

We arrived on a rainy day, on a stop to Sagada to see the place, particularly, the famous coffins and caves. We walked casually down to a road looking for an Inn. We finally settled with George’ s Inn. It must be the computer shop below it. Do you remember? I hope you do. We never even got to close that penthouse door. We were so in love. We can’t even get enough of each other. Do you remember? The kisses? The hugs? The warmth of our bodies. The passion we can only let go off when we fall asleep. Did we even leave our bed to see the attractions of the place?

Remember when we pulled the pillows and blankets outside to see the stars? We were lucky that before closing hours, we have bought a bottle of gin, and your favorite chips; that black Tortillos along with some vinegar. You really loved that then… I know, because I have come to love it too…

Remember when we walked in the rain. Those are what we saw in the movies, and we never really cared. We laughed about it. You called me “noisy slippers”, because of the way I walk with them. Do you remember when he had coffee on that little shop when we were dripping wet? Tell me that you do.

Do you remember the words that were supposed to be said when one wakes up first? “Good Morning beautiful..” if it was me who does. I never cared any of your words, because I always feel your kiss on my forehead, my cheeks…my lips. Do you remember our mornings? Our nights? Do you remember?

I know you remember when we painfully argued at Bontoc, the way I was jealous back then. When we never talked for two hours and thirty minutes in the van but finally made peace at Bauko, and started kissing again. When we reached Mt. Data and number 114 will be etched in our lives forever? When we (or I) got drunk at the fireplace and you dragged us to our room. Do you remember how happy we were? Do you remember any of  it?

Today, you stood there with that glorious wedding gown...and you are not waiting for me.

Glory of the By-Line

It was a couple of years ago when I first passed an article for a local newspaper. As a college student back then, it has brought a different feeling of joy - greater than being a contributor of an article or poetry for our campus paper. The feeling that my ideas will reach hundreds or thousands of people is, in a way, fulfilling, and yet, scary – I’m fully aware that by writing something “against call-centers”, I have barred myself on working in one, that by writing on the evils of “capitalism”; of criticizing the “culture industry” that it promotes, the marketing strategies which dehumanizes our population, and of writing about existential thoughts, I have boldly burned some of the bridges to having a decent career. Even with all of these costs however, I have already decided that if I ever write, it should contain ideas and critiques that will seek to educate or enlighten.

It was startling though, that after passing more articles, I found myself being tempted to write something about myself. I suspect that there is something about finding your name in the “by line” that gives you an illusion of brilliance, almost to the point of arrogance. But alas, this sickening tendency has become more common to veteran writers and columnists. Every newspaper issue, we find our columnists writing more and more about themselves rather than discussing issues that are much significant to our society, or even to our community. Every Sunday, we are being fed with articles about their social lives; how they spent their weekends, about their eating habits, about their aging self, and almost every mundane thing which they recognize as significant. Sometimes, some of them write critiques which are evidently encouraged by mere bursts of emotions and not out of logical and fair analysis - they emphasize that we have a lot of problems; garbage problems, dirty politics, decline of moral values, violence on streets, etc., but never suggested any proposals on “how” to solve them.

A writer once told me that much of these dispositions  of turning a column into a personal diary and a personal rant section, are usually supported by their status in their society; having a good name, being a lawyer, or a veteran journalist. Maybe it is these qualities that give one the license and authority to write about almost anything, and anything, whether it be sensible or not. Maybe, I and many of the writers of the next generation, have yet to learn a lot of things before we are given that ‘right’ (marami pang kakaining bigas).  Nevertheless, how I wish that we have more public intellectuals like Randy David, or Conrado Dequiros, how I wish that our columnists would write more about philosophy, political analysis, or even social studies for this new generation – of facebook and youtube and its social dilemma, of the Indigenous communities’ response to the global changes, of culture industry and its environmental effects, of ethnocentrism and discrimination, and those other topics which are needed by the readers in this society.

Our changing world is constantly given the challenge of coping. Somehow, I think that those who hold the pen and paper should serve the public in educating and enlightening them on issues that will really matter.