The Philippine Declaration of Independence occurred on June 12, 1898 in the Philippines, where Filipino revolutionary forces under General Emilio Aguinaldo (later to become the Philippines' first Republican President) proclaimed the sovereignty and independence of the Philippine Islands from the colonial rule of Spain after the latter was defeated at the Battle of Manila Bay during the Spanish-American War.
The declaration, however, was not recognized by the United States or Spain, as the Spanish government ceded the Philippines to the United States in the 1898 Treaty of Paris, in consideration for an indemnity for Spanish expenses and assets lost.
While the Philippines first celebrated its Independence Day on June 12, its independence was only recognized on July 4, 1946 by the United States. Henceforth, Independence Day was observed on July 4, but in the name of nationalism, and upon the advice of historians, Republic Act No. 4166 was signed into law by President Diosdado Macapagal on August 4, 1964, proclaiming June 12, which up to that time had been observed as Flag Day, as Independence Day.
The declaration, in the form of a proclamation, in the presence of a huge crowd, was done on June 12, 1898 at the ancestral home of General Emilio Aguinaldo between four and five in the afternoon in Cavite el Viejo (now Kawit), Cavite, some 30 kilometers South of Manila. The event saw the unfurling of the National Flag of the Philippines, made in Hong Kong by Mrs. Marcela Agoncillo, Lorenza Agoncillo and Delfina Herboza, and the performance of the Marcha Filipina Magdalo, as the Nation's National Anthem, now known as Lupang Hinirang, which was composed by Julian Felipe and played by the San Francisco de Malabon Marching band.
The Act of the Declaration of Independence was prepared and written by Senior Ambrosio Rianzares Bautista in Spanish, who also read the said declaration. A passage in the Declaration reminds one of another passage in the American Declaration of Independence. The Philippine Declaration was signed by ninety-eight persons, among them an American army officer who witnessed the proclamation. The proclamation of Philippine independence was, however, promulgated on the 1st of August, when many towns had already been organized under the rules laid down by the Dictatorial Government of General Aguinaldo.[2][3] The final paragraph states that there was a "stranger" (stranger in English translation — etranger in the original Spanish, possibly meaning foreigner) who attended the proceedings, Mr. L. M. Johnson, described as "a citizen of the U.S.A, a Coronel of Artillery".
The June 12 proclamation was later modified by another Proclamation done at Malolos, Bulacan, upon the insistence of Apolinario Mabini, who objected to the Original proclamation, which essentially placed the Philippines under the protection of the United States.
Philippine Independence Day (Filipino:Araw ng Kasarinlan, Araw ng Kalayaan) commemorating the country's declaration of independence from Spain on June 12, 1898 is a regular holiday in the Philippines.
The event was led by Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo in his mansion on June 12, 1898. The flag of the Philippines, which was made in Hong Kong by Marcela Agoncillo, was first flown in that event. It is also where the Philippine National Anthem, composed by Julian Felipe, was first played by the San Francisco de Malabon band. The song was played under the name Marcha Filipina Magdalo, later renamed as Marcha Nacional Filipina.
The Official Flag of the Republic of the Philippines.The Philippines celebrated its Independence Day every July 4, the date in 1946 that the United States granted independence to the nation, until 1962, when President Diosdado Macapagal signed the Presidential Proclamation No. 28, changing the official celebration to June 12, the date in 1898 that Emilio Aguinaldo declared the nation's independence from Spain. Officially naming June 12 as Araw ng Kalayaan (Independence Day) and July 4 as Republic Day and Philippine-American Friendship Day.
On June 12, 1998, the nation celebrated its centennial year of Independence from Spain. The celebrations were held simultaneously nationwide by then President Fidel V. Ramos and Filipino communities worldwide. A commission was established for the said event, the National Centennial Commission headed by former Vice President Salvador Laurel presided all events around the country. One of the major projects of the commission was the Expo Pilipino, a grand showcase of the Philippines' growth as a nation for the last 100 years, located in the Clark Special Economic Zone (formerly Clark Air Base) in Angeles City, Pampanga.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Misuari wants Int'l Court of Justice to settle Sabah claim
MindaNews
Sunday, 25 May 2008 17:10
DAVAO CITY (MindaNews/24 May) – Moro leader Nur Misuari says he has no plans to attack Sabah but wants the International Court of Justice to settle the status of Sabah if Malaysia will not resolve the issue with the Bangsamoro “justly and peacefully.”
In his 68-minute “State of the Bangsamoro Republik address” Misuari told thousands of supporters at the parade grounds of the Rizal Memorial Colleges (RMC) that he was informed word had gone around in Malaysia that with his release, the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) would invade Sabah.
“Did I ask you to make war or peace?” Misuari asked. The crowd said no.
“Your shouts give lie to all these accusations,” he said.
MNLF organizers placed the crowd at 30,000 although the city government on Friday had placed the number of unarmed MNLF members who arrived here from various parts of Mindanao, at 5,000.
Misuari, however, challenged the Malaysia to show proof that Sabah is theirs.
He said the Sabah issue should be brought to the International Court of Justice for resolution.
“We have plenty of brave lawyers who are ready to face them because Sabah belongs to us,” Misuari said.
One of the heirs of the Sultan of Sulu, had also spoken earlier onstage.
Misuari cited what he called “the pittance,” in reference to the lease Sabah pays the Sultan’s heirs, at 5,000 ringgit or about 27,000 Philippine pesos.
“What are we going to do? Anong gagawin natin kung ayaw nila magbayad more than 5,000 ringgits” he asked.
“Five thousand ringgits. That’s a pittance,” he repeated.
Misuari was arrested in an island off Sabah on November 24, 2001 for alleged illegal entry. Hew was turned over to the Philippine government on January 7, 2002, and was detained on charges of rebellion until he was allowed to post bail on April 25 this year, after payment of P50,000 bond. (MindaNews)
Sunday, 25 May 2008 17:10
DAVAO CITY (MindaNews/24 May) – Moro leader Nur Misuari says he has no plans to attack Sabah but wants the International Court of Justice to settle the status of Sabah if Malaysia will not resolve the issue with the Bangsamoro “justly and peacefully.”
In his 68-minute “State of the Bangsamoro Republik address” Misuari told thousands of supporters at the parade grounds of the Rizal Memorial Colleges (RMC) that he was informed word had gone around in Malaysia that with his release, the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) would invade Sabah.
“Did I ask you to make war or peace?” Misuari asked. The crowd said no.
“Your shouts give lie to all these accusations,” he said.
MNLF organizers placed the crowd at 30,000 although the city government on Friday had placed the number of unarmed MNLF members who arrived here from various parts of Mindanao, at 5,000.
Misuari, however, challenged the Malaysia to show proof that Sabah is theirs.
He said the Sabah issue should be brought to the International Court of Justice for resolution.
“We have plenty of brave lawyers who are ready to face them because Sabah belongs to us,” Misuari said.
One of the heirs of the Sultan of Sulu, had also spoken earlier onstage.
Misuari cited what he called “the pittance,” in reference to the lease Sabah pays the Sultan’s heirs, at 5,000 ringgit or about 27,000 Philippine pesos.
“What are we going to do? Anong gagawin natin kung ayaw nila magbayad more than 5,000 ringgits” he asked.
“Five thousand ringgits. That’s a pittance,” he repeated.
Misuari was arrested in an island off Sabah on November 24, 2001 for alleged illegal entry. Hew was turned over to the Philippine government on January 7, 2002, and was detained on charges of rebellion until he was allowed to post bail on April 25 this year, after payment of P50,000 bond. (MindaNews)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Malaysia Not An Honest Broker
The quest for an honest broker
By Manuel L. Quezon III
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 01:45:00 05/08/2008
MANILA, Philippines—Our traditional allies in the Mindanao peace process are Indonesia and Libya, Muslim nations that, however, have long established ties of friendship (in the case of Indonesia) and an appreciation of the secular framework of our republic (in the case of Libya). Our traditional antagonist, on the other hand, is Malaysia, whose birth as a nation the Philippines and Indonesia opposed because of the two nation’s claims on parts of North Borneo.
The Sabah question led the Philippines to support Indonesia’s policy of Konfrontasi with Malaysia, and the botched effort by the Marcos administration to provoke Sabah’s secession from Malaysia led, in turn, to Malaysian support for the Moro secessionist movement.
When Libya brokered a peace deal during the Marcos years with the Moro National Liberation Front, Malaysia lost a useful instrument to keep the Philippine government busy fighting secessionists at home, which prevented a revival of Philippine efforts to annex Sabah.
But then a split took place within the Moro nationalist ranks. Another bloc emerged, organized along Islamic lines: the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). And so, the Philippine government has had to pursue the peace process in Mindanao on two fronts: with the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), which has obtained observer status in the Organization of Islamic Countries (OIC), and with the MILF, which has been less successful in obtaining a similar level of recognition from the OIC.
This provided an opportunity for Malaysia—and helps explain the closeness between the MILF and the Malaysian government. MILF chief peace negotiator Mohagher Iqbal told Newsbreak that as far as his organization is concerned, Malaysia is “irreplaceable” and “a vital partner.”
Some years back, in “The GRP-MILF Peace Talks: Quo Vadis?”, political science professor Rizal G. Buendia wrote: “While the MILF is currently engaged in peace negotiations as the only ‘peaceful, civilized, and democratic way of solving the Bangsamoro problem,’ it repeatedly emphasizes that independence is the main agenda and framework for the formal talks. ‘There is no point to proceed if the negotiations will not lead to independence,’ declared the MILF negotiators. The sustained effort towards gathering popular support for a UN- and OIC-supervised referendum, following the East Timor (now Timor-Leste) case, is a move to achieve independence using the institution and process of democracy. For the MILF, the conduct of a referendum is one of the options or mechanisms that it can utilize outside of the peace talks. It is the exercise of the ‘plebiscitary right to secede.’”
Viewed from the perspective of the Philippines’ traditional allies in the peace process—Indonesia and Libya—it is interesting to note that the MILF sees no reason to introduce Indonesia as a facilitator in the ongoing peace talks as a substitute for Malaysia. The closeness of the MILF to Malaysian authorities has obviously influenced this view, because Malaysia is wary of Indonesia, whose Kalimantan provinces comprise the largest portion of Borneo.
And Malaysia itself has demonstrated that it prefers to monopolize dealings with the MILF. It rejected the idea that USIP, an American federal institution, get involved in the negotiations between the government of the Philippines (GRP) and the MILF. Cultivating the MILF prevents Malaysia from being frozen out of any potential resolution of the decades-old Moro rebellion in Mindanao.
Malaysia’s national interest requires that its ultimate aim be the protection of its sovereignty over Sabah, with its vast natural resources and relatively low population. It is not in Malaysia’s interest to have a situation where peace is established, if it results in a Moro government that is not friendly to Malaysia, or at least susceptible to its influence.
Just recently, the Malaysian government announced that another part of Borneo, Sarawak (which adjoins Sabah), has been identified as the country’s future rice bowl. The Asia Sentinel reports that nearly half of Sarawak’s territory has been earmarked for transformation into rice paddies. Malaysia’s vital strategic interest in protecting its Borneo territories has therefore increased, adding the dimension of food security.
A buffer zone, composed of an autonomous Muslim Mindanao region where the influence of the Philippine government can be held at bay, is what serves Malaysia’s interests, and not necessarily peace. Malaysia will support peace talks if their objective is in harmony with that country’s self-interest: any deviation from that, and Malaysia would much rather keep things in a state of perpetual negotiation. This means that if it needs to, in a sense, shake things up by diplomatic posturing, it will do so, regardless of how this affects the Philippines.
Malaysia has announced that it is prepared to withdraw from the GRP-MILF peace process. This has jolted our government into frantically appealing to Malaysia to stay involved, an appeal echoed by the MILF, for obvious reasons: the MILF’s ultimate ace in the hole is the threat of resuming active hostilities; Malaysia’s card is that ditching the peace process will confront the Philippine government with a resumption of fighting, which complicates its relationship with the United States, and ongoing efforts to develop Mindanao.
It’s well worth pondering, at this point, that the advantages Malaysia and the MILF enjoy at present is entirely the doing of our government. The Philippines brought Malaysia into the peace process; it contributed to strengthening the MILF’s bargaining position by accepting that Malaysia would serve as the MILF’s patron in the peace talks. Our government, in trying to please everyone, pleases no one and hasn’t brought peace any closer after several years of increasing Malaysian influence in the peace talks.
By Manuel L. Quezon III
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 01:45:00 05/08/2008
MANILA, Philippines—Our traditional allies in the Mindanao peace process are Indonesia and Libya, Muslim nations that, however, have long established ties of friendship (in the case of Indonesia) and an appreciation of the secular framework of our republic (in the case of Libya). Our traditional antagonist, on the other hand, is Malaysia, whose birth as a nation the Philippines and Indonesia opposed because of the two nation’s claims on parts of North Borneo.
The Sabah question led the Philippines to support Indonesia’s policy of Konfrontasi with Malaysia, and the botched effort by the Marcos administration to provoke Sabah’s secession from Malaysia led, in turn, to Malaysian support for the Moro secessionist movement.
When Libya brokered a peace deal during the Marcos years with the Moro National Liberation Front, Malaysia lost a useful instrument to keep the Philippine government busy fighting secessionists at home, which prevented a revival of Philippine efforts to annex Sabah.
But then a split took place within the Moro nationalist ranks. Another bloc emerged, organized along Islamic lines: the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF). And so, the Philippine government has had to pursue the peace process in Mindanao on two fronts: with the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), which has obtained observer status in the Organization of Islamic Countries (OIC), and with the MILF, which has been less successful in obtaining a similar level of recognition from the OIC.
This provided an opportunity for Malaysia—and helps explain the closeness between the MILF and the Malaysian government. MILF chief peace negotiator Mohagher Iqbal told Newsbreak that as far as his organization is concerned, Malaysia is “irreplaceable” and “a vital partner.”
Some years back, in “The GRP-MILF Peace Talks: Quo Vadis?”, political science professor Rizal G. Buendia wrote: “While the MILF is currently engaged in peace negotiations as the only ‘peaceful, civilized, and democratic way of solving the Bangsamoro problem,’ it repeatedly emphasizes that independence is the main agenda and framework for the formal talks. ‘There is no point to proceed if the negotiations will not lead to independence,’ declared the MILF negotiators. The sustained effort towards gathering popular support for a UN- and OIC-supervised referendum, following the East Timor (now Timor-Leste) case, is a move to achieve independence using the institution and process of democracy. For the MILF, the conduct of a referendum is one of the options or mechanisms that it can utilize outside of the peace talks. It is the exercise of the ‘plebiscitary right to secede.’”
Viewed from the perspective of the Philippines’ traditional allies in the peace process—Indonesia and Libya—it is interesting to note that the MILF sees no reason to introduce Indonesia as a facilitator in the ongoing peace talks as a substitute for Malaysia. The closeness of the MILF to Malaysian authorities has obviously influenced this view, because Malaysia is wary of Indonesia, whose Kalimantan provinces comprise the largest portion of Borneo.
And Malaysia itself has demonstrated that it prefers to monopolize dealings with the MILF. It rejected the idea that USIP, an American federal institution, get involved in the negotiations between the government of the Philippines (GRP) and the MILF. Cultivating the MILF prevents Malaysia from being frozen out of any potential resolution of the decades-old Moro rebellion in Mindanao.
Malaysia’s national interest requires that its ultimate aim be the protection of its sovereignty over Sabah, with its vast natural resources and relatively low population. It is not in Malaysia’s interest to have a situation where peace is established, if it results in a Moro government that is not friendly to Malaysia, or at least susceptible to its influence.
Just recently, the Malaysian government announced that another part of Borneo, Sarawak (which adjoins Sabah), has been identified as the country’s future rice bowl. The Asia Sentinel reports that nearly half of Sarawak’s territory has been earmarked for transformation into rice paddies. Malaysia’s vital strategic interest in protecting its Borneo territories has therefore increased, adding the dimension of food security.
A buffer zone, composed of an autonomous Muslim Mindanao region where the influence of the Philippine government can be held at bay, is what serves Malaysia’s interests, and not necessarily peace. Malaysia will support peace talks if their objective is in harmony with that country’s self-interest: any deviation from that, and Malaysia would much rather keep things in a state of perpetual negotiation. This means that if it needs to, in a sense, shake things up by diplomatic posturing, it will do so, regardless of how this affects the Philippines.
Malaysia has announced that it is prepared to withdraw from the GRP-MILF peace process. This has jolted our government into frantically appealing to Malaysia to stay involved, an appeal echoed by the MILF, for obvious reasons: the MILF’s ultimate ace in the hole is the threat of resuming active hostilities; Malaysia’s card is that ditching the peace process will confront the Philippine government with a resumption of fighting, which complicates its relationship with the United States, and ongoing efforts to develop Mindanao.
It’s well worth pondering, at this point, that the advantages Malaysia and the MILF enjoy at present is entirely the doing of our government. The Philippines brought Malaysia into the peace process; it contributed to strengthening the MILF’s bargaining position by accepting that Malaysia would serve as the MILF’s patron in the peace talks. Our government, in trying to please everyone, pleases no one and hasn’t brought peace any closer after several years of increasing Malaysian influence in the peace talks.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Malaysia Peace Talks Pullout Linked to Sabah Claim?
Malaysia Peace Talks Pullout Linked to Sabah Claim?
Originally posted at wordpress.com by midfield
Is the reported Malaysian decision to “quit” the Mindanao peace talks and pull out its 41 peace keepers talks linked to the issue of the Philippine’s’ long-standing claim to North Borneo, known as the Malaysian State of Sabah?
We cannot help but raise this question, given that the Sultanate of Sulu and Sabah has now launched a website asserting its claim, http://www.royalsulu.com/issues.html. There is also a revealing report made by Al Jazeera television that “as many as eight people are claiming to be the “legitimate” Sultan of Sulu and Sabah. Here’s the YouTube link to the report: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVwErDFfRno”
Former U. P. College of Law dean Merlin Magallona reports that “The present Baseline Law, Republic Act No. 3046 of 1961, was amended by Republic Act No. 5446 of 1968. Section 2 of the present Baseline Law provides that “The definition of the baselines of the territorial sea of the Philippine Archipelago as provided in this Act [Rep. Act No. 5446] is without prejudice to the delineation of the baselines of the territorial sea around the territory of Sabah, situated in North Borneo, over which the Republic of the Philippines has acquired dominion and sovereignty. (Emphasis added).
But despite this clear mandate of the law ,Dean Magallona notes that “House Bill No. 3216 (with Congressman Antonio V. Cuenco as principal author) and its counterpart in the Senate (S. No. 1467, with Senator Trillanes as principal author) has deliberately eliminated Section 2 of Rep. Act. No. 5446 in reference to Philippine sovereignty over Sabah, as shown in the deliberations of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs on 20 November 2007.”
The eminent professor, and acknowledged expert on the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) warns that “in effect, if the Cuenco bill would be enacted into law, it would operate as repeal of the Sabah provision of the present Baseline Law. It would easily be interpreted as an abdication of Sabah as part of Philippine territory.”
Magallona goes on to reveal that “In place of the Sabah provision, the Cuenco Bill contains a “without prejudice clause” which provides: “The delineation of baselines as provided in this Act shall be without prejudice to any claims to any contested portions of the national territory or maritime zones and jurisdictions of the Philippines in accordance with international law and under appropriate international dispute resolution mechanisms.” (Emphasis added)
According to Dean Magallona “the clear and disastrous implication of the Cuenco bill is that it radically changed the status of Sabah in reference to the interest of the Republic from the unequivocal affirmation of Philippine sovereignty and dominion over Sabah under the present Baseline La wto a mere statement of claim to a contested portion of the national territory to be settled by some international dispute resolution mechanism under the Cuenco bill, resulting in the derogation of Philippine sovereignty over Sabah.”
Magallona, a former undersecretary in the Dept. of Foreign Affairs, “the present Baseline Law is the only articulation of Philippine sovereignty over Sabah by legislative will.”
“It is the only authoritative pronouncement of territorial sovereignty of the Philippines with respect to Sabah, “ Magallogna points out
“So much so that when the Philippines presented oral arguments before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in its Application for Permission to Intervene in the Case Concerning Sovereignty Over Pulau Ligitan and Pulau Sipadan between Malaya and Indonesia in 2001, it relied crucially on Section 2 of Republic Act No. 5446, as quoted above.”
“Even as the Philippines did not succeed in its intervention, the ICJ made it clear in its judgment that “it remains cognizant of the position stated by … the Philippines in the present proceedings,” according the the international law expert.
For the first time ever, on account of this intervention case, “the Philippine sovereignty over Sabah was demonstrated in the proceedings of the highest tribunal of the international community based inter alia on the strength of legislative proclamation of the Republic’s sovereignty over Sabah as provided in the present Baseline Law, which the Cuenco Bill now seeks to repudiate.”
It is a historical fact that North Borneo had been ‘leased in perpetuity’ by the Sultanate of Sulu to the British East India Company which then turned over the territory when the Federation of Malaya was formed in 1963. Such action has been described by the heirs of Sultan Jamalul Kiram as a blatant violation of the terms of the lease.
While Malaysian has effectively retained full control over Sabah, it is also on record that as recent as 2003 it has been paying “cession” fees to the Sultanate, based on notices transmitted by the Malaysian embassy in Manila. It is also asserted that under international law that the term ‘perpetuity’ is reckoned legally as lasting a period of 99 years. If this is so, then simple arithmetic would indicate that the lease has, in fact, expired. (At least one account on the Internet indicates the lease is 130 years past due.)
The website of the Sultanate of Sulu and Sabah asserts that at the very least, with Malaysia supposedly earning up to 100 billion dollars per year from the exploitation of the area’s rich natural resources (this figure is unverified), the sultanate would, by its own estimates, be entitled to a share of some 10 billion dollars, a huge amount the the sultanate says could go to uplifting the lives of the people of Sulu.
Draw your conclusions.
Originally posted at wordpress.com by midfield
Is the reported Malaysian decision to “quit” the Mindanao peace talks and pull out its 41 peace keepers talks linked to the issue of the Philippine’s’ long-standing claim to North Borneo, known as the Malaysian State of Sabah?
We cannot help but raise this question, given that the Sultanate of Sulu and Sabah has now launched a website asserting its claim, http://www.royalsulu.com/issues.html. There is also a revealing report made by Al Jazeera television that “as many as eight people are claiming to be the “legitimate” Sultan of Sulu and Sabah. Here’s the YouTube link to the report: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVwErDFfRno”
Former U. P. College of Law dean Merlin Magallona reports that “The present Baseline Law, Republic Act No. 3046 of 1961, was amended by Republic Act No. 5446 of 1968. Section 2 of the present Baseline Law provides that “The definition of the baselines of the territorial sea of the Philippine Archipelago as provided in this Act [Rep. Act No. 5446] is without prejudice to the delineation of the baselines of the territorial sea around the territory of Sabah, situated in North Borneo, over which the Republic of the Philippines has acquired dominion and sovereignty. (Emphasis added).
But despite this clear mandate of the law ,Dean Magallona notes that “House Bill No. 3216 (with Congressman Antonio V. Cuenco as principal author) and its counterpart in the Senate (S. No. 1467, with Senator Trillanes as principal author) has deliberately eliminated Section 2 of Rep. Act. No. 5446 in reference to Philippine sovereignty over Sabah, as shown in the deliberations of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs on 20 November 2007.”
The eminent professor, and acknowledged expert on the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) warns that “in effect, if the Cuenco bill would be enacted into law, it would operate as repeal of the Sabah provision of the present Baseline Law. It would easily be interpreted as an abdication of Sabah as part of Philippine territory.”
Magallona goes on to reveal that “In place of the Sabah provision, the Cuenco Bill contains a “without prejudice clause” which provides: “The delineation of baselines as provided in this Act shall be without prejudice to any claims to any contested portions of the national territory or maritime zones and jurisdictions of the Philippines in accordance with international law and under appropriate international dispute resolution mechanisms.” (Emphasis added)
According to Dean Magallona “the clear and disastrous implication of the Cuenco bill is that it radically changed the status of Sabah in reference to the interest of the Republic from the unequivocal affirmation of Philippine sovereignty and dominion over Sabah under the present Baseline La wto a mere statement of claim to a contested portion of the national territory to be settled by some international dispute resolution mechanism under the Cuenco bill, resulting in the derogation of Philippine sovereignty over Sabah.”
Magallona, a former undersecretary in the Dept. of Foreign Affairs, “the present Baseline Law is the only articulation of Philippine sovereignty over Sabah by legislative will.”
“It is the only authoritative pronouncement of territorial sovereignty of the Philippines with respect to Sabah, “ Magallogna points out
“So much so that when the Philippines presented oral arguments before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in its Application for Permission to Intervene in the Case Concerning Sovereignty Over Pulau Ligitan and Pulau Sipadan between Malaya and Indonesia in 2001, it relied crucially on Section 2 of Republic Act No. 5446, as quoted above.”
“Even as the Philippines did not succeed in its intervention, the ICJ made it clear in its judgment that “it remains cognizant of the position stated by … the Philippines in the present proceedings,” according the the international law expert.
For the first time ever, on account of this intervention case, “the Philippine sovereignty over Sabah was demonstrated in the proceedings of the highest tribunal of the international community based inter alia on the strength of legislative proclamation of the Republic’s sovereignty over Sabah as provided in the present Baseline Law, which the Cuenco Bill now seeks to repudiate.”
It is a historical fact that North Borneo had been ‘leased in perpetuity’ by the Sultanate of Sulu to the British East India Company which then turned over the territory when the Federation of Malaya was formed in 1963. Such action has been described by the heirs of Sultan Jamalul Kiram as a blatant violation of the terms of the lease.
While Malaysian has effectively retained full control over Sabah, it is also on record that as recent as 2003 it has been paying “cession” fees to the Sultanate, based on notices transmitted by the Malaysian embassy in Manila. It is also asserted that under international law that the term ‘perpetuity’ is reckoned legally as lasting a period of 99 years. If this is so, then simple arithmetic would indicate that the lease has, in fact, expired. (At least one account on the Internet indicates the lease is 130 years past due.)
The website of the Sultanate of Sulu and Sabah asserts that at the very least, with Malaysia supposedly earning up to 100 billion dollars per year from the exploitation of the area’s rich natural resources (this figure is unverified), the sultanate would, by its own estimates, be entitled to a share of some 10 billion dollars, a huge amount the the sultanate says could go to uplifting the lives of the people of Sulu.
Draw your conclusions.
Friday, April 18, 2008
City on the Edge of Forever
Originally posted at http://www.hanahou.com
The remnants of Typhoon Mita, which had hit the eastern coasts of the Philippines hard the night before, enveloped Manila in a solid, wet wall of gray. It was the second hurricane that week. But life went on as usual: An unbroken line of red taillights crept down Roxas Boulevard toward The Mall of Asia, where Manileños, like their American brothers and sisters, were ferociously shopping for Christmas. Everyone was just as unruffled by the small earthquakes that had rocked the city since my landing two days earlier. A little tremor now and then is certainly no sweat for people living in the geologically restless Philippines. A raised eyebrow and a wry grin was generally the only acknowledgment that the earth had just shivered beneath our feet … again.
And, oh yes, there was also a coup. Maybe you read about it. Long story short: A group of rebels had holed up in the Peninsula Hotel in the upscale Makati City area and refused to leave unless President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo stepped down. She didn’t. You don’t get picked by Forbes magazine as the world’s fourth most powerful woman by being skittish, I suppose. A few tense hours passed while the rebels awaited the popular uprising they hoped would coalesce. It didn’t. The rebels surrendered, and that was that. The whole thing took six hours, start to finish. A citywide curfew was imposed that night, and by the next morning, Manila had returned to the rollicking, barely contained chaos it calls normal.
But back at the largest mall in Asia (called—what else?—The Mall of Asia), people went on shopping, ice-skating, eating, movie-going—far too busy to participate in a popular uprising. If my cab driver hadn’t explained the situation, I wouldn’t have known anything unusual was going down. “Bahala na!” he’d said through his grin, a phrase that well describes the Filipino outlook. It means
“Whatever may come,” and “Leave it to God,” and “S**t happens.” Like banzai!, it also prefaces reckless acts of gumption—a coup, for instance.
Later that evening, confined by the curfew, I make my way to the hotel bar. “Budweiser, Joe?” says my bartender. I tell him my name’s Michael, and he chuckles at my naiveté. Filipinos call random Americans “Joe,” he explains, a holdover from the days when most Americans in the Philippines were servicemen or “GI Joes.” I ask for “something local,” and he pours a San Miguel beer. He’s curious about what I, a Kano (another slang for “American”), think of his hometown.
“It’s been a busy two days,” I say, “I’ve seen earthquakes, typhoons and …”
“And a mutiny!” he says, laughing as he pours himself a drink. “That’s Manila! You never know what’s coming. It’s crazy, but it’s never boring.”
“Bahala na.” I shrug.
“Bahala na!” he replies.
Manila is a freewheeling, riotous blur of color, sound and odor, a simultaneous party and hangover where anything goes and often does. As a third-world metropolis of 12 million people—the most densely populated city in the world—it’s afflicted with the usual problems of overcrowding and grit. Still, Filipinos are among the happiest, friendliest, most unassailably cheerful people on Earth. In 2007, a global research firm found that Pinoys rate second only to Asian Indians in optimism and happiness. Suggesting again some truth to the old saw westerners love to repeat but never believe: Money really doesn’t equal happiness.
“Manila’s feral,” Carlos Celdran tells me over semi-cold San Miguels. “It’s the wild west.” Carlos is an actor and performance artist who runs an artists’ co-op near Remedios Circle in the hip (think downscale Greenwich Village) area of Malate. He’s outspoken about all things Filipino; while he’s quick to excoriate Manila’s problems, he’s also clearly—and deeply—in love with his city. “There’s a poetry here,” he says. “If you look under the surface, you’re going to find a city rich in history, with museums, shops, cafés. Manila’s always been gritty; the cacophony, the dirt—it’s part of the character. Once you can hear through the cacophony, you’re going to hear the poetry. If you can’t find beauty in Manila, you can’t find it anywhere.”
Carlos invites me to join his popular walking tour through what he calls the soul of Manila, Intramuros (literally “within the walls”). Built at the mouth of the Pasig River in the sixteenth century, Intramuros is the walled city from which Spain exerted control over its farthest-flung colony. We begin at Fort Santiago, the garrison that protected the Spanish colonists from the huddled masses beyond the walls. The Philippines’ Spanish discoverer, Miguel López de Legazpi, apparently put a good deal of thought into choosing the fort’s namesake, Santiago Matamoros (literally, Saint James, Killer of Muslims). Fort Santiago was the stronghold from which the Spanish established dominion over the Muslims who’d been trading (and proselytizing) in the Philippines centuries before the Spanish arrived in 1565. Today, Intramuros is one of only two places left in Manila where one can experience the ambiance of the Spanish colonial period.
Americans might remember Intramuros for the role it played in the Second World War; the Japanese occupied and later mined the area. Douglas MacArthur, returning as promised, opted not to risk ground troops in the booby-trapped maze of the old city. Instead, the Americans bombed Manila more or less indiscriminately; while they succeeded in dislodging the 3,000 or so Japanese soldiers, more than 100,000 Filipinos died in the crossfire. (Grim Filipino humor: MacArthur returned, but we wish he hadn’t). When the dust settled, whatever remained of Intramuros, the buildings the Japanese hadn’t destroyed, was gone. Except for the baroque San Agustin Church, miraculously the only building left standing, everything a visitor sees in Intramuros today is a reconstruction.
It’s a deeply felt narrative in Manila, one of the defining stories of its culture. Before the war, Manila enjoyed a reputation as Southeast Asia’s most modern, cosmopolitan city. But in four short weeks, from Feb. 3 to March 3, 1945, it was reduced from the Pearl of the Orient to the second most devastated allied city of the war (Warsaw took first prize). While it has been rebuilt, it has never recovered its prewar character. Today, wandering among the ochre-colored walls and tranquil lily ponds of Fort Santiago, redolent with approximated old-world charm, that history seems a near-distant echo, a voluble ghost.
On the evening of my visit, though, a holier kind of ghost drifted through Intramuros. Once a year, churches from throughout the country transport their hallowed images of the Virgin Mary to Manila and parade them through the streets. This was to be a banner year, with more than seventy figures scheduled to participate. During the day, Intramuros had been abuzz with people dressing the figures in elaborate gold-embroidered robes and festooning their carrozas, or carriages, with lilies and orchids, with candles and electric lights. As night fell, thousands of devotees—beauty queens in gossamer dresses, little girls with angel wings, steely-eyed men in military uniform—followed the Marys to strains of “Ave Maria” and “Silent Night.” It was part procession, part celebration: The entire population of one town accompanied its Mary, singing and dancing behind her carroza. Darkness gathered, and all the long suffering recorded in the streets of Intramuros, all the stains and grit of today’s Manila faded into the blue. The Marys floated past, their angelic faces illuminated by lamps at once electric and divine. Their wooden eyes, cast earthward in compassion or raised heavenward in rapture, delivered a message in symbol. None of that matters, they seemed to say. Trust in God. Bahala na.
“Manileños come to Binondo for only two reasons,” says Ivan Man Dy. “To eat and to shop.” I have come to eat. Binondo is Manila’s Chinatown, possibly the world’s first and oldest. Unlike most other Chinatowns, or perhaps any other Chinatown, it’s centered on a massive Catholic church. I meet Ivan in front its stained, 411-year-old façade, the only part of the original church to survive the bombing. The unusual design of its bell tower exemplifies the East-meets-West fusion that characterizes not only Chinatown but Manila as a whole: It’s an eight-sided pagoda.
The Chinese arrived in Manila close on the heels of the Spanish in the sixteenth century, supplying the labor and the commercial muscle for Spain’s developing colony. Because there were few Chinese women, they intermarried with the indigenous Malay Tagalog people. Because they were considered heathens and thus prevented from integrating into Spanish Catholic society, the ever-pragmatic Chinese converted to Christianity and took Hispanic names. Binondo became the locus of this utterly unique Malay/Chinese/ Spanish/Christian (and later American) “chop suey” culture, as Ivan calls it. As a result, one finds curious syntheses, such as a sidewalk shrine with a crucifix flanked by sticks of burning incense, a brace of Chinese stone lions guarding the entry to a church, or street vendors hawking Buddhist good luck charms bearing images of the Virgin Mary rather than Kwan Yin.
Like the Chinatown of my native New York, Binondo is where you go for some of the best cheap eats in town. Ivan, a self-styled “streetwalker” (though he wasn’t aware of the double-entendre, he says, when he printed the word on his lapel button), leads an eating tour through the warren of Binondo’s narrow streets. At open-air stalls and in hole-in-the-wall eateries, we sample dim sum, siopao (the meat-filled bun known to Hawai‘i as manapua), a peasant rice soup from Fujian. At one stall, Ivan passes out eggs dyed a radioactively bright magenta. I fear that a long-dreaded moment has arrived: I’m to be peer-shamed into sampling balut, an infamous Filipino delicacy—pickled duck embryo, avec bones, feet, beak, feathers. A food so challenging (okay, I’ll say it: disgusting) that contestants on Fear Factor were forced to choke it down for money. Some couldn’t. Just as I feel a sudden bout of vegetarianism coming on, I discover that it’s a harmless tea egg—a hard-boiled chicken egg stewed in a broth of salty tea, a street food popular throughout China. Odd at first, but tasty.
We turn off the street at an unmarked doorway and walk down a long, dark hall. At the end, a surprise: an open-air courtyard done in art deco style, painted a hotter pink than the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Here, amid the garish influence of 1930s America, in the heart of a Catholic Chinatown with a Spanish cathedral, we eat lumpia—a traditional Filipino deep-fried meat and vegetable roll. “Everything is a mixture here,” Ivan says with what appears to be a little pride. “We look Malay, eat Chinese food, pray to Spanish saints and imitate Frank Sinatra so perfectly you’d think he’s still alive.”
Walking tours are an excellent introduction for a tourist and may get you safely through places like Binondo where tourists don’t usually venture alone. But one measure of a great city is, for me, what happens when you get lost in it. I pointed to an area that on my map was labeled simply “textile market.” The cabbie hesitated; he spoke little English, but his expression was easy to translate: You sure, Joe?
I got in the cab. I was sure. I was ready.
I wasn’t ready. As we neared the market area, the crowds swelled, traffic clogged the streets. An armada of dilapidated tricycles called “poor man’s taxis” and overstuffed Jeepneys (garishly decorated Jeep minivans that serve as public transportation) inched ever deeper toward some heart of shopping darkness. I stepped out of the cab and into the ongoing convulsion of hot and sticky commerce that is Baclaran market on Bonifacio Day, a national holiday many Filipinos spend shopping for Christmas.
Baclaran is one of three major street markets in metro Manila. The most unusual is the profusion of stalls congregated around Quiapo Church, where vendors sell a variety of religious icons and paraphernalia, some Christian—cherubic baby Jesus dolls and Virgin Mary statues—and some, well, not so Christian, like what the locals call “voodoo cures”: herbs and potions that claim to be everything from vegetable Viagra to abortion-inducers (and this on the doorstep of one of the city’s main Catholic churches). Then there’s the mother of all street markets, a place where even Manileños fear to tread, but for a bargain, they will: Divisoria, an utterly bewildering labyrinth where you can buy bulk items fresh off the boat from China, mostly. Christmas decorations, clothing, hectares of plastic gimcracks, mountains of pork rinds, which are to Filipinos what potato chips are to Americans. If you want something cheaper than what you’d pay at Divisoria, you’ll have to inherit it, steal it or make it yourself.
Baclaran is by comparison a little tamer but still respectably rambunctious, a good place for getting lost. As the only tourist I see—which I take as a promising sign—I draw steady attention, though all of it friendly. Almost everything here is packed in bale form: bales of rubber flip-flops, bales of ornamental fans, bales of women’s underwear stacked a storey high. “Hey Joe!” calls out a guy waving a white tank top he’s pulled from a bale, “You can be like Die Hard! Cheap!” Untempted, I move off the main drag and into the tight side streets, where everyone is pressed together in a sweaty human river. Passing what must be the food court, where feral cats stalk the underworld beneath stalls selling Asian vegetables, balut and chestnuts roasting in repurposed oil drums (it is Christmas, after all), I hear a cry of “Tahooooo!” I stop to buy a cup of taho, warm, soft tofu mixed with carmelized sugar, a delicious—and safe—treat so far as street food goes. So I tell myself.
For Ivan and Carlos, as for many Filipinos I’ve met, the ragged charm of old Manila and the combustible street markets like Baclaran are a counterweight to the antiseptic mall culture now sweeping Manila. While the malls offer air-conditioned respite from the hellacious Philippine heat and relief from the noise and grit, they’re homogenizing a city still in search of its own identity. There’s a concern that Manila may be Starbucked and Banana Republicked—First Worlded, if you will—to death before something authentically Filipino has a chance to develop after four centuries of colonialism. “The soul of Manila isn’t in the malls,” Ivan had said. “It’s in Intramuros, Quiapo, Binondo, the street markets.”
As frenzied as a market like Baclaran is—with the chaos, the noise, the brine of exhaust in the air—there’s a reassuring orderliness to it. As if by social contract, the shoppers jostle but never push, and everyone manages to keep out of everyone else’s way, even smiling with strangers. I shudder to picture what 5,000 New Yorkers jammed together in near-equatorial heat like this might do to each other. But these, you’ll remember, are the second-happiest people on Earth. A woman with a bundle on her head bumps me as we’re borne on the irresistible human current. She labors under her burden, and I’m hopelessly lost, but we exchange a laugh at our plight that reaches across our separate worlds.
She asks where I’m from; her perfect English surprises me.
“America.”
“Oh, America!” she says with an unabashed admiration that’s becoming rare in the world these days. “I have family in Detroit!” She points to the bundle on her head. “This is for them.” We talk about our families, our jobs. She works in a call center doing customer service for an American company, a growing industry in the Philippines. This is the first year she’s been able to send gifts to her relatives abroad, and though she hates working nights, she says it’s worth it for the salary: $300 a month. “I’m rich!” she jokes.
The frenetic day closes with a blazing sunset that turns the city briefly to gold, and Manila gears up for another episode of its legendary nightlife. After dark, Manila is transformed from shabby leviathan to a massive carnival ride; as deep as their devotion to heavenly pursuits may be, the Manileños’ commitment to an earthly party runs just as deep.
Maybe it’s ironic that the rebels chose Makati City as ground zero for their abortive coup. They were hoping for a resurgence of the nonviolent “people power” movement of 1986, when masses of Manila’s frustrated and dispossessed swept Ferdinand Marcos from power. But Makati is the last place you’ll find Manila’s frustrated and dispossessed. Here among its gritless avenues, tony malls and trendy restaurants, upwardly mobile Filipinos, expats and tourists come to play. The elegant Greenbelt Mall (“the country’s first premier lifestyle center,” according to its PR) is home to high-end shops like Prada and Armani, and the Apple Store (I can’t resist an Apple Store) is not only better stocked than those in Honolulu; it’s more expensive. For many, Makati represents the model of what Manila might one day become: The Pearl of the Orient redux.
At the outdoor tables by Havana Café, young Filipinas in knee-high boots and miniskirts vie for the attentions of Kanos downing an alarming number of San Miguels, and Chinese businessmen take leisurely, reptilian pulls on Cuban cigars. The Starbucks and the Seattle’s Best (within twenty feet of one another) are full with decked-out tourists dosing up on fuel for their nocturnal missions. Most are headed to the clubs for drinking and dancing, others to the hostess bars along P. Burgos Street, but I want to scope out something a bit more under the radar, a little live music joint called Saguijo on the not-so-mean back streets of Makati.
In official terms, Saguijo qualifies as a dive. But it’s a popular venue for many of the city’s up-and-coming bands that are rarely if ever heard beyond the shores of the Philippines, but which nevertheless thoroughly rock. Even though most of the music derives from American alt-rock and grunge (much of it sung in Tagalog), it hasn’t yet become a victim of its own
success, prefabricated, overproduced and mass marketed. It was, to revive a tired cliché, really about the music. Impressed by the unpretentious musicianship, I close the place down. A first for me in years.
Back near my hotel in Malate at 3 a.m., the streets are still filled with revelers going in and out of the bars by Remedios Circle or trying their luck at the Casino Filipino. My plane leaves in a few hours, though, so I decide to pack it in. But the throb and noise of a city seeking temporary salvation keeps me up, and I head back out. Passing a hopping bar bright with neon at about 4 a.m., I hear strains of Sinatra. But it’s not a stereo system; it’s a videoke (i.e., video karaoke) parlor where an improbably short Filipino man in gingham pants and a fedora belts out a heartfelt and pitch-perfect finale to “My Way.”
On the way to the airport, my cabbie asks what I’m doing in Manila. “I’m writing a story about the city,” I say, “for a magazine.”
I see his eyes widen in the rearview mirror. “Oh,” he says. “Well, I hope you’re going to write about the good things.”
That reaction says a lot about this city and the people I’ve met here. In that simple statement is the knowledge that things aren’t quite what they could be. But they see past that; they see what may yet be. They know that their pearl is unique in the world. That their restless metropolis perched on the shores of a shivering island is a continuous act of becoming, an article of faith. HH
The remnants of Typhoon Mita, which had hit the eastern coasts of the Philippines hard the night before, enveloped Manila in a solid, wet wall of gray. It was the second hurricane that week. But life went on as usual: An unbroken line of red taillights crept down Roxas Boulevard toward The Mall of Asia, where Manileños, like their American brothers and sisters, were ferociously shopping for Christmas. Everyone was just as unruffled by the small earthquakes that had rocked the city since my landing two days earlier. A little tremor now and then is certainly no sweat for people living in the geologically restless Philippines. A raised eyebrow and a wry grin was generally the only acknowledgment that the earth had just shivered beneath our feet … again.
And, oh yes, there was also a coup. Maybe you read about it. Long story short: A group of rebels had holed up in the Peninsula Hotel in the upscale Makati City area and refused to leave unless President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo stepped down. She didn’t. You don’t get picked by Forbes magazine as the world’s fourth most powerful woman by being skittish, I suppose. A few tense hours passed while the rebels awaited the popular uprising they hoped would coalesce. It didn’t. The rebels surrendered, and that was that. The whole thing took six hours, start to finish. A citywide curfew was imposed that night, and by the next morning, Manila had returned to the rollicking, barely contained chaos it calls normal.
But back at the largest mall in Asia (called—what else?—The Mall of Asia), people went on shopping, ice-skating, eating, movie-going—far too busy to participate in a popular uprising. If my cab driver hadn’t explained the situation, I wouldn’t have known anything unusual was going down. “Bahala na!” he’d said through his grin, a phrase that well describes the Filipino outlook. It means
“Whatever may come,” and “Leave it to God,” and “S**t happens.” Like banzai!, it also prefaces reckless acts of gumption—a coup, for instance.
Later that evening, confined by the curfew, I make my way to the hotel bar. “Budweiser, Joe?” says my bartender. I tell him my name’s Michael, and he chuckles at my naiveté. Filipinos call random Americans “Joe,” he explains, a holdover from the days when most Americans in the Philippines were servicemen or “GI Joes.” I ask for “something local,” and he pours a San Miguel beer. He’s curious about what I, a Kano (another slang for “American”), think of his hometown.
“It’s been a busy two days,” I say, “I’ve seen earthquakes, typhoons and …”
“And a mutiny!” he says, laughing as he pours himself a drink. “That’s Manila! You never know what’s coming. It’s crazy, but it’s never boring.”
“Bahala na.” I shrug.
“Bahala na!” he replies.
Manila is a freewheeling, riotous blur of color, sound and odor, a simultaneous party and hangover where anything goes and often does. As a third-world metropolis of 12 million people—the most densely populated city in the world—it’s afflicted with the usual problems of overcrowding and grit. Still, Filipinos are among the happiest, friendliest, most unassailably cheerful people on Earth. In 2007, a global research firm found that Pinoys rate second only to Asian Indians in optimism and happiness. Suggesting again some truth to the old saw westerners love to repeat but never believe: Money really doesn’t equal happiness.
“Manila’s feral,” Carlos Celdran tells me over semi-cold San Miguels. “It’s the wild west.” Carlos is an actor and performance artist who runs an artists’ co-op near Remedios Circle in the hip (think downscale Greenwich Village) area of Malate. He’s outspoken about all things Filipino; while he’s quick to excoriate Manila’s problems, he’s also clearly—and deeply—in love with his city. “There’s a poetry here,” he says. “If you look under the surface, you’re going to find a city rich in history, with museums, shops, cafés. Manila’s always been gritty; the cacophony, the dirt—it’s part of the character. Once you can hear through the cacophony, you’re going to hear the poetry. If you can’t find beauty in Manila, you can’t find it anywhere.”
Carlos invites me to join his popular walking tour through what he calls the soul of Manila, Intramuros (literally “within the walls”). Built at the mouth of the Pasig River in the sixteenth century, Intramuros is the walled city from which Spain exerted control over its farthest-flung colony. We begin at Fort Santiago, the garrison that protected the Spanish colonists from the huddled masses beyond the walls. The Philippines’ Spanish discoverer, Miguel López de Legazpi, apparently put a good deal of thought into choosing the fort’s namesake, Santiago Matamoros (literally, Saint James, Killer of Muslims). Fort Santiago was the stronghold from which the Spanish established dominion over the Muslims who’d been trading (and proselytizing) in the Philippines centuries before the Spanish arrived in 1565. Today, Intramuros is one of only two places left in Manila where one can experience the ambiance of the Spanish colonial period.
Americans might remember Intramuros for the role it played in the Second World War; the Japanese occupied and later mined the area. Douglas MacArthur, returning as promised, opted not to risk ground troops in the booby-trapped maze of the old city. Instead, the Americans bombed Manila more or less indiscriminately; while they succeeded in dislodging the 3,000 or so Japanese soldiers, more than 100,000 Filipinos died in the crossfire. (Grim Filipino humor: MacArthur returned, but we wish he hadn’t). When the dust settled, whatever remained of Intramuros, the buildings the Japanese hadn’t destroyed, was gone. Except for the baroque San Agustin Church, miraculously the only building left standing, everything a visitor sees in Intramuros today is a reconstruction.
It’s a deeply felt narrative in Manila, one of the defining stories of its culture. Before the war, Manila enjoyed a reputation as Southeast Asia’s most modern, cosmopolitan city. But in four short weeks, from Feb. 3 to March 3, 1945, it was reduced from the Pearl of the Orient to the second most devastated allied city of the war (Warsaw took first prize). While it has been rebuilt, it has never recovered its prewar character. Today, wandering among the ochre-colored walls and tranquil lily ponds of Fort Santiago, redolent with approximated old-world charm, that history seems a near-distant echo, a voluble ghost.
On the evening of my visit, though, a holier kind of ghost drifted through Intramuros. Once a year, churches from throughout the country transport their hallowed images of the Virgin Mary to Manila and parade them through the streets. This was to be a banner year, with more than seventy figures scheduled to participate. During the day, Intramuros had been abuzz with people dressing the figures in elaborate gold-embroidered robes and festooning their carrozas, or carriages, with lilies and orchids, with candles and electric lights. As night fell, thousands of devotees—beauty queens in gossamer dresses, little girls with angel wings, steely-eyed men in military uniform—followed the Marys to strains of “Ave Maria” and “Silent Night.” It was part procession, part celebration: The entire population of one town accompanied its Mary, singing and dancing behind her carroza. Darkness gathered, and all the long suffering recorded in the streets of Intramuros, all the stains and grit of today’s Manila faded into the blue. The Marys floated past, their angelic faces illuminated by lamps at once electric and divine. Their wooden eyes, cast earthward in compassion or raised heavenward in rapture, delivered a message in symbol. None of that matters, they seemed to say. Trust in God. Bahala na.
“Manileños come to Binondo for only two reasons,” says Ivan Man Dy. “To eat and to shop.” I have come to eat. Binondo is Manila’s Chinatown, possibly the world’s first and oldest. Unlike most other Chinatowns, or perhaps any other Chinatown, it’s centered on a massive Catholic church. I meet Ivan in front its stained, 411-year-old façade, the only part of the original church to survive the bombing. The unusual design of its bell tower exemplifies the East-meets-West fusion that characterizes not only Chinatown but Manila as a whole: It’s an eight-sided pagoda.
The Chinese arrived in Manila close on the heels of the Spanish in the sixteenth century, supplying the labor and the commercial muscle for Spain’s developing colony. Because there were few Chinese women, they intermarried with the indigenous Malay Tagalog people. Because they were considered heathens and thus prevented from integrating into Spanish Catholic society, the ever-pragmatic Chinese converted to Christianity and took Hispanic names. Binondo became the locus of this utterly unique Malay/Chinese/ Spanish/Christian (and later American) “chop suey” culture, as Ivan calls it. As a result, one finds curious syntheses, such as a sidewalk shrine with a crucifix flanked by sticks of burning incense, a brace of Chinese stone lions guarding the entry to a church, or street vendors hawking Buddhist good luck charms bearing images of the Virgin Mary rather than Kwan Yin.
Like the Chinatown of my native New York, Binondo is where you go for some of the best cheap eats in town. Ivan, a self-styled “streetwalker” (though he wasn’t aware of the double-entendre, he says, when he printed the word on his lapel button), leads an eating tour through the warren of Binondo’s narrow streets. At open-air stalls and in hole-in-the-wall eateries, we sample dim sum, siopao (the meat-filled bun known to Hawai‘i as manapua), a peasant rice soup from Fujian. At one stall, Ivan passes out eggs dyed a radioactively bright magenta. I fear that a long-dreaded moment has arrived: I’m to be peer-shamed into sampling balut, an infamous Filipino delicacy—pickled duck embryo, avec bones, feet, beak, feathers. A food so challenging (okay, I’ll say it: disgusting) that contestants on Fear Factor were forced to choke it down for money. Some couldn’t. Just as I feel a sudden bout of vegetarianism coming on, I discover that it’s a harmless tea egg—a hard-boiled chicken egg stewed in a broth of salty tea, a street food popular throughout China. Odd at first, but tasty.
We turn off the street at an unmarked doorway and walk down a long, dark hall. At the end, a surprise: an open-air courtyard done in art deco style, painted a hotter pink than the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Here, amid the garish influence of 1930s America, in the heart of a Catholic Chinatown with a Spanish cathedral, we eat lumpia—a traditional Filipino deep-fried meat and vegetable roll. “Everything is a mixture here,” Ivan says with what appears to be a little pride. “We look Malay, eat Chinese food, pray to Spanish saints and imitate Frank Sinatra so perfectly you’d think he’s still alive.”
Walking tours are an excellent introduction for a tourist and may get you safely through places like Binondo where tourists don’t usually venture alone. But one measure of a great city is, for me, what happens when you get lost in it. I pointed to an area that on my map was labeled simply “textile market.” The cabbie hesitated; he spoke little English, but his expression was easy to translate: You sure, Joe?
I got in the cab. I was sure. I was ready.
I wasn’t ready. As we neared the market area, the crowds swelled, traffic clogged the streets. An armada of dilapidated tricycles called “poor man’s taxis” and overstuffed Jeepneys (garishly decorated Jeep minivans that serve as public transportation) inched ever deeper toward some heart of shopping darkness. I stepped out of the cab and into the ongoing convulsion of hot and sticky commerce that is Baclaran market on Bonifacio Day, a national holiday many Filipinos spend shopping for Christmas.
Baclaran is one of three major street markets in metro Manila. The most unusual is the profusion of stalls congregated around Quiapo Church, where vendors sell a variety of religious icons and paraphernalia, some Christian—cherubic baby Jesus dolls and Virgin Mary statues—and some, well, not so Christian, like what the locals call “voodoo cures”: herbs and potions that claim to be everything from vegetable Viagra to abortion-inducers (and this on the doorstep of one of the city’s main Catholic churches). Then there’s the mother of all street markets, a place where even Manileños fear to tread, but for a bargain, they will: Divisoria, an utterly bewildering labyrinth where you can buy bulk items fresh off the boat from China, mostly. Christmas decorations, clothing, hectares of plastic gimcracks, mountains of pork rinds, which are to Filipinos what potato chips are to Americans. If you want something cheaper than what you’d pay at Divisoria, you’ll have to inherit it, steal it or make it yourself.
Baclaran is by comparison a little tamer but still respectably rambunctious, a good place for getting lost. As the only tourist I see—which I take as a promising sign—I draw steady attention, though all of it friendly. Almost everything here is packed in bale form: bales of rubber flip-flops, bales of ornamental fans, bales of women’s underwear stacked a storey high. “Hey Joe!” calls out a guy waving a white tank top he’s pulled from a bale, “You can be like Die Hard! Cheap!” Untempted, I move off the main drag and into the tight side streets, where everyone is pressed together in a sweaty human river. Passing what must be the food court, where feral cats stalk the underworld beneath stalls selling Asian vegetables, balut and chestnuts roasting in repurposed oil drums (it is Christmas, after all), I hear a cry of “Tahooooo!” I stop to buy a cup of taho, warm, soft tofu mixed with carmelized sugar, a delicious—and safe—treat so far as street food goes. So I tell myself.
For Ivan and Carlos, as for many Filipinos I’ve met, the ragged charm of old Manila and the combustible street markets like Baclaran are a counterweight to the antiseptic mall culture now sweeping Manila. While the malls offer air-conditioned respite from the hellacious Philippine heat and relief from the noise and grit, they’re homogenizing a city still in search of its own identity. There’s a concern that Manila may be Starbucked and Banana Republicked—First Worlded, if you will—to death before something authentically Filipino has a chance to develop after four centuries of colonialism. “The soul of Manila isn’t in the malls,” Ivan had said. “It’s in Intramuros, Quiapo, Binondo, the street markets.”
As frenzied as a market like Baclaran is—with the chaos, the noise, the brine of exhaust in the air—there’s a reassuring orderliness to it. As if by social contract, the shoppers jostle but never push, and everyone manages to keep out of everyone else’s way, even smiling with strangers. I shudder to picture what 5,000 New Yorkers jammed together in near-equatorial heat like this might do to each other. But these, you’ll remember, are the second-happiest people on Earth. A woman with a bundle on her head bumps me as we’re borne on the irresistible human current. She labors under her burden, and I’m hopelessly lost, but we exchange a laugh at our plight that reaches across our separate worlds.
She asks where I’m from; her perfect English surprises me.
“America.”
“Oh, America!” she says with an unabashed admiration that’s becoming rare in the world these days. “I have family in Detroit!” She points to the bundle on her head. “This is for them.” We talk about our families, our jobs. She works in a call center doing customer service for an American company, a growing industry in the Philippines. This is the first year she’s been able to send gifts to her relatives abroad, and though she hates working nights, she says it’s worth it for the salary: $300 a month. “I’m rich!” she jokes.
The frenetic day closes with a blazing sunset that turns the city briefly to gold, and Manila gears up for another episode of its legendary nightlife. After dark, Manila is transformed from shabby leviathan to a massive carnival ride; as deep as their devotion to heavenly pursuits may be, the Manileños’ commitment to an earthly party runs just as deep.
Maybe it’s ironic that the rebels chose Makati City as ground zero for their abortive coup. They were hoping for a resurgence of the nonviolent “people power” movement of 1986, when masses of Manila’s frustrated and dispossessed swept Ferdinand Marcos from power. But Makati is the last place you’ll find Manila’s frustrated and dispossessed. Here among its gritless avenues, tony malls and trendy restaurants, upwardly mobile Filipinos, expats and tourists come to play. The elegant Greenbelt Mall (“the country’s first premier lifestyle center,” according to its PR) is home to high-end shops like Prada and Armani, and the Apple Store (I can’t resist an Apple Store) is not only better stocked than those in Honolulu; it’s more expensive. For many, Makati represents the model of what Manila might one day become: The Pearl of the Orient redux.
At the outdoor tables by Havana Café, young Filipinas in knee-high boots and miniskirts vie for the attentions of Kanos downing an alarming number of San Miguels, and Chinese businessmen take leisurely, reptilian pulls on Cuban cigars. The Starbucks and the Seattle’s Best (within twenty feet of one another) are full with decked-out tourists dosing up on fuel for their nocturnal missions. Most are headed to the clubs for drinking and dancing, others to the hostess bars along P. Burgos Street, but I want to scope out something a bit more under the radar, a little live music joint called Saguijo on the not-so-mean back streets of Makati.
In official terms, Saguijo qualifies as a dive. But it’s a popular venue for many of the city’s up-and-coming bands that are rarely if ever heard beyond the shores of the Philippines, but which nevertheless thoroughly rock. Even though most of the music derives from American alt-rock and grunge (much of it sung in Tagalog), it hasn’t yet become a victim of its own
success, prefabricated, overproduced and mass marketed. It was, to revive a tired cliché, really about the music. Impressed by the unpretentious musicianship, I close the place down. A first for me in years.
Back near my hotel in Malate at 3 a.m., the streets are still filled with revelers going in and out of the bars by Remedios Circle or trying their luck at the Casino Filipino. My plane leaves in a few hours, though, so I decide to pack it in. But the throb and noise of a city seeking temporary salvation keeps me up, and I head back out. Passing a hopping bar bright with neon at about 4 a.m., I hear strains of Sinatra. But it’s not a stereo system; it’s a videoke (i.e., video karaoke) parlor where an improbably short Filipino man in gingham pants and a fedora belts out a heartfelt and pitch-perfect finale to “My Way.”
On the way to the airport, my cabbie asks what I’m doing in Manila. “I’m writing a story about the city,” I say, “for a magazine.”
I see his eyes widen in the rearview mirror. “Oh,” he says. “Well, I hope you’re going to write about the good things.”
That reaction says a lot about this city and the people I’ve met here. In that simple statement is the knowledge that things aren’t quite what they could be. But they see past that; they see what may yet be. They know that their pearl is unique in the world. That their restless metropolis perched on the shores of a shivering island is a continuous act of becoming, an article of faith. HH
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Philippines prepares to claim North Borneo(Sabah), Kalayaan Islands(Spratlys), and other contested areas
MANILA, Philippines - will formally claim some contested areas that it considers part of its exclusive economic zone before the May 2009 deadline set by the United Nations.
The National Security Council on Tuesday met to discuss the matter in a bid to define in detail the country’s jurisdiction and to enable it to use the resources found in the contested areas.
"We shall advance the rights and interests of our nation in harnessing these rich resources," President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo said in a speech Tuesday in Malacañang.
Former Justice secretary and Solicitor General Estelito P. Mendoza, a lawyer of ousted President Joseph E. Estrada, has agreed to help the administration back up the country’s territorial claim.
"We appreciate that former secretary of Justice Estelito Mendoza has lent his unrivaled expertise in this field to help strengthen the Philippine claim on this very valuable portion of our national patrimony," Mrs. Arroyo said.
Among the contested areas being claimed by the Philippines are the Kalayaan Islands Group (Spratlys), Sabah, the Benham Rise, and other Expanded Continental Shelf (ECS) areas.
The Kalayaan Islands are also being claimed by China, Brunei, Malaysia and Vietnam. Meanwhile, Sabah is also being claimed by Malaysia.
Under the United Nations Convention on the Laws of the Sea (UNCLOS), every country is given 200 nautical miles that would make up its exclusive economic zone (EEZ). Each country possesses sovereign rights over the resources under its EEZ.
The Philippines needs to enact the law to affirm its commitment to the UNCLOS, which it ratified in 1982.
The international treaty states that signatory countries should define their territorial sea and internal waters.
However, no such measure is included in the Legislative Executive Development Advisory Council list of priority bills.
Earlier, Agriculture Secretary Arthur C. Yap warned that the country’s claim to the ECS may be forfeited if Congress fails to craft a law that will legitimize and strengthen the country’s stake on the baselines before the May 2009 deadline.
He noted that the ECS areas are rich in fishery and mineral resources. — A. D. B. Romero, BusinessWorld
The National Security Council on Tuesday met to discuss the matter in a bid to define in detail the country’s jurisdiction and to enable it to use the resources found in the contested areas.
"We shall advance the rights and interests of our nation in harnessing these rich resources," President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo said in a speech Tuesday in Malacañang.
Former Justice secretary and Solicitor General Estelito P. Mendoza, a lawyer of ousted President Joseph E. Estrada, has agreed to help the administration back up the country’s territorial claim.
"We appreciate that former secretary of Justice Estelito Mendoza has lent his unrivaled expertise in this field to help strengthen the Philippine claim on this very valuable portion of our national patrimony," Mrs. Arroyo said.
Among the contested areas being claimed by the Philippines are the Kalayaan Islands Group (Spratlys), Sabah, the Benham Rise, and other Expanded Continental Shelf (ECS) areas.
The Kalayaan Islands are also being claimed by China, Brunei, Malaysia and Vietnam. Meanwhile, Sabah is also being claimed by Malaysia.
Under the United Nations Convention on the Laws of the Sea (UNCLOS), every country is given 200 nautical miles that would make up its exclusive economic zone (EEZ). Each country possesses sovereign rights over the resources under its EEZ.
The Philippines needs to enact the law to affirm its commitment to the UNCLOS, which it ratified in 1982.
The international treaty states that signatory countries should define their territorial sea and internal waters.
However, no such measure is included in the Legislative Executive Development Advisory Council list of priority bills.
Earlier, Agriculture Secretary Arthur C. Yap warned that the country’s claim to the ECS may be forfeited if Congress fails to craft a law that will legitimize and strengthen the country’s stake on the baselines before the May 2009 deadline.
He noted that the ECS areas are rich in fishery and mineral resources. — A. D. B. Romero, BusinessWorld
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Philippine Sabah Society
Our group website is now running. You
can now access it at www.phil-sabah.org
Please contact the team leaders for
your registration and account:
mnuevo@phil-sabah.org
brandynhover@phil-sabah.org
Thank you!
can now access it at www.phil-sabah.org
Please contact the team leaders for
your registration and account:
mnuevo@phil-sabah.org
brandynhover@phil-sabah.org
Thank you!
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