Surfacing: my nth wall -- New Internationalist

Surfacing: my nth wall -- New Internationalist

It is Saturday night in the busy streets of Quezon City, a place next to Manila, the Philippine capital. In a small café, artists, photographers, theatre actors, folk singers, writers and activists are gathered.

There’s ice-cold beer, the usual grilled pork skewers and what-have-you. There’s good music, too. And tonight, as on most nights in this watering hole, there’s lots of laughter and jamming.

Suddenly, as if lightning had struck, two photographers dashed inside the café. They sat down, gulped some drinks, listened to musicians on stage, laughed with friends and looked around to choose the best spot and in seconds, started spreading paste on the wall.

They worked fast. It must have been their nth wall. In a few minutes, blown-up black and white photo of Edith Burgos, the mother of missing Filipino activist Jonas Burgos, filled the wall. It was not one giant photo but small squares put together piece by piece like a puzzle.

Jonas, a 36-year-old activist, has not been seen since 28 April 2007. Witnesses say gunmen dragged him from a mall in the northern part of the city to a waiting vehicle whose licence plate was traced to another car impounded in a military camp.

On another wall, the group started pasting the photograph of Editha Tiamzon, widow of Daniel Tiamzon, a journalist killed in the gruesome 23 November 2009 massacre of 58 people on the southern Philippine island of Maguindanao.

Editha Tiamzon, widow of Daniel Tiamzon. Photo by Sandino Nartea.

People at the café started helping, filling their hands with home-cooked paste and making sure that every piece of the photograph fell right into place.

It’s called Dikit’rato, which means photo-graffiti, or literally, photos pasted on walls.

Dikit’rato is all about raising awareness about the country’s human rights situation. It is a series of photo-graffiti activities on various public spaces, cafés and state universities to call attention to the worsening situation. It is part of a larger project dubbed Surfacing, wherein a number of Filipino photographers portray the struggles against human rights violations of their friends and families.

‘We want to make these photos visible and accessible to the common Filipino, who comprise the vast majority of victims of these human rights abuses, and who therefore need to be informed the most. By mounting photos in public spaces and by enjoining communities and groups to participate, they are also empowered to act as “curators” in their own neighbourhood or setting and not just passive observers and “receivers” of information,’ the organizers behind the Surfacing project say on their website surfacingph.blogspot.com.

Furthermore, the group said that ‘Dikit’rato is thus a rethinking of the concept of photographic exhibition – to think out of the box and be unboxed, to liberate the viewing of photographs from the limited confines of a traditional gallery’s box. It is also our statement against the intrusion of commercial advertising into public spaces – against the visual pollution of product promotion. Dikit’rato is therefore also a “reclaiming” of public spaces, which we believe should be the domain of people’s art rather than mind-numbing advertisement.’

In the Philippines, the human rights situation is defined by the increasing number of extra-judicial killings, enforced disappearances, a cold-blooded massacre of 58 people, a growing culture of impunity, of desperate widows and orphaned children and a government that allows it to happen.

But this is what the government and the perpetrators of these inhuman acts do not know – that for every human rights victim, there are countless individuals who will stand up for them.

There will be loud voices of protest. There will be piercing words. There will be court battles. There will be fighting mothers. And yes, there will hundreds of photos plastered on walls and the calls for justice will reverberate through and through even in the dead of night.

A Filipino Christmas -- New Internationalist

A Filipino Christmas -- New Internationalist

A Filipino Christmas

Posted by Iris C. Gonzales | 0 Share this:

For at least one night a year, a sacred tradition goes on in a country in which politicians live in posh mansions and out-of-school youths sleep on the streets in the dead of the night.

Where a cold-blooded murderer of 58 people has yet to be convicted even as pieces after pieces of hard evidence have been presented before the courts. Where bloodied fetuses are found inside bathrooms of churches and airports. Where one out of five people afflicted with HIV are teenagers. Where Filipinos have to work overseas because there are no jobs at home.

Welcome to the Philippines, a land of both hope and desperation, of defeat and victory, of joy and suffering, of never-ending stories.

It is Christmas and for at least one night every year, Filipinos come together to spend the occasion with their families.

Whether it’s in dimly lit shanties, in makeshift tents in the dark streets of Metro Manila, in tattered shelters by the dirtiest creeks or in tightly guarded condominiums and exclusive subdivisions, Filipinos spend Christmas together. Nobody breaks this tradition in this predominantly Catholic country.

The overseas Filipino works the whole year to be able to go home for Christmas. Doctors and nurses trade all ungodly hours with their colleagues just to be able to spend Christmas Eve with their families. A taxi driver will sacrifice several hundred pesos to spend the traditional Christmas Eve dinner with the loved ones. Oh, and the mistresses and paramours steal a few hours to spend time with each other on this sacred day.

This is Christmas, Philippine style. Filipinos from everywhere in the world move heaven and earth just to make it home for Christmas. It’s about the only time they’re together with their loved ones.

To some, it’s the only thing they look forward to throughout the year.

Mothers bring out the new tablecloth for Christmas Eve, usually bright red and green. The dinner table is filled with sumptuous gastronomic delights – there’s the traditional Christmas ham, red wine, grapes, fruit salads and cheese.

Families usually leave after dinner to celebrate yuletide mass and then gift-giving traditionally happens just before the clock strikes twelve.

The morning after, on Christmas Day, the tables are filled with leftover food. Everyone is still sound asleep from the night’s festivities.

In the coming days it will all be back to normal. Those working abroad would soon be flying back to their host countries, the children will be going back to school, the executives will be going back to work, the mistresses will be back in their paramours’ arms albeit momentarily, the pickpockets will be stealing other people’s hard earned cash again, the cabbies will be driving around Metro Manila again for a few hundreds of pesos, etc. etc.

It’s the same old story, here in this place we all call home.

Luang Prabang, Laos: A slice of heaven -- New Internationalist

Luang Prabang, Laos: A slice of heaven -- New Internationalist


The journey to Luang Prabang, Laos takes at least 18 hours on a slow-moving bus from Bangkok. There isn’t much to see on either side of the road except hectares and hectares of rice fields.

There’s nothing entertaining to watch, either, on the supposedly VIP bus from the Thai capital. Don’t go waiting for an English film or even a Western soap opera on television. Instead, one has to endure the Asian daytime shows – lesser versions of the famed Eat Bulaga, the Philippines’ longest longest-running daytime show – more than 20 years now and still counting.

When this is done, one’s ears will have to take in the blaring Asian music that is foreign to a Filipino.

The leg room is cramped and, if you’re unlucky, the guy from the other side of the aisle will sit like a king and stretch his dirty foot towards you.

When the bus finally reaches the Northern Bus Station in the Laos capital of Vientiane, one has to transfer to another bus to Luang Prabang.

I travelled with Filipino documentary photographer Jes Aznar. We took the 8 pm bus – a 10-hour bus ride on a rough zigzag terrain that will never, not for a second, be a straight path.

I hardly slept on the overnight bus because of this dizzying journey and many times wanted to just turn around – if only it was that easy.

But just when I was at my wit’s end, the bus finally stopped. We have arrived at our destination. The sun is out and the sky, now a perfect curtain of blue. The crisp morning air greeted us the moment we hopped off the bus.

And there, staring right in front of us, is a place nestled in the middle of rolling hills and mountains.

Groggy and sleep-deprived, we head to the centre to drink some warm coffee. I see saffron-robed Buddhist monks everywhere. They wake up even before the moon hides as they line up before locals and foreigners offering them alms.

I see pagodas glistening under the morning sun. I see naked children swimming in the Mekong River.

We walk a bit more and we see more of the village. Quaint French-style villas sit alongside traditional Lao architecture.

European backpackers are everywhere, savouring the village and everything that it has to offer. Old couples travelling together are testaments that real love can go on and on.

It is my first hour in Luang Prabang and I am overwhelmed. The place is majestic, breathing the freshest mountain air and tantalizing travellers with the most colourful street market, which sells everything from vegetables to elephant puppets.

The village that sleeps snuggly between the busy Mekong River and the quiet Nam Khan River is a patch of heaven on earth. Unbelievably charming.

The atmosphere is beguiling, with touches of the town’s French past dating back to the 19th and 20th centuries and traditional architecture, making it a Unesco World Heritage Site.

There’s a lot to see in this quaint village. One can stroll along the road by the Mekong River, enjoy the view of the sunset while sipping bottles of Beer Lao or rent a motorcycle or a bike and hop from one temple to another to hear Buddha whisper in your ears.

My favourite is the Wat That Chom Sii temple on Mount Phousi, situated 300 steps above the town centre. It offers a breathtaking view of the rest of Luang Prabang and surrounding villages as far as the eye can see.

The walk is tiring but the postcard view it offers will soothe aching muscles in an instant.

Here in Luang Prabang, you spend the Lao kip by the thousands. We exchanged 100 US dollars and we got 800,000 kip. I’ve never held that ‘much’ money in my whole life.

We celebrated with a 20,000-kip- dinner buffet – the cheapest street food buffet ever in real life – loads of vegetables, pasta, salads and fried rice. It is best to bring cash, as swiping would have additional surcharges.

Accommodation is affordable: air-conditioned inns with clean sheets range from $10 to $25 a night. There’s free coffee too and bananas that go with the price.

For adventure travellers with deep pockets, travel agencies offer three-to-four day adventure packages that include a visit to waterfalls some 30 kilometres away from the town centre, trekking, elephant riding and a visit to far flung handicraft villages.

Rest assured, however, that even without the adventure trips, strolling for days in Luang Prabang is feast enough for the senses.

Sabaidee! Sabaidee* indeed, from this patch of heaven in the uplands of Laos. Nothing can compare.

*Hello, good day!

For every human rights victim... -- New Internationalist

For every human rights victim... -- New Internationalist

Faith

Barangay Calanan, Tabuk, KALINGA - Half naked in a tattered red shirt, the woman is crying out in pain. There are no words. Just unexplained pangs of anguish. She wouldn't stop. This goes on and on. She is pointing to her swollen stomach. It is unbelievably huge, similar to the size of a woman nine months pregnant. But she is not. She is old, wrinkled and weary.

"She is a victim of witch craft," says Francis, a driver whose employer is also among the sick people here.

They call him Amang. He is the village faith healer. As with most faith healers in the Philippines, he "heals' with bare hands. Today is "healing" day. Villagers looked forward to this all week long. On this sunlit morning, there are at least a hundred people here outside a small house along the road not far from the center of town. A giant pastel colored umbrella hangs like a canopy above the throng of people -- the sick and kibitzers alike. The sick are waiting to be touched by Amang's hands.

Amang does his stuff. "Jesus is Lord" is plastered on his white shirt. He stands across the woman who is grimacing in pain. "Who are you?!" Amang shouts in the Kalinga dialect, addressing the bad spirits believed to have possessed the woman. The woman continues to scream in anguish. Amang pours water all over her body.

"Is it holy water?" I ask Francis.

"Yes it has been blessed by Amang."

Amang has healed hundreds, he says. Many others who have been touched by his hands remain sick but are not giving up.

"It's not just Amang. It's faith in God that can heal," says Francis.

I left the place wondering if the woman's pain will go ever go away with Amang's touch and buckets of blessed water. I wonder if tonight she will sleep soundly, her stomach back to normal and her weary body no longer in pain.

Learning from the monks of Laos

They wake up even before the sun rises, while backpackers in dingy hotel rooms are still in deep slumber after a night of eating and drinking. They pray and meditate.With heads bowed, they line up and receive alms from locals and foreigners -- sticky rice, banana, flowers -- anything that could help them survive.

They sleep in cramped quarters with just enough space for beds, clean sheets and some candles for prayers. They live simply, void of any excesses. Just the basics. Nothing else. Solitary, simple and silent. Nothing indulgently luxurious.

They are guided by the eight precepts:

"1) to abstain from taking life.2) to abstain from taking what is not given.3) to abstain from unchastity.4) to abstain from false speech.5) to abstain from intoxicants causing heedlessness.6)to abstain from untimely eating.7) to abstain from dancing, singing, music and unseemly shows, from wearing garlands, smartening with scents, and beautifying with perfumes.8) to abstain from the use of high and large luxurious couches."

Letters from Luang Prabang

It seemed like a never-ending cliff-hanging hell of a bus ride under the darkest sky and the thickest fog. I hardly slept on the overnight trip and did not for a second feel like a VIP on the supposedly "VIP" bus, no thanks to the Thai music blaring on the radio, cramped leg room and the combined stench of food and sweat.

But after more than ten hours up the rugged and mountainous zig-zag terrain, we finally reach Luang Prabang, Laos. And there, staring before my sleep-deprived body and soul is a patch of heaven on earth. I see a breathtaking, majestic land surrounded by mountains and rolling hills. Here, the air is crisp and the morning sky, now a clear curtain of blue. There is mixture of quaint French style villas and ethnic Asian homes on the side of the Mekong River. Food is good and the night market provides a welcome feast for the eyes.

Everybody says "Sawadee" --- perhaps, it's something like a hello. They smile. We smile back. Laid back yet vibrant.

Have I mentioned the Beer Lao? Good price and no hang-over but if you ever get one from the perfect Mojitos from Lao Lao Garden, you can wake up early in the morning and give some alms to monks in their orange robes. It's the perfect cure for any hangover or hang-up.

Jes captures everything with his lens -- from the golden Pagodas that shine under the glistening sun to the Lao Laos everywhere.

Beer Lao and Lao Coffee and the view of the sunset from the Mekong River -- ah, nothing can compare. Here, indeed, is a slice of heaven on earth.

Sabaidee!