Beyond the Bounds of Decency: The Indecent Exposures

Posted on | April 14, 2010 | 2 Comments

Those who have not experienced poverty cannot arrogate upon themselves the over self-righteous claim that they have successfully debunked themes of a presidential candidate who has claimed a birthright to it because he lived to tell his rags to riches story. This makes Ms. Monsod’s latest tirade on the poor boy candidate spurious and is exacerbated by the AIM President’s braggadocio to applaud her warped belief that the mother’ s feat of raising 9 children is a violation of the nobility and integrity of her sacrifice. For what simple reason? Just because her values (and that of the AIM President’s) do not agree with the way the poor boy candidate described their family’s plight through amazing detail on his humble beginnings—-from literally swimming in a sea of garbage and being dirt poor to save a brother from a disease which could have been treated and prevented if only they had the money to pay for his earlier treatment and hospitalization.

The answer (which is an affront to both our sensibilities and sensitivities} is she has simply done her homework and pats herself on the back for doing a credible job as a respected journalist. In the comfort of her Dasma home ( now that is really a gated exclusive conclave of the rich and famous), one wonders if she has indeed retracted 2 earlier articles reportedly her own when she now reechoes the same refrains contained in these documents so excellently blunted and copiously analyzed by her former student, Mr. Barcelona(refer to www.mbv.ph dated Feb. 2, 2010). The problem with this type of investigative journalism is when the practicioner herself refuses to provide an equal playing field by asking the side of the party whom she now charges with lying because ostensibly, she has already exposed the lie.

Typical of the condescencion shown for the timeless carpenter’s humble beginnings “that nothing good can come out of” the place whereof he was raised, the continuous barrage of criticisms coming from the well-entrenched class of landed gentry has, albeit unwittingly, made the poor boy phenomenon a proverbial reincarnation of the classic struggle between the rich and the poor. Simply because the poor boy who experienced it all is now denied the opportunity to tell his story. Simply because his claims are supposed to be grossly exaggerated. Perhaps, it takes the likes of a fellow broadcast journalist to provide the due process and the hearing the accused rightly deserves in the person of Mr. Taberna who tackled the issues extensively with the poor boy himself. Listening to the poor boy’s spontaneous and animated way of discussing in detail his beginnings and their pitiable situation with all probity, sincerity and candor makes the listener glued to his seat as he is led through a discovery and journey of the land of the dispossesed and the exploited. The explanations are very simple, yet credible.

Take for example the reality of the poor postponing the need for treatment and early medication simply because they have no money to buy the medicines. The condition worsens and sooner or later , they are forced to rush the sick to the nearest hospital and to move heaven and earth to beg, steal and borrow from their neighbors and relatives. More often than not, cases become too late to be able to treat. A doctor-son (who now practices in both public and private hospitals has experienced this life and death situations as an intern, a resident and a practicing consultant in the charity wards of these institutions). reenforces these true to life phenomena. As parents, we too have found ourselves in the giving end of countless emergency situations he has asked us to lend a helping hand, in donating numbers of crutches and wheelchairs and partly subsidizing operations. These are why it is credible to find a death certificate of the poorest of the poor rushed to the
nearest hospital. Not necessarily because of sheer philanthropy but because the poor are still capable of caring for their kind. Pray allow them the amenities of those who are more fortunate in life.

We grew up in the old district north of Manila after the war called Sta. Cruz where our simple residence was located and surrounded among hovels and homes patched up here and there by galvanized sheets and lumber that remain unpainted. We were witnesses to see infant mortality rates rise as pregnant mothers only bother to visit the puericulture center when delivery time was up, when malnourished children and elder siblings become unwilling victims of untimely deaths due to the then much dreaded TB, when fathers and the older sons toiled day and night to eke out an honest living from driving a jeepney with its inequitable sharing of revenues because of the unfair “boundary” system operated by unscrupulous jeepney owners, mothers and daughters helping making both ends meet fo a large family of 8 to 10 by doing odd jobs and being unwilling preys to the 5/6 system perpetrated by motorcycle-riding “bumbays,” and at times, being invited and sharing simple repasts of simple boiled rice and pieces of tuyo. And yes, a lot of the women were selling fruits, veggies, fish and shrimps in the nearby public market off Blumentritt street. Sure, quite a number of neighbors met their Maker much earlier than the now much improved life span because they remained dirt poor. But there were some who by sheer dint of patience, more sweat and perseverance inched their way to becoming even successful entrepreneurs and professionals. These are the people the writer would want to deny the warmth of an accolade and a deafening applause, in stark contrast to gilded heirs to a legacy who become undeserving inheritants to a romanticized Camelot because they are bereft of credentials and merit.

What takes the cake is when good intentions end up as perdition, courtesy of the writer herself. What good son or daughter would dare desecrate the time-honored principle of providing our parents the deference, respect and gratefulness they so richly deserved for raising us amidst trials and tribulations? And yet, this is the undeserved crime the poor boy ends up being accused of simply because the writer wants to prove the veracity of her findings that the now blind mother graduated to the bigger leagues by gradually inching her way to becoming a fish broker where bigger deals are sealed and agreed on. Ergo, she turns a blind eye to the authentic beginnings of being a “tingi” vendor of simply shrimps and makes a rash generalization that her rising to a place of more prominence by being a fish broker and dealer debunks the poor boy myth! And then comes the paranoia of having the temerity to declare that the son has therefore misrepresented the labors of the Mom and has desecrated her unstinted efforts . This piece of journalism from a mother herself is a disservice to both the mom and the son. And the equally erudite professor of a respected educational institution also ends up singing a paean of praise and calls the narrative a gem of a piece. Indeed, Aling Curing must be a forgiving mother. She should do the same for another mother and respected journalist and the erudite professor too who also has/had a mother.

We all thought the real estate deals and the assets declaration are already things of the past. Come Easter, these issues were resurrected without bothering to check if the brilliant defense of her former student bears closer scrutiny. She is not to be denied her pound of flesh again , even as Preacher Mike admitted he too benefited from the C-5 extension and a host of other developers. Let us not forget the driving and commuting public who are thankful how travel time has been made easier by this road construction. The assets declaration is now pictured as a liability, even as she has coveniently forgotten the poor boy was already a billionaire in his own right even before he entered the field of politics. Contrast these with other politicians who hide in shrouds of secrecy regarding their real worth and the fortunes that have come the gilded heir’s way by virtue of having the same genes and chromosomes as the famous deceased parents.

Alas, the endorser of detergents who needlessly had to be one but anyway had to do it because she was eyeing a Senate seat then has ended up in the same sorry clime of other journalists and columnists who make the poor boy the constant target of their preoccupation to “wreck chairs,” to portray the the man from Moriones as an apt subject matter of “here’s the rub” to make their day, as a “confuser” of real issues rather than being ” the explainer” for authentic truths. Thank heaven for poor boys who made good. Exorcise the kindred spirits of the same species who think, act and feel they are God’s greatest gifts to mankind and can do no wrong.

by: Oscar L. Contreras, Jr.

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