Another Article on the Zamboanga Vivisection

This article (11-27-06) has a picture of Makino, the wartime medic.

Three Ateneo Books worth Browsing

Possible Worlds in Impossible Spaces: Knowledge, Globality, Gender and Information Technology in the Philippines by Czarina Saloma-Akpedonu

Patterns of Continuity and Change: Imaging the Japanese in Philippine Editorial Cartoons, 1930-1941 and 1946-1956 by Helen Yu-Rivera

The Blood of Government: Race, Empire, the United States, and the Philippines (Philippine Edition) by Paul A. Kramer

Unit 731 in Zamboanga

My Japanese adviser told me about a recent (10-19-06) article in Mainichi Daily News entitled "Japanese wartime medic admits experimenting on live victims in Philippines".

The medic's unit wasn't really a part of the notorious Unit 731 which operated in Manchuria, but all the same, they performed atrocious "medical procedures".

This article (11-27-06) has a picture of Makino, the wartime medic.

Japanese Media Love Selling their Athletes

I have just finished watching a 3-hour delayed Japanese broadcast of the 2006 China Grand Prix. Right after the race, I came to a conclusion that Japanese media just love selling their athletes. Constant commentaries on theiralready lagging Japanese drivers, especially Sato Takuma, didn't bother me much. The seemingly useless comments on Sato was fine even when the heat of battles between top drivers and car-makers were more important. I was watching, erh, a Japanese broadcast after all. What bothers me is the fact that commentators as well as anchor people, whom I believe were talking "live" in a Fuji network studio, didn't mention about Sato being disqualified "for blocking faster drivers in the Shanghai race." I know because I also look at updates on the net.

Love and War

Homma was the Japanese General who occupied the Philippines in 1941. The Tokyo administration kicked him out of his position in 1942 for allegedly being too lenient to the Filipinos (like his opposition to Japanese troops raping Filipinas--there are evidences of both). He was sentenced to death after the Tokyo War Tribunal in what some historians consider as "irregular trial" in 1946.

This was a letter to his wife before he died:

“In the twenty years of our married life we’ve had many differences of opinion and even violent quarrels. Those quarrels have now become sweet memories…Now as I am about to part from you, I particularly see your good qualities, and I have completely forgotten any defects… Twenty years feel short but they are long. I am content that we have lived a happy life together. If there is what is called the other world, we’ll be married again. I’ll go first and wait for you there, but you musn’t hurry. Live as long as you can for the children and do those things for me I haven’t been able to do. You will see our grandchildren and even great-grandchildren and tell me all about them when we meet again in the other world. Thank you very much for everything.”

Student Activism in Japan

It still is a bit surprising how Japanese students, grown-up college students in particular, could get so apolitical and apathetic to what has been going on in their society. Historically students, along with a number of other sectors, are among the first to react to, if not mobilize against, socio-political encroachments. But in the case of Japan, things have become so, to say the least, peculiar. Vital issues have come and gone and most of the Japanese colegialas seem to be content enough to just go on with the daily routine of study-home-and-study-some-more. Some do become working students and eventually experience a somewhat proletariat lifestyle. As working students, they earn around 800 yen an hour which can buy one full meal. Although the corporate capitalist system clearly exploits them, what they experience is never close to what, for example, a labor reproductive wage-earning full-time EPZ assembly worker in Cavite undergoes. During the world-wide anti-war movements especially before and right after the 2nd Gulf War broke out, Japan was among the countries where students were paricularly silent. I went to a rally in Hibiya where around 150 gathered, a generous estimate, and found a handful of students, most of whom were members of a notorious Trotskyite group. But what more could I expect from a country whose Prime Minister's controversial Yasukuni Shrine visits never become a classroom topic?

According to a self-proclaimed Maoist Japanese friend of mine, student movements became generelly extinct after their last salvo during the cultural revolution of the 1960s. Those generation of Japanese activists are now well-off professionals who annually assemble to talk about significant social issues. I've been to some of them and the talks, which were really just talks not even agit-props, end-up in a nomikai or a drinking party. They then go back to their daily routine the next day, maybe with a slight hang-over.

In Pacific War (1968), Ienaga Saburo, a famous Japanese historian, mentions of student activism before the 15-year war (1931-1945):

"I entered high school in April 1931 and was astounded by my classmates' knowledge of Marxist dialectics...About 1943, when I had been teaching in a higher school for two years, the students asked me to stop using the Christian-era for dates. In a little more than a decade there was incredible change in student politics and interests...By the time I began college in 1934, the student movement and political activities had completely disappeared." (p108)


Ienaga Saburo (1913-2002) was a Japanese historian and professor who was nominated to the Nobel Peace Prize by Noam Chomsky. He wrote a textbook on Japanese history (New Japanese History) which was rejected by the Ministry of Education in 1952. He would then sue the government in a series of court trials for putting him through the stresses of having been forced to revise his academic work. Finally in 1997, the Supreme Court ordered the state to compensate Ienaga 400,000 yen.

Samurai Blues

As I have expected, Japan is well on its way out of the World Cup finals. Recently losing to Australia (3-1), Japan's chances of entering the next stage (last 16 teams) as their next matches are against the more dominant Croatian squad, and the star-filled Brazilian team.

As if the undeserved pressure put on the poor "samurais" is not enough, Japanese media are now pushing things to the limit by constantly airing the words "hontou no tatakai ha, kore kara (the real battle is yet to come)". Id hate to say this but things are looking very much like what happened in the Pacific War. Japan may have all the right to be in the finals, but frolicking in the illusion of success, the country might just be setting itself up for much worse pains.

Again, I feel sorry for the players, most of whom I really admire for their skill and fascination with the sport. The only winner here will be the corporate media and their business partners. Indeed, "samurai blue" has been overly commodified from tissue dispensers to coin purses. Saying that, I feel sorry for the consumers who falsely believed that buying those products will bring luck to their samurai blues.

10 People I wanna converse with when I die...

1. George C. Scott (Patton)
2. Mitch Hedberg (comedy)
3. Jimi Hendrix (rock)
4. William Harley (big bike)
5. Wernher von Braun (V2)
6. Miyamoto Musashi (samurai)
7. Bob Marley (reggae)
8. Mifune Toshiro (Yojimbo)
9. Che Guevarra (guerilla warfare)
10. Peter Sellers (Dr. Strangelove)

Pinoy Soccer

With all the soccer fever going on due to the much anticipated World Cup in two weeks, I can't help but wonder how the Philippines fare in the world rankings. Looking at the Fifa website, though a bit frustrated, it wasn't a surprise to find the Pinoy ballers to be 191st. Soccer, after all, is close to alien a sport to many Filipinos. Predominantly American in its sports culture, Basketball easily picked-up as the national sport in practice--sipa, as claimed in primary school textbooks, in my recollection, was last played by children in my generation. Unfortunately, in a game where height definitely matters, Pinoys never could excel beyond the national level, despite the 1980s when the country dominated Asia, or before the Chinese and the Koreans became bigger. Still, one might find consolation in the fact that the Philippine ranks best among its colonial contemporaries, Puerto Rico (195th) and Guam (204th, or second to the last).

Browsing on the Philippine team website, Ilongos seem to top the country when it comes to soccer. And most of the others hail from the other Visayan islands. I have no way of telling whether the team members come from well-off families, but one thing is clear, soccer doesn't have the social (or socialite) status attributed to say golf or equestrian or even car racing. It is therefore interesting to know that in universal sports like boxing (which include weight classes) and billiards, and more recently, summitting Mt. Everest, the "common tao" can and really do excel. The five-time bowling champ Nepomuceno may be an exception, him coming from a relatively rich family, but a humble bowling alley clerk herself became a world champ in a recent tourney. In soccer, third world Asian countries I believe can more than excel, (at least before the much needed social revolution). It is true that seven of the G8 countries (representing 66.5 of the world economy) are in the top 16 of the Fifa ranking. But Brazil and Czech Republic (not anyone's ideal first world) ranks best.

Hughes and Guzman

Today I found out that the famous eccentric died exctly on the same day I was born, 5 April 1976, and Abimael Guzman, the leader of the most active Maoist movement in the 80s (Peru's sendero luminoso or shining path), had Gonzalo as his nom de guerre. The group also promoted Guzman's writings as the Gonzalo Thought. Cool!

Tracing Lineage

My great great great grandfather was an illegitimate son of a Spaniard from Dehesa de Campoamor and a southern Las Islas Felipinas "indio". "Dehesa" means pasture o grazing land. So most likely, either he was an haciendero from Campoamor or a helper of a rich haciendero who acquired the latter's name for his "insular" son. Campoamor is located south of Torrevieja (Western Spain). It took around three months sea travel from Acapulco, Mexico to Manila (and there were no straight travel from Spain). There were lots of risks involved in the travel (mutinee, diseease, piracy, typhoon, lack of food etc) therefore most likely Spaniards who travelled to the islands then were either missionaries (Jesuits dominated the island of Bohol in 18th and 19th century) or men-on-the-run (criminals o rebolucionarios). Looking at the characteristics of Torrevieja (Dehesa de Campoamor's nearest town), I discovered that "The town originated in the early 18th century when it was a small fishing village built around the watchtower 'La Torre Vieja' or 'old tower'....the men of the town had three main professions, sailors, fishermen, and salt workers. They were great sailors and ship builders who traded salt and flat roof tiles to America and the Philippines." According to Spanish documents, people from Dehesa traded with Bohol island (where my father grew up), more specifically Panglao island close to the main Bohol island, even before the Spanish occupation.

My sister emailed me about our surname (Campoamor) being possibly one of the names handed down to "indios" during the Spanish colonization. She refers to the Catalogo Alfabetico de Apellidos in 1800. But I think its contradictory. The Spanish government handed out a list of surnames to be used by indios to improve tax collection. It was in fact very systematic. Arranged in alphabetical order, the names were to be used systematically from north to south, that is, surnames starting with A to C shall be made to use in the northernmost area, and V to Z in the southernmost area. Here, I have two options: one is to search for the entry "Campoamor" in the Catalogo (which Im almost sure is not) or find out if the Campoamor clan originally was from the north. Interestingly, "Abreu", the surname on my mother's side hails from the Southern Tagalog province of Batangas and only migrated to the northern province of Benguet (Baguio) in the 1950s. Granting the "Abreu" is in the Catalogo, my maternal grandfather could have just returned the family to an area close to his ancestors' origin.

I already discounted the fact that I am a descendant of the famous Spanish poet Ramon de Campoamor because he never wrote about the Philippines, much less, have ever set foot on the islands.

Mother's Day (though two days late)

One bright summer morning my mother woke me up. I could tell through her eyes that she had a surprise for me. I was only about six so I jumped out of my bed to see what she had. She took me to our living room and guided me to the center table. On top of the table was her big surprise. And I was!

Standing on its lonesome was my Ziggy, that bald-head big-nose rubber figure I got from a big can of Tang. Only on this particular morning, Mr. Ziggy is no longer bald. My mother, using a blue ballpoint pen, grew neatly combed hair for the immaculately happy toy. Like a little boy who suddenly found a favored toy destroyed--who I was--I went ballistic with intermingled feelings of anger and frustration. As soon as my mother tried to comfort me, I ran back to my and cried alone.

It took me about half an hour to finally unbury my head from the already soaked sheets. I could hear my mother in the kitchen who was all the time washing clothes on the sink. Still sobbing, I peeked at the door, I dont really remember why--I must have been hungry or just tired. I saw her leaning onto the sink concentrating on her washing, alternately using detergent and bleach. Peeking closely I realized that all of the time, she was actually trying to wash away the hair she drew on my Ziggy. She must have heard me come out of the room when she said "See, it's already as good as the original." Coming up to her, I saw that her hands have already turned pale and wrinkled from all the bleach.

It is only when I became an adult that I realize how sad she must have been that morning. Watching me sleep, she must have patiently sketched hair drawings on the rubber figure. After the finishing touches, she must have carefully placed in on the table facing my room door as though it was greeting me "good morning!" She must have waited for me to come out half asleep but eventually got too excited and decided to wake me up.

All these, I could just be now romanticizing. But I will never forget the sad look in her eyes trying to wash away the sketches. They deeply felt sorry for having "destroyed" my toy. And her wrinkled hands I can still feel eventhough I didn't touch them. Since then, everytime I get mad at her, I just look back at the Ziggy incident and I find it easier to ease my anger.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

epilogue: I got maybe 5 or 6 more of those Ziggys (courtesy of Tang). Interestingly, the one involved in this anecdote is noticeably smaller than the others. I think it shrunk from being exposed to too much liquid. I still have them in my "favorite toy" closet in my mother's house. But this one, still having faint remnants of the blue ballpoint pen, remains my favorite Ziggy.

Of Hopes and Empty Boxes

When I was about 5 my father handed an unwrapped small box as xmas present. The box was surprisingly light. Suspecting that he gave me an empty box and was just making fun of me, I cried uncontrollably telling my mother how rude he was. Not until my father finally forced me to open the box did I find myself to be so stupid. Knowing how I loved playing badminton, my father gave me a real cock (real feather not like those cheap plastic ones). I never did use it and I believe it's still hidden somewhere with my treasured toys. It must be the best thing that I remember my dad with.

I remembered this anecdote of mine after reading this story I came accross in the internet:

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."

The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

Samurai Blue

Yesterday, the living football god Zico named the 23 that will play for Japan in what must be the most popular sports event on earth, the World Cup. Less than a month from now, famous players like Takahara, Nakamura, and Nakata--all playing in FCs in Europe--will go against other teams in group F headed by none other than Brazil, the most successful team ever. What pressure it must be for these 23, tagged by Japanese media , to say the least, as Samurais. Yep, those honored foot soldiers who were subordinates only to emperors and shoguns but were widely feared or hated by the multitude of farmers before the Meiji restoration. After sheathing their swords for a little more than a century, they now find themselves wearing blue.

me

me on a train ride in tokyo. nothin special