Analysis of Aime Cesaire's 'Lost Body'

Aime Cesaire’s poem entitled ‘Lost Body’ (Corps Perdu) succeeds in providing the reader with an emotionally enticing piece of literature which, with its surrealist qualities, portrays the negritude movement co-founded by Cesaire himself. This analysis gives two readings of ‘Lost Body.’ On one hand, Cesaire uses his poetic voice in service of and in solidarity with the African community. ‘Lost Body’s’ surrealist expression of nature captures the Afro-Martinican poet’s oneness with the African people. On the other hand, the poem reveals the inherent opposition between the demands of modernism and of negritude, and considering Cesaire’s role in Martinican society, between the demands of politics and poetry.

Aime Cesaire

From the outset, Cesaire immediately uses strong natural images (e.g. Krakatoa, Laelaps, monsoon, etc) to exhibit his surrealist poetic expression; further, the first seven lines are delivered in a straightforward manner (i.e. ‘I who...’). The poem’s opening reminds the reader, therefore, to heed a certain call, given the impactful and forthright annunciation of one’s identity as a body one with nature. This unification and identification of Cesaire’s body with nature is symbolic of living harmoniously with the cosmos. Of course, the term cosmos refers to the universe as a beautifully arranged system, which makes the images such as the Krakatoa, the eruption of which killed 30, 000, or the Laelaps, a canine-like hurricane, sort of misplaced given their cataclysmic nature. But this only supports Cesaire’s surrealist style and words which, ‘although mask-like, are sharp as knives.’ The message of which is perceived well by the intended audience, ‘despite the terms that might escape them or the phrases that are troublesome. The audience grasps perfectly [Cesaire’s] polemic and his call to action’ (Kesteloot and Mitsch 170). Further, Cesaire, in the next lines, creates a beautiful transition, ‘I would like to be more and more humble and more lowly/ always more serious without vertigo or vestige,’ which allows for the containment of the aforementioned natural images of destruction. The chaos turns to cosmos.

Krakatoa

This call of just rage which Cesaire presents is, one can safely assume, the negritude movement, which the author himself co-founded. In Cesaire’s terms, this movement is a simple recognition of the historical struggle of the African community. It is, in a way, projecting a sense of hope for the advancement of the African people, for the creation of a society defined by universal justice. ‘Lost Body’ recognizes that, when the rage of the African race (comparable to the eruption of a volcano, the winds of a hurricane, or the strong current of a river) is controlled or supervised by a movement such as negritude, an alternative world is possible. Cesaire dreams of, or even anticipates, falling ‘into the live semolina of a well-opened earth,’ a just world ‘whose name the same for all things,’ which he considers, again appealing to senses and emotions, a ‘DELICIOUS TOTAL ENCOUNTER.’ The surrealist style, which claims that poetry is related to prophecy, makes such an anticipation by Cesaire all the more appropriate. Other natural images also support this communal African dream of universal justice, ‘a star or a hope’ for a future where ‘life would flood my whole being’ and the revival of a damaged culture (symbolized by a tree with its branches torn to shreds), that is, of a common black identity that will ‘splatter the whole sky.’

But beyond the recognition of the need for solidarity exhibited by oneness with nature, a second reading of the poem also calls for the advancement of the African race and the rejection of oppressive colonizing structures. This reading of ‘Lost Body,’ which focuses on the inherent tension between European modernism and the negritude movement, proves Cesaire’s vehement rejection of Western ideals. As already mentioned, the theme of African solidarity in Cesaire’s writing style ‘allows the poetic voice of the poem to articulate a definition of negritude--a dynamic concept, rooted in emphasizing the values of community and living in harmony with the cosmos’ which is directly opposed to ‘the technological advances of colonizing Europeans, whose inventions only serve the destructive ends of domination and exploitation.’ Therefore, Cesaire, one can assume, sees his poems of negritude as ‘a valid critique of, and alternatives to, ideologies of colonial hegemony’ brought about by European culture (Davis 5). Also, on an interesting note, such tension also seems to be present within Cesaire himself, given his role as both a surrealist poet-activist seeking to topple established norms and a parliamentarian trying to work within the system.  

            To understand this tension, one has to look at how the poem presents the violence being inflicted on the African community by the colonizing powers of the West. For starters, Cesaire mentions how the alternative world he perceives has an atmosphere where ‘there’d be a beautiful haze no dirt in it.’ The mere mention of the word ‘dirt’ suggests that although the author has established solidarity with nature, he desires to leap from a certain position of filth and suffering. The will to disentangle the body, the whole African community, from ‘dirt’ suggests that another force has subjected the body to exploitation and suffering. Although this seems overstretching the meaning behind a single line in ‘Lost Body,’ it nonetheless provides a foundation for other images in the poem which Cesaire uses to connote suffering at the hands of Western colonial powers.

The lines ‘my frightening crest of anchor-like roots/ looking for a place to take hold/ Things I probe I probe/ me the street-porter I am root-porter/ and I bear down and I force and I arcane/ I omphale/ Ah who leads/ me back toward the harpoons/ I am very weak’ emphasize the body being lost, looking for a place of refuge (perhaps found in the movement of negritude) after being led back toward heavy toiling which has rendered it fragile. One also notices Cesaire using the image of omphale, a neologism which could refer to the act of ‘taking root’ or, in line with the exploitation brought by colonialism, the character in Greek mythology to whom Heracles is enslaved. ‘I omphale’ perhaps also suggests a submission to the ‘telluric female principle preceding the phallic rebirth of the final lines (‘and with the arrogant jet of my wounded and solemn bole / I shall command the islands to be’)’ in relation to the first reading of the poem concerning oneness with nature, the fusion with and a return to Mother Earth (Eshleman and Smith 107). In any case, the aforementioned lines indicate the antagonisms between recovering the African identity and the European ideals which continue to impose its superiority over such movement.

This continuous imposition is again seen in the following lines: ‘The wind alas I will continue to hear it/ nigger nigger nigger from the depths/ of the timeless sky/ a little less loud than today/ but still too loud/ and this crazed howling of dogs and horses/ which it thrusts at our forever fugitive heels.’ These lines capture the severity of the colonial power of the West which, although ‘a little less loud than today,’ continues to tear apart the African body, with its demented hounds and horses. Again, the suffering of the black man is evident, a continuous anguish which makes him an eternal fugitive.

This eternal opposition between negritude and colonial ideas creates a dilemma which revolves around the idea that perhaps true humanity can only be achieved in madness and cataclysm, pursuant to the strong natural images mentioned earlier. The imposition of modernism, with the exploitation and suffering it entails, thus makes the body of the African lost, with its only refuge provided by negritude, a return to nature.

This dilemma is further deepened when one considers the context in which Cesaire found himself. On one hand, Cesaire was a poet-activist, whose principal task ‘was… to communicate to his compatriots hard-won perceptions of the vicious after-effects of imperialism and New World slavery, the urgent need for decolonization, and the inner necessity of negritude as a counter to the regnant ideology of racial supremacy’ (Davis 6). With his surrealist style, as shown in the earlier reading, Cesaire is successful in fulfilling the ‘task of being the authentic interpreter of the colonized Negro's deep sentiments. And so powerful was his word and so sincere his heart, that all recognized themselves in him’ (Kesteloot and Mitsch 169). However, Cesaire was also a politician. As the Mayor of Fort de France and the deputy to the French National Assembly for Martinique, he supported the departmentalization of Martinique. Thus the tension mentioned earlier between negritude and modernism seems to occur within Cesaire himself, who was obligated to fulfil the mandates of a poet and a politician.

Cesaire seems conflicted with how he will successfully free Africa from the chauvinistic elements of European culture while at the same time be part of the fully established world of politics. Hence, Cesaire humbly admits in this poem that he is weak; he himself is a lost body. The lines ‘I am very weak/ I hiss yes I hiss very ancient things/ as serpents do as do cavernous things/ I whoa lie down wind/ and against my unstable and fresh muzzle/ against my eroded face’ may of course refer to the African community’s struggle to be recognized by the world but may very well symbolize the constant struggle of Cesaire in terms of fighting for the independence of Martinique which eventually evolved into voting for the assimilation of his country, leading to some people’s disillusionment with the poet. While Cesaire’s contemporaries, particularly Senghor, were successful in winning back their adversaries, Cesaire was unskilled in defending his actions as a politician, at least in terms of appeasing his critics. As Kesteloot notes, ‘he suffers, sulks, reacts by silence and scorn’ (172).  However, even if Cesaire failed to win over those disillusioned by him, ‘Lost Body’ suggests that his task of policy-making remains: ‘with the insolent jet of my wounded and solemn shaft/ I shall command the islands to be.’ He must abide by the rules of politics, of conscious decision-making: ‘I would like to be more and more humble and more lowly/ always more serious without vertigo or vestige’ The fact that these lines are delivered in accordance with surrealism, which gives privilege to the unconscious, but indicate Cesaire’s desire to be part of the conscious realm of politics suggests that perhaps Cesaire sees himself as a lost body, trying to unite his rebellious side with his role as a parliamentarian.

In conclusion, ‘Lost Body,’ being read as a surrealist poem dedicated to Mother Africa, presents oneness with nature as a way of stirring up the emotions of its readers. The idea of a world free from the unjust practices of the colonizers, for Cesaire, can only be achieved through the negritude movement. On another reading, this poem also shows the tension between negritude and European modernism, with the former recognizing the need to free the black race from the shackles of the latter. This tension is further seen in Cesaire himself, who struggles to unify the call of negritude and the mandate of the establishment.

WORKS CITED

Davis, Gregson. Introduction to Non-Vicious Circle: Twenty Poems of Aime Cesaire. Stanford University Press, 1984. Print.

Eshleman, Clayton and Annette Smith. “The Poetry of Aime Cesaire: Introductory Notes.” Callaloo 17 (1983): 104-110. Print.

Kesteloot, Lilyan and Ruthmarie Mitsch. “Cesaire: Poet and Politician.” Research in African Literature 26.2 (1995): 169-173. Print.

Family matters

"Because a man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man." - Don Vito Corleone, The Godfather

The quote above comes from one of my favorite movies of all time, The Godfather. The American classic, in case you didn't know, reveals the value of family in one's life and how these domestic relationships, more often than not, dictate one's decisiveness and character. If handled with discretion, the bond brought about by family represents an integral basic unit of society. If taken otherwise, it may direct someone to "pull the strings" so to speak, regardless of whether it is for the advantage or disadvantage of that particular family member. Here I write about the positive impacts of family, particularly in my personal life. Needless to say, I think families really do matter in an individual's life. The fact that I, being the eldest of three children and part of a broken family, still believe in its main purposes and life-changing implications suggests that there is still hope in the concept of family.

While I think that having several criteria for being a real man is downright ridiculous, I support the statement "the Don" himself uttered. Nowadays I see a lot of men/lads who are about the same age as I (or even younger, I'm 19 by the way) who willfully deny and disrespect their families, or at least would rather hang out with their tropas or flirt with scantily clad women than to cherish a little bit of family time. Yes, even I am guilty of this selfishness. Yet, when times of trouble come, blood seems to be the only refuge.

I have this uncle who, more or less, can be considered the black sheep of the family. No, I'm not being judgmental. The facts reveal that my uncle, most of the time, tries to use the family as a stepping stone, never the rock. For instance, he used to always ask my mom (who is his sister) for some dough to be used for "business purposes." My mom, being especially generous to the members of the clan, has never insisted that my uncle specify. Nonetheless, I think my mom knew exactly where my uncle spent the family's hard-earned money. In a way, it's like the parable of the Prodigal Son with the throwing away of cash for booze, gambling, and ladies. Only, in this case, the forgiving came to an end.

I guess everything has a breaking point. Currently, my uncle lives away from home, or at least that's what he says to our distant family members. My other aunts and uncles, witnessing first hand how it feels to be used for selfish reasons, would not allow an easy reconciliation to occur. Of course, I don't think they were being merciless. It was just a mindset produced by extreme exhaustion. They were no longer convinced, proven by their denial of a kiss-and-hug reconciliation, that my uncle has what it takes to rebuild his life, or at least not just yet.

With all this said, I still believe in the pulling power of the family. Even without my dad, I think my family and I have developed this strong united bond that has stood the test of time and has overcome major obstacles. External problems, that is, outside of my family, inevitably still do occur. Nevertheless, the solid foundation offered by my family gives me the strength and motivation to do things that would eventually, I hope, make them proud to call me son, brother, grandson, or even nephew.

The truth is, I'm not that friendly. I prefer having a small core group of true friends than to have a vast amount of friendly strangers. Considering this lack of amiability on my part, I think it's safe to say that my family has always provided me a foundation from which I could stand to counteract the negativity brought about by isolation. Okay, I don't feel extreme misery when I'm alone. In fact, I treasure these times when I could just bring out this Zen Master part of me and be able to think about the soundness of my body. Anyway, I think this comfort I feel in my alone time is an effect of knowing that a family has got my back.

While it is a fact that the concept of family itself has evolved over the course of human history (from simply an economic institution to a more romanticized one), my personal experience with the pack has made me appreciate the true value of love. The fact that all humans do not 'choose' the members of their families is enough evidence to suggest that the kind of love found within the family set-up is not simply based on emotions or personal preference but is love in its truest form, an act of extending oneself for the growth of both oneself and the other.

I am a firm believer of the family as a microcosm of how the world should operate. We are all brothers and sisters. However, appreciating the value of your family must come first. It starts at home.

Crusada's Calling

Today, the Christian Union for Socialist Democratic Advancement (CRUSADA) is at a point of transition­­--a position of doctrinal reaffirmation and constitutional revitalization. Needless to say, this path towards making the Party ideologically stronger and more united poses a lot of risks, with the most significant being inaction, that is, when it comes to affairs outside intraparty organization. Nonetheless, the activity of going back to our roots, reaffirming our principles, and discerning the Party’s vocation, is in itself a task we should all look forward to, and, more importantly, a source of hope.

As our Honorable Premier have mentioned, CRUSADA's leaders have decided to instill a constitutional culture within the Party. To new members, this is an opportunity to truly know and understand what the Party has to offer, pursuant to the principles of freedom, solidarity, equality, and social justice. To old members, in contrast, this constitutional reaffirmation allows for the discernment of where the Party currently stands and how it would function in the years to come.

Discernment, as a way of enabling people to decide in the present in light of the past and in the face of several alternative choices, has helped the Party in developing its policies for the advancement of its constitution. I believe that, with God’s blessing, the decisions and resolutions made by leaders of the Party would promote growth, both human and spiritual, in the future. Hence, a sense of hope prevails within CRUSADA amid its past struggles. But of course, the idea of hope is not complete without concrete effort.

Now that the path has been set for all of us here today, it is our responsibility to follow through, for the sake of the Party, for the sake of those who we fight for, and for the Greater Glory of God.

To discern is to ask questions about vocation. Perhaps the revitalization of the Party is CRUSADA’s calling. Finding the purpose of the Party, enshrined in its constitution, is similar to finding a purpose for being in the world, which should always be related to the purposes of God. Thus all questions of Party identity are essentially questions of vocation, questions of how we relate to God and neighbor.

I would like to end by recounting the Parable of the Lost Sheep. Jesus said, 'Which of you men, if you had one hundred sheep, and lost one of them, wouldn't leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one that was lost, until he found it? When he has found it, he carries it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!' I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.'

After a momentary loss of identity, the Party, much like the lost sheep, has been searched and found. After a process of discernment and acceptance of CRUSADA's mistakes, comparable to an act of repentance, the Party has rediscovered its calling; CRUSADA, with God's guidance, has found itself.

The weakness of Philippine democracy

This is my half-baked final paper (God that sounded awful) for one of my Political Science classes. I'm not sure why I'm posting this up here but I'm gonna do it anyway.

Mitchel Tuazon

POS160

Question: Is the Philippines democratic?

            As Asia’s oldest democratic government, the Philippines, with all its nationalistic narratives, truly treasures the idea of a democracy. Experiences rooting in the Martial Law era and the consequent toppling of Ferdinand Marcos via the peaceful revolution in Edsa give Filipinos a sense of national solidarity and, at the same time, hope in the democratic institutions of the country.  Indeed, the four-day People Power Revolution allowed the Philippines to be ‘resurrected from its languid state of socio-political and psychological torpor’ (Villegas 1987, 194) and be part of the so-called ‘third wave of democratization’ (Huntington 1991). The aftermath of this peaceful assembly opened up new opportunities for Filipinos to engage in democratic discourse, as expressed in the 1987 Constitution which regards democracy as a blessing. In real terms, the people expected not just free elections and universal suffrage, but also a vivid civil society, political accountability, and equality under the rule of law. In sum, democratic reconstruction was the name of the game—a strategy which more or less brought in ‘a ray of hope, a promise of change’ (Villegas 1987, 205).

            But is the Philippines truly democratic? To answer the question, one must look at what the literature on Philippine democracy say, and apply these historical analyses in the present context. Are these studies still relevant under the second Aquino regime? Is the Philippine state still dominated by what McCoy (1993) calls ‘anarchy of families?’ Are provinces, cities, and municipalities still under the rule of local autocrats, or what Anderson (1988) refers to as ‘caciques?’ With Quimpo’s (2008) interpretation of Philippines politics as a ‘contested democracy,’ one must ask, does the current situation allow for electoral competition to take place on a level playing field, or are elections mere formalities that make legitimate the already dominant? Is the Philippines still suffering a situation of ‘low-quality democracy’ (Case 2009), ‘democratic deficit’ (Hutchcroft and Rocamora 2003), or a ‘minimalist democracy without sustained quality’ (Morlino 2009)? More than two decades after the so-called democratization of the Philippines, these questions still remain relevant and therefore could serve as a gauge on the level of democracy (or lack thereof) in the country.

            Before looking at the relevant literature, one must first describe what constitutes a democracy. As a form of government which places supreme power at the hands of the people, a democracy must have four basic elements. At its core, a democracy holds free and fair elections, allows the active participation of citizens in civic and political life, protects the human rights of its citizens, and upholds the rule of law, which should apply equally amongst its people (Democracy Reporting International 2011). In light of these criteria, I argue that, given the current state of the country, which is more or less in line with the literature on the weakness of Philippine democracy, it appears that the Philippines, although formally democratic, is yet to achieve democracy in its optimal form. In substantiating this claim, I look into scholarly articles and confirm the frailty of Philippine democracy—a weakness which revolves around the social ills of (1) widespread corruption, (2) violence, and (3) social injustice.

Widespread corruption

The first theme of corruption may be considered as a primary cause of all other democratic problems in the Philippines. As will be discussed later on, the two other themes examined in this essay (violence and social injustice), one could say, are caused by the root problem that is corruption. In brief, corruption is the misuse of public entrusted power for private gain. Vis-à-vis the basic elements of democratic governance, it appears that corruption affects all four characteristics, especially the last one which values the rule of law. This disregard for the law is seen once the broad concept corruption is operationalized; corruption is, more often than not, indicated by the following acts: bribery of public officials, kickbacks in public procurement, embezzlement of public funds, and rent-seeking.

After the first People Power, no less than the national government officials, from senators to the chief executive, have exhibited corrupt practices in order to enrich themselves. In fact, some may argue that ‘high-profile corruption cases have plagued virtually every post-Marcos administration’ (Dressel 2011, 532). The most prominent (or notorious) examples of this governmental corruption occurred during the presidencies of Joseph Estrada and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. The former, while operating under the veil of pro-poor redistributive efforts, ‘brazenly siphoned off billions of pesos of public money to his private bank accounts’ (Hutchcroft and Rocamora 2003, 281). After the ousting of Estrada via the extra-constitutional mass action dubbed as ‘People Power 2’ which allowed Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s rise to power, everything was about the same, at least in terms of corrupt practices. In fact, ‘the pace of electoral manipulations and corrupt practices only quickened’ (Case 2002, 258). In 2008, the NBN/ZTE deal, a controversial multi-million dollar construction contract, pitted the GMA administration, including the president’s husband (Dressel 2011, 532).

After the era of dictatorship, it seems that Philippine democracy has continued to exhibit elements of Marcosian ‘kleptocracy,’ (Chaikin and Sharman 2009) albeit in different forms and strategies, more often than not deploying the ‘public service’ card. Today, the issue of corruption has become very much pronounced in the pork barrel scam, a scheme wherein legislators misuse their Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) and finance bogus NGOs or ghost projects in order to get kickbacks. The PDAF, which has been intended to fund local development projects, has simply been used by congressmen and senators to put more money into their pockets. While there is no shortage of anti-corruption laws in the Philippines (e.g. Anti-Money Laundering Act of 2001 and Government Procurement Act of 2003), the lack of political will to enforce such laws, often overshadowed by personal interest, makes it difficult to remove corrupt practices from the Philippine political arena. This reveals how something as informal (and illegal for that matter) as corruption can occur on a pretense of ‘public service’ or formalities, as evidenced by the PDAF scandal.

This idea of formal institutions being dominated by informal structures is not new. In Alfred McCoy’s (1993) historiography of the state and family in the Philippines, it is clear that the state institutions of the Philippines are far from upholding democracy and are simply used to strengthen the reins of oligarchs in their respective local bases. At the outset of his book, he mentions that ‘in the Philippines, elite families can be seen as both object and subject of history, shaping and being shaped by the processes of change’ (McCoy 1993, 1). Today, political clans continue to persist. Some of the specific cases McCoy mentions in his work have produced formidable political entities. Mohamad Ali Dimaporo’s three sons are currently in office, serving as vice governor, governor, and congressman for Lanao. In Danao, ‘real’ contestation is difficult to perceive, with two Duranos recently battling each other for the top position in the city.

This system of dynastic rule is destructive, in a variety of ways, for it not only makes control of state resources available to only a few families, but also makes it difficult for the electorate to have ‘real’ choices. In this year’s midterm elections, 18,000 posts, overall, were up for grabs, but contestation was limited to politicians belonging to political clans—convincing critics that the event was ‘not genuinely democratic’ (Agence France-Presse 2013). In relation to corruption, this dominance of dynasties, especially at the provincial and local scene, make it easier for elites to create and perpetuate fiefdoms out of their local bases for generations, controlling the economies as well as political structures.

At the national level, when Benigno ‘Noynoy’ Aquino III was sworn into office in 2010, two things were clear. On one hand, he was a breath of fresh air, following the scandal-ridden presidency of Arroyo which had left millions of Filipinos dissatisfied, to say the least, and hungry for reform. The darker side of Noynoy’s ascent, however, reveals the reality of Philippine politics as a field dominated by oligarchic clans with bases in the provinces. Aquino, while leading a broad coalition of reform forces, is ultimately still a member of the Cojuangco dynasty, one of the most powerful clans within the Filipino oligarchy. Moreover, the fact remains that ‘in Philippine politics, a family name is a valuable asset’ (McCoy 1993, 8). There is no denying that the Noynoy campaign team, aside from its anti-corruption crusade, benefited immensely from the so-called ‘Cory magic,’ that it was Noynoy’s destiny, following Cory’s death, to continue the legacy of his mother and even his father. In the 2013 elections, the likes of Bam Aquino (nephew of the current president), Nancy Binay (daughter of the current vice president) and JV Ejercito (son of former president and current Manila Mayor Joseph Estrada) have all benefited from their prominent last names. The Philippines’ current setting, therefore, indicates that pedigrees, and not so much institutions, continue to drive the country’s history—a dangerous predicament especially when one considers the prevalence of corruption in the country.

            But another feature of McCoy’s analysis that leads to the second theme of this essay is the strategic use of violence, especially at the local level. In his article, McCoy (1993, 21) argues that in contrast to the metropolitan civility in the capital, provincial politics often involves ‘a zero-sum struggle for hegemony over an electoral or commercial territory that encourages organized violence.’ In other words, one must not ignore the significance of violence, especially at the local scene, in terms of securing the tenure of local elites, and in relation to the perpetuation of a weak democracy.

Violence

            After the downfall of Marcos,  it appears violence still plagues the country. Political violence can take several forms—genocide, human rights violations, war, torture, police brutality, famine, or even capital punishment. In this essay, for the sake of concentration, I shall focus on three types of violence which equally portray the weakness of Philippine democracy: election-related violence, political violence in the conflict-ridden southern region of the country, and extrajudicial violence (i.e. forced disappearances, extrajudicial killings). The persistence of these kinds of violent instances in the country only solidifies its situation of democratic deficit and violates the elements of democratic governance, particularly those concerning the holding of free and fair elections and the protection of human rights.

In addition to the dominance of elite politicians from dynastic clans in electoral contests,  these local warlords, through the use of private armies, strengthen their reign over their localities by means of coercion, most especially during elections. Coupled with vote-rigging (which falls under the first theme of corruption), election violence helps explain why, in the past few years, 'Freedom house no longer ranks the Philippines as an electoral democracy but only as partially free' (Dressel 2011, 538). One of the most brutal incidents of electoral violence in the country occurred in late 2009, when 58 people, including women, journalists, lawyers and simple bystanders, were killed by the Ampatuan private army (which included members of the Philippine National Police) in a massacre in the southern province of Maguindanao, in an attempt to stop the filing of candidacy of opposition candidate Esmael Mangudadatu. This tragic event, one of the bloodiest in contemporary history, goes to show how far some politicians would go just to ensure electoral victory.

Yet, election-related violence is not merely a problem in the south but is a widespread practice all across the archipelago; one only has to look at the country's record. In 2004, 189 candidates and supporters were killed in election-related violence across the country. Three years after, 126 Filipinos were killed amid the 2007 elections (Dressel 2011, 533). Although the last two elections have witnessed significantly lower incidents of election-related violence, there are 'no signs that new government security measures have lessened the motivation of political actors to perpetrate political violence' (Pacific Strategies and Assessments 2013).

Going back to the political dynamic in the south, one cannot ignore the cycle of violence that has long been occurring in Mindanao, a type of political violence which could be considered as a special case due to its long-standing and prominent image internationally. Of course, it is wrong to assume that this seemingly unending conflict in the south is simply an effect of the so-called Moro struggle against colonizers or a product of the clash between Christians and Muslims to form an independent nation for the latter (Abinales 2010, 119). It is erroneous to put the acts perpetrated by rebel groups such as the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), Moro National Liberation Front (MILF), the Abu Sayaff Group (ASG), or even the newly formed Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) under a united stance of ‘Muslim resistance.’

In fact, it is safe to say that the recent Zamboanga City crisis suggests that the unstable situation in Mindanao should be analyzed on the basis of key personalities and political developments. The former governor of the failed Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) and MNLF leader Nur Misuari, who ordered some 200 members of the MNLF to attack Zambo, through his spokesperson, announced that the siege was part of the bigger ‘war for independence’ to extend the reach of the ‘Bangsamoro Republik’ (which ceases to have effective control over the region) in Sulu. In reality, however, it appears that Misuari and the rest of the MNLF rebels decided to attack the city to derail peace talks between the government and the other rebel group, the MILF (Diola 2013).

            Finally, extrajudicial violence, or the government's use of violent (and, needless to say, unconstitutional) methods which undermine civil and political liberties is still a type of violence present in the Philippines. Essentially, these are acts which are 'committed outside the legal system with no prior judgment of a court' (Lanfer 2010, 4).Very much related to the violence in the country's southern region, the government's fight against insurgency and terrorism has, arguably, 'been eroding political rights; for instance, the 2007 Human Security Act (HSA) gave the government more discretion to...detain suspects without warrant.' Moreover, From 2001-2009, around 800 people were victimized by extrajudicial killings (Dressel 2011, 538).

Social injustice

            The last type of violence discussed in this essay carries over to the theme of social injustice in the country. From a politico-legal perspective, it appears that the law, which often favors those in power, has been and still is the foundation of justice, and not the other way around.  The lessons of the brutal mass killing in Maguindanao revolves around this reality in the Philippines. With domestic remedies ineffective and unduly delayed (not one person is convicted of murder), some analysts contend that in the Philippines, 'there is no rule of law...Under a weak criminal justice system, one can hardly expect justice for victims of human rights

violations' (Ferrer 2010, 37).

            In viewing law in the Philippines, therefore, it is not enough to focus on what 'law on paper' states,  it is also necessary to look at what Franco (2011) refers to as 'the many languages of law.' The 1987 Constitution's social rights and social justice catalogue is quite comprehensive; it embodies the ethos that ‘those who have less in life should have more in law’ (Bernas, 2003: 971). Yet, according to Franco (2011, 46), this principle appears 'to be an old theme without legs, as far as many rural poor people are concerned.' In the Philippines, justice 'depends not on the weight of evidence, but rather the class and status 'weight' of the litigants themselves' (Franco 2011, 47). In fact, a World Bank report has concluded that 'the poor have far less access to justice2 than the well-connected, who work the system to their advantage' (Dressel 2011, 531).

            This allows one, therefore, to bridge social injustice with the first theme of corruption. One may remember Marcos' later years in power, which were marred by economic stagnation, and a consequent widening economic gap between the haves and the have-nots due to, again, widespread corruption. After Marcos, one sees  today that ‘the judicial system generally is plagued by problems ranging from limited access to justice by the poor to chronic inefficiency and widespread perceptions of corruption and political interference’ (Dressel 2011, 531). Injustice in the courtroom, in a sense, perpetuates injustice on the streets, where millions of Filipinos continue to fight poverty. Even with anti-poverty programs and a high GDP rate, the Aquino administration cannot ignore the facts: according to an NSCB report, the poverty rate only decreased by 0.7% since 2009; an SWS survey suggests that unemployment is on the rise, with a million more jobless Filipinos; the 7% GDP growth rate proves to be rather exclusive, benefiting only those on top (Cerda 2013). Democracy, again, seems to be deficient in the Philippines, as far as the rule of law and economic justice are concerned.

With all this said, one must always keep in mind that the problem of the country’s politics roots in historic and institutional events which have shaped how ‘democracy’ functions throughout Philippine society. This essay, however, focuses on the indicators (widespread corruption, violence, and social injustice) which suggest that Philippine democracy remains weak. While the aforementioned problems indicate Filipinos are far from the optimal democracy its citizens, especially the marginalized, deserve, looking at the systemic defectiveness of Philippine politics may just successfully tackle the root cause of the problem, and may help Filipinos realize that real democracy is not just a pipe dream.

WORKS CITED

Abinales, Patricio N. 2010. “Sancho Panza in Buliok Complex: The Paradox of Muslim Separatism.” In Orthodoxy and History in the Muslim Mindanao Narrative, 119-153. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Agence France-Presse. 2013. “Dynastic rule tightens grip on Philippines.” Philippine Daily Inquirer, May 10, Nation.

Anderson, Benedict. 1988. “Cacique Democracy in the Philippines: Origins and Dreams.” New Left Review 1 (169): 1-31.

Bernas, Joaquin G. The 1987 Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines: A Commentary. Manila: Rex.

Case, William. 2009. “Low-quality democracy and varied authoritarianism: elites and regimes in Southeast Asia today.” The Pacific Review 22 (3): 255-269.

Cerda, Jovan. 2013. “Inequality is Noy's biggest challenge.” Philippine Star, July 22.

Chaikin, David, and Sharman, Jason C. 2009. “The Marcos Kleptocracy.” In Corruption and Money Laundering: A Symbiotic Relationship, 153-187. USA: Palgrave Macmillan.

Democracy Reporting International. 2011. International Consensus: Essential Elements of Democracy. Berlin: DRI.

Diola, Camille. 2013. “Nur’s MNLF pursuing ‘war for independence.’” The Philippine Star, September 13.

Dressel, Björn. 2011. “The Philippines: how much real democracy?” International Political Science Review 32 (5): 529-545.

Ferrer, Miriam Coronel. 2010. “The Maguindanao Massacre, Perspective from Political Science.” Autonomy and Peace Review 6 (1): 33-49.

Franco, Jennifer C. 2011. “The Many Languages of Law.” In Bound by Law: Filipino Rural Poor and the Search for Justice in a Plural-Legal Landscape, 37-50. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Huntington, Samuel P. 1991. The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century. Norman and London: University of Oklahoma Press.

Hutchcroft, Paul D., and Rocamora, Joel. 2003. “Strong Demands and Weak Institutions: The Origins and Evolution of the Democratic Deficit in the Philippines.” Journal of East Asian Studies 3 (2003): 259-292.

Lanfer, Anne. 2010. “Extrajudicial killings: a human rights crisis.” Observer: A Journal on threatened Human Rights Defenders in the Philippines 2 (2): 4-8.

McCoy, Alfred W. 1993. An Anarchy of Families: State and Family in the Philippines. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Morlino, Leonardo. 2009. Qualities of Democracy: How to Analyze Them. Florence: Istituto Italiano di Scienze Umane.

Pacific Strategies Assessments. 2013.

Quimpo, Nathan Gilbert. 2008. Contested Democracy and the Left in the Philippines after Marcos. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Villegas, Bernardo M. 1987. “The Philippines in 1986: Democratic Reconstruction in the Post-Marcos Era.” Asian Survey 27 (2): 194-205.

In denial

Hearing Fr. David constantly criticize today's youth in his philosophy class frustrated me. I mean, how can this senior citizen make such general claims about my generation, when, in fact, he does not even know the unique challenges brought about by today's technologically advanced world? How can he fully eliminate the complexity of modern-day human relations? But then it dawned on me. It's not so hard to be critical, or even disappointed of the kids of today. All the while, I was not frustrated with Fr. David, I was in denial of the truth.

Only he can pull off the "Eh, sort of like, you know.."

At first, I did not agree with Fr Luis' claim that the influx of various technological thingamajigs-from iPods and iPhones to blackberries and tablets-has 'babyfied' the youth of today. I initially thought about the higher levels of expectations that come with the advancements. I naively believed that the world's complexity has amplified the burden for my generation. It's quite overwhelming, actually, how different devices beep or ring all at the same time, sort of like the evil sister of a philharmonic orchestra.

But hey, maybe it's not the technological takeover's fault. Truth be told, I think it's an individual's responsibility to organize the things that he or she owns. Blaming a missed call or an unfinished paper on a cellphone or a computer or a tablet is just downright pathetic. And no, don't give me the 'I'm only human and it was too much for me to handle' excuse. If you didn't want to be bothered by gadgets too much, why did you even purchase them in the first place? Personal responsibility does not end with hygiene alone.

Speaking of hygiene, it is difficult to ignore the stench coming from most people today. And no, I'm not just talking about my generation here. The irony of people having a wider array of tools of communication while being more robotic in their interpersonal relationship bothers me the most. Nokia no longer connects people. Smart doesn't really allow people to live more. Facebook merely provides another layer of disconnection among 'friends.' Thus, peeps veer away from the Earth and tend to prioritize the illusory acquaintances provided by the Twitterverse. Trust me, I've been and still am guilty of being a rotten, and I use the next term loosely, 'human being.'

To You

Not so long ago, I thought my life would be simple. I looked forward to a life which involves going to school, listening attentively and participating actively in class, having decent marks, going home, then back to school again. With regard to my relationships, I just wanted them to be stable and conflict-free as much as possible. What I didn't realize, due to the fact that I hate not being in control, is the fact that life is more complicated than I expected. Humanity is defined by unique complexities, not general oversimplifications. Case in point, our relationship might have ended on a not so good note, but I'm very thankful for the realizations.

I guess the bittersweet end could be attributed to the rough start we had. She had another. I was the one running after her. Well, she confessed when we were already together that she, too, had developed feelings for me. Yet, nothing can change the fact that something was inherently 'wrong' with the genesis of our relationship. I won't delve into the specifics of this particular event, but I think it's an important factor to consider.

Anyway, to add to that unfortunate start, our relationship seemed like the world economy, a story of booms and busts. The constant fluctuations in our  relationship created this stacked-up feeling inside of me that had led to me cutting off ties with you. I'm not trying to play the blame game on this one, but let's just say we were both accountable to the demise of what we had. And I guess it's also fair to say that my careless ways had a bigger impact on our relationship. I know love isn't the same as falling in love, in a sense that the latter is more grounded on impulsive physical feelings, but my problem was concentrated more on not even having the will to will. I didn't have it anymore. I have nothing more to say; I'm afraid my words would simply sound like mere excuses.